Paradise by the Dashboard Light Page 7

  At least being a doctor in this hospital afforded me a private room rather than a curtain for my examination. I've already called in but should probably pay a visit to Dr. Hemboltz and go over things.

  Hobbling out without putting weight on my right leg proves trickier than I'd anticipated. I'll never blow off a patient who can't figure out crutches again. In the main corridor, I run into Beth and John, both obviously discussing my predicament. John was kind enough to help me down the stairs and drive me here. Beth volunteered to cover my shift tonight, which was nice of her considering I wasn't sure if she was pissed off at me like Trisha is.

  "Surgery at six a.m. I'll be okay until then."

  "Oh, man, this sucks." John reaches out and gives my arm a punch, which doesn't help my balance on the crutches.

  Beth is slightly more compassionate. "I'll check on you before I leave in the morning. Is there anything else you need?"

  "An elevator? My building doesn't have one. I'm not sure how I'll get up there after the surgery."

  John laughs. "Oh yeah, E. I forgot about that. It is a lot of stairs. You're pretty much screwed."

  "Again, you might want to work on that bedside manner, John."

  Beth's cell phone buzzes on her hip. Checking it, she starts to walk away. "We'll figure something out about tomorrow. Don't worry, we've got your back."

  I check the time on my phone. It's eight o'clock. I've been here all afternoon and evening, and that's with jumping to the front of the line. I might as well stay in the on-call room, rather than try to trek home and back.

  Mel sees me going in there and brings me ice for my knee and eventually, a sandwich from the cafeteria. She tells me Pete will check in on me in the morning. There’s a twinkle in her eye. Good for them. I'm glad he finally went for it, and that she was receptive. At least someone lucked out.

  Which immediately makes me think about Rio. I don't know why she freaked out the way she did. I mean, the egg thing was sort of funny, until it wasn't.

  As I finally doze off on the cot, the sounds of the hospital somewhat muted through the closed door and the long day weighing on me, I muse that someday, this will make a great story to tell our kids.

  Chapter 11

  Rio

  Monday morning arrives without Beth returning from work. I never thought much about it, but her schedule really sort of sucks. It seems to me like she's always working.

  Not that I'm any different, but at least my days and nights are consistent. But here it is, the sun not quite up, and I'm heading out to get a jump on work. Now that I am lead marketing designer for the Caparazzo account, my task list is about to triple.

  Fall is losing the battle to winter slowly as the cold bites at my skin. I'll have to remember to pull my winter boots out soon. The fall had arrived late this year, summer not wanting to yield its warm days to the brisk air. Even the seasons have power struggles. A white flake floats down, making me wonder if the seasons are like dysfunctional siblings, all acting out for their mother's attention.

  I'm certainly familiar with that.

  Thoughts of my childhood make me think about Ian. Again. God, Ian. Despite the cool air, I fan myself for a moment. From the instant I saw him, all sensible thoughts ceased. It was like I was sixteen again, hormones and irrational thought taking over.

  When I was around Ian, I felt like I had no control.

  That is not a good feeling for me.

  The last time I let myself get out of control, I slept with him, and it was wrong. On so many levels wrong. But at least it's in the past so I don't have to think about him or it again. That's what I tell myself, even though I'm apparently powerless to stop.

  Once at work, opening my computer reveals a slew of emails. I won't have time to daydream about Ian, even if I wanted to. As soon as I read and respond to one email, another pings my inbox. Then another. And another. It's noon before I can come up for air.

  Apparently, the Caparazzo people loved the work I did so much that they decided they wanted to take their social media campaign in an entirely different direction. They still want me, but they want me to come up with a new vision. Excuse me while I pound my head into a brick wall.

  Knocking softly on Ted's open door, I wait for him to look up from his phone before entering. The dreamy smile on his face fades when he sees me. "Yes?"

  "Um, I …" I have no idea why suddenly I'm tripping over my words. This certainly was not how I presented myself last week.

  "Rio, I'm very busy here. What do you want?"

