by Lynn Donovan
He looked at her with raised eyebrows. Lifted a finger and swallowed. Finally, cleaned his mouth with the napkin. “I set up campaigns. I’m a gamer. We have a group who meets every Saturday. Would you like to join? I’ll send you an invitation. The group would love to have a fresh player.”
She had no idea what any of that meant. “Like Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Well, yeah, like that, but we don’t do D&D anymore. It’s rather out-dated. We favor detective type campaigns such as Call of Cthulhu, and—”
“I’m not sure. Saturday is usually pretty busy for me.”
He shook his fist and pantomimed throwing a die. “A Natural One.” He smiled sardonically.
She stared at him. “A what?”
“Critical Fail.” He shrugged a shoulder as if that explained all that needed to be explained. “So, when you finish, would you like to check out the museum?”
Wendy stared at the pizza in her plate. “Actually, I can’t eat another bite.” She considered his offer. What she really wanted to do was go home. “I don’t know. I hate to do this, but I’m really tired, and I’ve also got a lot of studying I need to get done before class tomorrow. Would you mind if I took a rain check on the museum?”
Concern washed over his expression. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She tried to sound sincere. “I haven’t slept well lately, and I let myself get behind on my studies. Nursing school is grueling and if I don’t stay on top of it, I get behind super easily.”
“I understand. Pre-law was the same way. TONS of reading.” He seemed sincere. “Let me go wash my hands, and I’ll take you home.
“Okay?” Wendy watched him walk to the restrooms. Should she wash her hands? Being in the medical field she thought she was more conscientious about washing her hands than anybody, but it seemed Mr. Paralegal was even more so. She chuckled to herself. This would be a funny story to tell Dill—
Oh God, what was she thinking?
Tears sprang into her eyes. She leapt out of her chair and waited for Hans to return. She stood by the exit door, watching the restrooms, blinking vigorously to stifle the stupid tears. Finally, he emerged from the hall and looked around the restaurant. Locating her, he smiled and quickly caught up with her. He touched her back. “Ready?”
She nodded.
Hans parked his Charger at the curb to Wendy’s apartment unit. He jumped out and jogged to her side of the car. Wendy had already opened her door and climbed out. Exhaustion exacerbated the ache in her leg more than usual. A hot, Epsom salt bath and some Tylenol was in her near future. Meanwhile, she favored the skiing relic as she walked to her porch. He took her arm as an escort until she stepped onto the stoop, then turned to face her. A nervous tremble evident in his hand when he reached for his head to slick back his perpetually wet-looking hair. “I-I had a good time.”
She stared at him a moment. “We really didn’t do much.”
“No, but what we did was fun. I hope we can do more another time.” He took her hand in his and gently stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “When you’re feeling better.” He glanced at her leg. “It still bothers you… a lot.”
“What?” Wendy glanced at her hand in his. It felt cold and clammy.
“Your leg. Lindsay told me about the terrible fall at Vail and how much trouble it still gives you.” His thumb rubbing over her ring finger knuckle, a nerve rolled under his touch over the bone, sending a zing of pain into her wrist. She winced. “Ow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No. I’m probably just a little sensitive right now. That storm yesterday made my joints ache. I think it’s just residual from the barometric pressure.” God, she was talking meteorological effects on her bones, like she was some old woman sitting on the rest home porch. Where was her rocking chair? A walker? She rolled her eyes.
He stopped rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and just held her hand. His eyes were downcast, staring at her hand, then he lifted his eyes to hers. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he leaned into her. “Until next we meet, M’lady.” He leaned closer, his lips puckered out to kiss her. His eyes half closed. She didn’t move but let him move in close and touch her lips with his.
She kissed him quickly and leaned back. “Yeah.” She turned to unlock her door. He ran his hand over his hair and straightened. “You’ll be alright?”
“Oh, sure.” She turned the key and shoved her door open. “I’m used to living alone. I’ll be fine.”
