“My stepbrother.”
Jack turned, surprised. “You never told me you had a brother.”
“Stepbrother,” she corrected. “Dillon. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”
“Why not?”
Maggie’s eyes changed and the light in them disappeared. “Long story.”
Jack wanted to ask, wanted to know more, but something in her face stopped him. What the hell happened here? he wondered. The tension stretched across Mags’ cheekbones startled him. She’d never so much as mentioned a stepbrother in all the time he’d known her. Wasn’t that odd? He knew plenty of mixed families, and it wasn’t any surprise that sometimes the kids lost touch after leaving home, but this seemed different somehow. Maybe they just didn’t get along. Maybe Dillon was a lot older, or younger, and they didn’t have anything in common.
Jack shook his head and followed Maggie to the porch, putting it out of his mind. In the next year and a-half, neither one of them mentioned it again.
*
A switch flipped over in Jack’s mind. That name. The one he hadn’t recognized earlier, because he’d been half out of his wits at seeing Maggie again.
Dillon.
That was it. Mags had come to Boston and the Deveau Ball looking for her stepbrother. She’d been almost frantic in her search, glancing over shoulders every time someone new walked into the room. But why? From all Jack knew, there had never been any close relationship between the two. It didn’t make sense.
Up ahead, the sign for Boston’s largest hospital came into view. As the ambulance drove toward the Emergency Room, he pulled into the first parking garage he could find, a half-block up the street. Grabbing his cell phone, he thumbed through the saved numbers. Thank God Eden had insisted on giving it to him before he left the ball. Just in case, Jack, she’d drawled, and he’d humored her, letting her punch the numbers into his phone with maddening precision. He found her name after a few seconds of fumbling and recalled the last time he and Mags and Eden had all been together.
Las Vegas, of course: twenty-four hours of thrill and heartache, all wrapped up into a neat little day framed on either end by a plane ride. Start at ground zero, in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, and end up the next morning with your heart handed to you on a platter. Wrap up and take home, or discard on the way out. But for the change in calendar year, the scenario seemed frighteningly familiar.
Jack set his jaw. Not happening again, Mags, I can promise you that. You’re not leaving me again, not before I get a chance to say my piece. You’re not getting off that easy this time.
6:00 a.m.
For a while, Maggie felt nothing. It was as if she’d fallen into some kind of ocean, buoyed by gentle waves. She couldn’t feel her arms or her legs, but that didn’t worry her. She had a sense that the hum she could hear in the distance kept her afloat, and though she tried a couple of times to swim toward it, strange hands pushed her back. After a while, she gave up struggling and stayed where she was.
Once she thought she opened her eyes and saw a massive clock face above her, except this clock had four hands instead of two, and they spun around faster than they should have. She tried to count the seconds, but they ticked off in erratic beats, and just when she thought she’d gotten the hang of it, a new pattern began.
I’m dreaming. She had a vague recollection of a car accident, of her legs pinned beneath the dashboard and a collar around her neck. Had she driven off the road? Smashed head-on into someone else? She couldn’t piece together the details. She thought maybe Jack had been there too, but she couldn’t remember for sure, and that frightened her. She tried to ask for him, but no one seemed to be listening.
The clock spoke to her from its mouthless face. You’re out of time, it said. No more choices. No more solutions. Out of time.
Maggie wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t even sure she could find her hands. So what else is new? she challenged the voice. Time has always been my enemy. I’ve never had enough of it, and when I need it most, when I need it to slow down or spin back or change, it never listens to me. Her thoughts crystallized for a minute, and everything came back to her. The house. The bank. The foreclosure. Dillon. Jack.
She whimpered and tried to sit up. She had so much to take care of.
At once, she felt a prick in her arm, and after a minute or two, warmth washed over her belly and slid down to her toes. She relaxed. Really, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. Time never stopped, and it certainly never went in reverse. No use wishing and hoping for things that would never come to be. Blackness came again, and this time Maggie embraced it, because diving down deep into it was the only way she could wash away memory once and for all.
