One swallow of water and two stop signs later, I switch from a walk to a slow jog. The air seems fresher compared to Boston, even if it’s very humid. I can breathe out here, and now I know that if I want some peace and quiet, all I have to do is take to the streets because Smithville residents don’t seem to be into outdoor fitness activities. Not a single jogger passes me along my jaunt. In Boston, jogging down sidewalks was out of the question. I wouldn’t be able to go two steps with the high volume of traffic. I stuck to the jogging trails, especially near the Charles River, and even then, it was usually packed no matter how cold it was.
This is my first glimpse of the landscape of the town. Once I get past the town square, homes start to pop up—cute bungalows with nice-sized front yards. Each house is painted a different color, making it appear almost like a movie set. A flash of memory hits me of the house in which my grandmother lived when we would visit. I know I was little, but I do remember she didn’t live far from the middle of town. I’m sure I would recognize her old house if I saw it. It probably hasn’t changed a bit in twenty years.
With renewed energy, I pick up the pace and turn down Elliston Street. Thank goodness Spanish moss covers the trees and serves as a canopy across the street. The shade is a welcome relief from the sun beating down on me. Two more gulps of water help me keep pace to the music. A car slows down as it passes me. I wave, but the driver sneers as he proceeds down the street.
With the hem of my tank top, I wipe the sweat from my face. It feels awesome to exercise and rid my body of all the toxins I’ve been taking in over the last few months. So this is what sober feels like. Not so bad. With thoughts of Gunnar to distract me these last two days, I haven’t thought much about taking a drink. Maybe if he comes around every now and then, it will be good for me in more ways than one.
I crank up the pace more and turn down another street, blinking the sweat out of my eyes. The sun blares down on me, and it wouldn’t surprise me if I got a nasty sunburn today. Next time, I’ll have to apply sunscreen.
Every time I reach a stop sign, I see another pretty house in the distance that I want to run by. Because of this, I wind up zigzagging through town so much, I can’t remember which way leads back to the center of town. All the streets are named after trees, and I can’t remember if I crossed Pine Street before Maple or if Dogwood Lane is perpendicular to Crepe Myrtle Avenue. The street names are as pretty as the homes, but I’m completely turned around now.
I stop at a traffic light to catch my breath. Scanning left and right, I’m not so sure which way to turn to get back to the town square, and I’m too proud to ask for directions from the two little boys throwing a football through a sprinkler. I wave at them, but they only stare back. Steven Tyler’s voice stops singing to me. I really need to remember to charge my phone more often.
When the light turns green, I shoot across the street and continue on my journey. My Fitbit buzzes to let me know I’m above my target heart rate. If it weren’t for that truck with the rusted tailgate following me, I would slow down to a walk. When I turn right, he turns right. I turn right again, and he’s still right on my heels, this time gunning his engine. I turn left, and the truck heads in the other direction, thank goodness, but not before the jerk of a driver wolf whistles. I pick up the pace, my Fitbit screaming for me to slow down. If I can get back to the street with the pretty Spanish moss, I think I can figure out how to get back to my shop. But I don’t know how to get back there.
The road I’m on changes from paved to gravel, and the quaint houses change to trailers with chain-link fences surrounding them. A very large dog rushes toward me, showing its teeth. I screech to a halt as the dog runs around me, not doing anything for my maximum heart rate.
A kid from the porch yells, “Buster, get up here now.”
After a final “woof,” the dog leaves me on the sidewalk, gasping for air. I do an about-face and retrace my steps, but nothing looks familiar. The last drop of water from my bottle drips onto my nose, and my tank top is soaked with sweat. I don’t need my Fitbit to warn me about my heart rate because I hear each swooshing beat in my ears, and my head is on fire.
When I get back to the paved part of the road, I stop and lean over, sucking in air. My eyes blur, and the ground spins, not to mention the contents of my stomach do not want to stay down. This is like a sober hangover. I stumble a few steps.
