Reader
Open on Literotica

Love in the Cross Hairs Ch. 03

Peter's first reaction was disbelief. He spoke again, "Laurie?"

Laurie had her back to the ocean; a stiff cold land breeze was in her face. More wind than breeze; it smacked her in the face, it swept her breath away, through a hacking cough she rasped, "Peter?"

Peter sort of recognized the voice. It sounded a lot like Laurie's; only it was caught up in some grating hoarse shallow whisper. Could it be her, really her? His face was to the first grey warnings of the sunrise, hers trapped n the shadows; it was impossible to make out who the woman was. He asked again, "Laurie is that you?"

From where Laurie stood, though the man's face was wrapped in a thick woolen scarf, she could tell who it was. She started to repeat his name but the wind chased her voice back down her throat. She was only able to release another scratchy wheeze, "Peter."

He knew it was her all right. Laurie Stanton, influential blue blood, co-conspirator in the plot to steal his company and wipe him out; here she was, right here on the beach, right where he was, at the exact same spot at precisely the same time. This was too good to be true. Somehow the rich bitch had found out where he was. She'd tracked him down. What, she wasn't satisfied she'd ruined his life, broken his heart, literally run him out of town? Now she was here. To do what, finish him off; deliver the coup De grace?

Totally out of character Peter erupted, "You bitch! You low down, cold blooded, reptilian bitch!"

Laurie heard some of what he said. She heard the anger, but she couldn't precisely make out the words. She gasped out, "Peter...I" That was all she could say. Between the wind and the tightness in her chest she was stopped. Her response dissolved in a bone chilling cough.

To call what Laurie emitted a cough was a gross exaggeration; it was more like an explosion; a convulsive expulsion of yellow green phlegm accompanied by a deep low throat tearing moan, a viscerally repugnant raw scraping rasp akin to fingernails on a chalkboard, a hacking whistling wheeze, a short hoarse gasp for air. It was as if, vomiting into her lungs, she was drowning in front of him, struggling for that last dram of breath. Her attempt to get out her words, any words resulted only in a whistling rattling dry echo, a raw desperate attempt to breathe, to keep from choking.

Peter was angry, infuriated, but even through his fury he gathered something was wrong. The sun had broken through. Her visage was still as clouded as the darkness of her outer apparel, but he knew she was sick. In spite of himself, in spite of his desire to lash out and do the unconscionable and hit a woman; he stepped forward. He reached out his arms and grabbed her by the shoulders.

He shook her, "What are you doing here?"

Laurie felt so weak, so fragile, the wind, the cold, "Peter I..." Nothing more came out, only more coughing.

His anger was gone; it died the moment he'd touched her. She was sick! He pulled her closer and felt her forehead with his hand. She was afire! She was like some wispy hollow reed about to snap, victim of the harsh wind and the piteous cold. He bent forward and lifted her, "Laurie you're sick!"

She tried to reach out, to touch him with her arms; she just lacked the strength, "Peter I'm..." No additional words were forthcoming. Even wrapped in his arms she doubled over, convulsed with a second battery of dry deep barking whoops, heaving honks that betrayed a deeply entrenched inflammation.

The sun was up. He could see her face clearly. It was scarlet, and not from the sun or the wind. He briefly touched her face again. It was dry and hot, the kind of dry heat associated with a high fever. She was desperately ill.

She made another attempt to speak.

He shouted down at her, "Shut up!"

He turned and strode westward across the sandy beach. He was apoplectic, intensely furious, wrathful, but mostly scared! The further he walked, or rather struggled across the soft sand, the more he felt the heat emanating from the helpless girl so tightly swaddled in his arms. Peter's anger found new direction; it turned toward the sand, the distance, the wind, the cold. The further he walked the more rapidly his anger with her dissipated. That anger; that justified self-righteous fury he knew was his by all that was right and good evaporated; it was melted away by the heat from the small torrid body he carried.

By the time he reached the boardwalk, though it had been only a few seconds, his ire had floundered on the rocks of fright, fright turned to fear, then to terror. People who angered him, those who betrayed him, who were deceitful weren't supposed to get sick. They were supposed to be impervious to pain, incapable of suffering, always hale and hearty.

He couldn't hate, couldn't despise someone in need of help, his help, that wasn't in his nature, and at that moment no one needed his help more desperately than she did.

He ran to his truck. Holding her tightly in one arm he fumbled around and found his keys. There was a first aid building about three blocks up the main highway. He knew it would be open; this time of day it was mostly the habitue of drunks and over indulgent drug addicts. This morning they'd handle a real emergency!

Laurie was partially alert, "Peter I want to tell you..."

He wasn't interested, "I said shut up. You're sick."

"I'm sorr..."

"I said shut up."

She shut up.

He got her in, buckled her seat, flew around, jumped in his side, turned on the ignition and peeled out. With total disregard for traffic lights and pedestrian warnings he swerved and sped as fast as his old truck would allow. He'd completely forgotten past injustices; this was Laurie, and she needed a hero. She needed him.

First aid station in sight, he veered off the main drag, jumped the low concrete median strip and pulled to a stop at the front door. Out of his truck, around to her side, he unfastened her safety buckle, lifted her and, kicking the front door of the aid station open carried her through to the Triage desk. He shouted at some half somnolent older woman staring passively at a computer screen, "She's sick! Get the doctor!"

The older woman groggily looked up, "Insurance? Identification?"

