One Day Soon (14 page)

I walked back to his bedside and without asking permission, I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me call the nurse.”

Yoss reached up and grabbed my hand. “I’m angry, Imogen, but not with you. Please don’t leave.”

I nodded. “Okay. But you have to talk to me, Yoss.”

“I will. I promise,” he said emphatically.

I promise.

How many times had he said those words to me?

I pushed the call button on the side of his bed and Cheyenne came in a few minutes later, a small woman with an air of efficiency.

“Mr. Frazier, you’re awake,” she said with a smile.

“I think he’s running a fever,” I told her.

Cheyenne came over and touched his forehead. “I’d say so. Let me grab a thermometer.”

I waited with Yoss until Cheyenne came back in to take his temperature. He had dropped my hand, but his eyes kept finding me again. And again.

“101 degrees. That’s not too high. You most likely have some sort of secondary infection, but I’ll page Dr. Howell so he can reassess the situation,” Cheyenne said. “Imogen, you should probably let the patient get some rest. You can do your paperwork later.”

“Okay, I should go see the rest of my clients,” I said.

“You’ll come back though, right?” Yoss asked, sounding so much younger than he was.

I ignored the strange look Cheyenne gave me and instead concentrated on Yoss.

“I’ll come back later this afternoon,” I told him.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

I wasn’t able to get back to Yoss’s room until late in the afternoon. When I arrived a woman I recognized was sitting in the chair by his bed.

Yoss looked irritated, his lips pinched, his brow furrowed.

Which wasn’t surprising, given whom he was speaking to. Tracey Higgins glanced up from the pile of papers in her lap and gave me a tight smile.

“Imogen, hello,” she said with a sour expression. Her lip curled as though she smelled something bad and I wanted to roll my eyes.

Tracey had never learned how to play well with others.

We butted heads early in my career. It all started over a homeless woman who had been admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. She had been hesitant about going to the local shelter. After doing some digging I found out that the woman had been assaulted by another woman at the shelter several months before, though she had never reported it.

When I had suggested the woman be transported to a shelter in the next city, Tracey had taken offense. As though I were insulting her program. She took everything personally and because of that she had been a pain in my ass ever since.

Yoss’s eyes followed me as I walked into the room and sat down in other chair on the opposite side of his bed.

“I’ve been telling Yossarian about the shelter and the services he’s eligible for,” Tracey said, baring her teeth in an aggressive smile. “He seems rather resistant. I told him that you would reinforce how important it will be for his long-term health to be in an environment where he can get the support he needs.” She was incredibly condescending, speaking about Yoss as though he were a small child incapable of making his own decisions.

And she had called him Yossarian.

He hated being called Yossarian.

Even though he felt pride in the oddity of his name, he still had always refused to use it in its entirety.

“Tell this lady that I don’t do shelters. That I will never stay in one and to stop bugging the shit out of me,” Yoss demanded through clenched teeth.

Tracey’s eyes widened fractionally. “I understand this is a lot to take in at the moment, Yossarian—”

“Do
not
call me Yossarian,” he warned, glaring at her with narrowed green eyes.

Tracey gave me an annoyed look as if to say
what is his problem?

“Yoss, maybe you could just have a look at the services the Homeless Program offers. There might be something that could help you,” I suggested softly.

Yoss turned his eyes to me and his face relaxed. Just a little.

“Okay, I’ll have a look,” he agreed, though he didn’t sound very convincing. Tracey smiled as though she had won some sort of war.

“Great, now Yossa—I mean Yoss—I know the police have been by to speak to you. They’ve said that unless you can identify your attacker and want to press charges, there’s nothing they can do. Can you talk to us at all about what happened? I think finding the person responsible is very important. You need to—”

“I’m not talking about that. Not to you. Not to the police. I think you need to go now,” Yoss all but shouted. He winced and closed his eyes as if in pain.

It was time for me to step in.

“Tracey, Yoss is tired. He’s been through a lot and he’s running a fever. Perhaps you can ask him your questions later,” I insisted.

“But, I have paperwork to fill out,” Tracey complained, lifting the pile in her lap.

“All of that may not be necessary,” I told her firmly.

Tracey narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” It sounded like a threat.

“I’ll call you in the morning to let you know if that works.” I smiled at her. A mean smile. She rose to her feet and shoved the paperwork into her bag.

“Fine. It was nice to meet you Yoss. I hope to hear from you soon,” Tracey said stuffily before breezing out of the room.

“That lady really needs to work on her social cues,” Yoss muttered after she had left.

I snickered and then covered it with a cough. “She was just trying to help. We all are.”

Yoss rolled his eyes and that simple gesture made me smile. It was so much like the old Yoss. The one I remembered. The one that was nothing like this hardened, unhappy man beside me.

“I would have thought you had figured it out by now that you can’t help everyone.” His words were clipped. His tone frustrated.

I had come to his room hoping to get some answers from him, but I could tell it was useless. Yoss wasn’t going to talk to me. Not now.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“Like shit, but I’ll live. For now. They gave me more medicine and I’m supposed to sleep. But I think I’ve slept enough for a lifetime.”

