Finding Sadie (Los Rancheros #0.5) (5 page)

Later that week I was back at the shrink’s office.

“So it went well?”

I shrug, my necklaces jingling together.

“You had fun?  How was it seeing the kids?”

I huff out an annoyed breath.  “It fucking sucked.  What do you want me to say?”

“Did you get any perspective about your life?” she keeps digging.

“I don’t know, Doc.  It seems to me that life is just unfair all-around.  Everybody gets a raw deal.”

She motions to me with her hand.  “But you have millions.  You aren’t struggling to eat.  What do the kids have that can be seen as a positive?”

I want to say something completely shocking just to upset her, like that they’re spared from living the rest of what is sure to be a hard life.  But I can’t do it when I think about little Jayden.  I wish he would get to experience teenage angst and broken hearts.  What did he get that was positive?

Batman and Robin.

Fuck.

I had pretty much convinced myself that I wasn’t going back there.  Yeah, it was fun and the sex was smokin’ but I didn’t think Batty would be very appreciative of a one-night stand coming back to stalk him.  Then my mind started turning to all of the other kids who were dying.  All of the other ways to make those kids smile, despite their situations.

Fine.  I would go, and if he wasn’t there, I would stay.

My phone vibrating in my pocket brought me back to the room.  I ignore it and look to the doc.  She’s observing me in that way that professionals do when they’re trying to diagnose you.

“What was the question?”

She lifts a shoulder.  “Never mind.  Are you going to get your phone?”

“Isn’t that rude?”

She almost rolls her eyes.  “When have you ever worried about being rude, Popper?”

That’s true.  What the hell’s wrong with me?  I pull out my phone and look at the text.

Doucher’s Sec: If your afternoon is free, Mr. Finnigan would love for you to come to his offices, Miss Dinah.  3 PM.”

I hit delete and slide the phone back in my pocket.  After going through my manager, then my publicist, and finally my cell phone, they realized I would never call them back, much less pick up the phone.  As annoying as the texts were, the name I saved her number under always brought a smirk to my face.

“Have you spoken with your boss?”

Damn perceptive woman.

“No.”

“Your contract is coming up for renewal.  The band is going to have to sit down soon to go over it.  Are the other band members as reluctant as you are to go in?”

I laugh humorlessly.  “They’re too high to think for themselves.  Their babysitters just tell them where they need to be.”

“And your manager?”

I glare.  “He doesn’t boss me around if he knows what’s good for him.”

“So you answer to no one?”

I lean forward in my chair, my usual leather jacket creaking.  “I’m twenty-one years old.  I don’t answer to anyone.”

“So you do whatever you want and damn the consequences?”

“Exactly.”

She flicks her fingers, looking so calm while I’m getting more heated by the second.  “So you can go hit band members, audience members, paparazzi, and expect people to just deal with it?”

I don’t like her tone, or her smug attitude so I stand and make my way to the door.  “Time’s up,” I say right before I slam the door behind me.

What a fucked week.  I’ve dealt with my asshole band members, my annoying manager, and got reamed out by my publicist.  The texts have been bumped up, coming from the douchebag’s secretary every other day now.  I’m feeling suffocated, and the thought of going on tour for six months with four guys is enough to make me want to walk into the ocean.  The waves aren’t even soothing to me anymore.

The thought of more stress, more drama in my life, has me waiting until it’s almost too late to get to the hospital.  Going without eye makeup makes me feel just as naked as last weekend, but the mask helps immensely.

As I walk out of the elevator and run my hand over my ponytail, I hear the sharp snap of my heels echoing in the halls.  I needed to feel a little more badass given the possibility of seeing Batty again.

Alyse watches me walk down the hall, her eyes show a knowing look, but I have no idea what she thinks she knows.  I hold out my ID between two fingers, ready to go this time.

As I sign in on the volunteer’s sign-in sheet, I see a scribble on the line above, and the time written down.  Glancing up at the clock I see whoever it was came in almost an hour ago.  Giving up on trying to decipher the scrawl, I grab the hospital badge and clip it to the end of my shirt and stuff my driver’s license in the black hole that is my purse, knowing already that I’ll regret it later.

As the double doors slide open, I walk purposefully past the Christmas lights held up with blue tape toward the crowd in the common room.  Parents, nurses, and little patients are all around several Christmas trees that are getting decorated simultaneously.

Batty is busy lifting a little boy to place the star at the top of a tree, his biceps bulging in his black shirt with yellow logo. My stomach clenches as I have a flashback of him pinning me down, powering into me. He sets the boy down with a little grin, immediately bringing his eyes to mine.

“Robin.  I wasn’t sure you could make it.”  Fuck.  That voice.  I could probably come right here if he said a bad word in that rumble.  I shift from one heel to the other and lick my lips.

“Had to take care of a problem.  What are we doing here?”  I walk around to watch kids cutting out snowflakes from folded paper, the smaller ones gluing little strips of paper together in a chain.