*
Jack flipped his cell phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. He ran the words through his mind and hoped Maggie would listen to what he had to say. She wouldn’t have much of a choice, but he’d try and break it to her as gently as he could. Pulling off the tuxedo jacket he still wore, he tossed it into the backseat of the Navigator and headed for the hospital’s main lobby. Two nurses on break stood a few feet away. A reddish-blue haze from the sign above them colored their faces like a bruise. They puffed on cigarettes and cut him a glance as he walked inside.
Jack found the reception desk. “Excuse me.”
The woman with the graying bun ignored him as she wrote something on a clipboard. Crow’s feet lined her eyes, and her mouth pulled down into a frown.
“Excuse me?”
“Just a minute.” She didn’t look up.
Jack watched thirty-two seconds click by on the clock behind her. He grabbed a stray paperclip lying on the desk and twisted it until it broke in his fingers. Another twenty seconds. Still the woman continued to write. Jack turned in a slow circle, keeping both hands inside his pockets so he wouldn’t reach over the desk and yank the clipboard out of her hands.
Finally she raised her eyes. “May I help you?”
He let a breath puff out before answering. Isn’t this the hospital? Isn’t this where people come when they’re bleeding or dying or holding a limb together with a shirt sleeve? Shouldn’t you be showing me some concern? Because somewhere inside, Jack was pretty sure he was bleeding too.
He rubbed his knuckles against his jawline, rough with morning stubble. “A friend of mine was brought in a little while ago. From a car accident. Maggie Doyle.”
The woman’s face changed slightly. She slid her rolling chair across the carpet and tapped the keys of her computer.
“Well, I don’t have any information right now. You know, I can’t tell you anything, anyway, unless you’re family. Or unless the patient allows it. You’ll have to take a seat and wait for a doctor or a family member.”
A family member? Jack didn’t think any would be coming, and was about to say so when the telephone rang and she picked it up. Swiveling away from him, she chirped something into the receiver. He took a few steps back and checked out the room while he considered his next move. A ruddy-cheeked man with a crooked toupee sat in one corner, staring at an infomercial on the television. Two seats over, a little girl with tangled hair crouched at the feet of a harried-looking woman. The woman flipped through a magazine, and one heel jiggled against the floor. Her leg knocked the little girl in the chin every so often. Neither one seemed to notice or care.
Jack looked at his watch and took a drink of water from the fountain in the corner. Warm. Gross. He paced the length of the room twice and thought again about his plan. He wondered if he’d considered all the details. He didn’t have Suzi or Carl or anyone from the office running reports and comparing data. No one to bounce ideas off, no time for lunch with a colleague to consider the possibilities. All he had was a hunch gathered after a sleepless night.
Just make the call, he told himself on his third trip past Ms. Jiggle-Foot and her kid. Make the call, and then tell Maggie. He’d worked through every possible solution to the predicament he faced. Non
e was ideal. All would have difficult consequences. But one he could work with. He just needed to make the phone call fast, before his office opened for the morning. With the expansion project running behind deadline, he’d ordered a skeleton staff to work on Saturdays. Now he could have cursed himself for the decision. The fewer people who were involved with this, the better.
Jack slid his phone out again and ran one thumb over the keys.
God, he didn’t want to do this to Mags. He didn’t want her to find out like this. But it was the only way he could think of…
He dialed the number he knew by heart. One ring. Two. C’mon. I know you’re up. I know you left the ball before eleven. I know you’ve already run four miles and are probably on your second bowl of oatmeal. Just answer your goddamned cell.
“Carl Anderson.”
“Carl, it’s Jack.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Listen, I need you to run some numbers for me, get some paperwork together as soon as you can. It’s regarding the Hart’s Falls house.”
