Waking Amy (Amy #1) Read online

  “Hi, Dr. Reilly,” said another nurse from behind the desk. I watched as her eyes obviously wandered from his face to his nether region, with a mischievous smile on her lips. She seemed to be in her sixties, but she still had a roaming eye.

  “Hello, Candace.”

  Mark smiled at her, a naughtiness sweeping across his face. I felt as though I was trapped in a swarm of hormones and pheromones, the more distance we covered. This was the closest I’d get to being escorted by a celebrity.

  He pushed open the door to Wesley's room and waited for me to go first. I noticed a chair in the corner of the room and headed straight for it. Holding my purse in front of me like a pillow, I sat back, shifting until my shoulder blades settled on the hard plastic back. Dr. Reilly looked at me with confusion wrinkling his handsome face.

  “It might be good if he heard your voice. Do you want to talk to him? Say something? It might bring him out of this faster.”

  “I'm fine. I think I'll sit here for a bit and digest it all.” There was no way I was going to wake up someone who would take one look at me and yell, “No, not you.” No thank you.

  “All right, if there's anything you need, the nurse's station is right outside the door. Would you like to call someone? Maybe his parents?”

  “His parents are both deceased. He is an only child. I'm afraid it's only me.”

  “Would you like to call anyone?”

  I scrunched my face. “Nah. I really don't have anyone, either. I'll just wait here.” In this chair, because it's the place I imagined I'd be tonight. Waiting for my husband to wake up and look at me with disappointment that he not only couldn't marry the right girl, but he couldn't escape from her, either. Kill me now.

  “All right. Well, let us know if you need anything. I'm on duty tonight, so I'll be in later to check on him.” He opened the door and hesitated before stepping out. Almost like something was left unsaid. Some question left to ask. Instead, he walked out.

  The room was large enough not to bring on a claustrophobic reaction. It had a sink and a door. I figured it led to a bathroom with one of those large buttons attached to a string to pull in case a nurse was needed. There were switches and lights on the back wall behind his bed. One said to push only in case of an emergency. I hoped I'd never have to see that one in action. Other than the chair I was seated on and his bed, there was no other furniture. There wasn't even a window to look out. The extra wide door with the large, chrome handle was all that was keeping me there. If Wesley was conscious, he'd probably tell me to use it, seeing as he suddenly felt he didn’t love me the way he should? How exactly was that, anyway?

  I clutched my bag with one hand and pulled at my coat with the other. Why couldn't I have left on my work clothes? The straps on the piece of bondage wear were beginning to bite into my shoulders, and my hips were itching from the black lace trim. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Four hours later, the tension, stress, fatigue, and hunger had all ganged up on me until I was fast asleep, which wasn't easy on a chair composed of two elliptical pieces—one for the back and one for the butt. I hadn't realized it, but my trusty coat had popped open again, exposing my naughty red attire for all the world to see. Only it was Mark Reilly who was getting the full exposure of it. He had come in to check on Wesley and found me asleep.

  Mark put his hand on my leg. My very naked leg. The one the coat failed to cover any longer. “Mrs. Whitfield.”

  I jumped a mile off the chair. My pocketbook crashed to the ground, my belongings falling out. My true identity evident in the contents sprawled on the ground. A few empty gum wrappers, a coupon keeper (yellow with a matching rubber band tied around it), a pack of mints, my checkbook, and a brown, worn wallet. Nope, no condoms or fuzzy handcuffs to match my outfit. Thank goodness.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that you seemed so uncomfortable. Would you like a recliner brought in for you?” He bent down on the floor next to me, helping me with the contents of my bag. Luckily I had my personal girl items safely zippered in the inside pocket.

  “Did I just hit you? When I woke? Please, tell me I didn't just hit you. Wesley never wakes me up anymore. He says I'm one of those violent people when I'm woken up. For that reason, I have to set my alarm clock extra loud in the mornings.”

  “No, you didn't hit me. You fell asleep, and I woke you. You looked very uncomfortable.”

