by P. Dangelico
“Can I speak to you for a minute,” I say with eyes wide and point to the door. He follows me out to where Sam is still sitting patiently.
“Is Mr. D okay?” Sam asks.
I nod and answer, “Go ahead and say hello if you want.” He gets up and leaves Cal and me standing in the hallway. Just then, over his massive shoulder, I realize we are not alone. A large group of nurses and orderlies are now loitering near the nurse’s station where there were none before. I can feel the frown forming on my face.
“Are you here to take Sam home?” I ask the big man.
His hands are on his hips. He’s peering down at me thoughtfully from his lofty height. He doesn’t answer right away, still in the middle of his thorough examination of my person. I start to get a little nervous for reasons I can’t explain.
“Do you want me to?”
“I think that would be best. I’m sorry I dragged you two into this. I had no idea what to expect when I got here.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad he’s okay.” He stares at me some more. “I’ll come back later. Mercedes can watch Sam.”
“No, no,” I say shaking my head. “It’s going to be a long night. You guys need to eat dinner.”
“Let me get you something before I go. Coffee?”
I’m about to answer when a pretty, young nurse approaches us. Expecting an update on the schedule for my father’s tests, we both turn toward her.
“Mr. Shaw, I’m like, your biggest fan,” she gushes. Sure you are, honey––of his face, you mean. “Can I get your autograph?”
Calvin’s expression transforms before my eyes. His brows lower, lower again. His eyes narrow into cool gray slits and his jaw hardens. I want to take a step back and that look isn’t even directed at me.
“This isn’t a social call. I’m here because my girlfriend’s father has been admitted for a heart issue. Unless you have some information regarding Mr. DeSantis I suggest you leave us alone.”
Heavy emphasis on the g word––heavy frigging emphasis. My stomach is busy doing a flippy thing while the poor girl blanches. Her jaw works in an attempt to respond but nothing comes out. That’s when I rush into this, “What Mr. Shaw means to say is that we’re all a little concerned at the moment––maybe later.”
“Oh…okay,” she stammers out, turns on her heels, and flees the scene of the crime.
“Why’d you do that?” Cal practically growls.
“You have a contract to renegotiate, Champ. Bad press isn’t going to help your cause.”
His sullen expression says everything he doesn’t say out loud. “Coffee?” he grumbles.
“Lots of milk and two Splendas.”
“I know.”
Before I have a chance to ask how, his broad back is already disappearing down the corridor.
Sam and Calvin leave shortly afterward. We wait an eternity for the nurse to come fetch my father for his tests. In the meantime, my mother and I hang in the cafeteria.
“He seems like a nice man.”
I glance up from my emails to find my mother’s attention still buried in a paperback she always carries in her purse.
“Who––Calvin?” She arches a dark, well-groomed eyebrow in a ‘don’t be stupid’ look I know all too well. “Yeah, he is.”
“How do you feel about him?”
“I don’t feel anything. He’s my boss. For the next month and a half at least.” That thought sits in my gut like bad fish.
“Hmm,” she says, her eyes returning to her book.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Camilla, you’re a young woman. What happened to you was a tragedy. But at some point you need to move on with your life.”
“What does that have to do with Calvin?” I say sharply. Okay so I sound a little defensive.
She takes a long, hard look at me and says, “Nothing.”
“And at what point is that?” I push on. “Who gets to determine what a sufficient amount of time is to grieve?”
“So sarcastic,” she chides, her short hair bouncing as she shakes her head. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy…Matt would agree.”
At this, my anger boils over. I have always suspected that my mother was not a fan of Matt so for her to bring his name into this irks me beyond measure.
“Don’t bring Matt in to this. And let’s stop pretending––you never really approved of him.”
“I had nothing against Matt.”
“Oh really?”
“You could have done so much more with your life. You’re smart, you’re talented. You gave up on softball. You gave up on getting your Masters. For what? To make his dreams come true. And look what happened.”
Finally––the truth comes out.