He placed Laurie in a wheel chair. In the clear light of the clinic she looked frightful, piteous. It frightened him even more. He pulled open his wallet, found a credit card, and threw it on the counter, "A doctor! We need a doctor! Can't you see she's sick?"

From the back a young looking woman emerged, "I'm the nurse on duty. Can I help?"

Peter, glad to get anyone, said, "This lady, my girlfriend is sick."

The nurse told him, "We'll take care of her. Can you tell us what's wrong, who she is? Does she have any insurance, allergies?'

"I've got money. She's allergic to bees. She's burning up with fever. Do something!"

By then another young woman, more a girl than woman appeared.

The nurse turned to her, "Let's get her in the back." She looked at Peter, "Calm down. She'll be all right now. Care to wait outside?"

"No, I'm going in with her."

The nurse smiled, "All right." She started for the door that led to the back.

The older woman, the receptionist started to say something, but the nurse touched her arm, "It's OK. Call Doctor White."

The receptionist gave Peter a quizzical look.

He grinned a little sheepishly, "Don't worry, I won't steal anything."

The receptionist turned away, and started to type the girl's name into the computer. In seconds she had the girl's medical background and family up on her screen. The Stanton's were at least as well known in this small ocean side town as they were back at home. She picked up the telephone and made two calls.

++++++++++++

Back inside the aid station the nurse was quick to make a diagnosis. She'd also noticed the diamond, though on the wrong hand, she inferred what she thought it meant. She turned to Peter, "Your fiancé might have a bad case of bronchitis, though it could be pneumonia. I'm going to take a little blood, and do an X-ray, but I'll need someone to sign off on this."

"I'll sign." He gave no indication nor did he say anything to dissuade her of her mistake about his relationship with Laurie.

The younger girl produced some paperwork, and he signed off on it. He strongly suspected anything he signed was probably either illegal or would have no bearing on anything, but he didn't care if they didn't.

He waited in the room they'd taken her while they rolled her off for the X-Ray. Shortly, the nurse came back with some results from the blood work. She nurse said, "I'm sorry, the blood work probably wasn't needed. I just wanted to make sure of a few things."

"What's that," Peter asked?

"We doubt she has hepatitis or anything, but, of course, you know she's pregnant, and I thought she might have pneumonia."

Peter had no clue about pregnancy, but he didn't let on, "If she has pneumonia she'll need medicine, "That won't..."

The nurse smiled and interrupted, "It won't hurt the baby, and if you're worried about the X-Ray that won't either. However, antibiotics could weaken," She looked down at the chart, "Laurie's immune system. She could suffer some side effects."

Peter started to shake slightly. Laurie was down here, with him, with pneumonia, and pregnant. He wondered if she was with anyone else. Should he call someone? Her parents will want to know. They might even be here with her. He should call them.

While Peter was pondering what he should do, the nurse had been on the phone with one of the town doctors. The physician she'd called was an older man; and their main contact there at the aid station. His advice had been to keep her at the station for the day, pump her full of antibiotics, water, and Tylenol till they stabilized her temperature. He told her he'd be down later to look her over. If her temperature hadn't gone any higher, and they had a good warm place nearby she could go home later that evening or better still, the next morning.

The nurse reported to Peter what she'd done plus more, "Her fever is a little over 103. She does have pneumonia, but it looks like Streptococcus, the most common and most easily treated kind. The doctor will be in later this afternoon; he might want her to stay over one night."

Peter checked his watched. It was after 9:00 a.m., and he was exhausted, "Is there a place I can stretch out for a while?"

The nurse gave him a thoughtful look. Normally anything like that would be out of the question. But it was January; the place was empty and would most likely see little activity, "You should go home."

"I'd like to stay. I mean in case she wakes up and needs somebody."

The nurse looked around, "I guess we could find you a cot. We'll put you up in a storage area off from the waiting room."

Peter thanked her.

++++++++++

Further west, in a city across the bay the phone rang. Mrs. Stanton picked it up, "Hello."

"Hello, Mrs. Stanton, Aurora Stanton?"

"This is she."

"You have a daughter, Laurie?"

Mrs. Stanton sat up in bed, "Yes."

"I'm calling from Ocean City. A young man just brought your daughter into our clinic. She's feverish and has pneumonia."

Aurora was on the side of the bed, "Where are you? What street?"

The reception shared the information she was asked.

Aurora turned and poked her still somnolent husband. He rolled over. She said, "Wake up. Laurie's sick, pneumonia, and she's with some stranger."

Mr. Stanton was awake and already out of bed, "Where is she?"

Aurora told him.

He yanked the phone from her hand, closed the receiver and reopened it. He called the airport. He checked his watch; forty minutes to the airport, another forty in flight; he'd be at her bedside inside three hours. He got the assistant where his plane was stabled, "This is Carroll Stanton. Get my plane ready, and clear a line for me to the Ocean City airport. I want to leave within the hour." He hung up.

Aurora lay in bed and watched her husband as he drew a quick shower, dried off, and started to slip into some clothes, "What are you going to do; go down and fetch her home?"

Carroll slipped into a pair of BVD's, khaki slacks, and then pulled over a yellow rugby shirt, "She's gotten herself into something, and I intend to find out what it is."

"You bringing her home?"

"I don't know, probably. I told her she could stay there. I'd hate to go back on my word, but sometimes I don't think she's that responsible."

