Western Waves (Compass 3)

It didn’t take long for Chris to show up, and I carried Stella to the car. We rode to the hospital in complete silence. We sat in the waiting room for over an hour and thirty minutes. I was certain the front desk staff was getting sick of me barging up to their desk and asking what the hell was taking so long.

Stella told me it was fine, but it didn’t sit right with me. She had a whole elephant ankle, and they looked at her as if she had a scratch on her arm or something.

When it was time for her to go back to get checked out, a male worker came out to take Stella back.

Stella tensed up a little, then turned to me. “Will you come with?” she asked, clearly uncomfortable but putting on a brave face.

“Of course.”

I offered her my arm to lean on so she wouldn’t put weight on her injured leg.

The employee took us in the back, to where he, thankfully, offered a wheelchair for Stella to sit. I pushed it for her to the patient room that was given to us. The worker informed us that a nurse would be with us shortly.

I took a seat beside Stella. She kept fidgeting with her fingers as she grazed her top teeth across her bottom lip. When the nurse came in and checked out her ankle, we were relieved to hear that it was nothing but a bad sprain. They gave her some pain meds, wrapped it up, and a pair of crutches she’d have to use for a while.

When they left, we waited for the discharge papers. Stella and I hadn’t spoken a word the whole time. I wasn’t much for small talk, and she wasn’t either when she was sober. But when she looked my way, she said, “You don’t know how, do you?”

“How to what?”

“Drive.”

I shifted a bit in my seat and shrugged. “Grew up in New York. Never really had a reason to learn when the subway could get me everywhere I needed to be. And if that couldn’t, a taxi could.”

“That doesn’t really work out great for California.”

“You’re telling me,” I huffed. Even if something was only five miles away, it took about fifteen years to arrive. There were a lot of things about California that I hated, but the traffic situation was at the top of my list. At least in New York, the subways run on a consistent schedule, and we didn’t have to sit at stoplights or at a standstill on freeways.

Her head lay on the hospital pillow, tilted in my direction. She took a deep breath, turned away from me, and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me how to drive?”

“Yes.”

“No thanks. Not interested.”

“Do you know how much you could save on money instead of paying someone to drive you around nonstop? Plus, I know you hate people. Wouldn’t you like to drive yourself with no people in the car?”

“My driver knows not to talk to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re you, which means you probably hate having someone sitting in the same vehicle as you.”

Touché.

“Besides”—she shrugged—“I’ve been driving my whole life. I learned when I was eight years old from Kevin.”

I know she didn’t mean for it to, but that felt like a sucker punch. The man who was supposed to teach me things like that taught some other kids instead.

I knew in my heart that wasn’t Stella’s fault, but it still bothered me.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling me away from my thoughts. “That he wasn’t there for you.”

“How did you…?” I started, startled that she almost pulled my thoughts from me. I prided myself in my poker face skills. When things bothered me, I didn’t show it on the outside. My demons remained within.

“The corner of your mouth. It twitches when you’re sad.” She smiled a little. “You’ve been able to pick up cues about me as my husband, but I’ve also been noticing things about you as your wife.”

“What else have you noticed?”

“The wrinkles around your eyes deepen when you’re mad, and your nose flares up. If you eat something you don’t like, your jaw clenches. When you’re stressed with work, you release a row of heavy grumbles. When you’re nervous, you scratch the palm of your hand. When you’re worried about me… you hold eye contact.”

“What do I do when I’m happy?”

She frowned and tilted her head. “I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

“All right, lady and gent, you are all ready to go. Here is your discharge paperwork,” the nurse said, coming in beaming. “You be careful on that ankle, will you?” she warned Stella.

“I will.”

The nurse turned to me. “And you take care of her, mister.”

I looked over at Stella, who was looking at me. “I will.”

We arrived back at the property as the sun awakened the sky, and I walked Stella to her bedroom and helped her get settled into her bed with the crutches.