Fear creeps up my spine, and tears well up. Turning right seems like the way I came, but so does going left. I’m not sure anymore, and I can barely see either way now. The houses all appear the same, and my eyes blur so much, I can’t read the street sign.
To keep the panic from rising any higher, I lean up against a tree and force myself to slow my breaths. I’m lost in a frickin’ one-traffic-light town, and I don’t know what to do. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes in hopes of relieving the pressure in my head. But no matter how much I try to slow my breaths, I still pant like a dog inside a hot car.
My eyes close, and the bark of the tree scrapes my back before my butt hits the ground with a thud. I hear a vehicle approach, but I don’t have the strength to run away if it’s the guy in the rusted-out truck wanting to do more than catcall this time. A car door opens and slams shut, and footsteps crunch through the yard toward me. Sorry, Granny. Your granddaughter is an idiot.
“Andie?” That voice. I know that voice. “You okay?”
Gunnar. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer that I didn’t get eaten by a large dog or kidnapped by the rusted-truck guy today. “I’m okay. But I’m real hot.”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to brag about it.” He touches my face, and his cool fingers bring me back to life. I open my eyes in time to see his cocky grin turn to concern. “You’re burning up.”
And if he keeps touching me like that, I’m going to get hotter.
I shrug and try to take in a breath. “At least I’m not sweating anymore.”
He groans. “No. That’s a bad thing. In this heat and humidity, when you stop sweating, it means you’re dangerously close to having heatstroke. Andie, you need to—”
My gut explodes, and I spew every piece of chicken and biscuits I had for lunch all over the grass and down his leg.
“Yep. Heatstroke.”
I wipe my mouth with the hem of my tank top then use it to cover my face. “I’m so sorry.”
I try to stand, but my knees buckle, and in one quick sweep, Gunnar scoops me up and carries me to his police car. He places me in the passenger seat and cranks the air conditioner on full blast. He takes a water bottle from the console, pours some water into his hands, then lets the cool water trickle down my face.
I jump from surprise and slosh water everywhere. “What are you doing?” If I had anything left in my stomach, it would be all over the floorboard of his police car.
“Cooling you off.” He drizzles water down my arms and neck. Then he takes my socks and sneakers off and reclines the seat back, his face hovering dangerously close to mine.
He hands me the water bottle. “Here. Tiny sips. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“No! I am fine.”
“Hush.” He walks around the car and climbs in to the driver’s seat. After buckling his seat belt, he guns the engine and races off down the street.
I drift off to sleep but not before Gunnar’s strong, soft hand touches my cheek again and slides a strand of hair behind my ear.
CHAPTER NINE
Andie
I cannot possibly have anything left to expel from my stomach. The cold washcloth falls to the floor while I wretch again, dry heaves this time. With each episode, Gunnar holds my hair back to keep it from being sprinkled with hurl. If I didn’t have puke breath, I would kiss that man. He doesn’t know me from Adam, but here he is, helping me and hardly letting the doctor and nurse in the room do their jobs.
I flop back in the hospital bed, trying not to mess with the blood pressure cuff on one arm and the IV attached to the other. A shiver runs
up my spine. “C-C-Cold.”
With the back of his hand, Gunnar touches my cheek. His hand is a great combination of strength and gentleness. His eyebrows knit together in a scowl.
“Your core temp is dropping,” my doctor says. I think her name is Dr. Ballard.
If I felt better, I would make a wisecrack about that. Her light-brown hair is pulled back into a braid, but by the way the escaped strand coils around her ear, I bet it would be nothing but corkscrew curls if she didn’t have it all contained. She checks the IV bag that runs fluid into my vein, while the nurse sticks a thermometer in my mouth and pushes the button for my blood pressure cuff to inflate.
With the thermometer clenched in my mouth, I say to Gunnar, “You don’t have to stick around.” He’s already seen me at my worst, but I have some pride left.
The nurse shushes me.
“I want to. It’s no big deal.” He flicks his eyes up to the doctor.
She has a knowing smile on her face.
