“Yes, you definitely need to stay here tonight,” he told her firmly. “I’m guessing tomorrow night as well, so better prepare yourself. And before you start cussing me out again, ask yourself this, Scarlett - and answer honestly. Do you really think you could walk through an airport right now? Or up those three flights of stairs in your house? For that matter, could you walk from this bed through that doorway over there?”
Before she could offer up a blistering retort, she winced at the stabbing pain emanating from where they’d stuck her with needles to withdraw the bone marrow. “No,” she told him sulkily. “Smartass.”
He laughed. “Rather like the pot calling the kettle black with that term, don’t you think?” he teased. “Look, I promise not to keep you here one hour longer than necessary. But you’ve been a very sick young woman this afternoon, on top of already being rundown and worn out. So humor me, hmm? Get some well earned rest tonight, see if you’re able to keep food down in the morning, and then we’ll see how the pain tolerance is doing, make sure you can walk reasonably well. If a miracle occurs overnight, then I’ll see about discharging you tomorrow afternoon.”
She closed her eyes, the pain meds starting to kick in now, and the drowsiness beginning to seep back into her body. “Great. Just great. Because I stopped believing in miracles around the same time I stopped believing in Santa Claus. And the Tooth Fairy. And happily ever after. And…”
She drifted off to sleep before she could finish her sentence, unaware of David Parks giving her a gentle peck on the forehead.
Chapter Twelve
“Looks like your appetite is starting to come back.”
Scarlett shrugged as the male nurse - who was fortunately nowhere near as annoyingly chirpy as Connie had been yesterday in recovery - picked up her breakfast tray. She’d managed to eat most of the scrambled eggs, a piece of buttered toast, and a cup of coffee, though she’d grimaced at the very sight of the apple juice.
“I guess. Does that mean I can get out of this place today?” she asked grumpily.
The nurse, whose name was Sergio, chuckled as he set the tray on a wheeled cart. “I’ll try not to take your eagerness to ditch this joint personally,” he teased. “As for when you get discharged, that’s up to your doctor. He’ll probably be around to see you late morning or early afternoon. But you’ll need to get up and walk around on your own before he’ll agree to do that. It would really help your cause if you can manage to eat a decent lunch, too.”
Scarlett tossed back the covers of the hospital bed and swung her legs around the side, and would have gotten out of the bed on her own if Sergio hadn’t clamped a hand around her upper arm, stilling her.
“Whoa, there,” he cautioned. “Not so fast, speedy. I didn’t mean on your own, and I didn’t mean right away. First off, you need a shower, so I’ll send an aide in to help you with that and get you into a clean gown. That should also give the pain pill you just took with breakfast time to kick in. How’s the pain level right now?”
She shrugged, giving him a dirty look as he pulled the blankets back over her lap. “Tolerable, I suppose. Not as bad as yesterday afternoon, but it still feels like I got kicked in the ass by a horse. One with steel plated horse shoes.”
“That good, huh?” teased Sergio. “Well, that’s to be expected. But all the more reason you need to take this slow. After you’re showered and all, I’ll come back and help you walk up and down the hallway here a few times. Okay?”
She glanced up at the ceiling. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“I’ll be back in about half an hour,” he promised. “Someone will be in shortly to help you get cleaned up.”
Scarlett heaved a dramatic sigh, and plopped back against the pillows. She’d only been awake for barely an hour and already she was bored to death of this stupid hospital bed and room. At least, thank God, it was a private room so that she didn’t have to share with another patient. The very last thing she felt capable of right now was being sociable, not, of course, that she ever did. Oh, she could play nice for a few hours at a time with the customers at Café Santosha, but for the most part they were all regulars, people that she’d come to know and rather grudgingly get along with over the years. Her cashier job at Ikea didn’t call for much personal interaction, just ringing up purchases and getting customers out the door as quickly as possible. Same thing with the catering gigs she did, which mostly involved setting pre-plated dishes down in front of people and then picking up the empties afterwards. It was rare that anyone ever actually spoke to her, occasionally to utter a “thank-you” but more often than not to bitch that it was the wrong entrée, or that the food was cold, or some other complaint. But as physically demanding as that job could be at times, it was a hell of a lot better than being a waitress, where she would actually have to converse with people and be pleasant and solicitous.
There was a TV in this room, but she felt too restless and unsettled to switch it on right now. She hated being cooped up in this place, hated the very idea of being in a hospital, places that held way too many unpleasant memories. At least someone had removed the IV from her hand early this morning, leaving just a purplish bruise behind where the needle had pierced her skin. She’d slept like the dead last night, not even remembering being wheeled into this room from recovery. They must have given her some more pain meds during the night because the throbbing in her backside hadn’t been too horrible upon waking. That didn’t mean, however, trying to walk was going to be a picnic. But as determined as she was to get the hell out of this place, she was prepared to grit her teeth and walk, no matter how much it might hurt. She was, after all, quite the expert at ignoring pain, both external and internal.
She grabbed her phone while she was waiting for the nursing aide, glancing through any new messages, and giving herself an imaginary smack on the side of the head when she noticed that - yet again - there was no text or email from Jackson.
‘Stop giving a shit whether he’s ever going to contact you again,’ she scolded herself. ‘Because he’s sure as hell stopped giving a damn about you. So wise up, girl, and get on with your life.’
But while there was still no message from Jackson, there was a sweet text from Ananda, wishing her well and stating that she was keeping Scarlett in her daily prayers and meditation. There was also a lengthier email from Roz and Margie, to which they had attached a goofy Get Well e-card that managed to elicit a rusty chuckle from Scarlett’s still-tender throat.
‘At least someone still gives a shit about me,’ she thought dourly, putting her phone away. ‘Big surprise - that someone isn’t an actual family member.’
The nursing aide popped in then, looking both harried and possibly hungover, judging by her reddened eyes, pale skin, and pinched features, as though she was suffering a horrific headache. It didn’t matter in the least to Scarlett, who would have really preferred to take her own damned shower, and was just as happy not to exchange inane pleasantries.