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SIOBHAN
On Monday morning, I walked into the outpatient surgery department of Morrison General Hospital and headed to the check-in area. Jimmy would never know how much he’d asked for, having me pick him up here. I hated hospitals. The smell, the weird lights, the fear on the faces of patients and family members...
I shivered. All that unpleasantness evoked images of my inpatient stint during my bulimic days and the misery I’d put my parents through. I pulled myself together, swallowed hard, and approached the reception desk. The only nurse in sight was on the phone, so I stayed a respectable distance away for privacy. While I waited, I scanned the room. An older woman thumbed through a tabloid magazine. Another woman in the far corner of the room kept two kids occupied with a toy truck. A man scrolled on his phone. In the background, a television tuned to local news provided the latest weather report: the snowstorm predicted to hit this morning had stalled over the Atlantic, but would probably pick up strength and hit us before evening. Awesome.
The nurse behind the desk hung up the phone and turned her attention toward me. “Can I help you?”
I took a few steps closer and said in a tone somewhere between whisper and croak, “Hi. I’m here to pick up Jimmy—James Vais?”
She stared at her computer. “Spell the last name, please.” After I did, she asked, “And you are...?”
“Siobhan Bendlow.”
Never looking up from her monitor, she nodded. “I’ll need to see your ID.”
I pulled my driver’s license out of my bag and placed it on the counter. She looked from the plastic card to me and back again, then frowned. Her scrutiny unnerved me, and I blurted, “It’s an old picture.” About fifty pounds less ago.
“I’ve seen worse.” She returned her attention to the monitor.
Wow. Great. Thanks.
“Mr. Vais is in recovery. I’ll let his doctor know you’re here. You can have a seat in the meantime.” She passed my license back to me and, without looking at it, I shoved it in the first pocket my hand found in my purse. Body dysmorphia didn’t just disappear because I’d stopped bingeing and purging. Every day brought a trigger or reminder that could cause me to spiral downward. Looking at old photos of myself was a big no-no for that reason.
I left the desk and took a seat near the exit door, poised to bolt the second I got a chance. While my stomach somersaulted, I stared at the television and concentrated on breathing by sucking in a deep inhale and letting out short, measured exhales. Onscreen, the anchorwoman talked about the local production of The Nutcracker Suite. Below her smiling face, the crawl listed the growing number of school cancellations and early dismissals. Eventually, she reintroduced the station’s meteorologist, who informed viewers we could expect eight-to-twelve inches of the white stuff overnight and all cars should be off the roads, so the plows could do their jobs. By the time he tossed the audience back to the main desk, a man in mint green scrubs entered the waiting room and called my name.
I jerked up from my chair, raising my hand. “Here.” The man smirked, and my cheeks warmed. I’d reacted like a schoolkid. Grabbing my purse, I straightened, then walked toward him. “I’m Siobhan Bendlow.”
“I’m Dr. Rubio. James did great. He’s up and walking, though he may feel some pain when the anesthesia completely wears off. I do believe the kyphoplasty was the right way to go for him. He should be completely pain-free in a day or two. Now, normally...”
Kypho...?
I made a mental note to Google that word later, so I repeated it in my head, committing it to memory and missing whatever else the doctor said until he added, “James assured me you’ll be there.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. Be...where?”
The doctor rocked back slightly on his white sneakers. “At his home. As I said, ideally, I’d prefer to keep him overnight—simply for observation. But since you’ve got nursing training and you’ll be staying with him...”
Wait. What?
My panic must have shown on my face because he waved his hand in dismissal. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure to have a full aftercare sheet ready for you before you leave. Just remember, no driving for him for the next few days and absolutely no heavy lifting for at least six weeks. Do you know if he’s currently taking a calcium and or magnesium supplement?”
Please. I didn’t even know I was a nurse who planned to stay in his house ‘til the doc mentioned it. How would I know Jimmy’s vitamin regimen? “Umm...I’m not sure.”
“Well, he will now. Have him start after you get him home today.”
