Heroes (Hollywood Heartthrobs #1) (7 page)

As
Dr. Frobisher left, Jane took to heart her advice to stay positive. She was
obviously in excellent hands here at the hospital, and she would focus on
moving forward. She knew she had a trip to the hospital library to look forward
to, which filled her with much more excitement than the suggestion to watch TV.
She wondered philosophically if that counted as something she knew about
herself. Also, she didn’t want to admit it, because it seemed she had burdened
him enough already, but in her heart of hearts she very much hoped Dean would
keep his word to visit.

Nurse
Mather returned a short while later. He was a kindly gentleman with a
comforting demeanor belied by his size. First he checked her arm, and,
obviously pleased with its apparent healing, took off most of the bandages that
held it immobile, replacing them instead with a simple sling over the cast. He
also removed the bandages from her head, gave her a short robe to wear (a vast
improvement on the scratchy hospital gown), and helped her take a quick shower.
Blessed with a shower, something clean and comfortable to wear, and his promise
to send a volunteer to take her to the library PDQ (as he put it), Jane felt
like a woman restored, memory loss or no memory loss.

****

Dean
awoke to a pair of small eyes and a tiny nose a few inches away from his face.
He started with a yelp as Tucker dove off the bed to the floor, next to his
brother. Both boys began to giggle. Dean had an urge to scoop them up and hug
them gently until they were old enough to drive, but he knew the best thing for
them was to move on like nothing had happened. Rolling off the bed, Dean put
his arms around his nephews, shouting “Who dares disturb my slumber?” in his
best Disney villain voice. The boys’ giggling escalated to cacophonous cackling
as he threw them both down on the bed and tickled their bellies.

Nate
whistled from the kitchen. “Pancakes!” he called. The boys hollered. “And
coffee!” he added. Dean gave a half-hearted yay. 

Samantha
and Nate were standing in the comfortable open-concept kitchen-and-dining room.
Delicious smells of coffee and chocolate-chip pancakes wafted throughout the
house.

Nate
poured a fresh cup with milk and sugar and walked over to Dean. “You okay?”
Nate asked quietly, out of earshot of the boys. Nate looked a little wan, but
Dean figured he was probably worse.

“I’m
okay.” He said.

“Good,”
Nate replied, returning his voice to normal speaking volume. “Sam and I both
took the day off, figured we could all use a peaceful day at home.”

“Or
as close to peaceful as it gets around here,” Samantha added over her shoulder
as she slid fresh pancakes onto a plate.

Ostensibly
to get in on the pancake action, Dean went over to Samantha. He put his hand on
his sister-in-law’s shoulder. When she turned, he had trouble meeting her eye.
He’d made peace with Nate last night, but a chill gripped his heart as he
prepared to make another apology. A quick negative nod from Samantha stopped
him. She handed him a plate with a large helping of pancakes. “Eat up,” she
said simply. Dean knew her well enough to know the offering of food was one of
her ways of showing love, acceptance, and in some cases, forgiveness. She
looked over Dean’s shoulder, directing his eye to Nate. Dean turned to see Nate
give him a smile and a nod. Those two, Dean thought to himself, if either one
of them ever goes mute, it won’t matter a lick as long as they have each other.
They can say more with looks and gestures than some people could say with a
speech and a series of organizational charts. Nate clapped him on the shoulder
as he headed for the kitchen table. Tucker and Alec were already devouring
pancakes with obvious relish.

After
breakfast and the post-breakfast melted chocolate cleanup, the boys and
Samantha adjourned to the living room with cartoons, while Dean stayed to help
Nate with the dishes.

“Before
you say it,” Nate offered, “Samantha and I talked, it’s behind us all, so don’t
make any more efforts to atone, okay? Just let it go now.”

“If
you say so,” Dean responded, repressing a catch in his throat.

“I
do.” Nate said, with a tone of finality. “Look, I get that you feel like you
need to keep apologizing, but it stops now. Today we’re just all happy to be
together. Anything else is just going to upset Sam and the boys. Got it?”

