by Nora Roberts
“Why don’t you buy me a beer after shift?” She grinned as they went back inside. “You can tell me all kinds of embarrassing Mike stories.”
“What kind of friend would that make me?”
“He told me you got piss-faced the spring of your senior year in high school, and he dared you to run around the track bare-assed naked. And when you did, he took videos and showed them at your graduation party. He still has a copy, by the way.” Her smile brightened as they moved onto the elevator. “You had very nice form at eighteen.”
“Oh yeah. Well, that’s nothing. I’ve got much better stories on Mike. What time do you get off shift?”
“Seven, please God.”
“It’s a date.” His mood almost light, he stepped off the elevator. Then his heart crashed to his feet as he saw Maggie sobbing in his mother’s arms.
“No.” The roar inside his head was so loud he couldn’t hear his own voice as he repeated the denial over and over, as he raced down the corridor, yanking free of Dory’s restraining hand.
“Noah, wait!” Celia shifted quickly to block his path before he could shove through the doors into ICU. “Wait. Maggie, tell him. Tell Noah.”
“He opened his eyes.” She rocked back and forth on her heels, back and forth, then held out both hands to Noah. “He opened his eyes. He said ‘Mom.’ He looked at me, and he said ‘Mom.’ ”
“Stay here,” Dory ordered. “Stay out here. Let me check.”
“The nurse came in, she called for the doctor.” Celia wiped at her own tears while Noah held Maggie. “Frank and Jim are down in the cafeteria. Frank browbeat Jim into getting something to eat, then I was going to browbeat Maggie. He woke up, Noah.” She laid her head on the side of his shoulder. “He woke up.”
Dory came back through the doors. Noah took one look at the brilliant smile on her face and buried his face in Maggie’s hair.
twenty-one
“So, when were you going to tell me about Doctor Delicious?”
Mike grinned, with most of his old twinkle. “Is she a babe or what?”
“A prime babe, a brainy babe. So what’s she doing hanging around with you?”
“She digs me. What can I say?” He still tended to tire easily, and the headaches came with tedious regularity. But they’d jumped him up to good condition after his stint in ICU and into a regular room.
His room was full of flowers, cards, balloons. He’d told Noah the nurses called it Party Central, a fact that pleased him enormously.
The day before Noah had brought in a brand-new laptop, loaded with every computer game it would hold. He’d called it occupational therapy, but knew it was part guilt, part unspeakable gratitude.
“I think I’m in, you know. With her,” Mike said, scrupulously staring at his fingers.
Noah gaped. “You got a major bash on the head ten days ago. Ruined a damn fine bottle of wine, by the way. I think your brains are still scrambled.”
“I don’t think this has a lot to do with brains.”
At a loss, Noah blew out a breath. “ ‘You know’ is a very big thing. You were only seeing her for a little while before you had your head broken. You’ve been stuck in a hospital bed ever since.”
“I have a really fond feeling for this hospital bed.” Mike gave the white sheets an affectionate pat. “After last night.”
“Last night? Here? You had sex with her here?” It was fascinating.
“Shh. Tell the floor nurse, why don’t you?” But Mike was still grinning. “She came in to see me after her shift, one thing led to another. The another was really amazing, by the way.”
“Why the hell am I feeling sorry for you?” Noah wondered. “You’re getting all the action.”
He grabbed the can of Coke he’d brought in with him, chugged deeply.
“I asked her to marry me.”
And choked. “Huh? What? Jesus, Mike.”
“She said yes.” Mike’s grin turned into his puppy dog smile and turned his eyes soft. “Can you beat that?”
“I think I’m having a stroke.” Noah pressed his fingers to his twitching eye. “Call the nurse. No, better, call a doctor. Maybe I can get some action.”
“We’re going to get married next spring, because she wants the works. You know, the church, the flowers, the white dress.”
“Wow.” It was the best he could do. Noah figured he’d better sit down, then realized he already was. “Wow.”
