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About This Author
I am a 40 year old married mother of two teenage boys. I live for writing, especially romance. Love the happily ever after scenerio. The best thing about writing for me is the ability to lose yourself in your work, and feel as if you've accomplished something great. At the end of the day, that's all that really matters.
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14 days, 7 prompts #672758 added October 21, 2009 at 10:34pm
Restrictions: None
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
“Good news.”
Monica turned from the window to see Jakestanding next to the bed with a handful of papers.
“What cha got there?”
He smiled, and for the first time she noticed how warm and inviting his presence was.
“Your discharge papers, you’re getting out of here today.”
She pushed herself up from the windowsill and moved across the pale green tile to the side of the bed where he stood keeping the tray table between them. Monica sat on the edge of the bed waiting.
Jakeflipped through papers, making notations here and there, absorbed in his job. She watched him for the very first time with interest. He’d been kind during her stay, would pop in and tell her a joke once a day to make sure her sense of humor was still intact, as if it were necessary to her recovery. His straight, light brown hair hung over his forehead to his eyes, blocking them so she couldn’t get a good look. She studied his small nose, well-defined cheekbones and landed on his lips. Cocking her head to the side to get a better view made her even more curious about her nurse.
At that moment, Jakemust have felt her watching with interest and spared her a glance, flashing that white smile again.
Monica wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible and hide, but that would be impossible. “Sorry.” The unfamiliar blush brought heat to her cheeks before spreading throughout the rest of her body.
“I see you have your color back. That’s always a plus.” He winked, gathered the papers and turned them toward her. “All right, I need a few signatures here.”
Monica was too embarrassed to make eye contact, and kept hers on the papers as he explained the instructions she would need when she got home. She saw the prescriptions that would require a stop at the pharmacy before going home, listened to him as he talked, but all she wanted to do at that moment was flee. Never before had a man intrigued her and made her think of something other than her medical problems.
She took the pen, signed her name and added her initials.
“Go ahead and get dressed. Let me know if you need anything else,” Jakesaid as he turned to leave.
Once he cleared the doorway, Monica got up and headed to the door. She closed it, turned and rested her back against the wood.
~~~
Heading out of the room, ready to return to her life, Monica tried to make her way passed Jack. Just as she thought she had a clear shot to the elevators, he reappeared, as if he expected her to make this move.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes, home.”
“Right this way,” he said, making a production of bowing out of the way.
Turning the corner to the elevator bank, an empty wheelchair sat waiting for her.
“Your carriage awaits,” Jake said from over her shoulder.
Jake’s warm breath washed over her shoulder, forcing her eyes shut for a brief moment.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you out of here as quick as possible.”
Monica complied, seeing no other choice. He waited until she sat, moved around her and pressed the down button, and then returned to lead her out of the hospital. Neither said another word as the doors opened and they got inside. The ride to the main floor consisted of people get on and off, no conversation. The silence only made her stomach tie up in knots.
The doors opened and they moved to the main entrance. Jake stopped off to the side of the revolving door and set the brake. “You really should have someone pick you up, Monica.”
“I don’t have that luxury.” She set her feet on the floor and stood. Turning, she smiled, “Thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure.”
“Take care. Hope I won’t be seeing this place any time soon.”
“Life is a series of little deaths, out of which life always returns.”
Monica stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words. Instead of commenting, she turned and made her way out into the bright sunlight of a Wednesday afternoon, the first day of the rest of her life.
She walked down the curve of the main entrance, passing a security guard on her way. He sat on a bench with another, holding a gun in his hand.
“I’ve had this thing forever. Now that I’m retiring, I just don’t know what to do with it,” he told the young man beside him.
Monica plodded on, smiling for the first time in weeks.
WC- 776
Total WC - 1590
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