A Proper Young Lady (21 page)

“Yeah?”

“I’m Dr. Ganesh, a neurology resident here. It would be helpful to know Miss Welles’ medical history.”

“She’s intersex—but I’m sure you guys already got that part.” 

“Yes. We noticed. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome?”

“Yeah. Partial.”

“Does she still have her testes?”

“One. She got cancer in the other.”

“Has she had any surgeries recently?”

“Vaginoplasty, orchio—whatever you call moving her other testis.” 

“Is she taking any medications?”

“No.”

“Does she have any drug allergies?”

“No.”

“Any other medical issues?”

“Not till now.”

Her face twitches into a grimace, but she nods. “I’m sorry. She hit the back of her head. The bruising around her eyes is typical of a basal skull fracture. Her brain bounced and the contrecoup bruised her frontal lobes.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Hard to say. Right now our primary concern is keeping her intracranial pressure down.”

Two men in scrubs appear at the door. Dr. Ganesh whispers with them for a moment before continuing. “Miss Welles has another CT scan. If you like, I’ll have someone call you when she gets back.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

Cooper puts an arm around my shoulders and urges me out of the room. “Let’s get something to eat.”

I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Dani’s still form. Would they tell me if she was dying? Let me say goodbye? I rush back into her room and kiss her on the nose. “Don’t you dare croak on me, girl. You hear?”

On the way out, we stop by the nursing station and leave them my cell number. One of the women hands me a plastic bag. “Her jewelry,” she says.

Brand new wedding bands—too creepy. Dani might be finicky about some things, but wouldn’t she let Ethan help pick them out? Or at least take him along? 

She asked me to marry her. I promised I would.
My heart flutters up into my throat. 

Me and Daniel and our children.

The one with flowering vines and all fits perfect right where Daniel’s ring would go. I stick the other on my right hand.

The girl’s in a coma—maybe dying—and all you can think of is some boy?
 

Well, yeah. I’m messed up, okay? And I need Daniel bad right now.

* * * *

Cooper leads me down to the main floor and finds the cafeteria. He loads up on bacon and eggs and buys an extra large coffee. I get a bagel and cream cheese and a carton of milk. No caffeine for me; I’m already so wired I may never sleep again.

The reds and purples of sunset—or maybe dawn—filter through the windows. A surge of people in scrubs arrives, eats, and moves on while I stare at the crumbs on my plate. 

Cooper takes away the remains of our breakfast. He returns with another cup of coffee, a packet of sugar, and one of those little stir sticks. Or maybe the thing is a straw.

Morning shines bright before my phone rings. “Yeah?”

“Miss Fairbairn? This is Dr. Ormond. Are you still at the hospital?”

“Yeah. In the cafeteria.”

“If you’ll wait there, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”
They never tell you bad news over the phone.
 

Cooper lays a gentle hand on my arm. “What’s up?”

“The doctor’s on his way.”

Ten minutes later, some old guy in a white coat saunters into the cafeteria and scans the room.
Gotta be him.
I stand and wave a hand till he nods. 

The doctor joins us at the table. “Good news. Danièle’s internal bleeding has stopped. Her intracranial pressure’s under control. She’s still in critical condition, mind you, but the scans don’t show any brain damage.”

Cooper’s muscles ripple, visibly releasing tension.

“She’s gonna be okay?” I ask.

“We’ll know more once she’s conscious. The next step is to get Ms. Welles off the ventilator.”

Dr. Ormond rides the elevator back up with us, but doesn’t go to Dani’s room.

Somebody removed the bandages around her head. Her clown hat—the Styrofoam cup wrapped in one of those stretch bandages—is gone. It covered the sensor they put through her skull to measure pressure in her brain. What remains now is a small bandage in the middle of an area they shaved. 

The machine that watched her brainwaves is gone as well, along with all its wires.

But the breathing tube remains.

Cooper’s cell is on vibrate, but we both jump when it goes off. The Marine bids me farewell with a nod and disappears into the brightness of the outside world.

The bruising around Dani’s eyes has spread—a larger butterfly now, although not as dark. Her hands are no longer as puffy, so I slide the heart ring back on her finger. The other won’t come off mine. 

“What are you doing?”