“They’re letting me out of here tomorrow. I want to buy her a ring right away. I need you to go with me. I don’t know squat about buying an engagement ring.”
“What do I know about it?” Noah dragged his free hand through his hair and took a good, hard look. Mike’s eyes were clear behind the thick lenses of his glasses. His smile was easy, almost lazily content. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“I want to be with her. And when I am I keep thinking, this is right. This feels exactly right.” Vaguely embarrassed, he moved his shoulders. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I guess you just did. Nice going, Mike.”
“So, you’ll give me a hand with the ring, right?”
“Sure. We’ll get her a doozy.” With a sudden laugh, he surged to his feet. “Goddamn. Married. And to a doctor. Damn good thing. She’ll be able to stitch you up every time you walk into something or trip over your feet. Does she know you’re a complete klutz?”
“Yeah, she loves that about me.”
“Go figure.” To show his affection, he punched Mike on the shoulder. “I guess you won’t be coming over and raiding my fridge every other night after . . .” He trailed off, remembering.
“It wasn’t your fault. Look, we know each other well enough for me to see what’s in your head.” To keep Noah from backing off, Mike grabbed his hand. “You didn’t know she was going to go postal.”
“I knew enough.”
“I knew as much as you did, and I didn’t give a thought to going over there. For Christ’s sake, Noah, Dory was coming.” Shaken by just the thought of it, Mike rubbed his hands over his face, his fingers sliding under his glasses to press against his eyes. “Something could’ve happened to her, too. I’m the one who told her to meet me over there.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s the same thing,” Mike interrupted. “I was there at the club that night. I heard what she said, saw how she was.” He turned to brood out his window at his view of palm trees. “I wish I could remember, but I keep coming up against the blank. Nothing, not a fucking thing after the marathon after work. I remember kicking Pete Bester’s ass at Mortal Kombat. Next thing I’m clear on is waking up and seeing Mom. All I know about the between is what people tell me. Maybe I saw her. If I could say I saw her, they’d lock her up.”
“They’d have to find her first. She skipped,” Noah added when Mike looked back at him. “None of her friends know where she is, or they’re not saying. She packed clothes, got a cash advance on her credit cards and split.”
“Can’t they go after her for that, like The Fugitive.”
Even a half laugh felt good. “Richard Kimble was innocent.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“She wasn’t charged. I guess if they come up with some evidence they might take a look for her. Otherwise . . .” He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “Anyway, I don’t think she’ll be hassling either one of us, not for a while at least.”
“That’s something. So, now that you know I’m going to live, and that crazy bitch is off somewhere, I guess you better get back to work.”
“Who says I haven’t been working?”
“Your mother.”
“Man, what is it with you and my mother?”
“I’d always planned to marry her, but I thought your father might shoot me. Dory knows she’s my second choice, but she’s so madly in love with me she doesn’t care. But I digress,” he said with a grin. “She said you’ve been letting the book coast, really only playing at it for the last week or so.
I’d say it’s time to get your lazy ass in gear.”
“I’ll get to it.” Muttering, Noah wandered to the window.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m cool. Aside from the blank spot, I’m nearly back to normal.”
“You were never normal. I’ve been thinking about talking to Jamie Melbourne again, getting her husband to talk to me. Hassling that asshole admin of Smith’s.”
“So do it.”
“I’m waiting for my car.” He knew it was stalling. “The lodge arranged to have someone drive it down for me. Should be here tomorrow or the next day.”
“Then you can go home, make your calls and set up your interviews.”
Noah glanced back over his shoulder. “You kicking me out?”
“What are friends for?”
What was she doing? What in God’s name was she doing?
Olivia sat in the car, her fingers clamped on the steering wheel, and struggled to breathe. If she took slow, even breaths her heart would stop pounding. She could control it, control the frenzied jerk and throb of her pulse and beat back the panic attack.
She could do it, she could fight it off. She wouldn’t let it take over.
