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Well, hot damn. That's news to me.
"She was here when we extubated him." The nurse smiles. "His eyes were open because they were changing out the medicine in them. To keep them from getting dry, you know? It might have been just reflexes, but she thinks he smiled at her."
I stroke my thumb across Cross's cheek and squeeze his hard hand in my small one. "Geez, Cross, you guys are keeping secrets."
The nurse eyes our fingers. “So you really aren’t a thing?”
“Really. He’s been my friend since first grade.”
“Well, I think he’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Is he? I’m not so sure, but I smile anyway. “Do you know when they’re moving him?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
"That's amazing."
"Your friend thought so, too. She seemed really surprised when I told her what you'd done."
I rub my eyes. "I bet she did."
*
My good mood has evaporated by the time I take the exit for Mom's facility, a “spa” up in the hills. If she didn't spend most of her time in places like these, maybe I'd already have some money, and my crazy plan could wait.
I'm bitter. I know I am. Her doctors sometimes say so. Caretaker, therapist, counselor, psychiatrist—they're all the same. So much sympathy for Mom and her many illnesses.
Dr. Bryers, one of the better ones, might be proud of me for admitting that I'm pissed. Usually I pretend I'm not that affected. Over the years I learned to cope, but the truth is, she's screwed up my life, and I haven't forgiven her. To be fair (to me), she's never really asked.
The spa building is a rectangular, white one-story on several acres of green grass, large trees, and well-kept flower beds. I park my aging Camry in the egg-shaped parking lot and walk slowly through the tall, glass doors leading to the lobby. This place looks a lot like a European hotel, all mod and minimalist, fraught with glass and straight, clean lines.
I fold my arms on the counter and ask for Mahin.
I don't think while I'm waiting for her. I play Angry Birds on my phone and I send good vibes to Cross. Hunter creeps into my mind, but I push him away. Just because he's an enigma doesn’t mean he's my enigma. Maybe going to Vegas will be good in that way. I'll forget him.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that he has two homes in Vegas, but whatever. When he’s not playing he’s at the vineyard—or so I've heard. Regardless, I'm sure he’d never recognize me. Richard says they're blurring out my face on the billboards, and one thing I’m almost sure about Hunter is he’s not the type to bid on a woman’s virginity.
Vegas will be good for me. It's my choice, and I'm doing it for Cross. I will make it good for me.
Mahin walks out without my mom, wearing her familiar black slacks and v-neck, her white hair dyed black at the tips, her lipstick pearl-colored, making her look kind of dead.
"Hi," I wave, and step into her office for my performance.
*
I leave feeling heavier, if that's possible. Mom will be told I'm taking a trip to Denver. One of my best friends from undergrad lives there, and it’s one of my favorite U.S. cities.
I'm one third of the way to the freedom that I need to pull this off. My next stop is the University of San Francisco's main campus.
I'm nervous, knowing just how crazy my proposal is, but I think my second-year project manager, Dr. Kaitlyn Beauford, who also happens to be my student adviser, might be open-minded enough to sign off on it. If not, I'll withdraw from this semester. I don't want to do it, but I will if I have to.
I'm still wearing my courthouse pant suit and as I walk the familiar, green-tiled halls, I wonder if Dr. B has seen the news yet.
As soon as I walk into her office, she puts her blueberry smoothie on her desk and shakes her head.
"Elizabeth DeVille, stirring up trouble."
Despite myself, I smile, because Dr. Beauford always puts me at ease. "Doing my best," I say, wiping my sweaty palms on my knees as I sink into a faded orange chair.
