CHAPTER SEVEN
Scarlett
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
I swatted at what had to be a bug flying around my face, then covered my eyes as the light burned into my retinas through my eyelids. The buzzing started again, and I groaned, rolling over on my bed.
No. This didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel like my bed, my room.
I cracked an eye open, still shading them from the light streaming in the window. Then it hit me, and I jerked straight up. A hotel window. His hotel window. And there was light.
Holy crap.
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
I lunged for my phone on the floor, falling off the bed in the process. Finally fumbling it from my purse, I gasped when I saw it was Melinda, the charge nurse. I was on my feet in an instant. I didn’t even need to know the time to know I was late for my shift. The bright light outside was evidence enough.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I overslept. I’m on my way.” The words rushed out of me as I grabbed my bag and searched for my clothes. I found them folded nicely over a chair. Oh, how sweet. He had done that. Sadness tried to sink its claws in me but I had no time to allow that to happen.
“When can you be here?” she asked, her voice the very definition of annoyed. I’d never been late. Not once, so you’d think she’d cut me some slack, especially after staying late last night.
“I’m not sure. I’m near JFK,” I admitted, running into the bathroom, the adrenaline throbbing through my system.
“What are you doing there?” she snapped even though it wasn’t any of her business.
I tossed the clothes and my bag on the counter. That was when I noticed that my mystery man’s toiletries were gone. He really was gone. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
“Scarlett!”
I snapped to attention and took a deep breath before answering my supervisor. “I stayed with a friend. I can be ready in ten minutes, there in thirty if the traffic isn’t horrible. Or should I take the subway?” I’d never needed to take the subway from anywhere close to the airport because I’d never been on a plane.
I pushed the mute button and peed as fast as I could while Melinda spoke. “Traffic is always horrible, but I don’t think you’ll have any better luck. The stops to get from there to here are ridiculous.” I heard her yell at someone, asking about subway times. “Scarlett is near JFK. What’s the best way for her to get here this time of day?”
I could hear my coworkers yelling out suggestions about the subway versus the bus versus taking a cab. My phone beeped at me, and I looked to see that my battery was almost completely drained. “Melinda, I’m jumping in the shower. My phone is almost dead. Can you text me?”
“Sure.” She still sounded annoyed. “See you soon.”
Diving into the shower before the water even warmed up, I hit the high spots, wincing as I soaped between my legs. Geez, I was sore. I didn’t even have time to dwell on how or by whom I’d gotten that way before I was drying off and pulling on my clothes.
His shirt. He’d left it for me like he said he would. Just seeing it caused me to nearly burst into tears. I held it up to my nose, breathing in his scent.
He’d just left. No, goodbye. No, it’s been fun. No, nothing.
Even though I’d known it was coming, and even though I didn’t regret our night together, I was sad. And I didn’t have time to be sad. I didn’t have time for anything.
I yanked on the shirt and dug into my bag for an elastic so I could pull the crazy mess on top of my head into a ponytail that still looked crazy but contained. Stuffing my feet in my shoes, I grabbed a hand full of strawberries, then took a last glimpse around the room.
A room I’d never forget. A man I’d never forget.
From the bedroom door, I looked longingly at the glass of orange juice on the night stand, wishing I had time to drink it, thinking how kind it was for him to place it there for me.
My phone buzzed, and it was a text from Melinda, instructing me to just take a cab. Crap. My battery was at one percent, but I managed to send an ok, on my way message before it died completely. Without a backward glance, I stuffed my feet into my shoes, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed out of the door.
It took an hour to get there, and if I’d worn different shoes that didn’t pinch my pinky toes, I would have just gotten out and ran. Ran from the memories of his smile. His laugh. His gentle playfulness. His ferocious eyes, his growl when he came. The tattoo that was so interesting, so complex. The tree of life hidden within it… so much like mine.
Why had I suggested we not introduce ourselves? Last night, the game had been fun. In the light of day, I just felt… hell, I didn’t even know how I felt. Just sad.
When the tall outline of the hospital was in sight, I opened my bag and pulled out the eye drops I carried with me everywhere, then slicked my mango flavored Chap Stick over my lips.
