So much for loyalty.
“So, what’s on the agenda?” Mark plops into the chair and shoves aside a clear spot to place his yellow legal pad, then runs his hand across his shaved head.
Flipping open the blinds, ladders of sunlight spotlight my incompetence—and a layer of dust. “The blood drive is next weekend. You okay with overseeing it this time?”
“Not a problem.” He makes a notation on the pad. “You have any idea how much longer Taylor’ll be in?”
“We have a meeting with the staff tomorrow. I should know more after that.”
“And Sunday?”
“I’ve got it handled.” Not true, but I will. “Back to the blood drive. Maybe Jim can get some help setting up in the sanctuary Saturday morning. If not—”
“We have the men’s breakfast. I’ll recruit some of the guys before they head out. Then Jim only needs a cleanup crew to prepare for Sunday. He’s got it down by now.”
“Good.” I rake a hand through my hair and peruse my list. “Maybe check with Simon and see if he’s okay with toning down the volume for worship on Sunday. Got ten complaints that the music’s too loud.”
“Too loud, too soft, too contemporary, too many hymns, not enough hymns.” Mark shakes his head. “There’s always someone complaining.”
“What are you going to do? It is what it is.”
“That meeting you have with Drew next week. You want me to sit in on it?”
“I could use the support. No telling how things might be misconstrued without a witness.”
“Glad to do it.”
“I know Easter’s still six weeks away, but we should check with Becky and see if she still wants the kids to put on an Easter program.”
“She does. I have a list of her thoughts here.” He flips through his notes. “First off—”
A knock on the door and Dorothy’s face is framed in the opening. “You have a…visitor.”
The grimace. The tone. I don’t have to ask. “Busy.”
“I told her, but—”
“This will only take a minute.” Alexis Andrews’ voice precedes a momentary struggle for control of the door, and then she appears—perfect hair, perfect makeup, and her perfume stinking up my office.
Dorothy looks to me for direction, determination stamped on her features. Given the word, she’d take Alexis down in a heartbeat. I’m so tempted. “It’s okay, Dorothy.” But the flip of my stomach tells me different.
Dorothy throws up her hands and, muttering, marches off.
Mark turns from Alexis to look at me, eyebrow raised in question. “You want me to give you a few minutes?”
Not a good idea. “No.”
“Yes.” Alexis crosses her arms and cocks a hip encased in jeans tight enough to suffocate. “It’s personal.”
Mark stands, looks from me to Alexis and back again. “Well?”
“Your funeral,” Alexis says with a shrug.
Which is worse? Speculation over the meeting or an audience? “Five minutes,” I tell Mark. “And leave the door open.”
Alexis doesn’t sit, but instead places her hands on my desk, arms straight, breasts jutting.
“Have a seat, Ms. Andrews.”
“I’d rather stand.”
Jaw clenched, I rise from my chair. The last thing I need is her towering over me. No doubt a manipulative move to show power. “You want to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Excuse me?” Her eyes go all wide—fake innocence—as she draws herself up to full height. Still working the angles.
I cross my arms, fists clenching. “This business with Drew Simpson.”
“I’m not a church member anymore. Or don’t you remember asking me to leave?”
This woman could try the patience of a saint. And God knows, I’m no saint. “Get to the point.”
“You know Josh and Taylor are pretty tight, right?”
The change of subject has me faltering. What’s she getting at? “Uh, yeah.”
“Good friends.”
“Cut the innuendo and tell me why you barged in here.”
“You left me no choice.”
“Ever hear of making an appointment?”
She shrugs. “We both know you would have wheedled out of it if I did.”
I can’t argue with that. I make a point of checking my watch. “You have three minutes.”
“Fine.” She huffs out a breath, mocking my impatience. “It’s about Taylor.”
I grit my teeth. “Who’s not capable of defending herself right now.”
Her mascaraed eyes go wide. “You don’t think I’m here to talk trash about your precious daughter, do you?”