Aurora sat up, "You knew where she's been all this time?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't tell me?"

"She made me promise."

"Promise what?"

"Not to tell you."

By then Aurora was out of bed and pulling on a pair of expensive designer sweat pants, "I'm going too."

Carroll looked over and grimaced, "I'd rather you didn't."

"I don't care what you'd rather. I'm finding out what goes on down there."

Now Carroll was interested, "What are you talking about?"

"Some man was responsible for her being sick; it was a man who took her to the clinic."

Carroll thought, 'the plot thickens', "Well hurry up if you're going. I'm leaving with or without you."

Aurora already had her sweat suit on, and was slipping into a waist length fur coat, "Come on, I'm ready."

Together Aurora and Carroll, two concerned parents, hurriedly walked to they're waiting limousine.

Carroll stood by while the still groggy chauffeur held the door for Aurora. As Carroll got in he said, "Thought I'd let Jarvis drive; that way I can recheck with both airports and make a call to the clinic."

Aurora, having already slipped in and over said nothing. Carroll slipped in, Jarvis started the car, and they pulled away.

++++++++++++

Peter tried to get some shut eye, but he was over tired and stressed. After several fitful attempts to get comfortable he sat up. There was a Dunkin Donuts just up the street. He got up, pulled on his overalls, slipped on his work boots, tied them off, found his hat and heavy coat and left the clinic. He figured he'd be gone just long enough to grab a coffee and a doughnut. Maybe that would calm him down enough to clear his muddled mind. He doubted if he'd get any sleep; he had a lot of thinking to do.

He found the Doughnut Shop and went in. He walked over to the counter, pulled out his wallet and asked for a coffee and a plain doughnut.

The man at the counter wasn't natural born. Probably from Pakistan Peter figured. He pointed to the coffee, "I'll have a coffee with cream, no sugar, and I'd like one of those." He pointed to the plain doughnuts.

The man behind the counter was holding down the inside shop plus a drive through window. Though it was late in the morning, there was still a pretty brisk business.

The man at the counter got the doughnut, slipped it into a small bag and turned to the coffee, "Coffee, cream and sugar."

Peter tried to stop him, "No, no sugar." He watched as the man poured the coffee and then plopped in two, then three scoops of sugar. 'Crap', he thought, 'and they have good coffee too.'

He picked up his change and took the over sweetened coffee and plain doughnut to one of the two small tables inside the shop. He bit into the doughnut; it was stale.

He looked around; he remembered not many years ago the Dunkin Donut Corporation was largely locally owned franchises where they made the doughnuts on site. He scanned the place he was in. It was clean, but sterile. He couldn't say too much about the seaside doughnut shops, but he remembered the ones back in the city. They were usually owned by some old Jewish couple. The man did the cooking, and the woman probably handled the books. They cooked fresh every three hours or so, and local kids filled in during the busiest times.

They used to bury the donuts in glaze or icing. Cream filled donuts were a meal in themselves. Everything was thick and rich, and always there were six or seven tables fitted out with chess or backgammon boards. It was commonplace to walk in and see a half dozen men sitting around a chess match; all swilling coffee and gobbling up the pastry. Whatever those old Jews lost in better product; they more than made up in patronage and goodwill.

Jeez he missed that. His country had become so dried up, cold, all for the quick buck; all the ambiance was gone. He didn't blame the Pakistani or whatever he was; he never knew. But something good, something wholesome had died.

Peter finished his coffee, wiped off the table, and left. It was time to get back to the clinic and think.

++++++++++++

Carroll and Aurora made it to the airport, checked out their private plane, got the appropriate directions and took off. The weather, though icy cold, was otherwise good. They expected to be at the ocean side airport within forty minutes. Neither said much. They were both lost in their own thoughts.

Carroll half guessed who the man who'd taken Laurie to the clinic was. He knew he'd skipped out of the city; he just wasn't sure where he landed. Laurie must have found him, and they'd renewed their relationship.

Carroll had paid for a thorough investigation into Peter's background. The kid, man really, was thirty-one. His mother was sixteen when she'd gotten pregnant. She'd married some guy, not the one who'd knocked her up, and then had dropped out of school. He found no trace of Peter's biological father; only the man who ended up in prison.

Apparently the man Peter's mom had married was never able to handle the fact his oldest child wasn't really his. They'd had a second child, Peter's sister, a couple years later. Somewhere along the way he started to abuse Peter's mother. She was over eighteen so her records hadn't been sequestered.

She'd had a pretty rough time. Eventually she ended up at the House of Ruth, a halfway house for battered women, but like most women in that situation, she took responsibility for his brutality. From then on when she wasn't ensconced in some safe house she was in and out of the hospital. Finally it got so bad a neighbor called the police. They probably saved her life. He was arrested and charged with attempted murder. Since it had left the realm of being a domestic dispute she couldn't cover for him. He was found guilty and given a stiff sentence. When he got out the state slapped him with a restraining order. He tried to go back once, but someone saw him, and the police picked him up again. After that he disappeared for another year until his body was found somewhere out west, Kansas City the report read.

Peter's mom had been a welfare cheat, or at least technically she was. She got welfare for herself, and social security checks for each of her children as long as they were under age. The money must not have been enough. She found ways to supplement her income. She got an older lady to watch her kids while she worked at bars for tips, and probably for the occasional outside sexual favor.

