After Hours (20 page)

“And that’s good, for somebody like me?”

I smiled. “That’s good for anybody. That’s the difference between someone who can
turn the other cheek and walk away from a pointless fight, and one who’ll lose their
shit and wind up hurting someone, or go to jail. Someone who’s circumspect, and can
look at their emotions and urges with detachment, not somebody who’s a slave to their
impulses.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit. I been in lots of fights. Over real stupid
shit.”

I exchanged three cards. “I know you were self-aware enough to seek substance abuse
treatment. That means, at least sometimes, your brain knows what’s best for you, and
has the strength to shout louder than your addictions or your disorder.”

“I never finished none of those programs, though.”

“Lots of people don’t. Lots of people who aren’t dealing with possibly being medicated
for the wrong disorder.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

I shrugged, laying my full house down to trump Lee’s three of a kind, and collected
my winnings. “Not an excuse, just a factor.”

“Like I said—too much credit.”

“Until somebody gives me reason to think that encouraging you is detrimental to your
treatment, you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“I’m not real used to getting the whatcha-call-it. The benefit of whatever.”

“The benefit of the doubt?”

“Yeah,” he said, tossing all the cards in a heap and seeming done with losing for
the time being.

“Well, I don’t see how anybody can be expected to get back on their feet, if people
keep kicking them when they try to stand up.”

“I guess. But people must fucking love kicking, considering all the boot marks I got
on my ass.”

“Sadly, I think you’re right. Some people do get off on kicking.”

“Thanks for the game, Nurse Downer,” Lee said, pretending—rather poorly—to find my
wisdom depressing. He was welcome to the act, if it made him feel safer.

“I prefer Ms. Coffey,” I said, standing when he did. “But anytime you want a game,
I’m happy to whup your butt.”

He responded with an eye roll and a “Whatever,” but I knew I had him.

* * *

If part of me was secretly wishing Kelly might initiate another encounter, then I
was secretly disappointed.

No catching me after sign-out, no turning up at my bedroom door. No calls. No nothing
by the time my next pseudo-weekend arrived after Tuesday’s shift. Not that I had the
time. I was babysitting Jack most of the day on Wednesday, and Thursday was for chores—an
overdue trip to the grocery store, maybe call some apartment listings and work on
moving away from campus. Though I was procrastinating that latter task.

I needed to ask Kelly which neighborhoods to avoid in Darren, and I’d rather do that
casually, during lunch on the ward. A phone call seemed too . . . personal. Ridiculous,
when what we’d done on his couch and floor and bed had been pretty fucking personal.
But calling him . . . That seemed too familiar, now that we’d sunk so thoroughly back
into professional mode. Too normal, when I didn’t want Kelly to become a
normal
thing. He was what he was, and what had happened had been transcendent. I’d probably
even mess up and let him seduce me again, if he hadn’t lost interest. But I would
not
put myself in a position to start thinking about him like a potential boyfriend.

What we’d had for those two days had left me pretty self-satisfied, the secret wrapped
around my shoulders like an invisible mink. Add to that my progress with Lee, plus
two perfectly instinctual, by-the-book emergency sedations, and I was feeling damn-near
confident. Damn near like I knew who I was, and trusted that I could survive the jungle
I’d parachuted into.

I got to Amber’s early on Wednesday, wanting to take her up on an offer to cut my
hair before she left to go do more of the same, at work.

She settled Jack on the floor with his trucks and got me ready at the kitchen table,
draping a towel around my shoulders. As she finger-combed my hair, I marveled at how
gentle it felt, after Kelly’s fists. The entire world seemed softer. Even the ward’s
linoleum had looked cool and soothing after the burn of Kelly’s carpet.

“Girl,” Amber said, scrunching my curls, “you are so overdue for this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you want? Anything special?”

“Nah.”

“Something short and trendy?”

“Like our toddler hair stays styled for more than five seconds.”

“True. Something more romantic? I hear hockey fans can’t resist a girl with a mullet.”

I snorted. “Just whatever. Just as long as I can still put it in a ponytail.”

Amber evened out the layers and did that thing with a round brush and a hairdryer
I envied. Normal women don’t stand a chance when they leave a salon.

