by A. Gardner
I still wasn't sure if noticing more than most was a good thing, because sometimes it roused my curiosity so much it got me into trouble.
Is it a talent, or am I just nosey?
"I need to get changed." I left it at that, knowing eventually Bebe would hear the whole story. First, I had something more pressing to do. I thought of Patrick lying alone at the hospital. I was desperate to see with my own two eyes if he was alive and kicking.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The smell of rubbing alcohol filled my nose. I walked with Patrick's parents to the hospital waiting room designated for family and close friends. We were informed by a nurse Patrick was in the middle of surgery. Our car ride through the winding mountain roads took longer than I'd anticipated because of the snow. The car ride was mostly silent. I guess the Jayes had decided they weren't ready to know yet what had really happened. Maybe they wanted to hear it all from their son?
The white, blank hallways and the bright lights weren't something I was used to. I'm the type of person who, despite my regrettable years spent with extra flab, only visits Doc Henry once a year for an annual check-up. Anne Jaye walked towards an open sofa, semi-confident in her stride. She looked as if she'd been down this very hallway a thousand times, and I realized it was likely true. We were in her territory now. After Patrick had told me about her ailment it was hard to look at her the same. She was so kind and such an angelic woman, it was a tragedy she of all people had to leave us all too soon. I avoided thinking about it for too long because it made my eyes start to water. I helped Anne onto the couch.
"Oh, thank you," she said kindly. "Why don't you sit right here next to me."
I'd planned on pacing back and forth until my feet hurt which would not have taken long if I'd still been wearing the heels that went with my bridesmaid dress. I'd rushed to change into jeans and a conservative turtleneck before we left the resort. I'd brushed the snowflakes and bits of ice out of my damp hair, and wiped off all my smeared makeup. I was back to looking plain like I used to before I got my training job, minus the embarrassing muffin top.
"Sure." I accepted her invitation and sat beside her.
"Patrick so wanted to get married," Anne began. "That poor boy."
"I know he did, but this is probably for the best."
"Lila was a nice girl the few times we spoke," she continued. "But she wasn't really right for Patrick."
"Well, they're both famous." I folded my arms, playing with the edges of my sweater with my fingers. "Not a lot of people have that in common with him."
"Fame is not what he needs." Anne gently shook her head. She glanced up at her husband, still silent, who had settled in a chair across from us. "He needs someone solid standing next to him. A true partner."
"Oh, we'd all like someone like that, Mrs. Jaye."
"Someone like you perhaps?" She raised her eyebrows and gave me a look that made me want to confess to her all of my dark secrets. She paused long enough that I had to stop and wonder if she knew more about Patrick and I than she was letting on.
"Me?" I finally said. "Me and Patrick?"
"Uh-huh." She paused again and studied my expression. She was trying to trick me into saying too much. I did the same exact thing sometimes with clients like Martha who lied through their teeth about how many portions of dessert they'd eaten over the weekend. If I paused long enough and stared hard, most of them decided to confess. Maybe it was because they felt like I already knew the truth. It was like Anne already knew everything.
"Patrick, your son?"
"That's right," Anne went on.
"We hardly speak anymore," I admitted.
"But the two of you were such good friends growing up." She rubbed the palm of her hands on her dress. "I wish you both would stop being so stubborn."
"Mrs. Jaye, whatever feelings I had or may have had for your son don't matter anyway. He doesn't feel the same." I cleared my throat. "Hypothetically, of course."
"Of course." The side of her mouth widened with a twisted smile. "But you know I don't believe you."
I laughed uncomfortably.
"Patrick has always been a giver," she added. "No matter how many times I tell him how proud I am to be his mother he always reaches for something more. He wanted so badly to start a family of his own. To give me the gift of a grandchild." She clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap, exchanging looks with her husband. "We only want him to be happy, single or married it makes no difference to us."
"I'm sure he knows that deep down," I said.