A block from the hospital, I just paid the taxi driver the exorbitant amount for the fair, then ran the rest of the way. Rushing onto the labor and delivery floor, I ran past the nursing station to a hail of “it’s about time” and “slacker” and “you’re in biiiig trouble” good-naturedly tossed my way. I shot them a smile as I flew past and burst into the locker room where I kept an arsenal of everything I might possibly ever need in my locker.
Dragging on a fresh pair of scrubs, I rolled deodorant under my arms, then under my breasts because I was already sweating there too. I brushed my teeth, nearly tearing my gums out as I scrubbed the enamel off while simultaneously pulling on socks and expensive — but worth every penny of it — shoes that felt like a dream on my feet.
Taking a deep breath, I put on my calmest expression before heading to face my coworkers, trying not to waddle as the increasing sting in my lady parts demanded to be felt.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to Naomi, the nurse who I had forced to stay late after a long night.
She flashed me a tired smile. “Don’t you dare sorry me. I’m the reason you probably overslept. Remember, I was late covering for you last night. Just glad you’re okay.”
Was I okay?
I thought of my mystery man flying to some unknown destination. Or hell, that story might have been a lie and he was probably with his girlfriend or fiancée or…
The thing was, I didn’t think so. For some gullible reason, I trusted him. Believed him. Missed him.
Goodness, how did a person move forward knowing they’d probably never meet anyone as perfect as the one lost to them? Would any other man stack up, or would I forever compare him to my one-night stand?
I spent a half hour with Naomi, listening to her catch me up on our patients, which took my mind off everything else. She’d already discharged one — not my diva mom, unfortunately — so that took a little of the post-delivery education off my shoulders.
Little Marie Claire was in the NICU, I learned. The meconium in the amniotic fluid had gotten into her tiny lungs, and they were watching her closely for pneumonia. Naomi rolled her eyes when I asked how the baby’s mom was doing. She needed to not say more.
“Scarlett!”
I jerked my head in Melinda’s direction, who was holding a phone out to me. “It’s your friend, Amy. She wants to know if you’re alive or if she needs to call in the National Guard.” Melinda wiggled her eyebrows. “She also asked if you were able to walk.”
All eyes swung to me, and I felt myself blush. Naomi nudged me with her elbow. “Stayed with a friend, huh? Maybe I wasn’t the one who caused you to oversleep. I want all the juicy details later.”
I’d always loved my red hair. I even had a friendship with my freckles, knowing how lucky I was for them to be more of a light smattering than a full body assault. But my fair skin that refused to tan no matter what I did was another thing, it might not tan, but it sure changed a different kind of color. Pink.
I blushed.
Not just when I was embarrassed. I blushed at everything.
When I was excited. Happy. Sad. It didn’t matter.
When Olivia singsonged, “I think Scar got some beans and franks last night,” I felt the blush creeping up into my hair.
Being a nurse meant that nothing was private. We talked about the color of our poop, the heaviness of our monthly flow. We bent over and pulled down our pants so someone could check a mole or whether a hemorrhoid was getting bigger.
I knew how much sex everyone was or wasn’t having. How good or boring it was. If their spouse or boyfriend was getting it or keeping it up. It didn’t matter. No subject was off the table.
Trying not to snatch the phone from Melinda’s hand, I pressed it to my ear. “I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Yikes. It was Amy’s teacher voice, and I was suddenly twelve years old.
Aware that everyone was listening, I muttered, “I overslept and the battery in my phone died.”
“But you’re okay?” I could almost see her raised eyebrow and felt the school teacher melt away.
“Yes. I’m good.”
“Only good?”
I rolled my eyes and turned to face my coworkers. Yep, they were still staring at me. I turned my back on them again. “Can we talk about this later?”
She growled into the phone. “I guess. Burgers at Max’s tonight? Say, eight?”
She wasn’t going to let me out of this. “Sure. If I’m running late, I’ll let you know.”
I jumped when she yelled, “Don’t run!” to one of the students. “Sorry, these hellions are driving me crazy. See you later. I’ve got to go.”
Feeling Melinda’s gaze burning into my back, I quickly said, “Me too. Bye.”
A call bell went off as I hung up the phone, and everyone groaned at the interruption. I glanced at the board. “That’s me.” Even though it was the diva, I was thrilled to get away from the lovingly prying eyes.
