Lindsey,
I’m sorry I made you feel small, then and now. In both cases, your unreserved nature made me uncomfortable. In retrospect, maybe that’s just what folks from New York do—barge in, I mean. Anyway, I see you’re a nice girl trying to meet new people, so I apologize for doubting your motives. However, I’m not someone who collects close friends, so the “polite-but-distant neighbors” plan is probably best. Let’s put tonight, and the past, behind us.
Levi
I reread his missive several times. Is this his idea of an apology? He’s basically calling me pushy. In truth, thanks to my lack of filter, he isn’t the first to accuse me of “barging in” with unsolicited advice and opinions. He’s right. I’ve always imposed my company on him.
Why am I drawn to him, aside from the obvious physical appeal? And even so, why’s he so disinterested in friendship with anyone, not only me? Well, it’s immaterial anyway, since he’s instructed me to butt out. I toss the note on the dining table and shut off the lights. Based on our obvious incompatibility, I should keep my distance.
It’s almost one o’clock now and I’m desperate for sleep. I want to call Jill, but it’s after three in her time zone, and this isn’t an emergency.
Despite my vow to disengage, I can’t stop wondering if Levi’s alive. The thought of him inspires a stream of confused responses. We’re not friends. I barely know him, but it sickens me to imagine his untimely death. Please, God. Don’t let him die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Levi
Groggily, I open my eyes and survey the hushed, dim recovery room. When it dawns on me that the surgery’s over, I wiggle my toes. Once again, tears of relief dampen my eyes. I’m thirsty as hell, but when I attempt to reach for the call button, my arms feel weighted down.
Seeds of alarm sprout due to my lack of control over my own body, let alone my circumstances. A deep, primitive fear of being powerless emerges, making my heart race.
“Hey,” I croak. “Anyone out there?”
No one responds, so I yell louder.
“Hey! Somebody. I need help.”
Frustrated by the delay, I struggle to reach my call button again. A heavyset old nurse with a grim face finally appears.
“What do you need, Mr. Hardy?”
“A glass of water,” I bark. “And I want to see the doctor. Something’s wrong. I’m having trouble moving my body and my arms.”
“You’re just coming out of major surgery and we’ve given you heavy painkillers.” She checks my IV. “It takes time for your body to recover from the trauma. Try to relax and rest. The doctor will come see you when he’s free.”
“I don’t want to relax. I need to see the doctor now. I don’t feel right.” I stare at her, but she’s not intimidated. My sense of impotence stuns me. “Can I at least have some water?”
She leaves the room and returns quickly with a small mauve water pitcher and a plastic cup. She places the pitcher on the tray beside my bed and hands me a half-full cup.
“Here you are.”
I take it from her and mutter my thanks.
“When can I talk to the surgeon?” The room-temperature water soothes my parched throat. “I’m telling you, I don’t feel right.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, you need to relax. This will help.” She hands me a small pill before she turns and leaves me alone. Guess my cantankerous mood motivated her to sedate me. I set the pill on the tray and shove everything away.
Hours later, I’m transferred to a double-occupancy room, shared with a man who underwent surgery yesterday. I’d prefer private accommodations, but I’m stuck. My new roommate’s a chunky, middle-aged, cheerful Hispanic fellow. His side of our space resembles a gift shop, filled with brightly colored balloons, flowers, and cards. The nurse introduces Carlos and me. I’m in no mood for chitchat, so I dip my chin and grunt hello.
When the nurse engages me in a clumsy dance to help me into bed, she inadvertently causes me to twist at my waist. The rotation sends a shock wave of pain to my core. My gruff yell startles everyone. I bat my arms at her, wanting to lay blame for my pain. I know it’s not her fault I’m here, but I need to vent my outrage somewhere.
Once settled in my hospital bed, I discover a moderately comfortable position to alleviate some of the pain. The nurse hooks me up to monitoring equipment and a morphine drip before leaving the room.
“You look real banged up. Sorry for you.” Carlos speaks with heavily accented English. “What happened?”
I barely turn toward him, fearing the twinge of tenderness another gyration might launch down my back and legs.