Weathering Stormy

by Auburn J. Kelly

  It was a rotten end to a rotten day, and all he wanted to do was stretch out in front of his TV and watch 80’s reruns in the warmth of his own home.

  “Finally!” The lock clicked and the door pushed open. His eyes roamed the small room until they settled on a gray panel full of switches. At least they were labeled. He flipped the ones that were marked FB Stadium and headed out to the field. He passed underneath the bleachers and entered through the gate of the cyclone fence. Squinting up at the lights, he noted the dark spots in the set nearest to the scoreboard and made a mental note to inform the maintenance crew on Monday.

  It was actually the first time he’d had an excuse to come down to the stadium so he decided to take a closer look around. He’d meant to come down and check it out sooner, but he’d just been too busy.

  Big yellow splotches dotted his vision. He squinted and shielded his eyes, giving his pupils a chance to adjust after staring at the bright lights. From what he could tell, the worn out dirt track needed some repair, and the grass had been neglected. The handrails along the stadium seating looked like a case of tetanus waiting to happen, and they were in desperate need of a coat of paint. Other than that though, the place looked to be in decent shape.

  When his pupils finally adjusted, he made out a slender figure on the track. Someone was running. He was a little taken aback at first, but then he remembered what Cooper had told him about the place being open to the public after hours. The idea was to allow the community an opportunity to exercise in a place where they could feel safe. It made sense.

  The swinging pony-tail and the pink hoodie told Brylan that the figure was female. And she was fast. Really fast. Impressed, Brylan admired her athleticism for a few more moments. Just as he was about to turn and head back in the direction of his car, he heard it—the sickening crunch of gravel, followed by a howl so pitiful it would make a coyote cringe.

  Jumping into Good Samaritan mode, he jogged toward the girl that was sprawled out on the track. She sat up slowly, clutching at her ankle and grimacing in pain. She didn’t notice Brylan’s presence until he was about ten feet away. Her pained expression suddenly turned to horror and she started frantically backing away from Brylan in a movement that reminded him of a three-legged crab.

  “Don’t touch me! Get away!” she shouted.

  “It’s okay. I just want to help.”

  “No!” She fished something out of the waistband of her pants and pointed it at him. “BACK THE HELL OFF!”

  Shit. Pepper spray. He recognized it because he’d bought one just like it for his sister last year. “Alright, alright. I’m backing off.” He put his hands up, palms facing outward, and took two slow steps backward. The look in her eye said that she had no qualms about blasting him with that stuff.

  “Okay, let me at least call an ambulance.” Brylan slowly reached into his back pocket for his phone.

  “No, no, no. No ambulance,” she pleaded.

  Shit. What was the deal with this girl? His mind raced, trying to come up with something to make her trust him.

  “Look, I know you’re in a lot of pain. Trust me. I know all about that kind of pain.” He pointed to his right shoulder, “Rotator cuff injury.” He paused to give the words time to sink in. “My name is Brylan Knight. I work here at the high school. I just want to help.”

  The wildness in her eyes faded a bit and a muscle in her jaw ticked. She looked him up and down, assessing whether or not he was a threat.

  “Show me your I.D.,” she ordered, pointing to the lanyard around his neck. He’d forgotten he was even wearing it.

  He pulled it over his head and gave it a gentle toss in her direction. It landed about two feet away, and she winced when she leaned over to retrieve it from the dirt. Brylan wondered just how badly she’d been injured. It may have been more than just an ankle. She’d taken a pretty good spill.

  After scanning the I.D. card she looked up and held it out to him. “My truck is over there.” She jerked her head toward the stadium parking lot. “You’re driving.”

  ****

  The trip to the hospital was nerve-rattling. It had been years since Brylan had driven anything with a manual transmission. The truck whined and lurched forward a couple of times, and Brylan noted the sharp intake of air through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry. I know it hurts.”

  The girl rolled her eyes at him. “It’s my truck that I’m worried about. You’re stripping the gears.”

  Brylan cringed at her admonishment. It wasn’t like he was grinding the gears on purpose. He knew the girl was in pain, but geez, she needed to lighten up. “I promise to fix it if I break it,” he said sheepishly, offering a half smile.

  “You’d better,” she responded flatly.

  Wow. Still cold as ice.

  “Ya know, I still don’t know your name,” he tried again.

  An eternity passed before she responded. “It’s Stormy.”

  Huh? He leaned over the steering wheel and peered up at the cloudless sky. He was starting to think she may have bumped her head when she fell. “Noooo,” he drawled, “It’s actually a clear night.”

  Her snickers worried him a little. “Yes, it is a nice night. But my name is Stormy.”

  He felt like a jackass. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’ve never known anyone with that name before. It’s cool though. I like it. Different.” Great, now he was rambling. For reasons unbeknownst to him, this girl made him nervous. He let out a breath of relief when he saw the blue sign pointing toward the hospital.