"I hope he does." Anne nodded and turned towards a stack of magazines in the corner.
The three of us sat impatiently for what felt like hours. Patrick's dad continually tapped his shoe on the shiny floor and chewed on a toothpick he had snagged from the coffee cart that had come by a couple of times. Anne didn't eat or drink. She thumbed through a few magazines, but mostly she kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. She looked like she was praying, and she most likely was. Being from the South, the Jayes attended church every Sunday in their best attire. I ended up walking laps around the third floor to keep my anxiety in check. My heart had raced so fast that I could feel the blood blasting through my veins. I would have run a few miles if the hospital had a gym I could've used. My phone was on silent in my pocket. After my tenth text from Joy I'd informed her I would contact her as soon as there was any news. Since then, I kept my phone snug in my pocket.
When a group of nurses walked past talking about today's special in the cafeteria, I glanced at the time. Our day had progressed rapidly, and it was now near dinner. We really had been waiting hours for the slightest bit of news. Finally we were approached by a man in a long, white lab coat. His name tag identified him as one of the emergency room surgeons. Anne jumped to her feet so fast I was nervous she might faint from the blood rush to her head. I let her and her husband stand in front of me.
"Are you the Jayes?" the surgeon asked with a straight face.
"Yes," Patrick's dad answered.
"He's doing just fine," the surgeon replied. He kept his expression blank in spite of the fact he was delivering good news. "The surgery went well. He's been moved to a recovery room, and can start seeing visitors."
“Oh, thank you, doctor." Anne was so appreciative she couldn't contain her gratitude. She stepped forward and hugged the man in the lab coat while he looked at her, confused.
"Two at a time, please," the surgeon instructed, eyeing me in the background. "If you may."
"Go ahead," I whispered. "I'll wait out here."
I took Anne's spot on the sofa, and watched as one of the nurses coming in for the night shift switched on the television and changed it to the local news station. She smiled at me and then took an empty desk at the nurses' station.
I listened to a weather update. Snow. Snow. And more snow. I sat up straighter when the woman on the screen mentioned Bison Creek. I gulped. The media had already caught onto the story. My eyes darted up and down the hallway, but it was mostly empty and I seemed to be the only one paying attention.
"It's a sad day for fans of international model and actress Lila Clemton," the newscaster announced. "Some are calling it a freak accident and others are gravely concerned for the fallen actress’s psychological welfare, but what remains true is that she has been air lifted to a specialty hospital in Denver, Colorado and we have been told she is in critical condition."
I bit the inside of my cheek. Lila was still alive and there was a possibility she might pull through. I wasn't sure what to think about the news because I wasn't sure what to think about Lila. She had a debt that needed to be paid if she survived and I would forever be looking over my shoulder if she was eventually released from custody someday.
The newscaster continued with an aerial view of Bison Creek and Pinecliffe Mountain Resort. It was only a matter of time before someone grabbed a hold of what had happened to Donna. I stood up and took a few steps closer to the TV. The pictures of Bison Creek made it lo
ok so small. There was a picture of Canyon Street and Mrs. Tankle's book shop, along with a few other local business. I nearly burst out laughing when they played a video of Sheriff Williams, tailed by his son Murray, exiting the hotel and shaking his head instead of making a public statement. Bison Creek was now on display for the world to see.
"Essie," a voice said quietly. Patrick's parents had made their way back to the sitting area. "Go on back. He's been asking for you." Anne beamed when I shot her a look of surprise.
"Really?"
They both nodded.
"He looks well," Anne commented.
I quickly and quietly walked towards Patrick's private room. My heart pounded and my palms were damp. When I came to his door, my limbs were tingly. I imagined myself in the room staring into his dark hazel eyes. I knock lightly as I entered and the tingling didn't go away.
Patrick was lying in a stiff bed wearing a hospital gown. A light blue blanket covered his lower half and bandaging material stuck out from underneath his sleeve. He tried to sit up when he saw me but groaned from the discomfort.
