by JB Lynn
I cracked open one eye and squinted at the three women in their fifties gathered at the foot of the bed, huddled around what looked like some sort of clipboard. I didn’t recognize the bed, or the room, or the clipboard, but I did know the three women. I groaned.
“She’s awake!” Aunt Leslie, the most emotional of my three aunts, hit a note that sliced through my skull with the precision of a Ginsu knife dicing butter. Racing around the bed, she stuck her face in my face like an inquisitive cocker spaniel. “Can you hear me, Margaret?”
Recoiling, I tried to get away from the noxious fumes of her sickeningly sweet perfume. At least I told myself it was perfume. It could have been the residual odor of her daily joint (medical marijuana, she claimed, though she didn’t have a prescription and hadn’t seen a doctor in over a decade). Unfortunately I couldn’t figure out a way to answer her without inhaling. “I hear you.”
For some reason those three words made Aunt Leslie burst into tears.
“It’s a miracle!” Aunt Loretta cried, as though she was praising Jesus. “It’s a miracle! I have got to go find that doctor and share this happy news!”
But first she had to give herself a quick once-over in her compact mirror to make sure that her lipstick wasn’t smudged and her nose wasn’t shiny. Reassured that she looked her best, she shimmied out of the room in her too-tight dress and too-high heels. Even closing in on sixty Aunt Loretta was convinced that she was giving Sophia Loren and Raquel Welch a run for their money as she rocked a sex-kitten wardrobe.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked her twin sister, Aunt Leslie, who had worked herself into full-blown sobs in record time.
Wiping her eyes with the corner of the bed sheet, she just cried harder.
A vise of panic tightened around my solar plexus, choking off my air supply, as I tried to figure out what was going on. Everything was so fuzzy.
“Margaret,” Aunt Susan, the third and oldest sister, got my attention from where she waited at the foot of the bed. If Aunt Leslie is the family pothead, and Aunt Loretta is the resident nympho, Aunt Susan is the straight arrow. She might be a pain in the ass, but I know from experience that she can be counted on to make sense in the midst of chaos. “There was a car accident.”
And it all came back. The car. The rain. The fighting in the front seat. The “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” The skid. The roll. The screeching and squealing of metal. The impact. The pain. Screaming.
Katie.
“Katie!” I sat straight up, and the room spun. I was weak and dizzy and nauseated. I broke into a cold sweat. The sensation reminded me of the last time I’d gone with Darlene on the tilt-a-whirl. I didn’t want to think about that. I couldn’t.
“Katie’s alive,” Susan said.
The assurance acted like a super-concentrated dose of Dramamine. The room stopped spinning. The desire to puke my guts up abated. Collapsing back down onto the pillow, I closed my eyes.
“Theresa didn’t make it,” Aunt Susan said softly.
That made Aunt Leslie cry harder.
I kept my eyes squeezed tightly shut as I tried to convince myself this was all a dream. After my baby sister Darlene died fifteen years ago, I’d been plagued with terrible nightmares. In them, all my family members died, one by one. Maybe this was just another bad dream. Maybe my big sister Theresa was still here.
Aunt Susan couldn’t leave me well-enough-alone with my happy delusion. “Dirk died too.”
Aunt Leslie didn’t shed a tear for him. That’s how I knew it was all real.
I thought about the submarine movie. It was a foreign film, without subtitles. I don’t even recall the title. All I remember was the scene when the ship is in danger of sinking. The captain makes the decision to seal off a room, or compartment, or whatever it’s called on a submarine, forfeiting the lives of the sailors trapped inside in order to keep the ship afloat.
Even though I couldn’t understand a single word of dialogue, it was a horrifying, heart-wrenching scene. The idea of sacrificing part in order for the whole to be saved didn’t make any sense to me.
Until my sister Darlene died. Then I understood it perfectly. In order to keep functioning, to keep my head above water, I had to shut off my emotions.
Unwilling to deal with the loss of Theresa, I slammed the door shut on the tidal wave of pain and emotion that threatened to drown me. It was the only way to survive.
I opened my eyes as Aunt Loretta came click-clacking back into the room on the heels of a white-coated doctor. I could see why she’d been so eager to find him. He sorta reminded me of Tom Selleck in his Magnum, P.I. heyday.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he pulled out one of those annoying lights doctors like to shine in your eyes.
“Like shit.”
“Language, Margaret!” Aunt Susan admonished.
Did I mention that straight arrow of hers is stuck up her ass?
“Well that’s understandable, considering . . .” He leaned in close to make his examination. His touch was cool and gentle as he tilted my chin.
“She’s in shock,” Aunt Leslie supplied helpfully, even though no one had asked for an opinion. “Often with a concussion a patient—”
Dr. Magnum P.I. rolled his eyes. No doubt Aunt Leslie had quoted every fact she’d ever read about a head injury to the poor man. I pitied him. Aunt Loretta rested a hand on his arm, pretending to get a better look at me, while groping his bicep muscle.
“Let the man do his job,” I muttered.
The doctor smiled, apparently relieved that at least someone in the family wasn’t going to hassle him. “I’m going to have to ask you ladies to step out while I examine my patient.”