  "Um, did you see the emails from Caparazzo? They want a redesign."

  Ted looks down at his phone and taps his fingers furiously. "So?"

  "But I just put together a new package and they hired me based on that package."

  He looks up, annoyance clearly dancing across his face. "They hired us, first of all. Secondly, the client is always right. They want a new package, give them a new package."

  His directive is of little to no support to me. That's fine. It's not like it will be the first time I've been left to figure things out on my own. Settling back at my desk, a steaming cup of tea in hand, I open the emails again. Then I look through all the presentation materials. I comb my memory for their comments, trying to discern in what direction they may want to head.

  I have no idea. I'm not a mind reader. With a thunk, my head hits the desk. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to know what they want from me?

  Then, with startling clarity, the answer hits. I have no idea what else it is they are looking for, so I'll ask them. An hour later, a detailed questionnaire is complete, and I send it over.

  While waiting for their response, I cull the internet, looking at their competition. Checking visually stunning platforms and scribbling notes until my desk looks like a Post-It factory exploded. Then, my email starts pinging with responses. More notes appear. I take a sip of my tea, surprised to find it cold. I look around and outside of my cubicle it’s dark. A glance at my phone reveals it's after six already. I've been working for ten hours, almost non-stop. Time flies when you're in the zone. As I power down my computer and close the folder on my finally organized Post-Its, my back screams in protest. As does my bladder.

  Ten minutes later, I've taken care of business and am finally on my way home. Fatigue washes over me, forcing me to take the bus for part of my commute, rather than walking the whole way. I could take the T but I avoid it as much as possible. I can't stand being cooped up underground. My stomach clenches with hunger as I walk by a burrito joint. Before I can help myself, I pull open the door and order way more food than I should ever eat in one sitting. I don't care. I want to stuff my face and sleep for fifteen hours. I'm still incredulous I have to re-do the whole damn campaign, although I may finally have an idea of where I'm heading. All I need is a stress-free night and lots and lots of sleep.

  Between the Ian debacle and this, I can't believe my run of bad luck over the past three days. Things have got to get better, right?

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. Fumbling my bag of food and my work satchel, I manage to retrieve it and answer without looking. Big mistake.

  "Rio? I'm so glad you answered."

  "Hey, Mom. I can't really talk." An ambulance whizzes by, sirens blaring. Maybe she'll keep this brief.

  "Oh, Rio. I don't know what to do."

  I know better than to take the bait. Yet I find myself answering, "About what?"

  "I think Rainne is in trouble."

  Of course she is. "What gave you that idea?" Three kids by three loser baby daddies who barely see their offspring? No job? No ambition? No maternal instinct? "What was the red flag this time, Mom?"

  "Well, Avril got suspended from school, and Rainne threatened the principal."

  There's so much in that statement that I don't want to know about. I mean, how does a kindergartener get suspended? "Like threatened, threatened or just lost her shit."

  "Well, you know Rainne."

  "Yes, unfortunately I do." />
  "Knock it off with the attitude, Miss High and Mighty. We don't need it right now. What we do need is for you to come home and help out, like you were supposed to. None of this would be happening if you were here to help. Isn't that why you had to go away and get a fancy job?"

  And there it is. What I will never get away from. My sister is the world's biggest shit show, yet I'm the disappointment. And she's right. I did tell her that I needed to go away to school to have a better chance at getting a better job for all of us.

  I didn't mean to let her down. I wasn't lying when I said it. But once things changed, I started to see things differently. Maybe she saw me returning to Cedarwood and buying us a nice house. Maybe she thought I'd take the role of provider. Maybe when I was younger I would have considered it. But that was before ... everything happened.

  I have neither the energy nor the inclination to deal with this right now. I try to interrupt my mother so I can disconnect, but she's going on and on. Tequila (yes, Rainne’s eldest is named Tequila) is not doing well in school, and Travis isn't paying child support again. Poor Rainne.

