#
What amazed Sandra was that she could feel so much pain and still live.
When Michael walked out that door and his truck's engine roared to life, an iron fist clutched her heart and twisted it until she wondered how she could keep on breathing.
How could she have ever believed it would end any other way, that what they shared could last? It should have been obvious to even the most lovestruck of fools that they weren't meant to share anything more than an interlude that she would hold inside her heart for years to come.
She'd been an idiot to hope for more. Those midnight dreams of a home and a son and a life shared with Michael McKay were just that, dreams that couldn't stand up to reality.
He wanted everything, Michael did, and he wanted it now. He was the same demanding, impractical rebel who'd tried to sweep her off her feet years ago. Back then she had been too caught up in her own dreams of the future to yield.
Now she understood his dream sand shared them and wanted nothing more than to make them come true, but the complicated, heartbreaking reality of her vow to her mother was making it impossible.
She cried until her entire body ached, until there were no tears left, and then she got up and washed her face at the utility sink on the other side of the workroom. Her eyes felt as if they'd been bathed in salt and sand; her skin felt raw and hot as the cold water touched it.
"Are you okay?"
She jumped at the sound of a woman's voice. Annie Gage, looking lovely in a beaded black dress, stood in the doorway with her arms wrapped around her slim frame against the cold.
"I've been waiting for you to come out, but I finally decided to stop being discreet."
"I'm okay," Sandra managed, folding the coarse white towel over the edge of the sink.
Annie stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." She forced a shaky smile. "Despite evidence to the contrary."
"I heard him leave."
"I'm sure everyone heard him leave. He burned rubber from here to the Midtown Tunnel."
Annie's laugh seemed loud in the quiet room. "I always thought they outgrew that kind of behavior when they hit their thirties. McKay seems to be disproving that notion.
Sandra reached for her purse on the worktable. "Well, it was nice of you to check up on me, but I think I'd better be going."
Annie didn't move. "It was a bad one, wasn't it?"
"Look, Annie, I appreciate your concern, but I'm just not up to discussing my private life with you."
"You don't know the whole story, do you?"
Sandra took a deep breath. "I don't know much of anything at the moment except that I want to go home."
"He's been under a lot of stress," Annie continued, talking over her. "I know he seems pushy, but there are reasons."
Sandra raised her hand,. "I don't want to hear the reasons, Annie. If he wanted me to know something, he'd tell me."
"Not this," Annie said. "This is the one thing I know he wouldn't tell you. He didn't want to pressure you into anything."
Sandra looked closely at the dark-haired woman. "You're in love with Michael," she said, her voice flat. "Why would you want to help me keep him?"
"Because I'm crazy," Annie said. "Because I can't stand seeing him torn up inside." Her shrug was eloquent. "Because if I can't have him, I think you're the one who should."
"This is a ridiculous situation," Sandra said, sitting on the edge of the worktable in a pile of chalk dust.
"Agreed," Annie said, perching on a stool a few feet away. "I have no business breaking my word to McKay."
"I wouldn't ask you to." Sandra hoped her disappointment wasn't too obvious.
"You don't have to," Annie said. "I'm going to tell you anyway."
#
Twenty minutes later Annie followed Sandra out to her car, and then gave her a fierce and angry hug. "Take good care of those two," she said, "or you'll have me to answer to."
Michael and David could have done a lot worse than Annie Gage. She was a friend in the truest sense of the word.
What Annie had told Sandra about Michael and the way he had risked all for her love had blasted away one of the two barriers remaining between them.
Tomorrow morning she would go to Fair Oaks and blast away the other.
#
Larry was buttoning himself into a new pair of silk pajamas when she knocked on his door.
"When I kiss 'em, they stay kissed," he said as she came into the large suite that he shared with another patient. "Back so soon? Elinor wasn't expecting you."
"That's exactly why I'm here." She unceremoniously sat down on the chair near the television "I have a few questions."
Larry lowered himself onto his bed and leaned his crutches against it. "Shoot."
"Why haven't you been calling me lately about Mom's condition?"
Larry's lower lip curled for a moment as he frowned at her. "No need to call you,. Her condition hasn't changed."
"It's been that bad?"
"Hell, no!" His frown disappeared. "She's been doin' better than any of us."
Sandra gripped the edge of the chair. "Would you say that again?"
"Happy to. Elinor's doin' great. She's been taking PT every day."
"She hasn't had a relapse?"
"Not that I know of."
"She hasn't been in her room, sleeping all the time?"
"Just her naps."
"You're telling the truth, Larry?"
"I don't have reason to lie, missy."
She jumped up and grabbed her purse.
"Where are you going?" he called out. "We only just got started talking."
"Later!" she said, racing for the door. "I'll tell you everything later."
Lucie, as usual, was sitting on the sofa knitting. Her jaw dropped when she saw Sandra standing in front of the door to Elinor's room.
"Sandra!" Her knitting needles clicked together, and she dropped a stitch. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"
"You tell me," Sandra countered.