Carroll sort of knew what those sexual favors would have been; probably leaning into an open car door while four or five guys stood around and watched and laughed. He remembered when he was in college doing exactly that. It never occurred to him then the women they used had lives, that they were human beings. He did remember some things about those women, he remembered the phony smiles, the pretense at fun. It must have been awful for them.

In spite of all that he saw from the report she somehow managed to get her GED, and about the time the daughter reached high school she was ready to find a real job. It wasn't much; someone at the House of Ruth helped her get a teller's job at a bank. She must have worked her tail off because she was an assistant branch manager when the economy went south in 2008. That was the end of that. She scrounged around until she found something at a grocery store, a Super Fresh or something. They went belly up too, and she landed something at another food store cutting lunch-meat at the deli counter. That's where she worked now.
He'd found out a lot about Peter too. His was an interesting case. He'd quit high school, joined the army, put in his three years, came out and had gone to a local community college, then finished it off with two more years at a very good state college.

Out of college he took off on his own. He used his hands and his brains to start his own carpentry business. He built his first house all alone; from the bottom up. By the time he was twenty-nine he was on his way; then the bottom fell out. He nearly lost everything.

That's where his family came in, Carroll's son and a colleague saw the young man's troubled business and closed for the kill. They got most, but not all of it.

Peter was just getting back on his feet when he rescued Laurie outside the Wal-Mart. After that, well after that there was Sally.

Carroll wondered if the two of them, his daughter and Peter, had patched things up. He didn't know Peter, but had a hunch he'd like him if he got to know him. Laurie loved him; that spoke volumes.

Aurora sat quietly while her husband flew the plane. All she wanted was to get Laurie back home. Her daughter wasn't competent to make her own decisions. Once she got her home she'd get her in counseling. She just couldn't imagine what kind of trash she'd hooked up with at the ocean.

++++++++++++

Laurie was half in and half out of her mind. She was sick. She'd seen him at the beach. She'd found him. Peter had taken her someplace; some hospital. It had to be someplace at the beach. Where did he go? She needed to tell him what happened. She needed to apologize. She tried to get up, "Peter?"

The nurse on duty heard her and ran into the room. Laurie was half out of the bed, "Come on dear. Lie back down."

Laurie looked up at the nurse. She'd never seen her before, "Where am I? Where's Peter?"

The movement and the attempt at speech resulted in another paroxysm of coughing wheezing and gasps for air from fluid filled lungs.

The nurse gently urged her back in the bed, "You're at the Southside Clinic. Your boyfriend is asleep in another room. You want me to wake him?"

Laurie nodded her head.

The nurse adjusted the covers. She added another blanket, "Stay still. You're very sick. You have pneumonia; you need to take care of your baby."

Laurie lay back down, she coughed, "I'm so cold; get Peter for me."

The nurse pulled on another of the thin medical blankets, "I will I will, just lie still."

Laurie drifted off again.

++++++++++++

Peter got back to the clinic and sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting room. He just couldn't sleep.

Not finding Peter where she expected him the girl stepped in the waiting room where saw him, "You're Peter?"

He got up, "Yes."

"She wants to see you."

He followed her into the room where Laurie was lying. She looked terrible. He pulled up a seat and sat beside her. He took her right hand and whispered, "Laurie."

Through the medication the bleary eyed young woman looked over at him, "Peter, is that you?"

"It's me."

"Peter I'm sorry. Please let me explain."

He squeezed her hand, "Explain later. I have to explain some things too, but right now we've got to get you well."

"You won't leave?"

"I won't leave."

"Promise?"

"I promise." His mind started to work overtime. 'What was he doing? Was he out of his mind? She didn't just show up at the beach this morning by chance. She must have been looking for him. But why? He'd left her, hadn't even looked back. Was she that determined? Maybe, maybe not; no forget it. No don't forget. She'd done something terribly wrong; that's why she kept trying to apologize. OK, he'd get her well, see to her recovery; then they'd talk it out. If he felt satisfied with her explanations he'd forgive her.

He'd never forget, but he was a fair minded person, he was capable of forgiveness. She was pregnant. It was certainly his. The baby would need a father, a last name, some claim to legitimacy. He could do that. It would be part of the package; forgiveness plus the assumption of responsibility. That was the right thing to do. He was a man after all.'

++++++++++++

Laurie began to dream.

Laurie drifted back off into her feverish world of internal visions and voices. It wasn't sleep, not exactly, more like that semi-somnolent, trance like state one has when they're desperately ill. It was at these times people often dreamed, not good dreams that come with healthy restorative life giving REM sleep, but odd, off the wall, sometimes terrifying fever driven nightmares.

She lay on that hard indifferent hospital bed covered with thin hospital blankets and traveled from one hallucinatory illusion to the next, from one agitated apparition to another. Each visage was superseded by an even wilder more fearsome fevered episode.

She was at the beach. It was summer, and she wanted to enjoy the refreshing surf as it swirled and curled around her frame. She dove deep in the frothy breakers and emerged; hair wet, she shook her head and let the sudsy foam cascade around her healthy tanned body. Suddenly she espied the ominous signs of a coastal riptide, those swiftly circling eddies that spelled danger. She planted her feet and started to wade ashore, but the remorseless turbulence began to suck her outward, away from safety. She felt the pitiless suction draw her out, away, deeper. Her legs were helpless against the watery onslaught; the savage maelstrom was about to pull her under. She cried out for help. In her delirium she cried out, "Peter, Peter, where are you?"

