Blackwater Read online

  "Lorelei, darling. Are you awake?"

  Force is required to pry my eyelids open. I glance around the hazy dim light.

  "Momma?" I whisper.

  Her cold delicate hands squeeze mine. She must be worried if she is touching me, "It's mother, dear."

  "Lorelei, honey, you awake? Lordy, you look like something I drug out from under the porch." Mrs. Kirsch is there too.

  I smile at her and nod, "I feel about that way." My throat crackles like an old witch's.

  I feel less pain, but I'm still disoriented.

  "You want a drink, honey? You must be spittin cotton by now." Mrs. Kirsch busies herself pouring water and fixing my blankets.

  I can't help but notice the way momma is sitting, wearing an ivory cardigan and her pearls. I smile when I see her. Her blonde hair is coifed perfectly. She dressed up to come to the hospital. I bet she never even rushed. She's here for show.

  My hand aches from a strange cold stinging sensation. I think I'm making the water sparks and shoot a fearful look at my momma. She frowns at me. I glance at my hand and feel relieved when I see it's a needle and tubes running from my arm. I haven’t had one of these since I had to stop eating to fit in my grandmamma's vintage gown for cotillion. I had to stop eating and drinking for two weeks. Momma made the nurses use one to feed me for the entire time. At least Ramón snuck me food.

  Where is he?

  "Ramón?" I mutter through a croaking thick throat.

  She smiles softly and tilts her blonde head, "You need a drink." I can see that she is hiding something. Something terrible has happened. Her cold eyes have only filled with emotion once, when my grandmamma died. They look the same now as they did then. She was tremendously fond of my daddy's momma.

  She dusts her skirt and straightens her back when she speaks with a perfect smile. "You scared us darling. We were terribly worried about you." If I had the strength to roll my eyes I would. She points to the handle at the end of the bed, "Lift the bed for her, Marianne."

  Mrs. Kirsch walks to the end of the bed and cranks the bed in jerks until I'm sitting halfway up.

  Momma looks at the glass of water next to her. "Drink darling?"

  I nod and try to swallow. My throat feels like sandpaper.

  "Marianne, pass her the water."

  Mrs. Kirsch walks to me and passes me the glass. I sip from the straw and try not to take too much in at once. I don’t want to throw up again.

  The thought of throwing up brings back a memory. I cringe, "Ahhhhhh." I sit up horrified. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh my good lord." I swallow and look past my momma.

  "What dear? What is it? Are you in pain?" she asks.

  I look at Mrs. Kirsch in a panic. "Did I really…er…well…throw up on that man?"

  My momma puts a hand to her chest, "Lorelei, that is not amusing."

  Mrs. Kirsch ignores her and looks at me. She fights an amused look and nods subtly.

  My momma takes my water and drinks it, "Dear god!" she sighs dramatically, "you frightened me half to death. Don’t say throw up darling, say emptied your stomach or spit. Throw up isn’t ladylike."

  I put my hand over my eyes and scream.

  Mrs. Kirsch puts an arm around me. "Lorelei, honey, stay calm. Screaming ain't gonna change the fact you got sick on a man, a very attractive man. Ooouuuie, he can read me a bedtime story any old time." She snickers.

  I twitch and shake like a wet dog, "No. No. No."

  Momma does the usual and cares about her reputation, "Oh darling, no. Not a gentleman we know?"

  I feel like I could cry, but my tears aren’t coming. My eyes burn.

  "Leave both of you. I want to be alone." My voice is hoarse but I manage to point at the door. I'm exhausted and feel disgusting. Being mocked ain't gonna improve my mood.

  Momma squeezes my hand again, "I will be back to collect you with your father, whenever they decide to free you." That is a lie. A servant will be collecting me. I don’t even know why she pretends with me. I will spend a lonely week in this hospital. I smile and know Emily will come. I at least have one family member. Maybe I will be able to sneak down to Ramón's room too. If he's even in the hospital.

  I ask them as they leave the room, "Where is Ramón?"

  My momma's eyes dart. That is the secret she is keeping from me.

  She glances at Mrs. Kirsch, who lowers her head and leaves the room silently.

