Not Quite Enough(32)

Sunshine, bright and piercing, pounded on the back of her eyelids, waking her. Monica stretched, felt at least four different muscles she didn’t realize she had, and rolled back over. The soft pillow cushioned her head and left her in a cloud for a little while longer. It felt so damn good to be horizontal, to not have anyone calling out for her help.
She blinked a few times, and remembered where she was. She’d managed to toss a pajama T-shirt over her shoulders, but never dragged on the bottoms. The night before she’d wrapped her hair in a towel and rested her head on the pillow. That was her last memory. The towel sat folded on a chair by the door to her room. She’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, yet there was a light cotton blanket thrown over her. Her legs were bare, and only a thin pair of panties covered her girly parts.
Indebted to Trent for the best night’s sleep she’d had in over a week, Monica didn’t mind that he’d gotten an eyeful when he’d tucked her in.
The noise coming from her stomach reminded her of the time between meals and forced her from bed.
Inside the bathroom, she clicked on the light and miracle of miracles, the power was on. Leaning her ear toward the door, she realized there wasn’t the sound of a noisy generator running.
She emerged from her room a few minutes later, wearing her running shorts and shirt. All her clothes could use a good wash. Maybe if Trent’s power was on she could bug him for yet one more basic need.
He was in his living room with a large big-screen television tuned in to a newscast.
“G’morning,” she said, bringing his attention to her presence.
His face softened and he lifted his strong frame from the couch. “I was starting to wonder if you were going for another twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours?”
“You dropped around eight.” He tapped his watch and said, “It’s almost ten.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Her heart skipped. Fourteen hours. “I’ve got to get back.” She turned around to go change clothes. Smelly awful clothes.
“Hold up. I spoke with a Dr. Klein.”
That stopped her.
“I heard your cell phone ringing in your room just after six this morning. You didn’t budge.”
“So you answered it?” She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or angry.
Anger took energy. Although she felt rested, she wanted nothing to do with being pissed.
“Yeah. Anyway when I told him you were one step away from comatose he suggested you return to the clinic tonight. He asked for you to call him or Walt when you woke.”
“OK then. Tonight?” As in she had a good six or eight hours to call her own?
“Tonight,” he confirmed. “How about some coffee?”
“I’d kill for coffee.”
“No need for violence,” he said with a laugh. “The power flickered shortly after you crashed. No more instant. Why don’t you sit, I’ll get another pot going.”
“Before I get comfortable, do you have a washer and dryer? My clothes…”
He pointed back toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. “Back of the hall there’s a door to a mud room.”
“A mud room in Jamaica?”
“I grew up in the Northeast. I couldn’t build a house without a mud room. Washer and dryer are in there.”
Five minutes later, she joined Trent in his kitchen with all smiles. “Clean clothes and a good night’s sleep. I feel guilty.” She knew her colleagues weren’t faring so well.
“Guilty?”
“If Donald hadn’t sweet-talked his way into getting me to go to the clinic on my own, I would still be sleeping on those bunks at the hospital.” She wouldn’t have gotten to know Trent either. She left that unsaid.
“Remind me to thank Donald.” Trent lifted an eyebrow her way before he poured her coffee, added a little sugar, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She moaned… a throaty, bedroom moan, as the coffee slid down her throat. “You have some serious coffee skills, Trent.”
He leaned against the counter and watched her over the rim of his cup. “Good coffee is part of my apology.”
She lifted her cup in salute. “Good show.” She sipped again, felt some of the strain from the past few days dissipate. “Have you always been the jealous type?”
Trent closed his eyes and wrinkled his face. “Do we have to talk about that?”
She laughed in the face of his discomfort. “If you knew just how crazy Jack is about my sister you’d laugh at your mistake.”
“He was determined to find you.”
“Probably because Jessie wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he hadn’t. She worries like a mother.”
“Is she older than you?”
“Only a couple of years. We depend on each other. Well, she has Jack now, but before… when I was in nursing school and she was raising her son, Danny, by herself, we helped each other out.”
“What about your parents?”
Monica stared into her cup. “Dad ran off early on. I don’t even remember him. My mom is wrapped up in her own life.” She didn’t want to talk about them. “Anyway. Jessie probably threatened bodily harm if he didn’t find me.”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He is. The whole family is so down-to-earth it’s hard to believe they’re filthy rich. Did you see his jet?”
He grinned. “Classy. Have you flown in it?”
“Hell yeah.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? I thought you were afraid of heights.”