“Thanks,” I called, preening before the bathroom mirror. “Looks great.”

“I gotta take off,” Amber said, leaning in the doorway. “But before I go, I gotta
know. Who is he?”

I whipped my head to the side. “Pardon?”

She laughed. “Oh yeah, busted. You only ever say
pardon
when you’re being extra proper. Overcompensating.”

“Why do you think I met a guy?”

“Because you’re . . . I dunno. You’re all different. You’re even walking like you
got laid.”

Fuck a woman so hard she wakes up half-crippled.
“How so?”

“I don’t
know,
” she sighed. “All
slinky
.”

I brushed past her, heading down the hall. “Well, I’m not seeing anybody, so you’re
hallucinating.”

“Uh-huh.”

I snatched her keys off the kitchen counter and tossed them at her. “Don’t make yourself
late.”

Amber shouldered her purse and kissed Jack good-bye. “I will find out,” she warned
me with an accusing finger. “I’ll be back a little after five. Oh and don’t let him
pick at that hole in the couch. I can’t keep his frigging fingers out of there.”

I rolled my eyes at the soft cuss and waved good-bye.

If only this Amber were here all the time. Fun Amber, harried but generally responsible
Amber. My mischievous baby sister. But the second Marco or whoever the next Marco
might be rolled up in his stupid truck or SUV or on a motorcycle . . .
poof
. Self-destruct Amber, come on down!

Though for now, things were peaceful. Jack was behaving, which meant life must have
been pretty uneventful of late. When Marco was coming and going, Jack got way less
of Amber’s attention, and you could tell from the way he acted out. But our day was
nearly crisis free, the only incident being when a particularly large ant ran across
Jack’s ankle and scared the bejesus out of him.

Kids aren’t so bad, really
, I thought, kissing his hair as he sat sleeping on my lap, conked halfway through
a DVD. I’d spent so long assuming I didn’t want any, having felt cheated of my childhood,
raising Amber, then giving up my carefree college years to care for my grandma. I’d
grown convinced I didn’t have the energy to make that serious a commitment again . . .
But Jack did weird stuff to me. Made me think maybe I had more capacity to love than
I’d let myself believe. Or maybe the responsibility just didn’t intimidate me so much
lately, after the kind of babysitting I’d been doing at Larkhaven.

Amber got home early with bags of fast food in tow, enough for the three of us. While
she gathered plates and glasses, I noticed another bag she’d left by the wall, heart
sinking to discover it held a twelve-pack of beer. Marco’s beer.

Like you’re even surprised?

“Marco coming over?” I asked, in that incriminatingly casual tone Amber would have
no trouble seeing right through.

“What? No.” And I could see right through her, too.

“You bought his brand,” I said, nudging the bag with my toe.

“It’s my brand, too.”

I shot her a look that said I wasn’t fooled, then dropped it. It’d been a good day.
A fight-free day. Far be it from me to wreck that.

At six thirty I got my jacket on and kissed Jack night-night.

“Thanks again for the cut,” I told Amber. “And dinner.”

“Oh, shush. Thanks for giving up your day off for me.”

“It was fun. Really.”

“I hope it’s not my fault there’s some sad man out there someplace, all alone when—”

“God, stop it. I’m not seeing anybody.”

“Yuh-huh.”

I backed my way out the door, eager to escape her interrogation. “I’ll see you both
soon, I’m sure.”

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I felt unexpectedly energized. Maybe I’d grab groceries
now, instead of the next morning. I liked being in the grocery store at night. That
was when my mom had done her shopping, after dinner, and when I was little it had
made me feel special, riding in the cart with us face-to-face—well, face to bosom,
anyhow—and getting her all to myself for a rare half hour.

I stuck the key in the ignition and turned.

A-rr-rr-rr-rr-rrr.

“Oh come on.”

A-rr-rr-rr. Thump thump.

“No, no no no.” I stroked the wheel beseechingly, but the Tempo wasn’t soothed. The
fifth time I tried to turn the engine over, something made a scary grinding noise
and I yanked the key out. “Motherfuck.” I rested my head on the wheel, took a deep
breath, and calmed down.