“Well, all right. I’ll call you.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks, Hans.” She quickly entered and waved goodbye, then shut her door. She wanted to look out the window to see if he still stood there, or if he’d gone to his car. She leaned against the door and waited. Soon she heard the Charger’s engine rev and knew he was leaving. She sighed. God what a fiasco!
Should she call Lindsay… or Dillon?
No! Don’t call Dillon! He obviously had rekindled his relationship with Prissy Priscilla. Wendy had let him slip through her fingers. A hiccup caught in her throat as she willed a sob to go away.
Now where would she get her morning caffeine? For the first time, she seriously considered buying a Keurig.
NINE
This is ridiculous! Wendy threw back the covers and padded to the bathroom. She was a grown woman and could go wherever she wanted to get her morning coffee. Regardless of who might serve it to her there. So it didn’t work out with her and Dillon. Big deal! She still could go to the Java Cupid and have her coffee. She’d be the better woman and wish him well, with psycho-crazy Priscilla Priss.
Soon, she was dressed and driving to her favorite morning spot. The bus-boy was cleaning a table as she walked in and sat down. He looked at her sweetly and smiled his crooked smile. “Goomorning,” he said with a thick tongue. God, what was his name? She knew it…
“Good morning. What is your name?”
His eyes lit up. “I Charlie.” He picked up his dirty dish-tub and hurried to the back. His jovial disposition made her smile. Leaving her backpack in the seat, she approached the barista counter. Intentionally getting in a different line from Dillon’s, she waited.
His eyes met hers and time stood still.
He tipped his head back to acknowledge her and then he asked the woman in front of him what she would have. Wendy averted her eyes and stared at the door through which Charlie had disappeared.
A sous chef in dreadlocks stood at a large wooden table chopping what looked like twenty pounds of potatoes. He chattered away about some ski trip he’d been on. Someone else with a deep voice back there responded to his story, the cook maybe. Funny how happy dreadlocks-guy seemed while chopping potatoes into cubes. Didn’t everybody know her life had fallen apart and she was standing here facing humiliation and despair?
“Wendy.” Dillon said flatly.
Her eyes darted to him and she realized she was next in line and he had switched to the side she stood in. She sighed. “Hi. How’s Priscilla?” Sarcasm dripped from her words.
He paled. “What? Why would you ask me that?”
Seriously? “I saw her in here yesterday.” Wendy couldn’t keep the venom from her tone.
“God, Wendy. This is so messed up. I can’t tell you how wrong you’ve got this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder. She followed his gaze. Carl, the manager, stood against the pick-up window, arms crossed over his black apron bib, glaring at Dillon.
Idle convo was discouraged.
“Tall chocolate caramel drizzle Americano coming up.” He made the drink and set it on the counter in front of her. Pleading eyes met hers. She paid him and took her drink to the booth where she’d left her book bag. Seeing Dillon caused an ache in her heart. It hurt more than she wanted to admit.
A message had been written on her cup with a black sharpie, “Please believe me. I love only you.�
��
Wendy stared at the message. She knew what she saw yesterday when she drove through the parking lot, what she heard over the phone the night she accidentally called him. How could the reality of what she knew be wrong? Lindsay had told her Priscilla was a pathological liar, a psychotic. Why couldn’t Wendy believe Dillon?
A smudge seeped out from under there thumb. She lifted it from the cup. The burnish smudge formed a word. “Broken” She stared at the word as another seeped next to it, as if it were oozing out of the cup’s paper. “without” Then another spot browned. “You”
Wendy looked at Carl. He spoke animatedly to the cooks through the pick-up window. Apparently what he said was hysterical, because he laughed so loud the baristas turned to look at him. She watched Dillon react to Carl’s outburst.
Dillon had written with the sharpie. But who? And twice now? The same message. What was really going on here?
Dillon glanced at her, but remained busy filling orders. His sad eyes broke her heart. She sighed. Seriously, who was being the psycho-bitch now? She picked up her book bag, purse, and coffee cup, and walked to his counter. “We need to talk.”
