Chapter 13 Diversification of Plants and Animals #2
Tara went still, her entire body going tight. Saying nothing, my guards stepped forward and went into “us vs. them” formation, shoulders squaring, arms tensing at their sides.
The intimidating woman said, “No one in unless you’re on the list.”
Tara shot back, “She is the list,” jerking a thumb at me.
Bald guy gave me a once-over, his eyes skating over my face, then the hospital badge I’d clipped on in the car, then my shoes. I braced for a second round of denials, but he blinked, recalibrated, and said, “You’re Jarlston?”
“That’s me,” I said, raising my hand like a twelve-year-old at roll call.
“Go ahead,” the woman said. “Solo only.”
I sensed my guards bristle, but only Tara objected out loud. “Absolutely not. She doesn’t go anywhere alone.”
“It’s fine.” I held up a hand. “Really.”
Tara gave me a look. She didn’t like me leaving her sight when I wasn’t at work or at home, but she also didn’t like arguing in public. Ultimately, she nodded and fell back.
Stepping past the sentinels—the woman holding the door for me—the noise hit me before I’d even entered. Joey was upset about something and I detected two distinct adult voices. Also, the unmistakable thrum of an acoustic guitar, mid-song.
I walked all the way in and found Kaitlyn perched on the hospital bed, hair in a messy side braid, bouncing Joey on her knee.
Her face was still thin, but her eyes were bright and her color was better than it had been all week.
She was being serenaded by a guy sitting in a nearby chair, a battered acoustic guitar on his lap, one leg crossed at the ankle, looking for all the world like he lived there.
I felt a little jolt of awareness shoot down my spine because the guy was Abram Fletcher.
You know, the Grammy-winning rock and roll lead singer and likely future People’s Sexiest Man Alive (after he turned forty-five, it was just a matter of time; but he was nowhere near forty-five yet).
Kaitlyn and Abram had met in a for-hire cover band years ago and he’d tried to date her.
Unfortunately for him, Martin had been in the process of wooing Kaitlyn back at the time.
However, fortunately for Abram, he began dating his future wife a few years later.
By all reports, they seemed epically happy, though I’d always thought they were a bit mismatched.
As mentioned, Abram was a rock star. Whereas his wife, Dr. Davinci, was a genius astrophysicist, this generation’s Isaac Newton, who would over the course of her lifetime likely develop time-travel technology or figure out how to fuel the power grid with energy from black holes.
But what did I know? I’d only met her once, because she was—arguably—even more famous and busy than Abram. And she’d seemed lovely. Weird. Awkward. But absolutely delightful.
Abram looked up as I entered and offered a lopsided grin. “Hey. Hi. Come to join the party?”
Setting my bag by the couch, I gave Kaitlyn a look, eyebrows up because Joey’s complaining increased suddenly in noise level and severity.
She shrugged. “It’s been a day. He thought maybe music would help.”
Walking forward, I scooped up Joey, who immediately stopped crying and started gumming my index finger before I could object that my hands weren’t clean.
“Maybe he’s hungry?” I suggested, even though I had no evidence for this. “Or tired. Or angry about the state of the world.”
“You and me both, Joey,” said Kaitlyn, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “I literally just fed him. He had two jars—peas and carrots—and a half bottle. I thought he was about to go to sleep, then suddenly he started fussing.”
Abram stood and stretched, and I got my first good look at him since the last time our paths had crossed months ago.
He was still tall and muscly, with the kind of effortless swagger that made sense for a rock star.
Black jeans, black boots, and an ancient Led Zeppelin T-shirt that hitched up as he lifted his arms over his head.
I averted my eyes before they could ogle the sliver of six-pack revealed by the action.
Thou shalt not covet the genius astrophysicist’s husband, or her cow.
I decided to reintroduce myself with a little wave, just to be polite. “Hi, I’m Sam. Longtime friend of Kaitlyn’s.”
“I remember you, Sam.” He grinned, and I felt a tiny flicker of understanding for why millions of people screamed at his concerts.
Readjusting Joey, I held the baby slightly away so I could turn him to face the room. But then, before I could, Joey, perhaps sensing a lull in attention, hiccupped, which was then immediately followed by a stream of baby vomit that felt akin to being sprayed with a garden hose.
It splattered everywhere. In my hair. My face. Down the front of my shirt. Onto my pants. And when it was over, my first thought was, There is NO WAY that was just two jars of baby food and a half bottle.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Abram ran forward and grabbed Joey, holding the baby away for a moment before remarking, “Huh. He didn’t get anything on himself.”