But her hands wanted to tremble on the wheel, and the sheen of sweat had already pearled on her face as waves of heat then ice, heat then ice, surfed over her skin, through her belly, into her throat. She knew what she’d see if she looked in the rearview mirror. The wild, wide eyes, the glossy, translucent pallor.
The nausea rolled up, one long sick crest, from her feet to her stomach to her throat.
She gritted her teeth and fought it back, shoved it down even as the shudders shimmered over her in icy little bumps.
The scream wanted to rip out, it tore at her chest, clawing with sharpened demon claws. But all she released was a moan, a long keening sound drenched in despair, pressing her head back against the seat as she held on, held on.
Five seconds, then ten. Twenty. Until she willed herself, warred with her own mind, to snap clear.
Her breath came fast, as if she’d been running, but the sharpest edge of panic began to fade. Slowly, she ordered herself to relax, one muscle at a time. She opened her eyes, stared at her fingers, made them flex and release, flex and release.
Control. She had control. She was not a victim, would never, never be a victim. Not of circumstance or her own ill-buried fears.
With one last shuddering breath, she leaned back again. Better, that was better, she thought. It was just that it had come on so fast, had taken her completely by surprise. It had been more than two years since she’d had a full-blown panic attack.
Two years ago, she remembered, when she’d made plans to come to Los Angeles and visit her aunt and uncle. Then, she’d gotten as far as the airport when it had washed over her. The cold sweats, the shakes, the terrible need to get out, just get out and away from all the people.
She’d beaten it back, but she hadn’t been able to face the plane, hadn’t been able to face where it was going. The shame of that failure had drowned her in depression for weeks.
This time she’d gotten here, she reminded herself. She’d batted back the onslaught of the panic twice on the drive down and had been so certain she’d won completely.
She had won, she corrected. She was here, she was all right. She was back in control.
She’d been right to follow her impulse, to take the chore of returning Noah’s car herself. Even though it had caused difficulties with her grandparents, she’d done the right thing. Concentrating on the drive had gotten her where she’d wanted to go. Where she hadn’t been able to go for twenty years.
Or nearly gotten her there, she corrected, and, pushing the damp hair off her brow, she studied Noah’s house.
It wasn’t what she’d envisioned at all. It was pretty, almost feminine in the soft tones of the wood, the cheerful sweeps and spears of flowers.
His garden wasn’t some haphazard bachelor attempt to brighten up his real estate, but a careful, clever arrangement by someone who not only knew flowers, but appreciated them.
She slipped out of the car, relieved that her legs were nearly steady. She intended to go straight to the door, knock, give him his keys and a polite smile. She’d ask him to call a cab, and get out and on her way to her aunt’s as quickly as possible.
But she couldn’t resist the flowers, the charm of verbena, the fresh chipper colors of Gerber daisies, the bright trumpets of the reliable petunias. He hadn’t stuck with the ordinary, she noted, and had used the small space available on either side of the walk very well. Experimenting, she noted, crowding specimen to specimen so that it all tangled together in a natural burst rather than an obviously planned design.
It was clever and creative, and both the planting and maintaining must have involved a great deal of work. Still, he hadn’t been quite as conscientious with the weeding as he might have been, and her gardener’s heart had her crouching down to tug up the random invaders.
Within a minute she was humming and losing herself in a well-loved task.
Noah was so happy to see his car sitting in its usual spot that he overtipped the driver and bolted out of the cab.
“Oh baby, welcome home.” He murmured it, stroked a loving hand over the rear fender and had nearly executed a snappy dance of joy when he spotted Olivia.
The surprise came first, or he assumed the quick jerk in his stomach was surprise. Then came the warmth. She looked so damn pretty, kneeling by his flowers, a faded gray cap shading her eyes.
He started toward her, then hooked his thumbs in his front pockets because his hands wanted to touch. “This is a surprise,” he said, and watched her head snap up, watched her body freeze. Like a doe in the crosshairs, Noah mused. “I wasn’t expecting to see you weeding my gummy snaps.”
