Robinson smiles lazily as he walks up to me, stopping on the edge of the elevator. “He warned me away. Big scary big brother.” He wiggles his fingers at his shoulders like some kind of zombie ghoul.
I shake my head and let my hand fall away from the doors. I don’t care if he gets smooshed between them anymore. Walking over to my door, I stop just in front of it, not looking to see if he’s behind me. He can sleep in the elevator for all I care. At least then I won’t have to worry about him freezing to death out in an alley somewhere.
He follows me with shuffling feet and leans on the wall as I open the door. I’m pretty sure he’s using the hallway for support because he’d fall over if he tried to stand entirely on his own power.
“How much did you drink, anyway?” I ask, shutting the door behind him when he abandons the foyer for the couch. He falls down onto it, his overcoat bunching up around him. His hands are stuck in the pockets, and I watch with amusement as he tries to free them, but then gives up. He slumps down in the cushions and stares at the blank TV screen.
“I don’t know. A couple.”
“I hope you’re not driving.”
“Nah. Got a cab.”
“Who were you with?” I walk into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I have a feeling Rob’s going to need a couple cups of it before he leaves. Hopefully he won’t piss me off too much and force me to kick him out before I get the caffeine into his system.
“Nobody. Just me. All alone in a bar. Sad huh?” He tips his head back over the couch to look at me. His eyes close and then he winces, picking his head back up. I suspect room-spins are at the root of his movements.
After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and two ibuprofen pills from the cabinet, I join him in the living room. “Here. Take these.”
He opens his eyes and blinks a few times deliberately, trying to re-orient himself. “What’s that?” He eyes my offerings with suspicion.
“Drugs. I’m roofying you.”
He grins and nearly gives me a heart attack with it. Dammit, he can be so cute sometimes.
“Sweet. You’re finally coming around.” He grabs the pills and throws them into his mouth and then takes the water, talking around the ibuprofen on his tongue. “Sure took you long enough.”
I roll my eyes and stand, making sure to kick him as I walk by.
“Ow! Was that deliberate?” He bends over and rubs his shin as I go into the kitchen. Then he swigs the water.
“No less than what you deserve.”
He sighs loud enough for me to hear. “You’re right. Go ahead and grab a frying pan while you’re in there. Bash me in a head a few times. I can take it.”
I pour him a cup of coffee and put in the two spoons of sugar I know he likes. My gaze strays over to the cupboard with the pots and pans, but I abandon the flicker of a thought as soon as it arrives. I don’t want to give Rob a head injury; I just want him to leave me alone. He’ll probably see a bap upside the head with a skillet as an invitation to stay the night.
I go back into the living room with the cup of coffee in hand. “Here,” I say, putting it down on the coffee table, “drink this.” I sit down a couple cushions over from him.
“Mmmm, hemlock tea. My favorite.” He takes the mug and then almost drops it in his haste to put it back down on the coffee table. “Oo-ah! That was hot.” He blows on his fingers.
I lift a brow at him. “That’s why they have handles.”
“They?” he asks, his expression classic confused.
“Coffee mugs.” It crosses my mind that this must be what it feels like to babysit someone with a head injury.
“Oh, yeah.” He looks at the mug and then at me. “Did you just make that for me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put two sugars in it?”
“I did.”
His face quivers and then crumples, and before I realize what he’s up to, he falls sideways and grabs me in a hug, trapping my arms at my sides. “Thank you so much!” he sobs.
I sit there stunned, completely clueless. “Uhhh, okay. You’re welcome, I guess.”
“You made me coffee.” He’s actually crying. “With two sugars.”
“Yeesss, I did. Yay me?”
He releases me from his imprisoning hug, but slides his cold hands down to grip mine. He’s staring into my eyes, close enough that I can smell his breath. It might be possible to actually light his breath on fire, had I a candle nearby. Phew. He must have bought a bottle.
“You still care about me,” he says, the sound of relief in his voice.
I roll my eyes and push him away. “Get over yourself, Rob.”
“And you called me Rob!” He traps me in another hug, his face pressed sideways against my breasts.
Try as I might, I can’t pry him off me. After attempting my release for a few seconds, I give up and just wait for his chick moment to be over.
He mumbles into my arm. “I thought you hated me. That you were never going to talk to me again. But you made me coffee with sugar and you called me Rob. Now I know all’s not lost.”
Maybe I should be charmed, but instead, he’s making me angry with his stupid declarations. Does he really think it’s all that easy? That he can show up drunk, I’ll feel sorry for him and try to sober him up for the ride home, and that somehow this means I love him again?
Just thinking the word love in my head makes me furious.
“Get off me!” I yell shoving on his shoulder.
He sits back and is once again confused. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, glaring at him. “You’re drunk and you stink. I don’t want you here, so I’m sobering you up enough to put you in a cab. Don’t read anything more into it than it is.”
His hand lifts and rests on his chest. “Ow. That hurt.”
“Shut up.”
“No, I mean it.” He winces. “Fuck, that hurts.” He pushes his thumb into his chest and twists it around.