Yeah, right. Because that stubborn ass would listen to anything I said.
“Are you ready to see him?”
“Oh, you bet!” Based on the doctor’s wide-eyed reaction, my reply held a skooch too much enthusiasm.
Without another word, he turned toward the doorway, and I followed him out into the corridor. We stopped a few yards away, in front of a set of double doors. He pushed the square button on the wall, and the doors opened at a snail’s pace. Inside the room, a dozen curtained stations held patients in varying stages of recovery. I tried not to look at any of them, embarrassed for their vulnerability as strangers strode by on their way to their own loved ones.
Dr. Rubio stopped at the last station in the first row, under a small sign embedded in the ceiling that displayed the number ten. “Wakey-wakey, James. I found your lovely girlfriend sitting all alone in the waiting room.”
Girlfriend? My jaw dropped. What exactly had Jimmy told this guy about me, and did the conversation occur before or after he’d been put under anesthesia?
The doctor pulled the curtain aside and ushered me into the area before following me. “How you feeling? I heard you got up already, managed to walk the corridor. That’s great.”
A rumpled-looking Jimmy slid up on the hospital bed and offered me a weak smile. “Hey. Bon. Thanks for coming.”
His voice was roughened and drowsy, and even in the dumb hospital gown, he looked like a perfect Roman god. For the stupidest moment of my life, I wondered if this was how he woke up every morning. Because, if he did, sign me up. A gal could appreciate the sight of those bedroom eyes, that chiseled jaw, and a perfectly pitched baritone. I shook myself out of the fantasy, reminding myself I didn’t like him the least little bit and right now, I was annoyed that he’d lied to his doctor about me.
I settled into the chair at his bedside and picked up his hand to clutch in mine. “You know I wouldn’t be anywhere else but with my snookum-wookums when he needed me,” I said in the silliest sing-song tone I could develop on short notice. I pursed my lips to an exaggerated pout and added, “I was so worried about you.”
Dr. Rubio cleared his throat. “I’ll get your aftercare instructions together, fill out your discharge paperwork, and the nurse will be by to release you. James, I’ll see you in my office for a follow-up within ten days. In the meantime, I’ll write you a scrip to start physical therapy as soon as possible. If you need a referral or recommendation, talk to Jan at my office when you call for the follow-up. She keeps on top of all that stuff for me. Miss Bendlow, it was nice to meet you.”
I kept up the breathy childlike façade. “Thanks, Doctor, for taking such good care of my Jimmy.”
The doctor looked away and murmured, “You’re welcome,” before pulling the curtain around us as he left, enveloping us in privacy and dimmer light.
“I guess you think I deserved that performance,” Jimmy said when we were alone.
“I think you might have deserved a whole lot more, but I’ll withhold my final judgment until you tell me exactly who the doctor thinks I am.”
He rolled his shoulders against the mattress and pointed beneath my chair. “Do me a favor? My bag of clothes is under you. Grab my stuff so I can get dressed, will you? I gotta get outta here before I break out in a rash. I hate hospitals.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not wild about them, either. And I sure don’t appreciate you telling your doctor that I’m a nurse.” Or his girlfriend, for that matter, but I left out that particular lie.
Jimmy slapped his hands on the sheet. “He wanted to keep me overnight! That was never part of our deal.”
“Deal? You and your surgeon have a deal?”
He clucked his tongue. “You know what I mean. From our very first appointment, he told me this was an outpatient procedure. Otherwise, I never would have gone for it. Now, all of a sudden, I’m coming out of anesthesia and he tells me he wants to keep me overnight for ‘observation.’” He curled his fingers around the last word. “Bull. I’m not staying in this place longer than I have to. He said he wouldn’t release me unless I had someone at home to take care of me.”
“So you volunteered me.”
“It seemed the most expedient way to convince him, especially since you’d be here to talk to him. I’d hoped he’d see you were competent—at least, that was the plan before you put on the baby doll act. Now, he probably thinks you’re an airhead and he’ll order us both kept here for ‘observation.’ Just give me my clothes so we can sneak outta here before the nurse from hell comes back to shove Jell-O down my throat.”
