Fore Play

by Julie Cannon

  What did she look like first thing in the morning? Was she a grouch until she had coffee, or did she rise early and energized? Was she Good Morning America or The Today Show? CNN, FOX, or CNBC? Did she watch Scandal, the History Channel, or National Geographic? Was she handy with a hammer? Have a green thumb, feed the birds? Did she use paper or plastic? Butter or margarine? Wash her whites in hot or the economical cold water? Did she want a dog? A cat? Kids?

  “Whoa, Leigh,” she said out loud. “Do not go there.” She repeated those four words several times as she got dressed and locked the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Where is she?” Peyton asked her mother after she passed the security desk in the emergency room. It had taken her twelve minutes to get across town to the hospital where her sister had been admitted.

  “She’s in the back. The doctor is with her.”

  Maria looked exhausted and worried, as any mother would when her child was found unresponsive on the bathroom floor.

  “Can’t you go back there? See what’s going on?”

  “This isn’t my hospital,” Maria said, grasping Peyton’s hand and pulling her into the chair beside her. “I don’t have privileges here, and I don’t know anyone. I’m just another family member relegated to the waiting room.”

  Peyton wanted to pace, but her mother had a firm grasp of her hand and didn’t let go. Peyton wondered if that was for her benefit or her mother’s.

  “What happened?”

  “I hadn’t heard from Elizabeth in several weeks and decided to go over there and give her a piece of my mind.” Maria’s face was angry, then went pale. “I knocked on the door, and when she didn’t answer, I tried the knob. It was unlocked, and I found her in the bathroom. She was unconscious and I couldn’t rouse her. I called 911, and here we are.”

  “Jesus,” Peyton said, running her free hand over her face. “Jesus,” she said again when she realized it smelled like Leigh. She wiped it on her shorts. “Do you have any idea?”

  “Do you mean did I see any evidence of drugs? I’m not stupid, Peyton,” she said in response to Peyton’s surprise. “I know your sister drinks too much and takes drugs, but she is an adult, and I can do little to stop her. No. I didn’t see anything in the bathroom, but I’m not sure about the rest of the apartment. It was filthy, and I didn’t really notice. I was looking for her when I came in and following the stretcher on the way out.” Peyton’s mother’s voice cracked on the last few words.

  “Where are Dad and Marcus? And Natalie?”

  “Your father’s out of town and is catching the next flight. Marcus and Olivia are on their way. They were in Prescott when I called. Natalie’s in New Mexico for a case. She asked that you let her know what’s happening after we find out.”

  “Family of Elizabeth Broader?” An African-American male in dark-blue scrubs, looking quite grim, stood in an open doorway. Peyton and her mother stood up simultaneously.

  “I’m her sister and this is our mother,” Peyton said. She felt her mother tremble beside her. Peyton put her arm through her mother’s to steady her. “How is Lizzy?” Peyton asked, falling back on her childhood name.

  “Come with me,” he said, opening the door wider. “I’ll take you back. The doctor will talk with you in a minute.”

  The man led them down a hall with individual treatment areas partitioned off with dull-gray curtains. Several of the beds were empty, and Peyton saw legs under the curtains of a few others. The open area shifted into a series of glassed rooms, four on each side. The man stopped just outside the third room on the left.

  A short, round woman exited the room, closing the door behind her. “I’m Doctor Harris. I’ve been taking care of Elizabeth.”

  Peyton and her mother introduced themselves. Peyton’s heart was racing. All indications were that her sister was not okay.

  “Can you give me her history?” the doctor asked, and her mother quickly and efficiently filled her in. Peyton was shocked at the length and severity of her sister’s addiction.

  “She came in unresponsive, with very low blood pressure. We drew some blood, ran some tests, and the preliminary results show high levels of cocaine and alcohol, a very dangerous combination.”

  Anger replaced worry as Peyton realized just how stupid and careless Elizabeth had become.

  “Is she okay?” she heard her mother ask.

  “Yes, for now. We gave her some Narcan and pumped her stomach, just a precaution. She’s resting.”

  “Narcan is used to counteract the effect of most drugs,” her mother explained to her.

  “I’d like to keep her overnight. She was pretty sick when she came in. I’d also like for a social worker and a substance-abuse counselor to talk to her when she wakes up. We can recommend a treatment program, if that’s what she wants.”

  “Of course,” Maria said, nodding her agreement. “Can we see her?”

  “For a few minutes. Then they’ll take her upstairs.” The doctor stepped away from the door.

  Peyton held her mother’s hand as they approached Elizabeth’s bed. She was hooked up to assorted monitors and had several tubes running into an IV in her right arm. Maria looked at everything, including the labels on the bags hanging on the IV stand, with a practiced clinical eye. She must have approved, because she nodded as if in agreement with the medication for her daughter.

  Maria went to Elizabeth first, Peyton to the other side of the bed. Her little sister looked small and frail, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she’d aged a few years since she’d seen her last. She was rail-thin, the need for the drugs obviously outweighing her need for food.

