Dean & Simone Pt 6

The anger snapped in Dean and he punched the large, round bale of hay as if the roughage caused all of his heartache. He punched it again, the straw scraping his knuckles and he tried to force the images of his mother’s funeral from his mind. The white lilies and carnations with their sweet, earthen scent washing over him. She’d never gained consciousness from her aneurysm. Now, Simone refused to wake up from her head injury. Two women he loved and adored just. . .gone.

The next punch came out with a howl of rage and anguish and he planted his face on the bale, sobbing. A hand touched his back and he allowed it to guide him to someone’s chest and he cried without shame or remorse. When his tears subsided, leaving him shamefully weak, he looked up. Scott gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, looking down at his feet. He should not be this weak and out of control.

Scott shrugged. “It’s probably good you let it out.”

“Have there been any changes?”

“No.” Scott paused. “I imagine this is hard on you because of your mom. It hasn’t even been six months.”

Five months and ten days, he thought. Five months, ten days and three hours since her time of death if he wanted to be technical. Dean digested the words before nodding slowly. “I love her-I mean, Simone. I love Simone, Scott and I don’t know how to handle any of this.”

“It’s hard on all of us. She’s like a sister to you.”

Dean looked at him, suddenly afraid. “I, it’s, Scott, I love Simone. I’d give anything to take this from her. I want in her life forever.”

The realization of the confession washed over Scott and for a full moment, he couldn’t speak, though his mouth stayed open. Panic rose in Dean. Worry over Simone, missing his mom, now, Scott knew his secret.

“I, I’ve been trying to figure out if I should talk to you first, or her first, or - He threw his hands up. “And, you’re probably gonna want me to move out and-”

“Whoa,” Scott said. “Dean, let’s not get hasty. Does Simone know how you feel?”

Dean shook his head. “No.”

“You’ve got a lot going on inside, let’s break it down. She doesn’t know and. I have no reason to make you move out.”

“I’d never disrespect you like that,” Dean said.

“I know and you’re a fine young man, but, Dean, we don’t know what Simone will be like when she pulls through this” He stopped and Dean knew. Simone might be so cognitively impaired that she never. . .he couldn’t finish the thought.” Even if she feels the same way, we can work something out.”

“So, you’re not mad that I have feelings for Simone?”

Scott studied him and Dean shifted, unsure of what his pastor was thinking.

“No. I’m not. You haven’t acted on it and you’ve been honest. Besides, it’s not like you're a drug addict who kidnapped a baby and killed a bunch of people, so. . .”

“That’s a pretty low bar to jump,” Dean said.

“And you cleared it by a mile.”

Scott patted his shoulder and the reassurance eased his mounting anxiety. “I’m heading back to the hospital to relieve Lily. Would you like to join?”

Dean turned and looked around the barn. He’d cleaned the stalls, truly cleaned even though it wasn’t the normal day. He’d scrubbed water buckets and feed troughs. All the horses assigned to the barn had been fed, watered, hooves cleaned. Had he missed anything?

“I haven’t filled up the feed buckets for tomorrow,” he said.

“I’ll call Manuel and ask him to do it.”

The ride to the hospital felt too long and too short all at the same time. He and Scott talked about colleges he was applying to and how he’d settled on the local branch of the state university, where he’d been offered a baseball scholarship.

“I thought football was your strong sport, until I watched you play short stop,” Scott said.

“I like football more, but I only had partial scholarships. I should be able to find some part time work so I can at least pay rent.”

Scott looked at him through the rearview mirror. “Helping at the farm is all we ask, Dean, and you do that. Don’t stress about rent. Our home is yours.”

Dean fell silent. He hated taking handouts and figured if his mom had been able to raise him as a single mother, he should be able to support himself. “I appreciate it, Scott, but I don’t want to feel like I’m a leech.”

“After hay season, you can tell me if you feel like a leech,” Scott laughed.

Dean smiled. He’d worked hay season every year since he could remember. He and Rax figured if Preston had to work before he could play or hangout, they’d help him. Back breaking work, but they had fun doing it.

