The Perfect Dish (25 page)

“I tried to tell him that,” Mery muttered.

“Like a man’s going to listen anyway.” The nurse gave a short laugh as she stopped in front of a room. “Here you go. He was still sleeping when I last checked his vitals.”

“Thank you.” Mery rested her hand on the door handle as the nurse left, but didn’t turn it. The metal’s chill seeped into her fingers. She willed herself to breathe slow, calming breaths. She closed her eyes and an image of Garrett flashed in her mind. Gaunt arms bruised by numerous IV’s, the soft fuzz covering his scalp the only hair chemo had left behind. Then Michael, body broken from the wreck, ghostly pale and already gone by the time she’d arrived. Her lids flew open and she shook her head.
You can do this.

She turned the handle, eased the door open. The private room was dim. The faint whir of the machines at his bedside the only sound. An acrid aroma, half medicinal-half cleanser hung in the air.

She hated that smell. Hated the way it stuck in the back of her throat so that she could almost taste it. She shut the door gently behind her, careful not to wake him, and walked to his bed.

Her hands trembled when she saw him. She clenched her teeth to silence the gasp threatening to slip out. Breathe. Blinking back tears, she stared at the ceiling and willed them away. He was hurt, not dying.
You aren’t responsible for this
. She looked down at his hand. Below the IV site, his knuckles were scraped raw.

Red scratches shadowed with purple trailed up his arm and disappeared beneath the sleeve of his blue-dotted gown. She lifted her gaze to look at his face.

His sandy curls framed his boyish face like an angel’s halo. Even the small gash across his nose and the deep bruising along his jaw didn’t detract from his peaceful expression. They must have him well sedated. She pulled her suit jacket a little tighter. Why did they keep these rooms so cold?

She walked around to a chair on the other side of the bed. She pulled it closer to his side, wincing as it screeched across the floor.

His eyes stayed shut. Breathing easier, she leaned back in the chair. On this side of the bed, his arm hung off the edge. She slipped her fingers under his palm and lifted. His fingers curled around hers but there was as much strength in his grip as a child’s.

Liquid built at her lash line. To see such a capable man reduced to such helplessness tore at her heart. She kept one hand beneath his and wiped her eyes with the other. He certainly didn’t look like a man in league with the devil at the moment. Maybe she was the only curse he suffered from.

She propped her elbow on her knee, rested her forehead in her palm and closed her eyes.
Get him better and get out of his life before you do any more damage.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Mery?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

His voice was weak, edged with pain. She looked up. “I’m here. Do you need anything?”

“You’re here.” His eyes were half-closed, the beautiful blue obscured by the fog of sedation.

She nodded, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears this time.

“I wrecked my bike.”

That got a partial smile out of her. “I know. You wrecked yourself too. Go back to sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise,” he whispered.

“I promise.”

“I love you.” His lids fluttered down.

The chill she’d felt before dropped to sub-zero. A million words rushed to her lips.
Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. Don’t even joke about it
. She was bad news. The black widow.
Love me and you’ll never get out of here.
But he slept again.

She let out a deep shuddering breath and shook her head. “Don’t say that,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous to love me. Besides, I’m still mad at you.”

He didn’t wake up this time and for that she was thankful. She didn’t wait to explain to a man in the hospital how loving her was a death sentence. And that for his sake, she couldn’t love him back. Even if she did care about him. She wasn’t nearly as mad as she’d been last night. But without a world-class explanation about that cookbook and some sort of divine reassurance that she wasn’t somehow responsible for the deaths of her husbands, their relationship was still over.

At 11am sharp, Mick, Celia and Viv walked in. Mery put a finger to her lips then pointed to the bed where Kelly slept. The nurse had come in a few minutes prior to check his vitals and administer more meds.

“How’s he doing,” Mick rasped in what she assumed passed for a whisper in Brooklyn.

“Hard to tell,” she whispered back. “He’s only been awake for about a minute.”

Viv set a huge bouquet of blue bonnets and yellow roses on the narrow table beneath the window.