Because he’d pushed my ornery button, I folded my arms over my chest and replied, “I happen to like Jell-O.”
“Good.” He flipped off the thin sheet, giving me a fabulous view of his bare legs from the knees down. “Switch places with me. I’ll go home, you stay here and have all the jiggly juice you can stomach.”
I laughed. “Jiggly juice?”
“Yeah.” He smirked. “Justin coined that term when he was about three, I think. It always seemed appropriate. Now, if you’d stop trying to peek up my dress and give me my clothes...”
“I wasn’t—” I stopped in mid-denial when I caught his grin suggesting he teased me. Still, my cheeks flamed with embarrassment because I had been staring at his legs—but not any higher. To hide my blush, I ducked my head and pulled out the clear plastic bag containing his jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers and boxers. As I tossed it on the foot of the bed, I got up from the chair. “I’ll go wait by the nurse’s station ‘til you’re dressed.”
He winked. “You sure you don’t want to stay and watch?”
“No.” I practically ran through the curtain, his chuckles following me out onto the recovery room floor.
What happened to the Jimmy who couldn’t wait to get away from me? I never thought I’d say it, but I wanted him back. Him, I could deal with. Mr. Charming in there made me nervous. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop—on my head.
Forty minutes later, we sat in my van, once again, cloaked in dead silence. As I turned onto Montauk Highway toward home, my cell rang. The screen on my dashboard lit up with the name and number of Bernard Devaux, star salesman for Realty of the Hamptons.
“Don’t answer that,” Jimmy ordered.
“I wasn’t about to.” Not because he demanded it. No, I flat out didn’t want him to know my business. I wasn’t crazy enough to hear whatever Mr. Devaux wanted to say with an audience, especially not such a judgmental audience.
We continued the drive, neither of us speaking. Once I pulled into his driveway and slid the gear into park, he said, “So...Realty of the Hamptons,” in a mock British accent. “How posh. What are you buying?”
“Martha Stewart’s summer place,” I retorted. “I’m downsizing.”
He opened the car door. “Well, good luck with that. Thanks for picking me up. I owe you one.”
Before he could climb out, I grabbed his jacket sleeve. “Hold up there, pal. My job’s not done here yet. The doctor has some orders for you, and it’s my responsibility to make sure you follow them.”
His brow crinkled, and he grimaced. “Like what?”
“Like making sure you schedule PT, make a follow-up appointment, and start taking calcium and magnesium tablets every day.”
He waved a hand at me. “I’m not swallowing that crap.”
“You will while I’m taking care of you. And you’re going to call your doctor’s office for your aftercare needs as soon as you’re settled inside. Then I’ll make us both something to eat because I’m guessing you haven’t had a meal since yesterday and I skipped breakfast, which is a big no-no for me, you’ll get some rest, and I’ll call my clients to reschedule today’s sessions.” I opened my door. “Let’s go.”
“You are not coming in my house.”
“Yes, I am.”
“What makes you think you’re wanted?”
I shrugged and extended one leg out of the van. “It doesn’t matter if I’m wanted. You told your doctor I was in charge of your aftercare. He took you at your word and so do I. So, for at least the next twelve to fourteen hours, I’ll be with you in your house. Either that or I take you back to the hospital and have them admit you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I leveled a steady gaze at him in reply. “Try me.”
“I never said—”
“I know,” I interjected. “You thought you could manipulate your doctor, the hospital, and me. That’s why you wanted me and not your brother. It had nothing to do with trust. You thought I was a pushover, that you could lie about who I was to Dr. Rubio, and I’d go along with it. I’d just drop you off back here, too intimidated by you to argue or even volunteer to stick around. You’d be able to crawl back into your hidey-hole and be left alone. Well, you underestimated your lack of charm or my courage level. Because you can growl all you want, insult me, talk down to me, I don’t care. You’re stuck with me now, and I’m not leaving you alone until I get medical clearance to do so. So, get used to me hovering around your house. If that angers you, too bad. You put me in this position so don’t blame me. Blame yourself.”