She’d like nothing better, I’m sure. “Two minutes.”
“Okay, okay.” She rolls her eyes. “Taylor and Josh are in the same physiology class.”
Will she ever get to the point? “So?”
“The day Taylor was in the car accident, her last class was physiology.”
I wait.
“With Josh.”
“Point?”
“They were doing an experiment on blood typing,” she says. “And Taylor wasn’t happy about the results. In fact, she argued with the teacher about its accuracy.”
I shrug, shake my head.
“Taylor told Josh the experiment had to be wrong. There’s no way she could be type O.”
True. “So, the experiment was wrong.”
“Or not.” She taps a finger on my desk. “I know how hung up you are on morality. Thought you’d like to know.”
Heart thumping so hard it constricts my breathing, I wave her toward the door. I want to believe she’s just spreading lies, but my mind races with all the times I’ve wondered what Corey isn’t telling me.
It doesn’t matter. The accusation is ridiculous, and the sooner I talk to Corey about it, the sooner I can put it to rest.
Chapter 14
Corey
It takes a miracle to find a parking space in the covered garage if I don’t get to the hospital before 8:30. And thanks to my conversation with Tess, I’m running late. Instead of circling the garage praying for that miracle, I park on the street. It’s a hassle to feed the meter every two hours, but what choice do I have?
Tess’s offer took the edge off my foul mood after the argument with Paul. Even so, I thought about skipping the day with Taylor—she wouldn’t know the difference anyway—but I couldn’t. Even if Taylor doesn’t need me, I need to see her. Each moment with her cleanses me in some way, makes me a better person just by virtue of being in such an innocent presence. I’m seeking forgiveness for something Taylor has no power to forgive, yet I can almost believe we’re starting from scratch—that anything is possible.
Lowering the windows a few inches, I push my sunglasses on top of my head and gather the things I’d collected for Taylor—a pair of pink, fuzzy slipper socks, a drawing pad and colored pencils, and a strawberry crème, which required a detour to yet another Starbucks. But it’s Taylor’s favorite and allowed by the staff only because it contains no caffeine. Stimulants are bad.
“I’ll be back for you in a few,” I tell Rambo, who’s curled up in his crate at the backend of my CRV.
Arms full and sunglasses back in place, I speed walk down the street toward the hospital. The weather’s taken a wonderful turn, almost spring-like in its warmth—a teaser of what’s to come. Now if the breeze would just settle.
Mind occupied with the day’s agenda, I almost miss the yellow daffodils exploding in the neighboring yards, nearly extinct in the midst of winter-worn garden beds and bumper-to-bumper cars parked along the curb. Traffic’s horrendous, everyone in such a rush they can’t be bothered to stop at the crosswalk. Do I have to step out in front of moving traffic to get across the street?
Then I see her.
Dressed in baby blue sweats, Taylor heel-walks her wheelchair toward me on the opposite side of the street, oblivious to speeding traffic and the danger she’s approaching. Where’s her therapist?
They didn’t bring her out and leave her alone, did they?
Heart pounding, I step into the crosswalk, ignoring oncoming traffic, and receive an angry toot from someone’s horn. Without a glance in the direction of the offensive blaring, I keep my focus on Taylor, reaching her less than five feet from the curb. Dumping my stuff onto the sidewalk, I kneel in front of her wheelchair and pull her rigid body into a fierce hug.
“What in the world are you doing out here alone?” I draw back to look at her, my hands running down her arms, touching her cheeks. She seems unharmed.
Taylor’s eyes meet mine—no fear, but no recognition either.
My eyes catch a blur behind her. Veronica and Nora are running full speed toward us, relief evident in their eyes.
“Mrs. Shaffer,” Veronica says, breathless. “I can’t tell you how sorry we are this happened.”