  Momma licks her lips. It’s a nervous habit. She doesn’t usually allow herself nervous habits. She doesn’t usually allow anything, but when she's stressed or unprepared her old habits sneak through.

  Her back becomes rigid, as she gathers herself.

  "Out with it." My eyes narrow.

  Her bright-blue eyes turn to stone again. "He never made it."

  I frown, "He never went to war, Momma, he went for help. What does that even mean - he never made it?" My tone is spiky and sharp.

  She licks her lips again. Twice is extra bad.

  "I know you're ill, but Momma makes you sound like trash, Lorelei. I won't have it. It means…his body was found in the woods near the car. He was…" She shivers and puts a hand in the air to stop me from grilling her, "…attacked. He died out in the woods. An animal attack."

  My body has no coping mechanisms for a moment like this. I have never been allowed a feeling beyond shame. I don’t know which feeling fits into this slot.

  He was the brother I never had - I will never have. He is, no wait, was the man in my life. He was my constant. My heart burns.

  When I was a little girl and the whispers came to me, he believed me - only he believed. He and his grandmamma.

  When I got older and my heart was broken into a million tiny pieces, he was the man who held me while I cried. I feel a sickening guilt for trying to imagine his hands in my blouse. It was the last thing I did in his presence. My eyes burn and sting and still no tears are produced.

  A man's voice interrupts my silent panic attack, "Oh, I'm sorry I've come at a bad time."

  My throat is closed and my chest weighs more than my lungs can lift. I want to cry out, but the beautiful Mr. Whitlock is standing in the doorway of my room. I have been raised better than to cry in front of a stranger. Especially one I have already thrown up on.

  My momma turns and smiles. I can hear the country charm mixing with the elegant voice of Mrs. Huntington, "Why you must be the savior. The man who rescued our precious young Lorelei."

  "I am just such a man. But it seems I've not returned to find her as well as I had hoped. I shall wait in the hall." He smiles at me but my eyes are frozen in horror and agony.

  Momma puts a hand on his bicep and smiles at him, "I will accompany you. Lorelei needs a moment."

  I NEED MORE THAN A MOMENT. I NEED A MIRACLE.

  I try to take a breath and try to calm myself, but I can't.

  I'm hyperventilating.

  The room shrinks to a pinhole and my eyes can't see everything inside of the small dot. As I lose myself in the blackness and pain, I feel the cold whispers blow in my face.

  "Danger Lorelei."

  I don't have time to fear them. I pass out instantly.

  When I wake again a warm hand is over mine. It grips me tightly like it's pulsating.

  I open my eyes to see Ramón. He looks the same as he did when he left. He looks like himself.

  "Ramón, you made it." I whisper.

  His hands turn cold as ice when he leans in and whispers cold breath on my lips, "Danger, Lorelei. He's coming. They coming for you, Lorelei. It's her, sugar bear. It's her. Find the magic. Go to Grandmamma."

  I freeze and pull my fingers from the grip of his icy hands. He doesn’t move from my bedside.

  "Ramón?" Tears have finally found their way to my eyes.

  He nods.

  "Are you…did you…where did you go?" My lips tremble. Tears flow down my cheeks. I can't fear this man. Not this man. I know what he is and yet I can't fear him. I need him. I need him more than anything.

  He l
ooks broken, like he has failed me. He shakes his head and points to the clock on the wall, 2:47. It's the same time, every time. It's the hour I always wake with the icy breath upon me. I snap my fingers but the spark is gone.

  When I look back at him he smiles and then he is gone. I'm alone with the time and a broken heart.

  Chapter Three

  I get up from the bed and tiptoe into the bathroom. I've got a storage of sandwiches Emily has snuck in for me. Peanut butter and jelly. I'm never allowed to eat them but I'm starved. She has them making me eat only from the I.V. and the soft foods. I'm allowed diet pudding and the odd lemonade.

  I sit on the toilet and bite into the sandwich. My body trembles from the chill of the cold bathroom floor. The peanut butter tastes divine. I close my eyes and try to forget everything that’s happened. I don’t know how to move past it or deal with it. I need to pretend it didn’t happen. I flush the toilet for good measure and leave the bathroom, looking around for Momma. She ain't there but the food tray is. The lemonade and pudding make me gag a bit.

