Page 20 of Sexy as Sin
Willow leaned against the wall and watched a seventy-something woman in a hospital gown and slipper-socks walk down the corridor, her steps tiny and halting. She was leaning on her husband. Surely, that was her husband. His arm was around her, the other hand threaded firmly through hers, his head bent to her own. Her face was pale, nearly gray, and so were her lips. Her just-colored, defiantly red hair was mussed, the gown was shapeless, and he still looked as tender, as glad to be the one holding her hand, as he must have on the day she’d walked down the aisle to him.
The woman turned her head, smiled at Willow on their way past, and said, “Evening constitutional. First day up.”
“You’re going well,” Willow said.
Her husband said, “She is. She’s a trooper.” They passed on, and Willow watched their slow progress and blinked back a stupid tear or two. The woman probably fussed when her husband hogged the remote, and he probably thought she spent too much time with her sister, but she’d bet that when they got into the car, he still held her door.
Love stories weren’t only for the young and beautiful. She knew that. She also knew that she was still feeling fragile after that terrible wait in the sun, and then the endless ride in the ambulance. Sitting beside Brett, holding his hand and talking to him as if she really were the one who belonged there. Telling him he’d be all right, that she was with him and she wouldn’t leave. Not knowing if he could even hear her, but hoping he’d be comforted, somehow.
Surely he’d wanted her hand there. He’d held it as hard as that man had done just now, with his wife. Everybody needed somebody special, didn’t they? Everybody needed tobesomebody special to someone. Or at least to pretend.
What, she suddenly wondered, had her parents said to each other as the plane spiraled down toward the desert floor? They’d held hands. That, she knew for sure. Her mother would have been glad to have her husband there with her at the end. Her father, though? He’d have wished his wife were anywhere else. He’d have wished to be doing it alone, that she was safe.
As for Willow? She’d always had someplace to go, somebody to be with. Even when she’d been alone, there’d been people waiting in the wings to take her in. She’d lost her parents, but she’d still been lucky. Had Brett?
Also, what the bloody hell was she doing? He was on a business trip. She had a business of her own. She had alife.A good one.
The aide came out of his room, closed the door behind her, and told Willow, “He says you can go in now.”
“Cheers,” Willow said, and pushed off the wall.
“Lovely man,” the aide said. “You can tell by how they are in here. Powerless is never a bloke’s favorite spot, and he’s clearly not one who’s used to it, and still, always a smile and a word of thanks. Have you known each other long?”
Willow didnotask whether “not used to it” had anything to do with the results of the undie-wrestling. She didn’t need to speculate about that. Instead, she said, “No. I’m a... his temporary companion.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “Well, that’s not what I expected.”
Willow realized what she’d said, wanted to laugh at the look on the aide’s face, and decided to let it go. She needed to retain some cheekiness here. This was a rescue mission, shewasthe temporary companionship, and she’d best remember it.
“Hey,” she said when she’d slipped through the door again. Brett was sweating. That had hurt heaps. No surprise. She detoured to the sink, wet a few paper towels, and took them over to him. “Fair warning,” she told him before sitting down and pulling out the cooler of ice blocks. “The staff now thinks I’m a prostitute, hired for the duration. Who knows what we’re doing in here? You’d have to have heaps of stamina.”
He made a choking noise, then finished wiping his face, and she took the paper towels back, tossed them in the bin, and asked, “Red, yellow, or green?”
“Oh, red,” he said. “I always ask my prostitutes for red Popsicles before we get down to business. What did you say? I can’t wait.”
“Said I was the temporary companionship.” She took a green one for herself, then zipped the cooler again. “Sounded bad, I guess. This last one will keep a bit. Do you mind if I put my feet up on the edge of the bed? Also, what are we watching on our fake date?”
“Hey,” he said, “I put on clean underwear and everything. That makes it a real date. Also, eating this is reminding me that I’m starved. I hope that smoothie’s still good, and that you brought something for yourself. I hate to eat alone. And as far as the movie? Let’s watch a romance.”
It was eight o’clock on Sunday morning, and Willow had been working for well over an hour already. Her schedule was much too tight to allow her to visit Brett before today’s wedding, which was surely just as well. And, yes, she may have been pulling out her phone to text him, but anybody would do the same. He was in hospital in a foreign country where he knew almost nobody. It was only kind.
He’d given her his mobile number the night before, along with his wry smile. “In case I need an emergency Popsicle run,” he’d said. “Or in case you have bad dreams about sharks. I’ll be right here, with nothing to do but listen.” He’d been looking pretty faded at the time, though. Too much pain, and too much denial of it.
She’d wanted to kiss his cheek, and hadn’t. Why not, though? She could kiss a man’scheek.A man who was lying helpless in bed.
That was the problem. He never actually looked all that helpless.
I’ll come see you tonight, if you like,she typed now.How are you going this morning? Undies working out OK?Easy-breezy, that was the ticket. No overenthusiastic hearts need apply.
I’d like,he answered. Immediately, so he was awake.And I’m good. How about you? Dreams OK?
Dreams may have been a bit fraught,she found herself confessing.Long day.
Hard to control those dreams. Good news. I’m getting my laptop today. Will have earned another movie date with a redhead by tonight. Maybe I can make it good for the redhead too. Bring me another smoothie? Would offer to buy you dinner, but don’t think it’d meet your standards. They keep giving me Jell-O. And none of your business about the undies. Third date rule. I’m hard to get.
She laughed out loud, then typed,You are? Really? Got a favorite?
Movie? Or redhead? I liked your choice last night. And that would be you. And no not really. I’m easy to get.
