45. Half-car, Half-spaceship
HALF-CAR, HALF-SPACESHIP
EMBERLEIGH
I hear my name, and the relief that swells in me is almost palpable. When I see Braxton push through those doors, I fly to him, burying myself in his chest, burrowing as if I can get closer.
And that’s when I crumble.
Literally.
I fall into a heap on the floor, blubbering. I try to speak and fight for coherent words, before giving up entirely and heaving with sobs.
I’m lifted and cradled into his arms as I hear him speak over my head, “Colt?”
“Is fine, Mr. Ranger. Allergic reaction. Handled with epinephrine.”
I feel the weight of the morning crashing over me just as I feel the bob of his throat and his chin nod as the doctor speaks.
“He’ll be groggy for a while and sore at the injection site. But he’s okay. No bananas, though. And I’d like him to see an allergist. I can make a referral.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“The nurse will be in shortly.” The door opens and closes, and Braxton sinks into the chair, still holding me. My body wracks with sobs. I bury my face in his neck and claw at his shirt, fisting and twisting my fingers there. My breaths eventually even out, and I pull back to take him in.
He gazes over at Colt, who lies sleeping in a wide, white-sheeted bed. The knot protruding in Braxton’s jaw pulses with his clenches. He lifts his chin and drops his eyelids, as if he can will himself to control his emotions.
I run a finger over his chin, then his lips, before trading my fingers for my lips. It’s not passion. It’s connection. I need him. I need him here.
He allows it, but doesn’t reciprocate. I pull back, my eyes welling again, before closing them and pretending I’m not feeling the sting of rejection for the second time today.
“I—” Pop’s voice sounds from behind me. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No. Come in,” Braxton says. “He’s okay. Apparently, he’s allergic to bananas.”
“Bananas?” I don’t see his movement, but I can hear his boots shuffle as he moves toward Colt. “You were too.”
“I was?”
“Yeah, but you grew out of it.”
“I didn’t know that,” Braxton says. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through my body.
“Happened once. You were about this age. Didn’t even think to tell you. None of the rest of you had any allergies.”
I climb off Braxton’s lap and walk to Pop’s side. “He’s okay,” I say, and then repeat, “He’s okay, but I didn’t know. How could I not know? How could Em not tell me? I could’ve—” Pop puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes his hand there.
“He’s going to be fine, Emberleigh. You did the right thing.” He tugs me to him and kisses the top of my head. “My grandson is lucky to have you.”
I nod, unable to push words past the growing knot in my throat. His grandson nearly died because I messed up, I think.
“You’re cool under pressure.” He turns me to him and gives me a hug. “But I’m good if we don’t test that theory again for a while. Okay?”
I offer a small laugh of exhaustion and agree. “I’m good with that too.”
Pop hitches a thumb over his shoulder and calls to the room. “Gonna head back to the ranch. Taking your truck, Brax.” His boots announce his exit.
“Why didn’t you call?” Braxton holds my eyes hard and piercing, and he stands, stalking toward me, but not in the way I like.
“I lost my phone.”
He pulls said phone out from his pocket and slaps it into my palm, before looming over Colt as if he can protect him from everything. I start to say thanks but his anger doesn’t deserve it.
“… but you knew that already apparently.” I slide it into my back jeans, feeling the broken glass snag my pocket as it goes.
He whirls on me. “Why. Didn’t. You. Call?” He enunciates every word as if he’s spitting them at me.
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me.” I whip my phone out of my pocket and wave it in front of him.
“Was more worried about Colt’s life than anything else.
Didn’t have time to worry about you as I was watching him gag and swell.
I crushed Benadryl and fed it to him while I drove and prayed.
I won’t say I’m sorry for not stopping to keep you abreast of the situation. ”
Fuck. I’m just noticing blood dripping down my palm. I walk to the door and yank it open, leaving smears on the door handle, heading for the nurses’ station.
When they see me, they come running, all flying past me heading for Colt’s room, not waiting for me to say it’s for me. I won’t argue their priorities but head back and reenter Colt’s room, holding out my hand.
“Colt’s fine.” I offer up my bleeding hand like it’s an explanation.
