by Lori Leger
“Yes ma’am, I’ll have to beg for extra hours at work to afford it now.”
“Have you ever thought of donating plasma?” the officer said.
Meagan shook her head slowly. “No, but I donate blood every three months.”
“Plasma is different. It takes longer because they have to separate it from the blood before pumping it back into you, but they pay you for it. I think my daughter made $100 her first week of donating and $60 or $70 every week after that. She and her roommate keep the rent paid with it.”
“Really?” Meagan heard a distinct ‘cha-ching’ at the thought of making a quick hundred bucks. “I may have to check it out.”
“You should. Years of police work have taught me what to look for and you look like someone who could donate. Trust me, those places are desperate for plasma they can actually use.”
The officer took a card and a pen out of her pocket and scribbled something on the back of it before handing it to her. “Here’s the address of the place here in Lake Coburn and that’s my daughter’s name. If you say she referred you, she’ll get an extra bit of money on her next donation. If you refer someone else, you’ll get extra money.”
“Thanks, and I absolutely will.” Meagan accepted the card and stared at the address. “I bet I pass this place all the time and never realized it was there. Do you know what they do with the plasma they collect?”
The officer smiled down at her and nodded. “Yes ma’am. They save lives with it.”
****
After researching the process, Meagan contacted the plasma center. She found herself there at mid-morning on a Tuesday, tired of waiting and bored after a drawn-out screening process. She sighed in relief when they finally called her name.
“Is it always going to take two hours to get in to donate?” Meagan followed the technician to the back room where four rows of chaise lounge looking beds were set up to accommodate 24 donors at a time.
“Oh no. Your first time we have to give you the complete blood work up and physical. From now on, it’s a much quicker process. We’ll do a quick screening that takes maybe five or ten minutes then send you back out. Within a few minutes of that, we’ll call you back. Go ahead and lay down right here. Don’t use your cell phone to make calls, please. It can interfere with the machines.”
Within ten minutes, she was hooked-up, and watching one of two flat screens mounted on the wall, each playing the same re-run of Law and Order.
“Is this your first time donating, honey?”
Meagan turned toward the voice to her right, seeing a pretty, well-dressed woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties. Blondish hair in a short and stylish cut, nails neatly manicured and clothed in an outfit that more than likely came from a higher end department store like Dillard’s. Diamond studs sparkled in her ears and the single ring on her left hand could easily have totaled more than a couple of carats.
“Yes, ma’am, it is. Yours too?”
“Oh no, I started coming here about four years ago, after my husband died.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you, but we had thirty wonderful years together. The last five we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy if it weren’t for places like this.”
“Really? Was he ill?”
“He had something called Hyperviscosity Syndrome and it made him miserable. Spontaneous bleeding, loss of hearing, dizziness, horrible headaches…the symptoms varied but always made it impossible to enjoy life. Then he began plasmapheresis treatment. In a nutshell, they hooked him up to machines like these, took out the infected plasma and replaced it with healthy plasma.”
“And it worked?”
“He got his quality of life back for five years. Then I lost him in a car accident, but I was thankful for the years he got to enjoy life because of donors such as yourself. So, I became one.” The woman held out her free left arm. “My name is Marilyn…Marilyn Istre.”
“Meagan Hutton…it’s so nice to meet you. You know, I lost my fiancé around the same time you lost your husband.” The fact that they’d both loved and lost gave them common ground, and soon the two were deep in conversation. Not only did they have their grief in common, but also their home state of Texas. Meagan found herself discussing Buck, broken arms, insurance deductibles and bald tires with the woman who proved to be very likeable, as well as remarkably easy to talk to.
The next forty-five minutes flew by for Meagan and before she knew it, a technician named Shonda Thibodeaux had wrapped her arm with an ace bandage. Within two minutes, she’d punched in a pin number into an ATM and collected a nice little payment of $45.00.
She met up with Marilyn at the appointment book and smiled. “Which days are the best to come in?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays are good for me. What about you? I’d love it if we were always here at the same time. You’re so sweet and easy to talk to.”
Meagan searched Thursday’s page and filled in the open slot right under her new friend’s name. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
They walked out, laughing over the fact that they’d parked next to each other.
“You see? It’s fate that we meet!” Marilyn patted her arm. “I know you need to get home to that beautiful son of yours now, but you be sure and get something to eat right away and hydrate honey, hydrate! I’ll see you on Thursday.”
Megan drove home, feeling somewhat uplifted despite being a quart low. She’d stopped off for a bite from the dollar menu at a drive thru and chugged down a bottle of water.
Once home, she tucked away the bills in an envelope and wrote TIRE MONEY- $45.00 in neat block letters on the outside before stuffing it far back into the top drawer of her nightstand.
Meagan crawled under the covers and pulled the sheet up around her, tired, but smiling. By Thursday afternoon of the next week, she’d have money for two brand new tires. By the end of the month, she’d be able to pay for three more, including a new spare.
She closed her eyes, thinking of the Officer’s warning. It amazed her how one seemingly bad stroke of luck had turned into a possible way to earn a little extra cash. It would be nice not to be such a struggle to put money aside. She drifted off to sleep, feeling a little more capable of providing for her child.
