Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy (25 page)

Brad limped ahead of her, sticking his head in each doorway along the way. Suddenly he shouted. “They’re here!” She followed him into an examining room three doors down.

The scene before her—Jeff sitting on the edge of the examining table, Anne-Elizabeth in his lap, Peter standing beside them, and all covered with blood—barely had time to register in her numb mind.

“It’s all right, honey,” a young man in a lab coat said as he lifted Anne-Elizabeth out of Jeff’s lap. “We’re going to get your mama. We just need to—” He broke off with an oath and jerked his hand away. “She bit me!”

“Annie!” Cecilia sprang forward and scooped her daughter into her arms. “What—what’s going on? Oh, God. She’s bleeding!” She heaved her squirming daughter back onto the table. “Please,” she gasped. “Help me. I’m her mother.”

“I’m Dr. Boyce,” the young man said. “We need to put her in a separate examining room, ma’am, and the boy, too, until we can determine—”

“Peter?” Cecilia said, reaching for him with one hand, even as she clutched Anne-Elizabeth with the other. “What—what happened to you? The blood—”

“Mom!” Peter grabbed her arm. “We’re not hurt. Make them look at Jeff! He’s the one who—”

“I’m not hurt,” Jeff said, and for the first time she looked straight at him and gasped. His face was pasty white, with a deep gash running diagonally across his temple, already discoloring even as it continued to seep blood. “I’m not hurt,” he repeated. He seemed to have difficulty focusing, for he looked directly at Cecilia for several moments before suddenly straightening. “Uh-oh. It’s you,” he said. “It’s all my fault.”

Peter blurted out, “It’s not, either!”

Anne-Elizabeth scrambled back into Jeff’s lap. “It’s all wight,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I won’t wet Mama kill you.”

“What?” Cecilia gasped. She spun from one bloody child to another. “What on earth is going on here?”

Jeff muttered again, “My fault.”

“Don’t listen to him, Mom,” Peter said quickly and loudly.

Anne-Elizabeth huddled closer to Jeff. “I cwimbed too high, and Jeff forgot to hold on.”

Brad glared down at his own wound. “I’ll bet y’all are gonna get stitched up before me, too.”

“Stitches?” Jeff roused himself and gave his head an unsteady shake. “No stitches. No needles.”

“Good grief,” Peter said. “What a baby.” But his face was pale, and his voice shaky as he turned to the doctor. “When he landed, he hit his head, and he—he seemed like he was knocked out for at least a minute, maybe longer. It seemed longer, anyway. And he said he was sick to his stomach.”

Dr. Boyce frowned and made a notation on his chart. “We’ll need X-rays for him.” He glanced warily at Anne-Elizabeth. “Then we need to check her out.”

“She’s okay,” Peter said.

Anne-Elizabeth raised her arm. “My elbow hurts.” Cecilia reached for her, but Anne-Elizabeth pulled away, wrapping an arm around Jeff’s neck. “He’s afwaid. Don’t worry,” she said, snuggling against his torn shirt. “I won’t wet ’em hurt you.”

“I think...” Jeff said, clutching Anne-Elizabeth to his chest, “I think that...” His eyes rolled backward and the doctor lunged forward to catch him as he slumped sideways.

Cecilia reached for Annie, but the little girl clung with an iron grip. “He don’t want any needles,” she said from beneath her mop of fiery hair. Her green eyes narrowed and she showed her teeth. “Weave him awone!”

“Anne-Elizabeth!” Cecilia stepped into the fray and grabbed her daughter. “Let go, this instant!”

The little girl’s eyes filled with tears, and her arms went limp as Cecilia pulled her away. “He caught me,” she said. “He forgot to hold on to the twee, but he held on to me.”

“Mrs. Evans, we’ll get this all cleared up. Why don’t you take your little girl into your son’s examining room so she can calm down.”

“That figures,” Brad grumbled. “I’ve gotta wait. Again.”

