With Malice (3 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Just come back in the morning.”

She shifted in her seat again. I could tell she wanted to go. She was practically holding herself back from bolting out the door. “If it won't bother you, I wouldn't mind a long, hot shower.”

“Just go,” I said.

Mom stood and shoved her needlepoint into her Coach tote. “If you want me to return, even if it's the middle of the night, ask one of the nurses to give me a buzz.”

I rolled my eyes like she was being absurd, although now that she was actually pulling on her spring coat, I didn't want her to leave. “I think I can make it until morning.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I'm glad you're awake.”

“Me too.” My throat felt tight, like I might start crying. “Hey, do you know where my—” Another hole opened up, swallowing a word. When I closed my eyes, I could picture it. The screen lighting up, the chirping sound it made when a text came in. I held my pinkie finger to my mouth and my thumb to my ear. “My cally thing.”

“Your phone?”

I nodded, filing the word away.
Phone.

“Sorry, honey, it was broken in the accident.”

“Can you pick up another one for me?”

Her mouth pinched. “A phone isn't our big priority right now,” she said.

“I just want to text a couple of people,” I said. I prayed I wasn't going to get a lecture on how, if I couldn't take care of my stuff, maybe I didn't deserve nice things or how everyone was addicted to their technology.

Mom pulled the belt on her coat tight. “Focus on getting better first.” She leaned down and pecked me on the forehead, then swept out the door.

As soon as she was gone, I had to clench my mouth shut to keep from calling her back. It was totally silent except for the beep and clicking of the IV machine by my side. I knew it was absurd, but I was suddenly certain that there was nothing outside of the room. That if I'd been able to get up and make it to the door, there would have been just some kind of void where the hallway was supposed to be.

I swallowed. I felt panicky and knew I had to get control. Last summer when my mom was out of town visiting her sister, Simone came over. We watched a bunch of horror movies and ended up freaking ourselves out. When a raccoon tripped the motion sensor light on the patio outside, the two of us had started screaming like a guy with a chainsaw had been beating on the door. We'd scared ourselves over nothing, and this was the same thing. I was perfectly safe.

I still left the light on.

What the heck is in Jell-O, anyway?
I poked it with my spoon, and it jiggled in its assigned slot on the tray like a blob of cherry-flavored cellulite. The hospital kitchen didn't do much to inspire patients to be a part of the clean-plate club. That was saying a lot, because I was starving. I hadn't been allowed any solid food the day before the surgery, and postsurgery I'd been allowed only clear liquids. Today was my first real food day, and so far I wasn't impressed. Tish, my favorite nurse, had promised to sneak me a mint chocolate-chip milk shake from 31 Flavors when her shift started. I'd have lost my mind if it weren't for her. She was the only one who acted remotely normal around me. Everyone else was either freakishly cultlike perky or treated me like I was part of the furniture.

My door swished open, and Lisa, the day nurse, came in. I was pretty sure she liked me better when I was unconscious. I'd tried everything to charm her, but she hardly even spoke to me. She bustled over and checked my IV and changed the bag with a smooth, practiced movement.

“Dumping rain, huh?” I said.

She glanced over at the window as if she were just noticing there was an outdoors. Who knew? Maybe she lived in the supply closet on the ward. She made a noncommittal noise, which I took to mean
Why, yes, it is raining. Now that we've discussed the weather, let's have a nice girly chat about movies or the world geopolitical situation.

“Any news about the TV?” I asked. The hospital rooms didn't come with one. You had to order it for an extra fee. I was desperate for some bad TV to pass the time.

She stiffened. Great, now I'd offended her. She probably felt like she had enough to do saving lives without having to track down my entertainment.

“I know it's not your fault. I bet this stuff takes . . . a long time.” I snorted like we were in this together, having to deal with slow hospital bureaucracy, as if I hadn't forgotten the word I wanted to use.

“You should ask your mother about the television,” Lisa said. She left without another word. Yet another fail in my effort to win her over.

