Page 39 of Leave a Mark
She didn’t pretend that The Kiss had meant anything else. It had been stolen, shameful. A momentary indiscretion on the part of the good doctor. Wren had ended it before he had the chance to pull away and tell her that — while he might be attracted to her — he could never leave Marcelle.
And after watching Laurie long enough, she knew that there were plenty of men out there who would be content to go one step further and keep a mistress on the side. Lee probably looked at her tattoos and her piercings and her two-toned hair and thought she’d be an exotic diversion in an otherwise predictable life on a trajectory to the top. Wren prided herself that she wanted no part of that — even though she couldn’t make herself stop wantinghim.
Even imagining him having the worst sort of intentions couldn’t snuff out her desire. And when she really thought about it, Wren couldn’t make herself believe the worst about him. She’d only known him to be decent — more than decent — gentle, compassionate, giving, funny. The stricken look he’d worn when she pushed him aside and fled the trap of his embrace made her heart go soft.
It was too confusing. She had to stop thinking about him. She had to find something to do when she wasn’t working.
Wren was sitting in her Mustang in the parking lot of Studio Ink when she saw Curtis, her homeless hopeless case, cross in front of her, heading down Johnston Street. She honked her horn to get his attention, but Curtis kept walking.
Firing up the Mustang, Wren decided that she’d just found something to do.
“Curtis!” Wren shouted out the driver’s side window as she idled beside him. He was just passing the law office on the corner when she finally got his attention. She pulled over.
He looked soggy. It was a mild day, but it had rained earlier that morning, and Curtis’s denim jacket was darkened with wet. He stared at Wren with unseeing eyes, arms hanging at his sides. She pulled over and jumped out of the Mustang.
“Curtis, you look awful." His mouth hung open, his bottom lip slick with saliva. Wren couldn’t tell if he was high, jonesing, or just plain sick. “It’s Wren, Curtis. Do you know who I am?”
He gave a nod of his head. The movement was exaggerated, robotic, and Wren considered for a moment that her newly hatched plan might not actually be safe. She stared back at Curtis for a minute before making up her mind.
I can’t very well leave him like this.
“Curtis, do you want me to take you to the recovery center today? I can give you a ride, and I can stay with you until you are admitted.”
He nodded again, but Wren doubted he knew what he was agreeing to.
“Would you like to get in?” Her heart started to pound as she made herself walk around the front of the Mustang and open the passenger side door. As soon as it swung wide, Curtis shuffled his way over. The smell of him hit her while he was still several feet away.
Oh my God. What am I doing? Lee Hawthorne, if this addict kills me, it’ll be your fault.
Curtis placed a hand on the roof of the Mustang and raised his bloodshot eyes to her.
“I can get in, Song Bird?” His voice was paper thin, and some of Wren’s fears vanished at the helpless sound of it. He recognized her, and Wren felt relief.
“Yes, Curtis. Please get in. I want to help you." At her words, his body listed against the car as if he’d reached the last of his strength.
“Thank you, Song Bird. I’m awful tired.” He lowered himself down onto the seat and closed his eyes before Wren could even shut the door. When she did, she let it click home gently, pausing a moment to work down the lump in her throat. The look of suffering in his eyes reminded her of Laurie’s at the end.
She ran back to the driver’s side and got in. Curtis might be agreeing to get help now in a moment of weakness, but he could come around and change his mind any second. And if he came around, she doubted he’d know where he was.
Wren kept the window rolled down. The smell rising off him almost choked her, so she drove with a knuckle pressed to her nose. She made a right onto Johnston Street, and, from the seat next to her, Curtis groaned, and then, to her horror, a belch squished through his lips.
“Oh, Curtis, please don’t puke in my car,” she whispered. “Lee Hawthorne, if this guy pukes in my car, it’ll be your fault.”
Trying to strike a balance between speed and stability, she took the corner onto Vermilion with care so that the movements of the car wouldn’t make Curtis feel worse. Still he moaned.
“Four more blocks, Curtis. Hang tight." The light in front of Don’s Seafood was green, so she sailed through it, passing Agave and Parc Sans Souci. Wren hoped that Cherise hadn’t spotted her from the patio of the restaurant. She’d know for certain that Wren had lost her mind if she did.
She came to a stop for the light on Jefferson, and as she waited for it to turn, Curtis raised a hand as if to signal a halt. His eyes were still closed, and Wren had no idea if he was trying to stop her or trying to stop his world from spinning. On impulse, she reached up and took his hand in hers. To her surprise, he held on tight.
“We’re almost there."
She pulled up to a parking spot directly in front of the building, but when she killed the engine, Wren had no idea how she’d get Curtis out of the car. He was much bigger than she was, and in his state, she didn’t think he could make it on his own. She was also more than a little worried he’d get out and wander off if she left him in the car to go in search of help.
His eyes were closed still, so she tested the waters. She watched him while she opened her door. He didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t make a sound. She gently shut the door, but forty-eight-year-old car doors didn’t close as noiselessly as one might hope, and Curtis’s shoulders jumped a fraction at the sound, but he didn’t wake.
Releasing a breath in relief, Wren watched him for another second before readying herself to sprint. Halfway to the entrance, she learned that ankle boots and a full-length skirt weren’t the best clothing options for sprinting, but she made it inside without falling on her face.
A young woman in pink scrubs smiled at her from behind the reception desk.
