THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2)
NELLE L’AMOUR
That Man 5
Copyright © 2014 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved worldwide.
First Edition: December 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
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Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs
Proofreading by Karen Lawson
Formatting by BB eBooks
To THAT MAN…Blake Burns
I will miss you.
And to all of you who fell in love with him.
Grandma’s Famous Matzo Ball Soup
Blake
S
peeding back to my office, my pulse was in overdrive. My unexpected encounter with Kat at Saks had unhinged me. The fucking bitch!
My nerves were buzzing. I couldn’t trust her. Not one bit. I hadn’t yet told Jennifer a thing. The timing sucked. Fatigued and frazzled by her heavy period, the pressures of work, and all the wedding craziness, she just didn’t need to hear something that might send her over the edge. In retrospect, I should have told her a long time ago. What had happened wasn’t really my fault, but it was something I wasn’t proud of. I wanted to forget. Keep the memory buried.
Should I tell her now? Fuck. I had to. Before she heard it from that sick bitch, who I knew would twist the story and make me look like a total shit.
At the first red light on Wilshire Boulevard, I reached into my pants pocket for my cell phone. Balls. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen out in the dressing room at Saks. I made a sharp U-turn and headed straight back to the store. My heart was racing. I’d given Kat plenty of lead time.
Foregoing the slow elevator, I bounded up the emergency stairs to the third floor, taking two steps at a time. Working out weekly at the steep Santa Monica Stairs had its benefits.
“Looking for this?” my personal dresser Daniel asked as I exited the stairwell. My phone was in his hand.
I was breathing hard, not because I was winded, but because I was stressing.
I huffed a loud breath of relief as he handed me the phone. “Thanks, man,” I said and then hurried to the elevator. Before I could speed-dial Jen’s number, the phone rang. I glanced down at the caller ID screen and hit answer. It was Mrs. Cho.
“Mr. Burns, Jennifer call me. She say to tell you she going home.”
“What do you mean?” My heart was hammering.
“She cry on phone. She say something bad happen.”
God fucking damn it. I was too late. Kat had gotten to her.
I repeatedly pounded the down button but with no results. Fucking worthless piece of shit. Impatient, I flew back down the emergency stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to my condo building, relieved I hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Leaving my car with the valet, I raced up to my apartment.
Silence.
“Jen! Jen? Are you here?” Frantically, I dashed from room to room, calling out her name. Fuck. Where was she?
I phoned her again. Her cell went straight to voicemail. I left her an urgent message, telling her to call me back right away. A chill skittered down my spine. Maybe, she’d never want to talk to or see me again. Once again, I’d deceived her.
Impulsively, I called my sister at her office. Perhaps, she knew something.
“Hi, Blake. What’s up?” Her voice sounded unusually warm and friendly.
“Marcy, while she was there, did Jennifer get a call or text that upset her?”
“No. We had a lovely lunch, and then I believe she was heading back to her office. What’s going on?”
Rushing my words, I told her what I believed had happened. My sister was one of the few people who knew what had gone down between Kat and me. Kat’s file was sealed in her office.
“Jeez, Blake. Why didn’t you tell Jen?”
“I don’t know. I should have. But I didn’t.”
Stupid me.
“Blake, it wasn’t all your fault.” Marcy’s voice was softer and compassionate.
“I know. But I’m sure crazy Kat twisted things. With all her trust issues, Jen probably believed her. She didn’t go back to the office.”
“Shit. Blake, you’ve got to find her and explain what happened before everything blows up again.”
Pacing my bedroom, I blew out a heavy breath of air. “My secretary said she was going home, but she’s not here.” My heart beat into a frenzy. Maybe the news had upset her so much she got into a car accident. She was after all Calamity Jen. But then I calmed down. For sure, I’d know that by now. “Marcy, what should I do?”
“Try calling her again, and then try one of her friends. Maybe they know something.”
Marcy was always the smart one. Made sense. After trying Jen one more time, I’d try Libby.
I thanked my sister and told her not to say anything to our parents… at least not yet.
She assured me she wouldn’t. “Good luck, Blake. And call me the minute you hear from her.” She paused. “Love you, lil’ bro.”
Her unexpected affectionate words touched me, and I thanked her again. I quickly ended the call and speed-dialed Jen one more time. Shit. Nada. Wasting no time, I scrolled through my contacts and hit Libby’s name. Fortunately, Jennifer had given me her number in case of an emergency. This was an emergency. Jen was leaving me.
Libby’s phone, like Jen’s, went straight to voicemail. Damn it. She was probably in a focus group or traveling. In a state of panic, I redialed Mrs. Cho. Perhaps she knew more. And had heard from Jen.
