Drop Everything Now (2 page)

Chapter 3

Holy.
Shit. He was the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen, even if the glisten on his pecs was artificial as hell. I was staring at a goddamn underwear ad. Not to mention his deep, olive-green eyes, layered with flecks of gold—absolutely stunning against his tanned skin. He was too gorgeous, too airbrushed to be real—but he was.

Despite the fact that I was exhausted and this was the most traumatic day of life, I was ogling the topless host of this seedy, cheap hotel.

“I…I was just looking for a hotel,” I stammered to this Ry-person as my cabbie shut the door behind me. He just grinned.

“Not here for the casino, huh?”

“No, I… I’m from here and my mom is sick in the hospital, so…”

“Oh, geez,” he said, his face falling. “I’m sorry. Yeah, we’re a hotel. I’m just wearing this—” He gestured to his bow tie. “—or…wearing nothing, I guess, because it’s one of the ways we get the groups of little old ladies to stay here even though it’s off the Strip. I swear it’s a perfectly fine place to stay.”

It took me a few seconds to respond because I couldn’t quit staring at those pecs of his. Perfectly curving down and leading my eye to his waist. He was like a freaking work of art. “Washboard abs” was a term invented for this man. I could have actually scrubbed my laundry clean on his stomach.

As soon as the hotel doors opened, the powerful smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol overwhelmed me. It was all I could do to keep myself from coughing. Ry guy led me to the front desk——a huge oak expanse with stained Tiffany-style glass depicting a sky full of shooting stars behind it——and waited there with my old, ratty bag, even though I totally could have carried it myself.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me because I was dead-tired and three minutes ago all I could think of doing was crying and sleeping. But damn me, as the girl behind the counter, who was dressed in a sleeveless tuxedo top and the same bow tie as Muscle Man, swiped my credit card through, I sized him up. I was five foot seven, and he was a good head taller than me. And even though I was a pretty solid size eight, his biceps looked like they were the size of my thighs. I felt my face flush.
You’re just exhausted, Andi. Don’t stare at his pecs so long you forget to ask him about food.
A necessity because I was freaking starving, too.

While we waited for the card reader to process my payment, a group of five ladies old enough to be my grandmother marched through the lobby, talking about the best slot machines in this casino and which blackjack tables they wanted to claim. When one of them caught a glimpse of Muscle Man, she took a few steps in our direction and rummaged in her purse. A few seconds later, her perfectly polished purple nails came out, holding a ten-dollar bill.

“Stop by our table later, Ryder, all right?” One of the other ladies winked and brushed Ryder’s arm with her nails.

He flashed a huge smile, first at the lady who spoke and then at the one holding the bill. “Mina, you minx. Of course I will.” My mouth dropped open as the lady expertly folded the bill into his waistband and grinned back. “You know that only buys you a visit though.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll give me a kiss for free.”

Before he could respond, the rest of the ladies laughed, and then they were on their way to the casino.

I forced my jaw to stay shut and my brain to focus on the task at hand. Once I had my receipt and had pretended to listen to the desk clerk tell me how to get to my room, Ryder led me to the elevators. When the door pinged open, he held out a hand and said in a warm, low baritone, “After you.”

The elevator lurched and tugged up——it was probably seriously under-maintenanced. When it made one particularly strange groaning noise, we both laughed.

“Let’s start this again,” he said. “I’m Ryder. I work here.”

“Showing people to their rooms?”

“Well, actually, uh…not usually. But I could tell you were having a really rough day and you were never going to find it on your own, so…”

“Thank you,” I managed before I started to choke up again. For some reason, people being nice to me when I was upset always made me cry more.

“Hey, no. No, don’t. Really, I only came up here to escape Mina. She’s a cougar.”

I started laughing at that. “Do you two have a relationship?”

“Absolutely, we do,” he nodded, holding the side of the elevator door as it slid open. “In her head, twice a year when she comes to play the slots for a week with all her girlfriends. You also saw Bernice, Florence, Gloria, and Janine. Each one dirtier than the last.”

I laughed again as we reached my room. He held his hand out.

“Your card?” he asked when I stared at him blankly. “Oh, right. I’m so sorry. It’s been a really long day.”

He stepped inside, flipping the lights on and revealing a room with worn carpet and bedding and an air conditioning unit that rattled slightly.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, setting my bag down.