“I don’t understand.” I stand to face the women, my hand resting on Taylor’s shoulder, unable to break the connection. “How could you leave her out here unattended?” I wave my free arm toward the ceaseless traffic. “She could have wandered out in that. Or, or…” My mind and heart race in fierce competition, breathing labored. “Or what if some pervert came along and snatched her?” My voice rises with each word until I’m shouting.
“No one left her here.” Nora’s voice is calm, as if trying to inject some of the same attitude into me. “She walked her chair out of the hospital. It is inexcusable that no one noticed, but that’s what happened.”
“No…the monitor.” I look from one to the other. “You assured us that Taylor had a monitor that would set off an alarm. Didn’t it work?” I throw my hands into the air, fear and frustration battling for supremacy. Swallowing the anger and threatening tears, I take a deep breath.
“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Shaffer.” Veronica pats my arm. “We do have precautions, and given the circumstances, I’m not sure you’ll be able to appreciate this.” She waits a beat, hesitant. “This is actually a positive move. Don’t get me wrong,” she rushes to say when I start to argue. “It’s not the way we like to see it manifested, but you have to understand. Taylor took off her monitor.”
“What?”
“Yep,” Nora says. “She’s not even walking without assistance, but she located the monitor and removed it from her chair. She had to know what she was doing.”
“What are you saying?” My heart rate slows to almost normal level as I stroke Taylor’s head.
“She had to plan her escape,” Nora says.
Veronica jumps in, her eyes lighting with excitement. “She had to make several connections to pull this off. First, when we noticed she was missing, one of the housekeepers told us she’d been staring out the window, as if she wanted to be out here.”
“Also,” Nora says, “she had to figure out how to get from her room to the outside, which required her to know the configuration of the hallways and outside doors.” The enthusiasm in her voice rises. “Not only that, but she must have known the monitor would hinder her escape, then figured out how to eliminate it. We found it on the floor of her room, the strap ripped.”
Understanding dawns like the slow rise of the sun, their excitement contagious, and I stare at Taylor in wonder. What’s going on in that amazing mind of hers?
“She certainly lives up to her nickname.” Veronica squeezes Taylor’s shoulder. “Little Houdini.”
“Of course, this will require reinforcements.” Nora takes the handles of Taylor’s chair and turns her back toward the hospital. “She’ll need to be on constant watch, the monitor on her chair hidden where she can’t see it, and a second one put on her person.”
I gather up the discarded items and strawberry crème, which Taylor reaches for without a word. Yesterday I would have been thrilled that she identified it. Today, it seems like a no brainer after her intricate escape. Maybe that stubborn, rebellious nature in my daughter is a gift after all. Taylor’s fighting her restrictions, which will only help her improve faster.
But an instant later, that bubbling joy wavers.
Recovery means revelation. And revelation? Well, that could very well be the end of our relationship.
* * *
Paul
The wind whips up a pile of dried oak leaves that cling to my slacks like leeches as I head for Marshall Hospital to visit John Pendleton. The sun’s about set and the pleasant temperatures of earlier plummet, reminding me it’s still winter. I’m itching to get home, put Alexis’s ridiculous accusations to rest. Corey and I’ll have a good laugh about it. Maybe it’ll lighten the tension brought on by last night’s pointless summer camp argument. But I promised Beverly and—I check my watch—Corey’s just now getting home.
Stepping into the hospital, I cross the lobby and push the up arrow for the elevator, but before it dings, I head back out the door. No way I can focus on the Pendletons with asinine questions crowding out coherent thought. I’ll come back out after dinner, after Corey assures me that Alexis is stirring the pot with innuendo and outright lies.
Back in my car and impatient to get home, I gun the engine at a yellow and push the speed limit until I turn onto our tree-lined street. Corey’s Honda sits in one side of the driveway, leaving the other open so I can pull my Toyota into the garage. I cut the engine, sit for a moment, and try to pray. Corey will want to know why Alexis is being vindictive. I’ve kept her out of the loop this long, how will I explain?
