NoHo Noir Short Fiction: 'Visiting Hours'

Celia opened her eyes to see Dale Robitaille standing beside her bed, looking down at her like a fierce guardian angel. She smiled, which pulled at the stitches in her face, then reached out her hand for him.

“Hey,” she said softly. 

“Hey,” he replied. But he didn’t take her hand, which had an IV line taped to it. Instead, he grabbed the railing on the side of her bed, leaning his weight into it and rocking a little bit.

It was the first time Dale had come for a visit and Celia was thrilled. She knew how busy he was with his band and his writing. He was looking for a job, too, and that wasn’t going well. Finding jobs wasn’t that hard but keeping them was. He was so smart that it intimidated his bosses.

She’d told her mother a little bit about Dale, how he was an awesome writer and how the music he made thrilled her with its insight and intensity. Her mother—who belonged to two online book clubs—had been unimpressed by Dale’s dark fiction and downright dismissive of his music.  She’d even made a joke.

What do you call a musician who doesn’t have a girlfriend?

Homeless.

“You just don’t understand,” she’d said to her mother.

Lyla, who understood all there was to understand about guys like Dale, just let it go.

Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center

501 S. Buena Vista Street

Burbank, CA  91505

10:18 a.m.

Celia knew Dale hated hospitals. He didn’t like their vibe, he’d told her once when she was talking about visiting a friend who’d had a hysterectomy after a cancer scare. Nothing good ever happened in a hospital, he’d added.

Knowing his feelings on the matter just made Dale’s visit even more precious to Celia.

Eric visited Celia every day and he never came empty handed.  Mostly he brought stuffed animals, the more exotic the better.  By now there was a whole zoo of them propped up on her nightstand and occupying the chairs. The only thing missing was an elephant. 

Her favorite was a six-foot-long stuffed purple snake that she kept coiled at the bottom of her bed. She talked to it sometimes. When she’d been on the heavy-duty pain meds, the snake had sometimes talked back. He’d sounded a lot like Tom Waits in The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

Dale hadn’t brought anything with him but that was okay with Celia.  She knew how broke he was. And besides, he wasn’t into displays of cheap sentiment. His feelings were deeper than that, more soulful.

Even now his eyes were searing into her, deep and dark and infinite. Their connection had always been electric. Primal.

Despite the crucifying bone-deep pain of her injuries, Celia felt her body coming to life in Dale’s presence.

That’s what I’ve been needing, Celia thought, a little sexual healing. She smiled at the thought and reached out for him again. Before her hand could connect with his, Dale shifted away and put his hands in his pockets, jamming them deep into his jeans.

He took a deep breath. 

“Listen, Celia …” he began and then trailed off.

“I’m really sorry about the accident,” he said finally. “Are they going to be able to fix your face?”

Celia flinched back against the pillows.

She’d been turned sideways when Eric hit the car in front of them. Her head had gone partway through the windshield. Her doctors had told her they’d be able to put her face back together like a jigsaw puzzle but not until her other injuries healed. 

“I’ll be getting plastic surgery next month,” she said. “My doctor doesn’t even think there’ll be scars.”

“That’s good,” Dale said.

Celia waited for him to say something else but that was it.

Suddenly she was very tired.

He wants to leave, Celia thought. And he doesn’t want to come back.

“Listen,” he finally said again. “I’ve got to get to Hollywood for a gig.  Just wanted to stop in and see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing good,” she said.

“Good,” he said.

She thought for a minute he might kiss her goodbye but in the end all he did was give her a variant on the dude nod as he drifted away. When he turned to leave, he didn’t look back.

Dale’s right, Celia thought as her eyes filled with tears. Nothing good ever happens in a hospital.