Next to Me (11 page)

“Oh, I don’t know. Being shot at and having your friends die as buildings explode around you is pretty terrible.” I give a breathy laugh as I try to downplay what I told him, beginning to regret having told him. I don’t want

his sympathy. I just wanted him to know that I could relate somehow.

“Those guys were my friends and it sucks that I lost them. But he was your
dad
. That trumps anything else.” He squeezes my hand and runs his thumb across my fingers.

“At least when my mom died I had time to prepare for it,” I tell him. It feels really nice talking about this with him.

“Your mom is dead?” His face is puzzled, as if he doesn’t believe me or finds this hard to believe.

“Yeah. She had breast cancer and it was about six months from the time we got the news that treatment hadn’t worked to the time she died. I was only ten,” I explain.

“Oh…that’s right. I remember you telling me that now.” The questioning leaves Landon’s eyes and a soft concern replaces it.

There’s a knock at the door that can only be Mercy coming to bring me my keys. Landon helps me off the couch. This pencil skirt is not a good hanging-out-on-the-couch outfit. I open the door and Mercy is standing there with a raised eyebrow that immediately lowers in disappointment.

“What’s that look for?” I ask her.

“I was kind of hoping you’d be buttoning your top so I could scold you,” she says dissatisfied and trying to peer into the apartment to see Landon. “Hi Landon!” she says a little too loudly.

“Hi Mercy!” Landon calls back to her in a loud whisper, remember that Spring is sleeping.

“Sorry to ruin your plans to lecture me. We’re actually doing what we said we were going to do: get to know each other.” I take my keys that are now hanging from her extended finger. “Where’s Jerry?”

“He’s downstairs holding the cab for us,” she tells me.

“Then you really didn’t have time to lecture me anyway!” I tease as I give her a hug. “Get down there to your man. I’ll see you tomorrow night at

work.”

“Bye Landon!” she calls to him.

“Bye Mercy!” he answers.

Mercy hugs me and is on her way.

“Sorry about that,” I say. “Mercy is like a sister, and a mother, to me. She can be a little protective.”

“No…I’m glad you have such great friends.”

“You said something earlier about how it must be nice. What did you mean?” I ask him.

“Well...while I was in Iraq for eight years my friends from high school all moved on with their lives. They were all there at my big coming home party, but after that they went on with the lives they had been living. I started doing contract work and have been travelling with my job since. So…I’m kind of the loneliest 30-year-old out there. It’s sad, I know.”

“How long does that mean you’re in Chicago?” Worry fills my eyes as I realize that all my determination to grow up and give Landon a chance could be all for naught if he’s just going to pick up and move on to another contract. I’m way too new at this to think for a second that I could make a long-distance relationship work.

“I’m here indefinitely, Jenna. Once this contract ends, I’m hoping to have something else in place so I don’t have to leave. I already love Chicago and…I don’t want to leave you.” Landon smiles, putting my mind at ease.

This is good. I can do this. And, for the first time in six years, I feel like I’m finally doing what my father’s last wish was for me: living.

Chapter 7

It’s been a relatively uneventful few weeks at work, which is good. There haven’t been any more hold ups with the pharmacy and my post-surgery patients have all been dream patients.

The most stressful moment I’ve had was last week when Adam covered for another doctor again and was checking on those patients during my shift. It was the first time I had seen him since I told him I was seeing Landon. I avoided his calls for several days after our date because I hadn’t known what to tell him. Mercy told me he had asked her about me one night when I wasn’t working so I had to finally return his call before it became just plain rude of me not to.

I told him the truth about seeing him and Landon on back to back dates and felt like there was more of a spark with Landon. He was disappointed but said he understood. He also made sure to tell me if anything changed with Landon that I should call him. I told him I’d keep that in mind even though I don’t foresee that happening.

Things with Landon are better than I knew they could be. He’s really understanding about my crazy, mixed up sleeping schedule, and even arranges his life around it when he can. He’s still living out of a hotel. His contract includes a stipend for housing and food, which means he’s been able to stay in some of the world’s most elite hotels and resorts. He said it would make him feel weird to take me back to his place since
his place
is a hotel, so we’re typically at my apartment.