I wrinkled my nose as I took in the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Just then, a loud growl ripped through my stomach, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I clutched at my waist. “Yeah,” I asked, looking at him with eyes that had to be pitiful. “Can you give me the number to the cheapest, fastest pizza place?”

“No,” he said, and I could swear he winked at me. His eyes were a warm, rich brown. “I’ll send you something up. On the house.”

“But I…”

“Nope. You’re a hungry, beautiful lady. I’m a host at a Vegas hotel. It’s my instinct to feed you. This is what I do. It’s what I live for.”

Something about the way he said “feed you,” set my skin on edge. In a good way. In a I’d-like-to-feel-your-abs-now way.

With that, he strode out the door. Before he shut it behind him, he looked back over his shoulder. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Herrera. Welcome to the Shooting Starr.”

“Andi,” I said with an exhausted half-smile. “Call me Andi.”

With that, he was gone.

Chapter 4

I’d
barely had time to scrub some shampoo through my hair and wash off the grossness of airplanes and taxis before a knock came at my door.

“Yes?” I called, wrapping a slightly-too-small towel around my chest.

“Room service,” a lady’s voice replied.

I opened the door just wide enough to let her and her rolling cart in. “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m starving.”

She wore a bow tie, too, and a big blonde bouffant topped off her heavily made-up face. “Ryder said you were,” she said. She practically licked her lips when she said his name. Was he a freaking celebrity here or something? “Just eat what you want, hon, and leave the rest outside on the cart. Someone’ll be along to get it.” Then she slipped out quietly.

I lifted the faux-chrome dome off one of the trays, and the most heavenly smell overtook any lingering smoke odor in the room. Underneath was a platter of bubbling baked ziti. There was also a decent-looking salad, an orange, a piece of chocolate cake, and two bottles of water.

It was exactly what I needed.

Suddenly, the insane events of the day hit me all over again. Rachel’s bell-ringing. The a phone call that changed my whole life. Speeding out here to Vegas. Seeing Mom all bruised up and Mike in anguish. The tears started flowing again, and after I got into my pajamas, I ate as much as I could before collapsing backward on the bed, somehow rolling into the blanket, and falling fast asleep.

The next morning, I woke with a start. The digital clock at my bedside read 6:00 a.m., which was 9:00 a.m. Drexel time. Philly time. Real time.

I shook my head, and a pounding headache kept it pinned to the bed. I drifted back in and out of sleep for a few minutes, thinking I’d probably just die here from pain and exhaustion, until the events of the last day came crashing back over me again. I had to get up, had to go see Mom.

Mom was the one who taught me to always carry Tylenol with me in a little container on my keychain. It was harmless, she said, and I never knew when I would need it. Crying always left me with a pounding headache, as I’d learned so many times during middle and high school when bullies had driven me to tears. Being the poor, fatherless kid in a Las Vegas public school had definitely sucked, but Mom promised me that someday I’d use my anger at them to help other kids who were suffering. When I entered into the child life program and shown her pictures of all the kids I was helping, she’d crowed about how right she had been all those years ago.

Now I needed to make sure she was okay. I grabbed my purse and took the stairs down to the lobby; that elevator had freaked me out last night. I wanted to do one thing before I left—thank Ryder for dinner last night. I’d have had a long, sleepless night without it, not to mention going on 36 hours without anything in my stomach.

When I asked the girl behind the desk where he was, she just flicked her eyebrows up and smiled a knowing smile. “Did he leave you in the middle of the night?”

“I…well, sort of, but… Oh,” I said, as I caught her real meaning. “No, I just wanted to thank him for sending dinner up for me. I got in late.” Was I the only one who had checked into this hotel without the sole purpose of hitting on and/or sleeping with Ryder?

“Oh. No, he never works mornings. His second job goes late,” she said, smirking a little.

“Oh. Um. Okay. Well…could you possibly call me a cab?”

“The taxis line up outside, hon. Just ask the doorman for one.”

A few minutes later, I was heading back into the hospital, giving myself pep talks for how to deal with what I’d find inside. It was probably going to be a long day of sitting there, watching my mom sleep. I held back a yawn. Maybe I could sleep, too.

When I stepped back into Mom’s room, it was the same scene as yesterday—Mike looking anxious and nurses flitting in and out, taking vitals.

“She said a few things last night,” he told me. “But it was in her sleep.”

“It’s still encouraging, though,” the nurse remarked. “We know she can talk, and we know she knows she’s in the hospital. Those are good things.”