One stitch later, I’m annoyed. Multiple little lacerations. They fussed, cleaned, and prodded but my only war wound was one stupid suture. That’s more inconvenient than ten. Or none.
My check-out paperwork compounded our time here. Colt’s was enough. Mine added another hour. An hour where Colt was hungry. An hour where he was groggy. An hour where he was fussy and couldn’t be consoled.
It is an hour when Braxton pouted or fumed or whatever because I don’t have it in me to care.
It’s an hour when my adrenaline bottoms out. Where my need to save Colt, to will him to live, to find a way is just depleted. Someone may as well have pulled the plug at my feet and let all my energy—all my fight—drain from my toes.
My eyes are warm and heavy from crying. I’m fucking sick of crying until my eyes are swollen. And I’m exhausted. My hand smarts more from the stitch than the wound. And I’m wavering between relief and being pissed right the hell off. And I’m sick of that too.
I walk to my car, pull open the passenger door, and climb in. I leave Braxton to deal with Colt’s baby seat and get us home.
I realize while watching them, Colt is quickly outgrowing the seat I had when I arrived, and I’ll need a new one soon.
Watching him grow day by day is amazing but I didn’t realize how much he’d changed in the three months we’d been here.
Seeing him in that car seat—a place he hasn’t been since…
since before—is eye opening. I reach for my phone to make a note, only to realize it’s not in my pocket. It’s in a plastic bag at my feet.
Braxton climbs in and fumbles to push the seat back from the pedals.
“On the side.” I turn and look back out the window to the view of the parking lot. We haven’t gone anywhere, but I just can’t with him right now.
“Where’s the rest of the steering wheel?”
The sigh I release is rude, but I don’t care. “Want me to drive?”
“No, I’ve got it, just… Okay. How do you start it?”
I show him and look back out the window, hiding my grin. His annoyance at my car is just the distraction I need to leave the quagmire of emotions I’ve been in all morning.
“How do you put it in gear?”
That does it. I laugh. Loud enough to startle Colt, which sucks because he starts to cry. Long enough that Braxton’s annoyance shows on his face. I show him the ins and outs and rest as he drives us home.
Braxton
This thing is a high-tech computerized contraption. It’s half-car, half-spaceship. It’s cool but quiet and lacks the manliness of my one-ton truck. The engineers who designed it must be evil geniuses. Definitely geniuses. Probably evil.
We drive in silence, not in small part due to my attitude and the swirl of anger and fear I’ve felt today.
I arrive at the gates and have to punch in the code since it’s not preprogrammed into her buttons and park in front of the house. She leans over to turn the car off before letting herself out.
I grab Colt and meet her as she walks through the front door, her hands full of detritus from the hospital visit. She drops it all on the kitchen table as she reaches for bananas on the counter and unceremoniously dumps them in the trash.
“Where do you want his EpiPen?” she asks, doing a three-sixty in the kitchen, like she’s searching for the perfect hide-and-seek spot.
“What?”
“He has a shot we can give in case it happens again. Where do you want it?”
“It? As in one? I want eighty of those stashed around the ranch within arm’s reach of anywhere he could go.”
“Yeah, you and me both. But that’s too rich for our life, so where do you want it? We can probably grab a second, although insurance won’t cover it.”
“Emberleigh?” Her head whips to me as if I’ve snapped her from some daydream.
“Yeah?”
“Come here.” She does and, when I open my arm, the one not holding Colt, she stops short.
I wiggle my fingers for her to take the final steps, but she juts out a hip and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Here’s the thing, Braxton. You’re charming, funny, kind. You’re a great dad. You told me you’ll fight to see where this goes, but I was scared out of my mind today and needed you, and when I came to you, you did nothing. You said nothing.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand. “Let me finish. You literally have said a handful of words to me since you got to the hospital, berating me or asking how to drive my car. You go hot and cold too easily. You’re angry with me or horny, but nothing in between.”
She curls her arms tighter around her body, no longer full of piss and vinegar, but shrinking. “I don’t have the bandwidth today to deal with wherever your mood is taking you. I’m wiped. I’m going to go take a bath.”
She walks away and, when I call out to her as she goes, she just waves a hand.
