| Romance Fiction posted February 13, 2011 |
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A Love Story
Shana's Valentine
by fionageorge
Shana’s tear-stained face peered through the curtains. The heavy rain hit the window-pane tormenting her troubled thoughts. Pit, pat, pit, pat, he’s not coming, he’s stood you up, he’s just like the others!
John had promised he’d join her for dinner at seven. She looked at her watch again. Nine-thirty-five. If he was held up, surely he’d have called me.
She stared into the darkness. I’m not going to let self doubt and recriminations get hold of me tonight! She thought. I don’t need a man. I’m successful in my own right. I don’t need anyone!
Angrily she pulled the heavy drapes to block out the fact that John’s car wasn’t in her driveway. She turned and looked at the table set for two. The candle’s flame had died, like the anticipation in her heart. The salad had wilted, and the champagne had lost its bubbles. Her gift to him, wrapped in red foil, taunted her. This was going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever...
Picking up the fluted champagne glass she stared at it as though it may provide her with an answer. Why is it I can’t keep a man? What is it about me that turns men away?
Slowly she stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen. She placed them on the bench next to the tureen of cold Minestrone soup. She was about to put the glass down, when anger and despair washed over her.
“You bastard!” she screamed as she threw the fine crystal glass at the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. “Why didn’t you have the guts to call me? That’s the least you could’ve done!” She fell to her knees. I thought you were different, John. I thought you were falling in love with me, as I am with you.
Deep sobs wracked her slender body. She didn’t notice the blood on the floor where a shaft of crystal had penetrated her knee. It was several minutes before she composed herself. Wouldn’t the paparazzi love to see me like this? I can just read the headlines. ‘Ms Shana Braxton - another failed love affair’.
She stood up and felt the blood trickle down her leg. That may as well have come from my heart. Oh, John, I love you. Why, why, why? I even did all the cooking myself tonight, to show you I’m just an ordinary country girl, looking for an honest relationship...
A loud knock brought her back to the present. He’s here! He’s come! She made the front door in a few long strides and threw open the door. “Where have you b...?” Her voice faltered.
“Miss Braxton? I’m Sergeant Baker, Max Baker. Can I come in?” He stood awkwardly, cap in hand.
She had a mind to close the door. She didn’t want to know why a policeman would be at her front door at this hour of the night.
“Y-yes, c-come in,” she whispered. She stood back to let him pass.
“Is something wrong, Sergeant?” Without thinking, she’d taken on her public persona, even though her heart was pounding so fast she thought it may show through the sexy sheer shirt she had on.
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Miss Braxton. Mr Lockyear was involved in a head-on collision. He’s in St Albert’s hospital. He’s asking for you ...”
She grasped the back of a chair to steady herself. “Oh, God, is he going to be okay?” Her voice shook with fear.
“I don’t know, Ma’am. He was talking to me at the scene. You’ll need to ask the doctors ...”
“Can you take me? Please?” She didn’t wait for his answer. She grabbed a coat and an umbrella and opened the door.
“Yes. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I’ve always wanted to meet you, I’m a big fan,” he said, unsure of himself in the company of one of the most famous and beautiful women in the country.
“Thank you. Please, I need to see John. I have to know he’s alright!”
Why did I assume the worst about John? I should’ve known he wasn’t like the others.
“When we get to the hospital we’ll enter through the back door. The doctors said it may be better that way. They don’t want the whole Emergency Department in uproar once people realise who you are.”
“Okay, yes, of course.” She still wasn’t used to the adulation of her fans and the need to avoid the media.
Her mind drifted back to the last time she’d seen John. She was pleased it was dark inside the police car as her face blushed at the memory. Had it only been three days?
They’d gone to John’s downtown apartment, at his insistence. She had been pleasantly surprised. Although obviously masculine, it was decorated in warm colours. Warm and yet subdued, she thought, just like the man himself.
He had cooked steaks on the grill, and made a side salad. Ah, a man who’s not afraid to be in charge in the kitchen. I like that.
After dinner, they ended up in his bed. What started off slowly, soon built into a crescendo of passion on the sexy satin sheets. Their hot naked bodies moved together sensually; they couldn’t get enough of each other. John took her to heights she’d never experienced before.
“Happy half-anniversary,” he’d whispered when they were both spent.
It had been six months since they’d met on the set of her latest movie. He was the new kid in town, a hot-shot producer.
