Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) (7 page)

I’m
staring after him as the policeman lets go of me and speaks, but I can only see
his mouth moving, can’t hear what he’s saying. I want to be with Brendan. I
break into a run for the window. They can’t leave without me! “Wait! Wait,
please! Wait!!”

The
ambulance doors are just about to shut me out.
Brendan’s
inside with oxygen being pumped into him through a mask.

“Please!”
I grab the door and fight her for it.

“You
can’t ride with us. I’m sorry,” the female E.M.T. says, struggling with me.

Thinking
quick, I blurt out, “I’m hurt, too!” She’s taken aback. Regret flashes across
her face at her mistake. She holds the door open and I climb in. “Thank you!”

“We’re
taking her to the hospital. She’s hurt.” She hurriedly tells the chasing
policeman who nods as she closes the door. Sitting down next to her, I take
Brendan’s hand and watch his unconscious face. The siren switches on. Our
bodies sway with speeding twists and turns through traffic, like a jerking,
grotesque dance to music no one wants to listen to.

The
E.M.T.s - one male, one female,
plus a male driver – are all in their early thirties with arms that belie
the strength it takes to do a job like this every day. The female pokes and
prods me while I stare at Brendan. All of them remain faceless. It feels like
I’m not really here.

“Where
are you hurt?”

With
my eyes fixed on him, I mumble. “I’m not.” She frowns and shares a look with
her partner. “You’d do the same thing.”

She
places her thumb and forefinger on his wrist to monitor his pulse, muttering,
“I don’t think I would have been so quick-thinking.”

“Is
he going to be okay?” Even as I hear the question, I know they don’t know. They
can’t possibly. But I want hope. I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door. I
can’t believe the gunman pulled the trigger. I can’t believe Brendan saved my
life. I can’t believe he’s dying. None of this seems real. It can’t be. The
night turned from a dream to a nightmare.

“We’re
doing everything we can,” the male says to me.

“You
always say that.”

“And
we always do it.”

My
eyes flutter over to his face. Resolutely he looks back. They are doing
everything they can.

I
look back to the mask covering Brendan’s mouth and nose, to his eyes shut
gently like he’s sleeping, to the paleness of his skin. “Please stay with me,
Brendan. Please stay.” Arms go around my shoulders. The female E.M.T. holds me.
The human tenderness is crushing, breaking down the wall of shock. Everything
starts to spin.

She
looks to the driver. “Can you go any faster, John?”

He
looks back and gives a brief nod, but we all know he’s going as fast as he can.
Nausea overtakes me. My vision blurs and I see the male E.M.T.s mouth move. I
don’t hear him as he says, “She’s down.”

So
tired. But it’s a good tired. When: Three Years ago.

________

A
persistent stream of sunlight heats up my face, trying to wake me out of a
dream. But I resist it. I’m having that reoccurring dream again where I’m
walking through a field in Italy. No one is there, but I keep searching,
compelled. It’s beautiful and peaceful and I don’t want to leave. The wind
rises and something brushes my bottom lip. I touch it, thinking it was just the
wind, and find a hand there. Soft fingers…

“Hey
you. You have a coffee maker?” A feminine arm slides around my waist in the
real world. Reluctantly I awaken, feeling a naked body sliding up close against
my back, spooning me. My shoulder gets kissed twice. “I was thinking of getting
up and making some, but I don’t know my way around your kitchen.”

I
stare forward out my window, thinking I want to move soon. This place is
getting to be too small. I need to rise up in the company fast, if I’m going to
afford it. Plus I’m still thinking about the dream. I want to go back to sleep,
but that’s not an option. “Yeah, I have one.” I roll around to face Rebecca,
see her looking beautiful with no makeup or need for it. “Morning.”

A
slow sexy smile spreads across her lips. She accepts a kiss
from
me and murmurs into my hair,
as she presses herself against me, “What a
surprise to see you again.”

