by Julie Momyer
He looked up from his paperwork, his eyes meeting hers. “Mrs. Gordon, we’ve been looking all over for you.” He clicked the pen in his hand closed and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“How is he?” she asked. Was he alive, dead, or still teetering somewhere in between? The uncertainty was tearing her apart one piece at a time.
“Your husband had been doing so well that we couldn’t understand what went wrong. But there was just too much blood loss, and with the trauma to his chest…”
He never answered. Not in words, but she filled in the blanks. He started down the hall. So this was it? This was how it ended? He turned suddenly and waved at her to follow. Was he taking her to the body?
When she caught up to him he said, “As I was saying, we’re baffled as to why his heart stopped, and equally so as to how he pulled out of it. It’s a miracle, really. Not that I put much stock in them, but there’s no other explanation.”
She grabbed his arm. “You mean he’s alive?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” He waved a hand in the direction of the room she’d been pushed out of. Spencer still occupied the bed, his head propped up and a sheet covering him to the waist.
She went inside and drew the curtain closed, acutely aware of how closely Spencer watched her. Heavy lidded, his eyes followed every move she made. Did he not want her here after all?
Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. She didn’t deserve to be here, to be taking her place at his side as his wife. She’d burned that bridge a long time ago.
His intense gaze made her uncomfortable. She busied her hands. Reaching for his box of apple juice, she tore off the straw and plunged it through the top.
“Did you mean it?” he asked. His words were soft, a mere whisper.
She stilled. Mean what? And then she remembered what she had said to him in the canyon when she thought he was going to die. I love you. The declaration came back to haunt her.
Jaida wrestled with the denial that was on her lips, the fear that crept in, but this time she won. She pushed the tray away from the bed, slipped off her sandals, and carefully stretched out beside him, molding her body to his. It was only a matter of time before they tossed her out, but for now…
She lightly brushed her lips against his cheek, the soft skin bristly with a day’s growth of whiskers, then laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, reveling in the moment. “Yes, Spencer. I meant it.”
37
Shell pink and antique white, it was the color scheme chosen for Laurel’s party. The Victorian touch was elegant but slightly out of sync with the modern dayroom decorated in shades of blue and brown.
“I’m here,” Jaida said. “It took awhile to get this wrapped.” She held up the pint-sized square box dressed in yellow and white paper and topped with a frilly white bow.
She dropped her purse on a chair then set the gift next to the bouquet of English roses. The blooms were freshly cut and arranged in a blown Bohemian glass vase, the cranberry shade complementing the pink and white roses perfectly.
“Everything looks perfect.” She tipped her head back and looked up at the crepe streamers, twisted and draped in a delicate arc overhead.
“Yes it does,” Spencer said, sliding his arms around her waist. Jaida sank back against his chest, absorbing every wonderful beat of his heart.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. His soft breath tickled her ear, and she found herself tearing up.
She turned in his arms then and kissed him lightly on the mouth, too choked up to say what was in her heart. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes and gave the sides of her chin a quick squeeze until she smiled back.
He knew her too well. Knew that she was fretting. She’d missed out on so much and failed those she loved most. He kept telling her not to look back, but forward since that was the direction she was going, but some days were harder than others, and days like today were when the regrets came out to haunt her.
He held her away from him and clasped her hands. “You look nice,” he said. “Really nice.” Grinning, he took in the azure dress she wore. The way he looked at her warmed her insides and brought a blush to her cheeks.
It wasn’t the sensual leer she’d become accustomed to, but an adoring gaze that reflected the high value he placed on her. Her heart swelled with love for this man. A love she didn’t believe was possible.
Seated in a wing-backed chair, Laurel looked regal in her knee-length ginger-colored dress. Jaida set a hand on her shoulder. “Happy Birthday,” she said then planted a kiss on her cheek.
Laurel reached up and squeezed her hand. Though her words were still shapeless and unformed, she responded to her presence, more alert and aware than she could recall.
The progress they were seeing was something the doctors kept telling them was impossible, but they couldn’t dispute the proof sitting in front of her now. With all of their combined years of training and experience, something greater had taken place and proved them wrong.
Spencer seated her first then took the chair beside her. She reached up and smoothed the lapels of his charcoal hounds tooth jacket. Austin Reed—it had to be. He always looked impeccable. Even in a hospital gown.
She bit her lip and gave him a mischievous smile, wondering what he would say if she told him that.
“What?” He grinned back at her.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Am I late?” Mrs. Childers, Rebecca, joined them. She carried a small wrapped parcel. Mary followed behind bearing a bouquet of pink, yellow, and orange balloons and a smile that lit up the room.
Spencer jumped up and turned on the video camera mounted on a tripod in the corner. “Actually, you’re just in time,” he said then started the first few bars of the traditional birthday song.
Rank amateurs, they all joined in, their rendition off-key, but Laurel seemed to enjoy the attention. Inside she was probably having a good laugh at their expense. The final note was dragged out and slaughtered at the finish. Laughter filled the room.