  I climb onto the bed and pick up the bowl. Thank heavens for the sandwiches. I look at my sleeping sister and smile. God, I do love her more than anything in the world.

  I take my first bite of pudding and gag. The pudding slides down my thick throat. I can't taste it nor enjoy it. Diet food doesn’t actually have taste.

  The lack of taste makes me think of the sandwich Ramón brought me.

  Instantly the feelings return. I'm not great at blocking them out. No matter what I do or what I pretend, Ramón is dead and all of the joy in the world is gone. Forever. I can't change nothing.

  I don't exactly cry but tears slip from my eyes all the same.

  The pudding makes me nauseous. It's like a slug slipping into my belly. If I don’t eat they will never let me go home. My arm moves on autopilot, shoving it into me. I wish I could tell the nurses about the sandwiches, but I don’t trust anybody. My momma has a way to make people see things her way.

  She ain't come back to see me since the first night. Only my sister Emily has been here. I look back at her sleeping in the chair beside the bed peacefully, as if we're at home and she's fallen asleep on the couch.

  I turn to the door when I see movement.

  "You're awake?" Mr. Whitlock stands in the entrance of the room smiling. His face makes my heart skip a beat. He is far better looking than the image I have of him in my mind. My memory doesn’t do him justice. His lips make my mouth water. He is a tall drink of water.

  I nod and force myself to smile, "I am. Thank you for everything and I'm terribly sorry for getting sick on you."

  He shakes his head and laughs. "May I come in?"

  I nod, "Oh yes please. Please do. Please have a seat." I frown at my many pleases. He makes me nervous. He is too attractive and too perfect. Even his manners are impeccable. He is exactly the kind of guy Ramón has warned me about time and time again. He's trouble on legs and sex on a stick.

  His lazy grin returns and tries to make me think about something other than myself. "Don’t be sorry, Lorelei. You have been through a tragedy and I'm grateful I was there to help you." His voice is soothing and suddenly I don’t feel so sorry.

  I shake my head and force my wall up when I hear his tone. He sounds like all the guys who turn out to be slicker than owl shit. He is just like them Slick Yankees with their high-falutin' clothes and fancy way of talking. He is beautiful and overly sweet. Ramón would want to arm wrestle me for him.

  Ramón. The sadness rushes back in.

  The tears don’t stop streaming from my eyes. I must look like death warmed over. The tears just slip down my cheeks and soak my hospital gown. I try to wipe them away, but I drop my pudding bowl on the pale-blue floor. The dark chocolate pudding spills out.

  I shake my head, "Oh no. I'm sorry. I'm still a bit shaky. Silly me."

  "Are you not feeling better?" His eyes narrow.

  I sniffle, "My best friend died."

  He looks confused.

  I correct myself, "My driver."

  He nods, "Yes, the tragedy of your driver. I was sorry to hear that."

  I shake my head again and continue to fight the tears that pour from my eyes. "He was my best friend. The only person in the world who understood me, besides Em." My lips tremble and I can only imagine how the pudding looks lingering on them, mixing with the tears. I am destined to always look like a mess around him.

  I push the nurse button. Mrs. Kirsch comes running in. When she sees him there, she stands straighter and holds her stomach in. I wipe my face and try not to bawl like the baby I have been all week long.

  "Sorry Mrs. Kirsch. It was an accident." I mutter through the sniffles.

  She looks at the pudding and pulls a rag from a drawer, "Don’t be silly, Lorelei. Everyone spills, ain't no real thing. Would you like another? Are you feeling okay, baby girl?" I have never been doted on this way before. I bet her house is cozy and warm. I wish she was my momma.

  I shake my head but Mr. Whitlock does something I've seen my daddy do. "She would love another one, Mrs. Kirsch. She is still weak. She needs sustenance." He discounts my headshake and speaks for me. I blush and wipe my face dry.

  Mrs. Kirsch smiles at him. She hangs off his words like a tick hangs off a deer. She likes him. I remember the way Momma liked him. I bet all women like him. At least that guarantees Emily will hate him. She hates men who presume to speak for women. She hates men with slick manners and perfectly coiffed hair. She hates our daddy, but not as much as she hates our momma.

