Hello to all! I hope you're all enjoying your weekend. I also hope to hear from you about this newest chapter of Can't Bill the Insurance, so please let me know what you think so far! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! ---Jill
I heard the talking even before I opened my eyes. From somewhere to my left, I recognized the voice as Bobby's, and he sounded like he was on the phone. He sounded like he was extremely far away, like in another dimension.
"Yeah," he was saying. "He's not awake yet. I'm hoping soon, though…tell the guys…I've got antibiotic ointment all over his back under the bandages…I don't know. He hit his head pretty hard. Thank Christ he had a fucking helmet on…he's been out for almost two days now…yeah, I'll let him know when he wakes up. Peace."
Antibiotic ointment on my back? I wondered. I brought my hand slowly up to touch my face. I seemed to still have one, so that was a good sign. What the hell happened to me? Why did I have a helmet on? Was I skydiving? Go-kart racing? What the fuck happened to me!?
"Bobby," I croaked, still unable to open my eyes against the throbbing pain in my skull. Bobby was at my side in a heartbeat.
"Lester, man, you're awake," he exclaimed. I was on my stomach on a sofa, and I felt something cool and icy on my back.
"Where am I?" I grunted.
"The beach house, man." Bobby fussed with the icy cool thing on my back.
"What in the mother-fuck happened to me?"
"You had a motorcycle accident."
A motorcycle accident. Holy fuck. When did I ride a motor…wait a second. The memory flashed into my brain like a freight train. I was sailing along on Ranger's Hayabusa and hit gravel. I flew off and…that's the last thing I remembered.
"What day is it?" I asked Bobby. He looked pained.
"Just go back to sleep." He squeezed my shoulder.
"What…day…is…it?" I asked through clenched teeth. Bobby took a few seconds to answer me.
"It's Saturday, dawg," Bobby replied quietly. My heart contracted and a rogue breath escaped my lungs. It was Dayna's wedding day. I finally opened my eyes and fumbled around on the nightstand for my cell.
"I have to call her," I gritted out, once I'd located it. Bobby snatched it from my hands and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.
"No. You're not calling her. Dude, LET IT GO. I'm not gonna stay here and see you like this."
"Where are the guys?" I asked him.
"They took my truck back to Trenton. I'm taking yours back today. I'm coming back here to pick you up on Monday morning. I've taken all the alcohol and all keys to motorized things away from your ass. You need to rest. You messed up your back and got knocked the hell out. We all watched you fly off that bike and get worked. You're lucky we didn't take you to the hospital so they could give you a CT scan and book you for a DUI at the same time."
"Gee, thanks."
"Hey. You're welcome." Bobby removed my cell from his jeans pocket and placed it on top of the entertainment center across the room. Evil bastard. I watched as he gathered his things and jammed them into his duffel bag. He disappeared into the bathroom to gather the rest of his stuff and when he came out, he was laughing.
I twisted my head so that he could see me glaring. "What?" I demanded. Bobby tossed a bottle of Axe body wash and an expensive-looking razor into his bag. He zipped it shut and tossed it on the floor before perching himself on the edge of the coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees. He leered at me with eyes full of concern, betraying his smirking mouth.
"We haven't been fucked up like that in awhile, dawg."
"No shit." I winced as I felt a stab of heat rush across my lower back. "Got anything for this pain?"
Bobby shook his head. "Not anything that'll be strong enough to put you back to sleep." He got up and retrieved my cell phone from the entertainment center. "I've already deleted Ms. Marrero's phone numbers and all texts from her out of your phone. And I've already told the guys that under no circumstances are they to give you her number when you call them and ask for it after I leave. Sorry, man. Ranger's orders."
"Ranger can go suck a dick," I muttered. Bobby set my phone on the pillow next to my arm and grabbed up my Escalade keys and his duffel bag.
"Any new developments on the Leiderman case?"