Spencer offered up a prayer of thanks then slid the knife into the center of the cake. The blade sliced through the yellow fondant and chocolate devil’s food, but spared the edible butterflies and rosebuds.
Working as a team, Jaida picked up the paper plates stacked at the end of the table and laid them out while Spencer came behind and filled each one with a hefty slice of cake.
She took the one with the largest butterfly and set it in front of Laurel. “For the birthday girl,” she said. Then she offered a plate to each of their two guests.
“This is so moist. What bakery did you get it from?” Rebecca reached for a napkin and dabbed at her mouth.
Jaida ladled some punch into a cup. “No bakery. My friend Aimee does this on the side.” She handed it to Spencer.
“I want her number,” Mary said. “My daughter is getting married, and this is the best I’ve tasted.”
“Write down your email address and I’ll send it to you.” With such rave reviews, maybe Aimee should quit Baseel and do this full time.
Laurel lifted a bite to her mouth. Jaida set her plate down and filled Laurel’s cup, topping the plastic with a lid and straw. She set it in front of her.
“You’re messy.” Jaida grabbed Spencer’s hand and licked the smear of cream filling from his knuckle. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“You think so?” He smeared a slab of frosting across his lips and puckered. “Have at it.”
Jaida laughed. “Behave or they’re going to kick us out of here.”
He looked down at her, his gaze warming her clear through. “It would be worth it.”
Rebecca clucked her tongue. “You two are incorrigible.”
Spencer grinned at her and wiped the frosting from his mouth with a napkin.
Mary said, “I am amazed at how well Laurel is doing. Even the doctors marvel at her improvement. It’s unprecedented.” She looked from Jaida to Spencer. “And I think it has everything to
do with the change in your relationship.”
The room fell silent, and Jaida pressed her fingers to her lips. Mary’s observation had been a theory of her own, but to hear it expressed by someone else only served to confirm it.
A small part of the afternoon was spent eating cake and sharing stories. Laurel’s eyes drooped. It was time for a nap. Rebecca left, and Mary went back to work leaving the three of them alone.
Jaida sat back in the chair, and Spencer stood. He stacked the soiled plates and dropped them into the lined trashcan then collected the gift-wrap strewn across the table and tossed the wadded paper in the can.
Jaida picked up a ribbon that had slid to the floor and handed it to him. He gripped her fingers and kissed the back of her hand.
“You’re hopeless,” she said as though she disapproved, but she was learning to let her guard down, to let him love her. And in truth, she wouldn’t have him any other way.
Jaida rubbed at the tickle above her elbow then turned when she felt it again. It was Laurel. She set her hand on Jaida’s arm. “I m-m-missed you,” she said, the m held out in one long hum. It was a complete sentence and nearly perfect.
Stunned, Spencer laughed, it was soul deep, exultant. He kissed Laurel’s forehead then squeezed Jaida’s hand. “Stick with me, and we’ll have her back to normal in no time.”
But then she realized what Laurel had said, and her joy quickly faded. She looked up at Spencer. “But, what about…I’ve been coming to see her all this time, and she doesn’t remember.” Her speech was returning, but what was becoming of her mind, her memory?
Spencer set a warm, reassuring hand on her back and she relaxed into it. It would be all right, she told herself. It was improvement. Maybe it would come a little at a time.
“Mom, Jaida’s been here every week,” Spencer said. “Don’t you remember?” Would her response be as coherent as her statement a few seconds ago, or was that shining moment a flash in the pan, a singular event?
Laurel’s fingers tightened around her arm. “N-n-not the same. Different,” she said, her voice trembling.
Jaida’s worry fell away, and a smile pulled at her mouth. Different. She said she was different. Laurel saw the new…well maybe it was the old Jaida—the youthful, idealistic one, but all grown up and shaped by a fresh worldview.
“Knock, knock.”
Jaida turned. Auggie stood in the doorway. Their eyes connected. His were soft and hopeful, hers…well she could only imagine what he saw considering what she felt. She glanced at Spencer and then down at the table, at the crumbs that had fallen from her plate. Why was he here?
Her cool reception didn’t deter Spencer from playing the gracious host. He shook Auggie’s hand warmly and introduced him to Laurel.
Her eyes brightened when she saw the bouquet he carried. They were her favorites, lavender delphinium and yellow daffodils, the stems tied together with a limp white ribbon. Spencer must have told him. Must have invited him too.
“These are for the birthday girl.” Auggie set the flowers in her arms, and from the look on Laurel’s face he’d scored some major brownie points.
She’d hardly spoken with him since that night at the hospital, the rift between them carved wide by her struggle to get past his offense. She believed in him, put her trust in him, and he’d betrayed her.
Just like you betrayed Spencer. The truth that set her free now snared her. Sharp and piercing, shame at her lack of mercy sunk its teeth into her soul. She was a hypocrite.
Forgive him.
I’ve tried.
Forgive him.
She closed her eyes, swallowing the knot in her throat. Auggie turned and landed a peck on her cheek. Why was this so hard for her?
