“You can’t get your stitches wet,” I warn her. “Which is why I’m not turning on the rain head.”
“But my hair needs washing.” She sighs, disappointed as she steps towards the stream of water and closes her eyes. She wobbles, reaches for the wall, and opens them again. “It’s full of blood and grossness.”
I smile at her blunt description. “We’ll get it done.”
I slip in behind her, reach past her, and take the shower head out of the hook. I carefully start to spray her hair and gently put a hand just beside the cut to make sure the water doesn’t dribble onto the stitches. When her long, dark hair is saturated, I put the shower head back on the holder in front of her. “Lean on the wall for support.”
She leans her shoulder on the wall. I give myself a minute right then to realize she’s been through a hell of a lot and it’s not just tonight. When she told me about her previous injuries at the hospital, I was stunned. As a paramedic, I know a massive trauma had to cause those injuries, and that it’s a long, hard road to recovery. I scan the bottles on the recessed marble ledge until I find the shampoo bottle. I pick it up and squeeze some into my hand. A floral jasmine scent fills the air. Chloe hasn’t moved, and for a second, I think she might be asleep on her feet. “I’m going to wash your hair.”
“Okay…”
I lift my hand to the back of her head and tenderly start to lather in the shampoo. She’s tense, and to be honest, I am too. This isn’t the kind of caregiving I’m used to. I deal with open wounds and broken body parts, which sometimes requires a gentle touch, but this kind of care is different. This is intimate. I’m not used to it as a paramedic or sadly, I realize, as a man anymore. God it’s been a while since I’ve been this close to a woman in so little clothes. I haven’t really missed it or given it a thought to be honest. I’ve been too focused on other things like my son River, my family’s business, and staying sober. But now, it suddenlyfeelslike a long time.
Her hair is silky and slippery in my hands as I rub her scalp with my fingertips, and she tilts her head back a little bit and sighs. I feel a ripple of lust spread through me. She’s gorgeous. And this…despite the medical necessity…is hot as hell when I think about it. So I force myself to stop thinking about it.
“I’ve never had a man wash my hair,” she confesses in a small whisper.
“I’ve never had a man do it either,” I joke and she lets out a soundless laugh that shakes her narrow shoulders. “And I’ve never done it before so let me know if I hurt you or something.”
“It feels incredible.” She sighs again, and I am startled by the fact that this is probably satisfying me as much as it is her. I’m almost disappointed when I have to take the shower head off the wall and rinse.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly when I’m done.
“Better than before,” she responds. “Thank you.”
I take a tentative step back. “I’m going to let you do whatever else you need to do. I’m right here if you need me.”
She nods and reaches for the face wash and carefully washes her face, avoiding the stitches. She wobbles a little bit as she washes it off, and I reach toward her but she steadies herself with a hand on the marble wall. She turns off the water and turns toward me. I’ve already reached for her towel from the rack across from the shower. She takes it from me with a grateful smile. “There’s more under the sink. Grab one for yourself.”
I step out and grab a fluffy, gray towel I can’t help but notice is the color of her eyes. I unfold it and towel off my chest. As I tie it around my waist, I notice she’s staring at my naked torso, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear her eyes are following a water drop I missed that is slowly making its way over my pec and down my stomach. It feels good to have her look at me. Like I’m a hibernating bear emerging from a cave, and her stare is as warm as the sun.
Then our eyes meet and she blushes and turns away. I finally find my voice again as we make our way back into the bedroom. Her steps are slow but steady. “I’ll stand right outside your bedroom door, so just yell if you need any help at all. I know you’re modest, but I’ve seen more body parts than I can count, and this is a professional situation.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assures me as she closes the bedroom door behind me but leaves it cracked just the slightest. I lean against the wall beside the door frame and wait. I hear dresser drawers opening and closing and the bed creaks for a moment.
“Are you from Maine?” I ask. “I know you’re new to Ocean Pines..”
“I’m from Hawaii.” Chloe replies. “But been in Ocean Pines for years now.”
“Seriously?” I can’t believe I haven’t seen her before.
“Are you more shocked I’ve lived here, undetected, for years or that I left Hawaii?” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Everyone finds it hard to believe I’d leave sunny, exotic Hawaii for stormy, cold Maine.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a common trend,” I reply. I know she’s walking somewhere in the room because the floor boards creek. “But I’ve always loved Maine. Even in the winter. Maine might not have palm trees and leis, but it’s got pine trees and lobster rolls, and that’s my jam.”
She laughs again, and the door opens fully. She’s in a sweatshirt and red plaid flannel pajama bottoms. Her long damp hair is swept up in a loose bun. Her clean face only makes the nasty gash on her head look nastier. It’s red and inflamed. I reach up and gently touch the edges, examining the stitching. She grimaces lightly and my fingers pull away. “It’s going to leave a scar, isn’t it?”
Our eyes meet. She doesn’t actually seem worried. More like she’s just looking for confirmation. I nod slowly. “Probably a little one. But Dr. Kainth did a great job, so in a year or two it’ll fade away almost completely, I’m guessing.”
She sighs. “I don’t care really. I gave up being vain somewhere between the second and fourth operation. My body looks like Edward Scissorhands gave me a massage.”
“Four operations?”
“Yup. Not to mention the scars left from the tubes and drains and all that stuffGrey’s Anatomyfails to mention.” She smiles, but it’s quick and dark. “I used to love that show, but since the car crash, I can’t watch any medical show.”
“I can’t either,” I reply. “Not since I was in med school. Terra watches about twenty of them, and if I’m around when she does, I find myself yelling at the TV because they handle every condition completely wrong.”
I have a familiar, unwanted feeling growing in my gut. Not quite guilt but close. Her mentioning the car wreck she was in triggers it just like her mentioning medical bills triggered it at the hospital. I’ve seen too many car crashes and the devastating results, emotionally and financially. I’ve been in one myself, which I can never tell anyone about, but it lives in me – the guilt, pain and anxiety around that day – like an extra organ.