I
laugh. “Oh, you saw me alright.”

“Yes,
I did, didn’t I?”

“That
you did. Since this is your first time here, I’ll make the coffee. But after
that, if we ever do this again, it’s all you.” I kiss her again, and climb out
of bed, my cock bouncing with my walk as I rub my eyes and rake a hand through
my hair.

Rebecca
watches me, but I don’t know it. I’m thinking of one thing and one thing only.
Coffee. Make the coffee and separate from the dream world, so I can shake this
feeling of emptiness that dream always leaves me with.

Within
a couple minutes, Rebecca joins me, wearing her shirt and panties and nothing
else, her long dark hair still tousled. She takes a seat at the small dining
room table, picks up the donkey shaped saltshaker and plays with it. “So, how’ve
you been?”

I
pour beans into the grinder. “Since Mendocino? I’ve been good. Moved in here
with my buddy Mark right after I met you. Got a job at the Ad agency I’m
working at, but I’ve got my eye on another job higher up.”

“Yeah?”
She smiles, curious and interested. I know she’s
gotta
be almost forty, but she sure wears it well. “Where?”

I
hit the grind button and pause for the four seconds it takes to finish.
“Location Times Three.” Pouring the grounds into the French Press, I add, “I’ve
been taking some risks where I am now, coming up with new ideas they didn’t see
coming. Word is spreading, that’s what I hear. I think now’s my shot. I’m
aiming for Creative Director.”

She
leans back, puts the donkey back on the table. “That’s a big leap, isn’t it?”

I
glance at her. “Yeah. So?”

She
shrugs, looks away. “Well, you’re pretty young.”

Staring
at the water pouring from the faucet, I say again, “So?”

“Don’t
get upset.” She rises and comes up behind me to hold me and rest her head on my
back. “I forget you’re so amazing you can do anything.”

I
chuckle and cover her hand with mine, put the teapot on the stove and turn it
on for boiling. I should have done this first. But I’m not used to having
someone here with me in the morning.

We
ran into each other at a fundraiser last night where Rebecca had flown in from
Arizona to participate. I’d seen her first, gone up and surprised her. Wearing
a very graceful suit that reminded me of Katherine Hepburn, she looked around
the party holding a glass of champagne in her hand. It was obvious she didn’t
know anyone. I sidled up behind her, leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Kiss
behind any trees recently?” She’d started, then her body relaxed. She slowly
turned and smiled at me.

“Well,
I never thought I’d see you again.” Her gaze sketched quickly down my suit and
rose again. “Decided to get rid of the jeans and no shirt ensemble?”

I
laughed. “I’ll be wearing that later.”

Her
eyebrows went up and her eyes lit up with sensual fire. “You don’t say.”

“You
want to have proof? Unless you’re still married, that is.” I leaned against the
wall, and waited for an answer.

She
paused. “Divorce went through a year ago. Finally free.” Her eyes clouded over.
“Is that why you left without saying goodbye?”

“Looks
like you’re out of champagne. Let’s get you some more.”

She
took the hint and didn’t push it. We came back to my place well before the
party ended and fucked until about four hours ago. I need more sleep, but I’ll
manage.

“I
never got that champagne by the way,” she teases
me,
jumping up to sit on the counter as the water comes to a boil.

I
pull out two coffee cups with very large handles. “I gave you something else
instead so stop complaining.”

She
laughs. “Yes sir. Sorry sir. My mistake, sir.”

I
smirk and pour water over the
grounds,
pressing the
knob down to let them soak. “Oh, this is gonna be good coffee.”

Her
legs swing. “I love that we’re both naked. Where’s your roommate?”

“With
a woman.”

“How
do you know?”

I
throw her a look.

“Oh.
That predictable huh? So… what do you want to do today?”

I
freeze, tensing immediately. “Rebecca.”

“Uh
oh.” Her legs stop swinging.

