Back to Me (22 page)

He hung his lab coat on the rack, and then, while calling a colleague to cover his afternoon clinic, he changed from a white dress shirt into a mock turtleneck sweater. While jogging down the stairwell to his car, Sergio-Xavier acknowledged something else but refused to admit what his heart already knew.

The second he pulled in front of Paige's house, Sergio-Xavier's chest started pounding. The Lexus parked in the driveway confirmed his fears. Paige normally parked inside the garage. He turned off his vehicle and sprinted to the front door, terrified of what he might find inside. The doorbell chime made him aware that his body was shaking. He abandoned the doorbell and pounded on the door. “Paige!” he yelled.

When no response came after what seemed like hours of pounding, he turned the doorknob, and to both his horror and surprise, the door opened. Apparently, Paige hadn't locked the door when she returned home, or someone leaving hadn't bothered securing the residence. Sergio-Xavier's first thought was to pray, but his feet carried him inside before he could form words.

“Paige!” he called once inside the foyer. An uneasy silence greeted him as he continued down the hall and into the living room. He called her name again once inside the kitchen. Still no answer. To his relief, nothing appeared out of place except the cell phone lying on the counter. He went to check her bedroom, and just before reaching the door, the stench of human waste stopped him dead in his tracks. The one-name, one-word prayer he'd come to depend on filled his head, but Paige's name flowed from his lips. His breath caught, and temporary paralysis handicapped him. Finding Paige on the floor, lying on her back, with her head turned toward the door, soaking in her urine and vomit, chilled him to the bone. He held his breath until his trained eye scanned her neck and torso and identified respiration and a pulse. Before he inhaled again, Sergio-Xavier was on his knees beside her, shaking her.

“Paige, wake up!” He shook more vigorously after the heat from her forehead singed him. “Baby, please wake up.”

She moaned his name and then began coughing.

With a careful, but firm grip, he lifted her upper body and positioned her back against his leg and her arms around her. He attempted to pull her disheveled hair from her face and discovered too late the yellow streaks were dried vomit. He took a closer look and saw that the front of her top was covered with the substance, and her jeans from the hem up were stained with old urine and with the fresh puddle on the floor, which was now lubricating his slacks.

For the moment his anger dissipated, and the pain of having loved and lost this woman lifted. “What happened to you?” he asked, choking back tears, once she stopped coughing.

She opened her eyes, and her head darted from side to side, like she was trying to get her bearings.

He braced her back with one arm and cupped her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. For once Sergio-Xavier wished she'd use that vicious mouth of hers. “Talk to me, baby. Are you sick? Did you take any medication? Have you been drinking?”

“No,” she mouthed.

“Tell me what's wrong. I'm listening,” he said after wiping the single tear from her right cheek.

“I can't walk. It hurts,” she finally answered. “I fell and twisted my ankle today.”

He glanced downward at her bare feet. The right one was twice the size of the left one and discolored. “Why didn't you call someone?”

Paige pointed toward the far corner, where the cordless phone base had been disconnected from the wall jack. “I couldn't get to the phone, and I don't remember where I threw my cell phone.”

“It's in the kitchen,” he said, distracted. Paige wasn't making sense. The condition of her foot and her hygiene didn't correlate. “When did this happen?”

She hesitated and sniffled before answering, “Today, when I was leaving Seniyah's house.”

Now Sergio-Xavier knew something wasn't right. “Did you also hit your head when you fell?”

“No, but I wished I had,” she whimpered.

More concerned about her having a traumatic brain injury, Sergio-Xavier ignored the remark. “Paige, what day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“What did you do today?”

“I went to Seniyah's house to talk to her about the baby, but it didn't go so well. As I was leaving, I tripped down the stairs. I came straight home and went to sleep after I disconnected the phone.”

He knew there was more to the story by the way her head hung, but he wasn't going to push her. The time for him to know her business had passed. “Sweetheart, it is Tuesday afternoon. You've been in this room for four days.”

Confusion covered her face.

“When was the last time you ate?”

She turned away. “The night we broke up.”

“That's explains a lot.” He stood and carried her to the bed. “Let's get cleaned up. You need to get to the hospital for tests to make sure you don't have a head injury. You're dehydrated, and you need an X-ray of that ankle. From the looks of it and your fever, you may have broken it and it may also be infected.”

“I'm not going to the hospital,” she announced while shaking her head. “I'd rather stay here and die by myself.”

“You don't mean that,” he said, setting her down on the bed.

“Yes, I do,” she said just above a whisper. “I don't have anything to live for.”

He hunched back down and tried to reason with her. “Paige, I know the death of Seniyah's baby has hit you hard, but you have to pick yourself up and keep living. You did the best you could for Seniyah. Now you have to move on.”

Her shocked expression surprised him. “The baby died?”

“Didn't you know that?”

She shook her head from side to side but didn't shed any tears.

“Didn't you go to her house . . . ?” He let the statement hang. Maybe the time would come for him to hear the whole story, maybe not. Right now he needed to get her to the hospital. He stood again. “Look, either you allow me to help you get cleaned up and to take you in my car to the hospital, or I can call an ambulance and you can go as you are.”

“Do whatever you want to do,” she said defiantly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Fine.” Without another word, Sergio-Xavier stood and walked away.

“What are you doing?” she inquired when he starting searching her drawers.

“Looking for your underwear,” he said, as if it was a normal occurrence.

“Why?”

“So I can put them on you after I bathe you.” He held up a black pair and a bra. “How about these?”

She leaned up on her elbows. “No, you will not, and those will do just fine.” Her voice was weak, but he heard her.

“Good. Now let's find something to wear.” When he held up the black leggings and gray sweatshirt, she just nodded.