Wow. I couldn’t believe I’d snapped like that. Judging by Jimmy’s silence and slack jaw, I’d shocked him, too. Not that I cared. No matter how he reacted, I wouldn’t take back a word of my diatribe. He’d earned it.
Grabbing my purse, I slid out of the van. “Let’s get you inside.”
To his credit—or mine—he didn’t continue the argument. On a heavy sigh, he surrendered and led me inside his house. I’d stood in brighter mausoleums than his living room.
“Jeez,” I murmured, grabbed my cell, and turned it on so the light from the screen could illuminate my surroundings.
“Don’t start,” he grumbled. “I’ve already had it out with your grandmother about my not letting in enough light.”
The screen went black again, rejuvenating the darkness. “Hmm...whatever she said didn’t do much good, did it?”
He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the couch. “We compromised. I’m allowed to keep the living room how I like it provided I let the light into the kitchen. She strolls around my backyard every day and peeks into the kitchen windows. If the blinds are drawn, she’s coming in. Made me give her a key and everything. She’s formidable.” He slid me some serious side-eye. “I should have realized you’re a lot like her.”
Despite my anger at him, I smiled. “A month ago, I would’ve been insulted by that comment. Now, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
He plopped into the plush recliner in front of the flat-screen television and flipped up the footrest. “Good. I meant it as one. So, what’s first, Florence Nightmaregale?”
I took off my coat and draped it atop his. “You relax. I’ll review the aftercare instructions Dr. Rubio left me, and we’ll go from there.”
With a contented sigh, Jimmy extended the chair into full recline position and closed his eyes. “You know, sweetheart,” he said in Bogart fashion, “this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
I shook my head as I headed into the kitchen. “Shut up and get some sleep.”
♥♥♥♥
ALTHEA
After spending two sleepless nights trying to figure out where my life should be headed—toward Lou or far away from Lou—I decided to turn my thoughts over to a higher power. Once I’d cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast in the morning, I closed the blinds tight against any prying eyes, stripped off my clothes, and grabbed my yoga mat. As I went through the motions of stretching and breathing, I tried to clear my brain and find my inner chi. No matter what I did, though, two faces kept running through my mind: Archie’s and Lou’s.
Crumpling onto my mat, I stared up at the ceiling. “What do you want from me?” I asked the universe.
Nothing happened. No sudden snow squall, no bolt of lightning, not even a howling wind greeted my question. Apparently, the universe was uncooperative today. I slapped my palms on my thighs and got to my feet. No answer from the universe meant I would have to solve this dilemma on my own. And I knew just where I had to start.
Resolute in my plans—if not my future—I threw on some clothes and called for a cab. By the time the car honked outside, I was bundled up and ready to go. Only after I stepped out onto the front porch did I notice Siobhan’s van sat parked in the Vais driveway. Hmm...
I wondered what was going on over there. I will admit the idea there might be some romantic inclinations percolating between them warmed my ice-encased heart. Sure, Jimmy seemed gruff and rough around the edges, but I understood why. The poor man had lived with so much pain in the last year. I pried the details out of him with macaroni and four cheeses. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before I believe every man has a particular food weakness. For Archie, it was those lemon poppy seed muffins. In Jimmy’s case, he loved cheesy, gooey comfort food.
So, if Siobhan had agreed to give him a second chance, he’d be an idiot not to seize it. Of course, had I known the van was just sitting there across the street, I might’ve asked to borrow it for an hour or two instead of calling a cab. Then again, maybe not. I wouldn’t want to interrupt any affectionate time going on—if you catch my drift. On the other hand, for all I knew, Siobhan had only stopped by to pick up or drop off something and was heading back to the studio in the next few minutes. I stared up at the white-gray sky and hoped my first impression was true. Those two didn’t realize it, but they needed each other.
