First Light

by Isabel Jolie

  She had raised her head, but I didn’t notice her change in position until I finished my re-cap. Warm brown eyes sought mine.

  I looked away, to the white wall. The crack of bone. I heard it like I was there, all over again. It was a sound that was impossible to replicate. They couldn’t even do it in the movies. The splatter of blood. His deformed nose. Bethany crying. Tugging on my shirt. And my fists. Over and over and over. Striking him like a prostrate punching bag. Nausea edged within. I blinked, attempting to block the memory.

  “That’s my deep, dark baggage. He spent a few days in the hospital. I wasn’t on duty at the time, but they worried about my stability. Bethany struck a deal with me. Said he wouldn’t file assault charges if I moved.” Saying it out loud hit harder. I fucked up. I’d been blind with rage. And as a result, I lost everything. But the truth of the matter was I’d lost everything before I ever raised a fist. My marriage had been decimated long before that day. I just didn’t see it at the time. “I’ll never return to Chicago.”

  Her lips brushed against my jaw. Her fingers linked with mine. She rested her head on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, reveling in her comfort. The physical, and the internal.

  Chapter 19

  Cali

  * * *

  My father kicked us out of the hospital room within minutes of returning. An uneasy calm encapsulated the brightly lit hall. The mechanical beeps suffused into the fabric of the building. The inner rooms darkened, and human voices fell to murmurs. Bone-deep exhaustion permeated my entire being. I could only imagine how exhausted my father, at his age, must feel after so many days in the cavernous hospital.

  “Are you sure you can sleep here, Dad?” After a shower, the thick black hair I remembered replaced the oily mat, but other than that slight improvement, he remained unchanged. His shoulders caved in. His freshly pressed button-down and dress pants were now wrinkle-free, but he still appeared frail. Physically smaller than I ever remembered.

  “Once you leave, I will sleep. The longer you stay, the less I sleep.”

  In the hotel room, Logan opened a binder which held a brief room service menu.

  “Order whatever you want. I need to go to the restroom.” My eyes burned, and the lids weighed heavily. My muscles ached, and my feet throbbed.

  On the toilet, a dark red stain smeared my panties. I stared in disbelief. I’d been so in my head I’d forgotten my period. As if punishing me for forgetting, the tension in my shoulders evolved into throbbing stomach cramps. I wadded up tissue and put it into my ruined underwear, washed my hands, then exited the bathroom and picked up my pocketbook.

  “I’ve got to go down to the store.”

  “What do you need? I’ll go. You’re exhausted. Take a bath or shower. Room service will be a minimum of thirty minutes.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be quick.”

  His large hand fell to my shoulder, and concern etched his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Blast it. He’ll find out, anyway. We’re sharing a hotel room.

  “I got my period. I just need to run downstairs—”

  “I got it. You go get in a warm bath. Is there a particular brand you like?”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re volunteering to go buy my sanitary products?”

  “You look surprised? Did your husband never do that for you?” His lips turned up slightly on the ends, amused. He picked up his wallet from the desk and slipped it into his back pocket. “Tampons? Pads? Both?” He stood, waiting patiently for an answer.

  “Ah, I doubt the hotel store is going to have a great selection. Whatever they have will work. Tampons. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing. Go get in the bath. You’ll feel better.”

  In the tub, the steaming hot water warmed my chilled bones. The heat eased my stiff muscles, tight from the combination of uncomfortable hospital chairs and the weight of worry. A vision of Logan downstairs, picking up tampons from a shelf, flitted through my mind’s eye, and I smiled.

  I’d dated other men, but none so seriously they would have bought me tampons. I’d never dated anyone over forty, someone already trained by a wife. He’d long ago come to understand menstruation is a fact of life.

  I sank down in the water, closed my eyes, and quieted my mind, pushing out all thoughts other than the repeated drip, drip, drip as water leaked from the faucet into the tub.