  He turns to me as Mrs. Kirsch leaves and smiles, "Wow, you get excellent service here."

  "Uh huh." He thinks I don't see it but I do, he's fake. He's like me and all of my friends. We are all the same. People whose only genteel trait is the fake manners we have when others are present. I need to remember Martin and his sweet ways that ain't got nothing to do with the fakeness I'm always surrounded by.

  Mr. Whitlock's voice is soothing, "I'm more than sorry about the driver, friend." He sits on the chair at the side of my bed. The other side of Emily, who will wake any moment and hate him. I just wait for the show.

  "He must have been an amazing man for you to love him as you do." He just won't stop talking about Ramón.

  A rogue tear escapes and trails down my cheek. "Thank you." I can't hate on him for his gentleman's manners and be sad about Ramón at the same time.

  "How is it you were so close to him? He was your driver." His tone remains soothing, but I know he can't understand a wealthy person befriending the help.

  I shrug, "Just were. Like soul mates."

  His eyes widen.

  I shake my head, "Not like that. I wasn’t his type, if you get my drift."

  He looks confused and then nods with a growing smile. Then he does something else I don’t expect. He reaches up and brushes away my tear. It's an intimate gesture. No one ever touches me the way he does. "Don’t be sad. I don’t think I can bear you crying." His words are whispered. They're not fake. They're filled with emotions. I never hear that from a man, except Ramón.

  I don’t know what to say. It's completely inappropriate and exactly what I woulda wanted him to do, if I wasn’t heartbroken.

  He makes me confused.

  "Thank you." I whisper back. I don’t know how to break my eyes from the lock he has on them. He holds my gaze hostage.

  His lips curl, "Call me Whit."

  I smile as I'm pulled from the magic in his eyes, "Whit?" What a ridiculous name. I'm positive I can't call him that. He's beautiful and reminds me of a man from a storybook. I like Mr. Whitlock better than Whit.

  He laughs at my grimace. I ask, "What's your first name?"

  He nods, "Jameson. My mother was cruel and named me after a dead grandfather. Everyone calls me Whit."

  I laugh. Jameson's an old man's name. He doesn’t suit his name. Not in the least.

  "Jameson." I say it like I can't believe it, because I can't. "Do you have a middle name?"
>
  He laughs, "Andrew."

  I nod and process this catastrophe. "None of your names suit you. I'm sorry, but I'll have to call you Mr. Whitlock. I knew a James; he was sort of a cocky jerk. He could talk the hair off a dog."

  He laughs, but blushes and I feel something inside of me tremble like I may come back to life again just watching him. His flushed cheeks, and the way he glances up at me through his lashes when I say his name, are killing me. "You say the oddest things." He smiles his genuine smile. I see it. It's not controlled or planned. In fact it ain't perfect. It's the lazy grin I find sexy. He is letting me see him for who he is. We don't do that, not even after decades of marriage. Even Martin will never let me see this side of him.

  It makes me feel funny, good funny. It's exactly what I want in the man I love. Maybe not the man I marry, but undoubtedly the man I love. I have always suspected they will be different men. "My mom...mother is always trying to get me to sound more refined."

  He nods, "I know that feeling. Do you go to finishing school?"

  I nod, "I do. Hateful."

  He chuckles and my stomach twirls, "I can only imagine." His lips twist into a grin, "I do like those finishing schools though, all those rules to break." His eyes flash with humor.

  I cross my arms, "Yeah, well, it's all part of the act. Part of the life we all live. Enough about me though. Jameson Andrew Whitlock? Did your momma hate you?"

  He laughs, "No, but you forgot the My Lord that belongs at the beginning of that name." His accent is thicker, English maybe or Irish. I don’t ever hear people with accents much, except on TV.

  I laugh. "My, my, someone is full of himself."

  He shakes his red face and looks down, "No, I'm a duke. My title is Lord. Or well, Most Noble Lord. You can choose whichever one you like the most."

  I laugh, at him not with him.

  He shakes his head as his cheeks flush. He is trying to kill me with the realness and sweetness I never see on people. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head, "I could have you executed for behavior like that." His eyes shine with humor and something else. He cocks his head and grins, "I can't imagine laughing at a duke? You are a brave girl."