“Well, buddy, I did the wrong thing. Not the first time I screwed up. Won’t be the last. Learn from my screw ups. Make your own, but don’t repeat mine, okay?”
Colt provides no wisdom for me, but shoves a fist into his wet, drooling mouth and then slaps me with it.
“I deserved that,” I tell him. “Definitely. Em would agree. Let’s see what I can do to fix this mess.”
I place a couple of phone calls, and set a plan in motion, before texting the whole family saying that Colt is okay, explaining his allergy, and threatening them all with a gruesome, slow death if they come near him with bananas.
Exton: Glad he’s all right. Take care of him.
Willa: Ditto. Miss you and can’t wait to meet him.
Brighton: Scared the crap out of me.
Brighton: Waiting for the banana references to start.
Pop: Of course it’s my daughter who brings up that reference. Relieved he’s okay. See you soon.
Layton: Rude banana GIFs incoming.
Willa: Expected nothing less from you, Layton.
Layton: {Tips hat like a proper gentleman}
Exton: Is Pop going to include sayings?
And they do. Banana memes, banana GIFs, and then the obligatory condom jokes start flying.
Brighton: I’m out. Know y’all are all about the penis, but you’re still my brothers. Ick!
But she’s laughing at the memes. She’s all girl, but she’s one of the guys too. She’s stuck in that way. The baby for too long and bookended by boys, she can hold her own. I’m not exaggerating when I say I have the scars to prove it.
Pop: “Don’t be silly…”
Exton: “…Protect your willy.” Got to be more original than that Pop. Your grandson will need fresh material.
Braxton: Hey, now!
Brighton: Do not even go there.
Pop: I can work on fresh material, I guess.
Layton: There was a collective groan that just rose from Texas. I heard it in Florida, I swear.
This continues and the clutching in my chest unfurls. I can breathe again.
My boy is fine. He’s going to be okay.
“Aren’t you, tiger? You want something to eat?” His head turns to me and he smiles. Yeah, he’s going to be okay.
And Emberleigh will too. When I grovel enough and after I explain my dumbassery. And I need to explain. Correction, I need her to understand.
So I feed my boy and take him into my room while I shave and grab a quick shower. When I return to the living room, Pop is there, flipping channels on the TV. He shows no signs that the world went berserk today, and I spent most of it trying to claw it back into some semblance of sanity.
“Thanks for this.” I lean Colt toward him and release him when he grabs onto Pop. “EpiPen is on the kitchen table. We’ll find a home for it and let you know where that is, but for now, it’s there.” I stare at the offending device.
“Won’t need it.”
“But if you do...”
“Son.” He tips his head up to me. “Colt is going to be fine. He won’t have bananas tonight and probably has meds still in his system.
You’ll figure that out when you change his diaper tonight.
” His chuckle verges on evil and the glint in his eye is unmistakable.
“We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Just enjoy your evening. ”
“Yeah, yeah. Emberleigh doesn’t know yet, so there’s still that hurdle to jump.”
“Not getting any younger, Son.”
“Who? You or me?”
“Either of us. Now, go get your girl.”
My smile is mirrored in his face, and I head down the hall. I knock to no response.
“Emberleigh?”
Nothing.
I knock again before cracking the door and finding her room empty. I knock on the bathroom door and get a quiet “What?” through the panel.
“Can I come in?”
No response.
“I’m coming in, Emberleigh.” When I open the door, I find her wrapped up in a towel, sitting on the toilet.
Her hair, still wet from her shower, hangs along her downcast face.
I kneel down. It’s not lost on me that it was just this morning I was kneeling before her in the kitchen toying with her body.
This time is different.
“Hey.” I use my thumb to lift her face to meet mine. Her eyes damn near do me in. “Come here.” I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bed, sitting there, holding her to me.
We sit there for several long moments, before I ask, “Baby? Where’d you go? And don’t say the bathroom. You know what I mean.”
She shakes her head. “I’m all cried out. At least I should be. I’m so over crying. I’m over being sad.”
I squeeze her where she sits. “Didn’t answer my question, Emberleigh.”
“I went to— I went to losing him. I went to having no one and nothing. I went to blackness where I’m alone… I went from having it all to having it all ripped away and knowing life would never ever be as good again.”