“Yes, he’s really okay. He’s out of surgery and everything is fine. He’ll go home in a couple days.”
“I hope he has insurance,” I mumble, feeling responsible for his injuries.
“He does, thanks to me. I set it up two weeks ago, thank God. His kicked in before mine since he’s been there forever.” She pats me on the hand. “Do you want to see Mick, now?”
“Will they let me?” I ask, sitting up a little. I can feel my hair plastered to the back of my head. I wonder if I’ll have time to buff up my look before I see him.
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” she says, smiling all evil-like.
I frown at her. “I suddenly don’t trust you for some reason.”
An angelic look takes over. “I can’t imagine why not.” She gets up from the side of my bed and pushes the curtain next to me all the way to the wall. Looking over at the bed next to me, she says, “Yo, home boy. Wake up. Quin says she wants to visit.”
My jaw drops open as I take in the patient under the sheets not five feet away from my left arm.
Mick’s lids are closed, but I swear I can see his eyeballs jiggling underneath.
You are so going to fucking die, I say silently to Teagan.
She wiggles her fingers at me and grins broadly. “Toodle-oo! Your parents should be back in about an hour. They went to get Jersey from Saturday school so he could visit before lunch. Have fun, kids.”
She and Rebel leave me in the room alone with Mick.
He opens his eyes and stares at me as the door shuts behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MY HEART IS BEATING SO hard it feels like it’s ready to leap out of my chest. Thank goodness I don’t have one of those bleeping monitors attached to me. Mick does, so I can tell he’s not as nervous as I am.
“Hi,” I say, more eloquent words failing me at the moment.
“Hi.”
“How are you feeling?” I want to touch my hair again to try and gauge how awful it is, but I don’t dare call his attention to it. Instead, I take a piece of my sheet and start folding it into a tiny accordion. Keeping my fingers busy takes my mind off the mess I’ve made of my life recently.
“Lighter,” he says.
I pause in my folding and look over at him. “You feel lighter?”
“Yeah. Seems like I left an organ behind in the operating room.”
I smile a little. He’s making jokes. That has to be a good sign, right?
“Does it hurt?” I ask. Guilt. Oh, the guilt!
“Not as much as the car ride over did. I’ve got good drugs right now.” His words come out sounding tired, maybe a little bit slurred.
“Sorry about that,” I say, my face flushing with the memory of our trip. “I guess I wasn’t very smart about the whole thing.” More and more and more guilt. Will it never end?
“What whole thing?”
It’s a loaded question and we both know it. I hate how a simple stare from him can turn me upside down like this. I sigh with the burden of my stupidity. “With everything.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Colin’s a dick.” He looks up at the ceiling, turning his head away from me.
That hurts more than anything he could say. I feel well and truly rejected with just that simple movement and those few words. But I’m not ready to abandon all efforts to make this right. He’ll never want to go out with me again, sure, that’s fine; but I can’t let him keep thinking his brother’s evil. The least I can do is try to fix that issue. The problem is, I have to attempt to explain it in a way that it might make sense, but I’m not sure I can pull it off.
“I saw his paintings the other day and they just blew me away. I told him he should get them into a gallery, that he’d sell the hell out of them.”
“He never lets anyone see his stuff. Just one of them, the one he gave Rebel. But I guess he showed you.”
“He’s very sensitive about it, which I can understand.” I shrug. “I guess he figured I didn’t matter so much. It’s different showing a stranger than it is showing a family member. He obviously puts a lot of himself into it emotionally and you guys aren’t the most open family in the world.”
Mick gives a wry smile to the ceiling. “Understatement.”
“Of the year,” I say. “I think he had this gallery lady harassing him for a while, and maybe with me jumping on the bandwagon he finally decided to try it. I don’t know. He didn’t say anything to me about it, he just showed up at my door and then took me over there. The cards at the door said it was opening night. I’m pretty sure he planned to bring me back to Rebel Wheels or to you when he was done showing me.”