Surely I’m not going to lose him now? God wouldn’t be that cruel. John has too much to live for. He’s got to be okay.
“We’re nearly there, Miss Braxton. Are you okay?” Sergeant Baker’s concerned voice broke into her troubled thoughts.
“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, I must look a mess...” She looked in the passenger side mirror. A mess? I look a disaster! I can’t let John see me like this.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look beautiful. I don’t think you’d look a mess if you were wrapped in a sheet and covered with tar,” he said, rather shyly.
“Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say. Oh, well, I can’t do anything about it now,” Shana said as the car entered the back entrance to the hospital.
“I’ll come in with you. I know where Mr Lockyear is, and I can give you some protection if anyone harasses you.” He walked to her side of the car and helped her out. She opened her umbrella and they ran towards a heavy metal door.
After he pressed a button and announced who he was, the electronic door buzzed and opened. They walked through a dimly lit corridor. Shana spotted a lady’s toilet. “Do you mind?” she asked, pointing to the door. “I need to go in there. Will you wait for me?” He smiled and nodded.
She pushed the heavy door and gave a sigh of relief when she saw a large mirror over the wash-basin. The relief was soon replaced by horror when she saw her reflection. She splashed cold water on her face and gently dabbed it with a paper towel to remove as much of the smudged make-up from around her eyes as she could. “Water-proof and tear-proof, my foot!” she mumbled.
She wet her hands again and fluffed her long blond hair, flicking it over her shoulders. There, that’s better. I need to be strong for John. Please, God, let him be alright.
After she wiped the blood off her leg, she was satisfied that she looked the best she could under the circumstances.
Sergeant Baker smiled when she came out, and gave a nod of approval. “Feel better now?”
“Thank you. Can you take me to John now?” He nodded.
Once inside the emergency ward, he shook her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you in the flesh, so to speak, Miss Braxton. I just wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, I appreciate your kindness.” She pulled her hand gently from his firm grasp. “I’ll be fine now.”
She took in her surroundings. The large oval reception area was abuzz, but no-one paid any attention to her. Doctors and nurses whispered, others rushed from one cubicle to another. Thin pale green curtains hid patients from her view. A scream jolted her, then a painful cry, obviously that of a small child, caused her to shudder.
She’d never been in an emergency ward in her life. The smells and sounds were unpleasant and indicated pain and suffering.
“May I assist you?” A young woman of Indian appearance stood before her.
“I’m looking for Mr John Lockyear. I believe he was involved in an accident.”
“Ah, yes, poor Mr Lockyear,” she said; a kind smile on her face.
“What do you mean, poor Mr Lockyear?”
“Are you related, Ma’am?” she asked, as she headed towards the desk in the centre of the emergency area.
“No, I, uhm, I’m not. I’m Mr Lockyear’s girlfriend. I was told he asked for me. Can I see him?”
“I’ll check with the doctor. He’s still with him. I believe they’re prepping him for surgery.” She pulled the curtain to Cubicle 4 aside and entered, quickly drawing the curtain back so Shana couldn’t see in.
She heard some muffled voices, and after a minute or so, the nurse opened the curtain and motioned for Shana to come in. Wires and machines whirred and beeped. John’s ashen face was almost lost in the white starched hospital pillow. His head was swathed in blood soaked bandages, with a tuft of his black hair sticking from the top.
He had tubes in his nose and drips in both arms; one a clear liquid, the other a deep purplish-red colour, which Shana assumed was blood.
A handsome young male doctor greeted her and asked her to sit down on the only chair at the foot of the bed. John’s eyes were closed and his breathing was laboured. A brace supported his neck. Shana felt fear grip her around the chest. Oh, John, you look so weak.
“Miss Braxton, Mr Lockyear needs immediate surgery to relieve some internal bleeding. He has multiple fractures, most of which can be fixed. He’s young and fit, and that will assist him in his recovery. Our first goal is the stop the internal bleeding. It’s tricky as we suspect he may have spinal injuries. We’re waiting for MRI and X-Ray results to tell us how serious these injuries may be. Surgery is being prepared now and we have the best specialists on hand. You can be assured he will get the best possible medical attention.”
Shana couldn’t speak as she tried to take in what the doctor had said. The young doctor hardly looked old enough to have graduated from high school. With blond hair and a chubby pale face, it seemed out of place for him to be talking about life saving surgery and spinal injuries.