“It’s good to see you, Jaida. Real good.” He was tentative, almost meek. Two characteristics she never would have used to describe him. But he’d been in the fire, and its heat had a way of burning away the dross. She knew that firsthand.
“You too,” she said, almost meaning it. He lingered at her side as though he might say more but then moved away from her.
She was different, just as Laurel said, but the change in her was incomplete. She had so far to go, and her reaction to Auggie proved it.
Spencer offered Auggie a chair and handed him a piece of cake, a fork stabbed into the top. The two men talked and laughed like old friends catching up. This was a good thing. Wasn’t it?
She watched Auggie from across the table. Gone from his eyes was the pride that once rivaled her own. He’d been broken by his circumstances and looked as fragile as she felt. Sympathy swelled in her breast.
She rolled her lip in and bit down on it. Move forward, Jaida, and let Auggie do the same. She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He glanced down at their joined hands looking surprised and pleased. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. More than an apology.”
Spencer slid his arm around her shoulders and leaned close. “Now that that’s out of the way. How is everything coming along on the legal front?”
“I have a good attorney,” Auggie said. “We’ll see where things go. But I do have some news.” His attention shifted to Jaida. “Palermo was hired by Gale and by Baseel. You were right, he was with internal affairs.”
He’d been telling the truth, half of it anyway.
“He was working both ends and using his position at Baseel to locate Gale’s cash and the tape.”
“He admitted to taking it?” To stealing it right out of her house?
Auggie’s head wavered back and forth. “Not directly. But according to my sources, he said enough.”
“He goes down, but once again Gale comes out unscathed,” she said. It wasn’t right.
Auggie cracked a smile. “Don’t be so sure. Charges are being brought against Gale as we speak. Palermo is working with us in exchange for leniency. Oh, and the police picked up prints from your house. They matched the ones on the glass. It was one of Gale’s punks who trashed it.”
“What do they have on Lance?” she asked. No one could prove he was the one who took the evidence, and using her to get it was hardly a criminal offense.
A bit of the former cockiness returned. “I told you I’d been checking him out. I don’t care how good someone is at what they do, sooner or later they slip up, and he left a decent trail of chargeable offenses.
“There’s also talk of reopening an investigation over the death of a young woman Gale was involved with years ago.”
Her mother? “Sofia Carlisle?” she asked.
“Yeah, that was the name. How did you know?” Carl didn’t tell him? But then she hadn’t told him that William Gale was her father. Not yet.
She shook her head, her stomach sinking. Her instincts had been right about Sofia’s death. “That is a story for another day,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to give you this, but…” Auggie pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. Tossing a guilty glance at Spencer as he handed it to her.
“It’s from Palermo. He asked me to see that you got it.”
Spencer’s eyes darkened, and he looked away. She handed it back. “I don’t want it,” she said then reached for Spencer’s hand and squeezed. “I have everything I need right here.”
Auggie crumpled the paper in his fist as though he enjoyed it then went on with the update without missing a beat.
“The dates for Kevin and Carina’s trials have been set. Are you up for testifying? It’s going to get ugly.”
Spencer had protected her, kept her out of the limelight and the fray, but soon she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, and she would have to face these people standing on her own two feet.
Instinctively Spencer’s arm went around her. Provided by God, it was a wing, a shield, a buffer from everything evil, and Jaida welcomed it.
“I’ll be ready.”
Epilogue
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth— For your love is better than wine.�
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~Song of Solomon 1:2
The roar of shattering whitewater, the squawk of circling gulls, and the distant tinkling of windblown chimes, the medley was God’s opus. And the woman curled up snugly beside him, her head cradled in his lap, was His gift.
Spencer stroked gentle fingers over the curve of her brow, sweeping wispy strands of hair from her face. In this finite moment, everything was right in the world. Jaida shifted and burrowed in, snuggling closer. Keep needing me, keep loving me.
His gaze traveled from one delicate feature, perfectly shaped and formed, to another, and wondered at how beautifully made she was; more beautiful than he remembered. But then he was partial.
A breeze rolled over the water ruffling the short sleeves of her white blouse. He loved watching her sleep. She was so peaceful and content.
He didn’t want to wake her, but the day had gone on without them, absconding with the sun it was sneaking into another part of the world, leaving theirs dusky and damp.
“Jaida,” he said. When she didn’t stir, he brushed his fingers under her chin and called her name a second time.
Velvety blue and fierce with love, her eyes opened, and the way she was looking at him did crazy things to his insides. “We have to go.”
“Kiss me awake,” she said then closed her eyes.
God had already awakened her. He had been the one to open her eyes and bring her back to him. “I thought you were already awake. Or are you talking in your sleep?”
In feigned repose, she didn’t answer. He stroked his finger around the perimeter of her face, marveling again at how lovely she was.
He nudged her shoulder and without opening her eyes, she sighed. “Are you going to argue with me, or are you going to kiss me?”
His mouth tilted. “What do you think?”
Thanks!
I want to thank those who graciously assisted me in the completion of this novel.
To editor, Renee Gray-Wilburn, thank you so much for your labor, your advice, and your encouraging words.