  I sat back on the chair, unaware that my outfit was still advertising my female goods. “Let me get you a recliner and maybe a set of scrubs.”

  “Scrubs?” My posture became erect again. “I'm not going into an operating room, am I? I can't stand to see blood. I'll wait here.”

  “No, Mrs. Whitfield. It's just that—” He looked down at my outfit. “I thought you'd be more comfortable in a pair of scrubs.”

  Oh, he wasn't asking for medical assistance with Wesley. What was I thinking? He was trying to cover up my mess of a body. I was an ugly thing that needed covering. So I didn’t have a body like Sonja, made for doing the nasty every night. Or jog every night around the neighborhood like Paige claimed to do. She’d stop by the time her second anniversary came around, I’d lay money on it. By then who cared anymore? The compliments all but stopped way before that, anyway. I couldn’t say the last time Wesley told me I looked pretty. Maybe I wasn’t.

  I felt my body was somewhat average. I could probably turn a few heads at the homeless shelter should I need some self-esteem when my life, as I knew it, ended… when I was alone… not too long from now. It was too much rejection for one night. A divorce, a coma, a prostitute outfit—scratch that—an ugly prostitute outfit. Surely, a man of his Casanova reputation would want to see someone pretty, not desperate and trying too hard, like me.

  My lip began to quiver. I was too weak to keep up the charade any longer. Looking like the floss between my butt cheeks wasn't driving me to sheer madness. Trying to be like one of the girls from work, acting as though I had a normal marriage with a healthy sex life. Believing, myself, too, that it was normal. Who, other than me and packs of hairy nuns, finds it difficult to seduce a man?

  “I'm pathetic looking, I know.” I pulled my coat shut, again. “I didn't even want to buy this God-forsaken thing. I did it for him.”

  I looked over at the stranger lying motionless in the bed. Desperation and sadness shattered the lock to where I had kept years of denial hidden. I felt a tear crawling down my cheek. “I did it so he would find me attractive and love me the way that he obviously can't. He will never love me like that. I'm so boring. Who could love boring? Do you know that I even plan things around the Hallmark movie channel?”

  Mark bent over and hugged me. It only seemed like a natural reaction to my breakdown. I evidently had left my pride back home with my sleeves and pants. I rested my chin on his shoulder, wondering when the acceptable moment would come to leave this place and never return. It felt so good to be held though. To be touched, because someone was genuinely concerned. It had been so long since Wesley seemed to care if I needed a hug.

  “Mrs. Whitfield…”

  “Please stop calling me that. For goodness’ sakes, you've seen me in my underwear and we're practically the same age. Call me Amy.” I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand and rubbed the discarded tear on my coat.

  He pulled back from me slightly, yet stayed close enough, staring at me with his intense blue eyes. “Amy, you are beautiful. Why would you say that you were pathetic? To buy something like this for your husband and to look so great in it, he's a lucky man.”

  I stayed in the position, close to him, longer than I should’ve, basking in the attention of my husband's doctor. I looked at the way his eyebrows arched with concern about how I felt. How his hand, on my leg, felt warm. Jolts of electricity seemed to be igniting all over my once-deadened body. It was like my favorite part in the movie Frankenstein when the lightning clashed onto the metal bed where Frankenstein slept on the roof. The searing and cracking thunderbolts ligh
ting up the sky. I checked to make sure I wasn't sparking. Mark moved his hand, but his imprint somehow remained.

  “You don't understand. This is not the norm. I never break down. Not even in front of Wesley.”

  Mark stood. “I can get you something more comfortable to wear, since it's past midnight and you'll probably be staying.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” I knew when I was being blown off, although I happened to miss all the hints that came before my husband's “Dear John” letter to me.

  “I'll have a nurse bring you in some things and a better chair. You'll have to see a doctor yourself if you intend to break your back on that thing all night.” He pointed to my plastic, orange perch.