“But you should—”
“Shh.” He points to the doctor. “You should listen to Mel. I had to pull in a favor to get her to come in on her day off.”
“A really big one,” the doctor says.
The nurse harrumphs. All three of them have a nonverbal argument, and I have no idea what that’s all about.
He grins. “Besides, how are you going to get home? Run?”
The nurse holds up a device to my ear and jots down whatever it displays.
“I thought I’d take a cab. Besides, I’m still mad that you led me to believe you were married.”
Dr. Mel gasps. “You didn’t.”
“I did not.”
The nurse snorts as she takes the thermometer out of my mouth. She shows the reading to the doctor.
“One hundred,” says the doctor. “Much better. After your fluids finish running and if your temp comes down a little more, I’ll discharge you. Don’t run in this heat again.”
Gunnar sits on the side of the bed at my feet. “See? It won’t be much longer.”
The nurse taps on the computer keyboard next to my bed. “Not soon enough,” she mumbles.
Well, that’s rude. I don’t know her from Adam, and it’s not like I want to be here. It’s not my fault it’s a hundred degrees and she picked the short straw to be my nurse. I notice the purple streak running down the left side of her jet-black hair. It won’t be too hard to pick her out if she ever shows up in my shop. And if she does, I’ll give her the same respect she’s showing me.
Gunnar’s eyes narrow.
“Thanks,” I say to him.
“No problem.”
I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t be sick. I have a business to run tomorrow.”
The nurse takes my left hand and places it back down on the bed. “You’ll make the IV slow down.”
I take a deep breath then focus on Gunnar. “Two days. You’ve known me for two days. I promise, this is not my usual self. I’ve had hangovers that feel better than this.”
Gunnar chuckles.
The nurse swings around and cocks an eyebrow. “Doctor, do you want me to draw any labs?”
The doctor and Gunnar have another stare-down.
“Yes,” she answers the nurse.
Gunnar’s jaw clenches.
Shit. They think I’ve been drinking. Too many times, I’ve heard officers ask, “Do I need to get the nurse to draw blood?” to see if my alcohol level was over the legal limit. For once, I don’t have anything to hide, and they’ve already assumed the worst. I watch the machine as my heart rate races into the nineties, and I take a few deep breaths to reel in my anger.
The doctor pushes her braid off her shoulder. “Draw electrolytes.”
The nurse’s mouth drops. “But what about—”
The doctor’s face turns red. “Regina, I said electrolytes. Do you have a problem with my orders?”
The nurse turns pale. “No, of course not. I’ll get the supplies.”
Regina slips out of the room with her tail tucked between her legs. If I had any fluids left in my body, I think my eyes would be spilling out tears. My heart rate monitor beeps faster and faster.
I focus on the floor and take a deep breath. “Doctor, I’m not drunk.”
“I know. You have not given me one indication to think otherwise.”
“The nurse thought I—”
Gunnar pats my leg again. “And you thought I was married... to my sister.”
The doctor belts out a laugh.
I point my pulse-oximeter-covered finger at him. “You, sir, never tried to correct my assumptions.”
“Well, you know what they say about assumptions. Besides, don’t mind Regina. She’s a sourpuss on the best day.”
I groan. “Fit in. I’m supposed to fit in.”
Gunnar pats my leg. He likes to touch my leg, and I’m not going to complain. “Hey, think of it this way. You met Mel. Maybe you were trying to meet the medical staff that knew your grandmother.”
The doctor wags her head. “She was a keeper.”
Gunnar chuckles. “You remember the time she slipped on a rug and twisted her knee?”
The doctor clucks her tongue. “Poor thing. She kept hollering, ‘Help, I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.’ Even in pain, she was a hoot.”
A warmness comes over me, and it has nothing to do with being overheated. But it might have something to do with Gunnar’s hand that is still resting on my leg.
The doctor examines Gunnar, and her eyes twinkle. “Unless she’s having a seizure, there’s no need to hold her legs down like that.”