“Mrs. Cho, you said Jennifer went home, but she’s not at my condo.”
“No, no, Mr. Burns. She go home to her mother. She say big emergency.”
Jesus. It was worse than I thought. Yup. A big emergency. I’d broken her heart.
“Cancel all my meetings and get Travel to book me on the next available flight to Boise.”
Quickly, I changed from my suit into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather bomber jacket. I retrieved my overnight bag from my closet and hastily threw in a hodgepodge of cool-weather clothes and bare necessities.
One hour later, I was on Delta Flight 4820, heading non-stop to Boise. I was comfortably seated in first class. But my heart was painfully seated in my throat.
Jennifer
I
immediately spotted my mother sitting in the waiting room of St. Luke’s and sprinted up to her. The minute I’d heard the news, I’d headed straight to LAX, running a red light and narrowly missing a head-on collision. I didn’t even go home to pack a bag. I needed to get to Boise as fast as possible and could always borrow some of my mom’s clothes. My heart hadn’t stopped galloping.
“Mom!”
My mother sprung from her chair at the sound of my voice. Her eyes were swollen red, and tears were swimming down her face. We exchanged a hug.
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here,” she sniffed.
“How’s Dad?”
She dabbed at her tears with the dainty lace-trimmed hankie she was holding. Her lips quivered. “I don’t know yet. He’s still in surgery.”
A horrific, freak thing had happened. While he was taking an afternoon stroll through our neighborhood, a car had hit him. The driver’s brakes had given out, and he’d lost control. The car had swerved off the road, pinning my father against a telephone pole.
“The driver feels so bad. He wanted to stay until Dad got out of surgery, but I told him to go home to his family.”
I squeezed my mom’s free hand. That was so like her. To be forgiving, no matter what the circumstances. Deep inside, I hoped this virtue had been passed on to me. I encouraged her to sit down and took the vacant seat next to hers.
“Honey, does Blake know what’s going on?”
“I tried to call him, but haven’t been able to reach him.” As much as he depended on it, Blake was forever forgetting, misplacing, or losing his cell phone. Retrieving my phone from my shoulder bag, I tried him one more time. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I hung up and texted him.
In Boise. Desperately need to talk to u.
In my anxious state, I inadvertently hit send before adding my customary “
xo.”
And then my cell phone died. Without my charger, I now wouldn’t know if he received my text or was trying to reach me.
I held my mom’s hand as we waited patiently for news. My stomach was in knots. The minutes crawled by like hours, and from time to time, I could hear her soft sobs.
“Oh, honey, I’m so scared. What if—”
I cut her off. “Mom, he’s going to be okay. I know it.” I squeezed her icy hand, trying hard to believe my own words.
At close to six, a doctor met us in the waiting room. He introduced himself—Dr. Kumar. His accented voice was soft and melodic and suggested he was likely from India. He was wearing scrubs and a surgical mask atop his head. With his boyish good looks, the handsome physician looked too young to be an accomplished surgeon, but I reminded myself that St. Luke’s was the best hospital in Boise and was, in fact, one of the top surgical hospitals in the country. I’d been here once when I’d gotten my tonsils out as a child.
My mom jumped to her feet and met his gaze. “Is my husband all right?” Her voice was small and shaky, and her eyes were still watering.
The brown-skinned doctor pressed his lips thin and swiped sweat off his forehead. “He’s in critical condition.”
“What does that mean, doctor?” I asked before my trembling mother could say a word.
“He sustained a head injury. We did an MRI and there’s brain swelling. We won’t know until tomorrow if he has sustained permanent damage.”
His words were like a knife to my heart. The thought of my dad the professor not having his faculties was unbearable. Like my mother, I was an alarmist, but I had to be brave for her.
“Oh dear Lord,” she muttered. Her hand flew to her mouth, and a new torrent of tears poured down her cheeks. All air left my lungs as tears rushed to my eyes too. Afraid my mother might faint, I wrapped my arm around her frail shoulders as the doctor continued.
“He also sustained multiple fractures to his right leg. We did a bone graft and set it with pins.”
Words were trapped in my weeping mom’s throat. Holding it together as I best as I could, I asked the doctor if we could see him. The only good news, if you could call it that, was we could.
*
They had transported my dad from recovery to a small room in the intensive care unit. Still unconscious, he was hooked up to a myriad of bleeping monitors and IV bags, and an oxygen mask covered his face. His breathing was labored. A wide bandage swathed his head, and beneath the fabric of his blanket, I could see the outline of a thick toe-to-thigh cast.