Chasing Luck (3 page)

“
D
eath held
out a hand for me, beckoning like a lover to be. I run for his embrace.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen

T
he paramedics fling
the ambulance doors open and lift the gurney holding Malerie. The paramedics are my age and both wear wedding bands. I said I was her husband so I could ride along.

Malerie's scared she'll die. I've seen that look too many times before.

One paramedic yells, "She's going into cardiac arrest." Both guys pop the wheels of the gurney down, ignore me, and push hard and fast.

I run inside the emergency room doors after them. At a second set of doors, a nurse stops me. I'm standing at the double doors holding this gift bag like an idiot.

"Did you come in with the victim?" A nurse in bright pink scrubs holds a clipboard in front of me.

"Yeah," I answer, not wanting to say more.
Do I say that I really don't know her? Will they make me leave then?

The nurse frowns and points to the chairs in the waiting room. "Let's get her checked in."

"I don't know all her info." I'm not looking at the nurse but at the doors. "You full staffed in there?"

"We're doing our best for her. It's early and she's critical. Can you tell me her name?"

"Yeah. I can do that." I'm not the girl's family and they'll probably kick me out. Malerie’s outstretched hand and the fear in her eyes haunts me into staying.

The nurse puts the clipboard in my hand, gives me instructions, and walks away. I stare at the forms, knowing I won't have answers to the pages of questions hospitals ask on a medical form.

I'm left, holding the clipboard, not knowing what the hell I'm going to fill in besides her name and I'm not even sure I'm spelling that correctly. Utilitarian chairs line the walls and only a few are empty.
Why am I here?
I hate hospitals more than traffic jams and country music.

I finish doing what she wants and apologize to the nurse when I hand back a mostly blank form. I knew Malerie’s name, as well as John Toombs's name and address. He said she lived with him.

And then I remember he’s dead.

I sit in the tiny room watching people come and go near the nurses' station. I've already read the discarded newspaper and a Time magazine. I've listened to a family bicker and a kid cry. The coffee tastes like it could be leftover from last night. Strong, bitter, and undrinkable.

After an hour, I call Mrs. Prata to let her know that I'll bring her the flour soon, that I'm at the hospital with a friend, and that I'm sorry if she needs it. She chatters on and on about hospitals and me staying away from people who look sick. She says hospitals are where people get sick from sitting around in waiting rooms.

She's a funny old lady. I assure her that I'm keeping my distance and not to worry.

I've been here for three hours and need to have my head examined. I don't even know this girl. How did I go from going in to retrieve my keys to sitting in a hospital emergency room?

I’ve just stood to leave when a man in blue scrubs approaches the nurse behind the counter and looks around the waiting room. He says something to her that I can't make out and the nurse points at me.

"You're a family member waiting for Malerie Toombs?" He walks over without waiting for me to answer. "She's out of surgery."

"I guess I am. Waiting for her, I mean." I ram my fingers through my hair. "Is she going to be all right?" A feeling of stifling unease and responsibility has settled in my core and I want to shake it. Staying here has been a mistake.

"She's recovering now, but we did almost lose her. She flat-lined on us, but we were able to bring her back." The doctor’s eyebrows pull to the center. "She’s a fighter. I’ve never seen anything like it. Of course, she’s not completely out of danger. We’ll monitor her progress and there’ll be tests."

Tests. The word gives me a headache. I stare at the wall beyond him.

"But she's all right now? Good." I rub my hand along the base of my neck. "I don't really know her. I wanted to make sure she made it and I felt bad for her. Her uncle was killed tonight in the restaurant."

I glance over at the bag. That stupid bag. I decide to give it to a nurse the minute this doctor walks away from me and I'll be free of any obligation.

"She's very lucky. She's stable now."

"Good. I'll probably leave now that she's okay." The guy frowns at me like I've kicked a puppy into ongoing traffic. I watch him turn to leave and I grab the bag. I hand it to a nurse seated behind a horseshoe shaped desk. "This belongs to Malerie Toombs. Could you see that she gets it?"

"You can give it to you herself if you want. I know you want to go back to ICU now that she's stable."

This woman is obviously not with the program. She's going to let a complete stranger go back to see Malerie? The nurse only knows I came in with Malerie and nothing else about me. I'm two seconds away from telling her that I’m not family or anyone who should get visitor privileges when an old man rushes through the ICU double doors.