*
Maggie struggled to open her eyes. Where was she? Rough, thin cotton rubbed underneath her fingertips. Satin, she thought. My dress is supposed to be satin.
She tried to sit up, but someone put a hand on her shoulder.
“Take it easy.”
Maggie rolled her head to one side. A jolly-faced nurse, all double chins, cheeks, and teeth, smiled down at her. “Welcome back.”
Back from where? Then Maggie remembered. The ball. The storm. The accident. She tried to swallow, but her mouth tasted funny. Her insides seemed wobbly. Really, she felt as though she’d been wrapped in stuffing and stored in a cardboard box, just recently let out for air with no idea which end was up.
“What time is it?”
“’Bout quarter to seven in the morning.” The nurse fastened a blood pressure cuff around Maggie’s arm. “Why? You got a hot date?”
I wish. Maggie stared at the nurse’s badge. Blue capital letters swam around for a moment before spelling out “Bella”. She wondered if that was the woman’s real name or a nickname. Was it short for Isabella? Annabelle? Elizabeth? Had someone she loved, a boy perhaps, given it to her?
Only three people had ever called her Mags. Dillon, then Jack. And Eden, after a while. No one else since. Funny things, nicknames. Most times you’d never pick them for yourself, but they sounded just right coming off someone else’s tongue.
“How long have I been here?”
Bella pulled a pen from her pocket and wrote something on a clipboard. “You were brought in a little over an hour ago. Checked in through Emergency and then moved up here.” A beeping sound started in the room next door. “If you need anything, press the button beside you. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Wait.” This time Maggie did sit up, ignoring the pain in her lower back. “Please. My friend was in the car with me. Neve Weatherby. Do you know where she is? Is she okay?”
The nurse paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I don’t have that information. And even if I did, I couldn’t release it to you.”
“But I have to know. If you’re not allowed to tell me, then—” Maggie threw off the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Then I’ll just go find out myself. Dizziness swept over her and she grabbed at the edge of the mattress to steady herself.
Bella marched back over and lay firm hands on Maggie’s shoulders. “Honey, you were involved in a serious car accident. You’re lucky to only have a few minor injuries. The doctor wants you to stay here for observation a few more hours, so just lie down and try to relax.” She helped Maggie back into the bed and rearranged the covers. “I’ll see what I can find out about your friend.”
Maggie didn’t answer. Glumness settled into her limbs as the nurse pulled the door shut. Her hair felt greasy. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything in the last twelve hours besides a handful of appetizers. In one corner of the room, she spied a pile of green satin folded on a chair. That’s where her dress had ended up. She wondered if the doctors cut it off her and figured they probably did. Ruined, she thought, just like me. Just like the whole night.
Closing her eyes, Maggie stared at the red speckles on the insides of her eyelids. All she’d wanted to do was find a way to come up with the money she owed. She hadn’t wanted to skip down Memory Lane. She hadn’t intended to ruin anyone else’s evening. She certainly hadn’t meant to end up inside the walls of a city hospital. But that’s exactly what had happened, after all.
She traced circles on the sheets and wondered where she would go tomorrow or the next day. Her attorney said she might continue to live in her house while the foreclosure proceedings unfolded, but for how long? Fresh pain seared a strip behind Maggie’s eyes as she recalled the telephone message from Bullieston. The tumbling of Jack’s business cards into the street with the same name inscribed upon them. The moment of realization, the sad sealing of an inevitable deal.
…our company is planning an expansion into Hart’s Falls, and we’ve been looking at several homes in the north neighborhoods down there. I understand that you might be open to discussion…
Open to discussion. She supposed that was one way to look at it. She flopped one arm over her face. She guessed she could sell the house to them. That way, at least she could keep the business. But selling to Jack’s company meant seeing Jack again. It meant talking to him, signing papers with him, straining to carry on a conversation while trying not to dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
How could she possibly deal with that?
What other choice did she have?
7:00 a.m.