Holding her daughter close, Cecilia allowed the nurse to escort her to the door. She paused and met Peter’s uncertain gaze. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

“I...I thought I’d better stay here.” He shrugged uneasily, his eyes going to Jeff and the doctor, who was peering into one of those big, brown eyes with a narrow beam of light. “He’s all alone. They... they might need to know something.”

“Peter, you don’t have to—” Cecilia began.

“I think we can handle it, buddy,” the doctor assured him.

But Peter’s mind seemed set. He dropped into a plastic chair beside the examining table. “You’d better check his back, too,” he said to the intern. “He’s kind of cut up from failin’ out of the tree.”
 

~o0o~

“That’s the way,” Cecilia panted. “Lean on me, Jeff.” She braced an arm against the wall and struggled down the hall to her bedroom. Peter whipped back the covers, and Anne-Elizabeth plumped the pillows with her small fist. “We’re weady,” she announced, patting the pillow into place. “You can wie down now.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Jeff gasped as he sank to the side of the bed. “I could have gone home.”

“With nobody but that damned bird to take care of you? Grow up, Jeff.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said. “We’ll get Toulouse and bring him over here so he won’t be lonely.”

“Over my dead—” Cecilia began, then cleared her throat. “We’ll think of something.”

Jeff reached for his shoe, but Anne-Elizabeth got there first. In moments she had the laces untied. “You’ve got pwetty socks,” she said, rubbing the red argyles with her finger.

“Thank you,” Jeff replied solemnly. He raised his eyes beseechingly to Cecilia. “If you really insist on my staying here... I think I’d better lie down.”

She reached forward to help him, but he brushed her hands away. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt then shrugged it off, exposing the white bandages that wrapped much of his upper body. When he reached for his belt buckle, she grabbed the kids by the shoulders.

“Why don’t we leave Jeff alone for a while?” she said, escorting them into the hall and closing the door behind her.

“How wong is Jeff staying?” Anne-Elizabeth asked, her brow knit with concern.

“Overnight should be long enough,” Cecilia said. “How would you like to sleep on the living room floor with me? That way we’ll hear him if he needs something in the middle of the night.”

The front door banged open and Brad entered with two small pill bottles in his hands. “I found ’em. They dropped behind the seat. I’ll take Jeff his.” He loped down the hall and into his mother’s bedroom, only a slight limp to indicate the seven stitches holding his wound tidily closed. He emerged moments later with one pill bottle, slammed the door behind him and spun to face his mother and siblings, his freckled face wreathed in a grin. “Wow! You should see Jeff’s undershorts!”

“Brad, go into the living room and get off your leg,” Cecilia said quickly. “And give me your medicine.”

“But they’re red—”

“Who wants lemonade?” Cecilia interrupted, tucking his antibiotics into the pockets of her slacks.

“Jeff wears pwetty wed socks,” Anne-Elizabeth said. “I wike wed.”

“Annie, make sure Brad gets off that leg. You be the doctor, all right?”

The four-year-old immediately jumped into action, grabbed her brother’s arm and dragged him toward the living room. “You have to do what I tell you ’cause I’m the doctor and I said wie down!” she ordered. Brad allowed himself to be bullied into obeying, graciously accepting the plumped pillows, afghan and stuffed bear she found necessary for his recuperation.

Cecilia grabbed a tray, a pitcher and a ladle, and began preparing the lemonade.

“Mom...”

Peter stood uneasily beside her.

“You must be wondering...”

“I think that between Jeff’s repeated apologies and Anne-Elizabeth’s explanations I’ve finally managed to piece together what happened.” She smiled, handing him a glass. “It’s all right, Peter. Accidents happen. It’s nobody’s fault, and since Jeff only needed a few stitches, I think we can chalk it up to just another day in the Evans zoo, don’t you?”
 

“I guess so. But I figured you’d want to know why—”
 

“Wait. Did you hear something?” she asked, her heart suddenly thumping a little faster. “I thought I heard Jeff calling.” She placed two glasses on the tray. “I’ll take his lemonade. And why don’t you take Brad’s drink to him?” She hurried to the bedroom, entered silently, then nudged the door shut with her hip.