Her eyes were drawn back to John’s face, and she thought she saw his mouth move.
“Can I talk to him? Is he awake?” she asked nervously, her hands shaking.
“He’s drifting in and out of consciousness. But, yes, you can come up here and talk to him. He may be able to hear you or he may not.” The doctor stepped aside.
She stood up and for a moment she thought she would faint. She swayed forward and the doctor took her arm. “Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded. John’s right hand lay on top of the white cotton blanket. She took hold of it, careful not to touch the drip. She put her face close to his. “John, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes and nodded. She stroked his hand and felt a tear run down her cheek. She watched it drop onto the side of his pillow.
“John, it’s going to be alright, honey.” He blinked, as if to reassure her.
He tried to say something, but only a small grunt escaped his lips. She put her ear near his mouth. “What, John? What is it?” she whispered.
“Pocket,” he said, “in my pocket.”
“What did he say?” the doctor asked.
“He said something about his pocket,” she said.
“I think they removed all his personal belongings in the ambulance. It must be important to him.”
Just then a nurse and two orderlies walked towards John’s bed. “Surgeons are ready, Doctor,” the nurse said.
“Pocket...” John’s weak voice insisted.
“His personal things are at the desk in a bag. We haven’t had time to put them in a safe yet,” the nurse said. “They cut most of his clothes off him, they’re in the bag too. Why don’t you say goodbye to John. Then we can have a look through his things. Okay?”
Shana nodded. Goodbye? I don’t want to say goodbye. That sounds final ... God, please, I know I don’t pray too much. But I’m begging you, please let John be okay ...
She felt John’s hand move in hers. She looked up and saw a tear drip slowly down the side of his face and drip onto the pillow, right next to where her tear had fallen only a minute ago. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you.” Then he closed his eyes.
Shana didn’t want to let go of his hand. He hadn’t told her he loved her before. Why now? Did he sense he wasn’t going to live? Don’t think like that! He has to live, he has to!
She let go and watched the orderlies wheel him through a double door. She stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. She was afraid if she moved her whole world would cave in. A gentle touch on her arm made her look up. “He’s in good hands, Miss Braxton. I’m sure he will be okay. Would you like to go to the hospital chapel? I’m happy to go with you.”
“I’d like to see what was so important in John’s pocket first, if you don’t mind. It seemed so important to him.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s see what we can find.”
The nurse walked behind the desk and pulled out a large green plastic bag. “Here we are, Mr John Lockyear, it says on the label. Let’s see.” She opened the bag and pulled out some of John’s torn and bloodied clothes. The trousers had been cut in half, from cuff to waist. She handed the front section to Shana, who felt inside the pockets. Apart from a handkerchief, they were empty.
Next came his jacket. He couldn’t have been wearing that when the accident occurred as it was neatly folded; without any tears or blood. It was obviously part of a suit, the material matching that of the trousers. Again the nurse handed it to Shana. She didn’t find anything in either of the side pockets, but felt something inside the jacket. She laid it open on the bench and felt inside the small pocket, pulling out a small red velvet box. Her heart stopped as she stared at it. It couldn’t be? Could it? Oh, God ...
“Miss Braxton, aren’t you going to open it?” The nurse couldn’t contain her excitement.
Shana shook her head. She wrapped both her hands around the small box and held it close to her heart. “I think I’d like to go to the chapel now, please.”
“But aren’t you ...?” the nurse asked again.
Again, Shana shook her head. “I need John to be with me when I open this. Whatever it is, I want him to see me open it,” she said resolutely.
The chapel was small and intimate. An altar at the far end had a large candle burning in front of a golden cabinet with small deep red velvet curtains in front. Large red vases with fresh flowers stood on either side of the altar. There were stained-glass windows above the altar and a centre aisle divided six benches. Shana slipped into the front bench and knelt down. Still clutching the small velvet box in her hands, she bowed her head.
“Please, God, I know I don’t talk to you often enough. And I’m usually asking for favours. I forget to say thank you for all the blessings you’ve given me. I have more money than I will ever need as long as I live. But, believe me, if I had to make a choice between my career and fame and John, I’d choose John. If it takes every ounce of my energy to look after him, I will do that. Please, God, he is too young to die.”
She lost track of time and jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see the nurse smiling at her. “He’s going to be fine! They surgeon would like to speak with you.”
