Sultry with a Twist (20 page)

“That’s great.” The tears that had wrecked Chuck’s face were of relief then. Luke tried to picture the Goliath in front of him holding a six-pound infant, and the mental image curved his lips. “I’m glad things turned out for you, Chuck.”

“Thanks. Any word on your…uh…girl?”

“No, but that’s about to change.”

“Well, good luck.” Nodding toward the parking lot, Chuck waved a quick good-bye. “Gotta put the crib together. The baby came a little sooner than we expected.”

Luke watched him walk to his car and stumble over his own feet in obvious exhaustion. A cocktail of happiness and envy blended together and seeped through his body. Damn it, Chuck had closure—his happy ending—and now, it was Luke’s turn. He’d waited long enough.

He decided to quit playing nice. People always said the squeaky wheel got the oil, so he decided to squeak like nothing these bastards had ever heard.

Stalking to the information desk, he cleared his throat loudly. When Heather-the-horny-receptionist glanced up, he held her gaze, practically singeing her eyelashes with the intensity of his glare.

“I want to know what’s happening to my wife. Right now.” Remembering what Chuck had said earlier, he added, “I’m her next of kin, and I’ve got the legal right to make medical decisions for her, if she’s unconscious. So far nobody’s asked for my consent, and whatever they’re doing back there might be a violation of my wishes. Now listen good. Are you listening?” When she pulled her brows down low, he grasped the counter with both hands and leaned in close enough to smell the peanut butter sandwich she’d had for lunch. “I’m going to wait right over there”—he pointed to the soda machine—“for exactly ten minutes. If a doctor or nurse doesn’t materialize in front of me during that time, the next person I talk to will be my lawyer. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for her response before charging away, but when he reached the seating area and turned around, she was talking animatedly with someone on the phone. In exactly seven minutes—he checked the clock above the front entrance—a young man in a lab coat approached him. The kid’s baby-smooth cheeks had never seen the edge of a razor blade, so he wasn’t a doctor. Probably a lab tech, but Luke didn’t care, as long as the guy had news of June.

“Hi, there. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He extended a hand, and Luke shook it, instantly turned off by the blond stranger’s limp-fish grip. You could tell a lot about a man from his handshake, and this one screamed,
I’ll turn around and take my wedgie now, thanks. Be gentle when you shove me in your locker
. “You’re the husband, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’m Dr. Benton. I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Gallagher.”

“Ho-o-ly sh—…
you’re
her doctor?” Christ, how old was this guy? He didn’t look a day over fourteen. Luke didn’t trust the weak-fisted adolescent any farther than he could drop-kick him, and he wanted a hell of a lot more than just news. He wanted visible proof that June was still alive. “I need to see my wife.”

“Sure, I can take you back, but only for a few minutes. But I want to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”

Luke’s heart dipped. “That sounds bad.”

“No, no, no. She’s perfectly stable, but we’re keeping her in a medically induced coma overnight, so she’s still on the ventilator. Her face is a little puffy, and there’s some significant swelling near the bite wound. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“So she’s gonna be all right?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I think the prognosis is good. I’ll take you back to see her. How does that sound?”

It sounded like the best damn news he’d heard all day. “Lead the way, Doc.”

A distant, tiny voice needled Luke’s conscience, telling him to wait—to find Pru first, so they could visit June together—but he shook his head and pushed the voice aside. Right or wrong, he wanted this moment all to himself. And besides, all those tubes, wires, and machines hooked up to June might frighten her grandma. So instead of being selfish, he was doing the right thing. Or, at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he followed the doctor through the infamous white double doors.

Instantly, the atmosphere changed. The stinging, almost nauseating odor of ammonia replaced the scents of coffee, corn chips, and concerned relatives, and when the doors whispered closed, they blocked the sun’s natural light. The same polished, black and white floor tiles he’d paced in the waiting area appeared even gloomier here beneath the yellow glow of a hundred fluorescent ceiling panels.