Kelly shifted, moaning slightly, and they all went still. He lifted one arm a few inches as though he was trying to get up, then let it drop back to the bed. His eyes opened to small slits. He looked at them for a long minute without speaking. He groaned softly. “Am I dead?”

They all laughed, breaking the mood of the room. Mick shook his head. “No, Tex, but you’re pretty banged up.”

Kelly swallowed with apparent difficulty. “Water.” He gestured lamely to a cup on the bedside table. Mery jumped up and lifted the cup, guiding the straw to his lips. He drank half before he was through.

“Better. Thanks.” He smiled and an old, familiar but now unwelcome warmth built in her belly.

After about ten minutes of small talk, Kelly’s eyes started closing again.

“I’d better go,” Viv said, clutching her purse beneath her arm. She glanced at Mery, concern in her eyes. “Don’t want to wear you out any more than you already are.”

Mery gave her a weak smile to show she was all right with everything that was going on.

“Get better soon, cowboy,” Celia added.

Kelly’s eyes opened more fully. He grinned and for a moment, looked like his old self. “Thanks for coming.”

Viv nodded then left, shutting the door softly behind them.

Mery glanced at Celia. “Aren’t you going with her?”

Celia blushed and shook her head. “No.”

Mery raised her eyebrows.

“Mick and I are having lunch.”

That was interesting. Her brows went a half-inch higher as her gaze went to Mick. The man was grinning like a baby at a topless bar.

“We should probably go, too.” Mick’s hand settled on the small of Celia’s back. “See you later, Tex.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Mer.” Celia wiggled her fingers in a coy wave.

You bet you will.
Mery watched them leave in a minor state of shock. Mick and Celia? Not a match she ever would have made. She shook her head. What did it matter? It would end up going nowhere once Celia’s parents met him. No man she dated was good enough for her father or wealthy enough for her mother. They’d have a field day with Mick. Poor girl. It was no wonder she hadn’t married yet.

Thinking of things that didn’t matter made her think of Kelly’s confession of “I love you”. Surely that had been drug-induced. He couldn’t love her.

Just like she couldn’t love him.

Too much introspection and an hour later, a nurse brought in a tray of food, flipping the light on as she came in. Mery rolled her eyes. So much for compassion for the injured. Why couldn’t they just let him sleep?

“Lunch time, Mr. Spicer,” the woman announced.

Kelly blinked at the light in a groggy haze and tried to push himself upright. He moaned with the effort.

The nurse powered his bed up to a sitting position. He winced at the movement. “C’mon now. Let’s get some food in you.”

Mery stood. “Leave the tray on the table. I’ll take care of him.” She gave the woman a dismissive glare.

To her credit, the woman didn’t argue. She turned for the door, then hesitated. “I’ll be back to see that he’s eaten something.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mery said, already busying herself with fixing a pillow behind Kelly’s head. “Twit,” she muttered under her breath as the door closed.

A soft laugh made her look down. A sleepy grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “You’re meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes.”

She huffed out a breath. “She should have let you sleep.”

“Been sleepin’ all day.” He inhaled and let it out slowly. “Thanks for coming.”

Shrugging off his words, she crossed her arms. “This doesn’t forgive anything. I’m still mad as hell at you.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“I can’t yell at you until you’re better. I figured I’d come and help that along.”

He smirked like he didn’t believe a word she said. “What’s for lunch?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Not really. But I should eat, huh?”

“At least a little something.” She lifted the cover off the tray. “Or not.”

He lifted his head to see better. “What is that?”

“Mashed potatoes, a plain chicken breast—I’m guessing that’s what part it is, olive drab green beans and applesauce.”

His upper lip curled as he inspected the plate. “Any chance it tastes better than it looks?”

“I doubt it.”

He leaned back on the pillow. “I’ll pass.”

Scooping up a spoonful of runny mashed potatoes, she shook her head. “Eat this and I’ll sneak you in something better tomorrow.”