With one quick jerk, he snatches his hand away. The doctor bites her lip in an attempt to keep a smirk off her face. I stifle a giggle as heat rushes to my face, and I’m sure my core temp just shot up again.
“I’m... well... I’ll go find a wheelchair.” He spins around and crashes into the bedside table before scooting out the door.
My doctor giggles, and in a singsong voice, she says, “Somebody’s got a crush on you.”
“What? Him? No. We just met.”
She shrugs and puts the thermometer in my mouth again. I can’t decide if she does it to check my temperature or to shut me up.
“I mean, he’s super cute and all, but—”
“Shh.”
Dang. Southern women can be so bossy. I wait until the thermometer beeps before I speak again. “Did you grow up here?” If I’m stuck here for a little while longer, I might as well get to know the people that interacted with Granny. Maybe through them, I’ll feel closer to her.
“Yep. Except for college and medical school, I’ve lived here all my life. And some people still see me as the gangly girl they used to pick on in middle school. Never mind I’m the boss on this unit.”
I figured there was some Regina-Mel backstory, but I don’t want to know anything about it. It’s my plan to stay as far away from drama as I possibly can.
“Why would she assume I’d been drinking?”
Mel cocks her head to the side as though I should have figured that out already. “Honey, her daddy is the preacher of the First Baptist Church. Follow the money.”
“Oh.” Small towns and their drama. “Wouldn’t you prefer practicing medicine in a place that doesn’t have so much drama? You could make way more money if you lived in Atlanta or Chicago, someplace like that.”
She wraps her fingers around my wrist. “I do all right. Besides, the scenery is better here.”
Oh. She must be talking about Gunnar. Good to know. I’m glad I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.
“So, Doctor...”
“You can call me Mel or Dr. Mel. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not hung up on titles.”
“Okay, so are you and Gunnar...”
Her eyes bug out of her eye sockets. “Oh, hell no. Ew. He’s my cousin.”
Yes!
She wags a finger in front of my face. “There’s a lot of stereotypes about the South that are true, but we do not marry
our cousins.” She motions to the door, where Gunnar stands. His face is as red as mine feels. “When we were little and took baths together, he used to pee in the tub.”
Gunnar’s mouth drops. “Mel... that was our little secret.”
“Harrumph. After you read my diary in the seventh grade then told Mitchell Sorrow I had a crush on him, all bets were off.”
I gasp and stare at him. “You didn’t.”
He cringes. “I was trying to get them together. Still am, by the way.”
She flings a pen at him. “If you don’t keep your nose out of my business, I’m gonna tell Andie that you were in the—”
Gunnar takes a stalking step toward Mel.
In rapid fire, she spits out, “He was in the glee club, chess club, and was a—”
He grabs his cousin and presses a hand over her mouth. A round of giggles bubbles through the hospital room. I’ve never heard anything like this come from a doctor’s mouth before. She pulls back his pinky finger enough to finish her sentence. “Cheerleader.”
He flops down into the wheelchair. I pull my knees up to my chest and giggle into my hands. It must be nice to have family to razz. The closest I have to that is Tinsley, and if it weren’t for my drinking, I don’t think he would have been around at all.
Mel places my arm straight again. She gives me a very satisfied grin. “That’ll teach him to mess in my love life, or the lack thereof.”
Gunnar’s eyes ping-pong from me to her. “Are you two finished?”
Mel shrugs. “Sorry. That was a long time ago. Things change.”
He laces his hands behind his head. “Actually, being a male cheerleader did have its advantages. Why get beat up on the football field when I could have the best view of the female cheerleaders?”
Mel rolls her eyes. “Ugh. And how did that turn out for you?”
Gunnar’s mouth forms a tight, straight line. Note to self: he doesn’t like to talk about his past. At least we have that in common.
Mel grimaces. “Sorry, cuz. That was low. I grant you one free pass to meddle in my life. But I am shooing you out of here right now while her fluids finish running. She needs to rest.”
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