Kaitlyn, however, was laughing. Hysterically. The sharp, clear sound echoing off the high ceiling. I was so shocked I just stood there, hands out, dripping, feeling the warmth and stickiness of half-digested pea and carrot puree seeping into the fabric of my clothes.
“Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry. Sorry I’m laughing.
But I—couldn’t help it. Sorry. I’ll stop laughing.
But it feels so good to laugh.” Kaitlyn wiped tears from her eyes, then reached for a package of wipes from the nightstand.
She looked at them, shook her head, then set them back down again.
“I was going to offer you some wipes, but you need a shower. I have three changes of clothes in the bathroom closet. Please. Go shower.”
Joey, now calm and practically beaming, gave me a gummy smile that suggested he also thought my impression of a swamp monster was hilarious.
I gave in, peeling myself from the floor and heading for the en suite, where I found not only Kaitlyn’s clothes, but also a brand-new toothbrush, a razor, and some fancy mini bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
I stripped off the ruined shirt and caught my reflection in the mirror.
Kaitlyn had been right to laugh. I looked both gross and utterly ridiculous.
Plus, as I turned on the water and stepped in, letting the heat and white noise wash away the residue, I realized that was the first time I’d heard her laugh like that in ages.
* * *
Almost the very moment after I turned off the shower, I shivered. Not just because the air in Kaitlyn’s hospital suite was frigid enough to hang beef, but because I had exactly three seconds of blissful, steamed-up privacy before the atmosphere was punctured by a knock.
At first, I thought it was a hallucination, auditory pareidolia. But then it happened again, three sharp raps echoing through the tile and out into the main living area of the suite.
I froze, clutching the towel around my chest like I hoped it would morph into an invisibility cloak. But then my brain figured out that the knock did not originate on the bathroom door. It had come from front door to the suite, the sound filtered and dull.
A moment later, I recognized Andreas’s voice say, “Hi. Sorry to disturb you. I am looking for Samantha.” The low volume and garbled quality meant that he hadn’t opened the suite door and had spoken these words from the hall.
I dropped my forehead to the tile wall, internally groaning.
Kaitlyn’s response sounded clear, bright, and unfazed. “Come on in.”
There was the click of the suite door opening, a quick exchange of pleasantries I missed, then Andreas again: “Is Sam here?”
Kaitlyn, voice flat: “Do you see her?”
There was a pause, as if Andreas might be sweeping the suite for signs of life. I pressed my eye to the tiny gap in the door, but I couldn’t see either of them; the angle only gave me a generous view of hospital-grade carpet beyond the bathroom threshold.
Kaitlyn: “Sit down, please. I want to interrogate you.”
A rush of self-consciousness skittered up my spine. Why would he come to the hospital to look for me? My phone was out in the main suite area so I had no idea if he’d messaged. I hadn’t spotted a message earlier . . .
There was the low groan of a chair being shifted which was interrupted by Kaitlyn: “Are you in love with Sam?”
My hand shot up to cover my mouth.
A long pause. I imagined Andreas blinking at her, maybe weighing the pros and cons of honesty versus deflection.
Then, “Yes.”
His answer didn’t surprise me nearly as much as the suddenness and directness of her question. Hadn’t Andreas already told me? Hadn’t he already told Dmitry? Why would he lie to Kaitlyn, my closest friend? He wouldn’t.
Kaitlyn, wasting no time: “Then why haven’t you apologized for being a lying liar who lies?”
I stifled a laugh-snort, turning and pressing my back against the cool tile. The phrasing was pure Kaitlyn.
Andreas: “First, may I borrow your pen and paper? Just there on the nightstand.”
A shuffling, a click of something.
Kaitlyn: “Uh, sure. Here.”
There was silence for a stretch.
Then Kaitlyn, sounding curious, said, “What are you writing?”
Andreas: “A note for Sam. Please give it to her when you see her.”
Kaitlyn: “Sure thing.”
Andreas, his tone going soft: “To your question, why do I not ask for forgiveness? It does not seem fair to ask for something I do not deserve.”
Kaitlyn: “What are you talking about? What are you saying you don’t deserve?”
Andreas: “I do not deserve her forgiveness.”
There was a loud, beleaguered-sounding exhale from Kaitlyn, the prelude to an epic eye roll if I knew her at all.
“Come on. I know you’re so much smarter than this. How is you never apologizing fair to Sam?”
Another silence.