  When the water chilled, I reluctantly drained the tub, dried off, and dressed in pajama pants and a long sleeve pajama top. When I opened the bathroom door, I discovered Logan had set up our dinner on the table and lit a small candle.

  We ate dinner, and I brushed my teeth, then I got into bed. The crisp, white linen on the bed, beneath the thick comforter, combined with the shower running, lulled me into a groggy cocoon, broken by the click of the bathroom door. Steam shrouded Logan in the doorway, and he hesitated. I took a moment to appreciate his muscular chest and the smattering of black hair creating a trail to the white towel wrapped around his trim waist. I patted the empty side of my bed.

  “Come to bed.”

  He dropped the towel near his suitcase, his back to me, exposing his muscular buttocks for the briefest of seconds before he pulled on loose boxers. He clicked the light, and pitch-black darkness enveloped the room. He slipped into bed behind me and pulled my back to his front.

  “How are you feeling? I bought Midol and Advil. I wasn’t sure which you might use.” He brushed flyaway hairs off my cheek.

  “I’m good right now. But thank you. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I care about you. I want to take care of you.” He kneaded my shoulder muscles and the tight muscles leading up my spine, into the base of my hairline. I reached behind me, feeling for him, wanting to return the favor, but he stopped my wandering hand.

  “This is about you. And only you.”

  In the morning, Logan’s muscular form cloaked my smaller frame. The red letters on the digital clock on the side table read six forty-five. The reality of the day cast a dark shadow.

  An intermittent buzzing sound, faint, repeated in bursts across the room. My phone. With care, so as not to disturb Logan, I pulled out of his reach and slid out of bed. Along the floor, I found my iPhone, charging.

  A text shown on the screen.

  Found a surgeon. Surgery this afternoon.

  The message arrived from an unknown number, but I knew it was from Erik. Given it was from an unknown account, in accordance with agreed-on protocol, I didn’t respond. I did feel grateful he didn’t use our annoying childhood code that required deciphering. And he’d clearly deducted I wouldn’t be toting two phones around Logan.

  “Is everything okay?” Logan stood behind me, in view of the phone, and I jerked. The phone dropped, face side down.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Did you get some news?” He gestured to my hand.

  “Surgery is this afternoon.” I offered a soft smile and studied him, holding my breath, wondering if he’d seen the unknown number. If he’d ask questions. But seeing an unknown number would be so much easier to explain than a coded message.

  Logan entered the bathroom and closed the door. The unsettling certainty that Logan wouldn’t be here for me, wouldn’t want a relationship with me, if he knew the truth rooted itself into my conscience. And I’d known this…but now he was here, and we felt serious. Like we’d gone from casual to serious in a blink of an eye, and yet I had a family member he wouldn’t accept. Could never accept. Erik had been worried about the implications of Logan turning him in, but what about the flip side of that coin? If Logan ever learned the truth, would I disgust him? Would he expect that I would turn my brother in? Because I couldn’t. I would never.

  “Hey, hun, it’s going to be okay. Your mom’s going to be okay. You hear me?” His fingers brushed my cheek. “Bathroom’s yours. I’ll go get us coffee.”

  I faintly nodded. Nerves fired off, and
I wasn’t sure if it was the impending surgery or Logan. An unknown number…easy enough to explain. It’s Erik…he lost his phone. Easy explanation. But…when we got back? Would Erik stay true to his word? Would this be behind him soon? Would he ditch the burner phones and join the land of the legal?

  Coffee awaited me when I exited the bathroom, freshly showered and hair dried. “You’re too good to be true.”

  “Trust me. I have a list of shortcomings. If you stick around, you’ll discover them all.” I didn’t have to ask who had provided him with this list, and once again, I bit back any commentary, not wanting to invite the ex-wife into our space. But something had to have been wrong with the woman. To me, he couldn’t be more perfect. Unfortunately, part of that perfection was his integrity and his commitment to uphold the law.

