Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Venus.”

  “Huh!” I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see Clint with a huge gauze bandage covering his right eye. His face was riddled with tiny cuts and abrasions. “You’re all right.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said solemnly.

  “Clint, I know who did this. I know what happened. This entire hospital isn’t safe.”

  “C’mon.” He led me off a few steps.

  “We’ve got to tell the police. Jasper is getting away. I saw him—he practically admitted to trying to destroy this hospital. This is murder.”

  Clint looked like someone had socked him in the gut. “It was an accident, V. That’s all. It had nothing to do with Jasper.”

  “An accident? No. It was Jasper. He was downstairs in the basement after the drugs he’d hidden. He’s selling them, he’s addicted to them, that’s why the guy beat him in the parking lot, they were in business together.” I was short of breath by the time I finished.

  Clint simply looked annoyed. “V, you’re wrong.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault. That’s all I can say right now, okay. It wasn’t Jasper. I accidentally left one of the oxygen tanks loose when I was changing them.”

  The shock rose on my face. “Are you sure?”

  “Let it go, V,” he said with finality before walking away.

  “Venus.” I heard my name being called.

  I turned to see Jake. I didn’t ponder whether or not he’d just witnessed Clint grasping my arm. I didn’t care what he saw: I only knew the truth. Through all the sadness and tragedy, he was all that mattered. I rushed toward him, threw my arms around his neck, and held on for dear life. “Baby…”

  “Shhh, I got you. I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” He rocked my body back and forth in his arms. “It’s going to be okay, everything’s all right. I got you.”

  Front Page

  The fire at the hospital was on every channel. I watched the television on mute while I lay in bed with Jake still sleep beside me. The small clip with the subtitle underneath, jackson memorial in real fire. As if all the other incidents were just a trial run. This was the real one that may shut the hospital down for sure. A doctor died. A smiling picture of Dr. Langley appeared on the screen with dates underneath, 1959–2005. I clicked the TV off and pushed myself back under the covers. I didn’t want to face the day.

  Jake lay peacefully beside me like he hadn’t known sleep for a couple of days. I watched his eyes flutter and took the opportunity, stroking the side of his face and kissing him gently on the lips.

  I snuggled so close, I’d pinned myself underneath his weight. He wrapped his arms around me, then fell back to dreamland. For a brief moment everything seemed perfect and right. I got up and decided to make breakfast. It’d been a long time since it was just Jake and me alone in the house. I planned to fix my husband coffee, toast, and sliced fruit and serve him in bed. The term “scared straight” kept entering my mind. Close call. Dodging a bullet. Lucky. Blessed. I could go on and on—all I knew is that everyone deserved a second chance, sometimes a third or fourth in my case.

  As I was headed back upstairs with the breakfast tray, I heard the newspaper land on the porch. The paperboy had perfected throwing it over the seven-foot-high gate. I set the tray down and wrapped my robe tight to get ready for the morning cold. I scooted fast and grabbed the Sunday Times. Having the paper delivered first thing in the morning started out as part of the job; now it was a relaxing ritual. I slipped the thick newsprint under my arm and headed up the stairs.

  Jake was sitting up but relaxed against a stack of pillows.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty, got some coffee and cinnamon raisin toast.”

  He sat up as I came toward him with the tray. “I’ve got something for you, too.”

  I gently scooted the tray on his lap and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Honey, no. Your coffee’s going to get cold.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” he said, biting into his toast.

  “Oh, right.” I stood up straight, pulled my robe tighter. He reached into the side drawer and handed me an envelope.

  “Open it.”

  “What is this?” I pulled out a check made out to Jackson Memorial Hospital. I kept squinting to see if the row of zeros would shorten or keep getting longer.

  “A donation,” Jake said sweetly.

  “I can see that. This is a half a million dollars. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I did.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know how else to say I was sorry.”

  “Jake, no. I was the … I’m the one. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I knew taking that job would make you nervous. I was selfish—I could’ve done something else, like you said, if I wanted to work so bad, it could have been anywhere else but there.”