A young nurse in brightly patterned scrubs runs to catch the old man's arm and stop him. She succeeds in grabbing him, but it does nothing to slow the guy down.

"You are not allowed past this area, sir," she says with a stern schoolteacher voice.

"I know the girl back there and you will not stop me from seeing her." The old man's voice is rising. "I have to make sure she's okay," he says to her in a voice more pleading than threatening.

The nurse exhales loudly. She looks pointedly at me like I'm the one doing something against hospital rules. "Why don't you two wait together until the doctor comes out again?"

"I'm leaving," I say without looking at the old guy.

"So, give Ms. Toombs this bag? What's your name?" the nurse asks.

The old guy roughly grabs the handle of the bag Malerie had thought so valuable and I think for a minute the nurse is going to wrestle him for it. She's determined and he releases it.

The old man glares at me. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you
don't
know Malerie. Why does this nurse think you're here with her?"

I narrow my eyes at the guy and breathe through my nose.
I don't need this
. My good deed for the day's turned into a good-Samaritan headache.

Even if I keep hearing Malerie’s small voice ask me to stay.

"I'm Ace," I say and extend my hand, but he doesn’t take it. "I was at the restaurant. I also rode in the ambulance with her. She asked me to stay and make sure to hang onto this." I point to the bag, feeling stupid. She was out of her head at the time and I'm not sure what this guy will think about me hanging around. Should I try to explain that I had met with John Toombs before he died?

The old guy rubs his face, visibly working to regain his self-control. "You came with her to the hospital? I apologize. You never know who’s a scam artist these days. Thank God she wasn't alone. I'm William Vandol.”

"Yeah, God wasn't helping her out. And she almost got herself killed in there. She must have been half-crazy over her uncle, because she ran straight at that shooter to take him out."

The old man grimaces. "She's a foolish girl. Was JT already dead?"

"Yeah." I continue to rub my neck, needing to get out of here. "There wasn't anything anyone could have done at that point. That maniac with the gun had a restaurant employee as hostage and had shot your friend."

The old man's eyes water and I can sense he's going to cry. I don't want to deal with seeing this man break down in front of me.

I look away. "Here, Mr. Vandol, why don't you have a seat?"

"Call me Billy." The old man gives a crooked smile. "And thank you for staying with Malerie." He places a wrinkled hand on my shoulder for a second.

"Anyone would have done the same." I shift from foot to foot, look at the exit, and then back at him. He's got this grateful expression, like he owes me something—which he doesn’t. I am relieved I can leave and Malerie will have somebody looking out for her.

The sooner I can leave the hospital, the better. The place closes in on me like the lid on a pine box.

"Don't forget that bag. She was seriously jonesing for it and I brought it to calm her. She even asked for it in the ambulance." I nod at the bag. The nurse is back to her paperwork and computer screen. The gift bag waits on the counter.

I shove the bag in his direction, like pushing a chess piece, signaling it's his move. Take over. I'm out.

"It's her birthday," he says.

"Helluva bad birthday." I'm looking at the exit again.

Billy lowers his graying head and peeks into the bag, fishes his hand inside, and pulls out a wood box. He examines it quickly, and then tucks it back into the bag before shoving the bag under one bent arm. "You may have saved her life."

"Maybe the doctor did, but not me." I laugh awkwardly and shake my head.

His hand trembles slightly. "I know you may have somewhere to go. I appreciate what you did—staying with Malerie. She's special and she's been through a lot in her lifetime."

"No problem. Anyone would've done the same." That's a lie. The world isn't full of people who do things for nothing. But I don't want anything from the girl or the old man.

Billy holds out his hand to shake. "We'll never forget this. Can I get your name again?" He pulls a pen from a shirt pocket and a wallet from his pants.

I shake my head and hold up a hand, "No, no. Like I said, it was nothing."

"Could I ask for one last favor?" Billy's question hangs in the air, more a demand than a question. His watery eyes are red-rimmed and tired.

"Of course." I don't hesitate for even a second. I look at the age spots on the hand of the old man now holding the brown bag Malerie thought so important. The hospital is quiet as a morgue at midnight and the nurse now stares at us, willing us to find a waiting area instead of holding our conversation near the nurse's station.

"Would you mind keeping details of tonight to yourself? Malerie and I would appreciate it if you don't talk about it to the press. We keep a quiet life and you'll be asked a lot of questions by people trying to make a dollar."

