She Belongs to Me (2 page)
Authors: Carmen Desousa
He promised himself he would—he wouldn’t assume everything was okay any longer. He’d find out what was wrong, but for now he’d do whatever
necessary to get her healthy again. She was going to survive. She was a fighter.
He felt the tears sting his eyes and wiped them away as he pulled into the parking area for the hospital’s emergency room. Jaynee needed him. She needed to hear his voice, understand he was here for her, comprehend that he still loved her, that he would always love her.
Racing through the entrance of the ER to the receptionist, Jordan introduced himself as Caycee Jaynee Monroe’s husband.
The short-tempered woman told him to wait; someone would attend to him. Her personality was cold, as the hospital itself.
Jordan paced the hard tile floor, stopping and looking at the locked double-doors every few seconds.
Fifteen minutes elapsed before a nurse approached. “Your wife is in surgery.”
“How is she?” He wanted to grip the woman and shake her until she told him Jaynee was okay.
“I don’t have any more information. The doctor will be out when he is done.” She hurried away.
The hours passed slowly
,
even with officers interrogating him and finally accepting an affidavit of his account. They assured him, however, they would return in the morning or when his wife woke up.
When he thought he couldn’t bear the agony of waiting one second longer, a familiar person stepped into the waiting room. He gave Jordan a nod in a silent request to accompany him to a separate area. Jordan had spoken to Dr. McMullen many times over the years, but rarely did he come to the emergency room. Normally a
nurse updated a loved one on the patient’s status—unless it was bad news.
Th
is was not good;
this was never an encouraging sign, but he followed obediently. The tears that had never come before this evening started flowing again.
He
had
lost the only woman he ever loved. What had he done to cause this? How would he ever survive without Jaynee? She was his entire life. She couldn’t be gone; he’d feel it
,
wouldn’t he? His chest felt tight
,
and his stomach lurched at the same time a chill traveled down his spine as he followed the doctor into his office and sunk into the sofa. His head
fell into his hands
; he couldn’t handle this.
Jordan looked up as Doctor John McMullen sat beside him silently, his face unreadable. Though he looked as if he wanted to comfort him, Jordan knew Doctor McMullen would not provide him any artificial expectations.
McMullen was always honest, but unlike some physicians Jordan had met in his career, he always tried to be sympathetic. Jordan had witnessed his compassion for years. He tried to emulate it, having been the bearer of dreadful news to countless spouses and parents after their tragic loss. Now he was on the receiving end of McMullen’s sympathetic stare, and it wasn’t any more comforting.
He clenched his hands into fists and pressed them against his face.
“Caycee is in ICU now,” Dr. McMullen began. “The bullet entered the left side of her skull below her temple
and exited through the frontal bone. She survived the operation...”
Jordan dropped his hands to his side as his eyes connected with the doctor’s gaze. Thank God,
Jaynee was alive.
He
let out the staggered breath he’d been holding as he awaited the rest of the
doctor’s
summation.
“But
Jordan,”
his
tone softened, “we cannot be certain she will endure the evening. Even if she does, there is no way to distinguish what damage the bullet inflicted until she awakes.”
Jordan swallowed hard. “But she survived the surgery,” he repeated
,
as if to hear it again.
“Yes, she did. We have her in a drug-induced coma, and we won’t attempt to revive her until the cranial pressure decreases. She couldn’t tolerate the pain if we did.” The doctor patted Jordan’s arm. “You can see Caycee now, Jordan, and you need to talk to her. Studies indicate numerous coma patients respond to a loved one’s voice.”
“Jaynee…” Jordan said emphatically, drawing in a breath and shaking his head in disbelief. “Please, call her Jaynee. She doesn’t like Caycee. Please inform the nurses.” The doctor
nodded,
and
Jordan
stood. “I’d like to see my wife now.”
Doctor McMullen led him down the hall and stopped in front of one of the ICU rooms. Jordan felt the man’s cool hands on his forearm, but couldn’t see his face through his tears. With a final squeeze of consolation, the doctor turned and left him alone.
Jordan walked tremulously into the cold, antiseptic-scented room. He felt as if his legs h
ad vanished from underneath him
and he would collapse to the floor at any moment.
Jaynee lay motionless on the bed. Wires leading from her body connected to several machines that created an ominous cacophony and an eerie, yellowish glow in the small room. It looked like a scene from a movie. Under the fluorescent lights, her skin was pallid, except around her eyes which had splotches of crimson and were swollen and puffy. And worse, where her beautiful tresses of curls should be…was nothing but white gauze.
Jordan lowered his head to her ear. “I love you, Jaynee. No matter what’s been going on, I l
ove you, and I know you love me
too.” Jordan believed the words, wanted the words to be true. But he couldn’t help but wonder what was so awful that his wife would attempt to take her life. Unless…was there something he didn’t know about her?
63
Carmen
DeSousa
One
(Five years earlier - September 2004)
C.J. tapped her foot as the kid sitting in the front row attempted to sidetrack Professor Rawlings again with his incessant questions about the life of Hemmingway. Everyone knew the Professor would go off on a tangent and they’d run out of time and be dismissed.
T
he plan had backfired
, however
. It was time to leave, and here they still sat as the teacher droned on about his favorite author.
