Chapter 3 – GLENNA #5
It takes us two more hours to get to where Cash parked at Lowland Notch. I’m so exhausted and aching, it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
Cash opens the passenger door of his nut-less truck and helps me up. Bernard and the boys make to get in the second row, but Cash stops them.
“You wait here. I’ll be back when she’s done at the hospital. Or call a ride share.”
They lose it over that. During the hike, Elliott got a lot less sorry and a lot more surly. All three of them aren’t even faking empathy anymore; they look at me like I ruined their day.
“Now listen here—” Bernard starts, and I tune him out.
I need to figure out how to frame this story with Dad. He’s going to be furious, and the cardiologist was clear that he needs to keep his stress at a minimum.
Maybe I could turn it into a funny misadventure.
Or I could wear long sleeves and keep my trap shut. I don’t know if I can pull that off. It hurts too much to move my arm at all right now. Maybe the doctors will give me the good drugs, and I’ll be able to fake it ‘til I make it.
“Then sue me!” Cash hollers over his shoulder as he swings himself up into the driver’s seat. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a vehicle this high off the ground.
He doesn’t spare a minute peeling off, leaving Mr. Wilson and his sons-in-law yelling in the parking lot. There are a good dozen cars left. Someone will give them a ride. Stonecut is a kind and friendly place in very specific ways, and helping clean and upstanding folks in a pickle is one of them.
“Do you need to call your dad to meet us at the hospital?” Cash asks like he’s reading my mind.
“No.” Crap. How am I gonna get to my car after I get patched up? Cash? I could call Toby. Talk about your rocks and hard places. “I’ll call a friend to give me a ride.”
I fish my phone out of my camera bag. I’m pulling up my contacts when Cash’s hand covers mine. “Who are you calling?”
I’m too thrown by the touch to dodge the question. “Toby.”
“I thought you dumped Toby.”
“He dumped me.” Why’d I say that? For what possible reason does my subconscious think it’s a good idea to just hand that kind of sensitive information to Cash Wall?
I brace for a smart remark.
Cash snorts. “He’s always been a complete dumbass.”
What?
Hold up.
He sounded serious.
“Why’d you ever go out with him anyway? Pity?”
Again, he sounds serious. And like he’s actually curious.
I don’t know what to say. I always thought Toby was totally out of my league. He was cool and fit. He had long hair and high cheekbones, and he knew all about music.
I can’t be like “I dated him because he’s hot and likes good bands and he asked,” even though that’s pretty much the truth. I was in eighth grade when we got together. Those criteria were acceptable at the time. The better question is why did I stay with him after I knew better.
Cash lets go of my hand and tugs a lock of hair that’s come loose from my braid. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”
Big brain? I mean, well, compared to his—I’m not going to argue.
“I thought he was cool.” I answer Cash’s first question.
Cash raises his eyebrows. “He doesn’t even hunt.”
“He’s vegan.”
“Is that when you only eat meat on Fridays?”
“That’s Catholic. During Lent.”
“I’m joking.” He gives me a wink. “I know what a vegan is. You meet one, you can’t not know, know what I mean?”
“I ate vegan for a long time.”
“What happened?”
“I didn’t tell anybody about it.” I finish my point.
“That’s ‘cause you’re shy.”
“I’m not shy. I just don’t talk to you.”
“You’re talking to me now.” We’re leaving the town of Anvil, pulling onto Route 7 and picking up speed. We’re about thirty minutes from Stonecut General.
If I’m going to call Toby, I need to do it now unless I want to be waiting a long time at the hospital. He’s the type who needs a lot of advance notice to help out in an emergency.
I look down at my phone. Cash tugs my hair again. “No. I’ll wait with you, and I’ll take you home. Tomorrow, I’ll get your car.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He ignores me. “How come you don’t want to call your dad?”
“He doesn’t need the stress.”
“It’s not stress to be there for family.”
That shows how much he knows. “I just don’t want to worry him, okay? Can you drop it?”
I expect my saltiness to put his back up, but Cash frowns. “Is it hurting real bad, baby?”