“So you’re up to some company then?” I asked him.

“Are you offering?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I am,” I said.

“Then by all means.” He waved his bandaged hand. “You look tired,” he observed, looking at me closely.

I pushed my less than tidy hair out of my face and gave him a small smile. “Well you look like someone used your face as a punching bag.”

Yoss barked out a laugh. “Touché.”

Yoss’s eyes twinkled for just a moment before the light fizzled out and died.

We sat in silence. One minute.

Two minutes.

Three…

“What happened, Yoss?” I asked him again. “Did one of your…” I swallowed, not sure how to say the words. Yoss narrowed his eyes and waited as I fumbled and stuttered. “Did one of your cust—um—johns—do this to you?”

Yoss stared at me long and hard and I felt myself withering under his gaze. It wasn’t a friendly look. Nor was it an openly communicative one either.

He didn’t answer me. He was locked up tight and I no longer had the key. His eyes drifted up to the television mounted on the wall. An old movie was playing silently. I didn’t recognize what it was, but it reminded me of other things.

Things that I knew Yoss would remember as well. Things that if mentioned, may make him open up to me again.

“Do you remember that time we snuck in the back door of the old Meyers movie theater? They were playing Fiddler on the Roof and you snagged us some popcorn and we hid out in the back for both showings?” I grinned, remembering the two of us huddled down in our seats, hoping we wouldn’t get caught. Yoss’s hand holding mine as we kissed quietly in the dark.

It had been our first “date.”

The best I had ever had. Even to this day.

Things had been innocent. Simple. For those few hours we could be kids lost in each other. In a movie. And forget everything else.

Yoss’s jaw tensed. “Don’t do that, Imi.”

He was still staring at the mute television. “Don’t do what? Talk about old times? When you didn’t look at me as if you hated me?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Yoss closed his eyes. “Don’t use our history to manipulate me. To get me to talk to you about shit I don’t want to talk about. What we had shouldn’t be treated like a pawn on a battlefield.”

My mouth gaped in shock. I hadn’t realized that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t trying to manipulate him by recalling our shared memories.

Was I?

I just wanted to reconnect with him.

I clenched my teeth and found myself getting angry, in spite of my vow to contain my emotions.

“I wouldn’t use
us
like that, Yoss.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he looked at me again. Something changed in his expression and for the first time he relaxed. Just slightly.

“I remember that you hogged all the popcorn and then felt bad about it.” He smiled faintly. “You felt so bad that you waited until the guy at the concessions stand went to the bathroom snuck behind the counter so you could snatch my favorite candy.”

“Hershey’s Kisses,” I added.

“Yeah. Hershey’s Kisses. Then you fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through the second showing. I didn’t want to wake you up because you were so peaceful. You so rarely looked like that.” His eyes were bright with fever, but they were more alert. More
alive
.

“I wanted to take you on a real date,” Yoss mused. “Though instead of taking you to dinner and a movie, we had to settle for stolen snacks and hiding in the back of a rundown theater.”

“Hey,” I said, reaching out to touch him, then stopping myself. “It was a great afternoon. One of the best I ever had,” I argued.

“That’s more than a little sad, Imi. I think you need to get out more.” Yoss laughed.

“Maybe. But it’s the truth.” I grinned back and it felt good. “I hate that they closed that theater down. It was the only place in town that still showed old movies.”

“I haven’t seen a movie in years,” Yoss admitted, fiddling with the hem of his blanket. “Haven’t had a lot of time or inclination for stuff like that.”

I watched his fingers fold the sheet over and over again.

“Have you been in Lupton all this time?” I couldn’t help asking.

Yoss’s hands stopped moving and he became very, very still.

“Not the whole time. Give or take a few months here and there,” he admitted quietly.

My face flushed hot. “You were here all this time.”

His fingers were long and thin. I noticed a bunching of shiny scar tissue on the back of his left hand. It hadn’t been there when he was eighteen.

“Yes. I was here.” He didn’t sound sorry or contrite. He didn’t sound guilty for disappearing from my life with no explanation. He sounded
flat.

I looked down at the assessment I had yet to complete. I clicked my pen a few times.

I needed to conclude this trip down memory lane. It hurt. Too much.

“Well, let me fill out this paperwork and we can start going through your service plan,” I said in a clipped, even tone. I hurt. So much.

He had been in the city for years.

He had never come to find me.

The pain was almost overwhelming.

So I fell back on my job. On my professionalism.

It was the only thing I could do.

“Date of birth?” I asked, dull and listless.

“You know my birthday, Imogen,” he answered.

“Date of birth?” I repeated. Professional. Keep this professional.

Yoss sighed. “December 24
th
, 1982.”

“You’re a Christmas Eve baby!” I exclaimed, grinning.

“Ugh. Do you know how much that sucked as a kid? Everyone thought they could get away with buying me one present to cover both Christmas and my birthday. I could never really have a party unless it was weeks after or before. It sucked,” Yoss complained good-naturedly.