"What do you mean?"
"I want to talk to Mother."
"You can't . . . she's . . . I mean –"
"You're a terrible liar, Lucie. I don't know why I didn't realize that before." She put her hand on the doorknob.
"Don't go in there, please! She only wants to help you, lovey. Don't let on that – "
Sandra opened the door and stepped inside. Elinor, lovely in a dressing gown of rose-colored silk, sat in a chair near the window. No respirator. No cardiac monitor. No crisis.
"You're looking well, Mother."
Elinor's eyes closed briefly, and then she slowly turned toward her daughter. "I didn't expect you today."
"Evidently not. This is hardly the room of a woman who's taken a turn for the worse." She sat down on the edge of the bed near her mother. "Why, Mom? Why did you do it? What were you trying to gain?"
Elinor's eyes were fierce with love and pride. "I was trying to make things right for you," she said, her voice low but clear. "I wanted to step away long enough for you and Michael to work things out."
"By withdrawing from my life?"
"I wasn't withdrawing, honey. I was moving aside for a while."
Sandra waved her hand in disgust. "Do you really think I can forget you exist?" she asked. "Can you really believe I would want to?"
"It's my choice," Elinor said. "I expect you to respect my wishes."
"Bullshit!" Sandra shocked both of them into momentary silence. "No more of that, Mother. I won't buy it."
"My condition," Elinor managed. "Don't force me to humiliate myself by letting people see me this way."
"What way?" Sandra asked, standing up and grabbing the mirror from the dresser. She held it up to her mother's face. "You're a beautiful woman, Mom. You always were; you always will be. Nothing's going to change that." She took Elinor's hands in both of hers and knelt down in front of her. "My invincible mother. You're just afraid to let anyone kno
w you're as vulnerable as the rest of us."
"No, honey," Elinor said, closing her eyes. "Don't. I'm not going to listen."
"Oh, but you are, Mom. You're going to listen for the first time in your life. What you're doing is wrong."
"It isn't wrong. It's the best way. It's what I want."
"No!" Sandra's voice rang out. "This isn't good for either one of us."
"Sandra, I – "
"This stinks, Mom. It really stinks, and now that I'm on to you, I'm not going to let it continue a second longer."
"But Michael, your engagement, the – "
"To hell with Michael," she said. This wasn't the time to talk about their problems. "We're talking about you."
"My life is out of my control now, Sandra."
"Not good enough. Don't deny yourself what you can have because of the things you can't."
Hope suddenly broke out in her mother's eyes. "Such as?"
"Such as a family," Sandra said. "Such as being part of a family every minute that you're able."
A huge smile began to blossom. "You and Michael and David?"
"No guarantees," Sandra said, "but I'm going to give it my best shot."
"You're going to tell him about me?"
Sandra offered up a silent prayer. "Yes," she said, embracing her mother. "I'm going to tell him everything."
"You might lose him."
"I'm willing to take that chance."
If he was half the man she thought he was, they'd be home free.
And if he wasn't – well, then she'd already lost him a long, long time ago.
#
Michael had given his apprentices the day off, and he didn't pull into the lot behind the construction shed until well after noon. He parked the car haphazardly, then got out, squinting against the weak late-autumn sun.
He was physically tired and emotionally drained, and had seriously considered giving himself a day off, but the thought of being trapped at home with his pain was more than he could handle.
He'd rather grab a new piece of limestone and begin to free another hawk. That, at least, made some sense.
He pulled the key to the workshed out of his pocket and was about to insert it into the lock when he saw someone had already beaten him to it. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of hot coffee was everywhere.
"Annie?"
"No," the voice behind him said. "It's me."
He whirled around and faced the woman he loved. Love battled with anger; at the moment, anger was still winning.
"What are you doing here?"
"I want you to take a drive with me."
He went to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I have work to do."
"Skip work," she said. "I did."
Whatever she wanted, it was important. "Have you been here long?"
"Long enough. Come with me, Michael. I have a few things to say to yo."
"I think we said everything last night."
"I don't." She reached out and took his hand. "I don't think we even came close. Come with me this once and I won't ask another thing of you."
He grabbed his cup of coffee. "Can I bring it with me?"
She nodded, but didn't smile. "Be my guest."
They drove through Upper Manhattan and the Bronx in silence. He didn't know if it was the caffeine or his nerves that made his blood pound crazily in his head. She headed up into Westchester and he looked over at her, but her jaw was set and her expression so grim that he didn't ask.
This was it. The explanation he'd been waiting for was right around the corner, and suddenly he wanted to fling open the car door and jump out onto the Major Deegan to avoid it.
She was already married/engaged/a mother/a father/a bank robber. A thousand crazy ideas were tangled in his head. She didn't love him/she loved him too much/she loved someone else/she –
He forced himself to look out the window at the scenery whizzing by, but the changing autumn leaves couldn't compete with his imagination.
She exited the highway near Tarrytown, drove a few miles of curving country roads, then turned into a private driveway marked Fair Oaks.
