They had transported my dad from recovery to a small room in the intensive care unit. Still unconscious, he was hooked up to a myriad of bleeping monitors and IV bags, and an oxygen mask covered his face. His breathing was labored. A wide bandage swathed his head, and beneath the fabric of his blanket, I could see the outline of a thick toe-to-thigh cast.
“Oh, Daddy!” I cried silently. Tears stung the back of my eyes, and a painful lump filled my throat. I wasn’t prepared for seeing him like this. So lifeless and vulnerable. All my life, my handsome, brilliant dad had always been strong and there for me. He almost never got sick. And now this. There were no Scrabble words in the world to describe the tangle of emotions that ate away at my heart. Sobs clogged my throat, but I held them back to be a pillar of strength for my mom.
“Oh, Harold, darling,” she choked, gently running her fingertips along his slack jaw. “Can you hear me? I love you so much. So very much.”
My father stirred just a bit as if he’d heard her. At that moment, I was overwhelmed by the love my parents shared. A love so pure, so deep, so everlasting. A love for richer and poorer. In sickness and in health. I thought about Blake. And wondered—would this be us?
A sweet voice intercepted my thoughts. A nurse. She told us visiting hours were over.
My mother dabbed her tears with her soaked hanky and searched the nurse’s kind, dark eyes. “Please, can I stay? I want to be here for him when he wakes up.”
If he wakes up.
A warm smile flickered on the nurse’s face. “I don’t see why not. I’ll order a cot.”
“Mom, I want to stay too.”
The nurse responded. “I’m afraid, dear, we can allow only one person to stay in the room. Hospital regulations.”
Disappointed, I cupped my mother’s shoulders. “Are you going to be okay, Mom?”
She nodded. “I’ll call you, honey, if there’s any change.”
For the better, I prayed silently. I hugged her good night. Then, lightly, I kissed my father on his cheek.
“I love you, Dad.” My voice was a soft whisper, but I knew he heard me.
Chapter 3
Blake
Where the fuck was she? I’d landed in Boise over two hours ago and taken a cab straight to Jen’s house. The lights were on, but the house was vacant.
Sitting on the front step next to a large carved pumpkin leftover from Halloween, I tried her cell for the umpteenth time. No answer. And then I texted. Again no response. It was going on eight o’clock. The temperature had dropped significantly, and the damp autumn air sent a chill to my bones. My stomach rumbled with hunger as I hugged myself to keep warm.
Finally, a car pulled into the driveway. The headlights glared in my eyes; it was for sure Jen’s dad’s station wagon. Squinting, I jumped up as a familiar slim figure slid out of the driver’s side door.
“Jen!” I sprinted up to her.
“Blake! Oh my God. What are you doing here?”
I searched her face. I could tell she’d been crying. Her green eyes were glazed and her thick layers of lashes were soaked. I took her in my arms and drew her close.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Stroking her hair, I could only imagine what garbage Kat had told her.
Shivering, she leaned into me, resting her head against my leather jacket, her arms wrapped around me. “Oh, my love. Thank you for being here. It means so much to me.” She began to sob softly.
I fluttered my eyes in confusion as I held and caressed her. “Tiger, why are you crying?”
“My Dad. He was hit by a car.”
Holy. Fuck. Shit. I mentally hit the reset button. I had it all wrong. This was no time for me to tell her about Kat. And I wasn’t even sure if Kat had contacted her.
“Jeez, Jen. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you call me or respond to my texts?”
“My cell phone died. And I don’t have my charger. I’m sorry, baby.”
Her snivels were gutting me. “No apologies necessary. How’s your father?”
“Oh, Blake. It’s not good. He may have sustained brain damage, and his leg is in bad shape. My mom’s spending the night at the hospital.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled, bowing my head until my lips skimmed her scalp. Mr. McCoy had championed me when I was courting Jen, and I plain and simple adored him like a second father. I held her tighter.
