A Proper Young Lady (22 page)

She lies on the hospital bed still, but somebody has raised her back, so she’s almost sitting up. Mrs. Welles holds a cup to the girl’s lips.

What happened?
I’ve only been away a few minutes. Yet they cut her hair in a shoulder-length bob—almost a pageboy. With a bare spot on one side where the sensor was. 

Dani beams her love my way. “I missed you,” she mouths, her voice but a whisper.

Mrs. Welles scowls at me. Like the accident was all my fault.

Yeah, guess so.
I scoot across the room and park my butt on the side of the bed opposite Dani’s mother. I force a smile and nod a greeting. “I’m sorry it took you so long to get here.” 

Her anger flares, but fades right away. She sets down the cup, walks around the bed, and faces me. Like some Gestapo general. “Be thankful you’re not Randolph Welles. My husband’s rather upset with him for not contacting us sooner.” She searches my eyes then—the way Dani sometimes does—lets go of her anger, and hugs me. “Thank you for watching over my daughter.” 

My vision blurs again. I grab the bed rail and hold tight, refusing to let my mind wander off. And. Into. Dreams.

Danièle

I wake to soft pain—as subdued as the light of intensive care. The sensation floats—mostly submerged—in a pool of numbing sedation. Tenderness ripples down my side when I move. 

Melanie rests her head against my shoulder, strands of her ginger hair spreading across my chest. Both Mum and Cooper encourage her to sleep—I all but order her away—but she remains in a chair next to my bed. She no longer responds to the nurses who come and go, nor even to the few words my parents direct her way. But embers of tenderness still burn deep within her eyes. 

Cooper leans against the doorpost, as relaxed as the Marine ever gets. When his gaze meets mine, I beckon him closer. “Will you help me? I’d like to sit up for a while.”

He nods, but pushes the call button and asks for a nurse.

I slide my legs over the side of the bed and, with Cooper’s added muscle, pull myself upright. The exertion leaves my heart thumping. I lean against his shoulder and breathe through my mouth.

Melanie sits on the bed next to me and adds her support, though she seems as knackered as me. I brush the back of a finger down her cheek. “Help me remove the EKG, will you, love?”

After a glance at Cooper, Melanie reaches through the back of my gown and begins tugging at the wires. She leans close—her face almost touching mine—as she stretches for the far-side pads. 

My body aches for hers—to hold her close. I press my lips against Melanie’s for a breathless moment. 

Her arms tremble, and she stops, her emerald eyes searching. For Daniel, no doubt.

That’s all right, love. I’ll be him for you and a proper young lady for everyone else.

A nurse arrives, glances at the blank display, and transfers my saline drip to a rolling IV pole.

After they move me to a chair, an orderly brings a tray with some soup, gelatin, ice cream, and juice. I finish the tasteless bisque. The flat gelatin. Even the dairy lacks flavor. Likely an aftereffect of the anesthesia. And eating even that little leaves me exhausted.

After an orderly removes my tray, Melanie rests on the arm of my chair. I pull my wife close and kiss her with what little strength remains. Her weary eyes slow-blink, but a tired smile spreads across her face.

Sometime later, Dr. Ormond walks through the door, followed by a resident. “Miss Welles, We’re moving you out of ICU today. Your parents would like me to transfer you to the Gumenick Suites. There, you’d have adjoining guest rooms for family and friends.”

“Do they have real food?”

The doctor breaks into the warmest smile I’ve seen on him. “I believe they have a gourmet chef.”

Melanie leans her head against mine. Ginger curls spill down across her pale cheeks. A single tear runs down her face and spatters on my arm.

Perhaps now you’ll rest.

Melanie

Dani lies asleep on the hospital bed, free of the ventilator, IVs, tubes, and wires. Her chest rises and falls in gentle waves. Bruises give her the face of a pale racoon, but she radiates peace.

I make my way to the guest room and ease the door open. Somebody left my suitcase beside the bed. I lift it onto the dresser and click it open.

A hot shower. Clean pajamas. A good night’s sleep. I’m gonna have my meltdown tonight.

A trail of dirty clothes follows me into the bathroom. I flip the water to full steam ahead and duck beneath the life-giving flood.

