in the top of your head. Had a lot of blood on you when the lady brought you in, but head wounds bleed quite profusely.”
He felt the top of his head and winced when his hand found the staples. “How many?”
“Seven,! think. The doctor will remove them in a few days, and your pretty blond hair will grow back soon.”
“I’ve had a few stitches before. Milli brought me in?”
“No, I think her name was Amelia. That’s what you kept calling her, anyway. Amelia Jiminez. I had just come on the shift, so I might be wrong. I wasn’t in the emergency room. The other nurse just told me about it.”
“It was Milli Torres. Amelia isn’t a real person. She’s just a dream I have sometimes.”
“Can I get you anything?” the nurse asked.
“Just Amelia,” he said. He could have sworn she was a real person, but then two years ago he had thought she was real, too.
SEVEN
************************************************************************************************
BEAU WALKED THROUGH THE LIVING ROOM OF THE long, rambling ranch house and back down the hail toward his bedroom. The house was built the same year Alice Luckadeau married Tony Martin, in 1955. Both of them were thirty years old and expected to fill the four extra bedrooms with lots of children. But the bedrooms waited in vain because children never came to the marriage. Tony was killed when a horse threw him and several years later Alice was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Beau had been named Anthony Beau Luckadeau - the Anthony for her late husband - and was her favorite nephew. When the doctor told her she had Alzheimer’s, she called Louisiana and told Beau that she was deeding everything to him, then she checked herself into a nursing home.
Beau emptied his pockets on the oversized oak dresser, bent down, and rolled his eyes upward to check the staples on top of his head. The doctor said he would take them out in a few days, and they weren’t really sore, but Amanda was going to cringe when she saw the shaved spot on the top of his head.
“That’s why Milli looked so familiar. She reminds me of Amelia. Same long, dark hair. Same big brown eyes. But that’s where the resemblance ends. Amelia was soft spoken, a woman built to love and be loved. Milli is as mean as a constipated cougar with a toothache.”
Beau sighed. He loved a phantom; was engaged to a shrew. He had talked to Amanda on the phone the past two days, but something was missing even in conversation. Tonight was his engagement celebration and he didn’t give a damn if Amanda was beside him or not. Surely it was the by-product of the accident. He loved the woman. He’d asked her to marry him. What in the devil was wrong with him?
He was tired of pampering her twenty-four hours a day, and the comments about ruining her figure with a baby weighed heavy on his mind. But more than anything else, he was tired of that recurring dream about a darkhaired lady. He wouldn’t break the engagement because a man was judged by his word, and he’d keep it, but he’d always wonder if Amelia was more than just a dream.
He opened the closet door and took out a pair of starched Wranglers with a perfect crease. Then he picked out a white western shirt and a bolo tie with a silver slide in the shape of a steer’s head. Maybe he’d feel better when everyone arrived and the band started playing. Maybe held dance with Milli again and everyone would make a circle around them and applaud… but he shouldn’t be thinking about Milli Torres, no matter how well she fit into his arms. This was a party to celebrate his engagement to Amanda, and in spite of all she’d done to aggravate him recently, he had proposed to her and she’d accepted. All he could do was hope that she would change once they were married.
Milli shucked out of her work jeans and boots and slung open the closet doors. God, but she hated the idea of watching Beau dance with Amanda. No, Beau wouldn’t dance with that bitch. Anthony
He felt the top of his head and winced when his hand found the staples. “How many?”
“Seven,! think. The doctor will remove them in a few days, and your pretty blond hair will grow back soon.”
“I’ve had a few stitches before. Milli brought me in?”
“No, I think her name was Amelia. That’s what you kept calling her, anyway. Amelia Jiminez. I had just come on the shift, so I might be wrong. I wasn’t in the emergency room. The other nurse just told me about it.”
“It was Milli Torres. Amelia isn’t a real person. She’s just a dream I have sometimes.”
“Can I get you anything?” the nurse asked.
“Just Amelia,” he said. He could have sworn she was a real person, but then two years ago he had thought she was real, too.
SEVEN
************************************************************************************************
BEAU WALKED THROUGH THE LIVING ROOM OF THE long, rambling ranch house and back down the hail toward his bedroom. The house was built the same year Alice Luckadeau married Tony Martin, in 1955. Both of them were thirty years old and expected to fill the four extra bedrooms with lots of children. But the bedrooms waited in vain because children never came to the marriage. Tony was killed when a horse threw him and several years later Alice was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Beau had been named Anthony Beau Luckadeau - the Anthony for her late husband - and was her favorite nephew. When the doctor told her she had Alzheimer’s, she called Louisiana and told Beau that she was deeding everything to him, then she checked herself into a nursing home.
Beau emptied his pockets on the oversized oak dresser, bent down, and rolled his eyes upward to check the staples on top of his head. The doctor said he would take them out in a few days, and they weren’t really sore, but Amanda was going to cringe when she saw the shaved spot on the top of his head.
“That’s why Milli looked so familiar. She reminds me of Amelia. Same long, dark hair. Same big brown eyes. But that’s where the resemblance ends. Amelia was soft spoken, a woman built to love and be loved. Milli is as mean as a constipated cougar with a toothache.”
Beau sighed. He loved a phantom; was engaged to a shrew. He had talked to Amanda on the phone the past two days, but something was missing even in conversation. Tonight was his engagement celebration and he didn’t give a damn if Amanda was beside him or not. Surely it was the by-product of the accident. He loved the woman. He’d asked her to marry him. What in the devil was wrong with him?
He was tired of pampering her twenty-four hours a day, and the comments about ruining her figure with a baby weighed heavy on his mind. But more than anything else, he was tired of that recurring dream about a darkhaired lady. He wouldn’t break the engagement because a man was judged by his word, and he’d keep it, but he’d always wonder if Amelia was more than just a dream.
He opened the closet door and took out a pair of starched Wranglers with a perfect crease. Then he picked out a white western shirt and a bolo tie with a silver slide in the shape of a steer’s head. Maybe he’d feel better when everyone arrived and the band started playing. Maybe held dance with Milli again and everyone would make a circle around them and applaud… but he shouldn’t be thinking about Milli Torres, no matter how well she fit into his arms. This was a party to celebrate his engagement to Amanda, and in spite of all she’d done to aggravate him recently, he had proposed to her and she’d accepted. All he could do was hope that she would change once they were married.
Milli shucked out of her work jeans and boots and slung open the closet doors. God, but she hated the idea of watching Beau dance with Amanda. No, Beau wouldn’t dance with that bitch. Anthony
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