For the first time in my life, I could afford whatever repairs were needed. And I
wasn’t due anyplace for thirty-six hours. If this had to happen, now was the best
possible time.

Still, I didn’t have AAA and I doubted a garage would be able to have me running again
tonight, not by the time I managed to get to one. Plus a tow would cost me a chunk,
and maybe the thing only needed something cheap. A jump, or a spark plug—I was thoroughly
clueless about cars. There was an obvious answer to the problem. A big, muscly answer,
about six feet and four inches’ worth of obvious.

I sighed. At least we had the same schedule. Unless he was out wooing some other woman,
Kelly would probably be perfectly happy to come rescue me. After all, it was number
one on his tablet of man-commandments, those things guys were supposed to be able
to do for their women. He’d already grilled me a steak. He’d fucked me half-crippled.
Check the car thing off the list and I was in serious danger of fulfilling his macho
prophecy.

The notion made me weary, but I dug in my purse for my phone and scrolled to his number.
My heart migrated north, like an Adam’s apple thumping in my throat as I listened
to the tone.

“C’mon, Kel . . .”

After three rings, “Booty call?”

I had to laugh. And I had to admit to myself, I was relieved he wasn’t off boning
another girl when I needed him. “I have a favor to ask. A really annoying one.”

“That’s my favorite kind. Shoot.”

“My car won’t start. I’m at my sister’s in North Woodley.”

I heard him grunt softly, like he was getting to his feet. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Any chance you know anything about the engines of late-model Tempos?”

“I may. And if I’m lying, I’ll bring a tow bar. Two-wheel drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Manual?”

“Yes. And thank you.”

Keys jingled in the background. “Address?”

I dictated it.

“On my way.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.

I went back inside, finding Jack rolling his dump truck back and forth along the sofa
cushions. Amber was crouched in front of the fridge, stacking beers in the crisper.

She glanced up. “Forget something?”

I shed my jacket and dropped my bag on the counter. “No, my car won’t start.”

“Oh damn. Need the Yellow Pages?”

“No, I called a friend. He’ll be here in an hour. If he can’t fix it, he can at least
tow it out of your driveway and drop me home.”

“That’s an awful handy friend to have. Who is this
guy
?” She drew out the
guy
, batting her eyelashes wildly.

“He’s my coworker—an orderly from my ward. We’ve hung out a few times after work.”

She shut the fridge door. “What’s an orderly, exactly?”

“They do all the butch stuff. Restraining patients, lifting heavy equipment, escorting
people. Just sort of be there, in case something needs doing.”

“Like a bouncer?”

“Pretty much.” Bouncer, orderly, prison guard. Whatever kept Kelly on top in a power
struggle against dangerous men.

Amber made a face. “An hour, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She looked to the microwave clock and nodded. “I gotta bathe Jack, but afterward you
want a beer? Watch some bad TV?”

“Sure. But let me deal with bath duty. You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Best sister ever,” Amber declared, and disappeared down the hall to change.

I wound up opting for a pop, but it was nice, sitting on Amber’s couch with Jack in
his PJs between us, making fun of the people on a reality show. Reminded me of all
the nights I’d spent babysitting Amber when I was a teenager. Hell, when I was eight.
It made me want to drape my arm around her shoulders or stroke her hair, but those
days were long gone. She was twenty-three, not five, drinking a beer instead of Hawaiian
Punch. She was a mother herself now. A real mom. And my years spent raising her felt
diluted by that distinction.

I glanced up at the sound of a vehicle approaching then going silent.

Amber was on her feet, jogging to the front window. “Blue truck?”

“Boo truck!” Jack said, rattling his own such plastic vehicle in the air. “This is
my boo truck!”

“Yes it is,” I confirmed, smoothing Jack’s hair as I stood. I grabbed my keys and
met Kelly as he was striding up the driveway. “Hey! Thank you.”

He shrugged, eyeing my car. “What’s it doing?”

“Nothing, sadly. I turned the key and it went
ruhhr, ruhhr, ruhhr
, then it made a worse noise, like a grinding squeal.”

“Get in and try to start it.”

But before I could—

“Hey,” Amber called from the steps, waving for us to come inside.