Deep Blue (28 page)

I have
not
mentioned my carpool arrangements for tomorrow to Jaeger. He’ll be gone by the time I leave, and I think he assumes Gen’s taking me to work. I didn’t correct him. I’m worried he’ll bring up the car thing and it still embarrasses me. I’d just as soon not discuss the fact I can’t afford one, and bumming a ride from Leo is preferable to taking the bus.

Brad holds the cooler door open for me inside the café. “What can I get you, Cali?”

He’s about average height and fairly decent looking, if it weren’t for the pockmarks in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s late and it’s been a long day. I decide extravagance is in order. “Chocolate milk, please.”

“You got it.” He grabs the milk, along with a sandwich, bottled water, and a soft drink he hands to Leo. He walks to the counter and pays for our drinks before I can say anything.

Okay—that was nice. He didn’t have to do that. I offer him money for the chocolate milk, but he shakes his head.

I grab a muffin and a can of soup and set them on the counter to pay. By the time I return home around ten, Jaeger’s passed out in his clothes on top of the air mattress, his breathing steady and deep. He managed to remove his shoes, so I don’t bother waking him. I wash up, pull on night clothes, and crawl under the covers beside him.

When I wake, Jaeger is gone.

I’m bummed.

The legalities of getting Kate out of his house and keeping up with his workload are taking up all his time. I pull out my phone and text him.

Cali: Missed you this morning.

He responds almost immediately.

Jaeger: I snuggled you when I woke, but you were passed out. Crushed my ego to have my kisses swatted away like a fly. I expect recompense this evening and ego-stroking … other stroking acceptable as payment as well :)

Cali: Stroking to commence this evening. Don’t pass out this time before I get home!

An hour later, I’m showered and eating the last bite of my muffin when Leo’s car pulls into the driveway. Brad is in the passenger seat. Did he say he was coming too?

I lock the front door and walk over. Leo holds his hand up in a brief wave, his middle finger tapping a nervous beat against the steering wheel. Brad tracks my progress to the car.

“Morning.” I close the door and buckle my seatbelt.

Brad reaches back, holding a Starbucks cup. “Mocha. I noticed you like chocolate last night.”

Not as much as lattes in the morning, but I don’t kick chocolate out of bed. Ever. “Thanks,” I say. “What do I owe you?”

“On me,” Brad says.

I glance at Leo, who’s watching the exchange through the rearview mirror. He looks away nervously and reverses down the drive. “Brad, you sure you don’t want me to take you straight there?”

“No, I’m good.” Brad taps a happy tune on the window with his finger. “It’s right by her work. I can walk from there.”

So Leo’s giving Brad a ride, as well. I’ve got to at least offer Leo gas money the next time we’re alone.

Savoring the chocolatey goodness of my mocha, I glance out the window at the businesses on Stateline Boulevard, taking one sip for every name or title we pass with
chalet
in it. By the time Leo drops me off in the parking lot, I’ve polished off my mocha and have an extra bounce in my step from the sugar/caffeine combo.

A warm sensation runs through me as I enter the front doors. Leftover euphoria from my delightful mocha?

I’m happy. I mean, really happy. It’s my job, or Jaeger, I don’t know which, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life. The world is a wonderful place.

I greet our receptionist, my smile freezing on my face … something isn’t right. My steps falter after I pass her desk, a mind-numbing pain shooting through my skull. I pause at the entrance to my office, a spasm of cramps bisecting my midsection, nausea rocking me. I pinch my lips together and grip the door frame, taking deep breaths. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

Turning slowly, I look around.
Going to be sick. Bathroom
… Black dots wink in my vision.
Can’t think
…

The scent of vomit singes my nose.

I’m choking and gagging. Choking on my vomit.

Frantic voices clamor above me.

I open my eyes, then shut them. I don’t know where I am. Why am I on the ground?

“What has she eaten? Does she take prescription or illegal drugs?” a deep voice asks.

“Is this her purse?”

“Percocet.”

“Percocet? What’s—” This from a high-pitched voice.

Someone wipes my mouth. A mask goes over my nose and chin. Strong hands lift me.

I open my eyes again, and this time, an image comes into focus—Lewis watching me from the front door, a look of shock on his face.