CHAPTER 14
Hovering Marine and a Message
Meagan wiped down the bar with a cleanser and tried to stifle a huge yawn. Of course, her action elicited a comment from Mitch, who’d kept his eagle eye on her ever since she’d given him the reason for the band aid in the crook of her left arm. He hadn’t approved of her donating plasma and had offered to buy her tires.
“Rough night?” He sidled easily up beside her.
“No rougher than usual.” She clipped her answer, unwilling to give him any more ammunition against her twice-weekly visits to the center. Maybe she did feel a little run down, but the extra money sure was coming in handy. She’d already replaced the two front tires, and felt much better about driving her son around. God knew she felt constant guilt for not being able to provide Buck with the best of everything. She could only do what she could do.
“You keeping hydrated?” Mitch nodded in approval at the gallon jug of water she pulled from under the counter. “How about food? Are you getting plenty of proteins and carbs?”
“Yes, daddy.” She laughed at his furrowed brow. “I didn’t realize you were such a worrier.”
“I’m not usually, Megs, but you’re already neck deep in drama and problems that are beyond your control.”
“That’s right, but this one thing I can control. It’s a way to keep my entire head out of the water, instead of just my nose.”
“Well, yeah, but you, weak and washed out from giving plasma, hell, that’s just one more reason to worry about you, piled on top of everything else.”
“Who asked you to worry about me? I sure as hell don’t remember appointing you as my body guard or my guardian angel.”
He leaned over, his heated, b
rown eyed gaze boring into hers. “Nobody. But if you did, I’d jump at the chance.”
She took a step back, not feeling threatened, so much as tempted by his nearness. The lack of a man in her life had begun to tell on her. The first several months after Chris died, she’d grieved so hard she couldn’t possibly think of another man. Once Buck had arrived, she’d been too busy and exhausted to think about sex, or the lack of it. So where did that leave her? With a son nearly four years old who’d never known his own father, cohabitating with the ghost of a dead Marine…and horny as hell. The very least Chris could do is appear in some form of physical manifestation and…and…take care of her. The thought parched her and she lifted the gallon jug of water to her lips, hoping to quench her thirst.
“I can’t help myself, Meg. I see you with Buck, and…and I just…want to take care of you.”
Meagan sucked in water, choked, coughed as water spewed from her nose and mouth. She covered her mouth with a napkin as she coughed and choked even more.
“You all right?” He slapped her on the back then seemed to think better of it. “Raise your arms,” he said, reaching for her forearms as she shoved his hands aside.
“Stop! I’m all right. I’m all right!” She gave one last cough and took a step away. Away from the headiness of him…his smell, his searching eyes, his brick shit house of a body that made her want to run her hands up and down the length of him and…touch him…touch him all over.
She stared him down, wishing just once he’d back off a little. “You know what, Mitch?”
“I know lots of things, Megs.”
She frowned at the nickname he’d only recently insisted on calling her. She refused to tell him that she’d never let anyone get away with calling her that. Her dad used to call her that and it drove her crazy.
“You know far too much about my life.”
He shrugged. “We’re friends, and now we’re co-workers. That’s not unusual.”
“The things you know about my life are extremely unusual. And the only reason you know so darn much about it is because you’re relentlessly nosey.” She rinsed out the rag and threw it in the laundry pile with the others before leaning over to grab her purse from under the counter. “I’m outta here.”
“I am too, what a coincidence.”
She turned at the back door to stare him down.
“What? I was off an hour ago. I hung around to make sure you didn’t pass out on the job from the lack of plasma in your body.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed the door wide to step out. “I should never have told you.”
He followed her out and grunted his disapproval. “I’m sure as hell glad you did. I think it’s wise to keep others informed in case something goes wrong, don’t you?” His quick stride got him to her car first and he opened her door for her.
“I’m beginning to think it’s wiser to keep my mouth shut around you. You’re beginning to hover.”
“Like a helo?” He extended his arms and imitated the sound of a helicopter.
She gave an adamant shake of her head. “I was thinking more along the lines of a mother hen.”
He laughed. “That ain’t gonna do. Hell, the least you could have done was compared me to a rooster.”
Meagan settled into her car and buckled her seatbelt. “God, I hate roosters.”
“I don’t know why. Roosters are the alarm clocks of the barnyard.”
“Exactly…all that cockiness and 4 a.m. crowing, and they never even produce a darn egg. They’re useless animals, unless you butcher them young.”
“Without roosters, you wouldn’t have chicks.”
“True, but they’re kind of like bulls. You only need one and then, only when you need new chicks. You’re better off being compared to a hen. Much more practical—”
“So you’re saying you need a hen in your life.” He lifted his arms triumphantly. “Thank you for proving my point so eloquently for me.”
Meagan started her car and reached over to grab the door handle. “Quit hovering.” She pulled the door closed and drove off, leaving him behind.
