by Roy, Deanna
Gavin didn’t move near me, didn’t try to touch me again. He just waited, head down. I tried to put myself in his position. Angry. Confused. He had to have so many questions. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, I had them too. I sat back on the bed, still holding the rail. “I thought you said you had the surgery checked. That it worked.”
“Nobody told me how long it took. It’s not immediate.” His skin was ashen, and his eyes so haunted. My heart broke for him then. He thought I would walk away. And I wanted to, but I wouldn’t. I’d be here. I’d see him through this.
I shifted back on the bed and tucked my legs beneath the sheets again. This was it. I had to get well. I needed out of this hospital, back in the real world. I wanted to help him through this.
“How trustworthy is this woman?” My voice came out stronger than I thought it would.
His hands were clasped together so tight that his knuckles were white. “I have no idea. I don’t really know her much at all.”
That was good. I began to breathe easier. So he had done the surgery, felt indebted to this woman for helping him. They’d ended up together. I just had to accept these things. She meant nothing to him. He only wanted to clear his name. “Well, then let’s get the test done and send her packing.”
“I just need to figure out where to go. There’s drugstore tests but I don’t trust them.”
“We’re right here in a hospital.”
He glanced at the call button. “You want to ask one of the nurses?”
“No, I have a better idea. We’ll talk to Tina, let her ask.”
“You mean that girl with the stockings?”
“Yes. She came by earlier.”
His face relaxed into relief. “Okay, ask her. Then we can get this done.”
Gavin needed someone to push him through this. I might feel blindsided, but he had to be completely knocked backwards. Everyone else seemed to be telling him this woman was manipulating him, but he couldn’t see it. We’d have to show him the way.
“You need to get your life back to normal,” I said. “Go home. Shower. Study. Go to work. Talk to your friends.”
He shook his head. “My life is right here.”
“No, this is a strange place, these small rooms, this caustic atmosphere with my parents. You need to be out, to think clearly, to assess what’s going on.” I hesitated. “Is she trying to see you? Is she pushing this boy on you?”
He shook his head. “No. My friend Mario scared the crap out of her. I’m just supposed to call her when we have a place to do the test.”
I breathed a little easier. “Good.” I held out my hand to him, and when he took it, I pulled him forward to sit on the bed. “It’s going to be okay,” I told him. “Just another bump in the road.”
He gathered me against him, and as my head lay against his chest, his body shuddered. I knew exactly how hard this moment had been for him. I had felt the same walking down to the beach when I knew I had to tell him about my past, what I had done when I was pregnant.
We would clear this up, together, and move forward. I wouldn’t think of any other possibility. This boy was not his. She was an opportunist and a liar. I pictured her in a hot-pink halter and slinky miniskirt, used up, pathetic, and looking for a chump who would believe her story. I would not let her use Gavin. When this test was done, I’d boot her out of his life, whether I was sick or not.
23: Gavin
When I rolled up to my apartment later that night, Corabelle tucked away at the hospital watching The Lion King with her parents, I was surprised to see Mario sitting on the hood of his ’72 Mustang.
He waited for me to kill the Harley, still in his shirt from Bud’s. “So, how’d she take it?”
“Corabelle?”
“You got another honey to break the news to?”
He was making me crabby already. I turned up the sidewalk.
“Dude, chill. I’m just asking how she took it.”
I stopped. He’d proved a better friend than I expected with everything going on. “Not great at first, but she came around.”
The wind howled around us, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. “That’s good.”
“So you came here to ask me that? I’m working tomorrow.”
“No, I’m here to get you out, stop moping, drink a beer.”
“No way. Corabelle’s in the hospital. Rosa’s out there somewhere with that kid.”
Mario turned me around on the sidewalk. “All the more reason to get out.”
“I should study. I’m behind.”
“Later. You’re due a night out. You’re just going to sit in that apartment and stew.”
He was right about that.
“I’ll cover the first round. Unless you order some bullshit highbrow import.”
I laughed. “Right. I’m all highbrow.” Hell, it felt good to laugh about something, to blow everything off. Corabelle had been right. I needed some normal life.
He opened his door. “Get your ass in here. We’ll toast to your fancy-ass new job title. Then tell me more about this firebrand hooker you dragged stateside.”
I sank into the half-collapsing springs of the passenger seat. “I’m hoping I never have to see her again after this test.”
He turned the ignition and the Mustang rumbled. Damn, I missed having a car. I could have used the extra money from my promotion for that, but it was fine to use it on helping Corabelle.
Or else it would go to child support.
Mario cranked up Nine Inch Nails at ear-splitting decibels, which went a long way to redirecting my attention. He rolled down the windows despite the chill, laughing when mine got stuck halfway and wouldn’t budge.
“It’s always the mechanics who have shit for cars,” I shouted over the music.
Mario banged the steering wheel in time with the cymbal smash. “We’re going to get fucked up!”
He pulled into a space in front of our usual pool hall. My anxiety ratcheted up. All the hookers I used to frequent knew this place, and I’d run into one or the other more than a few times. One in particular, Lorali, had made quite a show of stripping half-naked in the corner, and at this point in my life, I lived in fear of her repeating the performance.