A cool hand rested on her hot brow. The loathsome torrent receded. Cool comforting arms encircled her. A voice whispered in her ear, his voice, "Quiet Laurie. It's all right. I'm right here." She drifted back into a comforting torpor.

Again she was in the water; her hands were clasped around the metal bars of a water sled as it was pulled along by the powerful engine of an outboard motorboat. The surf slapped her face. Her sister-in-law Sally was laughing beside her. She felt the cool refreshing breeze as the sled went skidding across the ocean water. What a delightful, wonderful day, gliding along the surface of the cool invigorating water; a great day to be alive!

Then Sally began to push her off the sled! What was she doing? Why was she doing this? Stop it Sally! Off to the right was a long large dark image; it was just under the surface of the scudding waves. It was a giant shark; she saw the outline of a great white shark with layered rows of sharp teeth cascading out and down around its powerful jaws. The fish was closing in! Sally kept pushing her away!

Laurie felt her feet, then her legs slide off, away from the protection of the sled.

The shark was at her face. She saw its black beady eyes. She was inches, seconds, from being engulfed, drawn away and down, down into the dark fluid, held in the merciless grip of that primordial leviathan's lethal jaws. She cried out, "Sally stop! Help! Peter where are you? I need you!"

Again she felt the pleasurable soft cool hands of redemption; gentle fingers caressed her hot dry cheeks. A loving palm was laid upon her forehead. Loving lips were at her red hot ear, "Calm down darling. I'm right here. Nothing's going to hurt you. Just go to sleep."

At last she drifted off. Somewhere someone was whispering something to her. Someone was beside her. It was Peter. He was holding her. His strong arms were around her. She felt safe, secure, protected. The lethal dorsal drifted away, the deadly whirlpool faded to a calm, benign, even friendly, ripplet.

++++++++++++

Peter sat at Laurie's bedside and listened to her fitful calls for help; he heard her frail feverish helpless entreaties, he watched as she flailed about helplessly. Periodically she called out his name. She was so hot! Finally he saw no alternative but to climb in beside her. He dropped his shoes and slid under the sheet. His overalls were rough and dirty. He shed them and lay beside her in rumpled white boxers and worn grey sweatshirt. He wrapped his cool arms around her hot body. He cooed softly in her ear. He laid his hand on her slightly rounded stomach. His child was in there. He sang long forgotten lullabies. He stroked her brow; so helpless, so beautiful, so precious. Yes, he'd forgive her. He might gently, lovingly, chide her from time to time, but he'd cherish her, and always remember to care for her, love her, and protect her.

++++++++++++

It was a little after 2:00 p.m. when Carroll and Aurora's plane landed; they acquired a rental car, and started for the Southside Clinic. Carroll began to wonder if they were doing the right thing. What if it had been Peter who'd brought her to the clinic? What if they'd reached some sort of understanding? What if they'd made up? He looked over at his wife, "I'm dropping you off at our townhouse."

Aurora was tired, but not too tired to see her daughter, "Why?"

"I have some things to do. Then we'll get Laurie together."

"What you need to get an ambulance so we can take her home?"

That wasn't what Carroll had been thinking, but he decided not to disabuse his wife, "Yes."

"OK, drop me off. I need to shower up anyway."

As he drove on to their palatial bay side townhouse he thought about Laurie, her insecurities, and her many apparent needs. Peter, if it was Peter, certainly would never be his first choice, but he was a man who understood responsibility. Laurie needed someone to provide guidance, set limits, and give structure to her life.

No, Peter wasn't his first choice, but Laurie wasn't a child any longer. She was nearly thirty; she couldn't depend on her parents forever. He believed she loved Peter. Peter could be her lover, her companion, and her care giver. Yes, not the best maybe, but with Peter she'd probably be in good firm hands.

++++++++++++

While Laurie laid in a feverish state her father, ignoring his comments to his wife, drove to the Southside Clinic. The place looked barren; only a medical vehicle, two cars parked in the employee sector and a lone pick up truck. He pulled to the side of the road and typed in the number of the clinic, a youngish sounding woman picked up the phone, "Hello, Southside Clinic."

Carroll asked, "Is Peter Dawson there?"

The woman on the other end of the line answered, "Yes, shall I get him?"

Carroll responded, "No, never mind." He had what he needed, now he had to detour his wife. He restarted the rental and sped back to their townhouse.

++++++++++++

Laurie tossed and turned, cried and whimpered all night long, and all night long Peter held, cooed, and coddled the sick woman. Around 5:00 a.m. he could tell she'd come through the worst; her body was covered in sweat.

The doctor had been in earlier and he and Peter had conferred. They both agreed she'd probably be better off at his apartment. The doctor knew the location; he'd had friends who'd once lived there. He complimented Peter on his choice of domiciles; it was good place, well built, recently insulated, convenient, and homey.

He told him not to worry about the baby; pneumonia wasn't dangerous at such an early stage. He left Peter with several prescriptions; an antibiotic, an expectorant, and some prescription strength Tylenol. Other than that he gave the customary instructions; a quiet softly lit environment, plenty of fluids, fruits, and lots and lots of sleep.

When Laurie awakened around 7:00 she found Peter snuggled against her in the bed, "Peter?"

He cast about drowsily, "Laurie, you're awake?"

She tried to rub her eyes, but her hands were caught in the blanket. He rubbed them for her. She asked, "Have I been asleep long?"