  His fingers laced with mine, and I pushed back the swirling concerns. Today, I needed to be strong for my father, and here for my mother. Those relationship concerns hovered, but I’d deal with them another day. Today…I needed to be present for my family.

  Just as when we’d left the night before, the ceiling curtain wrapped around the bed, blocking any view of the people within. The knob clicked as I opened the door. My father’s head peered around the curtain.

  “Morning. Where’s Logan?”

  “He went to get us breakfast. I’m going to text him your order. What do you want?”

  “Coffee and an egg sandwich. Don’t let me forget to give him money when he gets back.”

  “I think he’ll be okay getting you, Dad.” I looped my arm around his, holding him to me for a private question. “How’s Mom?”

  “I’m fine. Come, give me a hug,” Mom answered, her voice raspy. I bypassed Dad and ducked behind the curtain.

  Fear pierced me with the sharpness of a knife blade, and tears welled up. An oxygen mask covered her face, and her skin had become paler, almost translucent. She lifted her mask to speak, and her lips held a bluish tinge.

  “Don’t let the mask scare you. I’m quite all right.”

  I wrapped my hands around hers, the one without tape and wires. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “All I do is sleep. Your father—you need to get him out of here so he can sleep.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I kissed her hand, so cold within mine. She lifted her mask and pushed it lower, below her neck.

  “Honey, don’t be scared. It’s not my time yet. I’ll be all better after the surgery today. You wait and see.” A sob escaped me. “Cilia, listen to me. I don’t have grandchildren yet. I’m not leaving this Earth without meeting them.” I kissed her knuckles as warm tears ran down my cheeks. “I. Like. Logan.”

  Her breathy words caught my attention, and I raised her mask back over her nose and mouth.

  “I think you need the oxygen. Keep it on, okay?” She nodded. “You don’t like it, do you?” She shook her head, half an inch back and forth. “Well, let’s keep it on so you’re in tip-top shape for the surgery. What time is it?”

  “Right after lunch. One p.m. They’ll take her back about an hour before. Your brother found the world’s most respected surgeon. From Ohio. He’s going to be doing the surgery with the chief surgeon from here. Your mother is going to be just fine. I’m researching options for recovery.”

  “I’ll be here, Dad. I’ll help you.”

  “Can you do that? What about work?” Wrinkles formed between his brow as he asked, and my face heated.

  “Dad, I’ll be here for you and Mom.”

  He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my forehead, like he used to do, years ago, only now we were almost the same height.

  Logan entered the room as my mother drifted off to sleep. Reluctantly, I dropped her hand and accepted the coffee.

  “Her body is in a battle. The conversation with you taxed her. She needs her rest. Why don’t you two take your food outside? Maybe go for a walk? Enjoy the blue skies?”

  A crushing fear ricocheted through me.

  “We’ll be quiet. We promise.” Logan’s words were gentle, but I searched my father’s expression, wondering how he’d handle a contradictory response. Dad batted his eyelids, and his lips pushed together. Then he dragged a chair up to my mother’s bedside, assuming his position, leaving Logan and me on our own.

  We resumed our spot on the stiff sofa. We ate with the utmost care, as quiet as we could be. Mom drifted in and out of sleep, and we waited.

  A little before noon, a cheery nurse entered the room and checked my mother’s vitals then began adjusting cords as she prepared to wheel my mother off.

  Mom’s eyelids fluttered, and my father hovered over her, whispering. He backed up for a minute, allowing me my time.

  “Mom, I love you. You come through this.” Her light blue eyes met mine, and my lips brushed her ear as I reminded her, in my lowest whisper, “You’ve got to meet those grandchildren.”

  Sobs wracked through my frame as they pushed her bed out into the hall. My father walked by her side, holding her hand as the nurse maneuvered the bulky bed. No doubt he would be by her side as far as they would let him. Logan pulled me against his chest, and I bawled. All the things I should have said came to mind. She was the best Mom I could have ever had. I loved her more than life itself. She was my everything. And I was so sorry for not being around more.