“Why you, though?” Mick asks, looking at me again. “Why did he take you?”
“Maybe because I’m the one who told him to do it and I’m not family?”
Mick laughs, but it’s not a pretty one. “Yeah, right. Or maybe it’s because he wants you.”
Anger heats my chest. “If I could get up from this bed right now, I’d punch you right in the stitches.”
“Guess I’m glad you can’t get up.” His voice is flat.
“Seriously, Mick. He doesn’t feel that way about me.”
“Bullshit.” He glares at me. “Anyone would. And you’re completely naive if you don’t get that about him or yourself.”
I throw my sheets back. “That’s it. Float like a butterfly bitches and sting like a bee, cuz I’m coming over.” I swing my legs out of the bed as Mick’s eyebrows move up.
“Should I ring for the nurse?” he asks, not even flinching at my threats.
I’m sitting up, contemplating the ringing going on in my ears when the main door to the room glides open slowly. A small head appears with a tuft of messy dark brown hair on top of it in the crack.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“SISTER? ARE YOU IN HERE?” the little head in the cracked-open door says.
I narrow my eyes at Mick and whisper, “You got lucky.” He’s smiling when I call out to my brother. “In here, Jersey. Just open the door.”
The door opens a little farther and his head comes in more. “Sister?” His face swivels around, taking in all the details. “This is a hospital room,” he says, talking to Mick.
“Yep.”
“You’re not Sister. You’re Mickey Mouse.”
“Yes, I am. How’ve you been, J-Man?” Mick holds up a hand for a high-five.
Jersey comes the rest of the way in, completely ignoring me. “I’m good. I got to leave Saturday school early. This place smells funny. I saw a doctor and a nurse and a dead body.” He stops at the side of Mick’s bed and gives him a high five that makes Mick wince with pain.
My mother comes in, her arms loaded down with flowers. She peeks through the colors and greenery and smiles tremulously. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”
I don’t know what it is about seeing my mom when I’m sick, but it always makes me suddenly lose ten years off my life and maturity level. Tears rush to my eyes and nothing I can do short of smothering myself with the pillow will stop them from falling. “Hi, Mommy. I’m fine … Bwaaah haaaa haaaa!” I crumble into a mess of blubbering and attempts at explanations.
“Shhhhh, shhhhh,” she says, rushing over to put the flowers on the table and take me in her arms. She sits next to me on the side of the bed and rocks me as she pats my back. “You’re fine, baby, you’re fine. See? All fine.”
Jersey looks over, his expression suddenly frightened. “Sister? Why are you crying?” His eyes get shiny with tears.
It snaps me out of my pity party like a switch flicks off a light. I sit up straight and pull out of my mom’s embrace, wiping my face. I ignore Mick completely. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just sad for two seconds and now I’m not.” I take a deep breath and then smile hard. “See? Happy face.” I point to my mouth.
Jersey comes over and puts one hand on each of my cheeks. He stares into my eyes and examines me closely. “Your sad face makes me have a sad face. Mommy says
you’re a hero.”
I grab his head and pull it towards me so I can kiss him on the nose, ignoring the pain it causes my chest. “Mommy is misinformed, I think, but that’s okay.” I smooch him loud and juicy and he drops his hands from my face.
“You can use my cape,” Jersey says, reaching into his pants.
“Uhhhh …” I’m too stunned to stop him, and within seconds I’m holding a very warm, blue satin cape that I’m pretty sure was stuffed in his underpants.
“Why do you have your cape in your pants?” I ask.
“Jersey …” My mom is shaking her head, giving him the guilt-trip look. It never works on him like it does on me, lucky bastard that he is. He has some sort of parental force-field I’d kill to have in my armory.
“I put it in my pants so you could have it,” Jersey explains, leaving me to go stand by Mick again.
“I told him to leave it at home,” my mom says. “I thought he listened.” She’s glaring at the back of his head.
I can’t help but smile through the remainder of my tears. “He’s very stubborn.”