Luke and the doctor continued down a long corridor lined with open rooms. Nothing but a thin, blue curtain shielded the occupants inside, and if he looked hard enough, he could make out the outlines of bodies curled in their beds. Without the clamor of conversations, crinkling snack bags, and the distant drone of television news, each cough and moan seemed amplified. Sickness and misery closed around Luke like a fog, and he quickened his pace, hoping Doc Benton would do the same.

After so many twists and turns Luke doubted he’d ever make it out again, they finally arrived at June’s room. Benton tugged the curtain aside and gestured for Luke to enter.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks and snatched his breath away.

His little Junebug seemed so broken, swallowed up by a sea of white linens, bandages, hoses, and wires. There was no doubt he’d done the right thing by leaving Pru behind—she didn’t need to see this. Someone had taped a breathing tube to June’s soft, pink lips, and her chest rose and fell with each quiet whoosh and hiss from the machine at her bedside. Stepping forward, Luke lifted her left hand and cradled it in his own.

“Good thing you remembered to take off her wedding ring before the swelling began,” Benton said from behind. “Especially if it’s platinum. She might have lost a finger.”

“Oh, yeah.” Luke turned June’s arm over, considering the tight, stretched skin puffing from beneath the bandage. “She wasn’t wearing it. We were doing yard work.”

“Mmm.” The doctor moved to the end of June’s bed and began flipping through her chart. “Now, keep in mind that all this”—he swept his hand toward her intravenous lines and the wires monitoring her heart rate—“will come off later tonight. We already stopped the medication keeping her asleep, and after it’s out of her system, we’ll turn off the artificial respiration. Once she’s breathing on her own again, I’ll remove the tube—probably early tomorrow morning. She should wake up pretty quickly after that. They always do, because the process is a bit painful.” Closing her chart and hooking it back in place, he added, “Any questions for me?”

The word “yes” formed on Luke’s mouth, but he couldn’t summon a single question except, “When can I see her again?”

“When she wakes up, after I remove the breathing tube. How does that sound?”

“It sounds awful.” Clearing a spot on the edge of the bed, Luke carefully sat beside June, so their legs touched through the thick blanket. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Honestly? No.” With a grin and a small laugh that puffed out his baby cheeks, he added, “Don’t know why I asked. Just a habit, I guess.” He stepped out of the room and swept the curtain across the doorway. Not much privacy, but better than nothing. “I’ll leave you alone with your wife for a couple minutes, then the nurse will take you back out front.”

When Dr. Benton’s rubber soles had squeaked down the hall several paces, Luke lifted June’s swollen fingers to his lips.

“Damn it, Junebug,” he whispered. “This is exactly why I didn’t want your help. Chaos follows you like a freaking shadow, and I can’t have you hurt on my watch.”

June’s only reply was a mechanical whisper of breath pulled from her lungs, but had she been awake, he knew how she’d respond.
You
can’t keep me away. I said I was here to stay, and I meant it. I’m not leaving, so deal with it, you son of a biscuit-eater.

Caving to June’s demands had been easier than standing up to her and seeing the disappointment in her eyes, but look how well that had turned out. What if he hadn’t gotten her to the hospital in time? Or if the doctors had run out of antivenin? She could’ve died today—and for what? So he could get his house on the market a few days sooner? It wasn’t worth the risk, not even close. He was done hurting her.

“It ends right here, Junebug.”

He’d wait until June’s doctor released her, and then he’d make his intentions perfectly clear. It was time to man up and get serious where June was concerned.

June awoke to the biting scent of antiseptic and the clinical whisper of voices.
One-ten over eighty
someone said, sounding pleased. Far in the distance, a cell phone chirped, ringing to the tune of a pop song she recognized, but couldn’t identify. Where was she? While struggling to recall her last waking memory, she heard a woman’s soft voice call, “Paging Dr. Benton,” and then everything clicked into place. June remembered now: the vibrant coral snake with steely jaws, Luke’s truck thundering down the highway, suffocating pain.