“We’re making it pretty for Christmas,” comes a little voice.  My eyes track it to a little scarf covered head and big tired eyes.  The man beside her looks almost as exhausted as what I assume is his daughter.  He can barely keep his eyes open and has deep bags under his eyes.

“You’re making it beautiful.  What can I do to help?”  As I’m sitting down, I catch Batty’s eyes tracking my movement.  I tilt my head subtly to the dad and focus on the little girl.  “What’s your name?”

“Dana,” she says with a shy smile.  I look around the other kids at the miniature table and get their names to make sure I don’t leave anyone out.  I see Batty from the corner of my eye talking quietly with the dad for a few minutes.  Finally they stand up.

“Hey sweetie, I’m gonna take a little nap in your room okay?” he says, leaning over his daughter.  She just nods happily, not even looking up from her glue and paper.  I smile at the guy over his daughter’s head, knowing that I look like a decent human being for a change.  He nods before walking off, looking back several times as he leaves the room.

Three hours later, I’m the one exhausted.  We’ve hung lights, paper chains, snowflakes, ornaments, and picture things that go on the windows.  I’ve talked with all of the kids, most of the parents, but stayed close to Dana.  Rachel from last week is nowhere I can see, which I take as a good thing.  Jayden isn’t here either.  I don’t think about that.

Now I’m painting the fourth pair of little nails in a row.  Something this easy sure does bring huge smiles. 
The Grinch
is playing—a little early in my opinion— but the kids are absorbed and mostly quiet.  A nurse goes around asking the girls if they want to get their nails done while Batty spends time with the little guys.

“Rachel would love this,” the little one breathes in excitement.  My hand jerks a little and I quickly pull the brush away. 

“Is she here?”

The little girl nods sadly.  “Yeah.  She can’t come out because she’s super sick.”

Is the word
super
necessary?  Is that a little kid thing to exaggerate?  Or is she
super
sick?  I smile weakly and finish her nails.  Five girls later, I’ve finished them all.  I look around the room at frail little faces smiling and glancing at their hands, showing their friends as they whisper and take a deep breath.  What is this feeling?  I struggle with it, trying to figure out why my chest feels tight, too full, and my head is calm and relaxed.  My eyes move to the TV as the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.

Ugh.  Don’t be stupid.

My eyes gravitate to the back of the crowd where Batty is talking to one of the older kids.  I tilt my head to gesture down the hall and he does a chin lift, bringing me back to the last time he did that.  Right after he fucked me then asked my name. 
Yeah.  That’s not happening again.

I quickly walk down the hall until I get to the door that I remember being Rachel’s and knock as gently as I can.  I don’t hear anything so I open it a crack to see her sleeping, the rest of the room empty.  I go to close the door again, but I notice a doll with a crown on the floor by her bed and Rachel’s hand extended through the railing toward it. 

I tiptoe so that my heels don’t make too much noise, and take my eyes off of the little girl to get the doll.  As soon as I look down I feel a little hand on the top of my head.  It scares the shit out of me, and I look up quickly, causing her hand to slide to the ponytail that’s slipped over my shoulder.

“Your hair’s so pretty,” she rasps weakly behind an oxygen mask.

“What color was your hair?”  I ask, bringing her doll back onto the bed, making sure to tuck it under the blanket.

“Purple?” she asks on a little giggle.  It makes me smile, so I pull up a chair.

“Green?” I ask.

“Pink!  I always wanted pink hair.  Mommy said I wasn’t old enough yet.”  Her smile dims a little bit.

“They at church?”

She nods.  “They spend a lot of time there.”

I wonder if her parents are really at church.  For all I know, they’ve been telling her that and going out to eat, living their lives, while their child slowly dies.  That full feeling in my chest begins to burn.

I reach for my purse and hold up three different colors of nail polish.  She smiles.  A dimple pops out that hasn’t been there before.  She points to the purple glitter, and I set the other two back and get to work.

“If you could do anything in the world, what would it be, Rachel?”  I ask while I begin to paint her nails.

“Like to go someplace?”

I glance up at her.  “If you could do anything—go ice skating, eat a cheeseburger, ride a rollercoaster—what would it be?”

Her eyes look away from me to stare at the wall, lost in her thoughts.  “I would have a tea party.  With little cakes and tea in a pot like on
Beauty and the Beast
.  But my mouth hurts, my tummy too.  So I can’t eat anything.”

“Do you know what the best thing to eat is?” I ask, leaning forward to get close to her.  She shakes her head.

“When I imagine something that I can’t have, like truffles from Paris or Tiramisu from Italy, I close my eyes and pretend.”  I smile, and oh so slowly get a smile back.  “Do you want to pretend with me, doll?”

She nods with more conviction and finally has a little color in her pale cheeks.  I stand and grab my purse.  “I’ll be back.  I have to go get some stuff, but seriously, I’m hurrying.  You wait here and take a nap so we can be ladies when I get back okay?”