I
rest my hand on the counter, put my weight on it. “I’m not looking for anything
serious.”

She
regards me, not sure at first how she feels about this, but then she shakes it
off with a smile. “I live in Arizona, Brendan. And I’m a free woman. Do you
think I want to shackle myself to some twenty five year old?”

“I’m
twenty-seven.”

“Well,
then let’s
get
married!” She laughs, obviously joking.
“Please. Give me more credit.”

“I’m
giving
me
more credit. I’m pretty
sure you’re going to get attached and I’m warning you not to.” There is no
smile on my face. I want to be very clear about this.

She
gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous, but I can see it hit her, and she’s
covering a little shock. She’s a beautiful woman. I’m sure men are probably
falling at her feet now that she’s dropped the ball and chain. I don’t want to
turn her away. I just don’t want to get that close. There’s a difference.

“Do
you want me to leave,” she asks, from behind a forced smile.

“No.
I don’t. I just want you to know where I stand so you can live in reality. I
like you,
that’s
why I’m telling you this. I didn’t
have to let you spend the night.”

She
whoops loudly, shocked and amazed. “
Let
me
spend the night? Let me? Oh man. You have an ego on you! Were you like this two
years ago?”

I
pour the coffee for us, holding the lid on the press and pouring carefully.
“No. I was a naïve kid who’d just broken up with his longtime girlfriend. It
took me awhile to become a dick. But I’m there now.” I throw her a wink.

She
shakes her head, unable to resist me. Taking the extended cup from my hands,
she blows on it, looking at me over it. “Well, I’ve been warned. Now what do
you want to do today?”

“What’s
your last name, by the way?”

“Wells.
Why?”

“I’ve
got a thing about knowing names of the women I sleep with.” I take a drink of
the coffee, lick my lips. It’s good stuff. “Let’s go to Fisherman’s Warf. I’ll
introduce you to a sourdough bread bowl of clam chowder you’ve never dreamed
possible.”

She
swings her legs a little again, smiling and looking very sexy as she pulls her
hair up into a bun. “Deal.”

A
voice filters in from far away.
Feminine, soft and caring.
“Hey you. You have a coffee maker?”

I
open my eyes halfway; see a hospital room coming into focus. It’s all I can
manage. “Rebecca,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“I’m
here. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

I
strain to understand what’s happening, where I am, why I hurt so badly. Images
start flashing before my eyes.
Annie’s face.
Her eyes closing.
My body collapsing into one of the best
orgasms I’ve ever felt. Holding her.
Then the gunman.
The yelling.
The grabbing of our clothes.
How he
pointed the gun at her while she went to register. How furious I was that I
didn’t know how to open it so I could get it myself and keep her safe. How I saw his arm tighten, about to pull
the trigger. I remember jumping in front of the bullet.
Nothing
after that.

Too
tired to move my head, I scan around me to find my body under a plain white
blanket, cords leading out to an I.V. drip and a heart monitor. I focus back on
Rebecca, the only soft thing in the room.

She
smiles and touches my hand, picking it up and holding it in both of hers. “The
hospital called me last night when you came in. I drove here immediately.”

“You drove all the way from Arizona?”

“There
were no flights until morning. I couldn’t wait. See, I told you it was a good
idea to add me as an emergency contact. How are you feeling?”

“Like
shit.” I close my eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

“What
are friends for?” She rubs my hand, knowing we’re more than friends.

These
drugs they’ve given me are hardcore. Where are my clothes? Where do they put
your clothes when they put you in these gowns? Am I paralyzed? I wiggle my
toes, relaxing with relief when I feel them move.

“I
feel like someone ran over me,” I whisper, frowning at Rebecca and wincing from
the pain in my ribs.

“You
were in surgery for over five hours. The bullet scraped your lung but they were
able to save it. It’s going to be some time before you’re well again.