He looked at the clock on the wall, "A little shy of twenty-four hours."

Still very much under the influence of pain killer and antibiotic Laurie made a feeble attempt to stir, "I have to get up." She started to wheeze.

He held her in place; he tucked the hem of one of the blankets up under her face, "No you don't. You have pneumonia."

She turned white, "Pneumonia!" she started to cough, "I can't have..."

He put a finger to her lips, "You can and you do. You're pregnant too." He snuggled her neck, "I'm guessing it's mine. Not to worry, the doctor said the pneumonia won't endanger the baby."

The first flush of awakening had worn off. Her head had started to pound; she felt fragile, those awful achy, weak, sensations associated with sickness, "Where am I, how did I get here? We were on the beach. I have to get home. I'm dying of thirst."

Peter got out of bed, found an empty cup, tore off the plastic, filled it from the nearby sink, and plunked in a straw, "Here," He held the cup while she dutifully sipped the precious liquid. She started to cough.

Peter withdrew the cup and tried to answer her questions, "You're at the clinic in the south end of town. I had to carry you off the beach. You were burning up with fever. That was yesterday morning. I brought you here. You've been sort of out of it all yesterday and all night. I don't know where home is, but I live just a few blocks south of here. The doctor and I agreed it's a good place for your recovery."

Laurie tried to reach for the water again. Peter held it out for her. She sipped some more and gasped out, "No, I'm at my parents townhouse. I should go there."

"Is anybody else there?"

She answered, "No."

He checked her forehead. She was still hot, "I'm not working on anything right now. You should stay at my place. It's a good spot, close to a pharmacy and grocery store. I'll be on hand to help you get better."

Her head was killing her. It wasn't a traditional headache but a hardcore fever headache with all the heavy drumming that it inferred. Try as she might she couldn't focus, "I won't be too much trouble?"

"Don't be stupid."

She tried to get to the other thing, "Peter I'm sorry about..."

He kissed her forehead and rested his hand on her abdomen as he cut her off, "Let's get well shall we?"

She closed her eyes. She was already half asleep.

Peter covered her up, added two more of the thin blankets, and stepped out of the room down to the Triage area. There was another woman on duty, "I'm going to step out, get some coffee and something to eat. I'll be back in a few minutes. She's gone back to sleep. Her medicine isn't due till 11:00. I'll be back well before that."

The receptionist smiled, "Don't worry I and the nurse on duty will be here."

He smiled back and stepped to the door. 'OK,' he thought, 'let's try to get the coffee right this time.' He started to trudge back up to the Dunkin Donuts, stopped and turn for his truck. He'd have to buy supplies, and there was an economy store across from the Donut shop.

He went to his truck, got in and took off. He decided to get the supplies first, but realized nothing was open yet, so it was off for the coffee. He used the drive through, got lucky, and was waited on by a native. He got the coffee and drove across the street to wait for the economy store to open. He checked his watch; he had maybe twenty minutes.

++++++++++++

Carroll went back and checked in with Aurora, "Aurora I've been to the clinic."

"Did you see our girl?"

"No but I saw Peter Dawson's truck."

"Holy Mother, that's who I thought she'd be with; that white trash no good found her again."

Carroll held up his hands, "Wait a minute. I think it might have been the other way."

You mean she found him?"

"Could be, good chance."

"No, she wouldn't do that. She has too much pride."

"Aurora did it ever occur to you she might actually love him?"

"Laurie? No, she doesn't understand what love is."

"I don't know. I think she might this time. I mean how many other young men has she ever brought around for us?"

"She didn't bring this one around either."

"No she didn't, but I think Sally had a lot to do with that."

"That's right, blame Sally."

"Look I don't want to fight about this stuff. I have something else in mind."

"Like getting our daughter and fetching her home?"

"No, like leaving her to her own devices; let's let the two of them work it out."

"You're crazy."

"No I'm not. Listen, neither of us know this man, but Laurie does. I want to trust her judgment. I mean of she sees something, there must be something there."

"What if she's wrong?"

"We can always break it up if we don't approve."

Aurora thought about that. Laurie had always been pretty easy to control, "OK, so what's your plan?"

Carroll pulled over a chair and started to explain to Aurora what he foresaw. The more he talked the better Aurora liked what he said. After a while she was more confident in what Carroll supposed than he was. She knew there were good reasons why she'd settled on him. After all, she'd been quite a belle in her day.

++++++++++++

So Carroll and Aurora agreed to let nature take its course, at least for the moment. The assumption being, if things between the two young people didn't work out they'd committed no foul. If on the other hand things started to shape up; then they'd step in at the propitious moment and help the Dawson boy close the deal on favorable terms for all.

Later that afternoon the Stanton's repacked some clothes and drove their rental back home. They'd wait and see. For the moment they'd play no part in the drama that was their daughter's life.

++++++++++++

Peter got his coffee, this time to his specifications, skipped the doughnut, and sat across from the economy store till it opened. As the assistant manager opened the front door Peter was there to follow him in.