She belonged to a country club?
They passed a huge swimming pool that was closed for the season. He whistled softly. "Pretty impressive."
She glanced at him. "Think so?"
He said nothing, but broke out in a cold sweat.
She whipped her car into a spot in the visitors' parking lot.
"You're a member here?" he asked.
"No one's a member here, Michael."
"This isn't a country club?"
Her gaze was locked on him. "No," she said softly. "It's a hospital."
"I don't understand."
"How could you? I've done everything in my power to keep this secret."
God, not her. Please, God – He reached for her hand. "Sandy, are you --?"
She shook her head. "I'm fine. It's Elinor."
He stared at her. Elinor Patterson was hale and hearty and in Pago Pago. "Elinor? I thought she was abroad."
"That's what she wanted you to think." He watched, helpless, as she took a long, shuddering breath. "My mother is dying, Michael. She's been dying for the last three years, and it might be tomorrow or ten years from now before I lose her." She squared her shoulders. "But I am going to lose her."
"No," he said. "Not Elinor." Not the vibrant, loving woman who had been a big part of his life. "What? How?"
"Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis," she said, her tongue moving smoothly over the strange-sounding words. "Lou Gehrig's disease."
"I don't understand."
"No one does. It shouldn't have happened to her, but it did."
He sagged against the car door, feeling suddenly very old.
"What about you?" he managed.
"There's a five-percent chance I'll inherit it," she said. "I can't lie to you about that."
He would cling to the other ninety-five percent.
"She's my responsibility," Sandra was saying, looking straight ahead out the windshield. "My problem. I want you to know that right from the outset. I don't expect anything from you except understanding."
He was beyond words, still trying to accept the reality of Elinor's illness.
"She wanted to disappear from my life so we could make a life of our own. She swore me to secrecy."
"And you're breaking your promise."
"Yes," she said. "I told her last night."
The terrible puzzle of the past few weeks finally fell into place. Sandra talked dispassionately about the disease, the medications and treatments available, the blunt facts and figures surrounding the high price of quality care.
"I want you to see her, talk with her," she said as they walked into the hospital together. "I want you to understand what this is all about before we go any farther."
He thought about his accusations, the damning things he'd said to her, unfair lousy things aimed at her heart, and he hated himself for it.
They stopped in front of a room on the first floor and Sandra, his Sandra, turned and looked up at him.
"Whatever you decide," she said softly. "I'll understand. Nothing will change the way I love you."
She pushed open the door, and he found himself looking down at Elinor Patterson. She sat, regal and straight, in a chair by the window.
"Pago Pago?" he said, crossing the room to embrace her. "Where's your suntan?" It was hard to speak over the sudden, basketball-sized lump in his throat.
She reached up and touched his face, his hair, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She was older, yes, but the beauty that had always been there still remained. The kind of beauty time couldn't never extinguish.
"Michael," she said, her speech halting and slurred as Sandra had warned him it would be."Don't you know? This is much better than Pago Pago."
"You should have told me," he said. "I've missed you."
She looked over at her daughter, who stood in the doorway flanked by an elderly man in a
red bathrobe, and a woman with a knitting needle stuck in her bouffant.
"I've made a few mistakes along the way," Elinor said. "I hope there's still time to make up for them."
He stood up and walked toward Sandra. His Sandra. His woman. A woman whose courage and loyalty and capacity for love embraced everything wonderful life had to offer.
"You tell us, Sandy," he said. "Tell us if there's still time."
#
His words came to her as if through layers of thick sweet fog.
"Would you say that again?" she asked. She'd waited thirty-five years for this moment, and she wanted to be sure.
"I want to know if we can have one last chance."
Her breath caught. Everything in the room vanished except for Michael. "Are you sure?" she whispered.
"I'm sure." He looked so strong as he stood there, so powerful, so good that she found herself starting to cry. He touched her cheek, brushing the tears away as quickly as they came. "How could you doubt me?"
The years they'd spent apart began to fade as the future opened up before her.
"I love you," she said, relishing the feel of those words on her lips. "I've always loved you." Her love for him had been as certain as her heartbeat, as predictable as the tides. Neither time nor distance had been able to change that constant.
He pulled her close. "Say it again."
"I love you, Michael McKay. I'll love you until the day I die."
Michael's deep chuckle vibrated against her ear. "I'm going to hold you to that. We have witnesses."
Reality rushed back in at her for a moment.
"It's a lot to ask of a man," she said, wanting to be sure paradise was really there for the taking. "She isn't your mother, after all."
His embrace tightened. "And David isn't your son. Does that change what you feel for him?"
She thought of the rush of emotion that small boy had brought to life within her. "No," she said, starting to laugh. "It doesn't change a thing. I love him." Such simple words; such powerful meaning.
"Raising is hard work."
She snapped her fingers. "I'm not afraid of hard work."
"There's a lot of responsibility."
"I'm used to responsibility."
"This is your last chance to back out."
Second Harmony Page 20