Heart pounding she followed the nurse to a waiting room. A doctor, still in his theatre gown, smiled at her and held out her hand. “Hello. Well, John‘s a lucky man. There for a while we thought we might lose him, but once we stopped the bleeding, he was out of the woods. He’ll need more surgery to set his broken bones, but we found no trace of spinal damage. It’ll be a long haul, but he’ll be alright.”
Shana couldn’t speak as the events of the past hours took hold of her. She let her tears flow freely, not caring what she looked like. She didn’t wipe her face, her hands were still firmly clutching the small red box.
“Can I see him?” she sobbed.
“Yes, of course, He’s still in recovery. He’ll be moved to High Dependency in about an hour or so. But, yes, you can come and see him. He’s moving in and out of consciousness while the anaesthetic’s still in his system.”
She followed the doctor down the corridor and through to the recovery room. Several beds lined the long wall, all but one, empty. John’s face wasn’t grey like it’d been in emergency, but it was very white. She sat on a chair next to the bed and finally let one hand go from around the box to take John’s hand. “I’m here, Darling. I’ll always be at your side, no matter what,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes and gave her a wan smile. It was the sweetest smile she had seen in her life. “Pocket ..., he whispered, “pocket...”
“Is this what you want me to look for?” She held the small box up for him to see.
“Yes, open it ...” Another smile crossed his face.
“Why don’t we wait until you’re fully awake. I ...”
“No, open now. It’s a Valentine’s gift ...”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him midnight had come and gone, it was no longer Valentine’s Day.
Slowly she opened the box. A beautiful gold and diamond ring shimmered under the hospital light.
“Will you marry me?” he whispered, “I love you.”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, I will. I love you too.”
She placed the ring between his thumb and forefinger then gently slipped her finger through the gold band.
John smiled, then laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, a contented look on his pale face. Shana stood and gently kissed his partly open lips and whispered, “Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my love.”
Thank you, God, thank you.
Valentines Story contest entry
Shana’s tear-stained face peered through the curtains. The heavy rain hit the window-pane tormenting her troubled thoughts. Pit, pat, pit, pat, he’s not coming, he’s stood you up, he’s just like the others!
John had promised he’d join her for dinner at seven. She looked at her watch again. Nine-thirty-five. If he was held up, surely he’d have called me.
She stared into the darkness. I’m not going to let self doubt and recriminations get hold of me tonight! She thought. I don’t need a man. I’m successful in my own right. I don’t need anyone!
Angrily she pulled the heavy drapes to block out the fact that John’s car wasn’t in her driveway. She turned and looked at the table set for two. The candle’s flame had died, like the anticipation in her heart. The salad had wilted, and the champagne had lost its bubbles. Her gift to him, wrapped in red foil, taunted her. This was going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever...
Picking up the fluted champagne glass she stared at it as though it may provide her with an answer. Why is it I can’t keep a man? What is it about me that turns men away?
Slowly she stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen. She placed them on the bench next to the tureen of cold Minestrone soup. She was about to put the glass down, when anger and despair washed over her.
“You bastard!” she screamed as she threw the fine crystal glass at the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. “Why didn’t you have the guts to call me? That’s the least you could’ve done!” She fell to her knees. I thought you were different, John. I thought you were falling in love with me, as I am with you.
Deep sobs wracked her slender body. She didn’t notice the blood on the floor where a shaft of crystal had penetrated her knee. It was several minutes before she composed herself. Wouldn’t the paparazzi love to see me like this? I can just read the headlines. ‘Ms Shana Braxton - another failed love affair’.
She stood up and felt the blood trickle down her leg. That may as well have come from my heart. Oh, John, I love you. Why, why, why? I even did all the cooking myself tonight, to show you I’m just an ordinary country girl, looking for an honest relationship...
A loud knock brought her back to the present. He’s here! He’s come! She made the front door in a few long strides and threw open the door. “Where have you b...?” Her voice faltered.
“Miss Braxton? I’m Sergeant Baker, Max Baker. Can I come in?” He stood awkwardly, cap in hand.
She had a mind to close the door. She didn’t want to know why a policeman would be at her front door at this hour of the night.
“Y-yes, c-come in,” she whispered. She stood back to let him pass.
“Is something wrong, Sergeant?” Without thinking, she’d taken on her public persona, even though her heart was pounding so fast she thought it may show through the sexy sheer shirt she had on.
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Miss Braxton. Mr Lockyear was involved in a head-on collision. He’s in St Albert’s hospital. He’s asking for you ...”