Ethan?
His words mean nothing at first, beyond the obvious. “Dani,” is all my weary brain manages. 

“Get out.” The boy grabs my arm, wrenches it behind me, and propels me across the room.

I yelp in pain and stumble to my knees as he shoves me through the doorway. And into Cooper. The way the Marine reacts makes me wonder if he ever really liked Dani’s boyfriend.

By the time I get to my feet, Cooper has Ethan’s face pressed hard against the wall. Security arrives ten minutes later and escorts the dude out of the hospital. My power of attorney trumps his claim to being Dani’s fiancé. Ethan says he’ll tell Mr. and Mrs. Welles. Like I care.

Cooper leads me down the hallway to some vending machines and buys me a hot chocolate. Coffee in hand, he gestures toward the visitors’ lounge. I sip at my cocoa. It’s probably nasty, but my taste buds are offline, and the warmth feels good.

The Marine sets down his cup and studies me with brown eyes that have already seen too much pain for a lifetime. “There’s a hotel fifteen minutes away. I’ll arrange a room for you.”

“I’m not leaving Dani.”

A quiet sigh lifts Cooper’s chest. His eyes wander away for a moment. “You need to get some rest. You’ve been up longer than forty-eight hours straight.”

I swirl around the sludge in the bottom of my cup. Sleep isn’t gonna happen. “What about you?”

“There’s a recliner just outside Danièle’s room. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“Then you sleep while I watch.”
Even Marines gotta have down time.
 

Chapter 24

Danièle

The memory of drowning fades, but leaves my throat raw, my lungs congested, and my heart longing for sunshine. Shadows of pain lie dormant beneath the oily surface, their opaque eyes cast heavenward, eager to rise from the mire.

My lids snap open in the gloom. I cough the brown waters from my lungs and spew them into the darkness. Too weak to rise, I roll my head to the side to clear the noisome liquid from my mouth. At last my breaths flow cool and clear.

An unknown face hovers near me, full of tender concern.

So many questions—they emerge as a rasping hoarseness that becomes a hacking cough. 

“Don’t try to talk. You’ve had a ventilator tube down your throat.” The apparition coaxes something into my mouth that sucks away the mucous. After that, she wipes my chin with a soft cloth.

More of the brown slime lies puddled across my gown and bedclothes.

I try to raise one leaden hand, but something restrains my arm.

The nurse disappears for a few minutes and returns with clean linens. She throws my soiled blanket and sheets into a hamper. Removing my gown proves more difficult. So many connections—an IV in my right arm, a second line in my left. Wires end in small pads on my chest and side. A subclavian line—like the one Mrs. Fairbairn had for her chemotherapy—enters my chest by my collar bone. Another tube comes out between my ribs on the left side. Mottled green bruises extend from my thigh up to my armpit. 

A second nurse removes the padded straps from my wrists and sets them on a counter nearby. They wash me from my shoulders down to my knees, front and back, and then change the sheet under me. After the first one rolls me on my back again, she helps me don a clean gown and raises the head of the bed.

“Would you like some ice chips?”

Darjeeling with a double shot of Irish cream would be brilliant. Instead, she brings me a plastic cup, half full of crushed ice. The tiny morsels she places in my mouth prove rather pleasant, actually. My throat savors the coolness of every last one.

When I tug at my gown for a bit more modesty, a glint of metal brings my hand even closer to my face. A wedding ring? Yes, a familiar pattern—named after—after a fishing village somewhere. How does one forget being married? 

Certainly not to Ethan.

Will I ever see Melanie again? I would have followed her to Atlanta, but Mum said to give her a few weeks to herself.

My distress over the loss of Melanie drove me to the refuge of the ancient walnut tree in my mother’s garden. A winter storm pelted me with cold rain. And a voice called my name in the darkness.

What if she needs my help?
Panic drives me to the edge. I ease one leg over the side of the mattress and try to push myself upright. Thunder shoots through my side, and I slide to the floor. The exertion leaves me panting and dizzy and in pain. 

A male nurse rushes into the room. “Please don’t try to get out of bed by yourself.”

I have to leave.
Why won’t the words form? 

“Relax. We let your friend know you’re awake. She should be here any moment.”

“Melanie.” Her name comes out more static than speech.

