The Surprise

by Alice Ward

  “My name is Langston Kimbrough,” I said to her sleeping form, hoping my voice would wake her. It didn’t. She only made a sweet little mewling sound and nuzzled her face into my neck.

  Knowing my time was running out, I pushed to my feet, taking her with me, then groaned when the forgotten condom slipped off and hit the floor. That hadn’t been very smart. I’d take care of it later.

  I carried my sleeping beauty to the bed, determined that, if she woke when I laid her down, I’d tell her my name again. I’d leave it to fate to direct me down that path. But she slept like a dead person, grumbling a little before curling up on her side. Her auburn hair spilled all around her, the curls even curlier than before.

  Adorable. A sweet mix of sexy and girl next door, with a large dose of free spirit tossed into the combination of genes and personality I couldn’t stop looking at.

  Covering her with a sheet, I took a hot shower, the last I might be getting for a while, then gathered my things, taking the toiletries from the bathroom and placing them in my bag. I’d packed light, five pairs of pants, ten pairs of underwear and socks, boots, running shoes, and a pair of slip-on shoes for any downtime I might have. A sleeping pad with mosquito netting, my laptop, iPad, and little else. If the people I was helping had very little, I’d damn well rough it too.

  Opening the laptop, I opened my email and responded to a few messages from my attorney and accountant. Over the past month, I’d updated my will and power of attorney, making sure the charities I supported would inherit the bulk of my fortune should I die. For years now, I’d donated all my salary as well as all the interest I earned each year, which was sizable, averaging between thirty and forty million dollars annually.

  One of my passions was providing scholarships to future doctors and nurses, people who couldn’t have afforded medical school otherwise. The little bitch Leesa from Columbia thought I should give my money away, but I thought it made better sense to invest in human beings. Fifty-six dollars to a single mother wouldn’t buy groceries for a week, but a full scholarship to nursing or medical school would change her life, and in turn, she would change the lives of others once she graduated and began working in the field. She’d also be able to change the lives of her children, giving them more opportunity to help others as well. That was the ripple effect, the contribution I wanted to make to my fellow Americans, especially the ones who fell down the government cracks.

  The selection wasn’t based on poverty level, but on need. In the hospital environment, I’d met and worked with too many middle-class people working their asses off just to get by, but still lived paycheck to paycheck through no fault of their own. They made too much for government assistance but not enough to ease the struggle. Same for financial aid. They didn’t qualify for grants but couldn’t afford tuition on their own. Those were the men and woman I wanted my foundation to target primarily. And we were getting there, dozens of people at a time. When I came home for good, I’d get even more involved in promoting the foundation and recruiting perfect candidates.

  After powering off the computer, I stuck it in my rucksack and leaned back in the chair, suddenly tired. I hadn’t slept well last night after being unable to save the little girl. I’d caught two, maybe three hours of sleep, then tonight… absolutely nothing.

  But the exhaustion went past physical. I felt it pulling at my emotional wellbeing too. Maybe that was why I was so reluctant to leave the woman still sleeping in my bed. She hadn’t just filled a physical need, she’d created a wonderfully safe space that I hadn’t been aware I needed.

  That was all.

  And that was a lie.

  She was more than that.

  With a deep exhale, I gathered her clothes from the floor and folded them over the back of my chair, leaving her my shirt to replace the one I’d torn as promised. I held her ruined shirt in my hands and laid it on the stack of clothing too. Then, feeling like a lovesick puppy, I picked it back up and stuffed it in my rucksack. She got mine. I got hers. Fair enough exchange.

  Feeling foolish, I sat down on the side of the bed and pushed her hair back from her face, then leaned down to kiss her temple. If she woke, I’d tell her my name. I’d let fate decide.

  When she didn’t even stir, disappointment stabbed at me, so I kissed the tip of her nose, giving fate another chance. Nothing. Not even a flinch. I kissed her lips, her ear, did everything but shake her awake.