She raises eyebrows at me. “I wonder where he learned that.”
I nudge her with my arm. “Stop. Where’s dad?”
“He’s in the cafeteria. They have pecan pie.” She rolls her eyes. She doesn’t need to say anymore. My dad is a fiend for the stuff. He’ll even skip football for a chance at a slice.
My mom looks over at Mick. “So … sounds like you kids had an exciting first date.”
I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. “God, Mom, could you please not go there right now?”
“What? What’d I say?” She’s all innocence except for the shitty grin on her face.
The door opens and my dad walks in. “Thank God,” I mutter, standing up at the side of the bed. I have some nasty-ass hospital socks on, but nothing’s going to stop me from getting a hug from my dad. He’s my rock.
“Baby girl. Look at you,” he says, arms open.
I meet him halfway, again not able to keep the tears away. “Hi, Daddy.”
He’s sniffling too. “I thought you were really hurt, bad girl. You had us very worried.” He reaches down and smacks me on the butt. “Don’t ever do that to us again, you hear?”
I nod, unable to respond with words.
He pushes me away and holds me out at arm’s length. “You okay in there?” He reaches up and taps my forehead.
I nod again. “Yeah. Pretty much.” I sniff hard and use the back of my hand to wipe my face. I can’t even imagine what Mick’s thinking, but I don’t care right now. I just want to be smothered in parent-love. Ain’t no medicine around quite as powerful as that, as far as I’m concerned.
“That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing,” he says, looking down to my knees. “Did you get it on sale or maybe at a vintage shop?” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Shut up.” I’m suddenly hyper aware of the fact that my gown is open in the back and I’m ass-end towards Mick. I reverse and re-align my rear-end to the other bed, positioning myself next to my mom again. “I’m going to burn this thing as soon as I have my own clothes back.” I look around. “Where are they, anyway? Where’s my purse?”
My mom pats me on the arm. “We have all of it in a bag in the car. I’ll bring you some clean things later when they discharge you.”
I scoot back up onto the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain in my chest. “Good. Think flannel. I’m going to spend the next week in bed.”
“Teagan said something about your school project being picked up by the law firm she’s working with?” my dad says.
“Oh, really?” I try to play dumb, but I’m pretty sure my parents aren’t falling for it.
“Yes, I think your plan of sleeping for a week isn’t going to work out so well,” my mom says. “Teagan told us you have an appointment with her lawyer and his partners Monday. They want to talk to you about the work you did.”
She lifts an eyebrow at me and I feel completely and totally busted. But I’m not going to let on because I don’t have all my strength yet to deal with the ‘rents. I need all my faculties to negotiate myself out of corners like that.
“Oh, really?” I say, smooth as buttah. “Huh. She didn’t mention it. I’ll have to call her later.” I look at Mick. “So, you guys probably didn’t think you’d be seeing Mick again so soon, huh?” I nod my head, trying to get them to pick up the ball and run with it.
“He’s looking better already,” my mom says, getting up and walking over to his bedside. “How are you feeling, Mick?”
“It’s Mickey Mouse,” Jersey says from the other side of the bed. I can’t see him because he’s on the floor.
“I’m better,” Mick responds, “thanks to your daughter.” He doesn’t look over at me, but my face flames red anyway.
“I hear she drove like a bat out of hell to get you here,” my dad says, pride flavoring his voice.
I smell smoke. My face is now officially on fire.
“That’s actually a very good description of her driving,” says Mick.
More smoke. I’m going to spontaneously combust. I scan the room for a fire extinguisher.
“We’re just glad she got you here in time. Sounds like it was serious. How did it happen?” My mom asks.
“Fire!” I yell, my voice way ahead of my brain.
“What?” my father asks, chuckling as he talks. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
I inhale loudly. “Either I’m about to burst into flames or there’s a fire around here.”
My mom lifts her head at the same time my dad does. They look like two dogs sniffing the air.
“Jersey! Where are you?!” My mom yells, running around the end of Mick’s bed.