“Maybe we should pick another place,” I said.
“Don’t be a pussy,” Mario said. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can handle all the women.”
“You haven’t had a piece in months, Romeo.” I flung my door open.
He came around the car and snared me with an elbow around my neck. “It’s no good to be wingman to a hooker lover. I’m too poor.”
I shoved him aside to get loose, laughing. “You can’t even pay to get laid.”
“I’m promoted. I’ve got money now.”
We crossed through a cloud of smokers and entered the half-empty hall. “Probably not going to be too many chicks on a Monday,” he said, heading for the bar.
I was happy to see it so empty. Fewer people meant fewer chances for a disaster.
I headed for the cue racks to find a stick that wasn’t too thrashed. A number of the serious players were sitting around, league teams and gamblers alike. There weren’t a lot of women, another good sign that the night would go easy for me.
Mario returned with the beer as I shoved quarters in the machine to release the balls. The crack of a cue was familiar and calming. Even the smell of chalk and beer helped settle out the day.
I racked up for the first play and took a long pull on the bottle as Mario started working the table. He’d clear a good number before his first fail, if he was having a decent night. I half watched him, half listened to the room, when a laugh made the hackles on my neck stand up.
I wasn’t especially good at picking out voices, but that particular little-girl giggle was pretty damn familiar. I circled the table. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I told Mario.
“What are you talking about? I’m going to kick your ass here. I’ve nearly cleared the stripes.”
<
br /> “Fine. Kick it. Candy’s here and I’m not dealing with her tonight.”
“Was that the one who got nekkid?”
“No, that was Lorali.”
“I can’t keep up with your hookers.” He leaned back over to take a shot.
I nudged his shoulder. “Seriously, Mario. I’m not up for it.”
“I’ll handle her.” He braced his fingers on the table and sent the cue ball into no-man’s-land, barely grazing the thirteen. “Well, shit.” He stood up. “Now I’m off.”
Candy weaved through the tables but didn’t look our way. I turned my back to her. “Mario, I really don’t need this shit. She wrote me a week ago. Corabelle found her texts. It was a brutal scene.”
He downed a swig of beer. “So block her.” He reached for his wallet and dropped it on the ledge of the table. “Or give her to me. She’ll get hot for my dollars.”
“That’s messed up,” I said. I didn’t have a claim on any of those women, but imagining Mario with the same girls I’d been with was a damn freak show.
“Yeah. It is, actually.” He stuck the wallet back in his pocket. “But she’s coming over here anyway.”
“Shit.”
“Gavin? Is that you?” She came up beside the table, dressed in a vivid orange tank that hugged her breasts like a wet T-shirt. A short frayed denim skirt barely skimmed her thighs. She looked a lot like a sexed-up college girl, her hair curled away from her face, other than the lines around her eyes.
“Forget him,” Mario said. “Come over here and talk to me.”
Great. Now she’d never leave.
“You’re cute and all,” Candy said. “But Gavin owes me some texts.”
“You into sexting?” Mario leaned on the pool table, separating Candy from me.
She stepped around him. “How come you never wrote me back? I thought you cared a little.”
I didn’t even want to look at her, the mega-lashes, bright lips, and nipples poking out a mile. “I think it’s great you’re out on your own,” I said. “I’m just seeing somebody now.”
“Oh, that girl isn’t going to be enough for you,” Candy said, pushing up against me. “You’ll want a little something on the side.”
I glanced over at Mario, who shrugged.
I grasped Candy’s arms as gently as I could and set her aside. “You’ve been great, but I’m done.”
Her face took on a tragic expression. “You can’t leave me now! I have to find my own jobs, and half the men didn’t care if it was me or some other bimbo that Jerry set them up with. I’m way, way down.” She tried to come close. “I even offered you a freebie.”
“I’ll take it,” Mario said.
Candy flashed into rage. “You’re a little putz,” she said.
He backed away, hands in the air. “Sorry!”
“I’m sure there are lots of prospects here,” I said. “I’m going to have to go.” From the corner of my eye, I could see a couple dudes watching our little exchange with their cue sticks standing on end like swords. “See, those guys over there seem awfully interested.”
She turned to look. “Uggh. Whatever. They think I’m an easy sorority girl.”
“Really?” Mario choked on a laugh.
Candy scowled at him. “You can just shut up now.”
I stuck my cue back in the rack. “I’m done here.” I took off across the bar, planning to just walk home if I had to. A few miles in the cold would chill me out.
Candy raced up to me, hanging on to my arm. I’d really had it. I couldn’t do anything for her. I tried to shake her off.
She tottered on her spike heels and fell back on her ass. The pair who’d been watching decided now was the time to get involved, and I saw trouble racing toward me like a monsoon.
Mario must have seen it too because he came up beside me and clapped me on the back. “Time to go, buddy. Right now.”
I turned to help Candy back up, but one of the men smacked my hand away and did it himself. Normally I would have jumped his ass immediately, but I had enough trouble for the moment and just headed for the door.
