Take My Breath Away

  * * *

  There were voices outside my room.

  "Good morning, Officers," Doctor Chaudhry said.

  "How's our patient?"

  "I was just going to check on him. If you'll wait a few minutes I'll let you know. Good morning, Jason, how are you feeling?"

  "Like a prize fighter."

  "Why don't we see if we can get you up?"

  My ribs hurt like heck, but I managed to sit up and swing my legs off the side of the bed.

  "Any dizziness?"

  "No, just a headache."

  The doctor shined a bright light in my eyes, looking in one then the other. "Well, I think you're going to be fine. You might be sore for a few days—just take it easy and you should be good as new."

  "Can I still tryout for baseball?"

  "Let's stay away from live pitching for two weeks as a precaution, but the batting cages should be fine. Make sure you wear a helmet."

  "Cool. How's my mom?"

  "She's bounced back very nicely. She's been up this morning and already made plans for your aunt to pick you up when you're discharged."

  "Can I see her?"

  "Tell you what, I'll get Nurse Holland to get your paperwork ready and then take you up to see her. In the meantime, maybe you can speak with Officer Burns."

  "Sure, why not."

  "I'll leave you to it then."

  "Hey, kid. You're lookin' better."

  "Thanks."

  "Any new thoughts on what happened last night?"

  "No, nothing new, just some random guy—"

  "So it was a guy?"

  "Yeah, I'd like to see the girl who could throw me."

  "I saw you play at homecoming—you're pretty tough so I imagine the hombre that threw you was big—what, maybe six foot something—had to be over two hundred pounds, right?"

  "That sounds pretty close."

  "That's good. White? Black? Hispanic?"

  "White I think?"

  "You're not sure?"

  "No, not really. I didn't see his face anyway, so what's the big deal about his race?"

  Officer Burns pushed the nose of his glasses up with the back of his pen. "Your mother has a—shall we say—different story."

  "She wasn't even there."

  "That's not what she says. She says your girlfriend tossed you—the one you said left for Georgia on Tuesday."

  "What? Izzy, no way." I quickly replayed what I could remember. Was the scream from the kitchen—Mom? Did she really see what happened?

  "That would be Izzy Faulkner?"

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, you think all ninety eight pounds of my girlfriend tossed me through the television? Are you serious?"

  "Just checkin'." He shrugged.

  "Mom wasn't even there, she must have come in after the fight."

  "You fought?

  "Ah, yeah, we must have. I mean he didn't just sneak up behind me and throw me."

  "You're sure?"

  "No, I'm not sure. It's like you said, some big, two hundred pound guy snuck up on me."

  "Here we are," Nurse Holland said, waltzing into the room. "I've got your paper work."

  "You mind? I want to see my mom."

  "Sure, I appreciate your help. If you think of anything else, be sure to let us know. Oh, one more thing. I noticed that wound on your shoulder. Is that a gunshot wound? Looks pretty recent, still pink."

  "No, of course not."

  "Alright then." Officer Burns excused himself.

  I don't think I was very convincing, but no way could he believe Izzy threw me through the television. Problem was, Mom might, and apparently with good reason.

  "A resident will be in shortly to remove your stitches and then you can get dressed. I'll take you up to see your mother when you're ready."

  Must have been an hour before the resident showed up and then all he did was complain that they left the stitches in too long—and how hard that made it to get them out. While he tugged and pulled I couldn't help wonder if all vampire wounds healed so quickly. "Ahhh," I groaned.

  "Sorry," the resident said.

  "Oh, it wasn't you, just thinking." I could picture Izzy standing there with my blood running down her fingers. Her eyes were locked on it like it was gold or something—then there was the quivers that ran down her arms and spasms that shook her entire body. How could I have been such an idiot? She had every right to kill me right then and there, yet somehow, she resisted. I winced a little as the resident pulled another stitch. The bigger problem—what was I going to tell Mom. Don't assume. I reminded myself. Maybe the police misunderstood. Think plausible deniability—there had to be a thousand explanations for what happened—problem was—I had a pretty good idea of what happened and I wasn't a very good liar. Even if I could fool Mom, there was no pretending I hadn't made the biggest mistake of my life—the fear—how big? I knew Izzy was always careful—guarded around me—I understood that, but what now? What happens when I can't control myself? I thought of what some of the kids at school had been saying—fatal attraction.