And the pain wasn’t done.

Her mouth was so dry, like someone had forced her to gargle with kitty litter. She tried to lick her lips with a thick, arid tongue.
Water
, she wanted to ask.
Just
a
sip
. Clearing her throat, June tried to speak, but flames scorched her raw, throbbing airway. God Almighty, what had they done to her?

“Mae-June?” a man’s soft voice asked. She wanted to correct him and say, “Just June,” but it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, she opened her eyes and squinted against the light. The smooth, round face peering down at her was too young to be a real doctor. He must’ve been a volunteer. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dr. Benton.”

Whatever. June didn’t care if he was Dr. Pepper, as long as he gave her a drink. “Thirsty,” she whispered.

He nodded emphatically, so his limp, blond hair flapped against his forehead. “We just removed your breathing tube. Turns out you really didn’t need it, but better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“Water,” she pressed.

“You can have some ice chips in just a few minutes.”

She must have given him a look that expressed exactly what he could do with his ice chips, because he straightened and took a defensive tone. “It’s procedure. We can’t have you throwing up if we need to intubate you again. If you can hold down the ice chips for an hour, then you can have some juice. How does that sound?”

Pulling her eyebrows low, June groaned and held out her hand. Ice chips were better than nothing, and she wanted them now, not in a few minutes. “Please,” was all she could manage. Each breath stung her lungs and throat like she was inhaling glass shards. She glanced over the doctor’s shoulder and locked eyes with an elderly nurse to silently plead for help. Giving a sympathetic grin, the nurse nodded and left the room.

“The coral that got you must’ve chewed awhile before he let go.” It wasn’t a question, but Dr. Benton paused, as if waiting for an answer. June nodded. “Symptoms don’t usually present for an hour after contact. You had a lot of venom coursing through those veins. If this ever happens again, try to stay calm and keep your heart rate low, so it doesn’t spread so quickly.” He gave her thigh a condescending pat through the blanket. “Lucky for you, we still had some antivenin left. Not easy to find anymore. There’re so few coral bites that it’s not profitable for the drug companies to keep making it.” With a casual shrug, he lifted her chart and then scribbled some notes inside. “I think we’ll keep you a few days to make sure you don’t have a reaction to the antivenin. How does that sound?”

June wondered how Dr. Benton would respond if she said that sounded like a horrible idea, and recommended he produce a tall glass of iced tea and release her immediately. But then she reminded herself this young man had probably saved her life, so she nodded and forced a weak smile.

“Okay, then. If you’re up to it, I’ll let your family come in. How does that sound?”

If she wasn’t in so much pain, June would have laughed. It sounded great. She lifted one hand, shook her IV tube to the side, and gave a thumbs up.

“Okay.” Just before reaching the door, the doctor turned and added, “Your husband’s been driving everyone crazy. I know he’ll be glad to see you’re awake.”

Her husband. Hearing it felt surprisingly good—like a hot fudge sundae for her ears, with extra nuts and whipped cream. She remembered Luke telling the emergency dispatch “June Gallagher” was coming. He must not have revealed the true nature of their relationship, probably so the hospital staff would keep him informed. June would have corrected Dr. Benton, would have admitted the truth, but her throat was too dry for words. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

When her nurse returned with a Styrofoam cup of ice chips, June forgot all about Luke’s marital ruse. She tossed back the cup and began working the ice across her parched tongue, then wrapped her hands around the foam to melt the rest as quickly as possible. The cold wetness in her mouth felt so good she groaned aloud. It trickled down the back of her throat and cooled the flames, healed her tender flesh one frigid drop at a time. Who knew a little shaved ice could bring so much relief?

A knock sounded at the door, and then Grammy rushed inside, followed closely by Judge Bea and Pastor McMahon.

“Thank the Lord,” Gram said, holding one trembling, oversized hand above her breast. Then her expression hardened, and she shook her head, probably gearing up for a good, old-fashioned scolding. “Girl, you really
are
snakebit.”