“That’s
not possible. I have work…”

She
applies gentle pressure to my hand. “Shhh. Stay calm. You need to rest. Think
about all that later.”

I
close my eyes. I feel so strange and foggy. An image drifts in from far away of
Annie kissing me and holding my head. Sirens. I remember sirens, too. I must be
remembering something from after I got shot. Cracking my eyes open again with
effort, I ask, “Where’s Annie?”

Florescent
light: right above me. Cognizance: straining. My line of vision: filled with
doctors.

________

“She’s
back,” one says to the other.

“How’re
you feeling?” the other says.

“Fine.
I think I just…”

“You
fainted,” they say over me. I’m not even sure I spoke. I feel weird. Suddenly I
sit up, but they push me back down. “Now now.”

“Where’s
Brendan?” I’m in a hospital hallway. People are walking by us, some sick, some
working. “Where is he? Is he alive?”

The
one looks to the other and leaves her to it. She checks my pulse, blinking too
much.

“He’s
in surgery. His lung was punctured.”

I
drop my head onto the gurney. “Oh no.” I try to get up again. “I’m fine. I wasn’t shot. I have to go
see him.” I throw my legs off and am about to stand when she grabs me by the
arms.

“You
need to rest.”

It’s
obvious arguing isn’t going to do me any good, so I nod and lay back down.

“I’ll
be back to check on you in a bit.” She looks at me for affirmation.

“Sure.
Okay. I’ll be right here.”

The
second she’s out of sight, I climb off the gurney and head to the information
desk. “Where is Brendan Clark’s surgery room?”

The
nurse looks up at me, her eyes flickering to my hands. I look down to see
they’re covered with dark, dried blood. I look at her again, unashamed, my
eyebrows saying,
well?
She frowns and
looks at her computer. Reading it, she says, “The only thing I can tell you is
that he’s not going to be out for awhile and after that he’ll be in the ICU,
not able see anyone but family or those listed on his emergency contacts. Are you
Mrs. Wells?”

I
blink, not understanding the question. “No, I’m Annie O’Brien. He was at my bar
when he was shot. I have to make sure he’s okay. For insurance reasons.”

She
eyes me like she knows that’s not the reason. “Well, you won’t be able to visit
him until visiting hours.”

I
interrupt her from saying more. “I’ll wait. Will you please tell the doctors
I’m here so they can come and tell me how he is? I want to know as soon as he’s
out.”

As
she watches me, I walk to a chair and sit down. I raise my eyebrows at her and
she shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The
next five hours are the longest of my life. Staring at the T.V. set and seeing
nothing but moving images and blurred sound, I hear a voice next to me say,
“It’s almost 10 a.m. You want a bagel or some coffee?”

I
look over. An older gentleman, maybe sixty, is pointing toward what must be the
direction of cafeteria. “At least some coffee? You look like you don’t want to
sleep.”

I
blink, and give my eyes a good rub. “Oh, um… that would be great. Thank you.”

I
have no sense of time now. He comes back and it feels like he just left. “Here
you go.” I take it and stare at the warm, paper coffee cup. “It needs a second
to cool down anyway so take your time.” His voice is kind.

“Thank
you.” My eyes return to him.

“Who’s
hurt?” he asks.

I
raise my eyebrows, surprised. He motions to my hands. “Oh!” I stare at the dark
stains and wonder why I’m not disgusted. It occurs to me that women are
probably made to handle a lot when we care about someone.

“Do
you want to wash those?” His voice is soft and gentle, like he’s talking to a
tiny stray dog whose ribs are showing, it’s so fragile.

“I
guess I should.”

The
door opens and we both look over to see a doctor approaching, his focus solely
on me. My heart stops. I try to stand and find that my legs won’t hold me, so I
slide back down into the chair, not taking my eyes off his face. He smiles. My
blood starts rushing again as relief begs me to have hope. But I need to hear
him say it.

“He’s
going to be okay.”