After a few minutes of me sitting there, though, something incredible happened. Mom opened her eyes, and Mike and I sat on the edge of our seats while her gaze jerked around the room. A flood of relief hit me—until she saw Mike, and Mom’s eyes went wide and wild. Mike put his hand on hers, and her monitor screamed her elevated heart rate.

“It’s okay,” Mike blurted. “It’s me, sugar. It’s Mike. You’re gonna be okay.”

Her body tensed and her breaths were too rapid for her to be okay. “I don’t know you,” she said, leaning away from him. “What am I doing here?”

I stuck my head out the door and called for a nurse, then rushed back to her bedside. She was still staring at Mike like he was the most shocking, confusing thing she’d ever seen.

Carol rushed in. “It’s okay, hon. Shhh. You’re in the hospital. It’s me, Carol.”

“Who?” Mom’s voice broke into a sob, and her breathing sped up even more. The three of us exchanged glances. We didn’t need a doctor to know what was going on. Mom must have sustained bad enough injuries that she forgot a lot of stuff. Maybe everything.

Shaking, I put my hands over her forearm. Her head whipped around to me, and when her eyes met mine, her brow smoothed and her breathing slowed.

“Andi,” she breathed. “Querida, you look so grown up.” Her eyes closed, and she lowered her voice. “But who are all these people?”

I spent the next twenty minutes filling Mom in on all the details of what had happened. She’d been in a car accident, the strange man in the room was her husband, and I was her daughter…six years older than she remembered.

“We just have to wait for the doctor to come in and examine you now.” She nodded, her lip trembling, and let her head fall back on her bed. Carol had told me her brain was trying desperately to catalog information despite an injury. This loss of memory probably made it ten times worse.

I couldn’t stand to see Mom like this. If the doctor hadn’t walked in right then, I would have headed out to find him myself. He wore a white coat and silver, wire-rimmed glasses. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped closely to his head, framing eyes that wrinkled softly when he smiled and reached out to shake my hand, then Mike’s. Then, instead of standing over Mom’s bed and peering down on her like a scientific specimen, he pulled up a chair right next to her.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Mrs. Hughes. We were quite concerned. How’s your pain?”

Mom gave me that wide-eyed look again. “What did he call me, Andi?”

I reached down and took Mom’s hand gently. “It’s okay, Mom,” I said, a lump rising in my throat. “I’m right here, and this is Doctor…”

“Ernest. I’m Dr. Ernest, ma’am, and I’ll be taking care of you. Can I just ask you a few questions?”

Mom nodded, and he got right to work, having a slow, casual-sounding conversation with Mom that I knew from all my years in the hospital was really a series of tests. As I observed Mom following objects that he held up and moved around and handing the doctor her chart from the other side of the bed, I knew she hadn’t lost very many day-to-day skills or memories. He asked her about whether she cooked and her favorite recipes, about childhood pets, about where she grew up. She answered them all perfectly, as far as I could tell.

Then he asked her about me. “Your daughter is here, is that right? It looks like she’s been very helpful. Can you tell me more about her?”

“Oh, yes.” A soft smile wrinkled the corners of Mom’s eyes. “Andrea’s sixteen. We’re just starting to look at colleges. I just hope I’m fixed up before we get out of here.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. I’d turned 22 a few months ago. Mom had saved cash for a year to come out to Philly to celebrate; she hadn’t wanted to come for my 21st, but had instead given me time to celebrate the way college girls typically did. That’s how Mom was—giving me the perfect amount of space but always there the second I needed her.

“Tell me about who else is here. Do you know them?”

Mom caught Carol’s eye and peered at her for a good thirty seconds. I don’t think any of us breathed. “I know you, I think. You’re one of the new girls on the ICU floor.”

Carol gave her a jilting nod and forced a smile. “That’s right. Carol.”

Mom’s head whipped over to Mike, who was making the saddest face I thought I’d ever seen. “I have no idea who this guy is, and honestly, I don’t think it’s really appropriate that he’s here. I’m barely wearing anything.”

There was Mom’s attitude, at least—her personality hadn’t changed at all. As horrible as the whole thing was, a slight smile teased at my lips. She was always very aware of what everyone was wearing, most of all herself. She prided herself on always looking fabulous.

Mike turned his head to the side and coughed lightly. We all knew what he was doing—trying to quell the tears that came when Mom said what we all already knew was true.