She gasps and dives towards the floor. “Put that down!”
Jersey comes flying into view as my mom yanks him off the floor. A small lighter flies out of his hand and lands on Mick’s bed.
My mouth drops open as a wisp of smoke comes up from the floor where Jersey had been.
“What the hell?” my father roars as he joins my mother. Then he’s stomping the floor, his elbows flying up to his sides like he’s doing some kind of crazy chicken dance. “Goddammit, Jersey, you can’t set the damn hospital on fire like that! There are sick people in here! You want to burn the place down? Jesus Christ!”
Mick’s mouth is open, but he doesn’t seem worried. In fact, he looks more amused than anything. He hasn’t moved anything but his head.
Jersey’s struggling to get away from our mom. “I’m just playing a game, Dad!” He thrashes around some more, doing the sandbag move he perfected as a toddler, where he makes his legs go completely limp and his body twice as heavy. Trying to hold him up when he does that is impossible. Down to the floor he goes with a thump.
“No, sir,” says my mom, grabbing his leg as he hits the ground. “No, sir, no sir, no sir. You are staying right here with me.”
“I wanna be with Mickey Mouse!” Jersey yells. “I wanna be with Mickey Mouse! Let me go! Let me go, asshole!”
Everyone freezes. You could hear a pin drop in the room. But since there are no pins, we listen to Jersey’s ragged breathing instead.
My mom straightens up and glares at me, abandoning her efforts with Jersey.
“What?!” I say, probably too loudly. “What’d I do?”
She points at me. “You’re the one who taught him that filthy language.”
“Bullshit. Dad did.”
My father’s eyes bulge out of his head and his hands fly up in surrender when my mom twists around to give him the dagger-eyes. “Hey … he didn’t learn anything from any of us he hasn’t already seen on TV. You know that, Viv. Just relax.”
She throws her hands up to rest on her hips.
I roll my eyes, knowing the poodle is about to hit the fan. Cardinal Rule #1 with my mom: Never EVER tell her to relax.
“Don’t you dare, George. You know very well that Quinlan runs around the house all day with asshole-this
and asshole-that and fuck-a-box-of-fuck-this and fuck-a-box-of-fuck-that. Her mouth is pure gutter talk.”
I’m laughing silently with my mouth completely open. My mom never cusses like that. It would be awesome if it weren’t so awful. Mick has slid a pillow out from under his head and put it over his face. It’s shaking with his laughter. My embarrassment is back, full force.
“Mom, holy shit, would you chillax?” I say. “We have someone else in the room with us right now and about a thousand more right outside that door.”
My mom slowly turns in my direction, her voice going dangerously low. “Did you just tell me to chillax?”
I cringe, pulling my head as far down into my shoulders as I can. Stretching the sheet up to my nose, I finally answer. “Maybe?”
She breathes in once. Twice. And then a third time, before she answers me. “Okay, fine. You all want me to chillax? To relax?” She twists her head around, making it look a little like some kind of alien is inside her trying to get out. It’s very creepy. I’m on pins and needles waiting for her next move. “Fine. I’m relaxed. And. I’m. Leaving.”
She pushes my father out of the way and exits the room.
We all remain silent for the longest time. Nobody moves for what seems like forever.
Then Jersey stands and smiles at Mick. “Mommy’s gone. Time to party.”
My dad snorts, coughs to hide it, and turns away. We both know where he learned this line. I’m embarrassed that I’ve been so careless about what I’ve said around my little and very impressionable brother.
“Jersey, come here,” I say, holding out my hand.
He comes over and takes it, his expression softening.
“You know you’re not supposed to say stuff that makes Mom mad like that.”
“She got mad at me.”
“Yeah, but you were lighting the hospital on fire. That’s not cool. Only assholes light hospitals on fire.”
“I don’t want to be an asshole.”
“Well … then … don’t call Mom names and don’t play with fire. I’m pretty sure I already said this to you a couple times.”