I flopped back on the pillows. I was bored. Beyond bored. My mom had brought a couple of books and a stack of magazines, but reading, even for a few minutes, gave me a raging headache. If I kept trying to read despite the headache, I got nauseated, too. I still didn't have a phone, either. Mom said there would be time for me to talk to everyone when I was transferred to the rehab hospital. Until then, she would update everyone for me. She didn't want me to wear myself out. We'd fought about it yesterday, and she won with the parental favorite:
Because I'm your mother, that's why.

I was a bit ticked at my friends. There might be rules about who could visit, but it seemed like they should try. Sneak in if they had to. I would have done it for Simone. Considering she'd once broken into the school through a small window in the bathroom to get a pair of shoes she left in her locker and just
had
to wear on the weekend, it seemed like she could slink past a nurse and see me. She and Tara could come up with some kind of scheme and make it work.

My leg itched under the cast. I wanted to dig my nails in and scratch, but that wasn't allowed either. The list of things I couldn't do was long. I knew I should be glad that I was mostly okay, but I felt sorry for myself. My dad had come by only once since I'd woken up. He sent flowers. Some weird orange and purple things that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi movie instead of a vase. I was willing to bet they were expensive. Nothing common like roses from him. I was also willing to bet his admin assistant had ordered them for me.

“Hello!” Two of the care aides bustled in, breaking me out of my funk. They didn't speak the best English, but they were really nice. They seemed impossibly tiny, but their size was deceptive. They were freakishly strong. One of them filled my water pitcher while the other started bustling around the room.

“We change your linens,” the aide announced. She pulled a wheelchair up next to my bed and dropped the armrest on one side. She patted for me to move to the edge. “Okay, put your good foot on the ground, then you lean on me. I swing you over. Leave your leg with cast on the bed.” My stomach rolled with unease. If I jostled my leg, it was going to really hurt.

“I'm not sure—” I sat up, and in one swoop, she had my butt in the wheelchair. She put up the side with a click and then raised the leg rest so it was even with the seat and moved my casted leg over. The IV bag clipped to the pole on the chair. If she wanted, she probably could have bench pressed me over her head without breaking a sweat.

She clapped her hands together, and her shiny black hair swayed back and forth like a curtain. “There. Done. You wait two minutes, we get you right back.” The aide pulled the sheets from the bed with a swoosh, like a magician removing a tablecloth. They were like a tiny Asian version of Penn and Teller. They chattered back and forth to each other in a language I didn't understand.

That's when I got the idea. I rolled the chair slightly forward. I looked out the open door. Just down the hall, there was a waiting room, no doubt full of uncomfortable furniture and outdated magazines. I could see a vending machine down there. Non-Jell-O snacks. I could hear a TV. Then I saw it hanging on the wall—a phone with a giant
LOCAL CALLS ONLY
sign above it. That was it. I was calling Simone. If she wouldn't reach out to me, I'd get in touch with her.

“I'm just going to get some air,” I said. Neither of the aides looked up from what they were doing. I pushed the wheels forward. My heart was pounding like I was sneaking out for a wild weekend instead of going down the corridor. I stopped just outside the room. Everyone moved around at what seemed like a thousand miles an hour.

Pull your shit together,
I admonished myself. If I stayed there much longer gawping at everything, Lisa or another nurse was going to notice and roll me right back into my room. I pushed myself down the hall. My leg on the raised footrest stuck straight out from the chair, like the prow of a ship. I said a quick prayer that no one would run into it, because I was certain I would end up writhing on the floor in pain while Lisa and my mom stood over me telling me they'd told me so.

There was a metal cart parked halfway down the hall. I paused. I could see a distorted reflection of myself in it. At least I hoped it was distorted. I touched my swollen forehead, my finger tracing the stitches that made a black line down to my eyebrow.
Let's hope
InStyle
calls for the Frankenstein look for summer.
My lower lip was also puffy, and my hair hung lifeless and greasy. Maybe my mom was right about not having a lot of visitors for a while. I pressed a bit on my swollen bruised lip, wanting to feel something. I knew I'd been in an accident, but it almost felt like it had happened to someone else. It was like pain was the only thing grounding me in the here and now.