“I don’t think so,” one of the men said, laying his meaty hand on my shoulder to whip me around.
I predicted the blow and ducked below it, coming around his back. “I’m not interested in a fight,” I said. “So walk away.”
“If I have anything to do with it, you won’t be walking anywhere.” He charged at me, but he was clumsy and large, and I dodged him easily.
“Bartender’s on the line,” Mario warned. “Three-minute warning.”
I really did not want to get arrested today. The man circled around, embarrassment probably fueling him as much as his misplaced chivalry. His friend held on to Candy, who squirmed against him. I hope he kept holding her, as I didn’t need her tangled up in this. I flashed briefly to Rosa, aiming the Glock at Sideburns. Who knew? Maybe she was just as scrappy.
“Whatcha think, you need to run away from me?” the man asked, doing a poor imitation of a boxer, thrusting his fists in front of him.
“Seriously, bro, did you learn that from a video?” Mario asked.
“They’ve already called the cops,” I told the guy. “Unless you want to post bail tomorrow, bring it down.”
He charged again, but this time he got lucky, and when I dodged to the side, he picked the right direction and moved with me. He tackled me like a linebacker, knocking over a bar table as we went down.
I didn’t want to strike even a single blow, but I had to shut this guy down. He was trying to pin me from on top, which was about his only advantage due to his size, but a hard elbow to his groin sent him reeling to one side.
I jumped up, expecting the other guy to take his place, but he held on to Candy, his hand on her ass, and I guess she decided something was better than nothing, as she quit trying to get away.
“We done here?” I asked the guy. “Because we’re about to have an official visitor.”
He grimaced and refused to acknowledge me, getting up painfully from the floor.
“Time’s a’wasting.” Mario pushed me to the door.
We were pulling out of the lot when we saw the lights flashing down the street.
“Hell, you could have fucked with him a whole extra minute,” Mario said. “You’re losing your edge.”
I stared out the window. If I was going to make any of this work with Corabelle, or with a kid, I had to do a major life overhaul.
24: Corabelle
The doctor leaned over me the next day, pressing the stethoscope in various positions on my chest. I’d cleared my parents out of the room, tired of their omnipresence, and snatching any excuse to get a little privacy.
He stood up. “I’ll wait on the X-rays to be sure, but you’re sounding pretty good.”
“So going home today?”
“Let’s look at those images first.”
“So not today.”
He patted my shoulder. “Probably not today.”
I flung myself back against the raised bed. “I haven’t even coughed in hours. The last suction came up pretty empty.”
“All good signs. But relapse is common when you’ve been as far down as you were. Let’s take some precautions.”
“I am never going swimming again.”
He laughed. “I hear you want to go to art therapy.”
“You going to let me out of the room?”
He tucked the tablet under his arm. “I’ll clear it. But if you do start expelling phlegm again, don’t go. For everyone’s safety. Deal?”
“Deal.”
The moment he left, my parents filed back in, resuming their positions.
“So,” Dad said. “Any ‘get out of jail free’ cards?”
“Not yet. They’re going to look at the X-ray.”
Mom pulled out her knitting again, something new, probably another endless throw.
“You know, you guys don’t have to stay here. I’m going to be fine. Dad, don’t you have to get back to work?”<
br />
“I’m allowed to take sick time for family.” He snapped open a newspaper. “This is better than work any day.”
I reached for my backpack even though I was caught up on all my reading. Gavin had brought the astronomy work home, but I had no idea what the assignments were for my lit classes. My e-mails to the profs had just gotten kind replies of “Get well.” I didn’t want to lose those credit hours, and I couldn’t even imagine the work that was piling up. I’d write them again today, tell them I was up for writing the papers, at least.
Yet another new nurse came in and introduced herself as Helen. “The good news is, you can take a shower today.”
I threw back the covers. “Really?”
She opened the bathroom door. “Don’t get chilled. Make sure the water is good and hot, and dry your hair immediately.”
I was already turning on the faucets. I didn’t even care about the industrial shampoos. I could do it again later with nicer stuff.
“Remember there’s a help cord if you need someone.”
I nodded and waited impatiently for her to leave.
I closed the door and stripped off the infernal cotton gown I was so sick of. The spray was delicious, pounding and hot. I washed my hair, then washed it again, finally starting to feel like the sand grit was really gone.
I wished for Gavin to be with me, pressing against my back, his arms around me. We’d only showered together once in this brief time we’d been back together, but it was seared into my memory. The water had gleamed on his arms, running in rivulets along the indentations of his biceps. I’d been mesmerized by their trailing paths, and turned in to him, to see all the other places the water would go.
He’d had droplets on his eyelashes, little diamonds that flew off when he shook his head. He’d taken my heavy wet hair in his hands and twisted it up, turning me around again so he could run a washcloth across my back.
His lips followed the path, skimming across my shoulders and coming up to my neck. He released my hair over the opposite shoulder so his hands could come around, kneading my breasts, slippery with soap.
