by Tasha Jones
The car that had been patiently waiting at the light punched its horn, the loud sound crushing poor Laila's ears, but it did nothing to propel her into action.
“Somebody grab her!” an old woman yelled from the other side of the street, just as Jackie launched into a sprint back across the street. She was internally berating herself for letting her daughter go, even for a short moment. Because, apparently, that was all it took to lose her.
Jackie's heart pounded against her chest as she rushed towards her, her sorry legs just not making it there fast enough. She could feel her eyes burning as anticipatory tears streamed down her cheeks. Time seemed to have tripled and halved at the same time as Laila's life flashed before Jackie's eyes.
Finally, her hands touched Laila's flesh. She yanked at her hand, dragging her across to the other side of the street without missing a step. Laila yelped, but was otherwise silent as the car finally screeched to a stop. They had only traveled three steps before Laila fell over, her pained scream ringing through the air.
Jackie's heart stopped as she reached down and scooped Laila into her arms. She ran across the street just as the light turned green and a fleet of cars crossed the intersection.
Chapter Four
Jackie frowned as she got a good look at the nasty wound on Laila's knee. Her perfect, milky-caramel skin had been destroyed by a deep gash that ran from the tip of her knee down to the midpoint of her shin.
***
“Hello?” It was the voice of her manager on the other end of the line.
“Ah, yes!” Jackie replied, trying to sound bubbly, but also worried. She could hear the sounds of dishes clanking and people screaming at each other in the kitchen as they were probably working diligently to get ready for the next shift.
“Jackie, where are you?” he demanded in that voice that made her certain she was in a lot of trouble.
She sighed. She knew she should have just called from the ambulance instead of waiting until her shift was actually supposed to start. “I'm actually at the hospital. Look, I can't come in.”
“Did you get hit by a taxi? Did you have a heart attack? Is the world ending?”
Jackie sighed, turning away from her daughter's nasty wound so that she could focus better on sounding urgent while also remaining respectful. “No, I didn't get hit by a car, but my daughter almost did and now she needs stitches,” she replied, bracing herself for the huge sigh of sorrow that was about to grace her ears.
But a whole three seconds passed without it. “Oh...” he didn't even sound flustered.
“Uh. Yeah. So I have to stay with her here at the hospital and make sure she gets home all right,” she explained, trying to keep her voice even.
He released a deep, exasperated sigh, breathing into the phone.
Jackie rolled her eyes, impatiently tapping her foot as she tried to wait for her manager to let her off the hook. Seeds of anxiety planted themselves in the pit of her stomach. The last thing she wanted was for the doctor to walk in while she was calling.. He would walk in, see her on the phone, and then immediately assume that she was one of those ill-adjusted, overworked, single mothers who didn't know how to take care of their children.
But luckily, she didn't have to wait long. He took in a sharp breath and responded with, “Okay, fine. I'll just have to deal with finding someone to cover your shift myself,” he snapped.
Those words were like an annoying slap in the face. Once again, for the millionth time, she found herself wondering how the hell he managed to absolve himself of all forms of human empathy. Didn't he ever just need someone to throw him a bone? She opened her mouth to utter a backhanded, 'thank you,’ but he hung up before she could manage to get anything out.
She furrowed her brow at the terrible cut on Laila's knee, realizing it was probably going to leave a scar for the rest of her life, and, for the rest of her life, she was going to be reminded, on a daily basis, of that time when her mother epically failed her.
One low moan jerked Jackie out of her self-deprecating thoughts and reminded her that she had someone else to comfort. “Momma, it hurts,” she whined.
“I know, I know, baby,” Jackie replied as she took each of Laila's little hands in hers and lifted them to her lips. She planted a little kiss on them, and then stood up, patting the top of her head and leaning it against her belly. Things felt so much more controlled in that little examination room. Jackie could pretend that she didn't just drop her child in front of the whole neighborhood and give up an entire night's salary all in one afternoon. But as soon as she let her exhausted eyes close, the image of her daughter standing with nothing between her and the car racing towards her made her heart race all over again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying so hard to forget that anything had ever happened, that she didn't even realize that anyone had come in until:
“Mrs. Brown?”
The voice slithered through the small room and reached Jackie's ears in an instant. Just in the split second it took for her to open her eyes and turn around, her mind processed that smooth, husky voice and she decided in the next instant that she was thoroughly and irrevocably attracted to him. “It’s Jacquelyn,” she replied as she let go of Laila's head and turned to face him.
The man looked like he had just walked out of a Burberry advertisement. He was tall, at least 6'6, and, aside from that, had a muscular build that told her he worked out a lot. His eyes were deep-set and an icy-blue color, his gaze freezing everything that it touched. Although it was barely March, his even tan suggested that he spent a considerable amount of time outside. Jackie just stood there, one hand on her daughter's head and one hand hanging stupidly by her side while he scanned her with those invasive eyes of his. That stare pierced her from head to toe, unzipping her like a body bag.