“I saw online—” Aunt Leslie said.
“But we’re family,” Aunt Susan protested
“Is there something wrong with her?” Aunt Loretta asked, almost hopefully. I half-expected her to press the back of her hand to her forehead and pass out.
A nurse bustled in and hustled the witches out.
The doctor poked and prodded me. “You’re one fortunate woman. Most adults don’t wear their seatbelts when riding in the back of a car. Yours saved your life.”
“I normally don’t wear it.”
“Lucky you did.”
“I was just trying to set a good example for my niece.” I swallowed hard. A ball of misery had lodged itself in my throat. “Can I see her? Can I see my niece?”
“As soon as we’re finished here.”
Once he’d finished a physical examination and I’d answered a couple dozen questions for him, he told me that with the exception of some bruised ribs, and the bump on my head, I had miraculously escaped unharmed. True to his word, he instructed the nurse who had joined us to take me to see Katie. She helped me into a wheelchair and rolled me through a series of hallways, explaining that Katie was in the pediatric intensive care unit. She also told me how lucky we were that Katie had been brought to this hospital and not to another. I found it supremely irritating that everyone kept telling me how lucky I was.
She wheeled me to Katie’s bedside and left.
My eyes burned, but no tears fell, as I looked at her small, frail body, lost in the big bed. The top of her head was encapsulated in some kind of cast. Bruises and scratches marred her face. She was attached to a myriad of blinking and beeping medical monitors. She looked more like a horrible science experiment than my beautiful niece.
Always pale, her skin took on an almost translucent quality beneath the harsh hospital lights. I traced the blue vein that snaked down her cheek, imagining I could infuse my life force into her with a mere touch. It was a foolish fantasy, but one I couldn’t give up.
“I’m here, Katie,” I whispered. “Aunt Maggie’s here.”
Before the accident, it scared me how much I loved this little girl. Her smile made me happy, her laughter, giddy. My heart squeezed every time she slipped her hand into mine, and contentment flooded through me when she climbed into my lap.
I stuck my index finger into her palm, hoping that she’d reflexively grab onto me like she used to when she was a baby, but her fingers remained limp.
“You’re going to be okay, Baby Girl. Aunt Maggie will take care of you. I promise.”
I’m not big on promises. I don’t like making them. Maybe it’s because I’m commitment-phobic, or maybe I’m just lazy.
Worse than making promises, though, is believing in them.
I know this from experience. I’d made the mistake of telling my sister Marlene that her twin, Darlene, was going to be okay a long time ago. I’d paid the price, or, more accurately, she’d paid the price, ever since.
That’s because a broken promise, no matter how well-intentioned it may be, is like a pebble in a shoe. At first it’s uncomfortable. Then it’s irritating. Finally it becomes downright painful. And if you don’t figure out a way to purge it from your shoe, or, in this case, your psyche, you can end up with a giant, raw blister than can easily infect your soul.
At least that was the theory I came up with after I broke my promise to Marlene. I had nothing else to do all those sleepless nights when she’d drifted away. Nothing else to do but blame myself for what had happened. All because of my broken promise.
I didn’t get to dwell on my failures as a sister for long before Aunt Susan came into the room.
“We were looking all over for you, Margaret.” There was more rebuke than concern in her voice. There always was.
I ignored her admonishment, too tired to come up with an excuse, too far past caring to offer an apology. “I don’t understand. I’ve barely got a scratch on me, and Katie . . . she. . . . Why didn’t the car seat protect her?”
“There are some papers you need to sign.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. That was Aunt Susan, all business, all the time. “Papers?”
“Authorizing me to make decisions regarding Katherine’s care. With Theresa . . . with both parents out of the picture, the hospital needs a guardian to sign releases, that kind of thing.”
“I can sign them.” Theresa had made me sign off on a million legal papers to make sure that I’d have the right to do just that. At the time, I’d thought it was a giant headache over nothing, but now I saw the wisdom of her choice.
I heard Susan’s sharp intake of breath even over the noise of Katie’s monitors. She was displeased. I didn’t give a damn.
“We should talk about this in the hallway, Margaret.”
Grudgingly, I attempted to wheel away from Katie’s bed. But no matter how hard I pushed, the damn wheelchair wouldn’t budge, a none-too-pleasant reminder that I hadn’t been using my gym membership.
“There’s a brake,” Susan muttered.
Fumbling around, I finally disengaged it, and the wheels started to turn. I tried to make a graceful exit, but instead I ended up slamming into the pole holding Katie’s IV and then some other beeping machine. I made enough noise to wake the dead, but Katie didn’t stir.
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Susan muttered, grabbing the wheelchair from behind and steering me out of the room.
“I’ve never driven one of these things before. There’s a learning curve.”
We barreled down the hallway, causing nurses and orderlies to leap out of our path for fear of losing their toes. “Your whole life has been a learning curve, Margaret, and you’re failing at it.”
I winced. I couldn’t come up with a clever rebuttal, because I knew she was right. I also knew I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing her barb had hit home. “I’m Katie’s legal guardian. Theresa wanted me to make the decisions regarding her care.”
