After feeling that weight settle over my mind I began to strategize what I would be telling the shareholders and executives at the office. It wasn’t my top priority. It was a distraction. For the first time in my life I felt helpless and out of control. There was a rage inside me screaming for my brother’s head and even though I could level some vigilante justice on him like they used to do in the frontier days when everyone carried a gun, a handshake was a contract and horse stealing got you the death penalty, the police of this century wouldn’t let me anywhere near him. So I had to distract myself the only way I knew how. The business.
Yet no matter how hard I tried I kept focusing on Natasha and the scandal of it all.
It was funny how the hospital emergency parking area seemed alive and buzzing just like any office was at eight o’clock in the morning minus the blood. Parking my car I quickly made my way into the emergency entrance practically screaming Natasha’s name.
“Can I help you sir?” asked a stern older woman with bright, unnaturally red hair with red lipstick to match. She wore white pants that hugged her thick thighs and middle while a loose blouse with red, pink and purple hearts on it lay over her ample bosom. A stethoscope hung like a limp snake around her neck and her name tag read Mary Jean Neilsen, R.N.
“Natasha Morgan? She was brought in just a little bit ago. She had been attacked in her home.” The words sounded so cruel and ugly as I spoke them. Would Mary Jean Neilsen think I was the one responsible for it, Who could blame her if she did. I still had blood all over me.
The older redhead looked at the computer screen in front of her.
“Are you family, sir?”
Taking a deep breath I lied.
“She’s my fiancé.”
Mary Jean looked me up and down then looked back at her screen.
“She’s been transferred to the seventh floor so she and the baby could be monitored overnight. Visiting hours are from seven in the morning to two in the afternoon and then again from five until eight.”
I stood there with my mouth hanging open.
“Did you say baby?”
NATASHA
“What do you think of the name Jerome?” I asked Diamond. Rolling her eyes she shook her head no.
“That sounds like someone who passes out flyers inviting people to come hear him DJ.”
“You know, if you weren’t still in this hospital bed I’d really let you have it.” I said, straightening out her blanket while giving her a dirty look. Diamond had suffered a concussion as a result of my ex-boyfriend Joshua Hewitt. I swore I’d never say his name again as long as I lived but the newspapers and gossip columns weren’t ready for me to forget him yet.
His face was all over the news at night. Reporters were sneaking around trying to get pictures of me, my name having been changed to “the estranged girlfriend of Joshua Hewitt”. Thankfully, I had gotten a hold of my parents and reassured them that everything was okay.
“You can’t believe what is written in the paper these days.” I said adding an uncomfortable chuckle to the end of my sentence.
“Elvis! The King! Yes! That will be this baby’s name. Even if it’s a girl.” Diamond said, her eyes wide, her face smiling brightly.
Leaning backwards I laughed until I almost fell off the side of the bed I was sitting on.
“Come on! You are not taking this task very seriously.” I hopped down and walked to the window pulling the curtains and blinds open. “This is like being in a hotel. You’ve got a beautiful view of the grounds. Geez, only loony-bins and colleges have property like this to walk around and look at. Can you believe it?”
“I know.” Diamond said. “Please tell Marty I said thanks again.”
“I told him all four other times you said it as well as the slurred message of undying devotion you mumbled while you were under those pain killers.”
“Yeah. Those were nice.” She said dreamily. “But tell him again. I had insurance. I know none of this was his fault. I could have handled the hospital stay on my own.”
“We know you could have but you’d be at County sharing the room with some old lady named Blanche who suffered a stroke or dementia or both. She’d be rambling about her dead husband and ungrateful kids thinking you were stealing her skin cells one at a time. We couldn’t live with ourselves leaving in a place like that.”
“I can’t say I don’t like a private room.”
I looked back at her and smiled as hot tears filled my eyes.
“No, Natasha. Not again.” Diamond said, crying just a little herself. We had been going on and on like this for the past three days. We’d cry and look at each other knowingly but not say a word about what really happened that night.
“I can’t help it.” I mumbled pitifully. “If I didn’t…”