A clap of thunder sounded. And a sudden downpour fell upon us. The pitter of the heavy rain striking my leather jacket reverberated in my ears. I lifted up Jen’s chin with my thumb. And crushed my lips against hers. Her hot tears mixed with the cold raindrops. Another burst of thunder exploded while my heart thundered too.
Believe it or not, I’d never kissed a girl in the rain before. Yet another first with my tiger. As the angry sky showered us with nature’s tears, our lips melded together, our tongues entwined in a slow, sad dance.
Chapter 4
Jennifer
Blake filled me in on how he’d found out from Mrs. Cho that I’d flown to Boise. He’d been waiting for me on the front steps for more than two hours. After a long passionate kiss, I unlocked the front door and headed to the kitchen to whip up a quick dinner. We both hadn’t eaten for hours and were famished. A beef casserole was in the refrigerator—probably the dinner my mother had prepared for my father. His last supper? While Blake washed up and changed into some dry clothes, I heated up the dish in the oven and choked back tears.
Blake met me in the dining room. “What’s all this?” he asked as I padded in with some plates and silverware.
I eyed the dining room table where Blake and I had shared our first memorable Christmas Eve dinner almost a year ago. That magical snowy night he’d shown up at my doorstep to tell me he loved me. My heart was bursting with emotion. Lined up on the polished tabletop were hundreds of three inch square hand-painted frames encrusted with seashells and dusted with glitter. I set the china and silver on the credenza and made my way to the table. I picked up one of the charming frames. Inside it was an ivory place card with Ms. Libby Clearfield’s name elegantly scrolled in gold ink and printed below it: Table 1.
The rush of emotion surged through me. My creative mother, the ultimate DIY’er, had secretly taken it upon herself to make keepsake place card holders for all our wedding guests. Oh, Mom! My heart pitter-pattered, but then my moment of joy succumbed to an unbearable sadness. The dam holding back my tears broke loose, and I began to sob uncontrollably.
“They’re place card holders my mom made for our wedding,” I spluttered, my heart in my stomach. Now, everything was so up in the air.
Blake immediately took me in his arms and let me heave tears.
“Oh, Blake, I can’t go through with this wedding if my dad’s not there.”
“Baby, we’ll call it off. My mother will get over it. I’ll do whatever you want to do. We’re going to get through this together.”
He tenderly kissed the top of my head, leaving his warm lips there as I continued to weep against his soft T-shirt. His muscled arms held me tight. It felt so good to be blanketed in his warmth. His manliness. And his love.
After dinner, which we ate in the kitchen, we unwound in the living room. The beautiful plaid cashmere blanket Blake had given my father last Christmas was draped over Dad’s favorite reading chair. The sight of it sent another ripple of sadness through me. In my mind’s eye, I could see Dad reclining there with his reading glasses parked on his nose and a book in his hand. I had to blink my eyes several times to banish the illusion. And to blink back more tears.
While Blake plopped down on the comfy floral couch with his laptop to catch up on work-related e-mails, I meandered over to the easy chair. A thick, leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets was sitting on the cushion. The edges were frayed, indicating to me it had been read many times. Lifting it into my hand, I curled into the chair and wrapped myself in Blake’s buttery blanket. There was something so comforting about being shrouded in this luxurious fringed cover, imbued with hi
s love and my father’s familiar pipe-smoker scent. I opened the book; it was a gift from my mother. The inscription was dated: November 16, 1974. My lips transitioned into a melancholic smile. The day my parents got married. Their fortieth anniversary was coming up soon. My eyes traveled down the page, and I drank in the words she’d written by hand:
To My Darling Husband~
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
With eternal love~Meg
My eyes watered. I recognized the passage. It was from Romeo and Juliet. My dad, the English professor, and I shared a passion for Shakespeare, and I knew many of his brilliant lines by heart. These, in particular, resonated with me. I’d been struggling with writing an original marriage vow…and now I’d found it. The mention of the sea fit in well with the underwater theme of my wedding and the fact that my mom had shared these beautiful words with my dad on their wedding day made them even more special. I began to leaf through the delicate yellowed pages of the book. As I read one exquisite sonnet after another, the words of another English poet whirled in my head. Chaucer.