A blinding light and the television blaring to life woke Dillon as electricity surged back into his apartment.
“Shit.” He reached out and rolled clear off the couch. Where the hell was he? What time was it?
The storm. The transformer blowing out. Ditching the Deveau Ball. Oh, yeah.
He untwisted his boxers, found the TV remote, and silenced the infomercial. Another remote dimmed the lights above him. He rubbed his hair and ambled to the wide windows that overlooked the city.
Where hours before he’d seen only darkness, now pinpricks of light and color dotted the landscape. The sun struggled to break through the few remaining clouds, and Dillon realized with surprise that he’d slept almost nine straight hours. It looked as though the rain had let up, though wind still rattled the panes. He mentally thumbed down his list of clients, wondering how much damage each had seen and hoping repairs wouldn’t set him back too far.
Then he realized the other sound that had pulled him from sleep: his cell phone ringing. Where had he left it last night? He fished around the couch cushions, the pockets of his jeans, and the top of his entertainment center. Finally he found it under the ottoman. It beeped, indicating a missed call. Dillon slid his thumb to the voicemail button, but before he had a chance to play the message, the phone rang again.
He didn’t recognize the number that came up on the screen, but he answered it anyway.
“Yeah?”
“Dillon Murphy?”
“Who’s calling?” Only a few people had his private cell number, and he sure didn’t recognize this southern accent on the other end.
“Eden Fife. I’m a friend of Maggie Doyle’s…”
Dillon made it downstairs in less than ten minutes. Stopping only to brush his hair and teeth, he pulled on a t-shirt, found a pair of shorts, and stuffed his feet into Nikes that waited by the door. On his way out, he glanced into the mirror. He rubbed one hand over his chin and wished he had time to shave.
Dillon took the stairs two at a time and headed for his truck, taking in great gulps of the cool dawn air. Jesus, but the storm had signed its name everywhere he looked. Tree branches, overturned flowerpots, and piles of trash lay strewn around the manicured lawns. He dodged his neighbor’s patio umbrella and righted his own garbage cans before jumping into his pickup. With a quick glance over one
shoulder, he headed out of the complex, barely able to make sense of what Eden had told him on the phone. Her voice still burned in his ear, this friend of Mags’ who’d woken him out of a fitful sleep.
…your sister’s been in a car accident…
…came here to Boston looking for you…
…at the hospital right now…
The irony left Dilllon cold. Hadn’t he been thinking of Mags, remembering her, half of yesterday? Normally he didn’t believe in karma or any other psychic crap about everything happening for a reason, but what was he supposed to think? Had there been some vibe in the air, some hint along the skyline that his sister had arrived? Where else had all those memories come from?
He slammed on the brakes at the first intersection, where the traffic light blinked in lieu of its regular red-yellow-green pattern. A tired-looking cop stood in the center of the street, one palm out.
C’mon…Dillon smoothed both hands over his hair and tucked it behind his ears.
Questions buzzed at his lips. What the hell was Mags doing in the city after all this time? Looking for him? Why? Where had she been for the last five or six years? He tried to sift through the pieces of conversation. Eden hadn’t said much, just asked him to come to the hospital as soon as he could.
…they want a family member, to release information and take her home…
But he didn’t even know where home was for Mags, not anymore. And why him? Was he the only one she had left? What happened to Hillary? Guilt drifted over him, reminding him how long it had been since he’d called or written his stepmother. Things just got so busy, once the business took off. The last time he’d tried, a few months back, he found himself talking to a recorded voice that informed him the number had been disconnected.
As if she dropped off the earth, Dillon thought. Same as Mags. Angry with himself for letting them both go, he revved through the intersection and skidded across puddles. The last time his little sister came home from a hospital, she’d refused to see him or talk to him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen this time. This time, he had a chance to make it up to her. He had a chance to atone for whatever mistakes still remained chalked up in the loss column against him.
One Night in Boston Page 23