“Good point.”

They exited the vehicle and started for the third floor, where Simone remained in ICU. Dean waited, trying to hide his impatience as several employees and other people, recognizing

Scott as one of the hospital chaplains, wanted his attention. Dean wondered if it ever bothered Scott that he was never truly off work, even as his daughter lay unresponsive upstairs. If it did, he didn’t show and it and his grace and compassion remained fresh with each interruption.

Finally, they reached Simone’s room and opening the door, found Lily, Preston and Rax decorating and singing Christmas songs. Simone lay on her back, eyes closed and tubes running everywhere. A small tree stood on the end table, blinking with huge, gaudy bulbs, the white star on top blinking at a different speed. Cheap, tacky garland draped over the window and the white board, and around the side rails of Simone’s bed. Peel and stick paper ornaments, poinsettias, and bells covered the walls and he stared in disbelief.

He expected Rax and Preston to be gaudy optimists, but wondered if Lily had cracked in her tightly held grief. She smiled warmly and gave Scott a hug. He kissed her on the cheek and stared, without comment at the decor.

“We decided the room needed some Christmas cheer,” she said.

“The seventies called, they want their lights back,” Scott said.

“I found them in the storage barn,” Preston said. “And the tree.”

“Everything else came from the thrift store,” Rax said. “Mom told me to take what I wanted.”

“So you took the tacky stuff?” Dean asked.

Rax looked at Preston, his rich pink lips pushed into a pout.

“He’s so choleric,” Rax said.

“Yeah, between his cholera and your melancholy, ya’ll drive me crazy,” Preston said. “We need tinsel.”

Dean stared at them. “You mean that stringy silver stuff that gets every where and you can’t get rid of it for months? It’s like herpes of the Christmas world.”

Preston nodded. “Got some?”

“We wanted to run her IV through one of those lights that look like a hose, but the nurse said it would be too heavy,” Rax said. “I’ll figure something out, though.” He took a strand of lights and held it up stretching between the IV pole and Simone’s arm. “We could just connect it to both.”

“She needs to wake up and save me from this madness,” Dean said.

***

Dean balanced the food, hamburgers and fries for him, Preston, and Rax and sodas as he trodded through the hospital. Seventy-two hours after her accident, she’d not regained consciousness and he was worried. All the Christmas decor and cheer stopped short of him. He, Preston, and Rax volunteered for sitting duty when Scott had a church emergency to tend to and they prepared to stay the night, even if Lily showed up. Her parents had managed a twenty-four hour ritual at her bedside for the last three days and they needed a break, even a forced one.

Moving past an empty stretcher, he studied the approaching hall and turned down it, praying for some positive change. Opening the door, he froze.

Rax leaned over Preston’s feet, painting his toe nails.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Preston’s toes,” Rax answered unfazed by his tone. “Don’t worry, you’re next.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Look at Simone’s toes. I painted them and Preston and I decided this is how we are showing support. Team Simone. Be a part of the team, Dean.”

“Is this some weird gay thing?” Dean asked, incredulous.

Dean looked at Simone’s feet. Her toe nails were painted in different colors, rich red, popping yellow, Moroccan blue, lime green and sparkling purple. Glancing at Rax’s feet, he discovered they were painted the same.

“It was Preston’s idea and, despite speculation, he’s not gay.”

“I might do my fingernails, too,” Preston said. Then he looked confused. “Who speculated I was gay?”

“Me,” Dean said. “I think Rax is faking it.”

“I wasn’t faking it the other night.” Rax didn’t look up from Preston’s pinky toe.

Dean’s face twisted. “Stop.”

“Be a part of the team,” Preston said. “Look, you already confessed to liking her. Don’t leave her hanging.”

Dean looked at Simone. She appeared younger and so vulnerable. His heart hurt. Walking deeper into the room, he set the food down on the bedside table and using his feet, kicked his shoes off.

“For Simone,” he said with confidence. “But she needs to wake up because I don’t know how much more I can handle of this.”