“Ma, Matt didn’t make me do anything. It was all my choice. Even if the choices were wrong, they were mine to make.” The truth of those words crash down on me all at once. I had enabled Matt’s behavior. The thorn that has been needling me for the last three years is so obvious now.
“All I’m saying is don’t let a good thing get away. Matt’s gone. Don’t waste your youth grieving for him.”
Tears prick my eyes. Part of me knows she’s right. The rest of me, however, wants to yell and scream and rail against the world. Why is it that everyone has the answers when they aren’t the ones in pain?
My mother glances around at the two other people in the cafeteria. “This isn’t the time or place to discuss this.” I can’t say another word, lost in the knowledge that I may have been just as much to blame as Matt was, that I may have sanctioned his behavior.
Shortly afterward, my father is admitted and moved to a room in the cardiac unit. When my mother informs the nurses that she has no intension of leaving, they set up a cot for her. More for my own sake than theirs, I decide to hang around a little longer, until they both start to nod off. A hot ball of fear large enough to choke a water buffalo gets stuck in my throat as I watch my father sleep. It’s so hard to see a man I have only thought of as indomitable, suddenly look so vulnerable.
Fighting back tears, I walk out and find the lounge area down the hall. The clock on the cable box nailed to the wall flashes midnight. For the first time all day, I have a chance to stop and think and realize that, in spite of the bone deep fear I felt when I got the text, I didn’t have a panic attack. I guess that’s something to celebrate out of this mess. I’m so lost in thought, basking in the relief of this newfound discovery, that I barely grasp what the nurses standing just outside the door in the hallway are saying.
“He’s soooo hot,” murmurs nurse number one.
“Is he married?” nurse number two tosses up for discussion.
“Divorced, no kids.”
“I’ll give him some babies, some pretty, cocoa colored babies,” joins in nurse number three, followed by a peal of feminine laughter.
“Shhh. He’s coming this way.” The laughing immediately ceases.
“Can you tell me which room Tom DeSantis is in?” says a man in a smooth baritone.
“Calvin?” I call out in a strangely high voice. His head pops into the lounge and his alert eyes meet my curious ones. For a fleeting moment a burst of pure joy steals over me. This is so not good. I have absolutely no business feeling anything about him.
Taking the seat next to mine, he extends his long ass legs straight and crosses them at the ankles. He has nice ankles, of course. This definitely warrants an eye roll. He drums his thumbs on the armrest of the chair while his eyes travel over the dingy room.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted and my defenses are down, maybe it’s because I’m a shallow, superficial creature at heart…all I know is that I can’t stop myself from drinking in the sight of him like he’s an oasis and I’ve been wandering the desert for thirty days.
His hair is still damp from a recent shower, nearly pitch black. And those lashes…gawd, those lashes are cruel. How does a dude get lashes like that when the rest of us are forced to wear mascara? Lit by t
he overhead light, they throw shadows on his model worthy cheekbones. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. The scruff covering his lower face, heavy and dark, frames his full pink lips.
I think he knows I’m looking at him. And the funny thing is––I think he’s letting me. In a spell, I murmur, “What are you doing here?”
“When you didn’t come home, I thought I’d check to see how your father was doing.” Perfectly relaxed, his attention returns to the television on the wall, on which a rerun of The Golden Girls is playing. “How is he?”
“They ran the tests. We won’t know anything until we speak to the doctor tomorrow.” I exhale heavily, concern weighing on me. “He’s sleeping now.” At this, he nods. “Are your parents still in Florida?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I know how closely he guards his privacy but I can’t resist. I want to know more about what makes him tick. I want to know so much more.
He turns to look at me. A long pause ensues. “They both passed away. My mother when I was at Florida State, and my father a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry…do you mind if I ask how?”
“My mother had cirrhosis of the liver. My father car accident…I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.” An overwhelming urge to grip his hand and comfort him comes over me. Obviously that’s out of the question, so I tuck both hands under my thighs. I literally have to sit on my hands to stop from embarrassing myself. “Ready to go home?”