As she stood there, she quite literally felt like he could see right through her. “Jacquelyn,” he replied, before glancing down at the clipboard he held in his hand.
Jackie released a short sigh. When he said her name, it sounded brand new. She knew something else was expected of her, that she was expected to say or do something to move the moment along, but she felt completely helpless. Her feet were rooted to the spot; her mind had completely given up on her and her heart pounded in her ears. “Jackie,” she added. “Everyone calls me Jackie, actually.” But even as she said those last words, she could feel how stupid they were as they left her lips.
He chuckled, the sound hanging in the air around her and lifting her nervous heart.
However, before she could hope to redeem herself, a whimper joined his laugh in the subdued atmosphere around them. The sound of her daughter's pain was the only thing that could cut into Jackie's hypnosis. As if released by some paranormal voice, she turned towards Laila.
The doctor seemed to have been awakened out of some trance as well, for he immediately bounded into action, crossing the room towards them and setting his clipboard down next to Laila. “My name is Doctor Allan Chase,” he introduced himself, extending his large hand to Jackie.
Jackie's eyes went wide, for she was preoccupied by his scent; it was a heavenly mix of Calvin Klein and well, him. “Nice to meet you,” she muttered, mentally congratulating herself for being able to form true sentences.
“What do we have here?” he asked as he turned his attention to Laila's knee.
Jackie watched with eager eyes as he placed his gentle hands on either side of her leg, whispering little cooing sounds of comfort as slowly extended her leg. “Be careful,” Jackie hissed. Something about a man touching her daughter made her feel profoundly uncomfortable, even if he did look like a model.
Much to her horror, he froze and looked up at her, his gaze practically splitting her in half. “Don't worry, I got this,” he replied in a mocking tone.
Jackie cocked her head to the side, realizing he was one of those guys who knew exactly how attractive they were. Suddenly, she wasn't nervous anymore. “She has a low pain tolerance.”
Then,
as if to punctuate this, Laila screamed out. “Ow! Stoppit!” she yelled as she shoved at him with her tiny hands.
Jackie pursed her lips. “I told you,” she replied as she stroked Laila's head.
Doctor Allan Chase blinked twice, but otherwise acted as if nothing had happened. “Well soon, there will be no pain at all,” he replied as he stood up, grabbed a small packet of medical “things” then sat back down in front of Laila. “From the look of this gash, I can bet she's going to need stitches.”
Both Jackie and Laila shot him identical looks of horror as he continued to examine her knee.
When neither one of them said anything in return, he looked up at the two of them. “Oh my God, that is adorable,” he breathed.
Jackie shook herself out of that facial expression, glowering at him. “What are you talking about?”
But then he smiled at her; he flashed her with those Colgate-white teeth, his eyes twinkling, marked with those cute little crow's feet, and Jackie felt as if she was right back at square one. “Nothing. It's just that the two of you gave me the same look just then.”
“Oh,” Jackie replied. “Well, she's just a little afraid of needles penetrating her skin.” She didn't mean for it to come out as a retort, but she just could not help herself.
He chuckled again, and it felt to Jackie as if she had made a serious accomplishment. “I can see that. Most people are. But what about you?”
Jackie flinched. She had not expected him to ask about her. “Oh... I had stitches as a child,” she explained as he doused a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and pressed it against Laila's leg.
A strange, subdued scream pressed its way out of Laila's mouth.
“Aw... shhhh...” Allan murmured as he reached out and placed his free hand on her cheek. “Don't look at your leg. Just look at my face, okay?”
She nodded, turning her earnest eyes right on him.
“And if my face is too ugly, look somewhere else.”
Both Jackie and Laila laughed at this half-joke. Jackie found it hilarious, not only that he was trying to make her daughter laugh, but that he assumed that it was possible for anyone to regard him as “ugly.”
But he kept talking. “Try looking at your mother. I know you can't get tired of that face. It's absolutely gorgeous.”
Jackie's heart stopped.
“Ow!” another scream from her daughter brought her back down to earth. She reached out and held her hand in hers.
“How shameless of you,” Jackie replied when she found her voice back.
“What?” he asked as he smeared a topical anesthetic on the skin surrounding the wound.
Jackie watched Laila get much calmer after the skin had numbed. “I can't believe you would use my kid to hit on me,” she teased.
He shrugged as he picked up the needle and began his work. “Well your kid needs to be rescued, so of course I have to attend to her. And I'm afraid you'll run out of here the first chance you get, so I'm just trying to make good use of my time.”
Jackie furrowed her brow. It was just so painfully introspective. “What makes you think I'm the running type?” she replied.
He shrugged. “I can just tell that you don't trust me,” he replied.