  When they pulled into the parking lot Brylan threw the door open and attempted to climb out, but the asphalt was still moving beneath his foot. “Oh shit!” They were rolling backwards.

  “You forgot to set the parking brake, you idiot!”

  Brylan scowled at her salty demeanor and set the brake as he’d been so shrewdly instructed. Apparently, humiliation was his reward for helping out a total stranger. He mentally shook it off and ran around to the passenger side. Naturally, the hard-headed brunette already had the door open and was attempting to climb out.

  “Just hold on a damned second.” He couldn’t hold the reins on his irritation any longer. “Let me grab a wheelchair.” She rolled her eyes at him and he fully expected her to put up a fight, but she didn’t. Instead, she let out a very audible sigh.

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  After retrieving the wheelchair, he leaned over to pick her up as she reached her hands around his neck. As she did, her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, sending a little tingle through his scalp. He tried to ignore it while he gently lifted her from the truck and set her in the chair, ever mindful of her ankle, which was already turning sickly colors and had grown to twice the size it should have been.

  He may have imagined it, but it sure seemed like her arms lingered on his neck just a tad longer than necessary. “Are you good?” There was a little less annoyance in his voice this time.

  She looked up at him, and for the first time her gray eyes met his, and for the briefest of moments, he was swept up in the smoky depths of them. “I’m good. Thank you,” she said softly.

  Tending the registration desk was a robust older woman in red scrubs that were more than a little too tight. They looked as though they’d been melted and poured over her. And she was way more interested in her cell phone than she was in Stormy and Brylan’s presence.

  “Yeah, girl. I heard he was messing around with both of ‘em at the same time. Mmmm hmmm. Yep. Well, I dunno….

  “Excuse me,” Brylan tried to get the woman’s attention, “We need to see a doctor.”

  Without so much as a glance in their direction, the woman turned her back to them and continued her gossip session. Brylan had steam coming out of his ears. He cleared his throat loudly and tapped on the glass partition. “Hello?”

  She held up a red-tipped index finger signaling them to wait. She was aware of their presence, but clearly didn’t give a damn. Apparently, nobody had gone over the meaning of emergen
cy during her orientation.

  He looked down at Stormy, who appeared to have a lot more patience than he had. She hadn’t said a single word during the entire five minutes they’d been there. Brylan, however, was livid.

  He banged on the window again to get the woman’s attention. When the woman looked up he raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands as if to say, what the hell.

  Finally, after a few more giggles on the phone, the woman hung up and ambled over to the window. “What can I help you with?”

  Seriously? Couldn’t she see the injured girl in the wheelchair? He couldn’t help but give a seriously exaggerated eye roll. “This woman is injured. She needs a doctor. Now.”

  The woman looked just as unconcerned as she had ten minutes ago. “Are you the husband?” she asked nonchalantly.

  Husband? Uh oh. He searched his mind, looking for a way to explain the situation. But he was coming up with zilch.

  Thankfully, Stormy saved him by chiming in, “No. He’s a friend.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? Brylan didn’t do so well under pressure. Whenever he was flustered, all of his thoughts seemed to float away.

  The woman started typing away as she asked Stormy a series of questions and had her sign a large stack of forms. In an attempt to give Stormy some privacy, Brylan stepped out of earshot. Or at least he tried to. Apparently he was just a little too close to the automatic sliding doors, and every time he moved, they shot open with a loud whoosh. Stormy and the registrar both shot him a questioning look. He simply shrugged his shoulders and slunk over to the waiting area, figuring it might be safer there.

  Once the paperwork was done, Stormy motioned for Brylan to push her over to the waiting area. A layer of awkwardness settled over them once again while they waited for the doctor. Stormy stared absently at the while linoleum tile. Her hair had come undone and hung like a curtain over one side of her face. Brylan felt the need to make small talk, just to break the silence, but just as he was about to ask her a question, a set of stainless steel doors opened up and a nurse came to whisk Stormy to the treatment area.

  Other than Brylan, the only people who remained were a young woman and her little boy. Brylan watched as the little curly haired toddler climbed from chair to chair with a snack-sized bag of chocolate chip cookies in tow. His mother was busy texting and didn’t seem to mind that the kid was coating everything in the room in chocolate drool. Bile rose in the back of Brylan’s throat and he had to suppress his gag reflex when one of the slime-coated cookies fell to the floor.

  For a moment it looked as though the little boy would cry. He sat there for several seconds, lip protruding, and stared down at the lost cookie. He tugged on his mother’s shirt and pointed. Brylan expected her to dispose of the germ-infested treat, but she never took her eyes off her cell phone. “In a minute!” she snapped at him.

  Eventually, the little boy’s impatience won out. He climbed down from the chair and reached out a chubby little arm…

  Oh no. Please don’t put that in your…. Brylan’s silent plea was useless. He watched helplessly as the kid crammed the whole cookie in his mouth, and all Brylan could do was cringe. Didn’t his mother know what kind of shit was all over those floors?

