Five days had passed since the incident. Hollywood had outwardly returned to its routine, but those inside the business knew that this was an illusion. Harry and Sal had come down on the Academy with the force of their lawyers, threatening to pick the organization apart for making it possible for someone to bring a gun inside.
“How much do you want out of it?” Jon’s attorneys had asked him, but he had replied he did not give a damn about the money; he wanted Naomi healthy, and he wanted to make sure nothing like this ever happened again to anyone.
“Donate whatever you get to the hospital,” he told them. “They’ve earned it, they saved her life.”
Having her parents in the house was ordeal enough.
Olaf prowled the grounds like a suspicious wolf, examining every corner of the estate and the fence to the beach.
“Come with me,” Jon said after watching him a while, and took him upstairs to their bedroom. Olaf stood on the precious carpet and gazed at the lovely, tranquil surroundings, the fine furniture and the paintings on the walls, originals by Canadian painters he knew only too well, and the framed photographs on the shelves of her small family and her parents. On her dressing table, velvet cases with famous jewelers’ names imprinted on them, a couple of them open, as if she had toyed with the things before she left; crystal flacons of perfume, silver hairbrushes, and in the wardrobe a rainbow collection of evening gowns, shawls and furs, rows of expensive clothes and shoes. Even now, with Naomi in hospital, there was a large bouquet of fresh roses on the table, the cleaned and polished Oscar statuette next to it. The roof garden had become a lush paradise over the last few weeks, with oleander and jasmine, just like the garden below, comfortable furniture and even a broad daybed. It was the home of a cherished princess.
“This is Naomi’s private place,” Jon said quietly. “She loves this room, this patio, and she feels good here, Olaf. She likes this life, believe it or not. I did not take very good care of her when she lived here before, but this time I’m making sure there’s nothing missing, nothing she could possibly want for. Not in things, not in love, not attention or security.”
Olaf did not reply. He had seen the silver Rolls with the tinted windows and listened to Amparo, the housekeeper, who told him it was Naomi’s car, that she never went anywhere without at least one guard, and every trip she took was monitored and planned.
“I don’t know anything about the procedures in this weird society of yours here in Hollywood, and I don’t want to. Your life is a waste,” he stated sourly when he and Jon returned to the living room, where Lucia was waiting for them, ready to go to the hospital again.
Jon nearly lost his patience then. “My life,” he replied, “is what I’ve made of it. It’s obviously good enough for many, many people, and it has made me very wealthy and beloved by many. But in the end, it’s my job, and it does not make me into something other than human. I’m just another man, Olaf, and I love my wife and my son. Providing for them, looking after their well-being, that’s what I try to do as well as I possibly can.”
Olaf snorted.
“I don’t have time for this,” Jon said coldly. “I want to be back with my wife. If you wish, you may go on degrading me; I don’t care anymore. But you might keep in mind that you are insulting your daughter’s choice and questioning her decisions. You think she is good enough to head your business but too stupid to choose a husband for herself? That says a lot about you.”
He walked out without looking back. “I’m leaving. You can ask one of Naomi’s bodyguards to take you wherever you want in her car. I don’t think she would mind.”
Jon did not care at all that he had been as offensive as possible as he drove off by himself.
She knew this place. The meadow stretched down a gentle slope to a narrow beach, the tall grass and the wildflowers sending off the fragrance of summer, the memory of a hot day under the sun. The light of sunset was in the sky to the west, but above her head, stars already blinked in the black of night. Small waves toyed with debris, casting them on the sand and picking them up again with their next visit, replacing, burrowing, pushing.
One stone stood out, a fist-sized thing shaped vaguely like an egg, with turquoise veins shot through it. She picked it up and wiped in on the shirt she was wearing.
“Poor little stone,” she thought. “I’ll take you home with me.”
“Don’t move,” the man in the green scrubs said. “Wait. Stay calm, all is well. Breathe now. There.”
It felt as if he was pulling out her lungs, forcing a painful cough from her. Hands supported her and wiped her lips, held her when she retched miserably, weakly.