“I said don’t call me baby.”
He seems to take that as a yes. His frown deepens, and he accelerates to about ten miles over the speed limit. He had been doing the posted MPH. I don’t know a single person who does that except me.
I rest my eyes, and he flips on the radio. At first, it blasts country, but he turns down the volume and changes it to the classical station out of Pyle. Does he think this is what I listen to?
I peek at him. He’s got a fierce grip on the steering wheel, and his face is grim.
I don’t get it. I’m obviously not dying. I close my eyes again and focus on my breath. I want a comfy bed and a tall glass of ice-cold grape juice and painkillers that’ll knock me flat on my ass.
I want some space to figure out what the hell is going on with Cash Wall. Or with me.
He’s not a sweet and caring guy, and I’m not sassy. We’ve been body snatched. Or Stepford Wived. Or whatever movie where people become their opposites. Freaky Friday-ed?
We pull into the Stonecut General Emergency Room parking lot when the sun is setting. There aren’t a lot of cars. The place looks more like a cross between an office park and a hotel than a hospital. There is a helicopter pad on the roof, though. They fly serious cases to Shady Gap or Pyle.
They brought my mom here when she died, but she was already gone. They didn’t give up on CPR in the ambulance. The ER doctor was the one to call the time of death.
That was a long time ago now. I’ve been here several times since then with Dad, and once when Toby cut his hand tuning a guitar.
Still. I remember. You always do.
Cash parks as close as he can, hops out, and hustles around the hood to help me down. I let him. I’m really stiff, and I’m shaking.
“Oh, shit,” he says, and sticks his head into the back row, emerging with a camo hunting jacket. He drapes it over my shoulders. “Does that hurt?”
“It’s fine.” The arm is pretty bad, but the jacket doesn’t make it any worse.
He leads me by the elbow through the automatic doors, right up to the nurse’s station. A woman in blue scrubs and a messy red bun glances up and smiles so wide I can see her back teeth.
“Cash Wall! What are you doin’ here?”
Another nurse who’d had her back to the desk turns immediately. “Cash!” she exclaims.
He gives them both a warm smile in return, and now my stomach hurts. “Hey, Mel. Hey, Rachel.”
I recognize Mel from school. I don’t know the red-haired woman. She’s pretty. She has the kind of flawless, bold eye makeup you see in tutorials online. It’s green and peacock-like.
“So, uh, long story, but I got Glenna Dobbs here shot. We need a doctor.” He smiles again.
Both women turn their attention to me. Rachel reacts first. “Did you staunch the bleeding?” she asks me.
“Yeah. It happened about three and a half hours ago,” Cash answers.
“Wow,” Mel’s gaze flits from him to me and back again. “You really shot her?”
“He didn’t shoot me. His client did.” I’m not sure why I’m clarifying.
“Wow,” Mel repeats. She actually reaches for the phone tucked in her pocket before she remembers she’s on the clock.
Yeah, this is going to be all over town within the hour. At least Dad won’t hear about it. He’s living a very online life these days, but he doesn’t go near social media. Just the blogs and the newspaper comment sections.
“You got paperwork, or, uh—?” Cash flashes them another smile, and Rachel gets back to business.
Cash insists on putting his credit card on file for the bill, which is fair and fine by me, but it feels funny.
I pay for myself. I work for my dad, but I clock in, and I’m on the payroll. It’s all legit.
Cash leads me to a chair in the waiting room, and a few folks say hi to him. They nod at me, except Sarah Evans—she’s lost in space, probably detoxing—and Gail Putney, the elementary school secretary and a huge Del Willis fan. Looks like Gail did something to her ankle.
Unlike Mel, everyone we pass gets straight on their phones, thumbs flying. I hope no one snaps a candid shot. In the camo jacket and this skirt, I look like that muddy hill that turns out to be a wise turtle in The Neverending Story .