"Not a damn thing. No activity at the Leiderman building since Tuesday night. No Jamie Hackett or Brian/Brent Hannigan sightings. No suspicious activity. Hector, Cal, Junior, Ram, and Tank have been doing security details for the past couple days now."
"Ain't that some shit." I shook my head in disbelief. Weird.
"I'll see you Monday morning. Oh, and by the way. Speaking of Ranger…you owe him a Hayabusa."
Swell.
I was in the bathroom, checking out my injuries in the mirror. I slowly lifted the corner of the big white bandage that covered my back and cringed when I saw what I'd done to myself. Four-by-eight patch of road rash covering my lower back and wrapping around to my left side. Deep laceration on my left forearm, held together with butterfly stitches. Bashed-up knee that looked like someone wearing steel-toed work boots kicked the shit out of it. Headache from hell. Busted bottom lip. Three days worth of beard growth. Yikes. I was fucking frightening.
The bandage covering the road rash needed to be replaced because it was saturated with a yellowish substance. I hobbled out to the living room and called Bobby on my cell.
"What am I supposed to do about changing this bandage?" I asked him when he'd answered.
"I left some extra ones under the bathroom sink for you. Apply the ointment again. What color is the bandage?"
"It's a little yellow," I said, giving the bandage a sniff. "It doesn't smell bad, though."
"That's fine. Just plasma draining from the abrasion. Call me if it turns green or starts bleeding." The line went dead.
Sighing, I slunk back into the bathroom and located the clean bandages. There was a large tube of triple antibiotic ointment next to the stack, so I slathered it onto my road rash, allowing only a minimum of creative swear words to escape. I ripped the sterile bandage out of its paper and carefully applied it to my wounds, patting gently. I stood back and admired my handiwork in the mirror. Not bad, Dr. Santos.
My lip wasn't too badly damaged. Just a little cut near the corner that had already started to scab over. I didn't want to ruin the work of my successful bandaging talents in the shower, so I settled for taking a "ho" bath in the sink. I managed to soak the bathroom walls, the rugs, and most of the towels by doing so, but the bandage had stayed dry. Sweetness.
I shaved next. I was out of clean shirts and tank tops, so I found a pair of basketball shorts in my duffel bag that didn't appear too dirty and carried them back to the bathroom. Now for the challenge: putting them on.
Since my knee didn't really hurt that bad, I was mostly concerned about bending over with the road rash. It was fucking killing me.
"Aiight, Santos," I said aloud to myself. "No wimping out. Just get the shorts on and you'll be fine. Quick and painless." I was able to get myself off the couch okay, so I figured this wouldn't be that much harder.
I managed to lift my right leg up and plant my right foot flat on the closed toilet seat. So far so good. I tossed my shorts onto the toilet seat and wiggled my right foot through the correct leg hole. Hanging onto the decorative towel bar next to me, I lifted my right leg and watched as the shorts slid up to my thigh. One down, two to go, I thought with a naughty snicker. I set my right leg up on the sink and gingerly inched my left arm towards the shorts. I heard a creak behind me and, to my horror, the decorative towel bar cracked off of the bathroom wall and dropped to the ground, carrying me with it.
"FUCK!" I hollered at the top of my lungs. I toppled backwards near the tub and the road-rashed portion of my back landed directly on top of the broken towel bar. A girly scream echoed through the bathroom and I realized it was from me. Yeah, there was no way I was going to be able to get up NOW. My back throbbed uncontrollably and I'd re-bashed my knee on the sink.
"Hello?" I heard a voice warble out through the open windows in the front living room. "Anybody in there?"
"Help," I called weakly from my cocoon of dampened bathroom rugs, busted towel bar pieces, and basketball shorts. I heard the front door click open and shut quietly. Hadn't Bobby locked me in? I looked up when I heard footsteps approach the open bathroom door. I quickly yanked a decorative towel out from under my leg and threw it over Little Lester's zone, to keep him modest. From where I was lying, I could see the brightly-patterned shirt and curly gray hair of an older woman. I twisted my head to get a better look at her. She was smiling down at me with hot pink-coated lips.