“Thank you,” Jeff moaned.

“For what?”

“For not crashing, banging or slamming the door.”

“I left a message for Robert, and when he calls I’m going to ask him come get the kids.”

Jeff’s brow furrowed, and he winced, gingerly touching the bandage at his temple. “Why are you sending them away?”

“Because,” she said, “you don’t need them banging and slamming and crashing through the house with your head about to burst.”

“Oh.” He blinked at her. “You really don’t have to do that. I don’t mind them staying.”

She placed the tray on the dresser. “Let me pull the shades.”

“Please.”

When the room was darkened, she faced him and sighed. “Oh, Jeff.”

“I thought it was 'oh, my.’”

“I don’t know what to say.” She clenched her hands against the small of her back. “Well, at least now you understand.”

There was a moment’s silence, then he said, “I think I’m too shaken up to understand anything. Why don’t you humor me with an explanation?"

Cecilia knelt beside him, bringing her face close to his. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You just stepped in, as usual, Mr. Nice Guy, and the next thing you know, you’re in the ER with a concussion.” She shook her head, her throat tightening. “We’ll drive you crazy, if we don’t kill you first.”

“That seems to be a distinct possibility.” His hand fell limply to the side of the bed. “Could I have my lemonade now?”

She jumped to her feet. “Of course.” She grabbed the glass, her hand trembling. “You’re going to have to sit up.” She eased her arm under his shoulders to help. Without warning he caught her and pulled her against his chest as he placed the glass on the bedside table with his free hand. “Kiss me, Cecil.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t—”

“It’s the least you can do.”

She pressed her lips tentatively against his, felt his arm tighten around her back, and closed her eyes. How could anything so disastrous as what they were doing to each other feel so wonderful, so right? She pulled away to catch her breath, and he let her.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I needed that.”

She slid out of his arms.

“Where are you going?”

“You need your rest.”

“My head agrees with you.” He caught her hand. “You look terrible, Cecil, and you didn’t fall out of a tree. So what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The way I hear it, you’re not sleeping, you’re bitchy as hell—”

“Says who?” she demanded.

“Well... some of it I’ve surmised.” He wouldn’t release her hand, even when she tugged. “I’m glad to see you’re surviving so well without me.”

“I am,” she said, unable to stem the belligerent tone of her voice.

“Cecil... don’t do this.”

She blinked, then swallowed hard. “Jeff, if all this today hasn’t convinced you that marrying me is a mistake—”

“It hasn’t.”

“Then I don’t know what else to say.”

“Try admitting that you need me.”

She jerked her hand free. “I don’t need you to survive. I’ve managed quite well without you.”

“But?”

“Well, I... I can’t very well lie about it. I’m not happy.” The words sounded so inadequate, yet how could she put it any more plainly?

“Is that all?”

“That’s about it.” She sighed.

“So what are you going to do now that you’ve made this discovery?”

“I guess I’m going to have to get used to being unhappy.”

“I hope you aren’t serious.” He tried to sit up, but she applied gentle pressure to his shoulder.

“Of course I’m serious. Jeff, you have no idea how much responsibility is involved in this business of raising kids. It’s...” She felt a sob growing in her throat and fought it down. “Sometimes it’s more than I can handle.”

“When is the last time you admitted that?” he asked softly.

“It doesn’t make any difference. It’s a big job, and I love it, and I do a damned good job of it. But I can’t ask anybody...not even you...to share it.” She raised her eyes imploringly to his. “Don’t you understand? I’m not protecting the kids anymore. I’m protecting you.”

“Cecil.”

She blinked back tears.

“I’ve never felt as... cared for... as I’ve felt today,” he said.

“Of course,” she sniffed. “That’s the way they are. They were scared, and they’ll do anything they can for you today, but—”

“Tomorrow Anne-Elizabeth will use my socks for doll clothes and Peter will call me a jerk.”