Instead of using the intercom, I went straight to Mrs. Harlington-Worthington, the Fifth’s room, grabbing a handful of antibacterial foam along the way. I knocked softly, then went in when I heard her call out. In a different silk gown this time, a matching robe left open, Mrs. HW5 stood next to her bed. She lifted her chin when she saw me. “It’s about time.”
I shut the door behind me, letting it click softly instead of slamming like I wanted it to. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
She pointed to the floor, and I followed the direction of her finger to see something that had rolled under the nightstand. “I dropped my mascara.”
It took the power of a thousand gods to not roll my eyes or suggest she get one of her “people” to fetch it for her. Instead, I got down, wincing as my hips protested the movement, then fetched it out before walking to the sink to wash it off and re-sanitize my hands.
When I turned to return the mascara to its owner, I was surprised to see her standing there in tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She began to shake, and I rushed to her side, urging her back into bed.
She was sore, hurting, probably scared for her baby, but there was also something deeper than that. When I got her settled, I went into the bathroom, rinsed a washrag with cool water, and came back to begin washing her makeup-streaked face.
“Shhh…” I soothed, amazed at how different she looked under the mask she put on for the world. Soft. Very pretty. “You’re so lovely.” I instinctively knew that was what she needed to hear, but I needed to know, “What’s wrong? On a scale of one to ten, what level is your pain?”
She snorted. “A billion and four, but that isn’t the problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Giselle quit,” she wailed. Literally wailed. If she wasn’t hurting so much, she probably would have thrashed her arms and legs.
It took me more than a few seconds to remember who Giselle was. The stylist. And I really couldn’t blame her. I would have bailed too.
“I’m sorry.”
Mrs. HW5 sniffed. “She called me terrible names.” She shot me a sidelong look and lowered her voice. “A pretentious, diva bitch.”
I feigned shock. “That is terrible. Sounds like you’re better off without her.”
But Mrs. HW5 was shaking her head. “You don’t understand. I need her. I can’t…” She began to cry again, and I went into the bathroom for a fresh washcloth.
“You can’t what?” I asked when I got back, wiping her face again.
“My husband can’t see me like this,” she whispered.
I frowned and smoothed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Crying? Surely, he’ll understand that you’ve been through a great deal. An emergency C-section is scary. Naomi told me you didn’t sleep well last night because of the pain. Your sweet baby is sick. That’s a lot to cry about. Plus, you aren’t eating which doesn’t help.”
She shook her head. “Not that. It’s just that… well, he’s never seen me without makeup before.”
I blinked. She was still worried about that? After all that she had been through?
She swiped at her eyes. “I know that sounds terrible. Maybe Giselle is right and I am a pretentious bitch.”
Pretentious diva bitch, I silently added.
“Maybe you should let him see you more natural today,” I offered. “You really are beautiful just the way you are. And you just gave him a child and—”
“You don’t understand. He left his other wives because he said they let themselves go downhill after they had kids.”
My teeth squeaked, I gritted them together so hard. “Oh, honey.” I squeezed her hand, and she began to cry again. “Do you love him?”
She nodded, sniffing back the tears. “I really do. There’s a side to him that can be very kind and playful. And he’s so very generous. There are times when he treats me like a precious queen.”
“What about the other side?”
She looked up at me, but her gaze fell just as quickly. “The other side is very controlling and… harsh.”
I licked my lips. “Do you feel safe with him?”
Her head jerked up. “Yes. Yes, of course. He’s not harsh like that. He’s intense, you know? A bit set in his ways. He likes things the way he likes them, and because of who he is, he always gets what he wants.”
I squeezed her hand again. “I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t want you just like this.”
Her face crumpled. “I don’t know. You should have seen the prenup I signed. There were conditions about my weight and staying within five pounds of what I was when we got married.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. Like I said, he likes what he likes. There was a clause that gave me three months to get back to pre-pregnancy weight if I had a baby. If I don’t, our contract is null and void.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She sighed. “I tried to fix my own face but everything hurts so bad, even my shoulders.” She winced. “Especially my shoulders.”
“That’s the gas from the surgery.”
She groaned but a smile played on her mouth. “Just what I need, to pass gas in front of Henry. He’ll divorce me for sure.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a clause in the prenup against that too? Thou shall not fart?”
She laughed, then grabbed her belly, gasping in pain.