"What happened here?" her little voice cooed to me.
"I…um…" I cleared my throat and peered at her. "Who are you?"
The lady laughed gently and knelt down to help me sit up. She put her arm around my bare shoulders and propped me against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. "My name is Jean. I live just a few houses down, and I was heading to the corner store for a few things when I heard you yell through the open windows." Jean squatted next to me and looked my injuries over. "You don't look too good, young man."
I sighed and shook my head. "I'm not doing that great."
"Would you like me to help you get cleaned up?" Jean asked me.
I took a few seconds to think it over, then slowly nodded to her. "I had a motorcycle accident two days ago and I just woke up today. My friends have been taking care of me, but they had to leave to go back to work."
"I see." Jean reached down to my ankles and put my feet through the legs of my shorts. She brought the shorts up to my thighs and chuckled. "Can you handle this from here?" I nodded again and Jean stepped out of the bathroom while I managed to pull the basketball shorts around my waist. She re-entered and bent down to try to lift me into a standing position.
"No offense, but I'd hate it if you hurt yourself," I said warily.
"Nonsense. I've been a nurse for thirty-five years and have lifted patients twice your size. I just retired six months ago." Jean tucked herself under my right arm and managed to stand me up. She helped me hobble out into the living room and watched as I cautiously sprawled myself out on the couch. "I'll go fix up the bathroom."
Jean disappeared into the bathroom and I heard her whistling to herself as she worked. She reappeared at my side several minutes later with the stack of bandages and the tube of antibiotic ointment. I glanced down at my bandage and groaned when I saw blood saturating through the white gauze.
"Shit," I whispered. I twisted to my side and saw Jean head to the kitchen. She took a washcloth and ran it under cool water before wringing it out and carrying it over to where I lay on the couch.
"Looks like you did a number on your back, young man," Jean said, gently removing the bandage and pressing the cool cloth to my road rash. It felt good.
"It's Lester," I gritted out. "Young man makes me feel like I'm in trouble."
Jean clucked over my injuries and shook her head. She sat across from me on the coffee table and removed the cool cloth. I watched as she opened a new bandage and twisted the cap off the tube of ointment. She squeezed a huge amount of ointment onto my wound and spread it around, but for some reason it didn't hurt that much when she did it as when I had done it before. She placed a new bandage over my road rash and wiped the excess ointment off her hands onto a clean towel.
"There," she said, gathering up all of the used supplies. "That should do it."
"Thank you," I croaked out. Jean carted everything off to the kitchen and returned to the living room with two glasses of iced tea. I'd managed to sit up halfway on the couch, so she handed me one and carried the other to the recliner across from me. She took a sip, made a satisfactory sound in her throat, and sat back in the chair.
"So tell me, Lester. What brings you to Point Pleasant? I know you don't live here. All the locals are much darker tanned." Jean grinned at me over her iced tea glass.
I sighed. "I'm here for a mental health vacation. Although it's been more like a carnival ride through hell." I sipped my tea.
"From the looks of your injuries I'd say so," chuckled Jean. "You must be a friend of Ranger's then."
"You know Ranger?"
"Oh, my, yes! Such a wonderful young man. So handsome and polite, just like you. I remember when he got married last year, to that bounty hunter from Trenton. Stephanie-something."
"Plum."
"Plum. That's right. Ranger had brought Stephanie here to Point Pleasant just a few months after their wedding. She was expecting their first baby," Jean said proudly.
"Yeah. She had her a few weeks ago. Samantha."
Jean's smile grew. "That's wonderful. Such a nice young couple. My husband Elton and I have owned our house here for nearly twenty years. When Ranger bought this place, he did a lot to fix it up. He said he wanted to bring his family here someday. Well, he did just that." Jean sipped her tea.
"Ranger sent me here to get my mind off some stuff that's been bothering me. I work for him at his security company in Trenton, called RangeMan. But some of our other friends came to visit me, and things got a little out of hand with the alcohol. I did some stuff I shouldn't have done."
