Page 46 of Blocked Shot
“Mr. MacDonald, can you hear me?” a kind voice asks.
“Mmmm…” he mumbles. His mouth feels dry, like someone has stuffed it with newspaper and left it there.
“What day is it?” the voice asks.
“Friday?” he guesses, tongue thick. He likes Fridays. Second-best day of the week if you ask him. There’s usually pizza.
“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”
“Eggs.” Jake cracks an eyelid and sees the voice belongs to a woman wearing blue scrubs. Her face is round and soft, with rosy cheeks, and her hair pulled into a neat bun. She has a nice face, Jake thinks. Pleasant.
Seeing his eyes open, she leans in, shining a light in his eyes. “And do you know where you are, Mr. MacDonald?”
“Hospital?” he guesses. That seems about right.
“Good,” she says, noting something on the computer beside his bed.
“And how do your ribs feel?”
“Ribs?” he asks absently.
“We’ve given you something to manage your pain, Mr. MacDonald.The doctor will be by shortly with the results from some tests. In the meantime, you have a visitor. Would you like to see her?”
Jake nods, tongue still thick and unmoving. His head is filled with a pleasant fog, like he is floating on a giant puffy cloud. His thoughts float by, but each time he tries to catch one, it slips away. Did she say he had a visitor? Imagine that.
“Jake?”
A woman approaches his bed, like something out of a dream, or a hallucination, but the best kind. Her long, dark hair spills over her shoulders, catching the light in ways that shouldn’t even be possible. And her eyes — God, her eyes — deep honey brown, but they’reglowing, aren’t they? Like warm caramel melting in the sun, like the last flicker of light before a sunset disappears. Everything about her is soft, golden,shining.
“Am I dreaming?” Jake asks.
“Um, no,” the dream replies. Her voice is soft. It sounds like Jake’s favorite lullaby that he can’t remember. “May I sit?”
The world around her warps, blurs, but she stays in perfect focus, like gravity itself is holding her steady just for him. He can’t tell if she’s speaking or if her lips are moving in some hypnotic rhythm, but he nods.
“I heard them talking, you have several broken ribs. They were worried you punctured a lung but you didn’t, thank god,” the dream says. She pulls a chair closer to his bed.
That sounds deeply unpleasant.He doesn’t feel any pain, just floating. Marvelous floating.
Her lips—her soft, full lips—are parted slightly, but then, without warning, she nibbles the bottom one. And it’s like the whole room stops. It’s all Jake can focus on. The tiny gesture draws him in, like a magnet, pulling his mind deeper into a fog of thoughts.Mine. The word floats by as his mind drifts lazily in the fog.Those lips are mine.
“How do you feel? I was so worried.” The dream is speaking again.
“I feel…I feel fine.” With an effort, Jake turns to face his dream. She looks familiar, like a pleasant memory just out of reach. Something warm and distant, lingering at the edge of his mind. But then Jake notices the subtle details: her eyes, weary and puffy, her nose tinged with the faintest shade of red.Has she been crying?The thought drifts through his mind, unbidden, followed by another, sharper one.Who made her cry?
“I know who you are,” Jake says finally. Proud of himself. “You’re Natalie.”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm…good.” Jake says, settling back into the pillows. His eyes are growing heavy, as though uttering these few words has spent him. “You’re pretty.”
“I —” Natalie says. “Thank you.”
A beat passes. She is watching him with a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
“You should get some rest, Jake.”
“OK.” Drowsiness pulls at Jake, heavy and inviting. Through the haze, a quiet happiness blooms in his chest. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he lets go, slipping into sleep.