“Sorry about that. Breathe,” I encouraged her and took a noisy inhale through my nose, waiting for her to follow. After a bit, she relaxed.
“This is worse than the contractions.”
“You had a major surgery last night, Mrs. Harlington-Worthington, the Fifth,” I reminded her. “I’ll have a rocking chair brought in. Moms often say that helps. I’ll get a heating pad for your shoulders and check your med schedule to see when you can next have something for pain. We’ll get you walking more too. And I insist that you have to eat something. Will you?”
She sighed, poked her finger at her stomach, then nodded. “Maybe some sugar-free Jell-O.”
“And maybe some broth too?”
She grumbled out a, “Yes.”
I looked at the makeup case on her rolling tray. “I need to check on a laboring patient, but when I get back, I’ll help you put on some makeup.”
She blinked rapidly at me. “You will?” Doubt spread over her features. “You can?”
I decided not to be insulted. I didn’t have a speck of makeup covering my deformities. She actually had pretty good reason to have serious reservations about my ability to wield anything other than a tube of Chap Stick.
“Sure. I doubt I’ll be very good, but I have a steady hand and if you tell me what to do, I can follow directions.”
She continued to blink as the tip of her nose turned pink. “Thank you.”
I patted her hand a last time. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
As I opened the door, she called out, “Scarlett.”
I was shocked that she remembered my name. “Yes?”
“Call me Celine.”
I smiled and nodded. “I’ll be back soon, Celine. Rest for a bit. Everything will be all right.”
***
As I expected, dinner with Amy was like facing a firing squad, except that the bullets came in the form of questions being shot in my direction at what felt like eighty miles per second.
When she had eeked out every detail of my night with the mystery man, she sat back in her chair and lifted her tea to her lips. “I still can’t believe you don’t know his name,” she said and I plopped my face into my hands.
“I know. It was so stupid to insist on that whole fantasy thing, but maybe it’s better this way.”
She pulled one of my hands down. “How so?”
I guzzled a long drink of my tea and began stirring my ketchup with a fry. “He made it clear up-front it was a one-time thing. If I knew his name, I’d probably be tempted to do something stupid like Google him or stalk his social media pages. It would just prolong the agony, seeing his picture with some blonde bombshell.” I picked up my butter knife and stabbed it into my remaining burger. “It’s a clean cut this way.”
Amy sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It just sounds like he was really into you.”
I laughed, hating that it sounded a little bit bitter. “Yeah, he was. Deep into me.”
And I could still almost feel it.
She pointed her fork at me. “Your face.” I brought my hand up to my mouth, wondering if I had ketchup all over it. Amy rolled her eyes. “Not that. It’s just your expression. You seem so, I don’t know. Lost.”
Lonely.
The memory of me telling him that swept over me, the look in his eyes as he pushed me back down on the bed immediately afterwards and kissed me for what seemed like an hour.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Scar.”
I made a heart in my ketchup, realized what I’d done, and erased it away, dropping the fry and sitting back in my seat. “That’s because you haven’t seen me post one-night stand in… um, let’s see… never.”
She snorted. “It’s not just that.” She shook her head, eyeing me closely. “Do you regret going with him?”
My answer was immediate. “No. But I do wonder if I’ll ever find anyone who can make me feel the way I felt with him.” I dropped my chin onto my fist, needing it to prop my tired head up. “He was perfect. Good-looking. Built. Brooding but also open. Serious but also funny. Rough but also gentle.”
“Whew.” Amy used a napkin to fan her face, making me smile.
“Hot, yes. He was sooo hot. And you should have seen his tattoo. He had a tree of life in it. It was surrounded by all these jagged lines and things, but I could make it out easily.”
“Like yours,” Amy murmured, her face filled with sympathy.
“Yes. And he seemed really into my tattoo as well. The scar didn’t even seem to faze him.”
“Well, it’s not like it makes you hideous, Scarlett.” Amy’s teacher voice was back. “Even before the tattoo, it wasn’t that noticeable.”
It was my junior year in college when I’d gotten the tree inked onto my body. I’d always loved trees. Not the big, perfectly formed ones, but the broken ones that grew out of the ground in an unexpected way. For some reason, they touched me with their strength and resilience.