“Like wha—”

She stuck the spoon in his mouth. “Now swallow.”

He choked down the mouthful and glared at her. “I don’t like you.”

That’s not what he’d said earlier. She gave him a sip of water. “Sorry. I won’t do that again. But you have to eat. Your body needs the energy.”

The hard line of his mouth softened. “I’ll eat on one condition.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

She put the spoon down. “I don’t think you’re in any condition for that.”

“Just a peck.”

Rolling her eyes, she bent to kiss his cheek. He turned and caught her mouth. The spark was instant and electric. Heat flashed to every nerve ending in her body. She inhaled at the rush of pleasure and pulled away.

He shook his head slowly. “I guess you didn’t enjoy that since you’re still mad at me.” He met her gaze with clearer eyes than she’d seen all day. “Too bad. I sure did.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”
Liar
.
She grabbed the spoon and stuck it in his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice she was trembling. “Eat.”

Stepping aside, she pushed the rolling table so the tray was in front of him then went back to her chair.

“I can explain about the book.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Not now.” She crossed her legs and pointed to the tray. “Eat.”

He didn’t move. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

She pulled her purse strap over her shoulder and stood. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“No, don’t. I like having you here.” He lifted his hand, still holding the spoon. “I won’t talk about it.”

She sat back down.

“Tell me about your husbands.” He took a spoonful of something, grimacing as soon as he tasted it.

“Why?”

“Take my mind off the food.”

What could it hurt? “As long as you keep eating.”

He nodded.

“My first husband and the father of my son was Garrett Black. He was an investment banker. Worked for Celia’s dad actually, which is how I met her. Of course, she was only twelve then.” She exhaled, lost in happy memories. “Garrett and I married young but he knew school was important to me. Wanted me to finish.” She smiled. It was hard not to when she remembered Garrett. “He was the love of my life.”

Something dark glinted in Kelly’s eyes at those words but it came and went so quickly she couldn’t read it.

“How did he...”

“Lymphoma.” She fiddled with her ring, staring at a seam in the flooring. “He fought long and hard but it was too far advanced.” The lump in her throat kept her from saying more.

“I bet you’re not keen on hospitals.”

She swallowed and found her voice. “I hate them. This one especially.”

He raised a brow.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she leaned back in the chair. “Both Garrett and Michael died here.” She glanced at him. His spoon hung in mid-air. She could tell by the look in his eyes he was searching for something to say. Something that would make it better, but there weren’t any words that could do that.

She nodded at his plate. “Your food’s going to get cold.”

The clatter of metal on melamine rang through the room when he dropped his spoon. “Both of them?”

“Technically. I think Michael was gone before the ambulance got him here.”

“But Garrett...”

“Yes. I sat with him right up until the last moment.” She’d held his hand, trying to remember the vibrant man he’d been instead of the one whose veins showed through his tissue-paper skin like blue scars. She closed her eyes too late. A single tear burned a trail down her cheek. She rubbed it away with her palm.

“You know what his last words to me were?”

“I don’t think—”

“He said ‘if love were enough, I’d be with you forever’.” She pursed her lips and blew out a hard breath.

Kelly stared at his plate. “I don’t know what to say.”

She cleared her throat. “I know. You don’t have to say anything. But if you don’t eat, that nurse is going to read me the riot act when she gets back.”

While he ate a few more bites of potato, she stared at the floor, lost in thought until an odd scraping raised her head. He growled in disgust.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to cut this rubber chicken.”

She walked over, picked up his fork and knife and did the job for him. “You could ask, you know.”

“I’m a grown man. I can cut my own food.”

“With one hand and a spoon?” She laughed in hopes of lightening the mood. “You’re good but you’re not that good.”

He took the fork from her when she offered it but made no move to eat anything else. He stared at the wall ahead of him, his jaw tight. “I screwed up. Big time. I’m more sorry than I can say.”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about—”

“I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say.”

She nodded then stopped in case he thought she’d accepted his apology. “I think I’ll go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat myself. I’ll be back in a bit.”