Oh, well. Whatever was going on there was out of my hands. I climbed into the backseat of the neon lime green sedan indicative of the local taxi service and told the driver to take me to Coffield’s Wharf. Once there, I paid the fare and wandered the nearly empty boardwalk. Charming shops with striped awnings beckoned passersby to come in out of the cold and perhaps, buy a few souvenirs or Long Island crafted products.
In my younger years, none of this existed—except one storefront, a staple in Snug Harbor since the fifties: Mrs. Frosty’s Ice Cream Shoppe. Rumor said when Ogden Coffield approached Eugenia Harmon, the owner of Mrs. Frosty’s back in 1980, to sell the place as part of his grand wharf renovation, she told him he’d have to build his ego monument around her store. He did, and what had started as a bone of contention between two hardheaded business owners became a mutually successful venture. As tourism increased in the area, thanks to the booming crop of beachfront condos, wineries, and now, distilleries, more and more people flocked to the wharf and the “charming, old-fashioned ice cream parlor at the end of the boardwalk.”
Physically, the little confectioner’s house hadn’t changed much over the decades. Gingerbread scrollwork, painted a bright Barbie pink, framed sugar-white walls and a wraparound porch. In warmer months, the porch would have picnic tables crowded with families and tourists, seeking a sweet, cool treat on a sunny day.
In December, though, with a blizzard expected late this afternoon, I was pretty much guaranteed to have the shop to myself. Sure enough, I pulled open the door to the establishment, setting the bells above the lintel into a musical greeting, and stepped into 1958. Johnny B. Goode blasted from the shiny red Rock-Ola jukebox in the far corner. Behind the row of freezer cases, two girls who looked to be in their early twenties—one blonde, one brunette—chatted. They wore the traditional Mrs. Frosty’s uniform of black poodle skirts and peppermint pink and white button-down blouses, and had their hair swept up in high ponytails. Both turned toward me as I entered.
“Hi. Can I help you?” the blonde said.
I sat in one of the stainless steel chairs with its red leatherette cushion in front of a matching bistro table and removed my gloves. “That’s okay. I’m not looking for ice cream right now. I just need a few minutes out of the cold, if you don’t mind.”
I doubted they’d understand my true reason for being here, my need to connect to the past so I might find the right path to my future.
The brunette waved a hand. “Oh, sure. I doubt we’re going to get a rush of customers today. Is it snowing yet?”
I shook my head. “They’ve pushed off the start time ‘til later.”
“Figures,” the first girl said with a frown. “Right in time for us to drive in it.”
I let the two chatter on without me, closed my eyes, and let the songs pre-programmed in the jukebox take me to another dimension. While Sam Cooke begged Cupid to help him win his lover’s heart, I envisioned Archie seated at the table across from me. In my mind, I began the conversation over triple sundaes with rivers of hot fudge and mountains of whipped cream. “Do you know why I invited you here?”
Archie looked around with a wistful smile. “You and I had our first ‘real’ date right here at this table.” He patted his palm on said table’s surface for emphasis.
I tapped a finger on the tip of my nose. “Very good, Archie.”
“Be that as it may, I doubt you called me back to reminisce. So, what’s bothering you, honey? What do you need?” He sat up straight, scooped out a cherry, and popped it into his mouth.
“Peace of mind,” I replied. “Or at the very least, some wise counsel. You were always my sounding board—even if I didn’t always agree with your viewpoint.” I rested my chin on one hand and sighed. “I miss having you around, Arch.”
“I’m always around.”
I grimaced. “That’s part of the problem.”
He blew a breath out of pursed lips. “It’s not like I’m constantly hovering around, spying on you in the bathroom and stuff. I show up when you call on me or think about me. Though, I will admit I especially enjoy when you think about me during your yoga sessions.”
He waggled his brows, and I blushed. Note to self: limit thoughts about Archie to when I’m clothed.
“I miss you, too, Thea,” he said in a harsh whisper and dug his spoon into the vanilla soft-serve. “And I hate to rush you, but I’m on a time limit here. I can’t stay indefinitely. It’s not allowed.”