  Damn.

  She really did sleep like the dead.

  Fate had spoken, I guessed.

  And I hated, detested, the answer.

  Fuck.

  When my time had run out, and I absolutely had to go, I noticed her enormous leather bag and was tempted to go through it to find her identification. I was even reaching for it when the small hotel notepad on the nightstand caught my eye. Instead of invading her privacy, I found a pen and scribbled out a note.

  I want to see you again.

  I added my phone number and email address, then signed my real name and placed it on the nightstand by the bed.

  There. The tension that had been squeezing my chest lessened as I placed a glass of orange juice on the note to hold it down.

  Fate be damned. I would create my own fate.

  She would call, I knew it. Then we could maybe FaceTime or Skype, get to know each other from a distance. Then, when it was time for me to come home, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  So lonely.

  She would be waiting, and we’d go on dates, explore the attraction between us, see where it led. She would get to know me, and I would get to know her too.

  Her tattoo flashed in my mind, but I didn’t lower the sheet to look at it again. Of all the things she could have used to cover the scar, why the tree?

  Trees were considered sacred in many countries and cultures, but were seen mostly as a commodity here in the States. Trees symbolized resilience and strength, but also knowledge, protection, strength, forgiveness. Eternal life.

  When she called me, I would ask her about it. I would ask her a million questions and answer hers.

  Feeling lighter now, I placed one more kiss on her temple before grabbing my bags and heading out of the door.

  I’d go. But I’d be back.

  I was smiling. Because I knew I’d get to see her again.

  When it was last call for my flight to be boarded, I wasn’t worried. She was probably still sleeping. When the flight attendants had made the announcement that all devices must be powered off, I wasn’t worried then either.

  She’d call. I knew she would. She had to because I needed it to be so.

  As the lights of New York faded below me, I closed my eyes and slept, safe in the knowledge that I’d know her name soon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Scarlett

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  I swatted at what had to be a bug flying around my face, then covered my eyes as the light burned into my retinas through my eyelids. The buzzing started again, and I groaned, rolling over on my bed.

  No. This didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel like my bed, my room.

  I cracked an eye open, still shading them from the light streaming in the window. Then it hit me, and I jerked straight up. A hotel window. His hotel window. And there was light.

  Holy crap.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  I lunged for my phone on the floor, falling off the bed in the process. Finally fumbling it from my purse, I gasped when I saw it was Melinda, the charge nurse. I was on my feet in an instant. I didn’t even need to know the time to know I was late for my shift. The bright light outside was evidence enough.

  “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I overslept. I’m on my way.” The words rushed out of me as I grabbed my bag and searched for my clothes. I found them folded nicely over a chair. Oh, how sweet. He had done that. Sadness tried to sink its claws in me but I had no time to allow that to happen.

  “When can you be here?” she asked, her voice the very definition of annoyed. I’d never been late. Not o
nce, so you’d think she’d cut me some slack, especially after staying late last night.

  “I’m not sure. I’m near JFK,” I admitted, running into the bathroom, the adrenaline throbbing through my system.

  “What are you doing there?” she snapped even though it wasn’t any of her business.

  I tossed the clothes and my bag on the counter. That was when I noticed that my mystery man’s toiletries were gone. He really was gone. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

  “Scarlett!”

  I snapped to attention and took a deep breath before answering my supervisor. “I stayed with a friend. I can be ready in ten minutes, there in thirty if the traffic isn’t horrible. Or should I take the subway?” I’d never needed to take the subway from anywhere close to the airport because I’d never been on a plane.

  I pushed the mute button and peed as fast as I could while Melinda spoke. “Traffic is always horrible, but I don’t think you’ll have any better luck. The stops to get from there to here are ridiculous.” I heard her yell at someone, asking about subway times. “Scarlett is near JFK. What’s the best way for her to get here this time of day?”

