by Aria Ford
The mail would be better read at home, I decided sensibly. Where I could give it my attention. I was going to do this properly.
“Jay!”
“Yeah, Nilsson?”
“That news was good news?” he asked.
I nodded. “Serious news. You got news from the boss too?”
“Well.” He frowned. “He wants me to fly to Kenosha to talk to the rep for our vitamin powder. But no. Not really.”
I hesitated about telling them about the contract. It was because I was a football player that I had been given it. I was worried that maybe they’d be jealous of me, but they seemed pleased.
“Hell, man. Great!” Jacks said.
“More for the rest of us, if it works,” Nilsson agreed.
“No pressure.”
That was Birnam. I chuckled.
“Thanks. Man, I need to remember that.”
We all laughed. The air in the office felt lighter and I was glad that our equilibrium was restored. All the same, it didn’t help me to understand my own situation any better.
I decided to read the mail when I got home.
I had just walked through the door when I got a call from my father.
“Dad. Hi!”
“Hi, son. I just wanted to check in. How’s life?”
“It’s…okay,” I said guardedly.
I told him about the contract and he was reservedly impressed. We chatted for about an hour—mostly about work, but with some news about family stuff thrown in. By the time we hung up it was almost eight o’ clock.
“Damn it. Dinner…”
I got embroiled in making dinner—or, rather, reheating pasta and trying not to burn it and make it congeal in the pan—and by the time I was finished dinner it was nine pm.
I answered a mail from the boss and then started doing some research so I could tell him my angle on the new project tomorrow morning.
At some point I must have dozed off because when I woke up it was dark and the clock said it was nearly morning.
I sighed and dragged myself to bed.
It was only on the way to work tomorrow that I remembered what I was supposed to do. Read the mail. I would read it at work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Margo
I woke up early and sat drinking coffee and watching the sun spread across the morning rooftops. I breathed out, breathing steam across the silent room. I felt tired.
I really should talk to someone.
I drank my coffee slowly, recalling what Alle had told me. She had explained to me just how bad it must have been for Jay to find out I was cheating. How it would have hit him so much harder because of his pride. Not that I was, mind you.
I hadn’t seen Durrell since the coffee on Tuesday and I hadn’t replied to any messages. I was following the strategy of just ignoring everything. Maybe it would rectify itself.
Not likely.
I had no news from Jay despite the mail I’d sent him. I’d explained everything in there, but he either didn’t want to know or had read it and didn’t care. I sighed. I looked at the time. It was eight am. My workday started at ten. I wondered if it was worth trying to call Lance.
I dialed.
“Lance?”
“Margo!” He sounded cheerful. He must have noticed something in my voice, because he instantly softened. “What’s up?”
I tensed. I didn’t want to just blurt out everything, but I had held it in so long.
“Lance,” I said sadly. “It’s Jay.”
“Jay?”
I told him everything. Maybe I was incoherent, and maybe I was over-the-top. When I stopped, he laughed.
“Hell, Margo. You take all this stuff too seriously.”
I felt as if he’d slapped me.
“Lance, it is serious,” I said. I was hurt. Dammit, maybe it wasn’t serious to him. But it was serious to me. I had loved Jay for four years. Just when we got together, finally, this coercive, repulsive guy popped out of the store room of bad adventures, and this happened?
“No, it isn’t,” he said softly. “Listen, he’ll get back to you, you wait. You’re taking this too hard.”
I sighed. “Maybe,” I conceded. “And the other guy?”
He sighed. “It was just a kiss,” he said.
I bridled. “Lance, it isn’t that…”
“You know, that’s the trouble with women,” he said pompously. “They’re so emotionally sensitive…”
That did it.
“Damn it, Lance,” I said. “You might try and understand it from my perspective. It’s not the kiss that’s the point. I feel awful!”
“Margo…please…” Lance protested.
I was so hurt. It made me mad. “No. That’s it,” I said. “I was so hurt and I asked you for help and the one guy I trust turns into some chauvinistic ass? No way.”
“Margo…”
“No.”
I turned off the phone with unnecessary force, threw it into my bag and headed downstairs. I was so hurt. I wanted to walk. Maybe drive to the park and jog. Or just keep going…head out of town…
I was thinking moody thoughts and I wasn’t looking where I was going. That was why I didn’t see it.
The impact came at me from the side. I heard the squeal and maybe I could have avoided it. But I was rooted to the spot, hypnotized, as the car came forward slowly.
I must have screamed—I think I remembered the sound of my voice. Or someone screamed. Then everything was spinning, spiraling and scary. The world moved fast, then slowed. Then just darkness.
***
My body was warm. My eyes were shut. I was tired.
I opened my eyes, slowly. It felt as if my eyelids were heavy as lead. I tried again.
Light shone in—harsh, bright, flaring. I closed them again, screwing them shut.
“Sore,” I murmured.
“You’re awake!”
I recognized my friend Alle’s voice.
“What…where?”
I felt her hand squeeze my wrist. “You’re in hospital,” she said gently. “The Sinai medical center. Your leg’s broken.”