  “She went to therapy after, but I don’t think she listened.” Maria said, surprising Peyton.

  Peyton knew what the “after” was referencing.

  “After the initial shock, she acted like nothing had happened, and we all knew that wasn’t healthy. We took her to a therapist, for several months then and when you were in Nelson. The doctor kept reporting that she just sat there, wouldn’t talk about anything, wouldn’t answer their questions, nothing. We took her to somebody else, and it was the same. After the third one, we didn’t know what to do, so we had her admitted to a residential treatment facility.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Peyton asked, angry at her mother for keeping something so important from her.

  “There was nothing you could do, Peyton. You didn’t need anything else to worry about.”

  Peyton calmed down; her mother was right. She would have gone nuts with worry as she struggled every day to survive.

  “Did it help?” Peyton knew the answer to her question.

  “No. After four months we brought her home. No one could do anything, and I couldn’t stand for her to be in a strange place. Maybe we should have kept her there longer. Maybe they could have gotten through to her. Maybe…”

  Peyton hurried around the bed and held her mother as she cried.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “I’m sorry I ran out on you the other night.” Peyton had called earlier, and they’d agreed to meet at Leigh’s house after work. She needed to see Leigh, to set her life back on track again. She needed to feel alive, a connection, to disappear into the abyss of pleasure. Peyton started to explain but lost track of reality when Leigh pulled her into her arms and kissed her before her front door closed.

  “Is everything all right? You were obviously upset.” Leigh snuggled into Peyton, their legs intertwined, bodies close.

  “My sister, Elizabeth. Her life has spiraled out of control. She overdosed the other night. We don’t know if it was intentional or an accident.”

  “Oh, Peyton, I’m so sorry.” Leigh shifted, resting her weight on her elbows so she could see Peyton better. “How is she?”

  “Physically, she’s fine. We’re trying to convince her she needs to get some help.” Peyton didn’t want to think about the ugly scene this morning. Elizabeth would need extensive therapy to deal w
ith not only her addiction, but why she needed to hide behind drugs and alcohol to get through every day. Peyton had had no escape and had been forced to face her demons every second of every day. She’d risked everything for Elizabeth and had paid her dues.

  As much as she tried to put them away, in a place where they no longer mattered, no longer dominated her life, now they were once again front and center.

  “How old is she?”

  “She’ll be twenty in a few weeks.”

  “Wow, that’s tough. Are you two close?”

  “We used to be.”

  “What happened?” Peyton immediately tensed and got out of bed, looking around for her clothes. Leigh had struck a nerve, obviously a very raw one.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Leigh said, pulling on a robe hanging from the back of the bedroom door.

  “I’ve gotta go.” Peyton picked up her shoes and passed Leigh. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the one they were just talking about, except this time she was running away, not running to. She heard Leigh call her name before she closed the door behind her.

  Peyton threw her truck into gear, tires squealing as they slipped over the asphalt. She had to leave, had to get out of there before she suffocated under the weight of her secret. Peyton knew the day would come when she would have to make a decision. Did she tell Leigh what had happened and hope she understood, or did she simply move on? Surely, by now, she knew. She’d probably Googled her again before her first lesson.

  * * *

  “You just left?”

  “Worse,” Peyton said, barely able to make eye contact with Lori. “I practically ran out of her house.”

  “You haven’t told her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Lori was nothing but blunt, and most of the time Peyton loved her for it. This, however, was not one of those times. “I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times.”

  “And what’s your answer?”

  Peyton knew she had no choice but to answer. “I like her.”

  Lori looked at her, expecting more, but she didn’t have any other explanation.

  “Okay…” she finally said when Peyton didn’t offer more.

  “I like her.”

  “You said that. That’s pretty clear.” Lori set her fork down, giving Peyton her full attention. Lori had had to threaten Peyton to get her to meet for lunch at the Wildflower Cafe. “What’s going on, Peyton? Don’t bullshit me or give me some tough prison-girl crap.”

  “I don’t want to tell her,” Peyton said pitifully. Like if she didn’t bring it up it never happened.

  “I don’t think you have a choice. Unless this is just a hookup.”

  Peyton had thought it was just that. At least it had started out that way. Leigh was a passionate, aggressive, demanding lover, and Peyton couldn’t get enough of her. Every time they were together, it was better than the time before. She was barely back in her clothes before she was thinking about the next time.

  She’d spent weeks rationalizing the situation as making up for lost time. She’d fully intended to let it run its course, and when things looked like they were going to the next level, she’d quietly drift away. But somewhere between “Beverage, ladies?” and last night, it had shifted without her knowing it. Now, she didn’t want to stop seeing Leigh.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours, Peyton? You know I’m in your corner whatever you do.”

  Lori had been there for Peyton, and she was the only one Peyton trusted to tell her the truth.

  “I think I’ve fallen for her.”

  “Peyton…”

  “I know. It’s too soon. I just got out. I don’t have my life together yet. I’m under the thumb of my parole officer, and my life isn’t my own and won’t be for months.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” Lori reached across the table as far as she could, her pregnant belly making it a long reach, and put her hands over Peyton’s.

