Wild Child (7 page)

“For good reason.  You were thrown from the car and your right arm must’ve gotten tangled up in your lap belt somehow. Nearly tore it off.  Your rotator cuff is torn, you dislocated your shoulder, your humerus is broken in two places, your—”

“Speak English, woman,” I interrupt gruffly, trying to add a teasing note to my voice, but failing miserably. The fact that
she’s
acting like this has me worried.

“You dislocated your shoulder, you messed up that joint, you broke your upper arm in two places, you broke both bones in your lower arm, sustained significant ligament damage in your right hand, cracked three ribs and badly bruised your right hip.  You also had a concussion and they picked a bunch of glass out of your face.  Is that plain enough for you?”

“So what you’re saying is my whole right side is banged up?”

“Yes, to put it mildly.”

“Okay, so how long will I be in here?”

“Weeks.  You don’t—”

“
Weeks? 
Are you kidding me?  Why can’t they just put me in a normal cast and send me home in a few days?”

“Because your injuries are severe, Jeffrey.  That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can’t rush this or you could have permanent damage.”

“Like what
kind
of permanent damage?”

“Like the kind that means you could never regain full use of your right hand and arm.”

Oh shit.

Now I see why she looks so upset.  My job, my livelihood, all my dreams depend on me being able to use my hands and arms to work on cars.  Hell, I’d have been better off to have broken my leg than my arm. Or even my
left
arm.  But not my right one.  God almighty, not my right one!

What the hell am I gonna do about my garage?  About the vehicles I’ve already been contracted to restore?  I was just getting that part of my dream under way. It’s been slow going, but I could see it starting to take shape. But now…  After this…

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to heal fast and right then.”

“I know you will. 
If
you do what they tell you.”

“I will, I will,” I snap, already aggravated and ready to leave this conversation behind.  “Who else is out there?  Anybody?”

Mom shakes her head.  “You’ve only been out of surgery for a couple of hours, Jeff.  Give them some time.”

“Well, Trick’s on his honeymoon, I’m sure.  And Jenna probably doesn’t even know yet, does she?”

“I talked to Leena. She called when she heard.  She said she’d tell Trick, but I asked her to wait until they had a couple of days to enjoy their trip, and to tell them you were doing fine. I knew you wouldn’t want them to rush home to see you.  You’ll still be here when they get back.”

“No, I wouldn’t have wanted that.”  After a few seconds, I ask her again about Jenna.  “So you didn’t call Jenna then?”

I hear her sigh.  “Yes, I called Jenna.”

“Is she coming?”

“I don’t know.  She hung up.”

She hung up?  What the hell does that mean?

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN- Jenna

I’ve never been so torn and conflicted in my whole life!  Granted, I was just turning four when my mother died, but I still learned to hate the hospital.  Luckily, she wanted to spend her last days at home, which she was able to do, but I remember the smell and the hopelessness, and riding home with my father while he cried quietly in the front seat.  All in all, I hate hospitals.  With a passion.  I feel short of breath just
thinking
about going to visit Rusty.  So much so that I just freaked and hung up on his mother, which I’ll have to call and apologize for.  And I will.  Later. 

After I conquer step one, step one being Rusty.

Despite my fear of hospitals, despite the fact that I probably just deeply offended his mother, despite the fact that I made one of life’s biggest confessions and he said nothing, despite the fact that he totally bailed at the wedding, I’m going to see Rusty.  At the hospital.  Because I love him.

I was more than a little hurt when I found out that he left before the reception.  Not only did he
not
find me and tell me, but he almost seemed to be avoiding me altogether. I just don’t understand it.  The only thing I can figure is that my use of the L word freaked him out.  I’m sure Rusty knows I love him, but I’ve never gone out on a limb and
told
him.  Until last night. 

Maybe this all adds up to the fact that he really
doesn’t
have deeper feelings for me.  Maybe it’s just great sex and great companionship, nothing more. 

It’s as I’m pulling on a pair of jeans, getting ready to leave that I find something else to be nervous about.  What if he doesn’t want me there?  What will I do then?

I push the thought out of my mind.  I can’t think about that right now. I have to go.  Not only is it the right thing to do, but it’s Rusty.  And I love him. And he was almost taken from me.  I
have to
see him again. I have to.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Rusty

Time feels different for some reason.  Slower.  Like every minute is an hour.  Maybe because I’ve slept so much.  Maybe because I can’t sleep now.  Maybe it’s because I’m waiting.  On Jenna.

I don’t know what to think about her anymore. I can’t figure her out.  And I’m not sure I should even try. 

I was hoping I was wrong about her, that she’s really
not
like my dad.  He always thought there was something better somewhere else, too.  So he left.  He abandoned me and Mom, and never looked back. 

I’ve always been bound and determined that I won’t make the same mistake she did.  And, the more I think about it, the more I realize that leopards don’t change their spots.  The things I loved so much about Jenna are likely some of the very things that will take her away from me.  I guess you really
can’t
have your cake and eat it, too. 

