Dancing Naked in Dixie (16 page)

After digging through the pile, Shug finds the EpiPen, and without hesitation, plunges it into my arm.

An ambulance siren wails in the distance. A second siren joins in. The cavalry is coming.

As the medication works its magic, returning me to a semi-human state, Shug pulls me closer, resting my head against his chest. I attempt to mumble a thank you, but end up with my swollen lips grazing the inside of his elbow. Which would have been nice, had I been semi-coherent and on our eleventh date.

“Don’t try to talk,” Shug says.

Tires squeal and the sirens reach a near-deafening scream outside Fendall Hall.

“Oh, thank you Jesus. Here they come,” Miss Byrd announces.

I struggle to sit up but get my body about an inch higher before I fall back again. My head feels like someone buried an axe in the back of my skull.

“Just rest.” Shug puts a hand on my cheek for emphasis, then tucks a strand of stray behind my ear. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

Miss Byrd coughs. “And Shug, here’s Mary Katherine, too. She’s coming up the walk right now.”

Chapter 18

After the injection, I’m cold and shaking like one of those machines used to mix paint cans. To my intense embarrassment and dismay, I’m now strapped to a stretcher with an oxygen mask over my face. There are monitors everywhere.

The cart I’m lying on shimmies back and forth as the ambulance screams away from Fendall Hall, bumping over potholes, lights flashing. An EMT, who looks about twelve years old, hangs on to the metal edge of the stretcher frame, monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate.

From the angle of my own body and the strain of the engine, I can tell we’re heading uphill at a decent clip. I close my eyes and start to count backwards from one hundred, trying not to worry about the back doors flying open. I resign myself to the fact that—if they do—this emergency worker is coming with me, and we’ll both look like Alabama road kill in no time.

The hospital ER is housed in a short, small building. The staff mustn’t be very busy today, because it looks like every employee in the entire hospital is here to meet us. My stretcher is yanked from the ambulance, and I’m certain the older of the two EMTs is going to trip before he sets me on the ground.

As I’m being rolled inside, Shug and Mary Katherine race up beside me. They jog alongside the cart as we breeze inside the doors and into the lobby area.

“Julia,” Shug waves at my face to get my attention. I blink over at him. “I tried to warn you. I’m so sorry.” He looks absolutely distraught, like he’s the one who pushed my face into the azalea bushes and summoned the bees to sting.

The truth is, I know better, and should be wearing my medical alert bracelet. The last time I saw it, however, was in my New York apartment by the empty fish bowl. Of course, I didn’t think for a moment that insects would be trolling for victims in the dead of winter. And, of course, the dead of winter down south is sixty-five degrees and sunny, so that logic is out the window in a hurry.

“S’okay,” I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. My face usually looks like it’s been used as a punching bag, so there’s no telling what I’m able to convey. “Happens,” I add.

“You poor thing,” Mary Katherine chimes in, not breaking a sweat or looking the least bit winded, but doing her best to sound the part of concerned citizen.

“We’ll be waiting out here,” Shug pokes his thumb in the direction of what I guess is the waiting area. He slows to a walk with Mary Katherine as the EMTs drag me into an exam room and shut the curtains behind us.

A cursory exam by the attending physician indicates that I will, indeed, live to see another day—barring any other unseen mishap. The doctor is pleasant and soft-spoken, with an accent as thick and sweet as crystallized honey.

Though I can’t understand a lot of what he’s saying, I nod and listen the best I can. “Y’all” and “reckon” seem among his favorite phrases, although “fixin’ to” and “bless her heart” are running not far behind with the staff.

The nurses, in scrubs and white tennis shoes, scurry back and forth, chatting between tasks. I catch a few of them watching the activity around my bed and staring at my swollen face, but they’re discreet enough to turn away when I notice them looking. By now, if it wasn’t a blatant HIPAA violation, there might be a magazine article and photo caption circulating in
US Weekly
tomorrow. I can picture the headline:
NY Travel Writer unveils secret identity as Circus Sideshow Act.

After another hour of watchful waiting to make sure I don’t relapse, the physician signs a few slips of paper inside my medical chart. He confirms a minimum of three times that I have another EpiPen in my luggage, a current prescription for more if needed, and then finally releases me to Shug and Mary Katherine’s custody.