She grasped the back of a chair to steady herself. “Oh, God, is he going to be okay?” Her voice shook with fear.
“I don’t know, Ma’am. He was talking to me at the scene. You’ll need to ask the doctors ...”
“Can you take me? Please?” She didn’t wait for his answer. She grabbed a coat and an umbrella and opened the door.
“Yes. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I’ve always wanted to meet you, I’m a big fan,” he said, unsure of himself in the company of one of the most famous and beautiful women in the country.
“Thank you. Please, I need to see John. I have to know he’s alright!”
Why did I assume the worst about John? I should’ve known he wasn’t like the others.
“When we get to the hospital we’ll enter through the back door. The doctors said it may be better that way. They don’t want the whole Emergency Department in uproar once people realise who you are.”
“Okay, yes, of course.” She still wasn’t used to the adulation of her fans and the need to avoid the media.
Her mind drifted back to the last time she’d seen John. She was pleased it was dark inside the police car as her face blushed at the memory. Had it only been three days?
They’d gone to John’s downtown apartment, at his insistence. She had been pleasantly surprised. Although obviously masculine, it was decorated in warm colours. Warm and yet subdued, she thought, just like the man himself.
He had cooked steaks on the grill, and made a side salad. Ah, a man who’s not afraid to be in charge in the kitchen. I like that.
After dinner, they ended up in his bed. What started off slowly, soon built into a crescendo of passion on the sexy satin sheets. Their hot naked bodies moved together sensually; they couldn’t get enough of each other. John took her to heights she’d never experienced before.
“Happy half-anniversary,” he’d whispered when they were both spent.
It had been six months since they’d met on the set of her latest movie. He was the new kid in town, a hot-shot producer.
Surely I’m not going to lose him now? God wouldn’t be that cruel. John has too much to live for. He’s got to be okay.
“We’re nearly there, Miss Braxton. Are you okay?” Sergeant Baker’s concerned voice broke into her troubled thoughts.
“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, I must look a mess...” She looked in the passenger side mirror. A mess? I look a disaster! I can’t let John see me like this.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look beautiful. I don’t think you’d look a mess if you were wrapped in a sheet and covered with tar,” he said, rather shyly.
“Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say. Oh, well, I can’t do anything about it now,” Shana said as the car entered the back entrance to the hospital.
“I’ll come in with you. I know where Mr Lockyear is, and I can give you some protection if anyone harasses you.” He walked to her side of the car and helped her out. She opened her umbrella and they ran towards a heavy metal door.
After he pressed a button and announced who he was, the electronic door buzzed and opened. They walked through a dimly lit corridor. Shana spotted a lady’s toilet. “Do you mind?” she asked, pointing to the door. “I need to go in there. Will you wait for me?” He smiled and nodded.
She pushed the heavy door and gave a sigh of relief when she saw a large mirror over the wash-basin. The relief was soon replaced by horror when she saw her reflection. She splashed cold water on her face and gently dabbed it with a paper towel to remove as much of the smudged make-up from around her eyes as she could. “Water-proof and tear-proof, my foot!” she mumbled.
She wet her hands again and fluffed her long blond hair, flicking it over her shoulders. There, that’s better. I need to be strong for John. Please, God, let him be alright.
After she wiped the blood off her leg, she was satisfied that she looked the best she could under the circumstances.
Sergeant Baker smiled when she came out, and gave a nod of approval. “Feel better now?”
“Thank you. Can you take me to John now?” He nodded.
Once inside the emergency ward, he shook her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you in the flesh, so to speak, Miss Braxton. I just wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, I appreciate your kindness.” She pulled her hand gently from his firm grasp. “I’ll be fine now.”
She took in her surroundings. The large oval reception area was abuzz, but no-one paid any attention to her. Doctors and nurses whispered, others rushed from one cubicle to another. Thin pale green curtains hid patients from her view. A scream jolted her, then a painful cry, obviously that of a small child, caused her to shudder.
She’d never been in an emergency ward in her life. The smells and sounds were unpleasant and indicated pain and suffering.
“May I assist you?” A young woman of Indian appearance stood before her.
“I’m looking for Mr John Lockyear. I believe he was involved in an accident.”
“Ah, yes, poor Mr Lockyear,” she said; a kind smile on her face.
“What do you mean, poor Mr Lockyear?”