  Two hours later, I woke up scratching from the un-cotton material that was strapped to my body under the green scrubs Mark had the nurse bring in. Having no real underwear and bra to replace it, I refused to shed the shiny, slick undergarment. I looked over at Wesley before going out of the room in search of coffee and a snack. His expression hadn't changed from earlier. Still resting. Probably dreaming of better times ahead—without me.

  No one was in the hallway. All the room doors were shut, and the lights seemed softer. Other than one nurse plucking on a keyboard at the nurse’s station, the only other sounds I heard were my obnoxious heels beating against the concrete floors. I walked until I found a kitchen halfway down the hall. The loud hum from the refrigerator competed with the shrill from the overhead lights, their brightness hurting my eyes. I picked a banana from a basket of snacks and poured myself some coffee. I heard faint voices coming from outside the doorway. I stopped stirring my coffee to try to make out what they were saying.

  “I told you; I don't date co-workers.”

  “Just this once. No one would have to know. I promise.” Giggle, giggle.

  “You do have a way for getting what you want…stop. We shouldn't be doing this here.”

  “Give in. You know you want to.”

  I hit the spoon against the cup, not wanting to get caught listening when they stumbled into the hospitality room and saw I was there. I hoped I wouldn't be witness to a live groping session, either. To my surprise, Mark came around the corner.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs.— I mean Amy.” His “oh shit” look was quite genuine.

  “Hello.” Awkward.

  I watched as he pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator and another nurse came into the room and joined us. She was tall with long, sandy-colored hair and appeared to have sky-jumped into her overly tight uniform. Certainly not off-the-rack at Uniforms R Us.

  “Hello, Dr. Reilly.” Her voice was lower than that of Contestant Number One he had just left in the hallway. She must be the second act to his entertaining nighttime shift. How could Dr. Reilly get any work done with all his distractions?

  “Hello, Jade. Working the nightshift are you?”

  “Yes. I need to see you in room 406 later. I have a question. Say, in fifteen minutes?” Did she even see me in the room? Maybe the scrubs confused her.

  “Sure.”

  The bombshell walked out, leaving another uncomfortable moment in her wake. I smirked and looked for a table to crawl under. “Let me guess, will you be the patient in room 406, tonight, or will she?” I don't believe that got past my filter. Did filters even work past one a.m.?

  “Excuse me?” He didn't wear innocence entirely well.

  “Sorry, it's that I'm sensing a little heightened testosterone when nurses get around you. How do you fit them all in?” Amy Whitfield! What are you doing?

  A boyish charm helped to dilute his playboy aura. “I don't date co-workers.”

  “Hey, it's none of my business. It actually takes my mind off my own problems. Don't let me hold you up. You have ten minutes to get there.”

  “Lest you forget, I've seen what's under that pair of scrubs you're wearing, Mrs. Whitfield.” His eyebrow arched and a hint of play danced on his twisted lips.

  I nearly choked on my sip of coffee. “Don't let it confuse you. My mother warned me what comes from dressing up like a floozy. I get trapped in public places without a cooperative raincoat. Trust me, I've learned my lesson. This piece of naughtiness is going back in the bag and to the back of my closet when I get home.”

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't very professional.” He wiped his chin, disguising his embarrassment.

  “It's okay. But, could you answer me something?” I set my cup on the side of the sink.

  “Sure.”

  “Do outfits like this really turn a guy on? Isn't there a point in the relationship when things like this aren’t necessary?”

  He stopped looking at me and concentrated more on the shuffle of his feet. “I don't think I'm the one who could give you an answer to that. Long term relationships aren’t something I do anymore.” His right foot shuffled one more time. “But, I'm sure it doesn't hurt to own one and bring it out of the closet on occasion. Especially if you look as stunning in it as you do.”

  All right, so he knew how to successfully stop me from asking questions and what it took to pump the blood to the surface of my freckled cheeks. I didn't know how to react to that. Nor was I sure whether he was complimenting me or using the only dialogue he knew—male gigolo. Certainly all the women who flocked to him weren't flocking for free medical advice. Mark Reilly probably had a bed with several hundred notches on it.