"Don't hurt yourself," I said, smiling. There was a chair next to his bed that looked like it was placed there specifically for me. "Your mom moved this chair, didn't she?"
"So you've caught on," he replied. He spoke softly, taking long breaths in between sentences like it was tiring to speak.
"Did you tell them what happened?"
"I will." His eyes followed me as I approached his bed and sat beside him. "In due time. My publicist is already all over me telling me not to mention a thing about it until I get home. Anyone could be listening in here."
"How are you feeling?" I asked. My eyes darted to his chiseled forearm and immobile hand. It was close to the edge of the bed.
"I'm not covered in snow so that's a plus." He chuckled. "My parents told me about Lila."
"I'm really sorry, Patrick."
"I gave that relationship all I had," he said quietly. "I should've listened to old Snowflake on this one." If Patrick was well enough to bring up his dead childhood cat he swore was still wandering Canyon Street at night, then he was definitely on the road to recovery.
"Snowflake?" I said, watching the grin on his face grow wider. "Really? You've just come out of surgery for a gunshot wound and you want to discuss the habits of a deceased feline?"
"What can I say? She's my guardian angel cat. I should have followed my gut instinct about the wedding. None of this would have happened." He tried to move his hand towards his face, but he stopped suddenly and groaned again. It was painful for him to use the arm of his injured shoulder.
"How were you to know all this would happen?"
"I should have seen the signs," he muttered. "She started asking me where I was all the time. Who I was with. Why I didn't tell her I loved her enough. Staying up all night. I just thought it was anxiety from all the wedding stuff. She used to trust me a lot more."
"How do you feel now?" I asked. I said it in a general way, but really I wanted to know how badly his heart had been crushed, and if there was ever a chance someone could come along and pick up the pieces.
"Tired and … kind of lonely."
"You've got me." It was a bold thing to say, but I meant it. I glanced down at his hand again. This time he moved it towards me and I reached for it, letting our fingers intertwine.
"They say I've got to be here for a while." He scanned his new living quarters which consisted of a modest bathroom decked out with a shower seat, two sitting chairs for guests, and a rolling table for meals.
"What will you do when you get out?"
"Start fresh I guess," he sighed. "In the house I bought. The one I told you about."
"Work should be interesting tomorrow," I responded.
"Hey, Essie," Patrick said softly. His gaze wandered down to our bonded hands before he looked at me again. He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. My chest went tight when I noticed his breathing had increased. It was hard to hide because he had on a heart rate monitor that gradually beeped a little faster. He was suddenly nervous.
"Yes, Patrick."
"Can I … take you out for a coffee?" He paused and waited the same way his mother had done in the waiting area when she quizzed me about our relationship. "In the near future," he added. "When I can actually move my arm."
"I don't drink coffee," I teased. "I've given up caffeine. New Year's resolution." At first, Patrick's eyes went wide. He was so nervous it took him a few minutes to catch on that I was only kidding. "But I drink tea?"
"Right." He exhaled, sounding relieved. "I forgot. You’re the Head Trainer."
"It took me years to get that job," I continued. "I can't just throw it all away for the first hot thing that walks through my door."
"So you find me attractive?" he retaliated. I knew Patrick was kidding, but I still felt my cheeks go warm. I tried so hard not to let myself blush that blushing was inevitable.
"Oh … uh…"
"Relax," Patrick responded. "I'm just having a little fun."
"I knew that," I lied.
"Obviously, you do think I'm attractive."
"Patrick," I scolded him. We were back to our usual middle school games which had been a roundabout version of truth or dare, but mostly truth. Of course, neither of us ever gave straight answers. Now as adults nothing really seemed to have changed. I still found myself stuttering to say the right things, and over-thinking what to say so I didn't embarrass myself.
"I'll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth," he continued. "Pinky swear?"
