Chapter 8
Harlow
I awaken with a start. My heart racing in my chest. I scan the recesses of my mind to remember what the dream was about that has me so flustered. When it hits me.
It was him.
Vaguely, I recall the feel of his fingertips as they brushed over my abdomen. My skin instantly buzzing from the sensation, as if shocked by an electrical current. In a room full of people, no less. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real.
I’m overwhelmed with shame. Harrison was sedated. He didn’t have any idea what he was doing or saying. I’m certain of it. I mean, any guy who’d injure himself trying to save a stray cat wouldn’t cheat on his wife or girlfriend, right?
Flopping back down on my pillow, I throw my arm over my eyes. What’s happening to me? Can’t I find a normal guy? Just one?
I’m so curious about all of it. But I need to be professional and let it go. Just walk away. With my track record, nothing good can come from sniffing around that guy. And I’d never intentionally want to bring any harm to someone’s relationship or family.
Rolling onto my side, I notice it’s only 4:30 in the morning. I have to be at work at 7:00 and it’s going to be another long twelve hours. Just try and get another hour of sleep, Harlow. I need to put this magnetic man out of my mind and get a little more shut eye. But I’m almost certain that’s not happening.
Memories of being up close and personal with Harrison, my hard hat hottie, torment me. Mine? He’s definitely not mine.
It’s you. My mermaid. Wait… Did I die? Is this heaven? I giggle to myself. They’re blue, right? Or green? Or blue green? I bite down on my lower lip at the memory of the earnest expression on his face as he stared into my eyes.
My lower belly vibrates with lust as I remember how he looked, lying on that stretcher with his eyes closed when I first arrived. His bronzed skin, the sinewy muscles of his neck and chest, the delicious ridges of his abdominal muscles. Unlike the ink adorned on my skin, his was clear of any tattoos or visible piercings. Once I was next to him and could take in his gorgeous face and magnetic green eyes, he made my heart flutter. He looked like the all-American boy next door. Except he was a beefcake.
My mouth practically waters at the vision of him. Why are you torturing yourself, Harlow? He’s a fantasy, pure and simple. Just let it go. Remember Stewart? He’s likely no different. A family in one state while he flirts with women in another.
I sit up and decide to get on with my day, there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. The boys are with their fathers for the weekend, and I’m left all alone with my thoughts. My dirty, dirty thoughts.
Grabbing a set of scrubs from my closet, I start to head to the bathroom when I remember I need to bring a backup set, just in case. Finding a second set, I shake my head. The memory of being covered in puke so vivid it practically propels me into the shower.
I reach in and turn on the water, adjusting the temperature to allow a long, languid, warm soak under the spray since I have the time. As the warm water and eucalyptus scented body wash dance over my skin, my thoughts of him return. My hand drifts down my torso, and given the early hour, I grant myself permission to indulge in one more fantasy.
Just one more.
Harrison
Rolling over in bed, I grimace as I place my body weight on my arm. What the hell? Looking down, I find my arm is in a rigid cast, and I’m in a strange room.
“You’re okay, Harry,” Ellie says beside my bed.
My eyes connect with my brother, and I immediately adjust myself in bed. “What? What’s happening right now?” I stammer.
“The hospital called us this afternoon and said you’d had a fall. You were pretty lucky, considering. You could’ve died,” Matt blurts.
“Calm down. It wasn’t that bad.” My memories, while fuzzy, are coming back gradually. At least some of them.
“Or broken your neck and been paralyzed,” Ellie adds.
“You two are so dramatic.” I yawn.
“They had to set the broken bones in the ER and then later took you to the operating room. You’ve been out for a while,” Matt says.
Scratching my head with my free hand, I admit I’m stunned. I vaguely recall falling, but not much after that. How had I missed such a large chunk of time?
“Hey. How’s he doing?” Char greets as she walks in with a tray of coffees.
“He’s fine,” I answer. “Just a lot of gaps in time. Did I hit my head?”
“I’m sure you did, falling from that far. But they did CT scans of your head and spine and said all of that was fine. You managed to walk away with only a broken wrist. I think it is all the medication they gave you that has you so loopy.”
All of a sudden, I bolt upright. “Where’s Mom? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Harry. Joyce is with her. She feels terrible for you. She’s going to help you out around the house for a while until you can manage better.”
“She doesn’t need to do that. Joyce does too much already.”
“Listen, numb nuts. You can’t do everything yourself. Let people help you,” Matt barks. I’ve never heard him sound so testy. “Sorry. I worry enough about you and Mom while I’m away. You’ve always put her first, only asking me to help once. Now you’ve barely woken up from surgery and are trying to push Joyce out the door. Let her help you.”
“I wish I could stay,” Ellie adds. “But we’ve gotten the restaurant up and going, and it’s much busier than I ever expected. I don’t have anyone else who can stand in for me.”
“I’d never ask you to do that,” I reassure her.
“We’re aware.” Char rolls her eyes. She lifts her paper cup to her lips and takes a sip of coffee. “I’m here. If I have to, I can move my appointments around. You want me to come and stay with you for a while, Harry? It might be tough getting undressed with one arm,” she says in a singsong voice, smirking playfully at me. How long have they been sitting here waiting for me to wake up? “Or you could hire that pretty nurse from the ER to come home and take care of you.”
Matthew sits up taller in his seat. My eyes bounce between the three of them, and I notice Ellie’s cheeks are flushed. But, unlike Char, she’s a natural redhead with fair skin. It doesn’t take much to make her blush.
“Um, which pretty nurse?” Matt asks.
Ellie smacks his arm with the back of her hand.
