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He smiles, yet the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “In your discharge packet you’ll find instructions on how to take care of the wound. If you see anything that doesn’t look right, call me right away.”
I won’t see him again, then, for days. Maybe a week or more. My heart falls, hard, so hard. My arm throbs. My eyes burn.
Michael rings for the night nurse, tells her I need Vicodin. I don’t protest. Right now I’d take anything to make the pain go away. And I’m not talking about my arm.
As we wait for the nurse, I study Michael’s face. He looks tired. It must have been a long day. “You’re not sleeping, are you.”
He smiles crookedly, his skin still tanned from the trip to Zambia. “Not a lot, no.”
“Why not?”
His shoulders shift. “I always seem to have too much on my mind.”
Now is the time to tell him that he and I need to talk. Now is the time to ask about Katete and our dinner and our kiss. Now is the time to find out just what happened between us. But I can’t ask any of the questions I’m dying to know. He’s tired. And I’m scared.
I’m scared to find out that I was just a dalliance, an escape, a game.
I’m scared to learn that he’s already seeing someone else, someone new.
I’m scared to compare myself with the flawless women he creates, those women of perfect body and face.
Thankfully, the nurse arrives with two pills in a little white paper cup. She hands the cup to me, and I knock back the pills and chase them with water. “Is there anything else you need?” she asks me.
“No, thank you. I’ll sleep better now.”
“Well, just ring if you can’t.” She nods at me and smiles prettily at Michael before leaving.
Of course she’d smile prettily at him. Michael is ruggedly handsome, a brilliant surgeon, and successful beyond belief. He’s the ultimate package. He could have any woman at any time.
My eyes sting, but I won’t cry.
Michael gazes down at me for an endless moment, his dark blue gaze shuttered, his jaw hard, and then the edge of his mouth lifts. “You call if you need anything.”
I nod.
“I’ll see you on the thirteenth— ”
“Are you serious?”
His eyes crinkle. “I’ll check the wound, and depending on how it looks, I’ll either remove the stitches or we’ll go another couple days.”
“Okay.”
“Any questions? Concerns?”
Are we ever going to figure this thing out, whatever this is between us?
I shake my head.
For a split second, I think he’s going to lean over and kiss me good-bye. I hold my breath, hoping. But then he steps away. “Good night, Tiana,” he says, his voice deep, husky. “Sweet dreams.”
It’s the good night he’d say to me in Katete. Sweet dreams. My throat’s raw. My heart aches. I smile to hold back the tears. “Good night, Michael.”
Chapter Nineteen
The nurse steps into my hospital room. “I know you’re getting ready to be discharged, Miss Tomlinson,” she says briskly, “but you have a visitor.”
I’ve been sitting in the wheelchair by the window, savoring the Los Angeles sunshine as I wait to be wheeled down to the elevator where Russian John is waiting. Shey’s taking care of my discharge papers and insurance forms so that I can go.
“Do you know who?” I ask the nurse, smoothing the hem of my chocolate velour sweat jacket over the waistband of the matching sweatpants, an outfit Shey brought from the house for me to wear home. I have one arm in the jacket and the other arm in a sling outside. It’s not the most stylish look, but it works.
“She says she’s your friend. She has her child with her.”
It can’t be Marta, I think, and Christie’s already been here, but I nod agreement.
It’s Shelby who walks in, and she’s holding a little boy.
“Are we interrupting?” she asks uncertainly. “They told me you’re just about to go home.”
“It could be a long wait, so come in.”
Shelby steps closer to the wheelchair. She’s still tawny blonde and tan, but in person she’s small and very thin. TV always makes us look so much bigger and more impressive than we really are.
“I don’t think you’ve ever met my son,” she says carefully, even as she gives me her wide TV smile. “His name is Jason, but we call him Jay-Jay.”
I look at the child in her arms. He’s slim and dark blond and has her olive skin. He’s a beautiful boy. “I didn’t know you were a mom.”
She flushes. “I thought it best for the career to keep it quiet. Working mothers don’t get promoted as much. But I wanted to come see you, and I usually drop him at day care on the way to work. Hope it’s okay.”
“It’s fine. And it’s good of you to come. Thank you for the flowers you sent a few days ago. They were beautiful.”
Jay-Jay stares at my face with its freshly applied gauze and tape bandage. “What happened to you?” he asks bluntly.
I suddenly think of the little boy drinking his juice off the table the day of the accident and I hope against hope he’s okay. “A car hit me.”
“Were you playing in the street?”
I’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt. “No. I was sitting inside a restaurant.”
“How did the car get inside?” he persists, and Shelby tries to shush him.
I don’t mind the questions, though. It’s almost a relief to talk. “Went through the window.”
“Why?”
“Because the door was too small,” I say, trying to smile, but it’s next to impossible. I am somewhere in the middle of heaven and hell, and I guess it’s called earth. And it’s called life. It’s just so intense. So wild and impossible and hurtful and beautiful.
Jay-Jay’s narrowed eyes suddenly widen and his brow clears. He snickers into his hand. “The door was too small,” he repeats, giggling as only a four-year-old boy could.
My heart is tumbling somewhere inside me, tumbling free, and I don’t even know I’m crying until Shelby leans down and puts her arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tiana,” she’s saying, “I’m sorry you were hurt. I just wanted you to know how sorry we are— ”
“Thank you.”
She lifts her head, and the tip of her nose is pink. Her eyes are wet. “We’re all so sorry.”
“How is everything at the studio?” I ask, trying to regain my composure. “Everyone doing well?”
“Yes. It’s hectic. Sweeps month. And tomorrow night we air the first of your Africa stories. We’ve been running the teases all weekend.” She gives me a watery smile. “I’ve seen them, and they’re wonderful. You did a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“Madison s
ends her love. Harper, too.”
I wonder if Madison works for Shelby now. That causes a stab of pain and I’m tempted to ask if Shelby’s taken over my office again, but I know that answer. I’ve been replaced. But isn’t that the way the system works? We’re all commodities, eventually replaced by the newest model.
“Thanks for coming to see me,” I say as Jay-Jay shifts restlessly on Shelby’s hip. “And keep me in the loop. Let me know what happens.”
“Don’t worry— ”
“You don’t worry.”
“It’s okay,” we both say at the same time.
She smiles tentatively, nervously, and is gone.
I sit there after she goes, and my head swims. It really is Shelby’s show now, isn’t it?
The thought hurts. I hurt. I long for the Vicodin I took last night. Long for a painless escape. But such a thing doesn’t exist. The only way to get through this is by going through it. Simplistic but true.
And I will get through this, I tell myself, reaching up to touch the gauze bandage on my cheek. I’ll prove them wrong. Max, Glenn, Shelby, all of them. I’m not done working. I’m going to have a great career. There are plenty of opportunities in television out there.
And maybe I’ll have to start at the bottom. Maybe there won’t be a lot of money. Maybe there won’t be a lot of prestige.
That’s fine.
I don’t mind hard work. I’m up for a new challenge. In fact, I live for a challenge.
A member of the nursing staff takes me down in the elevator to the hospital lobby, where Shey waits. As the elevator doors open, Shey moves toward me. “It’s a zoo out there,” she mutters. “Photographers everywhere.” She pulls off her baseball cap and plunks it on my head, pulling the brim down low.
People shout my name as the nurse’s aide rolls me toward the car. Russian John is there, acting like a first-class bodyguard, straight-arming overzealous photographers who push too close. The back door is open, and I transfer into the back of the limousine quickly, too quickly, jarring my arm in the process and letting out a yelp of pain.
Shey climbs in next to me. “You okay, sugar?”