"What's been on your mind to make you…do all of those things?" Jean asked me.
"Nothing, just stupid stuff," I grumbled.
Jean looked like she didn't buy it. Smiling, she asked, "What's her name?"
Damn. Did everyone assume my troubles were always over a woman? "Dayna."
"Dayna." Jean nodded. "She must be beautiful, if she's worth nearly putting yourself in traction."
"Jesus," I grumbled. "She's the best thing and the worst thing that's ever happened to me rolled into one." My head fell back against the couch pillows and my eyes shut as I tried to conjure up a vision of her. I couldn't. The vision was too fuzzy.
Something about Jean made me feel almost like a kid again. She had motherly qualities, maybe because she was a nurse and because she had taken care of me just now, but I felt comfort in her presence. I knew that she would somehow understand what I was going through.
The whole story came out then, and Jean took it all in eagerly. I told her about Hal getting shot, and meeting Dayna for the first time. And then I told her about our snippy conversations that always left me wanting more, and about kissing her senseless in my apartment when she came over to borrow my iPhone charger. I told her about the amazing things that had happened down in the gun range and about that creep Hannigan and Dayna's engagement to him. I explained the whole Leiderman bombing mess to her and I told her how much I wanted to be with Dayna and how my heart is fucking broken because of the way she'd ended things between us. I cried my fucking eyes out when I got to the part about how today is Dayna's wedding day, and Jean abandoned her recliner and tea and sat down next to me on the couch and took me in her arms to shush me as I bawled.
"Lester," Jean said softly, as she rubbed my sweaty shoulder. "Please, stop crying. I know this is hard for you, but it will only get harder if you continue to sob."
Slowly, my gut-wrenching sobs were reduced to sniffles and Jean ran to the bathroom for tissues. As I blew my nose, I realized that I wasn't the same Lester Santos as I had been weeks ago. I was different.
"I want different things now," I tried to explain to Jean. "I used to be with different girls constantly. Just for the hell of it. I never wanted to settle down."
"What do you think changed all that?" Jean asked me.
"She did. She's so perfect for me. I thought she could see that, but I guess not."
"I'll bet she does know that, Lester. But she has an obligation to marry Brent. For whatever reason, he is her choice. Yes, he is a two-timer and a con artist. If she can't see that, then she's jaded. But I'm almost certain she'd rather be with you. Have you ever asked yourself what you'd do if she came to you later on and said she'd like to have a relationship with you? After she sees what a creep Brent is?"
It was funny to hear Jean say creep. "I don't know, I guess I'd be happy. But it's almost like she'd be giving him a test drive and then going with a different brand of car once she's figured out the kinks."
Jean laughed. "Weird point. But well-taken." She handed me another tissue. "Lester, I know how hard it is to lose a loved one."
"Yeah?"
"Of course. There have been many patients I've grown fond of over the years who have passed on. And my parents died when I was young."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
Jean simply smiled. "You're twenty-eight?" I nodded. "You're too young to be sitting here talking to an old woman like me, with road burns and cuts all over yourself. You should be lucky that this is the extent of your injuries."
"I am."
Jean and I sat in comfortable silence for several minutes while we finished our iced tea. Jean set her glass down on the coaster it had been resting on and reached across the table for her small change purse.
"I'd like to show you something," she said quietly.
"Sure."
Jean pulled a picture of a smiling blonde out of her wristlet. She handed it to me and I had to choke back a laugh. Her granddaughter was Kimberly, from the night club.
"This is my granddaughter," Jean said sadly. She gave me a wavering smile as her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "She passed away last year. She killed herself. She was twenty-six, just about your age."
My heart splintered into pieces inside my chest. For Jean, for Kimberly, for the loss of my relationship with Dayna, for my near-death motorcycle ride that could have ended it all. Everything got to me again and I winced as a thick, fat tear drop rolled out of my eye and traveled down my cheek.