He took a shopping cart and filled it. He picked up four heavy duty sets of flannel pajamas, two thick flannel robes, two sets of furry slippers, some white and black socks and stockings, a couple comfortable looking Tee shirts, some cotton boxers in what he thought would be her size, two boxes of depends, a couple toothbrushes, more toothpaste, more towels and wash rags, soap, alcohol, witch hazel, baby powder, barrettes, cold cream, hair shampoo, bobby pins, Q-tips, a DVD player, two DVDs, one the old Footloose and the other Pretty Woman, some Skin So Soft, a hair brush, more shaving cream, some lip gloss, chap sticks, two Harlequin Romance Novels, clear nail polish, one of those little sandpaper boards women used on their fingernails, some cokes, crackers, cheese, cookies, air fresheners, more toilet paper, handy-wipes, a thermometer, a nice woman's wristwatch as a present, and a bed pan just in case.

Since he had an extended cab he was able to load everything right in the truck. By 11:00 a.m. he was back at the clinic. Laurie was still asleep. In fact she didn't wake up till after 2:00 in the afternoon. When she finally did awaken, he was right there all ready to forgive and start over.

Laurie yawned and rolled on her side, "What time is it?"

Her bodice was open and her breasts exposed so he covered her with a blanket, "A little after 2:00.

"Morning or night?

"You mean morning or afternoon."

"OK, which?"

"Afternoon."

"I'm thirsty."

"Sure," he started for the water."

"No I want milk."

"How about a coke?"

"No milk."

"Look why don't I get you some milk when we get home?"

Laurie yawned again. Her head still ached, "I don't have any milk at home."

"I have milk."

"I want to go to my house."

"Don't you remember we agreed you'd stay with me till you got well?"

"How sick am I?"

"Pretty sick."

"Like how sick?"

"Pneumonia sick."

She got a frightened look on her face, "I..."

He interrupted, "We already talked about that. Pneumonia won't hurt the baby."

"How did you know I'm having a baby?"

It occurred to him she probably didn't remember much if anything, "You are in a little hospital."

"Oh," she paused, "So I'm going home with you?"

"Yes."

"You're going to take care of me."

"Yes."

"Wait on me."

"Hand and foot."

"Where's my milk?"

"I can't get you any yet."

"Why not?"

"The kind."

"What?'

You didn't tell me the kind, white, skim, chocolate, buttermilk?"

"Yuk, I don't like buttermilk."

"OK, what kind then?"

"All the other kinds."

Just then the nurse on duty walked in, "How are we doing?"

Laurie looked up at the nurse, "He won't bring me anything to drink."

The nurse smiled; she looked from Laurie to Peter, "What can I get you?"

Laurie smiled at Peter then whispered to the nurse, "Just a little water I guess."

Peter thought to himself, 'yes she's starting to feel a little better.'

The nurse got another cup, poured some water in from the sink, and handed it to Laurie.

Laurie thanked the nurse, smiled sweetly at Peter, and daintily drank some of the water, "Mm, this is really good; better than milk even."

The nurse smiled at Peter, "I have her paperwork ready. She can leave as soon as we settle up."

Peter followed the nurse to the front desk where they handed him the bill, several prescription forms, a set of instructions, and some phone numbers.

When Peter saw the bill he almost passed out. He signed off using the credit card, and followed the nurse back into the sick room where she got Laurie to sign off on some paperwork, mostly legal stuff freeing the clinic from any litigation.

The nurse looked in the closet for Laurie's attire, "Come we'll get you dressed." She stepped back; everything was covered with sand and crud, "Do you have anything else?"

Peter leaped to his feet, "I have some clothes in the truck. I'll be right back." He ran to his truck, grabbed some furry slippers, a set of pajamas, a Tee shirt, one of the pairs of boxers, and one of the flannel robes.

He was back in a jiff; he handed everything to the nurse, "Here you go."

The nurse laid everything out. She stared back at Peter incredulously, nice slippers, love the panties."

Laurie laughed.

Peter blushed.

They used a wheel chair to get her to the truck. He lifted her in the cab, wrapped a blanket around her, got in on his side, turned it on, and started for his condominium. He looked over at her; he thought she looked really pretty, "You still want some milk?"

"Ice cream."

"Let me get you home first. There's a stand right up the street; any particular flavor?"

"Butter Pecan."

"Just in case got a second choice?"

She glanced over and grinned, "Yes, Butter Pecan."

He shrugged, "OK."

She laid her head back on the seat.

He wished he had the old fashioned bench seats; the buckets seats kept him from holding her, and he really wanted to do that.

++++++++++++

They got to his condo; he carried her up the steps, through the foyer and on upstairs to his apartment. He opened the door, sat her in a big old easy chair he'd bought years before, and then proceeded to prepare the bed. He pulled down the cover sheet, fluffed the pillows, he had four big old goose feather pillows, picked her up, slipped off her slippers, slipped her out of her robe, and placed her in the middle of the bed. He pulled up the cover sheet, laid a thick old quilt on top of that, tucked it in around her head, and stood back, "Are you OK for me to go get your prescriptions and your ice cream?"

Laurie was lying in the middle of this old fashioned double bed, quilt swaddled up around her head and buried in the middle of a big thick pillow.

To Peter she looked comfortable, but in fact her fever was back, and she felt terrible. She asked, "May I have some Tylenol please?"

"I have some regular Tylenol. I guess they'll have to do until I get the stronger prescription ones."

She was starting to lose it again. She smiled up wanly, "They'll do fine."

He grabbed a coke, twisted open the lid, held out three pills, and watched as she took the pills and drank some of the coke.

She whispered, "I'm awfully tired."

He sat on the side of the bed, "Go ahead, and go to sleep. I'll get your medicines a little later. I'll get the ice cream then too."