Maybe I should just let her go. If she hated Greenfield before, she’d hate it twice as much if she felt like she had to stay to take care of an invalid who may or may not have a future at all.

No, the days of me having anything to offer Jenna that could compete with the rest of the world are over.  I guess it’s time to cut her loose before
she
cuts and runs.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN- Jenna

As it turns out, my memory (and probably my imagination, to some degree) had vilified hospitals much more than necessary. 
At least so far
, I think as I ride the elevator to the third floor.

I’m inclined to rethink my bravado when the doors open and a long sterile hallway stretches out before me.  The heavy scent of sanitizer stings my nose and makes me think of unpleasant things, of sick people and dying people and people who are lost without each other.  In a way, at least in the way my memory reacts, it’s like the hospital took my mother from me.  Visit by visit, month by month.

The doors start to close again, so I step out in a hurry. After two deep, shaky breaths, I start to turn back, only to find them closed and my means of escape gone.  For a second, panic strikes.  I spin in a wild circle, looking for the glowing red EXIT sign.  I feel my forehead prickle with sweat as the walls draw closer and closer and the air gets thicker and thicker.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

Finally, I spot the exit.  I take a step toward it, but a swell of heat gushes over my face, making the room swim right before my eyes.  I reach for the wall, anything that’s steady in a world that’s grown disturbingly unstable.

Why did I come?  Why did I come?

My palm hits the cool concrete of the wall and I lean toward it, pressing my cheek to the pale, painted surface.  My pulse is racing, my heart is thumping and my addled mind is struggling to answer my own simple question. 

Why did I come?  Why did I come?

But finally, like a cool breeze to parched skin, my head clears enough for me to
feel
the answer.   

Rusty.  I came for Rusty.

I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath.  Just the thought of him, of the fact that he was so nearly taken from my life in a very permanent, irrevocable way, gives me the focus I need to get a grip on myself.

I don’t move for several long minutes as I wait for my calm to be restored.  Still leaning heavily against the hard wall, I give my shaky legs a test.  They don’t feel strong by any means, but they’re strong enough to support me. That’s the main thing.  I push away from the concrete and smooth my hair before I turn my back to the wall and face, head on, the two intimidating wooden doors in front of me.

As I approach, I read the large, red lettering emblazoned across both panels.  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.  I hardly fit that description.

I chew my lip as I think of what to do now.  As I look casually from left to right, I see the little buzzer to one side of the door.  There’s a sign below it that has a schedule of ICU visiting hours and the procedure for getting inside.

Following the directions, I depress the buzzer and wait.  After a few seconds, a pleasant enough sounding voice comes on.  “May I help you?”

“Um, I’m here to see Rust- er, I mean, I’m here to see Jeff Catron.”

“Hold please.”

The line goes dead, leaving me standing in front of the door, staring at the box like an idiot.  I look all around to make sure no one is watching me.  I’m still alone, thank God. 

Finally, she comes back on.  “Room three oh four.  Come on back.”

A click is followed by a loud buzzing sound just before the two doors swing open in opposite directions, allowing me to pass into the sick people inner sanctum.

The center of the large, bland room is dominated by an enormous nurse’s station.  Arranged in a semi-circle around it is a ring of patient rooms, all with glass windows and doors that allow the nurses to see inside unless the curtain is drawn.  I look to my left and see room three-twelve.  I figure Rusty is all the way at the other end, so I start walking along the rounded edge of the nurse’s station until I get to his room. 

The curtain is drawn and I hear no sounds coming from behind it.  Hesitantly, I knock on the metal frame that surrounds the open glass door. 

“Come in,” I hear Rusty say.  My heart skips a beat and I wipe my damp palms on the butt of my jeans before I pull back the nondescript beige curtain.

When I peek inside, I see Rusty lying in bed, his arm attached to all sorts of wires or ropes or something.  His cheeks already show the signs of dark stubble, as though the strain of the last hours has taken its toll in a very physical way. The frown he’s wearing only adds to that impression.

“Hey,” I say weakly.

He narrows his eyes on me before he speaks.  “Hey,” he responds in kind, not making me feel any better about things.

“Can I…can I come in?”

“I just said ‘come in,’ didn’t I?”  I’m sure the small curve of his lips is an attempt to soften his snappy reply, but it doesn’t sting my heart any less.

Pulling up my big girl panties, I return his tight smile and step through the curtain, heading for the only chair in the room.  I perch on the edge, clinging to my purse like a lifeline.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“How do I look like I’m feeling?” he asks with a short bark-of-a-laugh.

“I’m sure you’ve been better.”

“Yeah, I’ve been better.”

“What happened?  I mean, obviously you were in a wreck, but…”

Rusty takes a deep breath and shrugs.  “I’m still fuzzy on some of the details, but from what I remember, I hit some gravel on the interstate and slid into the median. Must’ve caught it just right and flipped the goat a few times.”

Although he casually refers to his GTO as a “goat,” which he does often, and his tone is matter of fact, I don’t get the impression that he’s so blasé about the accident.  “That sounds bad.”