Jean hugged the picture of Kimberly to her chest and stared tearfully up at the ceiling. She sat like that for several minutes until I finally put my arm around her shoulders. She smelled like my precious abuelita, like White Diamonds. I choked out another sob and Jean turned to face me tearfully.
"Promise me that you'll be okay from all of this, Lester," she said tearfully. "I don't want you to put yourself in danger anymore. I don't want your grandmother to be showing your picture to people, crying." Jean wiped her eyes and grasped both of my hands in each of hers.
"I will," I promised. "Jean, you know I will." She hugged me tightly and it hurt my side but I didn't care. Nothing compared to the pain I was feeling on the inside at that moment.
Several moments passed and Jean released me, sniffing loudly. She tucked the picture of Kimberly back into her wristlet and zipped it up. I'd known all along that there was something special about Kimberly, and I suddenly realized why she'd shown up at the club that night and what her message to me was all about.
"I saw Kimberly on the night of my motorcycle accident, Jean," I said quietly. Jean stopped cold and stared up at me with wide, teary eyes.
"What?" she whispered. I nodded.
"She was with me and my friends in the club. She told me that if I really loved Dayna that I should set her free; and if she came back to me then she was mine. If not, it was never meant to be."
Jean sat silently for what seemed like hours. She'd gone from teary and frightened to peaceful within a few minutes. "Kimberly was crushed after she and her boyfriend Todd broke up. I remembered how sad she was about that young man. I'd told her the same thing she'd told you, right after Todd ended things with her: if she really loved him, she should set him free. If he came back, he was hers. If not, it was never meant to be."
"He never came back, huh."
Jean shook her head and stared thoughtfully into space. "Nope. He'd gotten a job offer in South Dakota, and left town. Never to be seen again. I suppose it was too much for Kimberly to handle."
"Yeah," I said, my voice cracking.
Jean smiled at me and placed her hand on my cheek. "You're a wonderful young man, Lester. I have faith that you'll find happiness. You are truly ready to settle down and give a lucky woman the life she deserves." I hugged Jean again and she stood up, slipping her wristlet over her wrist. She carried the empty iced tea glasses into the kitchen and came back into the living room just as I'd attempted to get myself into a standing position.
"Thank you for everything," I said to Jean. She smiled again and shook her head.
"No, thank you, Lester. You don't know how much you've helped me. Elton and I live in the pink and yellow house to the left. Elton chose those awful colors, not me. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to get in touch with us." With a flash of brightly-colored Hawaiian shirt and hot-pink lipstick, Jean was gone, and I was once again alone.
The sun had set after Jean left, and the beach house was cool and dark and quiet. I was coming off a two-hour Real World: Washington D.C. rerun stint and my cell phone hadn't so much as made a sound. Thanks a lot for calling to see how I'm doing, people, I thought. I picked the iPhone up off the coffee table and hit the menu button. Five missed calls! I checked the side of the phone and sure enough, the damn thing was switched to silent.
Bobby, Ranger, Hal, my sister, and an unfamiliar number with a Trenton area code. Hmmm…I called Ranger to tell him I'd take care of his bike and thanked him profusely for not sending one of his thug-wannabe contract employees here to Point Pleasant to finish me off. I called Bobby and Hal and told them I was doing okay. I called my sister Damaris and found out that my ex-girlfriend Monica had gotten back together with Tiny, the guy she dumped me for several months ago. I resisted the urge to call the unfamiliar number back, thinking it was probably a telemarketer or a wrong number.
I popped a couple aspirins to take the sting out of my back and the ache out of my knee and carried a fresh glass of iced tea out to the front porch, hobbling around like a ninety-year-old man. Damn that Robert Darius Brown for confiscating all the booze. I would really liked to have made that iced tea into a Long Island one.
The padded wicker chairs on the beach house's front porch were comfortable, but as I stared out across the little dirt road to the sand and the blackness of the ocean, I decided that they weren't comfortable enough for me to sit there any longer.