“You can’t make a decision about what socks to wear!” Aunt Susan slammed the chair to a stop, almost dumping me onto the floor.
“Hey! There are no seatbelts with these things!”
Rounding my chariot, Aunt Susan took a deep breath, preparing to hex me, or curse at me, or, worst of all, tell me how “lucky” I was to have her around to pick up the pieces.
Lucky my ass.
I wasn’t going to take it sitting down. I struggled unsteadily to my feet. My blood pressure surged, and I swayed woozily, but like a boxer facing a knock-out punch, I stayed on my feet.
And the damndest thing happened. Something, some expression I had never before witnessed on my eldest aunt’s face, something that looked a lot like respect, gleamed in her eyes. Pursing her lips, she considered me carefully.
I braced myself for the harangue, the lecture, the litany of my shortcomings, but she stayed silent. We stood there, locked in silent battle for the longest time. I refused to back down. I didn’t look away. I knew enough to not open my mouth and stay something stupid.
Finally she cleared her throat. I lifted my chin defiantly.
“The doctor wants to keep you overnight, but one of us, probably Loretta, since she’s enamored with all the wealthy, handsome doctors, will be back in the morning to drive you home.”
I shook my head. “No need. My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here.”
I thought for a moment I’d pushed my rebellion a bit too far, as her hands planted themselves on her hips.
“When I said we’d bring you home, I meant to the house.” The three aunts still lived in the house they’d grown up in, although now it had been turned into a prosperous bed-and-breakfast catering mostly to pharmaceutical executives tired of staying in stark hotel rooms.
The B&B is located two blocks from the middle of town and is only a fifteen or twenty minute drive to three pharmaceutical complexes, but it’s tucked into a quiet residential neighborhood. My aunts’ neighbors are normal Jersey folks, not the kind who show up on ridiculous reality shows, but the type who, during the summer, have sprinklers that are synchronized better than any Olympic swimming team, and during the winter indulge in a penchant for oversized inflatable holiday directions that stay up from October through March.
My apartment complex, on the other hand, is on the “seedy” side of town. It’s not the best of neighborhoods, but it’s not as bad as my family makes it out to be. Although there is the occasional drug bust or domestic disturbance to keep things interesting, it’s mostly harmless blue-collar folks who think going “down the shore” is a dream vacation. It’s the best I can afford and worth every nickel to be out from beneath my aunts’ stifling roof. “No, I want to go back to my apartment,” I told my aunt firmly.
Aunt Susan wrinkled her nose as though she’d smelled a skunk, but all she said was, “As you wish.”
Like wishes ever come true.
About the Author
Besides being a writer, JB LYNN is a compulsive reader, a runner (of sorts), an enthusiastic cook (who doesn’t get the appeal of the Food Network), and someone who has an irresistible urge to eavesdrop at all times.
JB has a great love of her husband, dogs, coffee, purple ink, spiral notebooks, running gear, hot showers, and eighties music. Given enough time, all of these things will eventually show up in her books.
In addition, she’s a Twitter junkie and enjoys interacting with her readers. JB would love for you to “like” and “follow” her on the Net!
To learn more about JB and her books, please visit www.jblynn.com.
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Available now wherever e-books are sold.
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By Jaime Rush
An Excerpt from
THE FORBIDDEN LADY
by Kerrelyn Sparks
(Originally published under the title For Love or Country)
Before New York Times bestselling author Kerrelyn Sparks creat
ed a world of vampires, there was another world of spies and romance . . .
Keep reading for a look at her very first novel.
CHAPTER ONE
Tuesday, August 29, 1769
“I say, dear gel, how much do you cost?”
Virginia’s mouth dropped open. “I—I beg your pardon?”
The bewigged, bejeweled, and bedeviling man who faced her spoke again. “You’re a fetching sight and quite sweet-smelling for a wench who has traveled for weeks, imprisoned on this godforsaken ship. I say, what is your price?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The rolling motion of the ship caught her off guard, and she stumbled, widening her stance to keep her balance. This man thought she was for sale? Even though they were on board The North Star, a brigantine newly arrived in Boston Harbor with a fresh supply of indentured servants, could he actually mistake her for one of the poor wretched criminals huddled near the front of the ship?
Her first reaction of shock was quickly replaced with anger. It swelled in her chest, heated to a quick boil, and soared past her ruffled neckline to her face, scorching her cheeks ’til she fully expected steam, instead of words, to escape her mouth.
“How . . . how dare you!” With gloved hands, she twisted the silken cords of her drawstring purse. “Pray, be gone with you, sir.”
“Ah, a saucy one.” The gentleman plucked a silver snuffbox from his lavender silk coat. He kept his tall frame erect to avoid flipping his wig, which was powdered with a lavender tint to match his coat. “Tsk, tsk, dear gel, such impertinence is sure to lower your price.”
Her mouth fell open again.
Seizing the opportunity, he raised his quizzing glass and examined the conveniently opened orifice. “Hmm, but you do have excellent teeth.”