Shampoo lather flows down my hair and falls in clumps around my feet. I scrub my arms and legs till my skin burns bright red. With the torrent of water massaging my neck and shoulders, I close my eyes and dream of cuddling with Daniel.

After I work out
all my tension, I grab a towel from the rack and press my face into its clean, cottony scent.
Now if I only had some of Jake’s scones and a cup of steamed milk, I’d be in Heaven.
I pat myself dry and wander back into the bedroom to find my comb. 

Dani teeters on the edge of my bed, her hospital gown on the floor around her ankles.

I rush to the girl’s side and grab her arm to keep her from falling over. “You should be in bed.”

“Help me shower first.” Her desolate panda eyes beg me to help.

On one side of her too-thin body, fading bruises stretch from her thigh up to her breast. Here and there, angry skin displays the recent memories of tubes and incisions.

“I’ll get a nurse.”

“No.” Her hand tugs—light as a feather—against mine while her face pleads. 

So frail—will the girl even make it to the shower? 

I am so gonna regret this.
I help Dani to her feet, and we shuffle toward the bathroom. 

She leans against the stall while I position the shower seat under her tush. The girl slides down the wall—more like collapsing than sitting—yet still kinda graceful, considering her circumstances. 

Bathing Dani takes almost as long as my shower did. I shampoo her hair and clean the rest of her with a washcloth. After a warm rinse, I turn off the water, hand the girl a towel, and help her to her feet again.

Dani leans back against the wall, slides both arms around my waist, and urges me closer. “I am so blessed to have you as my wife.”

Huh? Not now.
My head collapses against Dani’s shoulder in utter weariness.
I got you your stupid shower. Can the brain damage please wait till morning?
 

Soft breath warms my cheek. “I’m sorry I put you through this.”

Such tenderness hasn’t flowed from the girl’s lips since—well, yeah—since Daniel gave me his locket. 

She brushes a fingertip across my cheek. “When I’m better, let’s find a beach somewhere. All right?”

We’re not married, Dani. The accident knocked something loose. Okay?
I should explain, but I don’t have the courage to disappoint the love in her frail eyes.
I’m not gonna be the one who spoils your dream.
 

“Okay.” I kiss Daniel—a gentle brush of my lips against his—and lean my head against the boy’s shoulder. Faded memories of his body against mine pull me ever closer. 

Who’s gonna hold me after you marry Ethan?

We make our way across the room again, one halting step at a time. Daniel collapses on the double bed. Too weary to do anything more—dazed beyond caring—I crawl in beside him and pull the covers over us. 

I am so sorry, Dani. I would never have wished for this.

Danièle

In grade school, Melanie chattered on endlessly about family and motherhood. When I suggested we marry, she replied that I needed to be a boy for that. After all, it took a man and a woman to make babies.

Why not? Everyone else pretended I was a girl. Melanie didn’t care that my body was intersex—my little post was sufficient proof of maleness for our childhood games. 

In the guest room bed with my wife, warmth suffuses me—along with a profound sense of peace. I slide a hand down across her baby bump, in search of some trace of our children. Ironic that I succeeded at the one thing little Melanie most wanted out of her for-pretend husband. And knew I didn’t have to give. 

After we moved, I wandered off into a feminine puberty and the resulting struggle to show myself a proper young lady. Melanie didn’t mind my getting breast development. It didn’t matter that I was Danièle to everyone else either, so long as I remained Daniel for her. My family’s move to Virginia crushed her heart, and my being away from her killed Daniel.

I almost succeeded as the princess in a fairytale romance, though. My Prince Charming would have been well worth the body modifications and gender bending required to make me his bride. Or so I thought.

I learned my part rather well, actually. Being Miss Danièle Aileana Welles was grand. But my true gender lies somewhere between princess and little boy. In the end, only Melanie accepts that.

I prop myself up on one elbow and tug the sheet down. My wife has never been more beautiful. I run a fingertip—light as a breath—down her forehead to the tip of her nose. Her mouth curls into a smile, and she murmurs my name. 

I press my lips against hers once, but have not the energy to do more. A dull throbbing in my side has grown too difficult to ignore. A more subtle pain caresses my hip. I lay my head on the pillow again and stroke my fingers through Melanie’s cinnamon curls.