He shrugs again.  “Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah, like if you’d been killed.  But my God, look at you.  How many injuries did you have?”

“Torn rotator cuff, dislocated shoulder, multiple breaks in my arm, three cracked ribs and a variety of cuts, scrapes and bruises.”

I cringe at the ache around my heart.  It hurts me to think about Rusty being hurt.  And, as I look at him, lying in the bed all bandaged and tied up, it hurts me even more to know there’s nothing I can do to help him.

“How- how long until you’re able to…how long will you be in here?”

I see his frown before he looks out the window behind my head, and I realize it wasn’t the right question to ask.  Something about it bothered him.  But honestly, I don’t know what to say. He’s acting like he could care less that I’m here and it’s making me want to go all the more.

“Probably quite a while.  Too long for you to be hanging around here,” he says, not even bothering to look at me as he speaks.

His words are like so many daggers to my heart.  My worst fear has been confirmed.  Rusty really
doesn’t
want me around.  I guess I was good enough for some fun, but not good enough to keep.

With my heart shriveling inside my chest, it’s all I can do to fight back tears.  I turn to look out the window as well, staring into the increasing darkness as I collect myself.  And as I think about Rusty and his brutal dismissal, I do what I can to keep it together.

I get mad.

“Well, that’s probably a good thing.  I hate hospitals,” I say, turning back to look at him, forcing a smile onto my face.

“Don’t feel like you have to come back then.  It won’t hurt my feelings.”

More daggers.  I want to scream at him, to tell him I went through hell just to get here, just to get to him tonight.  But I don’t.  I don’t want his pity. Or a pat on the back.  I don’t want him to be kind to me because I’ve “earned” it.

So, instead, I give what I’m getting.  Tit for tat.  Casual for casual.  Unaffected for unaffected.

I nod as I lean forward, getting ready to stand.  “Okay.  Maybe I’ll stop by again before I leave, if I have time.”

“Before you leave?  Running already?”

Something in his tone is snide.  “I’m not
running,”
I reply defensively.  “I just graduated college.  I’ve got to go get a job eventually.”

“That should be easy. I’m sure you’ve got a few things lined up already.  An escape plan.”  His tone is so bitter and my heart drops through the concrete floor.  Now I
definitely
can’t tell him I’ve got interviews. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right. It’s my turn to narrow my eyes on Rusty.  “What the hell is your problem?”

“Problem?  What makes you think I have a problem?”

“You make it sound like I’m running away from something, when all I’m doing is starting my life.”

“Right.  And that’s exactly what you
should be
doing.  The timing is perfect.  This is for the best.  You need to get on with your plans
away
from here.”

I sit, looking at his handsome face, while my heart is spewing blood around the wound of his sharp words. He continues, driving the knife in a little deeper.  “You need to find a place you can make new friends.  Find a job that you love.  Find some happiness.”

His words say he wants me to go and find happiness, but something about his attitude belies his well-wishing.  In a way, I feel like he’s blaming me for wanting more.

“Why is it that when
you
say it, it sounds like a bad thing?”

“I have no idea.  Must be your imagination.”

“It’s not my imagination, Rusty,” I say, standing to my feet.  “Do you
blame me
for wanting to get a job using the education I spent the last four years getting?”

“Not at all.  I knew that’s what you’d do.”

“Again, you make it sound like a bad thing.”

“I’m not making it sound like anything. I’m just saying what we both already knew, Jenna.  You’re getting ready to go. It was just a matter of time.”

“Oh, so now I’m a terrible person for not wanting to hang around Greenfield for the rest of my life?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

“Don’t tell me what I meant,” he bites.  “You’re not the kind to settle, Jenna.  That’s all I’m saying.  You’re the kind who has big plans for a better life.  And that doesn’t include this town or the people in it.  We both knew that.  And it was fun while it lasted.  No reason to drag it out.”

That hurts.  I told him I love him less than twenty-four hours ago.  Although it
does
seems like an eternity now, Rusty acts like it never happened, like I never had any feelings for him.  He makes it sound as though we were a convenient way to pass my time in Greenfield, nothing more.  Like we were destined for failure.

“Wow,” I say, trying to keep the hurt from my voice.  I dig deep for a little bit of pride to help me get out of this without making things worse than they already are.  “You’ve got me all figured out then, don’t you, Rusty?”

“It is what it is, Jenna.”

“I guess I won’t be bothering you anymore then.”  Head held high, I stride across the room toward the door.  I make each step as long as I can, giving Rusty every chance to stop me.  To tell me I’m wrong. To ask me to stay.

But he doesn’t.  When he speaks, it’s just to tell me goodbye.

“I wish you well, Jenna,” Rusty says softly as I pull the curtain back.  I don’t turn around when I answer.

“Thanks, Rusty.  You, too.”

When I let the curtain fall behind me, I
do
run this time.  I run until I’m in an empty floor in an empty elevator, holding a handful of tears.