“Literally,” said the judge with a smile. He set a small, plastic vase filled with daisies on her bedside table. “Y’always were a mishap-magnet.”

“Probably weren’t paying attention,” Gram continued without missing a beat. “Your hands in the soil and your head in the clouds. I taught you better than that. What if Lucas hadn’t been there? Then what?”

“Now, Sister Pru,”—the pastor wrapped one arm around Gram’s shoulders—“our prayers have been answered. Let’s not browbeat the poor girl.”

“That’s right,” the judge said. “I reckon she’s been fairly punished already. How’d you feel?”

June touched her throat. “Just a little sore,” she whispered. “Got any water?”

“I do.” Gram reached into her handbag and pulled out a bottle. She held it just out of June’s reach and gave it a little shake. “But I won’t give y’any. Doc Benton said you might ask, even though he told you no.”

Son of a biscuit-eater. If the breathing tube wasn’t necessary to begin with, then the odds of needing to shove it down her throat again were slim to none. What was the big deal? She took another mouthful of ice and glowered at her cup.

“Now, Mae-June,” the pastor began in a slow drawl. Pausing, he cleared his throat and stared past his round belly to his loafers. “I don’t know your, uh, financial situation, but if you need any help with the hospital bill…” He trailed off and cleared his throat again.

“Oh, Pastor Mac.” June lifted her hand, and all its tubes, to her swollen heart. The church didn’t have that kind of money to spare; she knew from balancing the ledgers. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Luckily, she’d had the forethought to purchase insurance before she tied all her money up in Luquos.

“Well, we can take up a special collection. Just let me know if you need anything.”

No one had ever offered to help June financially before, not that she would’ve accepted, but the gesture brought tears to her eyes. “I will. Thanks.”

“We’d best be goin’,” the judge said. He leaned over and kissed the top of June’s head. “Luke’s chompin’ at the bit to come in.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Grammy added. “Never seen him like this—poor boy’s tore up.” Was that a hint of a smile on Gram’s lips? “Besides, you need rest.”

When they left, June couldn’t see beyond the curtain shielding the door, but she heard Gram order, “Don’t give her any-a-that,” and then Luke stepped into view holding a jumbo Slurpee. Cherry, her favorite. But unlike the cool drink in his hands, Luke looked like hell.

His typically sturdy shoulders bowed under some invisible weight, stooping him over like Atlas, as he shuffled forward in his heavy work boots. Someone had given him a shirt—New York Yankees and a size too small—something he never would’ve worn in any other circumstance because he hated the Yankees with the fire of a thousand atom bombs. Faded green peeked from beneath his heavy eyelids with only a hint of the spark that usually flickered there. June wondered how long she’d been asleep. It looked like Luke had gone twelve rounds with the sandman, and the sandman had won by total knockout.

“You nauseous?” he asked. “Doctor Adolescent said you might be.”

June shook her head.

“Headache?” Stepping closer, he tilted his head and appraised her face, quirking one brow in suspicion, as if she might be lying. “Stomach hurt?”

“Just a sore throat.” June reached for his free hand and then linked their fingers and tugged him closer. Though his warm, rough skin sent a series of tingles up her arm, it was the Slurpee she glanced at with unguarded lust.

“I saw when they”—Luke tugged his hand free and held two fingers to his lips, like he might gag himself—“shoved that tube down there.” He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and held the straw to her mouth. “Thought this might feel good.”

“Oh God, thank you.” Curling her lips around the straw, June took a deep pull and let the frosty slush slide slowly down her throat, savoring the tangy-sweet flavor of cherries and high fructose corn syrup. What a glorious invention. After a few sips, Luke took the cup away.

“Slow down, Junebug.” He skimmed his thumb across her palm and flashed a weak smile. “If you puke, we’re both busted.”

