Bring Me Home for Christmas - By Robyn Carr Page 0,18
at least be friends and get on with life.”
“We might need a little practice at that—you have a broken ankle because we weren’t getting on with life real well.”
“Yes, and it’s midnight and my pain shot is wearing off and it hurts like hell. And I have to go to the bathroom.”
Even in the dim light of the room, Becca could see him pale and it almost made her smile, pain and all. Ha-ha, Denny! Bet you didn’t think I’d need something like that!
“Okay,” he said bravely. “Do I carry you to the bathroom or do I get a bedpan? What should I do?”
She gave him a small, tolerant half smile. “You get the nurse. I need something for the pain and a little help with the bathroom.”
He looked so relieved, and he let out his breath slowly. “Okay. Be right back.”
“You might want to hurry,” she advised.
“Right,” he said, heading out the door.
Very interesting, Becca thought. He’s either sleeping in the chair out of guilt or a feeling of obligation or interest. She would undoubtedly find out which before too long. What she would do about it was one of the great mysteries of the universe.
The doctor offered to call Becca’s parents before the surgery, but she said it was unnecessary. She was twenty-five, with her own medical coverage. She blessed her luck! She could deal with her mother later. Her mother was going to have a very strong reaction to Becca spending the holiday with Denny rather than Doug. Maybe a little time on the beach in Cabo san Lucas would mellow her out. Or maybe she could tell her mother when they were all back in San Diego and the whole thing was resolved.
“You don’t want your fiancé to help you to the bathroom?” the night nurse asked her.
“No,” she said. “He’s not that kind of fiancé.”
“Oh?” the nurse asked.
“We’ve been separated for a while,” Becca said. “By…by the Marines. He did a tour in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I’d just prefer to be at my best,” Becca said.
So Denny stood outside the hospital room while Becca had a pain pill, a bathroom break, a new ice pack applied and a midnight snack brought to her, because she’d been more interested in sleep than food following her surgical procedure. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when Denny came back into the room. “Denny, you can go home. This isn’t necessary.”
“You never know,” he said. “You might just need me.”
I needed you so much, she thought. But you were so far away!
“They give you this little call button in case you need anyone,” she told him.
“I’m here, just the same,” he said. And then he retreated to his chair. It looked like a comfortable chair for sitting, but not for spending the night. And then she thought how he might have slept in Afghanistan, on the rocky desert floor, with no love at home to look forward to. Why he would choose that over her was so far beyond her understanding.
She watched him out of the slits of her sleepy eyes for a few moments before her pain pill took over, then she came awake to the sounds of morning.
About the time breakfast was delivered, Denny stretched and stood from his chair. “How’re you feeling?” he asked her.
He had that early-morning, scruffy growth of brown beard, sleepy eyes and the body of a Greek god. If I didn’t have a broken ankle, I could so jump your bones! Her next thought was, What is the matter with me? He dumped me and Doug wants me! And she couldn’t really say that Denny was that much more hot than Doug. Doug was hot in a totally sophisticated Cape Cod kind of way…. She looked at him and wondered, is the pain pill exaggerating his handsomeness? But she said, “I’m doing okay. I had a pain pill. I might be a little loopy.”
“That’s probably good.”
“Want a bite of my French toast?”
“Nah, that’s okay. Maybe I’ll walk down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee, if you think you’ll be okay.”
“I’m okay. Go.” And she almost said, But don’t shave.
Before her breakfast was done, the orthopedist was there. It was barely seven. He tossed off the ice pack. “You’re good to go. I’ll have the ortho tech fit you with crutches and show you how to use them. The nurse will brief you on instructions and problem signs and I’ll see you in ten days to get the stitches out. Call me if you have