Men with medical patches hover over me.
Paramedics
. They push me on some moving device. I’m bumping over the threshold and out the glass doors …
I’m at work.

My chest rattles with each breath, my heart swooshing slowly in my ears. My head is too heavy. I close my eyes and rest.

Moments later, I hear, “Calista? Calista, can you open your eyes?”

The voice is male, but not one I recognize. I open my eyes and the vision in front of me isn’t blurry. I move to sit up.

“Please lie still while I ask you a few questions.” A doctor in a white lab coat leans over me and flashes a light in my eyes. “They’re no longer pinpoint,” he dictates to someone over his shoulder, returning his attention to me. “Calista,” he says loudly, as if I’m hearing impaired. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to shout, but my mouth is dry and my chest hurts. I still can’t breathe well, and there are popping sounds coming from my lungs. “I’m Dr. Gregger. I’ve just given you narcan to counteract the opiates in your system. The paramedics said they found Percocet in your purse when they searched for prescription and allergy information. Have you ever used Percocet before?”

I shake my head.

“Were you given a prescription by a physician?”

Another negative head shake. I’ve never heard of Percocet.

A round of phlegmy, body-rattling coughs steals my breath. I’m gasping. The doctor rattles off orders to someone in the room.

“Calista,” he says, “the paramedics believe you aspirated when you passed out. We’re going to do a chest X-ray.”

What seems like only minutes later, I’m being admitted into the ICU. My chest X-ray showed pneumonia.

I must have dozed. The next time I open my eyes, there’s a warm pressure on my hand. Jaeger’s beside me, his large fingers wrapped firmly around mine, his head bowed as if he’s praying. My mom’s at the end of the bed, her hand gripping my foot.

“Mom? Why are you holding my foot?” My mouth is sluggish. I sound like a lush.

Mom blinks as if startled. She’s been staring silently at me for the past minute. “Calista.” She rises and crosses to my side. She kisses my forehead and runs a cool hand down the side of my face, which feels hot in comparison. “You’ve been in and out with a fever. I wasn’t sure if you were really awake this time.”

Jaeger watches my face now, his breathing shaky, as if some deep emotion has taken hold.

“What happened?” I swallow, a slightly inflamed sensation in my throat.

Mom glances at Jaeger, then back to me. “You passed out. Your co-workers called nine-one-one, but you got sick and breathed it in.”

I glance at Jaeger. I might be embarrassed by some of this if I didn’t feel like such a train wreck.

“They’ve put you on powerful antibiotics, but your lungs …” Mom’s lips pinch, and then she bites the top one. “You need rest, honey.” She pats my hand. “Lots of rest for your body to heal.”

“But, Mom, why was I sick?” I think back to this morning. “I ate a muffin and had a mocha. I felt fine until I walked into work. Then … I don’t remember.”

“They discovered—” Her voice catches. “—Oxycodone in your system—Percocet. They found more pills in your purse.”

I process her words. “What’s Percocet? I didn’t have anything in my purse.”

She lets out a choked, quaking breath. “Cali, why are you taking drugs? All the stories I told you about the casinos, how drugs and alcohol ruin lives—” She shakes her head. Tears streak her cheeks. “I just never thought you’d do it. Never thought you’d get caught up in that mess.” Her voice cracks the way it does when she’s emotional or has just woken up.

God, I hate that croaky voice. It means my mom’s seriously upset or seriously tired. Neither makes me feel good.

“Mom, I don’t do drugs.” Okay, that’s a lie. “I smoked pot a couple of times in college,” I correct. “That’s it. I don’t know why they found that stuff in my purse, but it’s not mine.”

“Honey, the doctors ran blood tests. You had remnants of the drug in your system. And that wasn’t the only one. They found ecstasy as well.”

“What?”
I try to sit up, but think better of it when my arms collapse.

“I don’t understand. Were you experimenting?”

“Mom, no—” The strangeness of this morning fills my head. I was happy because of Jaeger and our little text exchange, and then really happy after I drank that mocha.

The one Brad gave me.

Why was Brad there, again? He’s a strange guy. And he gave me the drink. Leo said his roommate was into stuff—

“Mom, it wasn’t me. Look, this morning I got a ride from Leo.”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday …?”

“You were admitted yesterday. You’ve been in the ICU for twenty-four hours.”

