The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted (30 page)

Aimee stepped into the bathroom and quietly shut the door. She grabbed her phone out of the clutch and quickly texted her dad.

Hey…with dylan…crashing at his house…call my cell if u need
me…should be home by noon…luv amos

After pressing
Send
,
Aimee stuck it back into the clutch, and sighed deeply. She thought,
I’m a big girl now. Don’t need permission, just ask for forgiveness later - my new motto.
She inhaled another
deep breath hoping to release the nervous fluttering in her stomach, then looked into the mirror to check the damage. She had taken off her earrings and necklace when they got into the SUV after the prom, and Chelsea helped her take down her hair at Trent’s and half brushed it out so it no longer felt totally stiff. She rubbed off the mascara from under her eyes, pinched her cheeks to get some color into the pale skin, then reached to the side zipper on her dress and pulled it down gently over her injured side. Carefully, she stepped out of her dress and hung it up on the hook next to the door. A shower, after all, would feel good. Aimee hoped the warm water would settle her nerves. But her hands still shook after she turned off the shower knob and stepped out of the tub onto the bath mat. The image of her nude body in the mirror caught her attention. She had changed quite a bit over the past year from a slender stick to one with a bit more strategically placed curves. Aimee wasn’t as nicely shaped as Chelsea, but at least she no longer wanted to hide her body behind t-shirts and sweats. Dylan seemed to like it, what he had seen, so she shouldn’t worry. Nonetheless, she was a nervous wreck trying to choose how to make her grand entrance. After securing her cast back on, she finally decided to just wrap a big bath towel around her body, take a deep breath, grab her clutch and clothes, and greet Dylan in his room with a smile.

Slowly, she opened the door and peeked out. The stairway and the first floor were dark. A soft, flickering light from Dylan’s room filtered into the hallway providing just enough light to find her way. The sweet smell of incense filled the air. She tiptoed to the doorway and stopped. Dylan was lying on the bed, barefoot, but still dressed in his black pants and unbuttoned black shirt. In the soft candlelight that illuminated the room, Aimee could see the perfectly rippled muscles of his chest and abdomen. He was listening to a CD and biding his time throwing a tennis ball into the air, then catching it with his other hand.

For a few seconds Aimee stood in the doorway making up her mind if she should step into the room, or run down the stairs and escape out the door. Panic set in again. She knew she wanted this more than anything else in her life. Dylan was perfect. The time was perfect, and Aimee decided she wasn’t going to screw this up. So, she took a couple calming breaths, then she spoke, the quivering barely audible in her voice. “Do you mind if I join you?”

In one move Dylan ejected out of bed. As he walked towards Aimee, his ravenous eyes devoured her skimpily clad body. He stopped a couple feet from her and extended his hand. She dropped her stuff in the chair, then took his hand, still clutching the towel around her body. Dylan led her to the bed and sat down on its edge, then pulled Aimee in between his legs and close to his body. His touch felt warm and exciting. He eased back pulling Aimee with him as he laid back onto the top of the incredibly soft quilt. Holding her delicately, he effortlessly scooted until they were lying across his bed. Then with one swift roll, their fused bodies were lying together on their sides. A strand of hair fell across Aimee's face and he carefully tucked it behind her ear, then put his hand behind her head and gently pulled her to his lips. Just as he began to explore the contours of her lips, the familiar vibration of her cell phone rudely interrupted them.

Instantly he pulled back, forged his eyebrows and asked, “Your phone?”

Breathless, Aimee answered, “Yes, just ignore it.”

But Dylan sat up looking into the flickering light for her clutch. The phone stopped vibrating so Dylan laid back next to Aimee and started to pick up where he had left off. Within a few seconds the phone started vibrating again. This time Dylan popped up and leaped from the bed over to the chair and
grabbed the clutch. “Here, I think you better check it. It sounds like someone
really
needs to talk to
you.”

Reluctantly Aimee sat up and flipped open the clutch. She took out the cell phone and checked
the caller ID. It displayed
Dad.