We’ve had some beautifully romantic dates, including actually going to the insanely good Mexican restaurant he intended for us to go to on our first date. I also made him take the architectural boat tour of the city. He loved it, of course. I try to cook dinner for him as often as I can. He said he’s been living on hotel and restaurant food for so long he forgot what it was like to have a home cooked meal. One morning he met me after work and I made him eggs benedict. He loved them so much I think I’ll make them for him this weekend. I’m not working, but I think I’m ready for our Saturday night date to extend into Sunday morning.

The best part has been how well he’s fit in with my little family. Jack and Jerry like having another guy around. He’s just metro enough for Jack and tough enough for Jerry. It’s funny how Landon falls in the middle of the Jack-to-Jerry Spectrum.

He caught on to our version of Would You Rather quickly. Instead of it being a free-for-all on topics, we choose a topic and every scenario has to fit. The last time we played all the scenarios had to be about music. We threw things out like “Would you rather have to sing everything you say, or listen to everyone else sing what they said?” and “Would you rather be a one hit wonder, or an average singer for as long as you wanted?” Landon stumped us all when he posed “Would you rather be in a 90’s boy band, or in Nickleback?” We were rolling with laughter and no one could decide which was the lesser of two evils. That was the night I knew things with Landon were better than I could have ever hoped. It makes me feel really optimistic about where things could go.

I’m reviewing the chart of a man the ER just brought up when a woman rounds the corner and enters the unit. She looks a little lost and a lot out of it. Her clothes are less than clean and don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Her red bra is quite visible through her tight pink tank top, and I’m afraid of what I might see if she bends over in that short denim skirt. She’s barefoot, carrying electric blue patent heels in one hand.

“Where is she?” the woman with stringy hair and sunken eyes says aggressively to me.

“I’m sorry. Who are you looking for?” I ask, trying to ascertain who she’s referring to.

“My sister. Lola Washburn. I heard she was on this floor. Where is she?” she says, clarifying who is she talking about.

I’m sure I know whom she’s referring to but look up the chart anyway just to make it official. Yes, it’s her:
Aunt Lola
from about a month ago. I spoke with her niece, Heather, for a few minutes on what would be the night before she died.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your sister passed away about a month ago,” I tell her solemnly.

“Where did they take her?” The woman has become more aggressive and I ready my hand near the phone to call security.

“Your sister would have been taken to the morgue, and…” I begin but am quickly cut off.

“I don’t care about the fat fucking bitch! Where did they take my daughter?” she yells.

This must be Heather’s mother. No wonder she was in Lola’s custody. This woman is so strung out there’s no way anyone was going to let her raise a child.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where Heather is,” I tell her.

“You know Heather?” she asks, her aggression increasing by my familiarity with her daughter.

“No. I don’t
know
her. I just spoke with her briefly once when her grandmother brought her here,” I tell her, immediately unsure if I’ve told her too much.

“So my old hag of a mother has her. Figures. Give me the address,” she demands.

“I can’t do that, ma’am,” I tell her.

“Give me that address!” She’s raising her voice now and I know I’m going to have to calm her down and call security.

“I’d like to help, but HIPAA laws don’t allow me to release any information in a patient’s chart. I’m sure if you’re trying to find your daughter that the local authorities will be happy to help you. Why don’t I call them for you?” I pick up the phone to call security. I glance down to dial the number and the phone gets knocked out of my hand. I look up, startled and see that the woman in front of me is now holding a switchblade about a foot from my face. The blade is rusted and jagged and has tetanus written all over it. God only knows where it’s been.

“I swear to God I will cut that pretty face of yours if you don’t give me what I want. She’s
my
kid and I’m going to get her back!” She’s waving the knife around aimlessly, clearly having no idea how to use it. That makes her more dangerous than a sober person with knife skills.

“Ok. Ok. Can you just pull that thing away from me? I can’t exactly think straight with a knife in my face.” I’ve lifted my hands up near my shoulders in surrender. “What is it that you want exactly?”