Dillon nodded. “Yes!”
She watched him pump the steaming milk into a grande cup, and pursed her lips. “I’ve got school until one and then work. Can you come over after seven?”
He set the cup in front of the customer, told her the amount, and smiled at her as if she were the most important person in the shop. Wendy admired his ability to do that for customers. The woman shifted a weighty computer bag on her shoulder ran her card through the reader. “Thank you.” The woman said as she lifted the cup to her bubblegum-pink lips.
Dillon’s expectant eyes swept to Wendy’s. “Yes, after seven is good. Pizza or Chinese?”
The woman smiled as she paused next to Wendy. Was she eavesdropping on their conversation? Well, to be fair, Wendy did start talking while Dillon made the woman’s drink. That made Wendy chuckle. She returned her gaze to Dillon and sighed. “Surprise me.”
Wendy sat in a student desk, alone. It was an hour before class, but she needed to read one more chapter in her OB nursing textbook. Chatter and laughter outside the room distracted her, but she didn’t want to walk all the way over to the library and back again for class. She pulled her neon orange earbuds from the book bag and plugged them into her phone. She had a pre-saved playlist for moments like this. A three-hour rain forest relaxation recording filled her hearing and she lowered her eyes to the text and read.
She loved the sound of rain. Or at least, she used to. Now it reminded her of last Sunday. Dillon came over and she confronted him about Priscilla answering his phone the night before.
Priscilla! She couldn’t even think of the name without wrinkling her nose like she’d smelled a stink bug. A term her mother often used.
The sky poured that day, and Wendy poured out her heart to Lindsay that afternoon. Lindsay’s solution: Go out with another guy. Her best friend sounded like her dad: Get back on that horse! She shook her head. What was she thinking going out with Hans when she should have been studying? She wouldn’t be sitting here, now, trying to get this last chapter read. God, she hoped there wasn’t a pop quiz today. This professor loved pop quizzes.
She blinked her eyes and forced herself to focus on the reading. She mumbled the words, trying to help her brain absorb the information. Rain splashed in her hearing. Bugs chirped and an occasional bird called. Then something outside her classroom resounded loud enough she heard it through the storm.
Screeching.
A hysterical woman’s voice echoed in the hallway. Other people were yelling at her. Someone bellowed, “Security!”
Wendy tugged the earbuds and listened. That shrieking voice sounded familiar. She squeezed her eyes closed.
Priscilla!
Wendy closed her textbook and slowly rose from the desk. What on earth was Prissy Priscilla doing now? Lindsay warned her, this crazy woman would go stalker psycho at the drop of a hat. Whose hat had dropped today to bring Priscilla Langley to the college?
Wendy stepped into the hall and observed the commotion. Two security guards in campus uniforms were attempting to take ahold of Priscilla. She went limp and slid out of their grasp. She was like a greased salamander. Wendy leaned against the door frame to her room and just watched.
“No!” Priscilla screamed. “That bitch is trying to take my fiancé away from me. I won’t have it.” She pointed a long finger toward Wendy.
A cluster of people hovered outside a classroom across the hall from Wendy’s. All eyes were on the spectacle made my Priscilla Langley. But when she pointed at the person she was intent on stopping, all eyes turned to Wendy. She wanted to meld with the wall and disappear.
Did Priscilla even go to school here?
Priscilla’s feral eyes met Wendy’s. “There she is! Come here, you… you home wrecker. Face me like a man, er a woman!”
Priscilla dropped to the floor while the two security men noodled to get a firm grip on her arms.
The students standing in the hall appeared to look upon Prissy’s performance like doctors observing a medical procedure. Had she acted out like this so many times that people who knew her were this benign toward her outburst?
Huh, this was very enlightening. Wendy returned to her classroom and reinserted her earbuds. Prissy’s shrieks faded down the hall and the rainforest’s sounds washed her cries out of Wendy’s hearing all together.