  About an hour later, when Brylan’s germophobia was just about to send him over the edge, Stormy’s nurse appeared. “Are you Brylan?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is Stormy okay?” He had spent the better part of his wait worrying. And then he had wondered why he was so worried about a girl he’d just met.

  “Yes, she’s fine. But can you come with me for a minute? The doctor has some instructions he needs to go over with you since we can’t get a hold of her mother. Stormy said it was okay to talk with you…and since she’s legally an adult....”

  He was perplexed for a second. “Oh, okay.” He threw another glance over at the slimy cookie bandit, relieved that he’d fallen asleep with his head in his mother’s lap. She stroked his curly little head lovingly, but her nose was still buried in the phone. Brylan just shook his head.

  The back area was ghostly quiet aside from the occasional beep of a machine and some faint muttering from behind the rows of pink and gray curtains that separated the patients. Somewhere in the vicinity of the place came a wet, gurgled cough, making Brylan wish he had on a biohazard suit.

  Brylan hated hospitals. He’d spent far too much time in them when he was younger, and in his experience, nothing good ever came from them. His anxiety hitched up a bit as they approached the last set of curtains on the end. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “She’s in here,” the nurse said while sliding back one of the panels.

  Stormy was back in the wheelchair, but this time her foot was extended and it was encased in a bulky, black, velcro contraption. Her pants were cut off at the knee and there was a small bandage on her elbow. Other than that, she looked okay.

  Brylan let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. Stormy looked up at him, beaming and glassy-eyed. “There’s my knight in shining armor,” she said brightly. Then she started giggling. “Knight in shining armor…get it?”

  “Yeah. I get it.” It was a corny joke that he’d heard more times than he cared to admit.

  Her words were slurred when she looked up at the nurse, “Isn’t he hot?”

  The nurse’s eyes danced with amusement and Brylan thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch, but to his relief, she remained professional. His ears were hot and turning ten shades of crimson.

  “I see the meds are working.” An older gentleman with white hair and a white coat stepped up and grinned at Brylan knowingly.

  Brylan shifted his weight and cleared his throat nervously. “The nurse said you needed to speak with me?”

  “Yes. Well,” he crossed his arms, pinning his clipboard to his chest, “She’s got a mild to moderate sprain to that ankle. I didn’t see any obvious fractures, but I advise that she follow up with an orthopedist in a few days just to make sure. He may want to order some more tests in case there’s something we missed with a standard x-ray.”

  Brylan let out a small sigh of relief and nodded his head in understanding. “Okay. Anything else?”

  “The rest is just a few scrapes and bruises. And, I gave her a pretty strong pain killer. She’s going to be out of it for a while. Does she have someone around that can keep an eye on her tonight?” When Brylan directed his attention back to Stormy, her eyes were starting to droop and the cheesy grin was gone. “Stormy? Is there someone I can call for you?”

  Silence.

  “I’ve tried multiple times to contact her mother,” the nurse pitched in, “but I haven’t been able to reach her.” She stooped down so that she was eye level with Stormy. “Is there someone else we can call for you, honey?”

  Without looking up, in a voice barely audible to human ears, the three of them heard Stormy say, “No. There’s nobody else. Just Mama. And if she doesn’t want to be reached, then….” She let the words trail off.

  In Brylan’s peripheral vision he noticed the doctor shake his head slowly from side to side. “Poor kid.” It was barely more than a whisper.

  Not knowing what else to do, Brylan chimed in, “I’ll load her up and take her home. Maybe someone will be there that can take care of her. “Stormy, can you tell me how to get….”

  She was snoring.

  He rubbed the crease between his eyes and looked over at the nurse with an awkward grin, “Um, can you look up her address for me?”

  Chapter Five

  Stormy awoke to a dull throb in her foot. And her leg. And her elbow…. Hell, her whole body hurt. She felt like she’d been run over by a Mac truck. She squeezed her eyes shut, fearful that opening them would only worsen the ache in her head. She desperately wished for sleep to take her back. It was the only way to escape how miserable she felt. But the constant clattering of dishes and the acrid smell of something burning were impossible to ignore. What the hell was that? Was her mama co
oking? No way. Mama didn’t cook. Something wasn’t right.

  Slowly, she cracked open one eye and peered over the top of the covers, and a small gasp escaped her. To her horror, she was on a strange couch, in a living room she didn’t recognize, and there was a strange man standing in the adjoining kitchen.

  This was not good.

  “Good morning.” The man sauntered over from the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast. Figured you might want to put something in your system to offset the meds.”

  Huh? What med—ohhhhh. It all came rushing back to her. Running… pain…a bumpy ride in the truck…. Oh, shit! “My truck! Where’s my truck?” she asked in a panic.