Several seconds after easing her car out onto the street, she watched in her rear view mirror for the headlights that she knew would appear and follow her all the way home. Still hovering. She wondered if he even realized she knew. She caught her own gaze in the mirror and smiled, somehow knowing it wouldn’t make a difference to Mitch, one way or the other.
****
Meagan tiptoed into Buck’s room and stood still at the side of his bed for a moment. Other than a slight nip in the air due to a cool front that had passed through, everything seemed normal. She reached over to pass a hand lovingly through her son’s thick hair. She kissed his forehead, filling her lungs with the smell of baby shampoo and soaped up little boy. God, she loved this kid. She sat on his bed and rubbed his back through the covers, allowing the warmth of his nearness to comfort her soul and reassure her of his safety.
Now who’s hovering? The thought came to her suddenly, and she had to smile.
Light poured in from the hallway, illuminating the area over his bed where his first baby portrait hung on the wall. He was one month old in the portrait and already a beautiful child. But then, Buck had been one of those rare infants, born full-faced and handsome at birth, causing all the delivery room nurses to comment and gush over him. One nurse had called him “Angel Face” insisting it was rare to see a child born into such beauty. All Meagan knew was that she’d adored that child since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. He’d been her sole motivation for getting on with the business of living from the second she’d lost his father.
She stood, arching her aching back and walked to the window to check the seal and lock. Of course, no double paned window could keep a paranormal drop in temperature from chilling the room, but this, she could control. After pushing the curtain aside, she stood there staring at the moon, full and bright—bright enough to transform the night sky from the usual pitch black to a hazy gray. “Bright enough out there to play a game of baseball,” she muttered lowly, recalling one of Christopher’s sayings.
The chill came suddenly and without warning, altering her son’s room from cozy comfortable to uncharacteristically icy in a matter of seconds. Hugging her arms and oddly disturbed at her lack of shock at the occurrence, she released a long, slow breath. Within seconds, it turned the window into a foggy blank canvas. She reached up with a closed fist to make an infant’s footprint with the side of her hand, just as she’d done when she was a kid. She’d just added the last tiny fingerprint for a little toe, when the lines appeared on the icy pane. Lines that turned into capital letters, then into a single word. N-A-M-E.
The back of her neck prickled as the fine hairs stood up and she gasped, spinning around to make sure she was alone. Buck remained tucked in his bed, still deep in sleep.
“Chris?” The word came out in a hoarse whisper and she cleared her throat. “Chris, are you here?”
She waited, heard her own breath coming out in short puffs in the silent room. “His name is Christopher Buckley…I named him after you, baby. He’s our son.”
She jumped as his Marine portrait landed face-down on the dresser beside her. Was he angry she’d named their child after him? She stared out into the emptiness of the room. “He’s yours, Chris. I swear he is. I emailed you to let you know, but you were on patrol. Your last patrol.”
In an instant, the chill dissipated, leaving her shaken and alone in the room, other than her sleeping child. She crumpled to the floor and buried her face in her knees to cry silent tears of deep-boned misery. Surely, this couldn’t be the cause of his appearance? Anger…because she’d given Buck his name? He’d always said when they had a son, he wanted to call him Buck.
Meagan allowed herself a few more minutes of tears before wiping her eyes and getting her emotions under control. She pulled herself up and left the room, wishing there was some way to communicate with Chris that didn’t leave her feeling so desolate and
drained.
She showered quickly and crawled into bed, but deep, restful sleep eluded her. When she did manage to fall asleep, it was fitfully and restless, dreaming of an angry, morose Chris…a complete stranger to her. Waking in a cold sweat, she felt an immediate sense of relief at ridding herself of the dark presence in that dream. Only to be replaced by a deep-seated guilt over feeling that way about a man who had given her nothing but happiness in previous years.
Moving mechanically, she gathered her things and prepared to leave the house, assured that Niki would watch Buck for Meagan’s trip to the plasma center. Draping her purse strap over her shoulder, she grabbed her keys and yanked the door open.
Mitch stood before her, looking totally tantalizing in faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt and wearing a Saints cap.
“I was just leaving.”
****
One look at Meagan’s face told an entire story of a long, sleepless night. “I see that…where to?” Her tightlipped response, along with the electronic e-reader sticking out of her purse gave him the answer. “You look too run down to be going to the plasma center. Maybe you should skip today.”
“I can’t…I need the money.”
He stepped aside as she pushed passed him. “I told you, I can loan you any money you need.” He grimaced at her irritable reply.
“I’m not your charity case, Mitchell.”
“I didn’t say you were. But if you need help—”
Niki appeared at the door. “Hold off on the bickering you two. We have a problem. I need to get to work, Meagan. Amanda Lapoint went into labor two weeks early and screwed up everyone’s schedules.”
Meagan placed her hands on her hips and made a face. “Oh my God, the nerve of that baby messing up our plans!”
A grin appeared on Niki’s face. “I know, right?”
Meagan laughed then quickly sobered. “There goes my last chance for a second donation this week. That means I’m out forty-five bucks from this month’s promotion.”
Niki slapped Mitch on the back. “Maybe Sergeant Major Oorah, here—”