“No, babe. For Harry. Not me.” He leans in, wrapping an arm around her while pulling her chair closer to him with his left hand.
“She was wearing the oddest uniform I’ve ever seen.” Charlene laughs. “But your brother was completely smitten. He practically pledged his utter devotion to her right then and there.”
“What the hell? You’ve lost your mind, Char.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then you’re right.”
She gives me a quizzical expression.
“It was the medicine.” Quickly changing the subject, I ask, “When do I get out of here?”
“I think you can leave tomorrow,” Charlene answers. “They’re just holding you overnight since the surgery happened late afternoon.”
“What time is it? I can’t just go home? Seems like a waste staying here overnight.”
“Can you please cooperate? Just relax. Let them bring you pain medicine,” Charlene scolds.
“And a sponge bath.” Matt waggles his brows.
“Hell no.”
“Well, it appears my brother is back to normal. So, we’re going to head to the house and check on Mom.” Matt stands from his chair and turns to help Ellie to her feet.
“Call me if—”
“We’ll do no such thing. Just get some rest, so you’ll be ready to break out of here tomorrow,” Matt says.
“I’m ready to leave now.”
“I’ll be by in the morning to check on you before work,” Char says, giving me a kiss on the head. “Please don’t give these poor folks a hard time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. As they each exit the room, I flop back, trying to adjust my position in the bed when a searing pain tears through my arm, and I wince.
“I’ve got some more pain medication for you, Mr. Hightower.” Turning, I find an elderly nurse bringing a small jug of water and some pills in a medicine cup.
Maybe it’s not such a bad idea I’m here one more night after all.
The following morning, I’m released early, and Matt and Ellie drop me off at home before heading to the airport. I wish they could’ve stayed a little longer, but it’s not like this was a planned vacation.
My mother appears no worse for wear. Hopefully, she enjoyed spending a little time with my brother.
Joyce places a cup of coffee at the end of the kitchen island where I’m seated, giving my good arm a reassuring rub.
“Thank you. I couldn’t drink that stuff at the hospital. I can’t believe they call that coffee.” I make a face of disgust as I take a sip of the rich, fresh brew Joyce prepared and give a thankful hum of approval.
“Yeah, don’t know many people who intentionally check in for the food and beverages.” She chuckles.
Mom comes to stand beside me. I don’t know if it’s a product of her quiet demeanor or the fact her personality is lost to her dementia, but she seems so much smaller now. So much more frail than the woman full of moxie who raised me. She reaches a trembling hand over to my cast, running the pad of her index finger over the rough exterior. Her eyes look a tad distant, but not blank as they usually do. Could she be remembering when I broke my arm sliding into home base in the third grade?
“Carolyn, why don’t you be the first to sign it?” Joyce encourages. She hands my mother a black sharpie and gives her a nod.
I fully expect Mom to stand motionless, but she surprises me when she uncaps the marker and draws a shaky black heart onto the bumpy surface of the cast. My breath becomes lodged in my throat. I’m transfixed as she attempts to write MOM inside of it. Her handwriting is illegible, but I know exactly what she’s doing. I have to blink back a tear as I recall the way she did the exact same thing after my baseball injury. She’d said, a lot of men in the navy have hearts with Mom tattooed on their arms.
How bizarre it is that something she did an hour ago is completely lost to her, but an act performed over twenty years ago is fresh in her mind. The neurologist had said, many patients afflicted with Alzheimer’s will retain long term memory, not short term. I guess I should simply be grateful for whatever is left.
“I love it, Mom.”
Her eyes hold mine for the briefest of moments, and I swear I catch a small smile within them before her expression reverts back to the blank one I’ve grown so accustomed to.
“All right, Harrison, Carolyn and I are going to take our walk now. You should go try and get some rest.”
“Thanks, Joyce.”
She slides my mother’s arm through hers and leads her to the front door. I realize the time may come sooner than I like, where Mom is no longer able to walk, eat, or drink. I’m glad Joyce is getting her to enjoy these moments while they last.
I head to my room, hoping I can prop my arm up with a pillow and get some rest in my own bed. It was nearly impossible to sleep last night with monitors beeping and my arm incredibly sore, as the pain medication wore off far too quickly.
Removing the small amber bottle of pain medication from my pocket, I place it on my dresser and make a mental note not to leave it where my mother could get a hold of it. Reaching beyond it, I pick up the Magic 8 ball sitting next to the jar of spare change that I empty my pockets into each evening.
Turning the sphere around in my hands, I watch as the little white triangle bounces in dark fluid against the glass. It is certain imprinted on the floating shape .
This Magic 8 ball belonged to my father. I’m not sure why I’ve held onto it after all these years. Perhaps it felt like my last connection to him. But why would I want that? He was a selfish man who walked away without looking back. I shouldn’t need any reminders of that.
“Why did I keep this?” I ask aloud. Slowly, I shake the black ball and look back down for the response. Outlook not so good. Hmmm. Is it talking about my overall outlook on life, or the fact I’m asking this inanimate object questions and expecting a reasonable answer?
I place it back down on my dresser and make my way to the bed. Punching my pillow to allow my arm to rest within the trough I’ve created, I shift my body back and forth until I feel like I can rest. This only lasts a few moments before I again adjust my position, unable to find the right angle to support both my arm and my neck. I’m going to need to figure out how to manage work and life at home over the next six to eight weeks while I’m wearing this stupid thing. But for now, I’ll try to focus on how to get comfortable enough for a few hours of sleep. One thing’s for certain. I look down at my dominant arm, wrapped in white textured fiberglass. Doubt I’ll be waking up with my hand around my dick for a while.