And now I was crying. Not sobbing, but a few hot drops escaped my eyes.
Amy moved from her side of the booth to mine, wrapping an arm around me. “Scar, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to bring the bad memories back.”
My man. His angry face. The knife. My brother making me hide.
“Scar…”
I mentally shook the memories away. “It’s okay. I think I’m just really tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Amy looked at her watch. It was after nine. “Dinner’s my treat. You go on and get to bed. You’re off tomorrow, right?”
I nodded. “I’m off for the next two days.”
“Doing anything fun?”
I laughed. “Classes and studying, of course.”
When I wasn’t working, my nose was in a book as I worked toward my master’s degree in nursing. My goal was to become a certified midwife, but that was still a few years away.
I had a lot on my plate. I just needed to put mystery man out of my mind and get on with the rest of my life.
***
That was what I tried to do for the next couple weeks. Forget him while working long shifts at the hospital or spent equally long days in the classroom or at my computer, trying to keep my grades up so that all my student loans wouldn’t be for nothing.
I was so tired as the leaves began to change on the trees and the nights grew a little bit cooler. I started taking extra vitamins and drinking additional protein smoothies to boost my immune system and give me some additional energy.
When my mind went to him, as it often did, I gently pushed the memory away and got busy with whatever it was I’d been doing. It was hard not thinking of him, not wishing I’d bump into him on the street. It was hard to not touch myself, closing my eyes and pretending it was his fingers making me come.
I found myself wondering what he was doing. Where he was. If he ever thought about me too. The last part was the hardest. Had he just walked out of that room without a qualm? Was I forgotten before he stepped out of the hotel?
I hated the self-doubt that accompanied those questions, and I vowed to never, ever, have a one-night stand again if this was the mental crap that came after it.
When I missed my period, I just stared at the calendar, convincing myself that it was just stress, too many long hours and too little sleep. That had to be the problem. When I was a week late, I still couldn’t face the probability of what was happening.
“Let me in!”
It was Amy, of course, knocking like a crazy person on my apartment door and barging into the tiny space. Without another word, she thrust a bag out at me, then pointed her finger at the bathroom.
The pregnancy test felt like a live bomb ticking in my hand, and my fingers shook as I held it under the stream of urine. As it lay on my bathroom counter, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it came alive and sank massive teeth into me.
“It’ll be okay,” Amy said beside me as we both stared at the test, watching the little window turn from a bright white to a dull-looking gray as the urine saturated it. “No matter what, it will be okay.”
“We used condoms,” I said in a tiny voice as the first pink line appeared. Amy already knew that, but I felt the need to repeat it. I hadn’t been stupid. I hadn’t been naive or lazy. We had used condoms. We had been adults. Took precautions.
In my mind, I could see Ross on Friends screaming, “They should put it in huge black letters!” after Rachel told him that condoms were only ninety-seven percent effective.
In fact, the success rate was ninety-eight percent if used correctly, so that still left two out of one hundred women who stood looking at a pregnancy test as anxiously as me.
“Maybe my vagina really does have fangs,” I said, my voice on the edge of hysterical as a cackle immediately followed.
Amy’s head whipped around. “What?”
But I was laughing too hard to respond. Well, sort of, because there were also tears streaming down my face. Then the laughter stopped completely because, beside the first pink line, a second line began to appear. It was faint, but it was there.
“Oh, Scarlett.”
They said that your life flashed in front of your eyes just before your life ended. That was also true when your life ended in a different way. I’d been on a course, a journey. I’d had plans. I’d been implementing those plans.
One night changed everything.
I had choices, of course. I could make this all disappear if I wanted to. I tucked that thought into my pocket as Amy led me back into the little living room and made me some tea.
I took another test the next morning — positive.
I went to work and took another test there — positive.
I had Olivia draw my blood and we sent it to the lab in a covert maneuver that would have probably gotten my ass fired if, surprisingly enough, Melinda hadn’t insisted I do it.
I hadn’t said a word to either of them. It was like they knew.
And that result was positive as well. I was…
Knocked up by a stranger.
A tall, dark-haired, amber-eyed stranger who I couldn’t stop thinking about. And when I decided to keep the baby, I cried, hoping he or she would have those amber eyes too.
It looked like my mystery man left me something besides his shirt to remember him by after all.