  “Hey, sshhhh.” Logan coaxed me the way you would a small child. “She’s going to be okay.”

  “I should’ve said more.”

  “You’ll get to tell her everything you want after the surgery. She’s going to be feeling so much better. You just wait.”

  Chapter 20

  Cali

  * * *

  My father joined us in the surgical waiting room about half an hour later. My head lay against Logan’s broad chest, my arms wrapped around him, and he soothed me with gentle strokes. Growing up, I would have never conceived of holding on to another man like this in front of Dad, but he didn’t give us a second glance. He sat down in a chair next to us, silent.

  “Dad? Did you see the surgeon?”

  “Briefly. Erik says he’s got the best ratings. He’s done thousands of these surgeries. He almost seemed to think your mother’s case was beneath him. Which is good. He doesn’t expect any issues.”

  “From what I understand, unclogging arteries is pretty commonplace these days,” Logan volunteered. I squeezed his knee, only now remembering his mother had died from a heart attack. She didn’t have the opportunity for surgical repair.

  “Dad, do you want to go with us to the cafeteria?”

  “No. I’ll stay here.”

  I settled back against Logan. My father remained stone still.

  Logan tugged on a strand of my hair. “Do you want to go?”

  My stomach felt heavy, as if filled with lead. Food struck me as borderline repulsive.

  “Why don’t you go? I’ll stay here. I’m really not hungry.”

  “I’ll bring you back something. Maybe hot tea? Some soup, if they have it? Crackers?”

  “Tea. Hot tea would be good. Thank you.”

  “What about for your dad?” he asked me, even though my father sat three feet away. But, while he was physically present, his heart and soul were down the hall in surgery.

  “Hot tea? Potato chips?” I guessed my answers.

  Logan left us in the waiting room. A woman sitting on the opposite wall had a large kaftan wrapped around her, and I wished I’d brought blankets. An older couple a few rows over carried on a whispered conversation. A pre-teen sat with headphones on, tapping away on a device, clearly playing a game, a light, repetitive tapping on keys the only noise generated by his activity. I fell into a meditative trance, much like my father.

  The heavy door swung open, and a surgeon in scrubs stepped through. I looked to my father, searching for signs of recognition. He returned his stare to the wall. Seconds later, the nearby couple rose and followed the surgeon into a private room.

  Logan returned with food. I wrapped my icy fingers around the warm
paper cup and occasionally sipped at the tea. Whatever else he bought remained in the white paper bag.

  The heavy door swung open, and a different surgeon, in teal scrubs, entered. My father stood. The surgeon’s eyes—I would never forget them. His expression said everything.

  The rest of the day proceeded in a blur. I followed my father and the surgeon into the private meeting room. The doctor explained complications from cardiac catheterization were rare but could happen. She suffered what they called an air embolism and died almost immediately. There was nothing that could have been done. My father asked to see her.

  My father bent over her, visibly trembling from his audible sobs. I stood back, watching, both numb and aching. Logan asked me if I wanted time alone with my mother. I told him no, I’d have time at the funeral home. We gave my parents privacy.

  Eric arrived. Tears ran down his cheeks, and we hugged, clinging to each other. I sobbed harder, to the point my breaths altered, gasping. Erik’s dark eyes, behind his thick glasses, shone glassy and thick with emotion. He asked about Dad, and his question reminded me we weren’t alone.

  “He’s still with her.” I backed up and held a hand out toward Logan, where he sat in a nearby chair. “This is Logan.”

  He nodded knowingly. Of course he knew. Logan stood, and the men gazed at each other.

  “I’m sorry…for your loss.” Logan added the last part as my tears streamed.

  I wasn’t sure who offered a hand first, but they shook hands, and Erik said he’d go find Dad and help take care of some hospital matters. I didn’t have any idea how long we remained in the waiting room before Erik returned with Dad.