I groaned. “What?” I felt my heart clench in panic. “Which leg?” I tried to move them, realizing I hadn’t done so earlier. My right leg was in a cast.
“How long?” I asked.
“Maybe eight weeks. Probably six,” Alle told me.
“Is that all?” I asked. I could barely recall what happened, but somewhere in my mind I remembered a car, a squeal of brakes. My shouting and then dark.
“Yeah,” she said. She sounded happy. “Nothing else hurt. Well, your head’s a bit bruised, and your right shoulder. But nothing else is broken. If your leg hadn’t been hit by the car, it would probably be alright too. It’s not a bad break, more a crack. Or so the doctors told me.”
“Whew.”
I let out a long sigh. “What day is it?”
She smiled. “Thursday. It’s okay. You’ve only been in here since this morning. You were unconscious when you arrived and they set the leg then. Your brother’s coming.”
“What?” I frowned. “Why…”
She sighed. “They called him. Your phone was in your pocket? He couldn’t get here immediately, so he called me. He’ll be here later.”
I sighed. I remembered being really mad at my brother.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Almost four,” she said. I noticed the day had gotten cooler, the sun shining in as it slanted down toward the horizon. It was late afternoon.
“When did he call?” I asked.
“Around ten,” she said. “Bit before. He might be here soon.”
I sighed. “Alle, we were arguing when I walked out.” I remembered now. I had been really hurt by what he said. I felt bad. Having faced a car bearing down on you does that to you. I wanted to tell him why what he said was stupid, then I wanted to grin at him and push him and be friends again.
“I don’t think he’s mad at you,” she said with a soft smile. “Really, Mar
g!”
“What?”
“People love you. We’re not all cruel. When’re you going to notice that?”
I sighed. “You’re right. I don’t notice.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. She grinned.
I laughed. My ribs ached. I reached over and held her hand. She gripped mine firmly. Her hands were warm. She smelled of perfume.
“Get well soon, hey?” she said.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
She smiled.
“I hope Lance can get here,” I said, feeling the sudden urge to talk to him. I wanted to be friends again. Make things right.
“He is here,” a voice echoed from the doorway.
“Lance!” I yelled cheerily. My head hurt as I tried to sit up and I lay down heavily on the pillows.
“Mims!” He was there, all long, handsome face and earnest stare and worried blue eyes. “You crazy amazing woman. I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I started crying then.
“Oh, Lance,” I said. “I’m so pleased to see you. Thanks for coming.”
He shook his head. “Thanks for coming? Hell, Mims. When the ambulance guys called…I thought you were finished. I can’t tell you—I don’t want to think—how terrible that felt. Please, don’t ever do that again.”
I laughed. My ribs hurt. Was there anywhere I wasn’t bruised? “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
He smiled. “I know. But you scared me. I’m so sorry.”
I pulled a face. “Well, I was hurt.”
“I know. It was so dumb of me. So, so dumb. I betrayed you when you needed me. This creep needs his ass kicked. And that’s what I really should’ve said right away.”
I smiled. “If I need someone to do…what you suggest…I’ll call you.”
“Good.” He nodded emphatically. “You do that.”
“I will.” I smiled at him. My head was starting to feel funny now—light-headed and sleepy.
“Are you okay?” my friend asked gently. Her voice was distant.
“Mm…I think so,” I murmured. My own voice sounded like it came from a long way off too—wavering and throbbing and disembodied.
“You should rest, Mimsy.”
“I should…” I said.
I must have done just that, because when I woke up later it was dark out and there was a nurse in the room bringing me dinner.
I breathed in. It smelled good, which was a surprise. From what I’d heard of hospital food, it was rare for it to be appetizing.
But at this point, I was just as interested in clearing things up.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yes, honey?”
“My phone. Where is it?”
She smiled. “Well, miraculously, it survived the accident. I’ll fetch it.”
I waited while she hurried off and sampled the dinner. It was good—someone must have told them I had specific dietary requirements because the tuna salad was just what I liked. And it wasn’t half bad. I sighed. Life was looking up.
I might be in hospital with a broken leg, but I had two friends who understood me. A brother who was willing to help. And now two people knew the truth about me and Durrell and, now that I was no longer alone, things stood a good chance of being rectified.
The one thing I wished for that hadn’t happened yet was hearing from Jay: that would make it all right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jay
I was heading home from the office. It had been a long, crazy day and it should have been a rewarding day. I had met the clients who were hiring us for the whole football team, and we’d instantly got along famously. We had the contract and the boss was wired.
But somehow, none of it made me feel happy. There was a dull ache in my chest, a gnawing pain that wouldn’t go away. I missed Margot.
I walked through the park and checked my phone. It was five o’ clock. I was just setting off again, planning an evening in which I read her mail and tried to answer it, when my phone went.
“Hi?” I frowned.
“Hey! This Jay?”
“Yeah…” I was hesitant. The person sounded somehow familiar, as if I should have recognized their voice. I couldn’t quite place it, but I knew the guy from somewhere, I was sure of it.