Dillon had avoided Wendy’s hall that afternoon. He had plenty of jobs to knock off the list in other parts of the hospital. Besides, he didn’t want to have to make his plea in front of the medical staff, or anybody else who might overhear them talking. This—he wanted to tell her in the privacy of her apartment. He had to make her understand he was innocent and Priscilla Langley was nutso, wacked-out, crazy. It was the reason he had cut ties with her several years ago.
God, he wished his dad had chosen any restaurant in town except the one Prissy waitressed at. Just seeing her and her seeing him ignited her crazy, soul-sucking personality all over again. She belonged in a loony bin, on psychotic drugs, something. A shudder trickled down his spine. She needed help, but not from him.
Wendy said surprise her on dinner. Pizza or Chinese, her two favorite take-outs. He wanted to make it special and hopefully he could make her believe he loved her and her alone. Priscilla meant nothing to him. Never did and certainly didn’t now. He sighed and lifted a screwdriver from his tool belt.
The lights in this section were being redone to accommodate the new style, more efficient lightbulbs. Therefore, he needed to switch out the ballasts. There were four about eight feet apart down this hall. The halls stretched out from the nurse’s station, like a spider, only with six legs.
He set up a ladder at the end of the hall and would work his way back to the central nurses’ station. Then go back and replace all the light bulbs with the new ones. It would only affect the hall, the patient’s room weren’t on this circuit. Still, he needed to hurry because the medical staff weren’t happy with the dark hallway.
He had climbed the ladder, loosened the ceiling tile, and located the ballast. He stood on the ladder to reach the screws on the ballast, his shins braced against the topmost step to give him the most balance.
A spark popped. “Ah, shit!” Dillon jerked back, the ladder tottered under his feet. He clawed at the ceiling frame. The aluminum and plastic broke under his grasp. In slow motion, he watched the ceiling and the broken frame fall away. “Uh!” the air left his lungs and his head bounced on the hard tiled floor. Stars filled his vision. Someone called his name. Everything faded farther and farther away. Then went black.
TEN
Wendy changed clothes six times. Tempted to text Lindsay again, she searched her closet for just the right outfit. She wanted to look great for Dillon. This was going to be their make-up date. She had been so wrong thinking Priscilla Langley meant anything to Dillon. After Prissy’s performance at the college
today, Wendy was convinced the girl needed some serious psychological help. Dillon had told her, Lindsay had told her, but for some reason she didn’t really believe it until today. Today, when that girl screamed and cried at Wendy, calling Dillon her fiancé. Wendy knew. Priscilla Langley was crazy.
Grey corduroys and a hunter green Angora short sleeve sweater would be the perfect “make-up” outfit. She grinned with excitement as she quickly changed and cleaned up her bedroom. Smoothed out her bedspread, and looked around to see what else needed to be done. She wanted everything to be perfect. Dillon should be here any minute.
She eased down on her couch and glanced at her phone. No text. She cleared her throat and opened her Med-Surge Textbook. She wanted to look casual, studying until he arrived. Not like she was anxiously waiting for him to get there. She read the first paragraph. Then read it again. She wasn’t absorbing anything. She reached into her book bag and took out a green highlighter. Not opening the pen, but using it to point at each word, she slowly read the text.
Wendy lifted her phone. He wasn’t exactly late, they hadn’t said a specific time. And he was picking up dinner. She laid the phone down and continued reading. She heard a car and stood to look out the window No Dillon.
This is ridiculous! She eased down and resumed reading. Tapping the highlighter on her chin, she stared out the window. Where was he? Lifting her phone, it was after eight. Surely it doesn’t take this long to pick up carry out, be it pizza or Chinese. Wonder which he decided on? Her palate had no preference. She just wanted Dillon here, in her arms, or in her bed. She longed to hold him and be held by him. A thrill shot through her middle parts. Food was secondary to her needs right now.
She stood and stared out the window. Refusing to open the door and search the parking lot, she forced herself to sit back down. She thumbed the text list, selected his name, and texted, “Where’d you get dinner? Los Angeles? New York? LOL”