Jackie flinched. He wasn't wrong. “Well, I don't know you.”
“Oh come on,” he murmured as his full attention was still on Laila's leg. “I'm a doctor.”
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “That's not you who are. It's what you do.”
Although he did not look at her, his lips folded into a crooked smile. “Profound.” Unluckily for him, he had worked his way through the entire wound in less than five minutes. After going over it one last time with rubbing alcohol, he covered it with a bandage. “And what do you do?” he asked, sitting back away from Laila, who just sat there examining her leg like it was a foreign object.
“I'm a painter,” she replied because somehow, it felt strange revealing to the doctor that she had completely failed at getting a job after college and now had resorted to big smiles and heavy tips for survival.
He raised an eyebrow. “That's interesting...”
“Momma, I'm hungry.” Laila tugged on Jackie's t-shirt, demanding her attention.
Jackie nodded although she couldn't deny the fact that she was a little disappointed to go. “Okay. Are we done here?” she asked the doctor.
He nodded, standing up to reach her level. “Just change the bandage every night. And, if she starts feeling feverish, give me a call,” he replied.
Jackie nodded and lifted Laila off of the examination table. She ushered her towards the door. It wasn't until she had her fingers wrapped around the doorknob that the doctor cleared his throat. She looked at him, a small part of her glad that she didn't have to leave him just yet.
“Or, you could just give me a call, if she doesn't...”
A part of Jackie wanted to nod eagerly, flirtatiously flip her hair and assure him she would, but an even bigger part of her couldn't bring herself to do that. Instead she lifted her lips into a smirk and replied with, “I don't think so. You see, because if I was to call you, then we'd talk, and you'd get to know me, and I'd get to know you, and that's a little much for a skinned knee... don't you think?”
Jackie and Laila had crossed the threshold and reached the end of the hall before he could even hope to respond.
Chapter Five
Jackie stood on her roof, three feet away from the canvas she had started the day Laila got hurt. After a couple more strokes of red and orange to balance out the blue, she was at a complete loss for what to do next. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms, staring as hard as she could at the thing in front of her, but instead of some heart-stopping, gut-wrenching inspiration, she saw Doctor Allan Chase's face. It appeared right in the canvas, as if it was yelling at her, begging to be painted. She scoffed, stepping even farther away from it. It had been almost forty-eight hours and she still couldn't stop thinking about the man. She found herself obsessed with someone, literally for the first time since college.
“Momma! Momma! Look what I did!”
Jackie turned around to find Laila sitting at the small fold-up table they had picked out together for the first and last time they went to Coney Island, finger painting her own little masterpiece. A smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she picked up the wet piece of baby-canvas and examined it in the Saturday afternoon light. She had to suppress her laughter at the fact that she was staring at a rough representation of her work. Although the fact that the hand was obviously immature, she could see so much of herself in it. If she had an eye problem or maybe needed glasses, she would think that it was her own work. “Wow!” she breathed, realizing as the words came out of her mouth that she was being totally genuine. “Who is it?” she asked. Although she could tell it was a face, a male face, recognition was obviously out of the question.
“It's Doctor Chase!” she exclaimed.
Jackie's eyes went wide. Even her daughter couldn't get her mind off of him. “Honey, why did you draw him?” she asked, trying her best not to sound negative.
Laila shrugged, and then averted her gaze as if she couldn't believe she had said anything. “Because he saved me... I guess...” her voice trailed off at the end.
Jackie sucked in a deep breath and turned away from her. Jesus, even she was completely smitten by him. It was like all the signs; all the roads led to him and she was just the last one in the party to get on the wagon. “My baby, he just patched up your knee. He didn't save your life,” she replied in a dry voice.
As Laila's eyes went wide, her intuition, always years and years beyond her, told her that she had said something upsetting. But she just shook her head and snatched the canvas back. “You just don't like it!” she cried.
But Jackie knew that she was just embarrassed, and annoyed that Jackie hadn't hailed her art a masterpiece. “It's completely fine, Laila. I'll put it up, I promise,” she replied as she picked it back up.
Laila opened her mo
uth to say something else, but someone buzzed from downstairs. Jackie froze, her eyes wide and her heart fluttering. For a moment she thought it might have actually been that doctor ... but that thought passed by the time her daughter jumped up and scurried towards the door. “It's Aunty Victoria!!!” she screamed.
Jackie released a deep breath, growing lightheaded after that minor, wild, impossible scare wore off. “I can't believe I actually thought...” she murmured, but the sound of Laila trying to open her roof door knocked her out of her mental escape.
She helped her daughter down, and in the next five minutes, Victoria was knocking on her door. She swung it open to find her friend, big blonde hair and all, standing on the other side of her threshold. “I can't believe you still live in Brooklyn,” she muttered in a dry voice as she pushed her way into the house.