“It’s me. Lance. Lance, Margo’s brother?”
“Uh, yeah?” I frowned. I couldn’t imagine why Margo’s brother would be calling me. Had something happened?
“Listen, Lance. You need to come down,” he said. “I don’t know where you are, or what work you’re doing, but Margo needs to talk. She’s had an accident.”
“What?”
I almost shouted it, almost dropped my phone.
“She’s had an accident. It’s not serious. Her leg’s broken, and…”
“What? Not serious? Leg’s broken? Where is she?”
I heard Lance inhale wearily. “She’s safe, Jay. She’s at the Sinai center. She should be out by Monday at the latest.”
“I’m coming down,” I said. It was Thursday. I could take tomorrow off, fly down, stay the weekend and still be back in time for work on Monday morning.
“Jay, she’s not badly injured…” Lance said hesitantly.
“I don’t care. She is injured. I need to talk to her.”
I felt terrible. I had been so stupid. So blind. How could I have held such stupid jealousies, such stupid grudges? So what if Margo loved this other guy? I loved her. That was what mattered. She could have died and she would have thought I hated her. Nothing was worth that.
“I’m coming,” I repeated. “See you tomorrow.”
“Jay…”
I hung up. My brain was working. I called my boss.
“Max?”
“Hey! Coach! How’s it?” he still sounded elated, much as he had this afternoon. I sighed.
“Max, I’m sorry. But I’m not going to be in tomorrow. I need to go out of town. Family stuff.”
“Hell. Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Nothing bad. I’m sorry, really. Send me anything you need doing—I can do it on the plane. Okay?”
He chuckled. “Well, you are nothing if not dedicated. I’ll see you early on Monday morning, though?”
“I promise.”
I closed my eyes in a moment’s gratitude for such a nice boss, then hung up. I headed quickly back home.
When I got there, I was exhausted and frantic. I leaned against the wall, chest heaving. My crutches were beside me, arms trembling with the effort of carrying me all this way at speed. I had to pack. I checked flights.
There was one that left this evening before midnight. If I went crazy I could just make it. I booked it. Then I threw some clothes into a bag and headed down to the car. I had to get all the way to Hancock first.
I made it to the gate on time. I collapsed in the plane, my heart thudding. I would get there in the early hours of the morning. That meant I could be there for ward round when she woke up.
I stumbled through the airport, called myself a cab and fell asleep. I had managed to tell the driver to take me to the Sinai medical center before I fell asleep.
“Here we are, sir,” he said.
I blinked. “Where…oh. Thanks.”
I paid him.
“Good luck, sir,” he said.
I appreciated it. He was probably used to taking people to the hospital at odd hours. Probably he thought I was there for an emergency, which I more or less was.
“Thanks,” I said.
I headed up the stairs and into the place.
I hate hospitals.
Whatever they are—care homes, hospitals, nursing centers—I get freaked out the moment I go in and smell the familiar, frightening disinfectant smell. They have that odd silence about them, too, as if no one quite treads fully on the floor, everyone sidestepping round some awful truth. I hated it.
I guess I would hate it less if it didn’t make me think of my leg.
I sighed and clicked my way up
the hallway, heading inside. I couldn’t help making a noise when I moved about—crutches do that—and so at least I wasn’t part of the group who walked so hesitatingly about, lest they disturb the rest.
“You’re here to see Ms. Lawrence?” the nurse asked me. By then, I’d been past reception, gone to another office and then, finally, been led into the hallway with this nurse as my guide. By the time we’d established who I was in relation to her and assured that I was allowed to visit her, it was nine o’clock.
“Yes.” I nodded briskly. “Indeed I am.”
“She’s in here,” the nurse said, leading me up the hallway. “The doctor’s rounds are starting now…you might not have long.”
I sighed. “I just need to see her.”
“She might not be awake,” the nurse added, checking her watch. It was exactly nine.
“I don’t mind,” I said. I didn’t. Just being near her was enough for me.
I love her. I don’t care if she cheats on me. I don’t care if she’s asleep and all she can do is lift her eyebrows. I love her.
I had never realized before what it meant to love unconditionally. But I knew now. I loved Margo because she was Margo. Because she existed and her being in the world made me happy. That was all. I didn’t need her to love only me, I didn’t need her to sit or stand or walk or do anything. Just be.
“Margo?”
She was lying back on the pillows. The bed had been moved so that she was propped up, her long, pale face toward the door. Her hair was tousled in loose locks that framed her face. I thought she was asleep.
The nurse opened the door and led me in.
“Margo?”
I sat down. Her lids fluttered.
When she saw me, she stared. I smiled. She stared more.
“No.”
“Yes,” I said softly. I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier response.
“No, you can’t be…”
“I am,” I said gently. “I am and I always will be. Margo—can you forgive me?”
She was crying and I was crying and I didn’t care. She sniffed and the tears ran down her cheeks. I reached to stop them and she smiled.
“You silly man. Of course I can.”
We kissed.
Later on we talked.
“Jay,” she said. “I don’t know if you read what I said, but…”