After setting the Slurpee on the table beside Judge Bea’s daisies, Luke scooted against June’s thigh and began to study her, scanning her body for damage. His fingers brushed lightly over her forehead, then traveled down the side of one cheek, across her jaw, and ever-so-gently down the length of her neck to her collarbone. June’s tummy did a double flip, but not from nausea. A series of quickening beep-beep-beeps sounded from her heart monitor, and she tried to steady her breathing, so the elderly nurse wouldn’t come running.

Grasping Luke’s fingers before they could explore any lower, she whispered, “Thank you. And not just for the drink.”

He turned her hand over and trailed his index finger along the bandage that covered her bite wound. “We were lucky.”

Luke’s choice of words didn’t go unnoticed. Not
you
were lucky, but
we
. Hope began to swell inside June’s body. Had she gotten through to him after all? She’d been ready to accept defeat, but maybe…

“I can’t stay.” Luke took her face between his palms and kissed her cheeks. “The rental company’s delivering that furniture you insisted on. For staging, or whatever.” When he pulled back, he dipped his head and gave a pointed look. “The doctor said he’s keeping you a few more days. There’s too much stuff to finish at the house, so I can’t come back and visit, but I’ll pick you up when they release you. Then we’re gonna talk.”

There it was—the talk, the one he’d wanted to have before he’d rushed her to the hospital. Nothing had changed. All that cruel hope rose into June’s throat and threatened to choke her. She grabbed the Slurpee and sucked down three greedy gulps, but all the sweetness in the world couldn’t cover the bitter taste in her mouth. If she’d only learn to rein in her excitement, maybe the crashes wouldn’t hurt so much. Or maybe, they still would.

“You don’t have to,” she said in a voice that betrayed every ounce of her disappointment. “Gram can take me home.”

“I’ll be here.” Then he took the cup and left her with one last, soft kiss on the cheek. “Get some sleep.”

Luke pulled the curtain shut behind him, and June curled onto her side and stared blankly out the window, until the nurse arrived with a glass of apple juice. She drank without tasting a thing. A flavorless lunch of Jell-O and lumpy cottage cheese followed.

It didn’t take long to understand how Grammy and Trey had felt, trapped alone in this sterile shoe box of a hospital room. With no visitors and no work to occupy her mind, time seemed to go backward. If each minute felt like a month, how had Trey survived two weeks here and still maintained his sanity?

And then, speak of the devil—or think of him—the phone rang from her bedside table.

“Hey,
Jooonbug
.” Trey’s smiling voice brought a small grin to her lips. She could almost see the dimples dancing in his cheeks. “I heard you were awake,” he continued. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Just a sore throat. Well, that, and I’m already going crazy.”

He laughed, no doubt remembering his own stay at the Sultry Memorial Inn of Misfortune. “That’s a good sign. Listen, I can’t get a ride today, but I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

“If you need a sponge bath, ask for Stephan.” Trey snorted a laugh. “He’ll hook you up.”

“Uh…okay.” She decided not to ask for the details behind that joke.

“And just a little tip,” he added. “If you’re hurting, ask for one of those big, white pills. I dunno what they’re called, but they’ll make you sleep like a corpse. The days go by a lot faster when you’re knocked out.”

She said good-bye, deciding the torture of remaining awake was preferable to forcing a “big, white pill” down her lacerated throat. With a lonely sigh, she clicked on the television.

***

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Finally, at two in the morning with her legs tangled in the starched white sheets, June drifted under. She dreamt again of Luke at his family’s pond. Great waves swelled and crashed against the grass, and he stood on Gram’s patchwork quilt, trying to catch whitecaps in a paint bucket. But the bottom dropped out before his bucket was ever full, and he finally sank to his knees, cupping his hands in a futile attempt to collect the water. It slipped through his fingers, and then he slumped over, as if resigned to failure, letting the waves carry him away. June ran to him and grabbed his wrist, but he shook her off and disappeared beneath the surface. He didn’t want her help anymore.