  “I think she’s good for you, and I haven’t even met her. You’re smiling more, your face glows, and you just look…I don’t know, happy. You may not want my opinion, but…”

  “That never stopped you before,” Peyton said, the tension lifting from her chest.

  “And have I ever been wrong? No, I have not,” Lori said before Peyton had a chance to answer. “I think you should tell her. She probably already knows, and you can’t not talk about it. It’s kind of like how everyone on the team knew you were a lesbian before you even told us. We were afraid to bring it up. Maybe she’s afraid to ask.”

  Several moments passed while Peyton reflected on her revelation that she had, indeed, fallen for Leigh. She tossed the thoughts around in her head, and they tumbled back to the same place. She was crazy about Leigh.

  “How does she feel?” Lori asked.

  “I’m not sure. She hasn’t said or done anything to lead me to believe one way or the other.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Peyton shrugged, her only answer.

  “Is she seeing anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you want her to?”

  The mere thought of another woman kissing Leigh, touching her, making her sigh with pleasure, call her name in the dark made Peyton’s stomach turn and her blood boil.

  “No.”

  “Then maybe that’s where you start. Tell her you’re not seeing anyone else and you’d like the same commitment from her. If she agrees, then it’s clear that she thinks your time together is more than a booty call. If she says no, or dances around it, then that’s your answer. Either way, you know where you stand. But you need to tell her if you want to have any relationship with her.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Peyton,” Leigh said, pushing her head from between her legs. “Peyton!”

  “What? What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?”

  “Someone’s pounding on your door.”

  Peyton heard it then. Three solid knocks. She looked up the expanse of Leigh’s body to the clock on the nightstand. Two twelve. Another three pounds. “Fuck!” It could only be one person. This was their third night together at her apartment, and she’d grown complacent with letting Leigh stay the night.

  Peyton scrambled out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and ran her fingers through her short hair. She turned on the light.

  “Get dressed,” she said, gritting her teeth in anger.

  “What?”

  “Get dressed, now.” The last thing she wanted was for Conway to find Leigh naked in her bed.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Peyton said, crossing the room to her front door, turning her lights on along the way. She picked up her cell phone and activated the cameras.

  “Who is it?” she asked, even though she looked through the peephole and saw it was Conway.

  “Your fairy godmother,” he said, his tone sleazy,

  Peyton opened the door.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Conway said brushing past her way too closely. “What took you so long? Were you otherwise occupado?” he asked stupidly in his equally insulting attempt at Spanish. He looked around the room.

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Uh-huh. You alone? Get lucky tonight?”

  “Why do you always ask me that?”

  “Because it’s my job to know who you’re hanging around with.” His tone was belligerent.

  Just then her bedroom door opened, and Conway’s head whipped around so fast, Peyton wouldn’t have been surprised if he got whiplash.

  “Well, well, well. Look who we have here.” If voices could leer, Conway’s would be doing it.

  Leigh looked from Peyton, to Conway, and back to Peyton again, her expression unreadable. She had her phone in her hand.

  “Who are you?” Leigh asked.

  “I’m asking the questions here, honey. Who are you?”

  “I don’t need to tell you that, and I’m no
t your honey. As far as I can tell this is a home invasion, and I’ve got 9 and 1 pushed on my phone, and my thumb on the other 1. So, unless you want the cops here, you’d better tell me who you are.”

  “Hang up that phone, sister,” Conway said menacingly.

  “I’m not your sister. Yes, hello,” Leigh said into the phone a moment later. “There’s a man in the living room that I don’t recognize. Would you please send an officer right away? Peyton, what’s your address?”

  Peyton looked at Leigh, stunned, her reaction on Conway. He reached into his back pocket, and Peyton could swear she saw steam coming out of his hairy ears.

  “That had better be your wallet you’re reaching for. Yes,” she said to the 9-1-1 operator. “The man is about six feet and probably weighs two eighty,” Leigh said into her phone. “He has on blue jeans, a black pullover with Navy across the front, and dirty white tennis shoes. He has short black hair and a Fu-Manchu mustache.”

  “Leigh, it’s all right.”

  “There’s no need to call the cops, honey. I’m Manny Conway. Peyton’s parole officer.”

  “He says he’s a parole office. He’s reaching into his back pocket. Hand it to her,” Leigh said when he pulled out his wallet.

  Peyton saw Conway’s anger notch up six or ten points on the blow-a-gasket scale. He tossed his wallet at her feet. She didn’t pick it up. No way was she going to touch it.

  “Leigh, it’s okay. We don’t need the police.”

  Leigh never took her eyes off Conway and several seconds later said into the phone, “Everything’s cleared up. We don’t need an officer.” Leigh gave the dispatcher her name and address, and after a few more reassurances, Leigh hung up and put her phone in the pocket of her jeans.

  “Just what in the fuck was all that about?” Conway barked at Peyton.

  “You woke us up in the middle of the night. She didn’t know who you were.” Peyton knew trouble was coming.