I guzzled the rest of my iced tea and made my way to the end of the front path, near the sidewalk. The big gray rollers were crashing on the shore, some fifty yards from where I was standing. The moon was out and illuminated the sand. I hobbled across the small dusty street and stepped onto the sand, still warm from the day's sun. The beach was empty. I glanced up and down the street at the houses dotting the road, and everybody was in for the night, having spent a long day in the sun, gobbling up corn dogs and wasting money playing the shitty arcade games.
My feet led me to the water's edge and the foamy swells swirled around my ankles as the waves crashed in front of me. I started walking, slowly because of my knee and back, but when I stopped and checked out my surroundings, I was about ten houses down from Ranger's bungalow. Shit. I was gonna sit my ass down no matter where I was. My knee was hurting. I backed up a few feet and lowered myself into the sand, leaning back on my elbows as I sprawled my legs out in front of me.
I tried to imagine my life knowing I'd never again get a chance to convince Dayna that I truly cared for her, that I wanted something with her; knowing that she'd married someone else and had put out the fire that we'd started together. I couldn't come to terms with things just yet. I missed her so badly that I ached all over, and it wasn't just from my injuries. Something deep inside me just…ached.
As I glanced up at the moon, I knew that the damage was done. Dayna was married. She would never be mine. If anything further happened between us, I'd just be "the other guy." The home wrecker. Suppose Dayna got pregnant by Brent. Then what? I'd have to watch her prance around RangeMan with her big belly, swollen with some other man's child. Some other man who was cheating on her and was plotting to destroy a multi-million dollar law firm with his mistress. It was unreal that Dayna had refused to believe me on Tuesday night. I wondered if RangeMan and the Trenton P.D. would ever be able to indict Brent on any charges. He was a fungus, and could probably weasel his way right out of them anyway.
It was over now. I've only known Dayna for a few weeks. I'd be able to recover from this, right? RIGHT? Shit, I was losing it big time. I could picture myself in the nursing home, watching old retired geezers named Lou and Marv and Ed play dominos and Parcheesi. Let's invite Lester to play, Marv would say to them. No, not him, they'd reply. He's a loner. Never been married. Had a woman but lost her to a cheating con-artist.
I shook my head sadly and stared out at the waves. The street behind me was silent. Everyone was nestled safely inside their bungalows, feasting on clams and crab legs and fried shrimp.
A noise from the far end of the road broke the nighttime silence and I turned my head to look. I couldn't see anything from where I was sitting, but it sounded like a loud sports car had driven down the street and stopped at one of the bungalows to my left. Toward Ranger's bungalow. When I no longer heard any noise from down the street, I focused my attention back to the water and the waves. Probably just some punk kid and his hot rod.
Ten minutes after I heard the car down the street, I saw a shadow in the moonlight loom up behind me in the sand. My heart leapt and I was immediately on guard, hoping this person didn't want to rob me because I didn't have my wallet, only my abuelita's gold crucifix and chain that was around my neck. Before I got the balls to turn around and face the intruder, I caught a whiff of a very familiar perfume…no, this wasn't happening. I was delusional. The aspirin I'd taken had to have been replaced with acid or ecstasy or something. I stopped cold.
My fucking heart kept on pounding as the shadow neared me until it blended in with the water pooling near my feet. I turned my head towards my hallucination and blinked hard when I saw her bare feet, her pink toenails popping up between sifts of sand, her tanned legs, the hem of her white sundress billowing in the breeze, and my disbelieving eyes continued upwards until they reached her waist, and her hair was tumbling around her shoulders. Down her reddened cheeks rolled black tears, settling on the bust line of her white cotton sundress and staining it gray.
My heart was lifted in my chest and I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. My stomach lurched and my body seemed paralyzed, like I couldn't move.
In her hand was a set of car keys and nothing else. I desperately searched her finger for a wedding ring, but found none. She opened her pillowy pink mouth and at last, after a damn eternity, she spoke in a strained whisper.
"I couldn't do it."