“Got
it,” he agreed, readily this time. Damn, his little brother could be terribly
perceptive.

Nate
placed the last plate in the dishwasher and smiled. “Good then. I think it’s
the talking dog show on next. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

The
morning passed slowly and joyfully. The boys seemed to have forgotten all about
the horrors of yesterday, and were happy to have all three adults home to
entertain. Nate had said kids were resilient, but Dean was amazed. Nathan and
Samantha were holding it all together, although Dean noticed they both seemed
to touch the boys constantly, as though reassuring themselves both were real
and whole. Dean could relate. Seeing Samantha and Nathan on the couch with both
boys between them, he felt an oddly pleasant ache in his heart. It was good to
have something, or in this case several somethings, you love so much it
terrifies you, he thought.

By
early afternoon, his thoughts were drifting back to the city. He kept seeing
Jane’s face, but not as he had expected. He wasn’t seeing her in the desperate
heartbeats before the truck, or later when she laid unconscious in the bed. He
kept seeing her smiling at him with her dimples and green eyes. The nurse last
night (had it really only been last night?) had said a neurologist would see
her today. He wanted to know what had happened. He looked up the number to the
hospital online, and twice started to call before hanging up. What could he
say? Hey, I’m the guy that put one of your patients in there, just wondering
how she’s feeling now. Ridiculous.

Dean
broke at about 3pm. The boys were playing on the swing set under Samantha’s
watchful eye, and Nate had asked him for help with the gutters. Nate was
halfway up a ladder and dumping damp leaves onto the ground. Dean held the
ladder, but his thoughts were miles away.

“Nate,
when we’re through here, I think I might hop in the shower then run a quick
errand,” he said, finally, in what he hoped was an adequately offhand voice.

Nate
didn’t bother looking down. “Something you need?”

“Actually
I thought I’d run into the city for a minute.”

This
time Nate stopped to look down at his brother. “What’s in the city?”

Dean
looked off to the hydrangea bushes. In a sense, lying convincingly was part of
his job, and he was usually good at it. Nate, however, was a special case. “I
thought I’d swing by the hospital from yesterday, check on how the girl is.”

There
was no need to specify which girl. Nate chose not to pursue it. He turned back
to the gutters. “Be home for dinner?” 

“Sure
thing.”

“Good,
then pick up two large Hawaiian pizzas on your way.”

Twenty
minutes later Dean was on the highway back to the heart of Chicago. Parking in
the large ramp across the street from the hospital, he noticed a flower shop on
the same block. He couldn’t help but think it was a winning business model, and
he stopped for something called a sunshine bouquet. It was a small, bright
arrangement, mostly yellows with a few dashes of pink. Buyer’s remorse seized
him the second he stepped into the hospital lobby. Really Dean? He asked
himself. Flowers? What is this, 1959? Maybe it was just returning to the
hospital, but all his comingled doubt and confidence of the previous night
returned in a rush.

He
couldn’t have named which room Jane was in, but he was able to retrace his
steps from the previous night easily. The door was open, but he rapped gently
on it, more to announce his presence than to ask to enter. The room looked so
different in the daylight. The window faced west, and afternoon sun streamed in
through the thin curtains, giving the otherwise cold and clinical room a warm,
homey atmosphere. Dean, however, noticed nothing about the lighting. He was
struck dumb by the sight of Jane. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed with
the blanket draped gently over her long, slender legs. Her left arm,
immobilized last night, was now merely in a cast. A cheery pink sling held it
against her body. The bandages on her head were gone, and her brown hair fell
gently around her face down to her shoulders. Hearing Dean’s knock, she brushed
it back with a gesture of effortless grace. There was that warm, open smile
again and those bright green eyes. Unlike him, she looked rested, refreshed,
and aglow with health and natural beauty. The book she had been reading lay
abandoned in her lap.