“Are you related, Ma’am?” she asked, as she headed towards the desk in the centre of the emergency area.
“No, I, uhm, I’m not. I’m Mr Lockyear’s girlfriend. I was told he asked for me. Can I see him?”
“I’ll check with the doctor. He’s still with him. I believe they’re prepping him for surgery.” She pulled the curtain to Cubicle 4 aside and entered, quickly drawing the curtain back so Shana couldn’t see in.
She heard some muffled voices, and after a minute or so, the nurse opened the curtain and motioned for Shana to come in. Wires and machines whirred and beeped. John’s ashen face was almost lost in the white starched hospital pillow. His head was swathed in blood soaked bandages, with a tuft of his black hair sticking from the top.
He had tubes in his nose and drips in both arms; one a clear liquid, the other a deep purplish-red colour, which Shana assumed was blood.
A handsome young male doctor greeted her and asked her to sit down on the only chair at the foot of the bed. John’s eyes were closed and his breathing was laboured. A brace supported his neck. Shana felt fear grip her around the chest. Oh, John, you look so weak.
“Miss Braxton, Mr Lockyear needs immediate surgery to relieve some internal bleeding. He has multiple fractures, most of which can be fixed. He’s young and fit, and that will assist him in his recovery. Our first goal is the stop the internal bleeding. It’s tricky as we suspect he may have spinal injuries. We’re waiting for MRI and X-Ray results to tell us how serious these injuries may be. Surgery is being prepared now and we have the best specialists on hand. You can be assured he will get the best possible medical attention.”
Shana couldn’t speak as she tried to take in what the doctor had said. The young doctor hardly looked old enough to have graduated from high school. With blond hair and a chubby pale face, it seemed out of place for him to be talking about life saving surgery and spinal injuries.
Her eyes were drawn back to John’s face, and she thought she saw his mouth move.
“Can I talk to him? Is he awake?” she asked nervously, her hands shaking.
“He’s drifting in and out of consciousness. But, yes, you can come up here and talk to him. He may be able to hear you or he may not.” The doctor stepped aside.
She stood up and for a moment she thought she would faint. She swayed forward and the doctor took her arm. “Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded. John’s right hand lay on top of the white cotton blanket. She took hold of it, careful not to touch the drip. She put her face close to his. “John, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes and nodded. She stroked his hand and felt a tear run down her cheek. She watched it drop onto the side of his pillow.
“John, it’s going to be alright, honey.” He blinked, as if to reassure her.
He tried to say something, but only a small grunt escaped his lips. She put her ear near his mouth. “What, John? What is it?” she whispered.
“Pocket,” he said, “in my pocket.”
“What did he say?” the doctor asked.
“He said something about his pocket,” she said.
“I think they removed all his personal belongings in the ambulance. It must be important to him.”
Just then a nurse and two orderlies walked towards John’s bed. “Surgeons are ready, Doctor,” the nurse said.
“Pocket...” John’s weak voice insisted.
“His personal things are at the desk in a bag. We haven’t had time to put them in a safe yet,” the nurse said. “They cut most of his clothes off him, they’re in the bag too. Why don’t you say goodbye to John. Then we can have a look through his things. Okay?”
Shana nodded. Goodbye? I don’t want to say goodbye. That sounds final ... God, please, I know I don’t pray too much. But I’m begging you, please let John be okay ...
She felt John’s hand move in hers. She looked up and saw a tear drip slowly down the side of his face and drip onto the pillow, right next to where her tear had fallen only a minute ago. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you.” Then he closed his eyes.
Shana didn’t want to let go of his hand. He hadn’t told her he loved her before. Why now? Did he sense he wasn’t going to live? Don’t think like that! He has to live, he has to!
She let go and watched the orderlies wheel him through a double door. She stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. She was afraid if she moved her whole world would cave in. A gentle touch on her arm made her look up. “He’s in good hands, Miss Braxton. I’m sure he will be okay. Would you like to go to the hospital chapel? I’m happy to go with you.”
“I’d like to see what was so important in John’s pocket first, if you don’t mind. It seemed so important to him.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s see what we can find.”
The nurse walked behind the desk and pulled out a large green plastic bag. “Here we are, Mr John Lockyear, it says on the label. Let’s see.” She opened the bag and pulled out some of John’s torn and bloodied clothes. The trousers had been cut in half, from cuff to waist. She handed the front section to Shana, who felt inside the pockets. Apart from a handkerchief, they were empty.