She was nearly gone. She'd completely forgotten about the ice cream. He guessed that she had.

++++++++++++

The next two days were spent with Peter hovering, dozing, and doting, while she slept and whined. There were intermittent spells of hallucination, but nothing like what had happened at the clinic. Mostly she was disoriented, tired, achy, and in need of sleep.

Throughout her early convalescence, if that was what it was, he concentrated on keeping her medicated, hydrated, and fed. Every night he said a little prayer thanking the Campbell's Soup Company for Chicken Noodle, Chicken Rice, and their vegetable soups.

Of course she had other needs; there was the toilet, tooth brushing, and bathing, but he was ready. The bathroom had been added recently so it lacked some of the finer points. The tub was smallish, and the shower head had an over eager water saver. He got around the water saver by buying a hand held shower head from which he extracted most of the guts, thus permitting a stronger spray. Everything else, the toilet, the sink, satisfied all basic requirements.

Over the next days he found himself doing things he'd never done before. He also found out he rather enjoyed it. He discovered he didn't mind at all helping her with the bed pan, even when she pooped. He kind of liked washing her shitty little ass, patting it dry, and rubbing on a little baby powder. After the first time he was careful not to use too much powder, since he got in the habit of wiping her down with either alcohol or witch hazel when her fever came back. In fact he especially liked the witch hazel treatment. She was small but not skinny.

One might say she was tiny, but a little bit cherubic. She wasn't very muscular sort of plumpish, fluffy. The fever gave her a pinkish hue, and when he rubbed her down she felt warm and delicate, soft, fragile. She had beautiful little breasts, an adorable heart shaped ass, a pretty little rounded tummy where she was keeping their baby, and a magnificent little puss.

He wished he could come up with a cool word to describe her snatch; it was soft, small, and it felt good to touch. That first night he started his own little perverse ritual by snipping and shaving away tiny parts of her pubic hair. He was slowly denuding her vagina; giving it his own homemade depilatory. He doubted if she would appreciate it very much, but he'd make something up. Mainly it was his own little treat to himself.

He liked kissing her Mons and labia when she was asleep. He'd snuggle his face in the little cavern between her two labial lips. In fact, when she was asleep, and he was wiping or rubbing her down, he spent a lot of time kissing her. He kissed her sweet lips, uppers and lowers, her neck, up and down her spine, her tummy, and of course, one of his favorite places, her breasts. He found he could get her nipples to distend even when she was asleep. It was a lot of fun. He'd never had a girl like this, one all his very own in just this fashion. He enjoyed himself even if it was a little fetishistic.

When he rubbed, wiped, and fussed over her while she was awake she tried to protest, but her complaints sounded halfhearted. He sensed very strongly she liked getting the attention as much as he liked giving it, and he certainly liked giving it. He remembered before, at the time of her first rescue in front of the Wal-Mart, how much he learned to like her personality, her quick wit, and her gentle charm. Since her second rescue out on the beach he discovered how much he enjoyed fondling and fiddling with her body.

Taking care of Laurie had revealed another side of his personality. Peter had discovered how much he wanted to care for, pamper, and dote on this very special woman. He believed he could go on just this way forever.

++++++++++++

Laurie spent most of her time asleep, but during those few waking moments when she was lucid she saw Peter in a new, different vein. Here was the man she loved; the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with. But was he ready to accept her on the terms she envisioned. She wanted to be a full and equal partner; a real help mate, a true contributor, a recognized and valued person.

She lay struggling to formulate what she hoped to say. The fever headaches, the medications, her pained condition made rational linear thought difficult. OK, she'd tried independence once and it hadn't worked out, but there had been reasons, for one there had been her own refusal to fully cut the cords that had bound her to a childlike dependency.

'God,' she thought, 'if only she wasn't so sick. She'd lied to Peter, and she was ready to apologize, put it right, but that didn't mean some kind of surrender. She'd be a full and equal partner in whatever relationship emerged, or she'd go it alone.'

++++++++++++

Laurie was on the road to recovery. Peter's ability, thus far, to deflect or defer their inevitable confrontation was on the wane. He and she had to grapple with past misunderstandings, come to terms with who they were and what they wanted, what they wanted for themselves and for that other little customer who hadn't been heard from yet. Hopefully, and for Peter prayerfully, they'd find that new framework for a long lasting relationship; one that would bring them, and that little unborn elf inside her happiness.

Peter knew what he wanted. There could be no more retreat, no withdrawal, and no more running away. He'd been a coward, a yellow chicken back at Thanksgiving. That was through! He wanted this woman. He wanted Laurie. He wanted their baby. He was ready to fight. He'd fight her parents, her brother, her sister, anyone; he'd get her and keep her.

He thought he knew what Laurie needed too; she needed a man who would care for her, protect her, and manage her affairs. He'd be that man.

++++++++++++

Carroll lolled back in his old easy chair. He had it all figured out. He'd dedicated his life to the manipulation and management of others. Laurie was a child in an adult's body. She lacked the maturity, the determination, the will to see anything through. She needed someone to guide and regulate her life. Peter was a hard worker, a comer, but he was essentially a nobody. He needed opportunity, someone with leverage who could open doors, a person who could be a benefactor, pave the way. Carroll would be that benefactor. He would shape and mold Peter; then Peter would guide, regulate, and restrain Laurie. It all made sense.

++++++++++++

Did it make sense? Could everybody get everything they wanted?
Log in or Sign up to continue reading!