  “No. All that was my fault. The minute I challenged you, tried to put down your decision, I knew what I was setting myself up for. I know the woman I married. Your stubbornness, your passion, those are half the reasons I fell in love with you. Throw in a hospital with a threat of going down and I had a serious cause on my hands. And you know what, I’m proud of you for trying.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded his head. “I was born at Jackson Memorial,” he said softly. “I never wanted to see it close. I wasn’t angry about you working there. I was angry about a lot of things, a lot was happening, stuff I was too embarrassed to tell you about.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. He moved the tray and pulled me against his body. “I caught Byron Steeple stealing from my company. Millions, and I couldn’t figure out how he was doing it until it was too late. Byron is the one who gave ammunition to Fenny Maxwell, the one you met at the party, the blue eyes,” he added, knowing that was description enough. “Byron was feeding her information. She knew JP Wear was in a serious hole, dependent on the Rocknell stores. She gave me an ultimatum. Either I merge with them to be a private label or she’d pull JP Wear off their floors, leaving me even deeper in red. JP Wear wouldn’t have survived if I didn’t fall in line. That’s why I had to sell.”

  “Jake, no.” I held on to him. “I don’t care how many times I’ve already said it, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  “You were there—I just pushed you away.” He kissed me on the forehead. The soft touch of his lips sent a storm of emotion through me. Our mouths pressed against each other. I wanted to climb inside his arms and stay there, loved and safe.

  He peeled my arms away and looked me in the eye. “Promise me we’ll never let anything come between us again.”

  “I promise,” I said. I meant it. I’d spend the rest of my days giving all that I had to give, loving him without reservation.

  Jake hopped into the shower. I rolled over and grabbed the newspaper off the tray I’d brought up. I knew there would be plenty on the Jackson Memorial fire. A large color picture of the firefighters shooting water up to the fifth floor while frantic hospital staff stood in the background.

  Dr. Clint Fairchild, Head of Pediatrics and Neonatology at Jackson Memorial is currently under investigation for negligence after the accidental death of Dr. Burt Langley due to nitrogen explosion. The California Board of Health plans a full investigation to explain why the doctor would be performing unauthorized maintenance on potentially dangerous nitrous oxygen tanks.

  Just as Clint had said.

  I read the one paragraph in the newspaper and refused to read the rest. I flipped the Times closed then folded the paper over. The obituary section faced me. A photo of Dr. Langley caught my eye. Remembering his face on the gurney. Seeing the hurt and scared faces all over again. A wave of sadness hit. Dark wet spots appeared on the newsprint. It took me a moment to realize the spots came from my tears.

  I read the small write-up for Dr. Langley, survived by his wife and two children, memorial services will be held Monday at 2 p.m. at Greenville Morturary.

  Down below another picture caught my eye. Under the grainy
sepia-toned headshot was a small caption. in memory of byron steeple.

  The sound of the shower stopped.

  Jake was still in the bathroom drying off. I folded the paper, prepared to show him when he came out, Look, this man who robbed you is now dead. Karma, huh?

  My mouth suddenly went dry, and my head hot. The buzzing in my ear grew louder. The sense of awareness, the ability to hear, see, feel, all too much at one time. I wanted the sound to stop, the small voice in my ear that said, Jake knows, of course he knows. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. I tapped a few keys and started a search on the Internet for how the man died. Within seconds the story, not more than a few lines popped up. Beaten to death. Found in his car. Nothing stolen. I read the same thing over and over again. No leads. Found dead.

  “Already back to work?” Jake came out with a loose-fitting T-shirt and jeans. His hair was moist when he leaned over and kissed me. I closed my laptop. My eyes darted to the newspaper still facing Byron Steeple.

  “Jake,” I said, then nothing else. I blinked the tear away and it streamed down my face before I could catch it.

