In Sheets Of Rain - Nicola Claire Page 0,68

sales skills, and so TEK’s products suddenly don’t have a winning rep to sell them.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It’s flattering, really,” Michael offered. “Are you tempted?” His voice was soft and careful.

“Not in the least,” I said.

“They are bigger than TEK. More perks, that sort of thing.”

“I’ve got enough perks at TEK, I think.”

“Really? What sort of perks?”

“A nice car, for one,” I said smiling.

“They’d give you a bigger one,” he shot back.

“I have a laptop and cell phone,” I argued.

“They’d offer you the same thing.”

“I’m paid well.”

“They might pay you more; they’ve got deeper pockets.”

I thought about it for a moment, then said, “BioMetric’s reps are bolshy.”

“Bolshy.”

“Lack all class.”

“What else do they lack?” he whispered.

“Handsome sales managers,” I said.

“Really? You think TEK has more handsome sales managers? Wait! How many handsome sales managers does TEK have?”

“Oh, let’s see. There’s Drew, Terry and Murray.”

“And?” he said.

“You,” I whispered.

“What about me?”

“BioMetrics definitely doesn’t have you.”

I could practically see his grin from all the way down in the South Island.

“What are you wearing?” he suddenly asked.

I giggled.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“My singlet and PJ bottoms.”

“Those loose pink ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Take them off,” he said.

I giggled some more.

“Kylee,” he growled.

“Michael,” I mock growled back.

“Take. Them. Off.”

I checked the curtains on the window and the lock on the door with a quick glance.

Then I got to taking my PJ bottoms off.

And Michael got all growly.

60

Not A Chance

I had a sudden urge to phone my mother. I didn’t phone home often. Usually, I did it when I knew she would be at work. Which said a lot about me I didn’t want to confront right then.

Talking to Dad was so much easier. Less emotional blackmail for a start.

But she wouldn’t be at work now, and I felt compelled to hear her voice for some reason.

I picked up my cell phone and dialled their number, waiting for her to breathlessly answer the phone because she’d been too busy. Or to not answer at all because she was curled up in bed.

Sharon answered, which didn’t surprise me. Sharon was always around at my parents’ house.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s Kylee.”

I could hear voices in the background.

“Ky,” she said, immediately making me sit up and take notice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Dad,” she said. “He tripped and fell on the way to clearing the mailbox. The ambulance is here.”

I gripped the cell phone too tightly and started to count my breaths.

“Is he OK?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s conscious. Talking. But he can’t walk.”

“Ask the ambo if it’s his NOF; his neck of femur.”

I heard her relay the question to the paramedic. I heard the paramedic’s reply.

“Yes,” my sister said, and I couldn’t breathe.

“He’s out of the theatre,” my mother said. “They’ve put him in ICU for his recovery.”

“OK,” I said down the phone.

“He’s having some trouble waking.”

I closed my eyes. Michael’s hand came to rest on the back of my neck, grounding me.

“We’ll go up there,” he said at my side.

I looked at him, and nodded.

“Mum,” I said. “I’m coming home.”

The Intensive Care Unit at Waikato Base Hospital was like any other. I’d been in many as a paramedic and a couple as a medical sales rep. I’d never been in one when someone I loved was in there — possibly dying.

It smelled of disinfectant, and everyone talked in hushed voices. Blue curtains divided cubicles, one end open to the nurse’s station. Green screens and ECG readouts. IVs and oxygen masks. The rhythmic beep of a heart machine.

My father was in the farthest cubicle from the door. His head was elevated, his big body taking up so much of the bed. My father was a tall man; well over six feet. His skin was pale and sweaty. His eyes were closed. I was relieved to see he was only wearing a Hudson oxygen mask. He hadn’t been intubated. That was something.

Mum went directly to him as if she owned the place. She kissed his forehead and told him that I’d come to visit.

I stood at the end of the bed and watched him try to breathe.

“He responded to us after the surgery,” Sharon said from beside me. “He nodded his head when we told him we were there. Even squeezed Mum’s fingers tightly. He’s gone downhill since then.”

Mum waved me over, and I went there numbly. I stood beside my father and held his cool, clammy hand. Then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m here, Dad,” I said. “I’ve come home. I finally come to visit, and this is how you