  I'm not even really listening as I fumble for my keys. I tell Mom I will lose reception in the elevator and disconnect. My building is a high rise with round-the-clock concierge in the lobby. Beth and I both pay a hefty rent each but to me, the space and amenities are worth it. I know I could be saving more by living in a tiny shithole, but this is all I spend my money on. The building, for its twenty-four floors, is remarkably quiet, and that's what I need tonight. Some peace and quiet and sleep. No more stress.

  As I open my door, I realize all hopes for a relaxing evening will never come to fruition.

  There, sleeping on my couch, is Ian McCallister.

  

  Ian

  Now I know how people become addicted to pain medication. It takes me away to a place where there are not knives piercing my flesh, with hot burning pain searing my leg. The pills make things foggy and clouded, and I don't care about anything as long as I can float along. Getting home was tricky and not even the medication helped as my leg was jostled around in the back of the car. Not that it's really home. My friends put their heads together and realized Beth's apartment was the most accessible for me, with an entrance without stairs and an elevator to her unit. Everyone else had stairs and walk-ups.

  "We decided it would be best, at least for the first few days. Once you're up and moving, you can go home. But for now, you're going to need help." I'm grateful for Beth's take-charge personality, stepping in and making all the arrangements. I certainly wasn't capable of doing it. Pete drove me to her place, and Mel had arranged to get a Cryocuff. I couldn't wait to get some ice back on my knee. The spinal had worn off, and this shit was bad. I have a new appreciation for ten out of ten pain.

  "Thanks, Beth. I …" I pause as a wave of nausea hits. "I appreciate it."

  "Yeah, just don't tell Trisha. She'll disown me for being nice to you."

  "I'm pretty sure I won't be talking to her anytime soon. But she'll find out. She always does. And if she disowns you for being a decent human being, then it's probably for the best."

  That takes all of my strength, and I plop down, a little too hard, on the plush sofa. Beth sets about gingerly lifting my splinted leg up onto pillows and wrapping the pads around my leg before filling the cooler with ice and water. As soon as she connects the hose and presses the button, I can feel coolness circulating around my throbbing leg. I close my eyes and try to relax, concentrating on slow, even, deep breaths. I can hear Beth moving about in another room, and soon she's back with a variety of snacks and beverages, which she sets on a small tray.

  "That should hold you over for a bit. I'm going to crash for a bit. Holler if you need anything."

  "Thanks, Beth. Sleep well." I feel guilty. She worked for me yesterday and then her shift overnight. She was probably on for thirty hours straight. Days like that suck, and now she's got me to take care of on top of it.

  Once Beth is in her room, I realize I should have asked her for my phone. It should be in my bag, which Pete procured from my apartment sometime during the day. I'm lucky to have friends like this. I know I'd step in for any of them. We're all here, on our own and away from our families. Not by choice but by necessity, so we've made our own family unit. I should have thought about that before getting involved with Trisha. It occurs to me I should warn Pete about getting involved with Mel as I start to drift off.

  I don't know how long I'm out before a loud noise startles me.

  "What the fuck are you doing here?"

  I blink once, then twice, trying to clear the fog from my head and the cotton from my mouth. I'm almost positive there's drool running down my chin. "Um, Rio?" I blink again, concentrating on the movement, which is about all I'm capable of doing at the moment. Maybe I'm having an opioid-induced hallucination or something.

  "Seriously, Ian?" Her glare switches to concern as her gaze travel down from my face and take in my leg. "What happened and why do you have a beer cooler attached to your leg?"

  "Tore my ACL. Had surgery." My words are slurred and slow.

  Rio moves close to the couch, squatting down to my eye level. I try to sit up, but can't seem to really move my leg. Or at least I can't move it without crying like a baby so all I manage is to prop my head up a few inches. "Ian, what happened? I just saw you yesterday."

  "Yeah, well, remember that egg I was going to make you?"

  Her head drops, and a few errant strands of hair fall forward, hiding her face, but not before I see a flush fill her cheeks. "I remember."

