Page 56 of Outlaw Heartstrings
I hold the chair steady as Christopher plumps his ass down like a rock. He closes his eyes and lets his head loll to the side. “Get me to the morphine,” he commands. “I need morphine. And I need an x-ray. Now.”
Emmeline’s eyeballs roll themselves up to the ceiling, and I feel her pain. “We came in through the wrong entrance, didn’t we?” She looks around at the signs. “Can you please point us toward the ER?” she asks me, sounding exasperated.
I’m about to offer to take them over there, but right then the phone on my desk starts ringing. “Make a left at the end of that hallway,” I tell Emmeline as I scamper back to my station and reach for the phone. “If you need, I can call someone to help you.”
She gives her head a tired shake. “I think I can manage. Thanks, Alba.” Then the two of them are gone, with Emmeline pushing Christopher’s wheelchair.
As I watch them go, I offer up a silent prayer for her because Christopher truly looks like he’s not going to make it.
My ex always was such a big baby.
Every time I see him and Emmeline out and about around town, she seems to be doing all the heavy labor ofholding their facade of a marriage together. Christopher is essentially deadweight from what I can see.
I’ve barely handled the phone call and settled back into my seat to resume my reading when Emmeline power-walks toward me.
She looks around the lobby. “Which way’s the cafeteria?”
“Just down those stairs.” I point out a staircase at the end of the hallway.
“Thanks.” She gives me another one of those tired smiles.
She resumes her hustle but after a few steps, she pauses. Then she walks back toward me, digging around in her purse.
“I hope you don’t think it’s weird, but Christopher and I are founding a new church here in town, and I wanted to invite you to join us for our first service.” I take the crisp black and white pamphlet she hands me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say.
As I read over the printout, Emmeline’s eyes sneakily peruse the cover of my spicy romance book. Her stare widens judgmentally at the bare, tatted man chest.
I roll my eyes and I roll them hard. This woman has far bigger problems than worrying about my spicy literary interests.
Emmeline shakes her head. “I, uh, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but I know that you’ve been, um, single for a few years now. I know that must be lonely.” She gives her head another wag and then she sighs. “We’re expecting some really nice men at the church and I was just thinking you could meet…” She laughs awkwardly. “Never mind. Just, uh, you’re invited to our opening ceremony and, uh…yeah.”
I blink, speechless for a second. “Um, thanks.”
Her phone dings. She looks down at it and sighs. “Gottago. Christopher is asking for his hot chocolate.” With another tired smile, she wobbles off.
Watching after her, I shudder to think that that could have beenmylife. I could have been the one, raising two children who are barely out of diapers, getting ready to give birth to a third and waiting hand and foot on the big-man child who’s obviously not much of a partner to begin with.
Damn. Maybe I dodged a bullet when Christopher ditched me for greener pastures. Because as single as I am, Emmeline’s fairytale life seems a whole lot like a nightmare to me.
True. Most women aspire to marriage and I think that’s a beautiful thing. But—damn—can we at least stop pretending that guys like Christopher are actually husband material? Can we get a quality assurance department doing quality control on the prospective marriage partners out here? Maybe? Please?
When Emmeline is gone, I glance down and notice that my own silenced phone has been buzzing this whole time. I check my messages, only to find that it’s Julissa who’s been blowing up my phone with texts.
Jules: OMG. Guess who I ran into?
Then there’s another message from her three minutes later.
Jules: Ugh. OK. You’re lame and at work and not answering me, so I’ll tell you who.
Jules: Easton and his brothers are at the bar.
My stomach does a flip, as nerves come to life.
Deciding it’s time to take my break, I grab my romance novel and I head for the staff break room. I close the door behind me and set a clean mug into the sticky single-serve coffee maker for a much-needed refill.
Jules: Girrrrrl…That man keeps asking questions about you.