“Oh crap. I guess I better check what he wants or he’ll be over here looking for me.” She hit
the button for voice mail and waited for the message. Her face turned ashen while she listened to Dr. Morris's frantic voice. She needed Aimee to call her immediately when she got the message. Aimee didn’t know what she needed, but she had a feeling from the sound of Dr. Morris's voice it wasn’t good. Aimee hit Dad’s number and waited. On the first ring Dr. Morris answered. She sounded like she was crying.

After squelching a sob, she said, “Aimee?”

“Dr. Morris, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your father, Aimee…” She smothered another sob, then continued, “…he’s had a heart attack. We’re in the emergency room at Memorial. It doesn’t look good. I think you better come as soon as possible.”

“I’m coming now. Dylan will bring me.” Aimee dropped the phone and froze. Panic set in. She couldn’t breathe. Gasping sounds came out of her
throat instead of words. Dylan grabbed her arms and asked, “Aimee, what’s
wrong
?!”

After a few seconds tears replaced the panic. She immediately latched onto Dylan and buried her face into his shoulder. She answered hysterically, “Dad…Dad…heart attack…hospital…”

Emphatically Dylan replied, “Come on, Aimee, get dressed. I’ll get you to the hospital.” He jumped from the bed and tore over to the chair where her dress lay draped over its arm. After tossing her the dress and lingerie, he flew into his closet. He was changed and back before Aimee finished dressing. He helped her buckle her heels. Without a word he grabbed Aimee's hand and they flew down the stairs and out to his FJ.

The sun was getting ready to rise when they pulled into the hospital’s parking lot. Aimee didn’t remember the ride over, but Dylan must have run every red light because it took no time to get there. Holding hands, they raced into the emergency room. Aimee was too upset to speak so Dylan quizzed the admitting clerk about her dad’s whereabouts. She asked them to have a seat so she could check on Aimee's dad and get Dr. Morris.

Time stretched out miserably. Aimee paced the floor waiting for Dr. Morris. Dylan leaned against the back of a waiting room chair. He watched Aimee walk frantically back and forth in front of him. Finally he reached out and seized her hand and pulled her to him. He locked his arms entirely around her body in a death grip. She struggled against his hold for a couple seconds, then she went numb and crumbled. She buried her face into his chest. The tears dropped onto his t-shirt. He kissed the top of her head, and then calmly whispered, “Aimee, he will be okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. You have to believe that.”

Aimee cried until she had no more tears. With a shaky voice she muttered, “I can’t lose him, Dylan.”

Tenderly Dylan touched the back of her head and slowly stroked her hair. He held her securely. He looked up and spotted Dr. Morris coming through the door into the waiting room, and he suddenly relinquished his grasp. Aimee turned and stared into Dr. Morris's pallor face. Black tear stains from mascara had run down her cheeks and dried. She looked haggard and worried, so unlike the Dr. Morris who taught them economics. She immediately came over and hugged Aimee tightly.

After a long moment she pulled away, took a deep breath and said, “Your dad’s a fighter, Aimee, but I’m sure you know that. He’s holding on. They’re going to transfer him to CCU in a few minutes.”

“Dr. Morris, what happened?” Aimee sniffled, then wiped the wet off her cheek with her palm. Dr. Morris took Aimee's hand and led her over to the chairs to sit down. Dylan trailed behind with his hand glued to Aimee's back.

In a much calmer voice, Dr. Morris told them what happened. “Well, we stayed until the end of the prom, and your dad was a true sport. He danced and had a super time the entire night, or at least he pretended he was having a great time. Never once complained he had been having chest pains most of the evening.”

Aimee cut in,
“Chest pains?!”

“Yeah, he said he’s had them the past few days. Didn’t say a thing to me about them, and knowing Mike, I’m sure he didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, he didn’t say a word to me, but he seldom does tell me if he’s feeling bad. Besides one time when he had the flu, I can’t remember him being sick much more than an occasional cold.” Instantly, she thought about the stress she had recently caused him. Guilt immediately filled her soul.

“So, when did he tell you?” Dylan asked Dr. Morris.

