“How long did I last?”
“Let’s get some food in you.” He scooped a spoonful of yogurt, held it to my mouth. When I scowled at him, he let the spoon fall back into the plastic cup. “You have third-degree burns on seventy percent of your body.”
“Did the entire dress ignite?”
He wiped away a fat tear. “You went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. The EMTs had to use a defibrillator to bring you back. You’re going to need skin grafts. That could mean a blood transfusion.”
We had anticipated burns, possibly a few bad ones. We had not expected defibrillators or that the fire would raze me quite this thoroughly. Still, I had, once again, proven myself fearless. I would forever have the scars to substantiate my claim.
Always, always, was I aware of the unblinking red glow of a recording device. Something Gabe never understood: the show demanded to go on. I cleared my throat. “If the next word out of your mouth is not ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ you’re fired.”
He staggered backward. “Yes. The dress burned all the way to your neck, like we planned.”
* * *
? ? ?
DAYS LATER I told Gabe to summon The Five to my hospital room.
“You’ve already done so much for me,” I said once they were assembled, “so I’m loath to ask you to do more.”
“Anything,” they chirped.
I stared gravely at each of them.
“Who here has O blood?”
One of the girls nervously raised her hand.
I studied her. “I want you to make a donation. In case I need a transfusion during surgery.”
The girl paled. “I’m terrified of needles.”
“I know it’s a big ask,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t need it.”
“The hospital must already have plenty of blood,” she stammered.
“That’s hardly the point, is it?” I cocked my head. “You all said you would do anything for me.”
“I would,” one boy said.
“I’d love to donate,” said a second girl. She turned to her friend, whose face had greened. “Think of the honor of having your blood flowing through the veins of Madame Fearless.”
They all glowered at the green girl.
“It’s an honor, for sure.” Her hands shook. “But I’ve been deathly afraid of needles my whole life.”
“Oh, come on,” one of the boys said.
I held up a hand. “All of you, leave us.” They shuffled out of the room. “You too, Gabe,” I said when he hung back.
He hesitated. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“Get out,” I said through gritted teeth. I didn’t bother to turn and catch the wounded expression I knew I would find as he marched out the door.
A woman can tolerate only so much weakness.
Once it was just the green girl and me, I patted my bed. She sat but wouldn’t meet my eye. I held her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You could never.” I tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. Over the years, all the girls had grown out their locks. “But what am I going to remind you?”
She sniffed. “That the fear of pain is worse than the pain itself.”
“Such a bright girl.” I tipped her chin toward me. “Do you remember how scared you were to tell your parents you were gay all those years ago? You couldn’t sleep. You were vomiting between classes. Your grades suffered. And then Mom and Dad kicked you out, which was horribly painful. But what happened eventually?”
“They reached out,” she said in a small voice. “They apologized, said the way they’d reacted was their single biggest failure as parents. They told me they loved me unconditionally.” The tiniest of smiles. “They asked for my forgiveness.”
Warmth spread across my chest. “Do you know why they reached out?”
“I assume guilt was eating away at them for those couple months.”
“Probably so. And perhaps a little bird had been calling them weekly, reminding them how lovely their daughter was, how much they’d regret not being a part of her life.”
She froze. “You were the one who changed their minds?”
I nudged her. “We can’t let fear stop us from doing what’s right.”
Silence settled between us, save for the various beeps of hospital machinery. The green girl was less green now. Her gaze swept up and down my body cast. She leaned forward.
“I’ll do it,” she said, resolute. “I’ll give you blood.”
I patted her hand. “Good girl.”
* * *
? ? ?
I ENDED UP not needing a transfusion, but she didn’t need to know that.
* * *
? ? ?
LATER, WHEN WE were alone, Gabe clenched his jaw. “Why the hell didn’t you stop the show when you knew you were about to pass out?”
I gripped my half-finished Jell-O cup. He had the nerve to challenge me while I was caught in the throes of a bacterial infection? “Not ‘stop.’ ‘Quit.’?”
He squinted one honey eye, tilted an ear toward me as if he’d misheard. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t quit. My name, my entire body of work, is built on not giving up. I endure; that’s what I do. I cannot conclude these performances a loser.” I threw down the Jell-O.
He guffawed. “You’re telling me you’d rather be a dead winner?”
“I’m not even hurting. I think I’ve finally done it, Gabe.” I tried to assuage the hysteria in my voice. “I’ve rid my body of pain.”
“Will you listen to yourself?” He frowned. “You’re not in agony right now because you’ve burned all of the pain-sensing cells in your skin. Are you delusional enough to believe you’re immortal?”
“Watch your tone.”
“Don’t talk to me that way.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re my partner, not my mother.”
Partners? How many times had he put his life at risk? Thank God our livelihood depended on my bravery and not his. Apparently he was under the mistaken impression that because we had paid our bills with his inheritance once or twice, we were on equal footing.
It turned out that a pizza franchise could be quite lucrative. When Gabe’s father expired last year, he had left his son millions. Gabe invested wisely, and we had dipped into the funds only the couple of months we struggled to eke out an existence. But it took considerably more than capital to manifest a career like mine. Without my coattails to ride, Gabe would be nothing, a nobody.
I slammed a hand on the hospital tray, sending it clattering. “I didn’t hear you vociferating about your independence when I paid for your speech therapy. Where was your indignation then?”
He blinked a few times. “I’ve offered to repay you for those sessions. Several times.”
Ungrateful—that was what he was. “You’d still be choking on your w’s if it weren’t for me.”
I regretted the sentence as soon as it flew out of my mouth. Some part of me yearned to squeeze his hand and apologize, but the bigger part was furious that after all this time, after the countless hours I’d spent coaching and leading by example, Gabe was still this fearful. He was supposed to be stronger by now, to support me unconditionally. If I wanted an overbearing man in my life, I would have remained in touch with my father.