She Woke Up Married (15 page)

“More like that magnum hunk of burnin’ love, Turner. I have
never
seen a guy have so much sex appeal and not know it. It’s positively alarming what happens to women when he walks into a room. Isn’t it,
Patricia?
” Anton had another fit of giggles.

“I have to say, Anton is right. He reminds me of Elvis, Antonio Banderas, and Mel Gibson all rolled into a new package.” Marla made a little growly sound.

“Geez, Meyers, did I lust after Rigley like that?” Paris grumbled from the underside of the table.

“Yes, you did. And it’s Riley. I am Mrs. Riley.”

“I am Mrs. Pruitt,” Paris laughed. “In name only.”

“Well I
am
Mrs. Nesbit, as Buzz Lightyear would say, and Mrs. P, I think it’s a little more than name only from the looks of things last night. And this morning you have that
been done
smirk all over your face. Are we back in the saddle again?”

“It was a momentary diversion. Nothing has changed.” Paris squirmed a little. She wanted to stop talking about Turner and get her pamper time. “So shut up, will you?”

“Oh, I think he’s gonna think you’re gonna do that again, and that you’re gonna put on an
apron and play nice. That’s what I think.” Anton’s voice faded off funny.

Paris was hoping they slimed him with mud and that it would harden soon and make his mouth immobile. She would peek up and see, but this back massage was just heaven. Her back ached more than usual. Must be the high heels.

“I think he’s right, Paris,” Marla said. She sounded like she was mellowing into melted chocolate herself. “Would it be so bad? He’s heaven.”

“He’s delusional. I’m…I’m…I have to leave this place and never come back. He better just get that through his head, no matter what happens. So I needed some sex. So what?”

“Well, when we’re done here, you better go tell him,” Marla said gently.

“I damn well will go tell him. But first, I want you two to shut up and only talk about toenail polish and jewelry. I’m having a pamper day, and I don’t want to think about
all that shit!
” Paris’s voice went up very high at the end. Then she slumped back into the indentation of her special pregnant lady table and took a deep breath.

“Ladies, ladies, we don’t shout in ze spa. Zis is ze quiet place. Now all of you take a nice deep cleansing breath and relax. We bring you ze nice glass of fresh mango juice to sip through ze
straw while our avocado mud packs percolate.” The senior attendant started out sharply with her Swiss accent, then went into a very soothing voice. Somehow it just made you want to obey her, Paris thought. And that was something she didn’t feel too often…the urge to obey anyone.

Marla was right, though, and she better get herself over to the chapel and have a chat with Reverend Pruitt later today.
Way
later, after her seaweed layers and her fresh mango juice and her avocado whatever. Now she was getting hungry again.

It was quite a walk from the Four Seasons to Graceland Chapel, but Paris was feeling so relaxed from her spa day that she practically floated along the sidewalks. She’d gotten a map from the concierge, and since the thing was a landmark, it wouldn’t be hard to find—a little white church in the middle of a sea of tall hotels.

And hey, she was a New Yorker. She walked everywhere, and sometimes in high heels. But today, at least, she’d picked comfortable sandals. Her ankles were not at their cutest, that was for sure. She’d picked these shoes because at least she could get her feet into them.

She’d forgotten what the heat in Vegas could be like. Like an oven. A five-hundred-degree
oven. Her wide black hat shielded her from the sun anyway, and her dress was billowy enough to keep a breeze going. She better switch to white though, black really sucked heat.

She’d gotten so mellowed out from the day of treatments that it was hard to work up to a pissy mood to confront preacher boy. Besides, he’d been really delish last night.

But he
had
left her there. That was sort of…low. She shrugged as she trudged. More like predictable, and she probably even knew why. He hadn’t wanted to have a fight with her in the morning. He hadn’t want to break the mood.

She looked down at her newly polished, bright orange toenails gleaming in the Vegas sun. Then she flicked her hand up to admire the matching manicure. She straightened up and walked tall. A few men on the street craned their heads around to take her in. That made her smile. The ol’ redhead still had it. She sashayed a little.

Damn, it was hot. And this ten blocks was really feeling far. She should have brought a water bottle. Paris scanned the blocks for a mini-mart or something. Maybe she should stop into one of the casinos and have a cold drink.

No, she wanted to get this mission done with. It would ease her mind, and besides, she was going to go back to her fancy hotel room, take a shower and a nap, then have a lovely light dinner with Marla and Anton.

Maybe she’d look into getting her own apartment. She could use a different name, and Turner could just get his big “be there for you” and “watch the pregnancy” kicks by visiting and coming to all the doctor’s appointments. Somehow she knew that wouldn’t go over too well, but big damn deal. She was sick of that place.

Paris paused a minute and hung on to an iron railing bordering a line of shops. She felt sort of dizzy. She took a tissue out of her purse and wiped off her face. My, it was hot. Well, there wasn’t much farther to go, and besides, she was curious about the chapel. She’d only been there once. On her wedding day. She’d have a drink of water when she got there.