I lost an entire day? God, this is crazy. “Mom, check with Leo. Maybe he knows something. His roommate Brad was there and he wasn’t supposed to be. He gave me the mocha. I—I think there might have been something in it. Leo’s expression this morning—
yesterday morning
—and what Leo said about Kate—”

“What?” The dark voice comes from Jaeger. “How is Kate involved?” On the surface, his question sounds concerned, but the edge is threatening, as if he’d like nothing more than to have another reason to wring Kate’s neck.

“Leo said he’s seen Kate at parties his roommate threw. He said his roommate was into stuff, but he didn’t explain. I honestly didn’t care at the time. But what if he was referring to drugs? Kate’s boyfriend is involved in that stuff. I don’t know why Brad would put something in my drink, but he wasn’t supposed to be there yesterday. Do you know what I’m saying?” At the moment, I can’t tell if anything coming out of my mouth makes sense. My head is not exactly sharp.

The lines around Jaeger’s mouth turn white. “What is Leo’s number? His full name?”

I direct Jaeger to my purse, which the hospital placed beside my bed. He finds my phone and Leo’s number. He seems reluctant to leave and kisses my forehead. “I’ll just go outside for a minute to make the call.”

I nod and he walks out the door.

Mom takes his seat. “That boy’s been sitting here since I arrived. I was at the end of the bed because there was no room beside you. Didn’t have the heart to ask him to move.”

She’s right. There’s a screen and no chairs on my right. Jaeger had the only spot for visitors.

“Do not be fooled by his overgrown size. He was terrified. We all were. The doctor said he was optimistic, that with your general health you’d recover, but until you woke, I didn’t know, honey. I didn’t
know
.” Her head dips, mouth pressed to our clamped hands. Her shoulders rise and fall on quiet sobs.

This is crazy. Why did it happen?

Tyler walks in with paper coffee cups in his hands. Surprise crosses his features, his shoulders dropping as if a great weight has been released. He sets the cups on the table beside my bed and without a word, bends over and hugs me, his arm shaking where it rests along my neck.

He pulls away and draws in a breath through his nose. “What’s up, Calzone? Glad you’re feeling better.”

Jaeger returns a second later, followed by a police officer. “Someone notified the police.” His voice is stiff and sounds dangerous. “They went to your work and traced you to the hospital.”

I smile wearily at the officer. Jaeger looks ready to rip the guy’s head off.

I tell the officer everything I know, which is essentially not helpful. No, I didn’t take Percocet. I don’t do drugs, nor do I keep a stash in my purse—apparently, the paramedics who arrived at the scene found ecstasy and Percocet in a side pocket of my purse when they searched for allergy records and prescriptions. No, I tell him, I don’t know why anyone, including Leo and his roommate Brad, would give me drugs without my knowledge.

The officer leaves, saying he’ll make inquiries, but his tone is flat, as if he thinks it’s a waste of time.

He doesn’t believe me.

I’m still processing this and what it means when Gen rushes through the door in her sweat pants, a tank top—probably sans bra, given it’s the one she wears to bed—and a light cropped sweatshirt. Her hair shows signs of bedhead and she’s not wearing makeup, meaning lip balm. She has clearly come straight from bed.

“You’re awake,” she says on a sigh of relief. Lewis follows her into the room, and my mom and brother exit to make space.

What is going on with these two? Why would Lewis come with her?
Oh, God.
I fainted at work … Lewis must have told Gen. The entire office must know what happened. Am I going to lose my job? Dammit! I just got it and I really like working for Sallee Construction.

Why would someone do this to me? I can’t believe Leo would hurt me. That leaves Brad, the generous, somewhat creepy roommate. If the mocha is to blame for how the drugs ended up in my system, he was the one who bought it for me. But Brad barely knows me. What did I ever do to him?

I’m so confused, and my head hurts like it tumbled in rough surf for a few hours. The blankets of my bed are stifling. I swat Gen’s hands away when she tries to tuck them in.

“Cali,” she says. “How did you get mixed up in this?”

Great, apparently everyone believes I’m a druggie. I roll my eyes and defend myself. I do it several more times until the hospital decides it’s safe to release me four days later. My fever is gone and my lungs, though not clear, are improving as long as I take it easy in bed.