“Good.”
He reaches for the coffee, but stops midway, grabbing his chest with his other hand. “Ow, mother fu…” He bends over at the waist until his chest is lying on his legs.
“Are you okay?” I’m starting to worry that he’s not messing around.
“It burns,” he grunts out.
I jump off the couch and stand in front of him on the opposite side of the table, my mind dancing at the edge of panic. “Rob! Seriously! Cut it out!”
His voice comes out as a moaning growl. “I’m not messing around.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! What are you doing?! You can’t have a heart attack here!”
He slides from the couch to the floor and acts like he’s going to crawl to the door. “Okay,” he moans. “I’ll do it outside.”
“No!” I run over to block him and grab my phone from the front table, hitting the speed dial for my brother James.
He picks up on the fifth ring, saving me from the panic attack his voicemail would have given me.
“James!” I scream before he can even speak.
“No, it’s me Leah. What’s wrong? Is this Jana?”
“Get James! Get James! I need to talk to him right now!” I’m crying. I’m not even sure when I started. Was it when Rob started crawling toward the door or when he collapsed on the floor on top of his own arms?
I run over and drop to my knees on the floor next to him. “Rob! Are you okay?!”
“Jana, what’s wrong?” James’s steady, patient voice is in my ear. It takes me a second to realize it’s because I have the phone there.
“Rob is here, and I think he’s having a heart attack.”
“Here where?”
“My apartment.”
“What’s he …? Never mind. Call 9-1-1. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Text me which one. Tell them you’re his wife.”
“His wife?”
“Just do it, Jana!”
“Okay!” I cry out. “You don’t have to yell at me!”
“I’m
sorry. Call 9-1-1. Now.” He hangs up and leaves me staring at my phone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I DIAL 9-1-1, all the while leaning over Rob, trying to see if he’s still breathing. As soon as my face is close enough to his mouth, though, I know he’s alive. That breath of his … damn. This better not be just heartburn. I’ll kill him for making me worry so much.
All I can think about is Laura’s shiny, black casket, how dark and final it felt. The end of everything. And now Robinson is lying on my floor, breathing but no longer making jokes and not crying anymore about the coffee I made him with two sugars.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
My words come out in a tumble. “I think my friend… I mean my husband is having a heart attack.”
“What’s your address?”
I rattle off the information and push Rob over onto his back. His eyelids flutter but don’t open. When he moans, a rush of relief pours into me from somewhere unknown. I lean down and hug him as best I can while holding the phone to my ear.
“Is he breathing?” the operator asks.
“Yes.”
“Is he conscious?”
“No. Maybe. I can’t tell.” I poke his cheek a few times and he winces. “Maybe a little if I poke him.”
“Best not to poke him, ma’am.”
I yank my hand away. How’d she know I was just about to do it again? “Oh. Okay. No more poking.”
“No more poking,” Rob whispers. Then he smiles.
I’m torn between slapping him and crying. Instead, I opt for basic communication. Maybe if I keep him talking, he’ll be okay and he won’t die and leave me totally alone.
“Rob. Rob!” I lean down near his face and turn up the volume to maximum. “ROB!”
His eyes fly open and then roll around in his head. They’re bloodshot and glassy. “What? Damn. Was that really loud or are my eardrums fucked up from the whiskey?”
Tears trickle down my cheeks. “I swear to God, Rob… if you’re not having a heart attack, I’m going to kill you.” I punch him in the arm so he knows I mean it.
“You love me,” he says, his eyes closing as his grin widens.
I have to turn away so he won’t see my tears turn into silent sobs. Please, God, don’t take him from me. Don’t take him from us, I mean. I think about how devastated James would be to lose his best friend. We can’t lose someone again. Not this soon. Not Rob.
“Ma’am, the paramedics are on their way. Is there a door code they should know or do you have a doorman?”
I take a big breath to steady myself so I can at least talk. “I’ll buzz them up when they come. I’m waiting right by the door.” I use the heel of my free hand to wipe the wetness from my cheeks. My throat is aching with unshed tears, but I’m determined to hold it together. For Rob. I don’t want him to think the situation is hopeless. Please, God, don’t let it be hopeless.
“Good enough. How old is your husband?”
“Thirty seven.”
“Approximate weight?”
“One ninety-five? Two hundred? Something like that.”
“Health problems?”
“None that I know of.”
“No history of heart problems?”
“No.” Other than breaking them, no.
“So you said this is your husband?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been married?”
I blink a few times, trying to figure out why that matters. “Is that relevant to him having a heart attack?”
The operator laughs. “No, I was just being friendly. I have the information I need. I have to stay on the line with you until the unit arrives.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“So? How long have you been married?”
“We’re newlyweds.” The answer pops out of my head that way because I’m afraid she’ll start quizzing me on what year we tied the knot, and I can’t do math very well under pressure. This feels like a test, and I can picture the woman hanging up on me when she finds out Rob really isn’t my husband. Oh, you lied? Sorry. I’m canceling your ambulance.
