Page 105 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

Me too. Leia’s eyes began to sting. But I wish I didn’t.

Twenty-Four

TARQUIN

One week later

“Jesus CHRIST!” Lashes clenched, tears dampening his cheeks, Tarquin trembled and expelled a jagged, boozy breath. God, just put me out of my misery…

His bleary eyes peeled open. Two surgical masks—blue and blurry—hovered overhead.

“Okay, Mr. Balfour, we’re done,” said a calm voice behind one of the masks. “You did great!”

Don’t feel great. Piercing aftershocks radiated from his right elbow, fueling the storm of nausea bubbling in his belly. Bleurgh. Make it stop. His left hand clambered toward his moustache and the two plastic prongs blowing oxygen up his nose.

“You have to keep that on.” The other mask gently returned Tarquin’s hand to his blue-green hospital gown and its hangover-unfriendly print of swirly dots. “Don’t worry, the oxygen is just a precaution.”

“Ohh…” His eyelids felt heavy.

“The pain medication will make you drowsy. Try to relax, okay?” She smiled kindly and vanished…somewhere.

Relax? You almost ripped my arm off. His glassy grimace swam haphazardly over the IV line tethered to the back of his left hand, then it swept up the plastic tubing to a metal pole and two semi-deflated bags of liquid hanging like withering fruit. Blimey. Room’s spinning. Cradling his swollen right elbow, he slumped onto his left side and gently rocked, his desperate sways for comfort wrenching a high-pitched squeak from the undercarriage of the A&E bed.

Where are my glasses? “Hello? Could someone…hey?” His plea barely passed his lips as a chilly draft snuck up his backless gown. He shivered, receding into the murky fog of painkillers, his world warped like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. “Hey…” he mumbled again, fading to black.

“Hey, yourself!”

Huh?! Tarquin’s eyes popped open. Beyond the bed’s railing, he clocked a blurry visitor in a dress peering around his privacy curtain. Who’s she? Not a doctor. Her facial features were dreamily out of focus, but one trait was unmistakable.

Long… red… hair.

“Talk about a sight for sore eyes,” her playful voice teased.

American or… Canadian! Butterflies soared in his queasy stomach. Leia!

Fighting to focus, Tarquin blinked hard and lurched upward, craving a hug, a kiss—her. “You’re here!” A woozy, pained smile twisted his mouth. “Oh, Leia…”

Her giggle answered back. “Sure! I can be her—”

The rumble of an approaching gurney cut her flirt short. Two hospital aides swept past and parked their groggy cargo, a babbling adult male, into the empty examination bay next door.

“Oh, babe! You’re back early.” With a sheepish smile, the woman ran a hand through her red locks and disappeared behind the neighboring curtain.

Oh… Tarquin’s swollen elbow throbbed, halting his breath and decimating his hope. Seeing things…

His stare surrendered, retreating to his denim jacket, torn and dirty, discarded on a nearby chair along with his white dress shirt, broken eyeglasses, and cracked phone. Two empty vomit bags left by a nurse lay on top of his hospital blanket just in case. He licked his lips, a low groan burning his throat. Where is Leia? Why won’t she ring?

“Tarq?” Harry’s face crept around the curtain, his eyes widening with concern. “Holy—”

“Fuck!” Lucy blurted from behind her boyfriend, her gape bouncing from the scrapes on Tarquin’s face to his half-on, half-off hospital gown pulled down so his swollen elbow wouldn’t be constricted. “You look tragic!”

“Looo-seee!” Tarquin smiled woozily. “Hazza!”

“We heard you in the waiting room, you goof.” Lucy edged closer, eyeballing the red and purple bruises circling his arm. “Fuuck.” She squirmed in her winter coat. “That must’ve hurt. Is it broken?”

Tarquin gave a half-lidded sigh.

Harry offered a small bag of green grapes, a British tradition when visiting loved ones in hospital. “I thought you might be peckish.”