At my nod, he stands and holds out a hand. As soon as I place mine in his, warmth spreads all the way up my arm. Pulling me up, I feel a brief squeeze before he drops it.
“What about the Yukon?” I mention as we’re exiting the building.
“I’ll drop you off tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take Uber.”
“The hell you will.” He opens the passenger door of the Range Rover and waits as I slide in.
“Excuse me?” On his face, I find a decidedly recalcitrant expression. Hmm. I wiggle my brows at him. Anything to throw off his game because that look does not bode well for me. God forbid Calvin Shaw sets his mind on something. For my efforts, I get nothing. Not even a twitch of his lips.
“I’m not having a total stranger drive you.”
He’s not having it? That’s…I don’t even know what that is. “How is that different from a cab driver?”
“I’m dropping you off.” He starts the car and taps on his playlist. George Strait starts to sing Give It All We Got Tonight. End of discussion. Might as well save my breath.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I have every intension of calling Uber and sneaking out. Until I step into the kitchen and my plans are smashed to bits by the very determined man standing in the kitchen drinking a green smoothie.
“Ready?” he asks with a slight lift of his lips.
“As soon as you wipe the smug look off your face, Champ.”
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the hospital entrance. I turn to speak but he beats me to it. “Don’t worry about Sam. Mercedes and I will take care of him today,” he says, rubbing his big hand on his thigh. He’s not done surprising me though. “Call me as soon as you have some news.”
A hot chunk of emotion clogs my throat. I don’t know why I have a sudden urge to cry. I’m not a crier by nature. You would think all the shit that’s happened to me lately would cure me of it. Battling the dampness welling in the corners of my eyes, I stare ahead and say, “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t,” he cuts in. His hands, on the outskirts of my vision, tighten on the steering wheel. I know I’m making him uncomfortable, but if I don’t get this out now, I’ll regret it forever. And I’m done with regrets––all stocked up here.
“I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, okay. These last three years have been horrible. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is against me. And you…” The words get caught in my throat. I can’t look at him, I’ll erupt if I do. “I’ve learned the hard way not to put off saying stuff…that I might not get another chance.” With that, I rip open the door and get out without a backward glance.
By the time I reach my father’s room, the doctor has already paid them a visit. I find my mother sipping coffee in the armchair next to his bed, and my father wearing a sullen expression I’ve never quite seen on him before.
“It’s his blood pressure. The doctor said he has to take it easy.”
“He said slow down,” my father corrects. “How are you doin’, Punkin’?”
“I’m worried. But at least, now we know what it is.”
“How’d you get here?” Tom casually asks. Who’s he trying to fool? We all know this is a well planned hunting expedition.
“Cal brought me.” Silence falls like a lead balloon.
“Angel, I could really use a freshly squeezed orange juice.”
My mother gets out of her seat. “Anything else, Dear?”
“A rib eye steak and fries.”
“I’ll be right back with the orange juice. Cami, you want anything?”
“No, I’m good, Ma, thanks.”
My mother grabs her purse and exits. We both watch her go, a soft affectionate smile lingering on my father’s face. “God, I love your mother.”
“I know, Dad.” My entire life, that’s never been in question. Growing up with these two lovebirds was mortifying when I was a kid. As an adult, I’ve always envied them.
He looks at me pointedly. “You know how your mother and I fell in love.”
At this, I’m ready to poke my eyes out. “Not again, Dad, please. I’ve heard the story a million times.”
“No, you haven’t.” At the serious inflection in his voice, my eyes snap to his. “We never told you about Liz Infantini.”
“Who the heck is Liz Infantini?”
“The reason your mother and I fell in love.”
“Huh?”
“Liz was the girl every guy in the neighborhood wanted.”
“Am I going to hate this story?”
