Hot Flash by Carrie H. Johnson Page B

about and loved.
    Over dessert, pot de crème, or custard, that was orgasmic, Calvin talked about his singing days and how he’d almost recorded an album and made it to overnight stardom. He and his band were famous in Europe, Japan, and Korea in the sixties and seventies. It was then that they were offered a record deal by a label out of London. At the same time, he received word that his mother was ill and he rushed back to America—Philadelphia, to be exact. He took care of his mother for ten years before she passed away, and here he’d stayed.
    Something signaled me that Calvin was holding back. I made a note to check him out more, then wiped it away thinking I was overreacting or worse, acting like a police officer.
    We left the restaurant and drove down Sixteenth to Market Street to Fifteenth and around Penn Square. Calvin bypassed I-95 and drove the streets, the long way home. A sweet, comfortable silence settled between us. I gazed at him in adoration. Bright lights flashed. I screamed and then nothing.

C HAPTER 7
    T he dark was peaceful. An ugly gurgle crept up and back down my throat, causing a fit of coughs and dragging the pain through every part of my body. A shadow propped up my head and offered me a sip of water. More darkness.
    When I opened my eyes, the dark hung on, but the peaceful feeling became more like the garden of evil. Afraid to move any part of me, I tried to focus on my surroundings until my vision cleared on Travis and Laughton, both sleeping in chairs next to my bed. My head spun with the memory of my last moments with Calvin. Tears trickled down the side of my face, causing an itch I was helpless to scratch. Was Calvin alive? I lay in silent agony waiting for someone to notice.
    Laughton stirred and came to me, then Travis, then darkness.
    A soft, melodious voice pulled me back. “Muriel, wake up, Muriel. It’s okay. You’re just having a dream. Wake up, dear.” The nurse rubbed my arms with a cool cloth. “That’s it, wake up. That must have been some dream you were having. I thought for sure you would leap out of this bed.” She lifted my head, put a pill on my tongue, and stuck a straw in my mouth. I sipped. I was afraid to move for fear of pain, but then I panicked. I lifted a finger and wiggled my toes to check.
    â€œEverything works,” the nurse assured me. She was plump with a skinny face and wide eyes. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness going on five days now. Today is Wednesday. You were brought in Friday night.” She moved around the bed, tucking in my sheets and checking the bag of fluid hanging from a hook suspended above my head. A tube from the bag attached to an IV in the back of my left hand. I lifted my hand and spread my fingers to test the degree of pain. The nurse gently pressed my hand back down and pulled the covers up. She slid a thermometer in my mouth and took my blood pressure and pulse.
    â€œYou’re going to be fine, young lady,” she said. “Your son, sister, and police friend visited every day. Your son and sister never left your side until I sent them home today. They’ll be back in the morning.”
    It took a minute before I gathered that “my sister” was Dulcey.
    â€œYou have questions, but they’ll wait until the morning when the doctor comes. You rest now.” She scurried out.
    Wake up, go to sleep , was all I could think. Protest did not register. Once again, darkness ruled. I woke before dawn feeling like I had to use the bathroom, but was unable to move enough to escape the confines of the hospital bed. I pressed the button for the nurse, but no one responded. I cried, not so much feeling sorry for myself, but trying to remember what had happened and afraid that Calvin was dead. I pressed the button again. It seemed an eternity before a nurse came, by which time I recognized I had a catheter. I cried some more from the frustration of not knowing what was