Time to get moving. I pushed the chair along. My arms were already tired and my shoulders sore. There were deep scratches down both of my forearms as if I'd taken a swan dive through a window. Simone had better be grateful for this call. I was going to need a nap by the time I was done. Clearly, I hadn't been doing enough cardio before the accident. I was in crap shape.

The TV in the lounge was showing
Judge Judy.
She was eviscerating some white-trash guy who'd stiffed his girlfriend on a giant cell-phone bill. Then she turned on the girlfriend for being stupid enough to buy him the phone in the first place.
Beauty fades; stupid is forever. Sing it, sister.

I stopped in front of the vending machine, my mouth watering. SunChips, Doritos, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, packages of artificial-ingredient-stuffed oatmeal cookies, Mounds bars.
Oh, coconut-filled Mounds. Only you understand me.
My hand pressed against the glass. Then it hit me. I didn't have any money. Not a cent. My bag wasn't in my hospital room either. My mom must have it.
Shit.
I glanced around to see if there was anyone who might lend a girl a dollar for a snack treat. The waiting room was empty. I couldn't get a break.

It didn't matter. Simone would bring food when she came to visit. It was a mystery how she stayed so thin. My mom called her the locust. She could clean out a pantry in no time straight. I only had to look at a cupcake, and my butt would start getting larger. Simone said I was curvy, but everyone knows that's best-friend-speak for pushing chunky.

I picked up the phone and dialed. Thank God, Simone's number was still in my head and hadn't fallen into one of the black holes. I clutched the receiver and waited for her to pick up, but the number just rang and rang. Her voicemail didn't pick up. Shit. I couldn't text her without my phone. I hung up and decided to leave a message for her on her home landline.

I was shocked when her mom picked up. She was never home in the middle of the day. “Hey, Ms. M,” I said.

“Jill? Why are you calling here?” Her voice was ragged.

There was a loud rustle and then Simone's dad got on the phone. “Jill, you shouldn't have called. We have nothing to say. I made that very clear to your mother.” He slammed the phone down.

I pulled the receiver back and stared at it. I waited for something in my head to click into place and explain what had just happened, but there was the same empty black space. It was possible Simone had blamed me for something to get out of trouble. Her parents could be freakishly strict. Last year they'd found a bottle of vodka hidden in her closet, and she'd convinced them it was mine and she was only hiding it for me. And she wondered why they didn't like me much. She was the wild one, but as far as her parents knew, every bad decision we'd ever made had been my idea. The truth was Simone was the one who double-dared me to do everything from stealing lip gloss from Walmart in seventh grade to drawing mustaches on Heidi Villers's student-council election posters.

“It looks like you're up and about,” a voice said behind me.

I spun the chair around, and a guy in a suit stood there. He had almost a military look, short hair and one of those superhero jawlines.
Figures a good-looking guy would approach me the one time I look like something the cat hacked up on the rug.

“Jill Charron, isn't it?”

Was this someone else I'd met and forgotten? How those dimples could have disappeared from my mind was a mystery. I smiled at him and tucked a lank piece of hair behind my ear.

“How are you feeling?” He leaned against the wall.

“Getting . . .” The word vanished. “Getting improved.” I winced. That was the wrong word. What were the odds he was into dirty hair, stitches,
and
someone who was inarticulate?

“Glad to hear it.” He graciously ignored my screwup. “Are you game to answering a few questions?”

“I'm not really supposed to be out of bed,” I admitted.

“C'mon. I'll buy you a Mountain Dew,” he offered, motioning to the vending machine.

“How about a Mounds bar?” I countered. My mouth started to water.

“Done.” He reached into his pockets and pulled out some change.

Good-looking
and
willing to buy chocolate. Simone would die when she saw him. If he was the promised physiotherapist, she would make a crack about how he could lay hands on her anytime he wanted. He was totally her type, with the dark hair and smoldering eyes. Simone had a thing for good boys who acted like they were bad. Ryan, her last conquest, was always quoting the poet Kahlil Gibran because he thought it made him sound deep, but he spelled the guy's name wrong and he wore Lands' End polo shirts. The vending machine whirred and dropped the candy. He passed me the chocolate.