“They needed it.” Furiously embarrassed, she got to her feet and brushed garden dirt off her hands. “If you’re going to plant flowers, you should tend to them.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time just recently. What are you doing here, Liv?”
“Returning your car. You were told to expect it.”
“I was also expecting some burly guy named Bob behind the wheel. Not that I’m complaining. Come on in.”
“I just need you to call me a cab.”
“Come on in,” he repeated and moved past her to the door. “At least I can give you a drink to pay for the weeding service.”
He unlocked the front door, glanced back to where she continued to stand. “Don’t be a nitwit. You might as well. Damn it!”
Liv’s eyes widened as he leaped inside the door. She could hear him cursing. Curiosity won and had her following him inside.
He jabbed a code into a security panel just inside the door. “Just had this installed. I keep forgetting it’s here. If I set off the alarm again, my neighbors are going to lynch me. There.” He blew out a breath when the signal light blinked on green. “Another small victory of man against machine. Have a seat.”
“I can’t stay.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll just get us a glass of wine while you think of the reason you can’t sit down for fifteen minutes after driving all the way down the coast.”
“My aunt and uncle are expecting me.”
“This minute?” he asked from the kitchen.
“No, but—”
“Well, then. You want some chips with this? I think I have some.”
“No. I’m fine.” But since she was here, what harm would it do to have one civil glass of wine?
She thought his living room was sparsely furnished, no-frills male, but not unattractive. Then she remembered he’d told her his home had been trashed. It certainly explained why everything looked showroom fresh and unused.
“I was glad to hear your friend’s going to be okay.”
“It was touch-and-go the first couple of days.” And the thought of it could still give him a raw sensation in the gut. “But yeah, he’s going to be okay. In fact, he’s going to be great.
He got his skull fractured, fell in love and got engaged, not necessarily in that order—in just over a two-week period.”
“Good for him, on two out of three anyway.”
“We just bought her a ring this morning.”
“We?”
“He needed guidance. Let’s drink to Mike.”
“Why not?” She touched the rim of her glass to his, then sipped. Then lifted her eyebrows. “Pouilly-Fuissé on a weekday evening. Very classy.”
His grin flashed. “You know your wine.”
“Must be the Italian from my grandmother’s side.”
“And can the MacBride half build a Guinness?”
“I imagine.” It was just a little too comfortable, being here, being with him. It smacked of old patterns. “Well, if you’d call—”
“Let’s go out on the deck.” He took her hand, pulled her to the sliding door. He wasn’t about to let her shake him off that quickly. “Too early for sunset,” he continued, releasing her long enough to slide the door open. “You’ll have to come back. They can be pretty spectacular.”
“I’ve seen sunsets before.”
“Not from this spot.”
The breeze fluttered in off the ocean, whispered warm over her face. The water was bold and blue, chopping in against the shore, then rearing back for the next pass. The scent was of salt and heat, and the light undertone of sunscreen from the people sprinkled along the beach.
“Some backyard.”
“I thought the same thing about yours when I saw your forest.” He leaned against the rail, his back to the view, his eyes on her. “Wanna come play in my backyard, Liv?”
“No, thanks. You’ve got a nice hand with flowers.” She flicked a finger over the soapwort, johnny-jump-ups and artesisa sharing space artistically in a stone tub.
“It shows my sensitive side.”
“It shows you know what looks good and how to keep it that way.”
“Actually, I learned out of compassion and annoyance. My mother was always planting something, then killing it. She’d go to the nursery, and the plants would scream and tremble. Once, I swear, I heard this coreopsis shrieking, ‘No, no, not me! Take the Shasta daisies.’ I couldn’t stand it,” he continued when she laughed. “I started having nightmares where all the plants she killed came back to life, brown, withered, broken, trailing dry dirt that crumbled from their roots as they formed an army of revenge.”