I look at the old man, surprised at the request. "The press wouldn’t ask me anything."

"Yes, they will. JT was Malerie's guardian and extremely wealthy. And there will be speculation about JT's wealth. It could be very hurtful to her. She was like a daughter to him. She's been somewhat sheltered."

"Yes, I could see they were close. You can trust me." I look at my watch pointedly. "Take care of yourself and Malerie. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I recognize the doctor in the blue scrubs walking toward us. It's my cue to leave and I'm glad to escape.

“
B
itter taste in my mouth
, drink this poison with me. My world is black and blue. Be a good friend and let me be. Hiding all alone in my world of bruises.” ~Jelly Bean Queen

“
Y
ou need
to give me some freaking space,” I say to Billy on the day he brings me home from the hospital.

“You should be resting. The doctors said you’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit the subclavian artery. ” He frowns at my laptop on the dining room table and walks behind me to look over my shoulder.

I pivot the screen away from him. “I’m recording my monthly cycle in my journal. Want to talk tampons and cramping?” I look behind me and repress a smile at the tightening of his mouth.

Billy turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. “Half an hour until you take your pills again.”

His comment makes me grind my teeth. I’d welcome the throbbing ache in my shoulder over the fuzzy haze of painkillers.

I’ve always said you can find anyone on the Internet. This is entirely true unless you live off-the-grid or your name is Ace Sloan. I only know the last name because of a police report. It takes me a seriously long time to come up with a phone number tied to a business license on a government website.

No Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, or Tumblr account.
How does this guy expect to succeed in his business if he's not on social media?

The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice that husky, cocky tone I remember.

"Hello."

"You have my present. You have to give it to me." I blurt it out like a demanding kid, but I'm nervous and talking with him makes me think about the restaurant. That present is the last thing I’ll ever have from JT and I want it.

He doesn't answer right away. For a minute I'm afraid he's hung up on me. "No. I don't."

I exhale the breath I've held. "What do you mean you don't?"

"I mean the bag is no longer in my possession. The guy … there was an old guy who was at the hospital. He said—"

"Well, he didn't. And I trusted you to keep it for me." Once the inappropriate, accusatory statements come out of my mouth, I cringe. I'm usually so polite. All the time. Most of the time. Okay, definitely not this time.

More silence weights the line. “The man has it. Unless he left it at the hospital."

He sounds certain Billy has it. He's waiting for me to respond. Traffic noises buzz in the background and a horn honks twice. A female voice says something and I can't tell if someone’s with him or if someone is standing close. I imagine him holding up one finger to a girlfriend or a wife. He didn't look married, but I'm not sure how married people look. More responsible? Less like a male model for sexy body spray?

"I'll check with him," I say because I need to hang up. I know Billy didn't leave it. The man never makes mistakes. It's been his job to remember every detail, every task, every part of mine and JT's lives.

"Listen, I'm sorry about your unc—"

"Thanks. Really. Sorry to bother you." I press the END key.

Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes and try to imagine where my present could be in the house. Where would Billy put it?

My cell phone jitters on the surface of the table and I open my eyes, stare at the display for two seconds, and press the button. "Hello?"

"I wasn't finished." Ace's irritated voice comes across the now quiet background and stuns me.

My mouth drops. "I … umm … what were you…"

"I was offering my condolences."

We sit there, sharing air on the phone line, playing a conversation game of chicken.

He breaks. "That's all I wanted to say."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, well, thanks." I sound like a real bitch. I don't want that hateful voice, but the alternative is crying.

"You're not the first one to ever lose someone. It will get better. Things like this take time."

I hone in on one word. "Lose? Like misplaced? Or do you mean I'm not the first one to watch someone they love gunned down and bleeding. Is that what you mean?"

"No. And you sound like you need to talk to someone."

The nerve. “Like I'm going to listen to advice from a stranger.”

"But I'm still sorry. I wish I could say the right thing, but I'm no good at this," he says. "The whole thing really sucks."

My throat convulses as I swallow and allow my head to drop to the table onto my arm. It's not his fault and I don't have to be so awful.

"Thank you for going to the hospital with me. I didn't have a chance to tell you that before." I’m ashamed my voice is so small and weak. "Bye."

"Take care of yourself." And then he clicks off and I'm left holding my phone.