I
exhale and sink down deeper, staring at the floor. “He’s going to be okay?
Really?”

The surgeon smiles, happy to have good news to report.
“Yes.
The bullet missed his vital organs. It grazed his right lung, so we had to
repair that, but he’s young. And he’s healthy, so he should recover nicely.”

“So
it wasn’t punctured?” I rise up and hug him. “Thank you!”

He
pats me on the back because I won’t let go. “It’s always good to give good
news.”

“When
can I see him?”

“As
soon as he’s out of the I.C.U. That won’t be for a few hours. Until then, Mrs.
Wells, he can’t have visitors.”

I
was nodding until he called me that. “I’m not Mrs. Wells.” Kicking myself for
speaking so soon, I add, half-joking, “
Unless
it’ll
get me in there.”

The
surgeon looks from me to the gentleman who brought me coffee. “Oh. I just
assumed. Mrs. Wells is listed as Mr. Clark’s emergency contact in our records.”

“It
must be his mother, then. I’m his…” I stop, realizing I’m not really anything
to him in terms of a title. “I own the bar where he was shot. I guess I’m his
friend.”

The
surgeon considers my hesitation. We’re both awkwardly standing here wondering
what to say.

The
older gentleman chimes in to help. “Friends are sometimes better than
girlfriends, am I right?”

This
brings a relieved smile to both our faces and the surgeon excuses himself after
saying, “That’s true. Well, I’ll let you know when you can see him,
Ms
…”

“O’Brien.
Thank you.” I wait to sit back down until after he disappears through the door.
I put my head in my hands and start to cry, all the suspense I’d been holding
in rushing out of me. “Oh thank God. I was so scared he would die.”

The
older gentleman pats my back. “Now that he’s okay, why don’t you get cleaned
up? Maybe go home and take a nap.”

“You’re probably right. If he saw his own
blood all over my hands...”

“Right.
That might be stressful. Not good to take the chance.”

I
stare ahead, sleep deprived and moving slow. “Right. Okay. I should go.”
Looking around me, I realize I don’t have my purse. Tracing my steps in my head,
I exhale and slink down in my chair. “I left everything in the bar. I have no
way of getting home. It’s okay. I’ll stay here and wash my hands in the
bathroom sink or something. It’s okay.”

“You
live in the city?”

I
nod.

“Here.”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a twenty and a ten. “Take this. It’ll
get you home.”

“I
can’t take your money! That’s very generous of you, but I can’t!”

“Please. Accept the help. It will make me
happy. I need to feel like… I’ve helped
someone
today.” He reaches for my hand and presses the bills into my palm.

I
stare at him, suddenly aware that he’s here for someone, too. “Your wife?”

He
nods. “She had a stroke.”

I
say on a gasp, “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

He
struggles to reply, looks away, and pats my hand, curling my fingers closed
over the gift. “Yeah. Me too.”

I
look around and see there are others here, in varying states of need. We all
wish we were somewhere else, and we’re all hurting. I hate hospitals. But what
would we do without them?

“Thank you. Really, you’re a good person.”
I stand up and bend to hug him. He receives the hug and pats my back like the
doctor did. “I’m Annie.”

The
weight of what he’s shared is heavily on him as he introduces himself. “Doug.”

“She’s
lucky to have you, Doug.”

He
smiles faintly. “I’m the lucky one.” This breaks my heart and I don’t know what
to say. He looks at my hands again. “You’ll have to wash those before you catch
a cab.”

“They
probably wouldn’t stop for this, would they?”

“Probably
not.”

I
head off to clean up. When I get back, he motions for me to come over. “I
called you one. It should be outside any minute.”

“You
are so amazing. Thank you!”

He
humbly shrugs. “If you don’t help someone who needs it, what good are you? And
it was just a phone call. You would do the same.”

I
take that in, thanking him again, and walk out of the waiting room, tired and
hungry. Shower, you’ve got your work cut out for you…