I reach out and pet his face, worried because it’s gone slack again.
“Being a newlywed can be stressful,” the oh-so-helpful operator says. I get the feeling she’s blaming this heart attack on me. I rest my hand on Rob’s chest just to be sure I can still feel a beat beneath his shirt. Sure enough, it’s there. And I’m no doctor, but it seems nice and steady. I want to cry with relief, but I don’t. I have to be strong for Rob.
“Sure,” I say. “But being single can be stressful too.”
“No doubt.”
Rob’s hand slides up and takes mine off his chest. Then to my surprise, he lifts it to his lips and kisses it.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” he says softly.
I’m too stunned to claim my hand back.
“You broke my heart, you know,” he continues.
I try to pull my hand away, but his grip tightens and he kisses my fingers again. “It was horrible. Don’t ever do that to me again.” His words trail off and he goes silent again.
“Did you guys have a fight?” the woman asks.
I pull the phone away from my head and stare at it. She’s definitely blaming me for this call.
I put the phone back to my head. “No, we didn’t have a fight.”
“He said you broke his heart.”
My temper starts to rise again. “Excuse me, but is that any of your business? My god, I didn’t call the relationship hotline instead of 9-1-1, did I?”
“No ma’am, you didn’t. And I apologize. I’m just trying to be friendly.”
I want to stay mad, but now I feel bad that I was so rude. “If you must know, he broke my heart.”
Robinson’s grip on my hand tightens. Then his other hand comes up to join the first and he pushes my palm into his chest.
I hate that he looks like he’s been laid to rest in a coffin with his hands like that. I put the phone down so I can grab his chin. I shake his head back and forth. “Rob. Rob! Wake up.”
He blinks his eyes a few times and then opens them fully. He tries to focus on me, but he’s too drunk or too sick. It’s impossible to tell. “Hi,” he says, like he just woke up after spending the night on my floor.
“Are you okay?” I ask, the tears welling up again. My hand pats the floor for the phone. When I find it, I put it to my ear again. Hopefully I haven’t missed anything important from Dear Abby-911-Operator on the other end of the line.
“My chest hurts,” he says, pouting a little.
I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. “The ambulance is on the way.”
“Ambulance? You called an ambulance?”
I nod, breathing through my nose to try and control my emotions. My entire face trembles with the effort. I hate seeing him look so vulnerable. It scares me, reminding me that life is so tenuous, so temporary. You never know when it’ll be your time to go. Laura was right about that, like she was about a lot of things.
Time passes as I stare at Rob. I re-memorize all the features of his face, ever last wrinkle, every last eyelash. He’s so beautiful it makes my heart ache. I stroke his forehead, his cheeks, his hair, trying to share my energy with him to keep him alive until someone is here to help.
Sometime later, Dear Abby-911-Operator comes back on the line. “Ma’am, the ambulance has arrived. Are you in a position to buzz them in?”
“Yes.” I jump to my feet, pulling my hand from Rob’s grip. I get to the door just as the buzzer’s going off. Pressing the button, I lean toward the speaker. “Come on up. I have the door open for you. Twenty-fifth floor.”
The sounds of traffic and banging come over the speaker. “On our way,” a man says. And then I really start crying. Please God, don’t take him from me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THEY WON’T LET ME RIDE in the ambulance, no matter how much I bitch and scream about being Rob’s wife. Thankfully, I find a cab willing to foll
ow behind the emergency vehicle and keep up behind the thing as it speeds through the city. We swerve into the hospital’s emergency entrance right behind it. I throw some money at the driver and run out, leaving him to argue with the security guards telling him to get lost.
A nurse stops me just inside the door, telling me I need to follow her to her desk to fill out paperwork. It’s just a trick, though. I do as she asks, but she puts me in a waiting room so I can wait to fill out paperwork.
I whip my phone out and call James.
“Where are you?” he says without preamble.
“Bellevue.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“They’re making me wait to fill out paperwork.” I drop my voice so no one nearby will hear me. “There’s like fifteen other people in here. She says I can’t see Rob until he’s been seen by a doctor.”
“Did you tell them you’re his wife?”
“Yes.”
“Give someone there the phone. Whoever’s in charge.”
I look around in fear. Will I start a riot getting preferential treatment? I stand a second later, not caring what anyone thinks. I need to make sure Rob’s okay. I need to tell him it’s okay. That what he did… I can forgive him for it. I can walk away and stop letting it tear me apart. Jake’s earlier words come back to me and make me feel guilty all over again. He was just trying to help me and I basically kicked him out. He was right. He was completely right. I have a choice about how I’m handling this and I need to fix my mistakes.
I find the nurse who told me to sit down and smile at her, holding out my phone. “Hi there. I’m sorry to bother you, but …”
“I told you to have a seat.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“I know, but…”
“And now you’re standing here holding a phone out at me.”
“I know, but…”
“There are eleven people ahead of you, and I’m busy. Please go sit down.” She glares at me over the top of her reading glasses.