“Patience. Now where was I…Liz, right. Young. Old. It didn’t matter. One look at Liz and they all fell like dominos.” I sit on the end of his bed, so taken by the story by knees turn weak. “Guys went at her hard. Flowers, expensive gifts. Tony Bartorelli offered her a ten day all expense paid trip to Jamaica. Liz wouldn’t have any of them. Me, I liked Liz, really liked her. I mean…five ten, a body like Sophia Loren, auburn hair like Rita Hayworth––”
“Alright, Dad. Stay on topic.”
“Anyway, I was a good lookin’ kid. You’re beautiful and I had something to do with that.” Tom isn’t exaggerating. I’ve seen enough pictures. Blunt and even masculine features coupled with large dark eyes and a blinding white grin. My dad was handsome.
“But I was shy. I didn’t know how to talk to her, so I didn’t…until she talked to me.” Dad takes a deep breath. “It lasted a year. I was crazy about her. Then, right after graduation, she dumped me for Eddy Wachoski. I enlisted in the Navy and that was that.”
“You’re going somewhere with this, right?”
“Patience. We docked in New York for two days. My mood was still in the dumps. My buddies insisted I hit the bars with them. I said I would, but first I wanted a really good slice of pizza, so we headed to Little Italy to get a bite to eat before we made the rounds. That’s when I spotted your mother…beautiful, not in the same way Liz was, in her own way. She reminded me of an angel.” The dreamy look my father gets on his face makes me smile. “The line for the pizza joint wrapped around the block. We were all on line, waiting to be served, when my buddy started speaking to her friend.
“The first thing I said to your mother was that I just broke up with my girlfriend and I wasn’t ready to start something new. She said she understood. We waited on that line for forty minutes. We talked the whole time. And after we ate, she scribbled her address on a paper napkin and said––to my dying day I’ll never forget t
his–– ‘I know your heart is broken, but a man that can love that deeply is a man worth having as a friend. If you ever get lonely, write me a letter and I’ll write you back.’”
The wet glaze in my father’s eyes is almost too much for me to bear, my throat closing up.
“That’s how the letters began?” I say, shocked out of my Converse All-Stars.
Nodding, a soft smile gracing his lips, Dad says, “That’s how the letters began. I was nowhere ready in my head to fall in love again. But something in my gut told me to take that paper napkin. Take it and keep it. I listened to my gut instinct. I didn’t let my head talk me out of it…I would’ve lost the best thing to ever happen to me if I had.”
I fight the tears trying to sneak out of the corners of my eyes.
“What are you getting at, Dad?”
“You might not be ready now. But don’t let your head talk you out of anything your gut tells you.”
Two days later spring explodes onto the scene. It’s well in the seventies so Sam and I decide to go to the park. On our way out, I grab the basketball. New discovery: Sam is surprisingly good at it. I’ve been working on getting him to open up, to engage the other boys at the park. Unfortunately, I’ve made very little progress and it’s been bothering me.
The parking lot is full when we get there––obvs, everyone else had the same idea. There’s nothing I love more than the boisterous shouts and giggles of kids playing, and there’s plenty of that going on. Glancing sideways, I can tell Sam is quietly retreating into his shell.
We walk up to one of the less crowded basketball courts and I start stretching while Sam begins to dribble. Over on the next court, a skinny blonde kid, who appears to be around Sam’s age, attempts to shoot. I say attempts because the cutie is excruciatingly uncoordinated. I glance at Sam, who’s doing great with the dribbling exercises we worked on last week, and see that he’s noticed the boy as well.
“Derrick, bend your knees a little,” a gravelly masculine voice gently instructs from the edge of the court. My gaze swings in that direction and finds its owner. He’s attractive. Like really attractive. Tall, fit, square jaw––your typical smoking hot, all-American blonde. He glances my way and our eyes lock. After a beat, his hard expression lifts and he smiles crookedly at me. I turn beet red because there’s no mistaking the interest in his baby blue eyes. I return a tight smile and walk over to Sam, who is in the process of sinking a shot.