The tick, tick, tick of the cooling motor fills the otherwise dark silence. Prayers don’t come—my head’s too full of questions that have no good answers.
Rambo’s muffled greeting rouses me from my stupor, and I climb out of the car, briefcase in hand. The barking continues until the door opens just as I reach for it. Rambo pours out, spinning in circles and demanding dibs while Corey steps back to allow me entrance.
“Hey,” she says, grinning.
“Hey yourself.” I give her the expected peck on the cheek and brush past her. “Do we have time to talk before dinner?”
Closing the door, she leans her backside against it. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, lines appearing on her forehead. “I…I guess so.” She narrows her eyes. “Is everything okay? You seem upset.”
“Is Michael home?”
She shakes her head. “He’s talking to Craig at the gas station. You know, he’s serious about starting that job. He needs to finish about ten more hours of comm—”
“Let’s talk in the living room.” I lead the way, dropping my briefcase as we pass the hall and discarding my jacket on the back of the couch. I toss the newspaper I’d left on the couch before leaving for work this morning onto the coffee table and sit.
Corey joins me. “You won’t believe what happened at rehab today.”
“I want to talk about something else first.”
“You are upset. What’s going on?”
“I had a…a visitor at the church office today.”
“Oh?” Brow furrowed, mouth turned down, hands wringing—why should she be nervous? I’m the one dealing with the Wicked Witch of the West.
“It’s crazy, really.” I fold my hands and rest my elbows on my knees, eyes down. How to explain this. “You know Alexis Andrews. I mean, of course you know Alexis. Anyway, she has this crazy notion—” I shake my head. Ridiculous. How’s Corey going to react to such an insulting accusation?
“I…I thought she didn’t go to our church anymore.” The waver of Corey’s voice hits me, her face whitening. Does she know about Alexis?
“Well, she doesn’t. But that’s beside the point.” I wave a dismissive hand. “This is crazy, really. You’re going to laugh. She has this asinine notion that Taylor was upset about something that happened in physiology the day of her accident. I mean, she all but blamed the accident on…on this…incident.”
“Incident?”
“Something about a lab on blood testing. It’s a mistake, I’m sure. We’ve been doing the church blood drive for some time, and we both know Taylor’s blood
type has to be A or B. You’re O and I’m AB. It’s a class lab, for crying out loud. Of course, it’s a mistake.”
So why isn’t she agreeing with me?
Corey’s posture crumples like a deflating balloon, fingers covering her lips, eyes down.
Realization hits. “You know.”
“I was going to tell you.”
Her tone is so low, I have to lean forward to hear. “Tell me? Corey, this is a mistake.” I grab her wrist and tug on it until she looks up, face ashen, eyes welling.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t know. I mean, until Taylor showed me, I didn’t know.”
No. This is some bizarre fluke. But then, Corey would have assured Taylor. “You…I…” Dizzy and breathless, I stand. “What…what are you saying? That Taylor’s not my daughter? That you...?” I point an accusing finger. “You cheated on me?”
A sob steals her words.
“Look at me.”
Her red-rimmed eyes meet mine then flitter away. She wraps her arms around her stomach. “It happened before we were married.”
“No.” My legs give out, and I drop back onto the couch. “You were a virgin when we married. I…we vowed to wait…”
“I can explain.”
“Explain? Explain? There is no explanation. You…you slept with someone else right before me.”
“I was confused.” Face wet, nose running, she lays pleading eyes on me.
“Then you should have come to me, not slept with someone.” I’m not Taylor’s father. But someone is. “Who was he?”
Sobbing, she shakes her head.
“You won’t tell me? Or you don’t know?”
“Trish and I, we went to a party. I was drinking. I…I don’t remember.”
An ache builds in my chest, constricting my breath. “You…I…” Lightheaded, I draw in a deep breath and stand. I stare down at Corey, fists clenched. Words won’t come, although questions ricochet through my brain like a runaway bullet.
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