“I want my mother’s address. She’s got to be on there as some kind of , of, of… relative or, what do they call it?” she asks, confused.

“Next of kin?” I say, filling in her inebriated spaces.

“Right. Next of kin. Now give me the fucking address or I swear to God…”

“I know. You’ll cut me. I believe you. Now, I have to get that information from another computer.” I lie so I can get to the other side of the desk and do something about this woman.

Right about the time I’m rounding the desk and meeting the crazed woman, Mercy comes up the hall and enters the nurse’s station from the opposite side.

“What the hell?” Mercy says in shock of what she’s walked into.

“Back off, bitch!” the woman yells.

“I’ve got this, Mercy. Just stay there. I’m going to the other computer to pull the information this woman is asking for.” Mercy just nods, recognizing what my tone and facial expression are telling her.

I approach the woman, planning out my strategy. She’s so high or drunk, or both, that it won’t be difficult to subdue her. I’m trying to figure out the best way to do that without causing the nearby patients to panic. I glance over at Mercy who is inching toward the phone, readying herself to call security as soon as she can. Even in her strung-out state the woman catches my signal to Mercy and she becomes even more agitated.

“Bitch!” she yells as she lunges for me with the knife.

I wasn’t sure I would remember it or not, but the training my dad made me take when I was 16 comes back to me as if I just learned it. Dad said that as long as Dellinger had a hold on him, I had to be prepared for anything. I took months of classes that combined mixed martial arts, krav maga, wrestling, and basic self-defense. I hated it at first, thinking it was going to bulk me up too much for dancing, but after a while I started to like it. I actually found a few moves to incorporate into my contemporary dance pieces.

As the knife is hurling toward me in her hand, I throw my arm up across my body and block her arm. My left hand is in front of my face, with my forearm in front of my torso. I feel the sharp pain of the knife cutting into my right thigh before I’m able to grab her hand holding the knife. I tighten my grip and thrust my knee into her stomach. Hunched over from the pain my bloodied leg caused her body, she releases the knife with ease and falls to the floor.

I kick the knife away from us and fall to the floor in front of her limp body, my leg now throbbing from the wound. It’s a deep cut and I apply as much pressure as I can to control the bleeding. Mercy is next to me in a flash as security is hauling the woman away.

“C’mon Jet Lee, let’s get you sewn up.” Mercy’s use of sarcasm has always been one of the things I love about her. I try but can’t put any weight on my right leg, so Mercy practically has to carry me to the closest unused patient room while two security guards subdue the crazed woman. The other two nurses on the floor are doing their best to calm the patients who heard the commotion. It’s after eleven and all but a few were already asleep. “Ok, let’s take a look at this.” Mercy tears my pant leg where the knife cut it and we both examine the wound.

“Wow. That looks just as bad as it feels. Ahhhh,” I wince as Mercy’s now-gloved hands touch around the gap in my leg. “That crazy bitch cut into the muscle. It’s going to be weeks before I can dance again.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s that deep. Dancing is the least of your worries. She could have
seriously
injured you, Jenna. Where did you learn to defend yourself like that?” Mercy is questioning me and gathering supplies to clean my wound at the same time.

“I took some self-defense classes before I moved to Chicago. I was coming to a new city and didn’t know my way around. I figured I should be able to take care of myself if and when I got lost,” I tell her. It’s not a complete lie, but the details of when and why I learned to defend myself aren’t important.

“Well, you totally kicked her ass. I was impressed,” Mercy smiles proudly.

“It wasn’t that hard. I mean, seriously, she was so out of it. She came looking for her kid. Her sister had been a patient and had custody of her daughter. The patient died and no one told her. It’s no wonder she didn’t have custody of her kid. It’s sad, really.” I wince again as Mercy finishes cleaning the gash in my leg.

“Really. Ok…you’re going to need a tetanus shot and a blood screen. God only knows where that knife has been. I’ll get a doctor from the ER to come up and take care of you. Then I’m calling Demi and having her take you home,” Mercy tells me with certainty.