Drained of all energy and weak from the medication’s after-effects, Shug offers an elbow to hang onto as I hobble back to the Mustang. I decline, a little out of pride, but mostly because of the searing look of displeasure that shoots from Mary Katherine’s eyeballs into the back of Shug’s head.

He’s blithely unaware of her sullen expression, even when he shoos her into the back seat, so that he can keep an eye on me up front.

With a flip of her hair, Mary Katherine steps daintily into the rear and wiggles into the space. She dons a large pair of Jackie-O style sunglasses and reapplies her lipstick, which still looks perfect.

“Julia, I’m going to take you back to Roger’s in a few minutes,” Shug tells me over the rumble of the engine. “He’s making up your bed now and putting on some hot tea. I told him we’d be there shortly.” He hands me a slip of paper. “Phone numbers. Mine. PD’s. My parents’ house. Just in case.”

“Thanks,” I say. My seatbelt clicks into place as we drive away from the historic district.

Shug takes a right, then another into a church parking lot. He laughs when he sees my confused expression. “No, it’s not what you think,” he says, jumping out of the vehicle.

He walks around and winks in my direction. I don’t move or turn my head to look at Mary Katherine, who probably doesn’t need another reason to consider throwing me under the wheels of the Mustang.

“I called ahead for your prescription. Doctor’s orders,” he jokes.

While I ease out of the car one cautious foot at a time, Mary Katherine screws up her face. “Shug Jordan, whatever are you talking about?”

“It’s the one thing guaranteed to make anyone feel better,” Shug says, and then hesitates. “You’re not allergic to flour and sugar, are you, Julia?”

I shake my head, trying not to smile. His worried expression is adorable. “Um,” I point at my face. “I thought you were making a stop. I’m not sure I want to go anywhere in public after this.” I don’t have to check a mirror to know my eyes and cheek are still puffy.

“Oh, is that all?” Relief floods his face. He reaches under his seat and hands me a worn blue hat. It’s emblazoned with an orange embroidered AU.

I take it and turn it around in my hands, smiling.

“It’s my lucky Auburn hat—you know, where I went to college,” Shug is beaming. “Come on, be a sport. It’ll be fine and will just take a sec. I promise,” he pleads.

Mary Katherine coughs. I’m not sure if she’s trying to hurry me along, but I slap the ball cap on my head and pull it down as far as I can over my forehead. “All righty then.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He points behind us and up in the air.

It’s The Donut King shop I noticed when I drove into Eufaula. The small, simple white sign with bright-red letters hangs outside the building. The structure itself is nondescript and plain, but when I inhale, the scent is a heady mix of sugar, flour, and buttery-goodness. Krispy Kreme, but better. It’s impossible to ignore and I find myself drifting across the parking lot toward the incredible smells coming out of the tiniest bakery I’ve ever seen.

Inside is dark and cramped, with conveyor belts dripping with glaze behind the counter. There are stacks of white boxes on one side and a cooler of milk and juice to our right. An Asian woman is waiting for us behind the counter, her hands folded at her waist.

“Hello Mr. Jordan, good to see you,” she says with a slight accent and nods a greeting in our direction.

When my eyes adjust to the dim light, I notice that the glass case in front of us has several shelves, each full of plastic trays. The trays, though, are all empty—strange for a doughnut shop—but I’m not about to ask what’s going on or what we’re doing there.

Mary Katherine hugs her elbows and tucks her arms tight into her ribs. She seems miserable and is glancing around like a snake might slither up her leg any moment. In my experience, women like Mary Katherine don’t frequent places like this. They don’t even pretend to eat high-fat anything, so I’m really not sure what she’s doing here, other than tagging along to make sure her boyfriend is behaving. After Shug’s seen my face blown up three sizes larger than normal, I don’t think I’m much competition.

“I really appreciate you waiting for us,” Shug tells the owner of the shop. He looks over at me and winks, “They’re usually sold out by now—but I told her we had a special guest from out of town and that she
really
had to sample the best doughnuts the South has to offer. I was planning to bring you here earlier today and surprise you, Julia, but…”

Mary Katherine squeaks like a mouse has nibbled her toe. When we all turn to look at her, she covers up her alarm by snuggling up to Shug. “Silly me. I’m just so excited about tonight. Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got lots to do this afternoon.”