After placing the set of clean clothes and a pair of slippers in the bathroom, Sergio-Xavier realized the magnitude of his predicament, but it was too late to turn back now.

“Look, Paige, you need a bath, but I can't allow you to take one unattended. You're too weak, and you might have a head injury. Also, I'm sure you can't get those pants over your foot or get in and out of the bathtub without assistance. So help me out here.”

Her expression changed from horror to relief. “I have some plastic chairs in the garage. I can sit on one in the shower. That way I can wash my hair too.”

“Okay, but promise you won't try to stand.”

“Promise you won't look.” She lay her head on the pillow but then frowned and sat back up.

“I'll be right back. Don't move.”

After setting the Keurig to brew some chamomile tea, Sergio-Xavier ran out to his car and removed the travel bag he kept a change of clothing in from his trunk. His steps were lighter now that he knew Paige wasn't in harm's way, but resentment wasn't far behind. Just days ago the woman had treated him like a dog after all he did was try to love her. Now he had to take the high road and be the one to help her. When she recovered, he was going to send her the bill for ruining his slacks.

He placed his travel bag in the foyer and then went into the garage to retrieve a plastic chair. He left the chair outside the bedroom, then grabbed his travel bag from the foyer, entered the kitchen, and took a garbage bag from a drawer and the brewed cup of tea from the Keurig. With his travel bag, the garbage bag, and the teacup in hand, he hurried back to Paige's bedroom.

“Here. Sip on this,” he said, setting the cup on the nightstand. “You need some fluid, but take small, slow sips.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Simone.”

He waited with his arms folded to make sure she complied, and to make sure she had enough strength to hold the cup. After she took a few sips, he continued the preparations for the big event. She'd sipped half the tea by the time he had the chair stationed in the shower, his travel bag and the garbage bag on the floor in front of the sink, and towels in close proximity for Paige's use.

He took the cup from her shaky hands, then carried her into the bathroom without preliminaries. “Let's get this show on the road. I mean, let's get you cleaned up,” he said, editing himself after Paige soft nudged his abdomen.

He placed her in the chair, and they began what at times resembled a game of Twister, as he had to strip her while she was seated with the drawn shower curtain between them. For added privacy, Sergio-Xavier slammed his eyes shut and felt his way. As he tugged the soiled pants down her legs, he shook his head at the irony of it all. He'd had many fantasies of stripping Paige, but they had all included satin and lace. Not urine and vomit.

“I'm ready,” she groaned after tossing the last piece of clothing out of the shower stall.

“I'll be right in here at the sink, washing up and changing my clothes. If you need help, call me. Don't try to get up. When I call your name, please answer, or else I'm coming in there, and I won't have my eyes closed,” he warned.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

His heart ached at the hopelessness in her voice, but he also remembered the venom that was capable of flowing from those same lips, and stepped away.

He collected her soiled clothing and put it in the garbage bag, then removed his own clothing and added it to hers. Every so often, he stood by the shower and called her name. With each answer, her voice grew stronger. He washed up in the sink and changed into the sweat suit in his travel bag with a watchful eye on the shower. He'd just finished tying his Reeboks when the water stopped. He rushed to the shower in time to hand Paige a dry towel.

“How are you coming along?” he asked as he rested against the wall closest to the shower, waiting for her to finish drying off so they could start tussling with her clothing again.

“Besides the throbbing in my foot, I actually feel a little better. I think the hot water did me some good.” She threw the towel out, and one item at a time, he passed her clothing to her. “I'm ready,” she announced, pulling the shower curtain back.

In one swift motion, Sergio-Xavier lifted her from the chair. “Let's go,” he said and started for the bedroom once she had secured the underwear and leggings over her bottom.

When it was clear that he had every intention of carrying her out to his car, she said, “No, wait. I can't leave yet.”

He continued walking. “We're not going to argue about this. You're going to the hospital, and that's final.”

“I need to blow-dry my hair and brush my teeth first.”

He thought she was stalling again, until he stopped and looked up at her head. Drops of water had already moistened the shoulders of her sweatshirt, and her breath reeked. He retraced his steps and went back into the bathroom, but this time he sat her on the toilet seat.

“Where's the blow-dryer?” She pointed to the cabinet below the sink.

“Will you do it for me?” she asked when he handed the plugged-in dryer to her.

While looking into those desperate and helpless eyes, he prayed one day soon his heart would no longer belong to her. “Of course, sweetheart. Relax, and I'll have you dry in no time.”

She rested her forehead against the vanity and remained motionless while he dried her long tresses in less than eight minutes. “How did you learn to do that so fast?”

“I used to wear my hair long.” He unplugged the dryer and, after positioning her over the sink, held her hair in place until she'd brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth.

“Thank you.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. She was crying.

He scooped her up once again, but this time he didn't stop until he'd secured her in the passenger seat of his car. He ran back inside and discarded the garbage bag, grabbed her purse, and locked the house. Then he jumped behind the wheel, and they sped toward the highway.

Arriving at the emergency room in the arms of a lead staff physician worked in Paige's favor. She was whizzed through the registration and triage process and received an X-ray within thirty minutes of her arrival. Dr. Simone didn't identify Paige as his girlfriend to the hospital staff, but he was certain the constant physical contact between them implied it. Addressing her as “sweetheart” didn't help, either, but he couldn't stop himself. Seeing her so vulnerable had touched the part of him that still loved her.

He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead, then stood to leave when the nurse left the room after starting the IV fluid. “You're in good hands. I'm going to take off now. Your ankle isn't broken, but you have a bad sprain. A couple of bags of fluid, and you'll be good to go, but follow the discharge instructions and stay off of that ankle.”

“You're not going to stay and take me home?”

He pressed past her expression of shock. “No. The staff notified your mother, since you listed her as your emergency contact. She'll be here soon.”