Next came his jacket. He couldn’t have been wearing that when the accident occurred as it was neatly folded; without any tears or blood. It was obviously part of a suit, the material matching that of the trousers. Again the nurse handed it to Shana. She didn’t find anything in either of the side pockets, but felt something inside the jacket. She laid it open on the bench and felt inside the small pocket, pulling out a small red velvet box. Her heart stopped as she stared at it. It couldn’t be? Could it? Oh, God ...
“Miss Braxton, aren’t you going to open it?” The nurse couldn’t contain her excitement.
Shana shook her head. She wrapped both her hands around the small box and held it close to her heart. “I think I’d like to go to the chapel now, please.”
“But aren’t you ...?” the nurse asked again.
Again, Shana shook her head. “I need John to be with me when I open this. Whatever it is, I want him to see me open it,” she said resolutely.
The chapel was small and intimate. An altar at the far end had a large candle burning in front of a golden cabinet with small deep red velvet curtains in front. Large red vases with fresh flowers stood on either side of the altar. There were stained-glass windows above the altar and a centre aisle divided six benches. Shana slipped into the front bench and knelt down. Still clutching the small velvet box in her hands, she bowed her head.
“Please, God, I know I don’t talk to you often enough. And I’m usually asking for favours. I forget to say thank you for all the blessings you’ve given me. I have more money than I will ever need as long as I live. But, believe me, if I had to make a choice between my career and fame and John, I’d choose John. If it takes every ounce of my energy to look after him, I will do that. Please, God, he is too young to die.”
She lost track of time and jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see the nurse smiling at her. “He’s going to be fine! They surgeon would like to speak with you.”
Heart pounding she followed the nurse to a waiting room. A doctor, still in his theatre gown, smiled at her and held out her hand. “Hello. Well, John‘s a lucky man. There for a while we thought we might lose him, but once we stopped the bleeding, he was out of the woods. He’ll need more surgery to set his broken bones, but we found no trace of spinal damage. It’ll be a long haul, but he’ll be alright.”
Shana couldn’t speak as the events of the past hours took hold of her. She let her tears flow freely, not caring what she looked like. She didn’t wipe her face, her hands were still firmly clutching the small red box.
“Can I see him?” she sobbed.
“Yes, of course, He’s still in recovery. He’ll be moved to High Dependency in about an hour or so. But, yes, you can come and see him. He’s moving in and out of consciousness while the anaesthetic’s still in his system.”
She followed the doctor down the corridor and through to the recovery room. Several beds lined the long wall, all but one, empty. John’s face wasn’t grey like it’d been in emergency, but it was very white. She sat on a chair next to the bed and finally let one hand go from around the box to take John’s hand. “I’m here, Darling. I’ll always be at your side, no matter what,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes and gave her a wan smile. It was the sweetest smile she had seen in her life. “Pocket ..., he whispered, “pocket...”
“Is this what you want me to look for?” She held the small box up for him to see.
“Yes, open it ...” Another smile crossed his face.
“Why don’t we wait until you’re fully awake. I ...”
“No, open now. It’s a Valentine’s gift ...”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him midnight had come and gone, it was no longer Valentine’s Day.
Slowly she opened the box. A beautiful gold and diamond ring shimmered under the hospital light.
“Will you marry me?” he whispered, “I love you.”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, I will. I love you too.”
She placed the ring between his thumb and forefinger then gently slipped her finger through the gold band.
John smiled, then laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, a contented look on his pale face. Shana stood and gently kissed his partly open lips and whispered, “Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my love.”
Thank you, God, thank you.
 Recognized |
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For our Valentines Story Writing Contest we are looking for stories that take place during this special day.
The story must clearly take place on/around Valentines day with this holiday playing a clear role in the storyline. But while Valentines day must be a focus - your story does not have to have a "Love and Romance" storyline. Creative approaches are welcomed.
Australian English.
3275 words
Thank you, MoonWillow for the use of your stunning artwork entitled 'Sterling Valentine'
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. The story must clearly take place on/around Valentines day with this holiday playing a clear role in the storyline. But while Valentines day must be a focus - your story does not have to have a "Love and Romance" storyline. Creative approaches are welcomed.
Australian English.
3275 words
Thank you, MoonWillow for the use of your stunning artwork entitled 'Sterling Valentine'
Artwork by MoonWillow at FanArtReview.com
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