C.J. rarely minded. She enjoyed listening to the professor. But today was Wednesday, and she had an early shift at the steakhouse. She checked the time on her cell phone for the tenth time in five minutes. She couldn’t be late.
Tim, the general manager, scheduled her for as many early shifts as possible, because she was one of the few employees
who
always showed up on time and was willing to close if needed. Because of this, she also received the largest stations. The way she figured…if she had to be there…might as well make as much money as possible. As a college student, she was able to pay her bills working only three days a week. If she picked up extra shifts, the money was gravy and went toward her
savings. And more importantly, the extra shifts didn’t affect her studying anymore, because in the last year
,
she had stopped dating altogether.
The lecture ended, and the professor excused the class. “Don’t forget your novella due next week. Make sure it’s not tedious. I
loathe
boring stories. And if it makes me laugh, you’ll receive extra points. Also, drinking and fishing are always excellent subjects,” he finished his montage as the students hurriedly exited the classroom.
Yep, he loved Hemmingway and wanted to be just like him. Well, he’d have to make do with her paper. It was everything he
had
said not to write
.
I
t
was very sad;
it was real life. It did have drinking and fishing
,
but not quite what he was referring to, she was pretty sure.
C.J. drove to the post office on the way to work. Her twenty-second birthday was a little over a week away, and though she and her mother weren’t close, her mother always sent her a hundred bucks for her birthday. And her best friend, Rainey, always sent a funny card. They’d been friends since third grade—until C.J. moved from South Florida that is.
They
’d
managed to visit each other a couple times over the last four years, but mostly they just kept in touch by email. It hadn’t been the same, and
she missed her friend terribly;
she was the only one that knew what she’d been through. But Rainey had been preoccupied with finishing college, and C.J. had been busy wasting her life. Every time she thought about the wasted years, she literally felt sick inside. Why had she been such a fool?
Resolute to change her life for the better, C.J. started back to college. She was determined not to further squander away anymore of her youthful years.
Parking alongside the building, she sprinted from the car then ran inside, grabbed the handful of envelopes, jumped back in her car and was on her way to work in seconds.
It was ridiculous she used a post office box, but old habits are hard to break. After high school she moved around a lot and always used her grandmother’s address. It would be easy enough to use her home address now that she had her own place, but after some issues with her ex-boyfriend, she decided it was for the best. She chanced a sideways glance at the bills and letters on the passenger seat as she sped down the road. The extra-large, pink envelope from her mother was easy to recognize. As if sending her a card a couple times a year could change the past.
She looked down at the seat again and another envelope stopped her heart. She recognized the handwriting. She’d made herself clear in her last correspondence not to write or contact her again. They were over. Angrily, she stuffed the letter in her work apron. It was going straight in
to
the dumpster where she wouldn’t even be tempted to read his response to her rejection.
C.J. didn’t understand her luck with dating or all the men in her life for that matter. Clinching the steering wheel, she sucked in a breath to calm herself. She refused to let any man ever bring her down again. She was a “good” person. She didn’t smoke or do drugs and
rarely drank. Still, she suffered two horrific relationships in high school, and after moving to the Tampa Bay area four years earlier, dated several delinquents before finding herself in a real predicament.
What had she done to deserve the cards life handed her? The more she thought about it
,
the madder she got. She didn’t perceive herself as wild looking. But every time she’d meet what looked to be a nice guy—one who had a vehicle and an occupation anyway—they’d go out and wind up at some gathering. The next thing she knew her date would drop down and do a line of coke or light up a joint.
God and C.J. had always been on friendly terms, but now He was even ticking her off. She prayed nightly for a decent man. Maybe God was irritated because she hadn’t been to church in forever. It wa
sn’t anything personal with Him;
she just couldn’t contend with the charlatans. The last thing she wanted to do was be a hypocrite herself. So for the past year, since He hadn’t been answering her prayers, she decided the better path was to abstain from dating altogether.
C.J. drove swiftly into the restaurant parking lot in her Ford Focus, parked in the rear and trotted into the restaurant.
After she clocked in, she set out to do her prep work. She was on ice tea duty today. Then she’d just have to roll silverware until her first customer arrived. Usually one of her regular retirees would show up for the early bird dinner and save her from the monotonous task.
Amy, the hostess, meandered through the service doors minutes after the restaurant opened. “C.J., you
have a table.” C.J. looked up and saw her grinning. Amy didn’t usually inform the wait staff when they had a customer. Management expected servers to pay attention.
Happy to have a customer, she grabbed her apron to leave but noticed Amy still standing there with a stupid grin plastered on her face. “What? Did I forget something?” C.J. asked. She looked herself over to make certain she wasn’t wearing flip-flops or something abnormal. Once, in a hurry, she
’d
grabbed one each of two different pairs of shoes. The crazy part was
,
it took hours before she or anyone else even noticed.
“Nope.
Just wanted to let you know you have a guest. A one-top in booth six,” she replied in a drolly manner.
Oh great
, she must have ticked her off. Amy knew servers hated single diners. Typically she sat them in the lounge area. Single diners were a waste of table space
,
as
you only made half a normal tip. C.J. needed the money and a single diner wasn’t going to pay her bills.
She
glowered at Amy whose smile had not diminished.
“What?” she asked, raising her hands in
frustration.
The evening wasn’t starting well. “Why are you smiling?”