“It’s okay,” he said again. “You’re doing fine, just fine. Good morning, Mrs. Stone.”
She gazed up at him, puzzled and disoriented, unable to think or speak or move, but he patted her cheek and smiled.
“You had us worried, but I think you’re going to be just fine.”
His face vanished from her vision, but she felt his fingers on her pulse and checking the needles in her arm before his steps receded.
She was tired and thirsty, and filled with the certainty that somewhere terrible pain lurked.
“Naomi, love.”
That voice she knew. It was wonderful, warm and dark, intimately familiar, comforting.
Someone came and gave her some water. It felt incredibly good, cool and soothing, but they only let her drink a few sips before it was taken away again.
“Easy,” the nurse murmured, “Not too much or you will get sick. Your stomach needs to get used to it again.”
A hand touched hers, took hold of it ever so gently.
She wanted to hear that voice again and remember why it was so important to her, and she wanted to see the face that belonged to it, but moving was so difficult and she was exhausted.
“Baby, I’m right here. Don’t be afraid.”
Gentle fingers brushing her brow and face, trailing the line of her jaw and chin, a caress she knew well and took comfort from.
“Sleep,” she heard him say. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.”
Jon thought his heart was going to burst with the hot flush of relief when her grip tightened on his for an instant before she drifted off again with a small sigh.
The scent of coffee woke her. Her stomach churned with hunger at that smell.
She wanted some very badly, but before they would give her some she would have to open her eyes and make it clear she was conscious. Briefly, during the night, she had been awake. Jon had been sleeping in the chair by her side. Naomi had understood at last where she was, and with some careful fingering had found the bandage on her body, a longish strip of cotton covering an area about twenty inches in length on her right side. The real hurt, though, was deep inside her, knife stabs with every breath, accompanied by a nearly killing fatigue. Her limbs felt sore and her back cramped.
But worst of all was that she felt dirty, unwashed. Naomi hated the stickiness on her skin and the foul taste in her mouth, as if she had not cleaned her teeth in a week.
Since the tube had been removed she had not yet spoken at all. Her throat felt raw and full of mucus.
“Coffee,” she croaked, which resulted in a rather terrifying coughing spell. Someone came to hold her upright until it subsided. This made her feel better, as if her sluggish circulation responded to sitting up.
“Coffee?” the nurse repeated, “Not yet. But you can have some tea, if you like.”
Jon was standing at the foot of the bed, watching her anxiously, almost as if now that she was awake he was afraid to approach her. The doctor who came to check on her tried to send him away, but he only shook his head and waited for the verdict.
“Well,” it came, “You seem to be doing well. Your heart is still weaker than I’d like, but with time you will regain your strength.”
They were left alone after that.
Naomi was so very tired. She couldn’t remember ever having felt like this, so exhau
sted that every movement brought giddiness and a wave of nausea. Even lifting her hand seemed too much.
“It hurts.” She whispered.
This seemed to wake him from his trance. “Baby.”
“Stewart is dead,” Naomi said softly, “Right?”
Jon returned to the chair where he had spent the last five nights in vigil, praying for her life.
“Yes.” It was so good to hold her hand and feel her fingers curl around his after the many hours when they had lain cold and limp on the sheet. “You were attacked.”
Her face was pale and drawn, her lips dry and cracked, all the glossy beauty of the awards night gone, only the bare, stark outline of skin on bone left, a frail memory of who she really was.
“It is a terrible thing, I know.” It had to be said, but the words were not easy. “And it’s my fault, I know it’s my fault. But Baby, I tried to make so sure you would be safe, I never meant you to come to harm, you know that, Naomi. Please…”
From outside, they could hear the impatient voice of Olaf arguing with the nurse, demanding to be let inside. Naomi looked toward the door.
“We will talk about this later, Jon,” she said. “I’m so tired. How sick am I really? Tell me, before my father comes in. I don’t think I can bear him.”
Haltingly, he described her injuries to her, deeply upset when she began to sob softly and then turned her head away from him.