The nurse flashes a compassionate smile, gets me centered on the bed again, and walks out the door.

12VAC5—like a bit of some encrypted message—the letters snap into place in my memory. For a certainty, they hold a secret dear to me. But what? The little concentration I muster brings nothing more. 

“Dani!”

Melanie?
I track her with eager eyes as she slides into the room and stops. 

For the space of three heartbeats she remains there, still as a statue, and as quiet. Her lower lip trembles then, and she explodes into tears. Melanie runs to my side and throws herself into my open arms.

On her left hand she wears a wedding band. Mine. Perfect bliss overwhelms me.

Forehead, nose, lips, and neck—I kiss her with abandon. And yet with such frailty. My shaking arm drops without touching her cheek. I lie back again, soaked in warm contentment, and savor her presence. “I love you,” comes out as a soft rasping. 

She sits next to me on the bed, stares at me a while, then tugs on her clothes until she exposes her baby bump.

Careful of my IV, I move a trembling hand to her belly.

She places both of her hands over mine.

The baby kicks.

Melanie shifts my hand to the other side of her abdomen. Another kick. “Ellie and Patrick have both been little psychopaths with me here at the hospital so long.”

Twins.
A fragment of memory returns—tiny faces on an ultrasound display, and me swearing I’d never give up my children. Mine. I pull my love close again and kiss her until I haven’t the strength for more. I lay my head back against the pillow, exhausted. 

Emerald eyes—a bare hand-breadth away—ponder my face with tender concern. Her locket dangles close to my heart.
Yes. My promise kept.
 

A man strides through the door then. Cooper. A soldier babysitting a rich girl who might be daft enough to ignore danger when it stalks her. His haggard face owns some terrible failure. Did I find trouble outside the shelter of his protection?

Do Marines cry?
A tear glistens on its journey down his cheek. 

My gaze drifts back to Melanie and drinks in her beauty.

One last kiss before I sleep.
My hand brushes her arm, but I have not the energy to raise my head off the pillow. My eyelids settle back into the mists. 

Enough that you’re here with me.

Chapter 25

Melanie

Dani sleeps on, one hand still attached to my belly, like some little kid gripping her favorite blanket. The girl wouldn’t surprise me if she started sucking her thumb.  
Whatever. I don’t mind playing mother for a while.
 

Cooper eyes me like I have a clue to Dani’s behavior.

I sniff and make like I’m gonna wipe my nose on my sleeve.

The Marine grins and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, but he cleans my forehead and neck before wiping my nose.

Right. Like the girl would be wearing lipstick in the hospital.
“Thanks.” 

He gives me a silent nod, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes.

Weariness creeps into my soul like a deadly fog. Sleep, it whispers. Once I succumb to its lullaby, I’ll be out for a week.

Not till Dani’s outta here.

Somewhere down the hallway people chatter. An alarm beeps. Footsteps soft-tap across the floor. A cabinet door closes. Something big rumbles down the hallway.

In the quiet darkness Dani’s chest drifts up and down in the gentleness of sleep. An innocent smile warms her face. Even her bruises seem only shadows.

The girl’s oxygen monitor hangs around ninety-eight, blood pressure ninety over sixty. Dani’s heart draws a steady beat across the display. A few meds still flow into her system, but most of the tubes have been withdrawn.

I hold Dani on her side while a nurse tugs away the soiled linen and places a clean sheet under the girl. After that short interruption, hours—maybe days—pass in endless waiting. 

My bleary eyes wander in the soft haze of twilight—the fathomless void of intensive care. Sleep, the darkness whispers. I sway, fighting to remain upright. Perched on the bed, I don’t even have anything to lean against. I slip away from Dani and try to stand, but the world blurs, and I slide to the floor. 

Cooper hoists me in his arms. Without a word, he carries me to the recliner in the visitors’ hallway behind the room. “Get some sleep,” he whispers.

Not gonna happen.

I close my eyes. Dreams stir in a mental haze—Daniel and me walking the beach with our children. Mom well again. Dad and me on his motorcycle. A car hitting Dani on her bike. An alien machine breathing for the girl. That last one plays in an endless loop till I climb out of the depths, struggle to my feet again, and amble back into Dani’s room.