I
stand
in JT's bedroom with my hand clutching my throat. Billy had no right to pack JT's things for storage. Every light is on since I don't walk into dark rooms. One entire wall consists of packing boxes marked with a black sharpie in block letters. The word DONATE mesmerizes me. Heat rushes my face in an angry tide.

The boxes will leave the house over my dead body.

The top box, holding music, is at eye level. I run my hand along the bottom edge, testing the weight, looking around for any way to dislodge it from the stack without actually lifting it or killing myself in the process. My shoulder still hurts if I move too much, so I wrap the arm from my uninjured side around the box. I pull an inch at a time until I think I can lean it against my side.

The box topples, bumps my hip once, and splats into the floor. The lid flips off and music CDs fly across the wood floor.

My heart strikes against my chest and more CDs
sploosh
out, emptying the box. The mountainous pile of plastic mess continue to avalanche—so much like my life. I lean my back against the wall of boxes, rake my head against sharp edges, and slide slowly to the bottom.

I'm paralyzed by the emptiness inside me. The cavernous, bottomless feeling that extends to the outside, numbs my skin in a Novocain layer. It takes me several minutes to move again. I rub the top of my left foot and notice a red welt from the impact of the box. My hand brushes across a CD and I can't help but laugh bitterly.

He knew I lived for music. Rock, pop, classical, country, blues. Anything with a beat. He'd once said I could have all these someday. Someday is now.

I plan the method I'll use to get the box upstairs. Twenty boxes or so and I want—no, I need—to look inside every one. Hobbling on the good foot and avoiding using my bad shoulder, I begin the task of tearing off the lids of boxes like I'm racing a countdown. There's clothing and miscellaneous items you'd expect to find in a man's bedroom. All things that will end up with someone who won't care about the original owner.

Opening the closet door, I spot a box hidden in the back. Lifting the lid sets panic loose in my chest. The bag I recognize from the restaurant sits on the top.

A flash of JT pushing the bag toward me.

One handle is torn and the entire thing is misshapen and crumpled like a discarded fast food bag. I remove the gift bag and my gaze is drawn to a reddish brown smear on one side. Clutching it to my chest, I rise, stagger, steady myself. I'll return for the other things later. The mission of stealing this precious parcel away to my room is the only thing I can focus on.

Due to my recent release from the hospital, Billy's moved me to a downstairs room. Inside the room that's about as friendly as a five-star hotel room, with its crystal-base lamps and oil paintings, I lock my door and sit cross-legged on the far side of the bed. My hand shakes when I lift the contents from the bag. It's a box—maybe for jewelry or something you'd see in an antique store. Something JT wanted me to have more than new cars or diamonds or any of the other things he could afford. Something special.

JT’s love for archeology and history gave him an appreciation for old things that your average person would discard as boring or luddite.

Noises from across the house signal that I'm not alone, so I scurry around to find a hiding place for the box. The box fits easily under my pillow. The doorknob jingles, being tested.

"You in there, Malerie?" Billy asks.

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Can you open the door? We need to talk. Why is the door locked?"

"To prevent guys from walking in on me?" My smartass remark is met with silence. One second. Two. Three seconds pass and I'm hoping he walked away.

"I have keys to all the doors. Are you all right? I know how upset you've been."

I sigh loudly. "Coming." Smoothing the pillow and straightening the comforter, I make a lot of noise going to the door in case Billy's thinking about coming in on me.

He stands in the doorframe and doesn't back away when I open it and step forward. Instead, he moves toward me and I back up, a quick foxtrot of authority and control on display.

"I see you've destroyed all the packing in JT's room." His colorless lips thin and I wonder if it's difficult to speak through his gritted teeth. He’s so different now. I barely know him.

I don't back up. "And I see that you didn't even ask me about giving away his belongings." We’ve butted heads over and over about the big things and the small ones. He constantly follows me around and watches me with microscopic intensity.

Now, his eyes look as thin as his lips. "Malerie. I'm worried about you. You don't need the stress of that. I'll take care of everything."

I close my eyes. "I trust you. You know that."
Lie, lie, lie. People don’t change personalities like you have.
I open my eyes and fake a very small smile. "But, I want to go through JT's things myself."

"And I want to protect you." He reaches forward to touch me and I take two steps back. He shrugs. "See how skittish you are?"

He’s hiding things from me like he hid my bag. "I'm just tired. Really tired. I think I'll lie down."

"Good idea."

The minute he leaves the room, I leap forward, lock the door, and pull the box from under my pillow.