She rounded a corner and saw the spire of the small white church in the distance. Only four more blocks. She could do it. She took the tourist map out of her slouch bag and fanned herself with it. This town had sure changed in all these years.

Her memories of being a young kid were all about her own neighborhood near Boulder City. If her parents had been more normal, it would have been a great place to grow up in. It had a small-town feeling. She remembered a playmate who’d lived on the same street. Carla something. Carla. She hadn’t thought of her in years. They’d been inseparable. Carla with her great
collection of Barbies. Until it had all happened, then Carla’s parents had forbidden her to play with Paris.

A stab of emotion hit Paris in the gut. Man, why did she have to remember this stuff, anyway? Just being in this town was bringing it all up. It just made her sick! She needed to get out of here when this was all over. She’d go to Switzerland and check in to a spa and lose weight and buy herself a new wardrobe in Milan afterwards.

She adjusted her black sunglasses and kept marching up a small incline.

Why didn’t my parents have more children sooner after me?
she wondered. She searched through the conversations she’d had with her father, late at night, while he’d worked. He’d talked to her like an adult even though she’d only been a child. She seemed to remember her mother had lost one and then it had taken them a long time to conceive. So the gap between her birth and the birth of her sister was wide. That was it.

Her sister. Somewhere out there, she had a sister, raised by strangers. Maybe that was better than ending up in the Catholic orphanage like she had. Or maybe it wasn’t better.

Another wave of pain hit Paris. She felt tears trail down the side of her cheek. What the hell was all this? She…she needed to think about other things. She needed to get mad at Turner.

She climbed the ramp up to the small chapel and pulled on the double doors. How
had
she ended up in this chapel that night? It was certainly off the beaten path. Well, closer to the Paris Hotel than the Four Seasons, but still, what an odd coincidence that she should have ended up in Turner Pruitt’s chapel.

She swung the doors open and stood at the back of the sanctuary. Light streamed in on Turner through the stained glass windows. He wasn’t in his Elvis duds, just a pale gray suit, a white shirt, and his reverend’s collar. It was so amazing how handsome he was.

A couple stood in front of him, and a small group of people sat in the pews. They all turned to see who had opened the doors. Paris saw that the man at the altar had very white hair, and his bride was not some young thing but an older woman wearing a pale blue dress and a little hat with a short veil that perched on her short salt-and-pepper hair. She had a small bouquet of white roses in her hand, and white gloves. White gloves. Paris hadn’t seen white gloves for ages. They almost glowed in a strange way. She rubbed her eyes to make that stop.

They all smiled at her. She saw a flash of light surround them all. How extremely odd. Then the light went out completely and a fuzzy darkness started like a frame around the picture of Turner and the couple. The frame faded and
moved in on itself until the entire room was engulfed in darkness. “Turner?” Paris heard her voice echo through the dark room, then the room turned upside down, and the red velvet carpet was pressed against her cheek. That was the last sensation Paris remembered before everything went completely blank.

“She’s going to be fine. She’ll be fine,” Marla repeated. Turner wasn’t so sure. Paris looked very pale. The doctor had been doing that thing that made Turner nervous. Hovering and not saying a word.

“I’d like you all to leave the room now, please. I have to do some examinations. Mr. Pruitt, I’ll be out to talk to you soon,” Dr. Shapiro said.

A cart full of computer equipment came through the door, and Turner and Marla had to stand aside to let it pass.

“I like him, Turner, he’s very intelligent.” Marla held on to Turner’s arm while they stepped out into the hallway.

Turner just shook his head and watched another nurse rush into Paris’s room.

“Look, everyone is over here. Come on, we’ll have Anton fetch you some coffee.” Marla gestured for Turner to come.

He looked down the hall and saw a small waiting area straight ahead. There were palm
trees in big pots and a painting of the desert on the wall in purples and oranges.

Millie, Sarah, and Anton were all sitting in orange armchairs, looking expectant. He wished he had something to tell them. He followed Marla to the group of friends. It was nice to see that Paris had friends.

Millie stood up and gave him a hug. “Sarah came and got me. Listen, buddy, she’s just not used to this heat. She just fainted, that’s all.” Millie patted Turner’s arm.

For some reason Turner just couldn’t get himself to believe what everyone was saying. Part of that was the contradiction between the optimistic words and the rush of medical personnel. Also, when he’d run to her in the chapel and looked her over, he’d seen a spot on her dress that had turned out to be blood.

The truth was that Paris might lose their babies. He didn’t have any words for anyone right now.

“Excuse me for a few minutes, will you? I’ll be in the hospital chapel if they need me.”

“Sure. I’ll come and get you.” Sarah stood beside Millie.

“Thanks,” was all Turner could get out. He’d been in this hospital before, visiting some of his evening service-goers. He’d brought old Aldo Newsome here one night because he hadn’t wanted him out on the street for his last day on
earth. He knew where the chapel was. He’d prayed here before.