If love is not, Oh God, what feel I so?
And if love is, what thing is it?
Shakespeare, however, did know what love is. My mother’s chosen words softly formed on my lips.
Blake looked up from his computer. “Jen, are you okay?”
“Yes, baby.” God, how I loved him. Hear my soul speak. The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service. That first kiss. The first time ever I saw his face.
My eyes grew heavy. The next thing I knew I was in Blake’s strong arms. He was carrying me upstairs. I must have dozed off. My sleepy gaze met his. Neither of us said a word.
Sometimes, words unspoken are the loudest. I knew Blake could intuit everything my weary mind was thinking. My love. My fear. My grief. He intermittently kissed my hair as we wound up the stairs.
When we crossed into my small bedroom, he set me down on my bed and tenderly undressed me, holding me in his gaze while he did. Our eyes never lost contact as he slid off my garments until I was fully unclothed. I sat motionless as Blake reverently cupped my breasts in his palms. And then he peeled off his clothes.
The first and last time Blake slept in my twin-sized bed, barely big enough for someone as petite as me, he’d fucked my brains out. Tonight was different. Bared to each other, he cocooned me in his arms, spooning me next to him. The warmth of his body blanketed my cold numbness.
On my side, I pressed my hands together. Closing my eyes, I silently prayed. Oh, please God, make my dad okay. Please! For my mom. For me. For us.
“Be brave, my tiger. It’s going to be okay,” Blake whispered in my ear, holding me tight. His big warm hands folded over mine. A final round of tears made their way down my cheeks. Oh, Daddy! Oh, Mom! Oh, Blake!
The music of Blake’s heartbeat and soft breaths lulled me to much needed sleep.
When Blake and I arrived at my dad’s hospital room at seven the next morning, my mother was still sound asleep in an armchair, a small Bible folded over her lap. But Dad’s hospital bed was gone. I gasped and clung to Blake, my worst fear rolling through me like a tidal wave. I began to breathe heavily and was close to hyperventilating.
In a state of panic, I woke my mom up, gently shaking her. “Mom, where’s Dad?”
Startled, her eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Honey. Blake?”
Blake bent over and hugged my mom. “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband.”
My heart was in my throat. “Mom, is he okay?”
“They took him for another MRI.”
Relieved, my breathing calmed down. Blake and I took a seat on the cot that had been brought to the room. It looked as if my mother hadn’t slept in it at all.
Blake drew me close to him and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I was wearing one of his heavy cashmere sweaters over the skirt I’d worn yesterday.
“Has there been any change in his condition?” I asked my mom as my husband-to-be soothingly brushed his long fingers along my upper arm.
She shook her head. Her usually wide blue-gray eyes were bloodshot slivers and her pale cheeks hollow. Purple shadows lined her lower lids. She looked like she’d gotten very little sleep. On a deep breath, she added, “But the good news is his vitals are stable.”
I sighed another shaky breath of relief, but the worst wasn’t over. We spent the next fifteen minutes making small talk to pass the time. After Blake told my mom how he’d found out I was in Boise, he offered to go to the cafeteria and bring back some coffee. Exhausted and drained, we were grateful.
“Mom, Blake called his sister last night, and she did some research. According to her colleagues at Cedars, Dr. Kumar is top notch. Dad’s in good hands.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Blake is such a good man,” my mother murmured. “And he adores you, my sweet girl.”
A small smile flickered on my lips. “Yeah, Mom. I’m so lucky to have him. In many ways, he reminds me of Dad.”
She smiled back. It was the first time I’d seen her smile since the accident.
Blake returned shortly with the coffee. Not the best I’d ever had, but the strong bitterish brew instantly seeped into my veins and revitalized me. After a few sips, a clamor outside the room caught my attention. My eyes flew to the door. It was my father. Still hooked up to a portable IV unit, he was being wheeled back in. Holding a clipboard, the young doctor, who I’d met last night, accompanied the attendants and a nurse. With butterflies in my stomach, I watched as they reattached him to all the beeping machines.