I heaved another sigh. While he excavated through the sundae, I searched for buried courage. “It’s about Lou. Lou Rugerman?”
“The fishing guy?”
“Right. The fishing guy.” Archie didn’t remember we once lived in Lou’s mother’s house, and I never told him about how Lou took care of me during and after my miscarriage. So for him, Lou was just the guy who owned the fleet of charter boats. No reason to tell him differently now. Instead, I moved on to the reason I’d asked him to meet me here. “Well, since I moved back to Snug Harbor, Lou and I have become...close.”
Archie stopped playing with his sundae to study me, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in deep lines. “How close?”
I gave him the look. “You know how close.”
He dropped the spoon. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”
For the next minute, silence fell over us both, and I squirmed in my chair, wringing my hands in my lap, waiting for him to say something more—anything more.
“Look, Thea, if you’re seeking my permission to be with Lou, don’t. You’re your own person. You always have been. As much as I hate the idea of you being with another man, I hate the idea of you being lonely more. You’ve still got a lot of life in you. Don’t waste it mourning me. Be happy, honey. I’ll be here when the time comes and we’ll be together again. I love you.”
Breath I didn’t know I held whooshed from my lips. “I love you, too, Archie. Thanks for stopping by.”
“Always,” he murmured.
“I’d give anything to have you kiss me one last time.”
“Can’t,” he said as he got to his feet. “That’s not allowed, either. Goodbye, Thea. I’ll see you again someday. ‘Til then, do what you do best. Grab life with both hands and suck every drop out of it you can.”
I opened my eyes to find myself alone again at the table, no sundaes, no Arthur. The shop’s employees still chatted behind the counter as I picked up my gloves and slid them over my hands again. “Thanks, ladies. I appreciate you allowing me in for a while.”
“No problem,” the blonde said. “Be careful going home.”
“I will,” I promised and left the shop. But, before going home, I had one more stop to make.
The cold hit me smack-dab in the face. Brrr! While I’d been inside connecting my past to my present, the sky had grown grayer, and the wind had increased from mild to blustery. I buried the lower half of my face into the collar of my coat and strode away from the boardwalk to the docks where the charter boats bounced on the rough sea. I didn’t stop ‘til I reached the kiosk for Captain Lou’s Star Fleet.
While I fingered my new talisman, that old evil eye keychain tucked into my coat pocket, I considered my options. My heart bobbed like the ships: up and down, rising and falling against an increasing tide of emotions.
No one sat inside the glass-enclosed ticket booth, and a sign taped to the main window said that all charters had been cancelled for today, due to the incoming storm. Undeterred, I walked toward the line of ships and scanned the decks for any activity. A bulky shadow moved aboard the Kristen Star. My heartbeat galloped, pounding against my ribcage, and euphoria washed over me. I hadn’t felt this way since I’d tripped on mushrooms at Woodstock. My excitement overruled my common sense, and I leaped onto the bow of the vessel. The rough water tossed the ship around, forcing me to grab hold of one of the tie ropes to keep my balance.
Once I’d steadied myself, I shouted at the shadow, “Lou! Is that you?”
He lumbered toward me, a bear of a man, feet firmly planting his steps on the pitching deck. Wan sunlight illuminated his face as he drew closer. Worry lines puckered his forehead. “Thea? What are you doing here?”
Shyness thickened my throat, making my voice husky when I replied, “The weatherman says a blizzard’s moving in. I thought you might want to come home with me. We could eat, make love, and watch the elements wreak havoc together.”
His calloused hand cupped my chin, his fingers grazing my cheekbone. “I’m an all-or-nothing guy, Thea. So I’m only going to ask this once. Are you sure I’m what you want?”
I stood on tiptoe and fused my lips to his. In that kiss, the wind died down, the cold no longer bothered me, and I was buffeted from the impending storm by the strength of his love. God help me, I hoped he could say the same about me. “I’m sure. Come home with me, Lou.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured in my ear. “Come home with me.”
So I did.