  “Babe, it’s going to take a while but the hospital will get back on its feet.” He slid the tear away with the back side of his soft hand. “You want to do something today? Go to a movie, something to get your mind off everything?”

  I shook my head, because I was still unable to speak.

  “We should at least pick up Mya from your mom and dad’s house. I miss my baby,” he said, slipping his feet into his socks one at a time. I watched his hands, his wrists, his arms, tight with muscle, and had no doubt of his strength. I’d seen him with my own eyes take down Clint, a solid few inches taller, with one blow. I covered my mouth but the sound still came, a hoarse cry followed by me trying to shut myself up.

  Jake rushed by my side and threw his arms around me. “I got you, sweetness. Shh, it’s okay. Right?”

  I nodded my head. Eventually, yes, everything had to be all right. I wasn’t in the kind of world where people died by another’s hand. My world was safe. I held on to Jake as tight as I could, burying my face in his chest and arms, hoping I could read his heart. I knew the rhythm, his beat, the pace, but I couldn’t find the answer to the question. It just wouldn’t go away.

  Smoke Signal

  I was grateful for Monday morning, which signified hope and new promise for the week. I woke up early and called Trina, letting her know Mya would be with my mother so she didn’t need to come in.

  “How about tomorrow?” she asked cautiously.

  “Why don’t you take the entire week off,” I said, knowing that a week would probably mean forever. My mother was right. There only needed to be one Eve. If things were going to change, I had to start in the obvious areas. Jake and I didn’t need any more distractions from third parties. I wanted to be his wife and take care of our child and be the mother I knew I could be. I wrote out a check for Trina along with a letter of recommendation.

  The smell of dampness and smoke hit me the minute I entered through the hospital lobby. The receptionist station in the entrance sat unattended; phone lines blinked and went unanswered. The sky had a solid cloud hovering low and menacing. No rain was in the forecast. The weatherman predicted a bright and sunny beautiful day. I kept looking at the large ominous cloud and knew the weatherman was wrong.

  “You’re here.” Morgan stood at my door, markedly a changed woman from the devastation. Her usually coiffed hair was pulled back in a rubber band. Her blouse was loosely tucked into a pair of elastic waistband pants. She was unraveling before my eyes.

  “How’re you holding up?”

  She came inside with slumped shoulders and sat down. She began to tear up. “Burt … Dr. Langley and I were very close, more than friends,” she added. I understood what she implied, though Dr. Langley had a wife and two small children. Her face began to tremble. She stared off before a single tear trailed down her face. Morgan dabbed her eyes with a balled piece of tissue. “He said he was sorry and it was his fault.”

  “Clint?” I said, “You’re talking about Dr. Fairchild?”

  “Yes.” She wiped again. “He’s responsible.”

  I came around and sat next to her. “Morgan, I’m so sorry for your loss, but if there’s a breakdown, any semblance of this hospital going against a doctor, especially, Clint … Dr. Fairchild, Jackson Memorial won’t stand a chance of getting through this.”

  “What … I’m going to protect him? I’ve lost someone I loved. I’m not going to protect him on any level.”

  I thought about what Jasper said, how no one wanted to stick by him. Every man for himself. “Please think about it, Morgan. If this hospital is ever going to survive, everyone has to stick together.”

  “If he’s responsible, then he needs to pay the consequences.”

  I rubbed my tired eyes. “Let’s just get a positive statement out there, put on a good face, and deal with what really happened as it was, an accident.”

  “That’s just the issue, isn’t it,” she said defiantly. “We don’t know what really happened. But we do know who was responsible.”

  We both looked up at the same time to see Kandi blinking slowly, standing halfway behind the opened door. “I have the rest of my things.”

  Morgan stood up. “I wish you the best,” she said with restraint.

  Kandi cut her eyes toward me then back to Morgan. “I wish you the best, too.”

  I took a deep relieving inhale, then exhaled. Maybe real work could get done. Kandi and I in the same building, let alone the same room, was a dangerous mix. I was about to tell Morgan about the donation from JP Wear before I heard the commotion coming from the hallway. Morgan and I both trotted out, landing behind the small crowd that had already gathered.