  "I dropped the egg and didn't clean it up right away. Then, when you ran out, I turned and slipped. Tore my ACL. Had it repaired this morning."

  Slowly Rio lifts her head. "So this is my fault?" Her voice rises in question, but no matter what I say to assuage her guilt, I know she'll blame herself.

  "It was an accident. Could have happened any time. I've tweaked the knee before, so it wasn't in top form to begin with."

  Rio plops from her squat to sitting on the floor, her back leaning up against the couch. Her knees are folded in close to her body and she buries her head in her arms. "I'm so sorry. I'm … This is all because I'm a moron."

  I don't know what to do, but I know I don't want to see her cry. I reach across my body with my right hand and touch the top of her head. It's an odd gesture, almost like I'm petting her, which is exactly what I start doing. I don't know why. I need to touch her, and I think I might feel that way, even without narcotics coursing through my system.

  I don't say anything but continue stroking her hair. It's so soft. It'd make a nice blanket or something. After a few minutes, her head lifts. I should probably stop touching her, but I don't feel like it. I wish I could reach other places on her body.

  "Ian?"

  "Yeah." If I move over, will she lay down on the couch with me? It's probably not a good idea, but I don't really care.

  "Why are you here?"

  "I had surgery today."

  She turns to face me. God, maybe I am high because all I can think about is kissing those luscious lips. Have those lips always been there?

  Yes, they have. I can picture her chewing on the end of her pencil. I remember Mike San-Something making a lewd comment about them after Geometry one day. It pissed me off because Rio was not that kind of girl.

  In this moment, I'm wishing maybe she was.

  I have to tear my gaze away from her mouth, otherwise I'll never process what she's saying to me.

  "I get that, but why are you in my apartment? On my couch. I know it's my fault and all, and I'm glad to help, but how did you get here? And why? I mean, other than I owe you."

  I push a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm not at your apartment. I'm at Beth's." She's making no sense.

  Her brow wrinkles. "This is my place too."

  "That's just a coincidence. Beth is letting me stay here."

  "I gathered you didn't break in. Why?"

>   "I didn't break in because she has a key. She lives here too, you know."

  A muscle in Rio's jaw twitches. "You know what I mean."

  "You've been to my place." I shrug, not telling her what she wants to know.

  Now, she's clenching her lips together. "Ian." Her eyes squint and her nostrils flare.

  "Rio." This is fun.

  I forgot how amusing it is to test Rio's patience, of which she has little. It was always so easy to get under her skin. It's nice to know nothing's changed.

  "You've been to my apartment. All those stairs. Can't do 'em right now. Beth's the only one in the group with an elevator and no stairs. She drew the short straw."

  As understanding fills her face, Rio exhales a long breath. "So you're here until you can move again? How long will that be?"

  "I hope I'm a bit more mobile in a day or two. Right now, I'm pretty hopped up on painkillers. I haven't tried to get up yet, but I'm going to have to soon."

  Rio jumps up. "How come? Do you need anything? Let me do it for you. This is because of me. What can I do? I'll do it."

  "I doubt you can take a piss for me, but I do need help."

  She blushes and then nods. Rio is a willing assistant but doesn't know her ass from her elbow when it comes to helping a patient, which I make the mistake of pointing out to her after she's disconnected the Cryocuff and moved pillows out of the way.

  "We're not all Dr. McSteamy, you know," she says, her frustration evident as I grimace in pain when she lifts my leg a bit too quickly. She follows this with a quick, "Sorry," and then proceeds to move at a snail's pace.

  I am finally on my feet, crutches firmly under my arms, but the room seems to sway a bit. Or maybe that's just me. Rio reaches out, steadying my waist with her hands.

  "Are you okay?"

  I don't like how upset she seems. How worried. On the other hand, I'm okay with her hands on me. "McSteamy? The guy who's too cocky for his own good and is only good at one thing? That's what you think of me?" I grin down at her and a small smile finally breaks the plane of her face.