I sigh as I sink into the upholstered chair. Now for the wait. A vending machine hums in a cubby across the room. I’m so hungry. It’s one of the healthy ones that only has granola bars and squeezable applesauce. I could eat all of them, no problem.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Cash says, and he reaches into the pocket of the camo jacket I’m wearing and pulls out a plastic baggie. “Here.”
It’s homemade jerky.
“You eat meat now, right?” he asks.
I nod.
“It’s spicy. If you don’t like it, I can get you something from the machine. What do you want?” He’s already standing, digging his wallet out of his back pocket.
“No. This is fine.” I like jerky, and I don’t mind spicy.
He plops back down and helps himself to a piece from the bag in my lap. “I used ghost pepper powder in this one.”
I can already taste it. My eyes water. He laughs. “Too much?”
I take another strip before he can grab some more. “It’s good.”
“You like spicy?”
I nod. I’ve got my mouth full.
“I’ve got some at home where I used Carolina Reaper.”
“Do you know that’s not the hottest pepper anymore?” I read an article about it not that long ago.
“No, so what’s the hottest pepper now?” He leans back in his chair, both of us chewing like cows.
“It’s called dragon’s breath. And there’s another one called Pepper X by the same guy who invented the Carolina Reaper, but they haven’t been confirmed by the Guinness Book of World Records yet.”
“No shit. Someone invented peppers?”
“Well, like the special ones, yeah. Not invented. Um. Cultivated?”
“How much money you think he made off that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
What is happening here? Cash Wall and I are having a normal conversation like normal people. Is this like the comic that shows the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote having a smoke together after they clock out?
“How do you think you make a pepper?” Cash grabs another piece.
“They, like, breed them together, I think.” How else would they do it?
Cash darts a glance at my face. Oh. I just said “breed.” He’s going to be gross.
“Do you think the gardener dude puts the lights down low and played ‘Under the Bridge’ or something from Californication ?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“That is a terrible joke.” My lips twitch.
“Get it? ‘Cause the band is Red Hot Chilli Peppers?”
“I get the joke. It’s just bad.”
“It’s the best pepper-breeding joke you’ve ever heard.”
“That’s technically true.”
He relaxes back in his chair, clasps his hands on his flat stomach, and stretches his legs to full length. “Thank you. I’ll be here all week.”
“Probably.” No one’s been called back since we got here.
I rip another bite off a strip of jerky. We fall quiet. Cash chews as he watches me eat from the corner of his eye. I don’t think he realizes that I notice.
Is he thinking about how he’s going to tell all his friends about this?
The idea bothers me more than it should. Cash is a dumb bully. That’s what he does. I’m used to it.
I’m just at a low ebb right now. I’m in pain, and I’m exhausted. After I get patched up, and I get some decent meds, I’ll sleep for a few hours, and when I wake up, I’ll be back to normal.
It won’t hurt more than normal to know that Cash Wall can actually be nice and goofy, and he just chooses to be awful to me all the time except for when he’s gotten me shot.
When he snags another chunk of jerky, it kind of jumps out of my mouth. “Are you going to tell all your friends about this?”
He stiffens. It takes him a minute to swallow what he’s chewing. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He nods at the nurse’s station. “But everybody already knows.”
Yeah. Small town life.
At that moment, a man in scrubs calls “Dobbs” from the doorway.
Cash rises to his feet and helps me up. As I go, he follows.
“Uh. That’s all right. I, uh—I’ve got it from here.” I do not need him around when they weigh me and stick me in a paper gown that opens up in the back. Hell, no.
For some reason, his face kind of drops. “Okay. Yeah.” His glance darts around the waiting room, and then he holds out the rest of the jerky.
“In case it’s a long wait,” he says.
I stare at the baggie for a second. I take it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back in his boots. Kind of almost bashful.
And his stomach growls.
His lip twitches in wry acknowledgement. Yeah. Everyone in the vicinity heard.
On a whim, I fish out a few chunks and hand them back to him. I keep the bag and the bigger pieces.
He raises an eyebrow.
“In case it’s a long wait,” I say.
Then I follow the nurse back to get my first bullet wound stitched up.