She’d met Mike about two-and-a-half years ago, fallen head-over-heels for him, and gotten married to him within a year. I wasn’t his biggest fan, but I never doubted that she thought he was the best thing since flats came back into style.

“Well, Maria,” Dr. Ernest said, placing his hand on the bed’s sidebar, “it looks to me like you have a classic case of retrograde amnesia caused by traumatic brain injury. Now, classic is a bit of a misnomer since we usually see this sort of thing when someone has continued seizures, not a bump on the head.”

“She didn’t know Carol this morning,” I said. “And then when you came in she remembered something about her.”

“We don’t really know how much she remembers yet,” Dr. Ernest continued. “It’s possible, Maria, that you recognize aspects of Carol’s face without knowing anything else about her but instead remembered that you were a nurse in the ICU. Still, the fact that you remembered that is very encouraging.

“We’ll do some tests, of course, but it’s my guess that there was some loss of blood flow to your right temporal lobe. It looks like your memory loss is episodic, which means that you’re not remembering some events that have happened but still remember things like your name, and some earlier events. Thankfully, the brain has something we call ‘plasticity.’ It’s like a computer—it can actually rewire itself and find different neural pathways to the information it needs.”

Dr. Ernest cocked his head toward the door. “Can I speak with the two of you outside?” Mom’s eyebrows creased like they did when she was freaked out about something, but then her head and shoulders fell back into her pillows. She was clearly exhausted already.

Out in the hall with the doctor, I asked the first question.

“Why does she remember some things? Why does she remember…me?”

“The brain is an amazing thing, Andi. It files away our older memories over time and in various structures of the brain, making retrieval through alternate pathways possible. It automatically finds the memories that it absolutely needs at that moment—but it seems your identity, Mr. Hughes, isn’t one of them. I’m so sorry.”

“So… she might be able to remember? I mean, she could get those memories back, right? Her life back?”

“There’s a lot we don’t know about her particular case, but in theory, yes. We’ve seen it happen. I would just caution you two—especially you, Mr. Hughes—to take it slowly. Put yourself in her place. Learning that you’ve lost years of memory is already stressful without the people in your life pushing you to re-remember them. So, Andi, maybe just your age for now. When she seems to have adjusted to that, then work up to the fact that you’re in college across the country. Mr. Hughes, I’d focus on her just being comfortable with you for short periods of every day. Like you’re trying to become friends with her all over again. Can you do that?”

Mike nodded slowly. “We did it once,” he said. “We can do it again.” He stared off down the hall, clenching his jaw.

“How long?” I asked, thoughts of my classes and professors and almost-degree back in Philly flitting through my brain for the first time since I’d called Dr. Sullivan.

“We really have no way of knowing. Weeks for some things—maybe some faces and events. A couple months for most of her lost memories if we’re lucky. About as long as I expect her to be in recovery from the surgery.”

The room spun around me. In a couple months, I was supposed to be walking across the stage to receive my diploma, but I could only get that diploma if I’d completed the classes to earn it. I could only do that if I was back in Philly.

And I couldn’t go back to Philly with Mom like this.

We filed back into Mom’s room, where I settled back into my seat and Mike wheeled himself to the middle of the floor.

He finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “I…uh…I have an appointment with my doctor. I’ll come back and check in later,” he said to me and Carol. When he looked Mom’s way, she just stared at the floor.

Dr. Ernest picked up Mom’s charts and made some notes. “The techs will be here to take you for testing sometime this afternoon.”

Mom closed her eyes and nodded as she leaned back into her bed.

“Thank you, Dr. Ernest,” I said as he walked out.

Mom and I sat there for a long time in silence. I ran my hand over her head, just like she used to do for me when I was sick or crying over a boy.

Her eyes finally opened, focusing on mine. “You’re not sixteen, are you?”

Tears formed at the corners of my eyes, but I forced myself to take a long, deep breath and blink them away. “No, Mamá,” I said, reverting back to what I used to call her when I was a kid. “I just turned 22. You were there, at my birthday. We went out for sushi.”

“I don’t remember,” she whispered, her lip quivering.

“I know,” I said, stroking my palm down her arm and squeezing her hand again. “But I do. And that’s what I’m here for.” I didn’t mention that I was in school all the way across the country, that I had no job and no place to stay here. That would only make things worse. Besides, I owed this to her.

Mom closed her eyes again and drifted off to sleep while my brain whirred a mile a minute, remembering.