“Well, we finally finished and left the prom around one thirty, and Mike wanted to fix me something to eat so we headed back over to the house. He cooked and we sat in the kitchen eating and talking until well past four. He stood up to take our plates to the sink and all of a sudden he grabbed his chest, his face went white, and he slumped back into his chair. He wouldn’t let me call an ambulance. I’m not sure how we got here. I had to drive Mike’s truck, but we made it, and I ran in and told the young lady at the desk I thought he was having a heart attack. They had a gurney hauling him off within seconds. Dr. Miller got here about fifteen minutes after we arrived. He admitted him, but he’s referring him to a cardiologist. Your father was even joking around with the nurses trying to put on a big front, but I could tell he was worried. He kept asking for you. As soon as they get him up into CCU, you need to get in to see him. He really wants to see you.”

“Have you called James?”

“Yes, he and Sacha will be here as soon as possible,” answered Dr. Morris, still holding Aimee's hand. Aimee smiled feebly at Dr. Morris, then she felt Dylan squeeze her shoulder.

After waiting another hour, they were finally able to get in to see her father. As Aimee came through the door, he looked up and managed a weary smile. All color drained from Aimee's face, and her breath stuck in her throat. This man didn’t look like her dad. He looked like he had aged twenty years. Wires were attached across his chest and a machine bleeped loudly every few seconds as an eerie reminder he was still alive and kicking, but the man who had been her ardent protector and best friend all her life was lying there perilously fragile and looking awful close to being at death’s door.

Dad patted the bed for Aimee to come over and sit next to him. Tears started again. She dropped Dylan’s hand, whipped over to her dad’s bedside, and carefully sat down. Trying not to disturb any of the wires attached to his body, Aimee gently hugged her dad. She held him for a long moment silently feeling the racing beats of his heart echoing against her body. He patted her back in a slow rhythm, comforting her like he did when she was a child. Finally, Aimee smothered the sobs that had
welled up in her throat and whispered into his ear, “I love you, Dad. You
have
to get better. Don’t you
dare
leave me!”

Aimee sat up, wiped at her eyes, then stared into his face. “Aimee, I love you with all my heart, and it's still strong enough to keep me kicking. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere yet. I plan on dancing at your kids’ weddings. Hell, I might even stay around and dance at your grandkids’ weddings.”

She choked out a quiet laugh. Her dad’s lips pulled up into a crooked grin. She smiled back, then kissed his cheek. Aimee felt Dylan’s hand touch her shoulder, and Dr. Morris came around from behind both of them to the other side of the bed. She grabbed Dad’s hand. He glanced up at her, and the look on his face told Aimee how much he cared for her, too. She knew Dad was happy, and he would fight to keep it.

A heavy sigh leaked out, then Aimee said, “You look tired, Dad. I think we better let you rest. We’ll be back later during the next visitation time.” She leaned over and gave him another kiss on his cheek and held his chafed hand between hers for a few seconds. It was the rough hand of a blue collar worker who labored endlessly to provide for his two children. They smiled at each other. His eyes still had a brown twinkle; a positive sign of life.

“Dylan, you keep her out of trouble while I’m in here, okay?”

Dylan snickered. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure she behaves and remains in one piece.”

In silence they walked out to the FJ. Dylan's presence was comforting. “Here, let me get that.” He jumped in front of Aimee to open the door before her hand touched the handle. He was in his seat and starting the engine before she could get on her belt. Aimee looked out the window and a sigh escaped. Dylan started to pull out of the hospital’s parking lot. He reached over and took her hand. “I better get you home. I’m sure you’re beat. You need to get some sleep before you come back to see Mike.”

A yawn suddenly overtook Aimee. She swung a sleepy gaze back to Dylan and said, “I guess you’re right. I’m wired, but I outta try to sleep. James and Sacha will be by later, and I’m sure I won’t get any rest once they get here.”

“You can come back to my house and sleep, if you’d like. It’ll be quiet. Mom and Paul won’t be back until late tonight.”

“Thanks,” Aimee said, “but I think I better go back to my house so I can clean up and get some things to take to Dad later.” She paused, then started, “Dylan…” “

Yes?” he said. His soothing brown eyes glanced over and caught hers.

“I’m sorry for...well, uh…you know.”

”Sorry? What are you sorry for? It was an incredibly
awesome
night. I was the luckiest dude at
prom.” He squeezed her hand and winked.

After clearing the lump in her throat, Aimee continued, “You know what I mean.”