  "Well, no need for bandages on these. I'll send the nurse in to take you up to see your mom."

  "Thanks."

  "Not a problem." The attendant rolled his shiny stainless-steel cart out of the room.

  Nurse Holland showed up with a wheelchair and insisted I had to use it because of hospital policy. It turned out to be a good thing—Mom's suspicious expression faded immediately when she saw the wheelchair. Nurse Holland parked me next to Mom's bed and left us to talk.

  "How do you feel?" I asked, taking Mom's hand.

  "Better."

  "That's good. The doctor said you had a heart attack."

  "Apparently I'm the luckiest woman alive."

  "How's that?"

  "They said I had a blockage in one of the arteries in my heart and that normally when something like this happens it's fatal—unless you're in the hospital at the time. So whoever, or whatever," she added, "performed CPR, saved my life."

  "The police said your skin was cold," I tested, "Like you'd been outside."

  "No," she said matter of factly, "I was in the kitchen, but nice try."

  "So that means you saw the guy?"

  "I did not see 'the guy'." She reached up and pulled my head closer. "But I know what I saw."

  Don't assume. I reminded myself. Don't assume.

  "I mean really, you're only human."

  "Sure," I half gasped. Don't assume. Don't assume. Plausible—plausible—plausible denya—something or other.

  "I warned you about her—displaying herself in front of you like that. What did she expect you to do?"

  A wave of relief washed over me. "But you told the cops she threw me into the T.V."

  "It was her fault you fell. Like I said, what did she expect? After all you did for her." She shook her head with obvious distain.

  That wave of relief was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling of guilt. Not even if it meant risking exposure could I let Mom think that way about Izzy.

  "It wasn't like that," I said, pulling back from her.

  Mom looked surprised. She glanced past me, a hint of recognition in her eyes, as a pair of leather soled shoes approached and stopped just outside the doorway.

  "It wasn't Izzy's fault. Did you ever stop to wonder why I was only wearing a pair of cutoff sweats?"

  "Jason, we've talked about this, the possible consequences—"

  "We didn't—we didn't have sex."

  She sighed.

  "Izzy and I have boundaries—self imposed boundaries. Last night, well I just got carried away. It was an accident." I wanted to leave it there, but this sudden rush of guilt just poured out. "Everyone at school thought she was pregnant before—that's why she ran away—of course it was mine, why else would I go after her. Everyone just assumed we were doing it, making jokes and sayin' stuff and I just—I just—"

  "Gave in to the social pressure."

  Behind me, the leather shoes walked away. "Officer Burns?" I surmised
.

  Mom nodded. "Is she here? You didn't hurt her did you?"

  "Not physically." A tear ran down my cheek.

  "I'm sorry you felt like you had to bow to what the other kids thought, but you know better, I'm sure she'll understand. You're a handsome young man, surely she encouraged—"

  "No, Mom. She's been perfect, abided by our agreement to the letter. That's more than I can say."

  "Maybe it's for the best. It was an impossible situation."

  "It's not. Remember what I told you when you asked me why I had to go after her?"

  "You said you complete each other."

  "Nothings changed, that's still true, but—"

  She reached up and wiped away the tear. "Maybe Father—"

  "The priest? Seriously? This is my fault, I have to fix it if she'll let me."

  "I'm sure she'll—" She saw my doubt. "Izzy's still at the house isn't she?"

  "No." A voice from behind me answered.

  "Madeline?"

  "I stopped by the house to pick up a coat for Jason and nobodies there."

  "So, she was just out, right?" I asked.

  "I'm afraid she's gone."