Reba – People In Glass Houses 7

Clint stirred on the ER bed and Reba woke with a start from the rocking chair she slept in. She looked at her watch – 5:30 AM. Sheesh. She had never sat up with a client in the hospital before. Her commission had better be extra cheesy. But then again, she'd never sold a house in the million-dollar range before. She looked at Clint, who had made a noise, but had gone back into la-la land thanks to massive amounts of antihistamines so powerful they even over rode the steroids they gave him to reduce the swelling.

She had never seen such a swift and dangerous reaction, even with the shot he gave himself. His face and tongue swelled up and by the time the EMTs arrived in three minutes, his trachea was closing –classic anaphalactic shock. The ER doctor told Reba that if he hadn't had the Epipen and if she hadn't called 911 when she did, he would have died. Not maybe. Would have.

He didn't look anything like himself, though the prednisone had lessened the swelling considerably. She hated to admit it, rat that he was, but he looked kind of cute in a vulnerable, kid-like way. Oh, geez, she thought; I'm just doing my usual "Fix-It Reba" thing. That's what got me into the relationship with Brock when I was dating Terry the bar owner (Not the tiny Terry). Terry was a planner,like Reba. He liked to have fun, but he was business-like when he needed to be and rarely made rash decisions. Brock, on the other hand, had been like a big kid, always out for a good time or whatever was easiest. He really did want to be a dentist. And he was a good one. But there were plenty of nights when he was in dental school that she stayed up all night with him calling out origins and insertions of muscles, nerves, and bones. She made him grilled cheese sandwiches in the middle of the night when he came in beat from prosthodontic lab. She even met him in the dean's office for a quickie one weekend when Brock was on emergency call for the hospital and couldn't leave.

He probably would have given up and quit without her pushing and encouraging him. Reba shook her head. She didn't regret it anymore. She just didn't want to be the only grown-up in a relationship. So not only was she not interested in Clint because he was engaged and he had pretended he wasn't, but lying there full of drugs, she could feel herself wanting to rescue him –from what, Shari? – and she knew that was her cue to stay away.

She had phoned Shari, who had to stay for a meeting today but would be on the first flight out tomorrow instead of the following day. Reba thought that was a little weird. Shari was presenting ground-breaking research and as she had told Reba, the doctor said he was fine and would make a full recovery. But Shari should know how the closeness of death requires loved ones' support. Interesting how she could insure her patients got that but not her own future husband.

Reba tiptoed to the nurses' station and asked when they thought Clint might go home. She was told that when his doctor came in around seven she would decide whether to admit him or let him go home.

Within an hour, Reba was driving Clint back to his house. He was still zonked. How the hospital staff ever thought she was going to manage getting him in the house was beyond her. She parked as close to the kitchen door as she could get. The hospital had removed his keys and put them in a bag, so Reba retrieved those and opened the door,praying the alarm system wasn't set. Thank you, Jesus, it wasn't. She went back to the passenger's side and tried to open the door. But Clint was leaning up against it. Reba put her hip to his shoulder and opened the door slowly. Then, she pushed him upright. She thought she might be able to throw Clint over her shoulders like Brock did her when she was trying to beat up Barbara Jean for dying her hair red. She edged her butt up to Clint's stomach threw his arms over her shoulder, and pulled. Nothing.

Reba heaved a huge sigh and called Barbara Jean. Thirty minutes later, Clint was lying fully clothed in his bed.

Barbara Jean licked her lips and glanced at Reba. "Wanna try to undress him?"

"No!" yelled Reba.

"He'd be much more comfortable. I can't sleep in my clothes," whined BJ.

"The man has had enough dope to kill a giant squid. Now he can't be by himself because the nurse said he'll still need to get up and use the bathroom and he needs just fluids for 24 hours."

"So you're going to stay here and do that when he was so horrid to.."

"This is not just a commission, Barbara Jean. This is the right thing to do."

"BJ smirked. "You just want to see his-"

"I am not remotely interested. I am one human helping another human. Stocking up Brownie points in heaven," said Reba.

"Fine," said BJ, "Explain it like you want. Why you want to stick around with Mr. Boring when you could be on a date with cute TERRY..."

"Well, why don't you date him?"

"We're too much alike, and opposites attract. But I'll tell you this: The only thing short about Terry is his height."

Reba winced. "Oh, really, Barbara Jean, I so did NOT want to know that."

Reba called Shari's mom and explained the situation. Ms. Codex said that ordinarily she would come and nurse Gary but since she was already there and she was used to it and he is a preferred client, that she'd let Reba stay on until Shari got back.

Two hours later, Clint's eyes blinked and he asked for some water. Reba brought it to him and then sat down in a comfy chair in the corner of the room. He didn't seem to really be awake. She didn't want to force him to wake up if his body wasn't ready, so she didn't ask him questions or say hi. She took the water, gave him a small but genuine smile, and sat back down as his eyes closed again. She was reading the morning paper, the sunlight hitting the ends of her hair and setting them to glowing like embers. He blinked and stared. Then he stared some more.

"Golden," he said.

"Hm?" said Reba.

"Golden, spun gold," said Clint, slurring his words.

Reba got up and came over. "I'm sorry, Clint, I can't understand you. Now what is it that you need?"

"Hair. Your hair.Spun gold."

"My hair is spun gold? Boy,you are high as a kite. Not spun gold. Five different products, a flatiron and a curling rod. And that was twenty-four hours ago."

She looked at his eyes. They were dilated and having trouble focusing. "C'mere," he slurred, " I wanna tell you something,"

Reba came closer. He said, "You saved my hiney."

"Nah," said Reba,"You did it yourself with that Epipen."

"NNNNNNNo, Reba. You saved me. So I owe you big."

"No, Clint; you would have done the same for me."

"I'm not show sewer. Um, so sure. I tend to be a selfish SOB. Anyway, I want to pay up now. So sit here-" he patted the bed- " - because it's a long story."

Reba did. "OK,if it's a story, that's not a problem. I love stories and they don't gather dust on my coffee table."

Suddenly,Clint grabbed her by the shoulders, tilted her back, pressed his mouth to hers, and grazed her tongue with his. Despite herself, she got a jolt all the way from her toes to the top of her head, with lots of warmth in all the old places. He was now repositioning and she was not stopping him. After all, he was doped up and would never remember this, right? Or he'd remember it like it was a drugged-out dream. But wasn't this taking advantage of a sick person?

Reba, you slut, she said to herself. Pull away. But she hadn't felt like this in so long. Dang, Gary Clinton – or at least DUI Clint – kissed even better than Dr. What's-His-Name. Oh, my soul; she had forgotten Jack Morgan's name for a second! And what was she doing?

She pulled away and looked into Clint's eyes. They were blurry and dopey, for sure, but Reba thought she might have seen some real delight. Or it might just have been the Demerol.