  “I’m not going to jail for what you did!”

  “Someone call the police, this man is insane,” Kandi’s voice rose. “Get out of my way.”

  “They’re already coming. I knew you’d point the finger at me eventually to save your husband. It’d only be a matter of days before you tried to pin this whole mess on me.”

  After finally pushing my way through the crowd, I saw Jasper pointing a shaking finger at Kandi.

  “No one’s blaming you for anything,” Kandi said coolly.

  “I already know what’s going on. You think I didn’t know what you were up to. She did it, she’s the one unplugged the incubators.” Jasper spun around to see if anyone believed him. “She started the fire, too.”

  Kandi adjusted the box in her arms. “Has someone called the police on this lunatic yet? Doesn’t matter to me. I’m out of here.” She attempted to pass, but Jasper stayed in her way.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I said. “Haven’t we all had enough?” I faced Jasper. “Get out and don’t ever come back. Just stay away and don’t ever come back.”

  Jasper looked past me to Morgan as if he needed her permission. Was he really free? Morgan dabbed her eyes with tissue then turned away.

  Jasper’s face was covered with perspiration. He blinked the moisture from falling from his eyes. “I didn’t do any of it,” he said before turning and stumbling quickly away.

  “He’s a lunatic and you people just stand there.” Kandi headed out.

  I reached out to slow her down. “You’d better wait a few minutes until he’s gone.”

  “Did you just put your hands on me?” She recoiled as if she’d been hurt. “I’m not Clint. I’m not going to fall for your goodwill bullshit.”

  “Look, we’ve all had more than we can handle. I just don’t think it’s a good idea if you go out there. He could be lurking in the parking lot or anything.”

  “He’s the one better be afraid of me,” she said before turning on her heels—and in that moment, I believed her.

  I caught up with her before she got on the elevator. “Kandi, how did the fire start?”

  “Are you insane?” she asked, stepping toward me. “You’re going to believe a drug addict?
You know, I’ve put up with all I can from your little meddling ass. If I wasn’t pregnant, you and me would be down and dirty right about now. Stay the hell away from me.”

  “Clint could lose his medical license,” I blurted, knowing that was the only thing she truly cared about. “If you know something, you have to tell what really happened.”

  “He’s not going to lose. If anything he’s gained his life back. This wretched place was sucking the life out of him. Anybody that walks into this hospital is destined to lose his soul. I’m glad. I’m so glad he can walk away, finally.”

  “You seriously need help.”

  “You’re the one that’s going to need help.” A half smile rose on her face as the elevator doors closed.

  No truer words had been spoken. It was time to roll up the sleeves and get to work. I’d nearly sacrificed my marriage for Jackson Memorial. I wasn’t going to sit and watch it go down without a fight.

  By the day’s end I had a list of events that would give Jackson Memorial a head start to the finish line. The best part about throwing myself in headfirst was that the mystery of Byron Steeple’s death, right along with all the other unanswered questions, quickly moved to the bottom of my slush pile. I had calls to make and sponsors to beg for donations.

  I left the hospital well past dark, feeling positive and hopeful. I strolled through the parking garage carrying my bag and leather attaché, relieved I didn’t have to worry about Jasper creeping up behind me anymore. What I hadn’t expected to see was the word BITCH scratched on the hood of my car. So right about here is when I was through with the happy-go-lucky we-shall-overcome crap. I walked around the car looking for the rest, maybe a sentence or two, a long scratch down the side for good measure. There was nothing else but the childish scribble on the front hood.

  Of course Kandi was the first person who came to mind. But since I had no witnesses, I’d never know. I threw my things in the car and locked myself in tight. I was about to start the engine when someone rapped on my window. I grabbed my chest before looking up to see Clint tapping, indicating for me to roll down the window. I pushed the button, giving him an inch and not much more. “You scared me.”