  I could hear my coworkers yelling out suggestions about the subway versus the bus versus taking a cab. My phone beeped at me, and I looked to see that my battery was almost completely drained. “Melinda, I’m jumping in the shower. My phone is almost dead. Can you text me?”

  “Sure.” She still sounded annoyed. “See you soon.”

  Diving into the shower before the water even warmed up, I hit the high spots, wincing as I soaped between my legs. Geez, I was sore. I didn’t even have time to dwell on how or by whom I’d gotten that way before I was drying off and pulling on my clothes.

  His shirt. He’d left it for me like he said he would. Just seeing it caused me to nearly burst into tears. I held it up to my nose, breathing in his scent.

  He’d just left. No, goodbye. No, it’s been fun. No, nothing.

  Even though I’d known it was coming, and even though I didn’t regret our night together, I was sad. And I didn’t have time to be sad. I didn’t have time for anything.

  I yanked on the shirt and dug into my bag for an elastic so I could pull the crazy mess on top of my head into a ponytail that still looked crazy but contained. Stuffing my feet in my shoes, I grabbed a hand full of strawberries, then took a last glimpse around the room.

  A room I’d never forget. A man I’d never forget.

  From the bedroom door, I looked longingly at the glass of orange juice on the night stand, wishing I had time to drink it, thinking how kind it was for him to place it there for me.

  My phone buzzed, and it was a text from Melinda, instructing me to just take a cab. Crap. My battery was at one percent, but I managed to send an ok, on my way message before it died completely. Without a backward glance, I stuffed my feet into my shoes, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed out of the door.

  It took an hour to get there, and if I’d worn different shoes that didn’t pinch my pinky toes, I would have just gotten out and ran. Ran from the memories of his smile. His laugh. His gentle playfulness. His ferocious eyes, his growl when he came. The tattoo that was so interesting, so complex. The tree of life hidden within it… so much like mine.

  Why had I suggested we not introduce ourselves? Last night, the game had been fun. In the light of day, I just felt… hell, I didn’t even know how I felt. Just sad.

  When the tall outline of the hospital was in sight, I opened my bag and pulled out the eye drops I carried with me everywhere, then slicked my mango flavored Chap Stick over my lips.

  A block from the hospital, I just paid the taxi driver the exorbitant amount for the fair, then ran the rest of the way. Rushing onto the labor and delivery floor, I ran past the nursing station to a hail of “it’s about time” and “slacker” and “you’re in biiiig trouble” good-naturedly tossed my way. I shot them a smile as I flew past and burst into the locker room where I kept an arsenal of everything I might possibly ever need in my locker.

  Dragging on a fresh pair of scrubs, I rolled deodorant under my arms, then under my breasts because I was already sweating there too. I brushed my teeth, nearly tearing my gums out as I scrubbed the enamel off while simultaneously pulling on socks and expensive — but worth every penny of it — shoes that felt like a dream on my feet.

  Taking a deep breath, I put on my calmest expression before heading to face my coworkers, trying not to waddle as the increasing sting in my lady parts demanded to be felt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to Naomi, the nurse who I had forced to stay late after a long night.

  She flashed me a tired smile. “Don’t you dare sorry me. I’m the reason you probably overslept. Remember, I was late covering for you last night. Just glad you’re okay.”

  Was I okay?

  I thought of my mystery man flying to some unknown destination. Or hell, that story might have been a lie and he was probably with his girlfriend or fiancée or…

  The thing was, I didn’t think so. For some gullible reason, I trusted him. Believed him. Missed him.

  Goodness, how did a person move forward knowing they’d probably never meet anyone as perfect as the one lost to them? Would any other man stack up, or would I forever compare him to my one-night stand?

  I spent a half hour with Naomi, listening to her catch me up on our patients, which took my mind off everything else. She’d already discharged one — not my diva mom, unfortunately — so that took a little of the post-delivery education off my shoulders.