  “Well, I don't want to hold you up. You have a nurse to get to.” Was it the warm coffee heating me up or the sparks inside me that he seemed to be detonating? What the hell is going on here? This is a medical facility. Your husband is in the other room, IN A COMA!

  I brushed by him on my way out. The conversation and the sensation I experienced gave me an idea. I took my seat at the foot of Wesley's bed and stared at him. I found myself enjoying being complimented and feeling pretty. What if I tweaked a few things about myself? Became a new girl not just on special occasions, but all the time? One that turned Wesley on? Like the women who turned Dr. Reilly's head and kept it spinning. This could be my second chance with my husband. If he woke up to find a new wife, there would be no need to leave me. He’d love me in a way that satisfied him, and we would still have the security—well, I would have the security of him always being there.

  That's it! I would transform myself into a full-time sexy, fun-loving girl. So I’d miss a few movies on television when we’d go out. I’d just record them and watch later. He couldn't help but fall in love with me and not leave. After all, I couldn't take being alone. I was thirty. And the thought of starting over made me sick. The dating websites, the awkward moment you find out the guy likes to lick toes (thank you Sonja for that image), and the thought of having to get to know what bugs you about him. Now I didn't have to. Meet the new Amy Sex-Pot Whitfield. I was going to channel all my energy into pulling it off.

  Chapter Three

  A million thoughts and plans raced through my mind as I drove home from the hospital. I needed to clear my head and think of a strategy to save my marriage while my husband was asleep.

  Wrapped up in my fluffy white robe and sipping a cup of hot chocolate, I could think more clearly. I put the lingerie to sleep in the pink bag and tossed it to the shoe section of my closet. Before last night, I never figured on the fact I would've worn it for more than an hour. Now, I really couldn't take it back, and I could never wear it again. It would be like the shirt I wore in high school when Brady, my crush, broke my heart. I loved that shirt. It was comfortable and green, and people said it looked great with my hair. But after that day, every time I wore it, I could imagine the look on my face when he told me he was dating my friend Carly on the cheerleading squad. That lingerie would always be a reminder of the night at Mercer General Hospital and the day Wesley tried to leave me. May it burn, respectably, in the chambers of the lower world.

  I called my work and Wesley's, telling them what happened and requesting a leave of absence until I knew more. A phone call to my sister was next. As usual, Ashle
y didn't answer her phone, so I left a brief message about the accident and asked my twin sister to call back. Surely she would. Or should. They dated each other almost their entire high school years. Up until she grew bored with him and left for the allure of California to become a famous actress.

  I moped around the house, reading Wesley's note over and over and looking at pictures of us that were scattered around. There were a few on the mantle and one on the refrigerator—right next to where the letter had been waiting for me last night. I studied the photos, touching each one as if they had texture. In all of them, we’re posing with other people. I’m either standing on the other side of him, sharing the flash with my sister Ashley, or the one in the denim blue frame is of us at the cabin two years ago. A group shot with his boss and wife. Nowhere were there any of just us. If the house were burglarized, the robbers would assume brother and sister lived in this place. I was determined to change all that. My parents would roll over in their graves if they knew I let my marriage fall apart without trying to save it. Six generations of Tribedeaus and not a single marriage ended in divorce. Before yesterday, I wasn't aware divorce was even an option.

  I remembered Sonja telling me about her cousin, Mario. How he was a love coach. Somehow, I thought his services might go beyond a textbook and power-point explanation, but I needed to find someone like that. Someone to show me what it took to be the girl of Wesley's dreams. The only problem was that I didn't know anyone who could do this. I couldn't ask my only handful of friends at work. For all they knew, I was completely able-bodied in the bedroom and relationship status, popping white pills at the ready due to the overload of sex. The only one who stood out in my mind was Dr. Reilly. He seemed well versed in the female species and didn't seem to mind answering a question I had last night. I bet he knew exactly what I needed to turn my husband's head and vehicle from careening off the road, trying to get away. I could sprinkle in a few questions, here and there, and before I knew it, he would let me in on the secret of what it took to keep a man happy.