"Save it for tea time," I answered.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Monday morning came way too fast. It started at 7 a.m. when Mrs. Tankle had knocked on my door to ask me if I was still planning on attending her book club meeting on Wednesday. I kindly reminded her I had already accepted her invitation. Twice. I also repeated to her I'd read the book of the month and I would bring a veggie platter for those who couldn't have sweets. Mrs. Tankle had then proceeded to pick my brain about the wedding.
I'd ended up inviting her in for tea and toast. I didn't tell her much more than what the BC Gazette had already reported, but she was grateful to hear more about it from me. Joy had spent the night at the resort. I could only imagine the sort of damage control she was dealing with. Mrs. Tankle had avoided looking towards Joy's bedroom. When she had finished her toast, she got up to leave.
I headed up to the resort for work. I took my time finding a parking space only because I knew what I was in for. The employee entrance was supposed to be private, but I could see news vans and reporters pacing the parking lot through my rear view mirror. The resort had placed a security guard at the back entrance to keep any unwanted guests from wandering about. I quietly stepped out of my car and looked down at my turquoise work out shoes.
"Excuse me. Excuse me!"
The press was onto me.
I jogged to safety and felt a cool shiver run down my spine as I entered the staff lounge. Joy was in the middle of an impromptu meeting. She waved at me to join her when she saw me. I studied the employees in the room. Aggie was sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, and most of her kitchen staff was with her. A couple of waiters listened eagerly as Joy read a statement written by Mr. Kentworth about how to behave concerning the events of yesterday.
"There you are." Taryn walked up beside me. "Have you seen our appointment book?"
"Oh, no," I whispered. "Don't tell me our regulars cancelled."
"Actually we have the opposite problem," she answered quietly. "You might even have to hire a new trainer."
"What?" I exclaimed a little too loud.
Joy shushed me.
"Sorry," Taryn quickly apologized. She resumed our side conversation. "All our slots have been filled and then some. We have a waiting list, a cancelation list, and a backup waiting list."
"You're joking."
"Blabby Millbreck is no longer your most high-profile client," Taryn said proudly. She swiped h
er bangs to the side.
We listened to the rest of Joy's speech from the doorway. She made sure the staff knew some of our guests could be undercover reporters trying to dig for more information. The kitchen staff agreed not to discuss the matter with strangers. Aggie continued sipping her coffee as Joy collected her things and joined me.
"We need to talk," Joy said. "Lunch?"
"Okay," I agreed. She forced a half smile which meant if she was going to be fired, it hadn't happened yet. Joy isn't the type of person who would waste time working for an employer who was planning on screwing her over.
I met Taryn upstairs in my tiny office and reviewed our jam packed training schedule. The morning went fast and consisted of new clients and a few regulars. I found myself going through the motions of initial fitness testing and proper weight-lifting form. My mind was far away, near an occupied hospital bed.
In between clients my cell phone rang off the hook. I didn't know how the media had gotten hold of my number, but I resorted to screening all my calls and texting family and friends to let them know the quickest way to contact me would be filtering through the hotel phone lines.
I'd barely blinked when Joy knocked on the studio door after my last training session. I fixed my ponytail and grabbed my jacket, following her back downstairs. As we passed windows overlooking the ski lift I avoided looking through them. Joy did too, and she walked just as fast in her heels as I did in my work-out shoes.
"Where to?" she asked. "I have about thirty minutes." We entered the employee break room and lounge where Eli and Misty were sharing a chicken pot pie from the kitchen.
"Oh, Joy," Eli shouted. "There you are."
"Not now," Joy responded.
"Someone was looking for you."
"Mr. Kentworth?" She raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath. "Because he is always looking for me."
"No." Eli's eyes darted to the hallway behind us. "Oh, there he is."
Wade came strolling towards us with a smirk on his face and one of Aggie's homemade dinner rolls. He was wearing his same attire of semi-fitted jeans and a shirt that showed off his muscular top half. Joy shifted back a little, steadying herself. I clenched my fists together, ready to break up a fight.