A line of brightness splits the dark and widens, like some portal through space. Cooper stands in silhouette in the doorway. I pull the sheets back up far enough to hide my breasts.

He strides across the room and leans over the bed. “I promised the nurse you’d take your medications.” He sets a glass of water and a little cup of pills on the nightstand.

“All right.”
Do I need so many?
 

“Your parents have ordered breakfast. Would you like to eat with them?”

“We’re a bit indisposed at the moment.”

Ever the gentleman, Cooper fetches our bathrobes and drapes them across my legs. “I’ll get your ride.”

While he’s out, I slip from under Melanie and don my robe.

Cooper returns a moment later, helps me move to the wheelchair, and chauffeurs me into the dining area. I stand long enough to secure one of Daddy’s overwhelming bear hugs and hear him whisper his love for me. Mum holds me as well, though anger and disappointment taint her enthusiasm. “Will Miss Fairbairn be joining us?”

Miss?
“No. Let her rest.” 

Cooper shuts the bedroom door. I ease down into the wheelchair again.

My mother sits across from me. Her eyes wander between my hand and the closed door as Cooper serves me poached salmon and scrambled eggs.

Yes, Mum. Married and deliriously happy. Get used to it.

Daddy prays for our meal, but remains silent afterward, his eyes distant.

My mother searches my face again before speaking. “Sweetheart, perhaps it would be more appropriate to sleep in the hospital bed.”

Rather than with my wife?
“No, Mum. I’ll heal faster in Melanie’s arms than anywhere else. And she needs me to hold her.” 

Ignoring my parents’ frowns, I relish my first bite of breakfast. The mental haze has cleared. My body aches from head to thigh. Proof positive I’m alive. I throw a smile at the closed bedroom door, then grin at my mother.

Mum studies me over her tea.

Tea. Darjeeling?
“May I have some?” 

“Certainly.” She pulls the cozy from the china pot and pours me a generous cup.

Now if I only had some Irish cream.

Melanie

Voices murmur outside the bedroom door, a long but hushed argument. I roll toward Daniel, but my husband’s gone. Only the memory of his body against mine remains. A plaintive sigh parts my lips. Even if life’s only a fantasy now, I need the boy to hold me till we’re both better.

Is it so evil to hope he never leaves me?
I slide out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom. A hot shower does little to ease my yearning. For Daniel. And—to my surprise—for Dani to come back again. 

For the first time since leaving Victoria Springs Manor, I put on a nice dress and do my makeup. For Dani. Memories of our stay at the Biltmore drift past like leaves on a fall day. The night she cried in the rain drips down my cheek. Visions of our motorcycle rides together leave me wanting to hold her. I stop by the bathroom again to wipe the mascara from my face.
I’d give him up forever to have you well again, Dani.
 

Someone taps on my door. I pull it open to bright light and Mrs. Welles’ stern face. “I’d like a word with you while the speech therapists are evaluating Danièle.”

I follow her to the dining table, where a pot of tea waits. As always. I pour us both a cup before sitting. A little cream. A little sugar. Yeah, and a scone would be yummy. I ease down into a chair and straighten my skirt.
What do you want?
 

Dani’s mother takes the seat across from me, but sips at her tea before speaking. “How close were you to marrying Danièle before the accident?”

Does it matter? Everything’s changed now.
“I’m pretty sure she bought the rings for us. But I don’t think we’d have gone through with actually getting hitched. I’m not really into girls.” 

“You promised to marry her.”

Do you always spy on your daughter’s voice-mails?
“I panicked, okay? You know—maybe she was gonna cut off her breasts or something. I didn’t want her doing that. Not for me, anyhow.” 

“But you welcome her descent into fantasy.”

“Look. I want Dani back as much as you do.”
But is it so wrong to be Daniel’s wife till the girl wakes up again?
 

The woman’s blue eyes search me for a long time before she replies. “Dr. Ormond attributes Danièle’s behavior to frontal lobe bruising—and its attendant suppression of her inhibitions.” 

So being married to me is what your daughter really wants. Yeah, well, so get over it.