More orange chairs lined up in rows made two sections on either side of the small room. A large wooden cross was on the wall at the front of the chapel. The wood was carved so smoothly that it shone in the low light. He was grateful there was no one there but him.

“Where am I, what is this?” Paris watched the blur around her turn into people—in white coats. She felt very, very not okay, and scared.

Marla put her hand on Paris’s forehead. “It’s just us, honey. You fainted.”

Dr. Shapiro leaned over Paris and smiled. “Hey. Don’t try and get up. We’ve got you wired for sound.”

“I’m fine. I…what’s all this stuff?” There were machines to the left and right of her. One she recognized as an ultrasound. The other must be some sort of monitor. There was a do-hickey attached to her index finger with wires going somewhere. There was some big belt around her middle that went to another machine, which showed little wavy lines on a monitor.

“Can I talk in front of your friend, or would you rather have a private conversation?” Dr. Shapiro asked.

“Marla? We have no secrets.”

“Yeah, now.” Marla smiled at her in that way
when someone really worried about you tries to make the cheerful face. It made Paris worry.

“Well, you had a little heat stroke, but also you’ve had some bleeding and pre-labor. We’ve got that under control now. Your blood pressure was a little high and probably you’ve had some headaches?”

Paris nodded.

“Well, we’re not sure what caused it, but we’ll run some tests. It’s actually lucky you fainted from the heat. It got you in here.” Dr. Shapiro turned to Marla. “She’s fine, and the babies are fine, now. But we’ll have to keep her here for a while, and she’ll have to be monitored after that. I’ll need to talk to her husband.”

“I’ll get him.” Marla gave Paris’s hand a pat and left the room.

“What’s a
while?
” Paris asked.

“Can’t tell. At least three days or maybe more, depending on how things stabilize. You want to give those babies a fighting chance, now don’t you, Mrs. Pruitt?”

Paris lay back on the hard hospital bed. “Yes,” she said. Then she closed her eyes. She hated hospitals. Only terrible memories came from hospitals.

Except one memory—when Paris had come to see her mother after she’d had the baby. She’d been excited and curious, and her father had been great. He’d bought her a big sister
present—a teddy bear with a ballerina outfit. And they’d had dinner in a restaurant that evening while her mother had stayed another night.

Her little sister had been so tiny. Paris had taken her hand in her own, and the tiny fingers had curled around her bigger finger. The baby’s hair had hardly been there, but it’d been red, just like hers, and her mother’s. Daddy had said, “Here we go again, all my redheaded girls.”

Her mother hadn’t meant for everything to go so wrong for that baby. She’d had every intention of giving the baby a happy life. Bonnie. Her sister’s name was Bonnie. That was the first time Paris had thought of that for years.

Something in her heart felt sad and heavy. She didn’t want anything to happen to Turner’s babies. He was going to be a wonderful father. She had to fight for them to have a good start in life.

“Turner.” Sarah lay her hand on Turner’s shoulder. “She’s awake.”

He looked up at her. “Is she—”

“She’s going to be okay. And the babies are fine.”

“Thank you.” Turner got up and walked out of the chapel, leaving Sarah behind.

Sarah looked up at the large mahogany cross. She couldn’t help how she felt. She’d loved
Turner since they were kids. He might love Paris now, but there was still a chance. When Paris handed him two infants and walked out the door, she would still be here. She would be the one there for him. Even if it took years, she would wait. Sarah sat down in the orange chair still warm from Turner’s body and said her own prayers.

Turner headed down the maze of corridors and quickly strode through the door of Paris’s room.

“Dr. Shapiro.”

“Mr. Pruitt, we’re out of the woods. Just in the last half hour we’ve seen no further labor, and her blood pressure is down to a normal level.”

“Labor?”

“Talk to your wife. I have to see to something for a moment, but I’ll be back shortly. I’ll fill you in on all the details together.” Dr. Shapiro stepped out, and they were alone.

The early night sky was still bright with stars and sunlight as Turner came up beside Paris. He noticed light patterns from the curtains dancing on her bedcovers. He found her free hand between the wires and held it up to his lips for a moment.

“I was coming to yell at you.” Paris smiled weakly.

“Any particular reason?”

“General stuff. Making love to me, expectations, you know the drill.”

“I do.”

“I’m sorry, Turner, I didn’t know taking a walk would make me go into labor.”

“It’s not your fault.” He thought that was probably the first time he’d ever heard her say she was sorry for anything.

“I promise I’ll do everything I can to take good care of your babies. I’ll listen to the doctor and eat right from now on, and behave.”

Your
babies. He wanted to correct her, but she was showing the first maternal instincts he’d seen in months, so he didn’t want to break that moment. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m a brat, Turner.”

“But so cute.” He bent over and kissed her forehead. She looked up at him with her emerald green eyes, and he thought for a moment he saw tears well up on the edges.

“Don’t start thinking things are different now. My plans are still the same. But I like you, and you deserve good things. I know you really want these babies.”

“I want you too, Paris. And if something had happened today, I would have still wanted you.”