  Little Marie Claire was in the NICU, I learned. The meconium in the amniotic fluid had gotten into her tiny lungs, and they were watching her closely for pneumonia. Naomi rolled her eyes when I asked how the baby’s mom was doing. She needed to not say more.

  “Scarlett!”

  I jerked my head in Melinda’s direction, who was holding a phone out to me. “It’s your friend, Amy. She wants to know if you’re alive or if she needs to call in the National Guard.” Melinda wiggled her eyebrows. “She also asked if you were able to walk.”

  All eyes swung to me, and I felt myself blush. Naomi nudged me with her elbow. “Stayed with a friend, huh? Maybe I wasn’t the one who caused you to oversleep. I want all the juicy details later.”

  I’d always loved my red hair. I even had a friendship with my freckles, knowing how lucky I was for them to be more of a light smattering than a full body assault. But my fair skin that refused to tan no matter what I did was another thing, it might not tan, but it sure changed a different kind of color. Pink.

  I blushed.

  Not just when I was embarrassed. I blushed at everything.

  When I was excited. Happy. Sad. It didn’t matter.

  When Olivia singsonged, “I think Scar got some beans and franks last night,” I felt the blush creeping up into my hair.

  Being a nurse meant that nothing was private. We talked about the color of our poop, the heaviness of our monthly flow. We bent over and pulled down our pants so someone could check a mole or whether a hemorrhoid was getting bigger.

  I knew how much sex everyone was or wasn’t having. How good or boring it was. If their spouse or boyfriend was getting it or keeping it up. It didn’t matter. No subject was off the table.

  Trying not to snatch the phone from Melinda’s hand, I pressed it to my ear. “I’m fine.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Yikes. It was Amy’s teacher voice, and I was suddenly twelve years old.

  Aware that everyone was listening, I muttered, “I overslept and the battery in my phone died.”

  “But you’re okay?” I could almost see her raised eyebrow and felt the school teacher melt away.

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  “Only good?”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to face my coworkers. Yep, they were still staring at me. I turned my back on them again. “Can we talk about this later?”

  She growled into the phone. “I guess. Burgers at Max’s tonight
? Say, eight?”

  She wasn’t going to let me out of this. “Sure. If I’m running late, I’ll let you know.”

  I jumped when she yelled, “Don’t run!” to one of the students. “Sorry, these hellions are driving me crazy. See you later. I’ve got to go.”

  Feeling Melinda’s gaze burning into my back, I quickly said, “Me too. Bye.”

  A call bell went off as I hung up the phone, and everyone groaned at the interruption. I glanced at the board. “That’s me.” Even though it was the diva, I was thrilled to get away from the lovingly prying eyes.

  Instead of using the intercom, I went straight to Mrs. Harlington-Worthington, the Fifth’s room, grabbing a handful of antibacterial foam along the way. I knocked softly, then went in when I heard her call out. In a different silk gown this time, a matching robe left open, Mrs. HW5 stood next to her bed. She lifted her chin when she saw me. “It’s about time.”

  I shut the door behind me, letting it click softly instead of slamming like I wanted it to. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

  She pointed to the floor, and I followed the direction of her finger to see something that had rolled under the nightstand. “I dropped my mascara.”

  It took the power of a thousand gods to not roll my eyes or suggest she get one of her “people” to fetch it for her. Instead, I got down, wincing as my hips protested the movement, then fetched it out before walking to the sink to wash it off and re-sanitize my hands.

  When I turned to return the mascara to its owner, I was surprised to see her standing there in tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She began to shake, and I rushed to her side, urging her back into bed.

  She was sore, hurting, probably scared for her baby, but there was also something deeper than that. When I got her settled, I went into the bathroom, rinsed a washrag with cool water, and came back to begin washing her makeup-streaked face.

  “Shhh…” I soothed, amazed at how different she looked under the mask she put on for the world. Soft. Very pretty. “You’re so lovely.” I instinctively knew that was what she needed to hear, but I needed to know, “What’s wrong? On a scale of one to ten, what level is your pain?”