“Well, enjoy.” The woman smiles and bends over to pick up a white box large enough to handle a dozen doughnuts, then produces several small bags with the tops folded down.

“Perfect,” Shug slides a few bills across the counter and scoops up our stash of sweets. He waves at the owner and opens the door, balancing the box and bags in one hand.

Once we’re settled back in the Mustang, Shug makes a big deal of opening the box and shoving it under my nose. The doughnuts smell like heaven.

“You’re not going to eat in this car, Shug Jordan,” Mary Katherine says under her breath.

He throws her a backward look. “We most certainly are,” he retorts to her surprised expression. “This is serious.”

To emphasize his point, he turns and offers the doughnuts to Mary Katherine, who turns up her nose and declines. He brings the box back to me.

With my thumb and index finger, I pinch the nearest confection and pull it out of the waxed paper wrapping. The doughnut is perfect, with just the right amount of glaze clinging to every nook and cranny. I take a small nibble and swoon with delight.

Shug finishes his doughnut by the time I’ve swallowed my first taste. “It’s good, right?”

I nod and smile, making sure to keep my lips pressed together because I’m still chewing.

Mary Katherine taps the seat impatiently. “Shug, please. Can we go?” She waves at herself. “This sun. I’m going to burn up if we sit out here much longer.”

Shug brushes off his fingertips, cranks the engine, and drives toward the B&B. “You can rest up for a bit. We’ll grab some dinner at, say six?”

He parks in front of Roger’s a few minutes later.

Mary Katherine follows me out of the Mustang, sliding into the passenger seat. She offers a cool smile and buckles the seatbelt, examining me with the strangest expression.

“Julia, heads up!” Shug calls out, looking mischievous. “Go long.” He heaves a small white bag at me. As the sack flies through the air, I manage to snatch the edge one-handed.

“Got it! Thanks.” I tuck it under my arm and take the steps one at a time, careful to hold on to the railing. When I step inside the building, smiling to myself, Roger is chatting with someone in the kitchen. I tiptoe to my room, unlock the door, and collapse on the four-poster bed, fully-clothed, and kick my shoes off. They land with a thump-thump on the wood floor. When I grab the pillow and stuff it under my head and neck, I realize now why Mary Katherine was staring at me.

When I raise my eyes, the dark brim of Shug’s ball cap stares down at me. I am still wearing his favorite Auburn University baseball hat. I slide his prized possession off my head, rubbing the soft blue cotton between my fingertips. With a sigh, I place it on the mattress with the orange AU logo facing me, and then snap off the bedside light.

As my eyelids grow heavy, and I settle in against the coverlet and firm mattress, I remind myself that I need to set my alarm for five o’clock. That will give me just enough time to shower, dress, apply makeup to my war wounds, and look presentable for dinner.

When my mind drifts further away from consciousness, I wonder why on earth Shug Jordan never asked for his ball cap back.

Chapter 19

I wake with a start and sit straight up in bed. It’s so dark in the bedroom that I can’t see my feet or my hands. There’s a sliver of light coming from outside, though, and after I launch myself off the mattress and trip over my shoes, I pull back the window’s heavy silk curtains.

With the back of my hand, I rub my eyes and look out across the street. The sun is rising in the east, casting a warm, red glow over the homes and buildings I can see in the distance.

Panicking, I leap for my watch, which I’m certain that I left on the bedside table. In my hurry, I bump my hip into the wood and knock the silver band to the floor. Still half-blind and now smarting from the bump, I drop to my hands and knees, pawing around on the floor, reaching my fingers beneath the bed frame.

It can’t be morning. What time is it?
As that thought exits my brain, I wonder this:
What day is it?

I snatch my laptop out of its carrying case and open it on the room’s tiny wooden desk. The light from the screen pours out and I wince from the brightness. My Mac powers up, chiming to signal the system is loading. With a clumsy finger, I hold my breath and punch the volume button half a dozen times before any other obnoxious noises wake Roger or the B&B’s other guests.

The black letters and numbers on my Mac tell me what I’ve already guessed. It’s six-twenty in the morning, it’s now Saturday, December 1st, and I’m about thirteen and a half hours late for dinner with Shug Jordan. I cover my face with my palms and try to inhale. When I’ve sufficiently replaced the oxygen in my lungs, I swallow hard and click on my email.