I stood up and treaded to his bedside. Though the oxygen mask was off and he seemed to be breathing evenly on his own, his eyes were still shut. A light layer of graying stubble lined his peaceful face. My mother joined me. Her lips quivered as the nurse hooked him up to the last of the monitors. I squeezed her hand as Blake hovered behind me.
“Mrs. McCoy,” began the doctor.
“Yes?” responded my mother, her voice trembling.
“I have good news for you and your daughter.”
My rapidly beating heart was already dancing.
“The MRI shows the swelling in his brain has gone down. There’s no permanent damage.”
“Oh, dear Lord. Thank you!” Bursting into tears, my mother hugged the doctor. Whatever prayers she said must have worked. Tears of relief flooded my eyes too. Wrapping his arms around me from behind, Blake kissed the top of my head.
“When will he wake up?” I asked the doctor, leaning into Blake’s hard body.
“It could be in a few minutes. Or in a few hours. Whenever he does, be sure to give him a little water.” From the corner of my eye, I saw the nurse refill his plastic water cup on the nightstand next to his bed.
The doctor and his team excused themselves after telling us they’d be back later to check up on my dad. We returned to our seating positions, all keeping a vigilant watch on him. I gripped Blake’s hand.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
Her gaze shifted to me. A small smile played on her face, and serenity now filled her tired eyes. “What, honey?”
“On our way here, Blake and I had a discussion. We’ve decided to call off the wedding.”
“Over my dead body, young lady.”
The voice was a hoarse whisper but unmistakable. Dad!
He was awake and talking!
“Oh, Dad!” I ran over to his bed and kissed him, gushing with happiness.
My speechless, teary-eyed mother leapt up from her chair and caressed his face. “Oh, darling!” With the push of a button, she raised the bed just a smidgeon and lovingly held the cup of water to his lips.
“But Dad,” I contested as he took a small sip through the straw. “You may not be well enough in time for the wedding.”
“My Jennie, I have every intention of walking you down the aisle.” He turned his bandage
d head toward Blake. “And you, son, better be sure she’s there.”
“Yes, sir.” They exchanged a conspiratorial wink.
My heart swelled with love for the two men I loved most in my life.
My beloved dad. And my soon-to-be husband.
Chapter 5
Blake
Knowing Jen’s dad was going to be okay, I flew back to LA the next day. I had too much shit to take care of at work. Heading up a porn network came with its share of hard-ons and hardships. Jen, however, decided to remain in Boise until her father was released from the hospital later in the week. He was going home but would need a lot of physical therapy—especially since he was so intent on walking Jen down the aisle. I fucking loved this man.
I missed my tiger and was distracted. A weight hung over my head like a ticking time bomb. I still hadn’t told Jen the truth about what had happened between Kat and me at the end of high school. I just couldn’t break the news to her in Boise with what had happened to her father. I was certain it would make her an emotional wreck and dredge up all her trust issues. And knowing how Jen often overreacted, she might even call off the wedding—and break her father’s heart and her mother’s. And, last but not least, mine.
Every ring of my phone, ping in my mailbox, or ding of a text made my nerves zing with anxiety and apprehension. At any time, I was expecting to hear from a hysterical Jen. That Kat had gotten to her. That she knew. But each time we spoke or texted, which was often, not one mention of Kat. I took one day at a time. Maybe, Kat hadn’t been lying that afternoon at Saks and had no intention of sharing our past any further with Jen. I just couldn’t be sure—she was a psycho bitch—and there was nothing I could do to stop her.
On Thursday, I had my weekly evening chat with my dad. True to fashion, we sat outside on my terrace and caught up over fine cigars and brandy. Unlike chilly Boise, the early November Los Angeles air was still balmy. Darkness, however, was descending.
THAT MAN: The Wedding Story Page 13