“Dean,
you’re back,” she said warmly. “Come on in, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

“I
said I would come to visit,” he answered, recovering from the slight shock of
seeing her so beautifully restored. He’d noticed her eyes and her smile yesterday,
but seeing her like this, she was an extraordinarily attractive woman.

“I
never said I doubted you,” she replied playfully. “Just glad to see you.” Jane
thought he looked tired, but still terrifically handsome. Poor guy probably
hadn’t slept much, if he’d been spending time with his nephews.

Dean
sat down on the same chair he’d occupied the previous night. “How’s the patient
today? Still Jane Doe?”

“Still
drawing a blank on, well, everything, but otherwise I’m fine. My arm will be
back in shape in another six weeks or so. They took a few more scans of my
head, apparently there’s nothing to raise any alarms. Except the memory loss,
obviously,” she answered, in apparent high spirits. “And how are Tucker and
Alec?” she asked.

“They’re
fine. Kids are resilient, my brother says. I’m impressed you remembered their
names.” Dean was genuinely touched at her regard for the boys. Of course,
regard for Alec was what had gotten her here in the first place, he realized.

“That’s
good to hear. And don’t be, I can only remember the past eighteen hours so
those memories stand out in blazing clarity.”

Dean
actually chuckled at that, and was rewarded with Jane’s smile.

She
nodded in fake solemnity at the flowers he still held. “From one of your many
admirers?”

“Oh,
no, I mean, I got these for you,” Dean said, feeling foolish.

“You
didn’t have to do that, but it’s very sweet of you. In a retro Sunday kind of
way,” she added with a grin. “Let me see if I have something to put some water
in.” She got up from the bed, revealing long, toned, and very bare legs beneath
her short robe. Dean felt the absurd need to avert his eyes to keep from
blushing, or worse. Instead he focused on the cloth-bound book on her lap and
the large stack of books of every shape and size on the small table. At least
five appeared to have bookmarks.

Jane
rummaged through the one small cabinet in the room, finally pulling out what
appeared to be a jar for urine samples. She looked serious. “I think this may
have to do.” She added water to the bottom and arranged the bouquet in it.

“Looks
nice,” Dean offered, with a raised eyebrow.

“As
long as no one gets too close,” Jane confirmed with a nod. Dean laughed. Little
creases of wrinkles appeared around his eyes when he laughed. Jane thought they
were quite possibly the most attractive thing she had ever seen.

“So,
you building a library, or just a book fort?” he asked, gesturing to the stack
of books.

“Oh,
these? Yeah, the neurologist this morning said I should get some exposure to
books and things, so one of the volunteers took me to see the little library
they keep to read to some of the patients.”

“And
what, you took the whole lot?”

Jane
looked indignant. “Only half! It’s just, I started reading one, and I
absolutely loved it, but then I thought, I’ll never get through them all one at
a time. I’ve read the beginnings of half a dozen books today, just trying to
explore as many as I can. No magical jogging of the memory, but I have realized
I love to read, so that’s a start.”

“Thoughts
so far?”

“Well,
I want to read them all. But yes, it does seem like some are better than
others. I started
Wuthering Heights
around lunchtime. It seemed
interesting, but I find the frame narrative implausible.”

“Um,
what?” Dean asked.

“The
frame narrative,” Jane repeated. “It appears from the back cover blurb that the
story centers on Catherine and Heathcliff and their tempestuous love affair,
but the book itself begins years after Catherine’s death. A visitor to the,
yaknow, titular property thinks he sees her ghost, so he asks a servant to tell
him the story of Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship. In order to support
that particular narrative structure, not only are we, the readers, expected to
accept that the servant woman can remember all the relevant details of the
story decades later, but that she heard them in the first place. There’s a
great deal of listening in at keyholes and accidentally stumbling upon the
star-crossed lovers at inopportune times, and so on and so forth. The author
needs to constantly work this outside character into Catherine’s and
Heathcliff’s most intimate moments. I think it’s a terribly distracting
convention.”