“Naomi, love, you will be well again in no time. Please trust me. I’ll do everything to take care of you, and I’ll take you home as soon as possible. We’ll hire a private nurse and make you comfortable in your own room. I’ll cancel the tour and we can stay home, or even return to Halmar. Hell, we don’t have to go anywhere else ever again if you want to retire. I’ll give up the music and stay with you. But please, Baby, don’t turn from me. You know you are more important to me than anything.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He leaned back, his heart breaking over her rejection.
“Your father wants you to return to Kleinburg with him.”
Even that he was willing to do if it would help her; he could let her go, in the hope that one day she might decide to return.
“If you want that, I’ll…I’ll…” He could not say it though.
“You never learn.”
Here it came, the verdict he dreaded more than everything else.
“You are so quick to give up on me.” Naomi looked at him again. “You would send me away just to ease your conscience, wouldn’t you?”
“No!” He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, shake that notion right out of her, but all he did was take her hand again and hold it tightly. “No, Naomi, giving up is the last thing on my mind! God! But what am I supposed to do? You were on the brink of death, you nearly died! I left you alone to go to that stupid talk show. I didn’t look out for you, and look what happened! I feel guilty as hell.”
“Atoning, again.” Her voice was so weak. “You are so good at atoning, Jon. And what if you were lying here now, so badly hurt? Do you think I would let you go? Do you think I would let you retreat and leave me alone?”
She had to smile at the way he perked up with those words.
“Take me home, you punk. Why did I spend all that money and effort on the roof garden if I can’t use it now?”
Before he could think of a reply, she had drifted off again, her hand in his.
Olaf was outraged, and this time he showed it without restraint.
“You do this on purpose. You think you can keep us away from her long enough to convince her not to go back home with us.”
Olaf could not see Lucia’s face, but Jon did. “Lucia,” he said quietly, but she raised her hand in resignation.
“She will listen to me,” Olaf went on. “And she will come back home with us, where she can heal and live in safety and peace. And you will drop out of her life without fuss. I’ll see to it that you’ll get your blood money back, but my daughter is history for you.”
Jon took a step back. “I have borne your attitude with good will and endured your slander without reacting to it for Naomi’s sake. But Olaf, I’m not willing to take any more of it. This is hard enough for all of us without fighting over her like two mad dogs. My priority is to see that my wife gets well again, and happy, and I’ll do everything to make sure of that.”
“You can’t make her happy. That’s the truth of it, the one she refuses to see and you are too stupid to accept. You are good enough for an affair, and for giving her a fatherless child, but not for a lasting marriage. You’re just not good enough.”
It was almost amusing. Jon could not recall anyone telling him anything similar during the past twenty-five years, and here he stood and had to take it from his father-in-law.
“I’m forty-five,” he replied, “and I’ve made a name for myself quite successfully. I’ve won the love of the most wonderful woman on earth, and just because you happen to be her father I’m not going to throw that away, Olaf.” He was about to turn away but then thought better of it. “If it costs me my life, I’m going to make this marriage last. I’m not going to have you try to turn my wife against me and then hide her in some obscure corner of the world again. It was not me who destroyed her life, it was you. I would have made it right for her if you had given me the chance to talk to her then.”
“And then what?” Olaf threw at him. “You would have seduced her again and she, stupid child that she is, would have followed you back to this hell hole here.”
The elevator door opened to reveal Sal and Solveigh.
“You call your own daughter a stupid child?” Jon asked, dark fury rising in him at the man’s attitude. “I’ve had it with your low opinion of me, but even more than that, I’ve had it with your attitude toward Naomi.” To Lucia, a lot gentler, Jon said, “I offered to let Naomi go with you to Toronto if she wanted some distance and peace from me and our life here. She refused.”
“He’s only afraid.” Lucia looked from one to the other, her hands clenched around her pursestrap.
“Aren’t we all?” Jon took Solveigh’s arm. “I’m going down to the cafeteria for a coffee. So now you have time to try to convince Naomi to go to Toronto with you. Good luck.”
Sal got them coffee, which Jon nursed uneasily, his mind in turmoil, his thoughts up there in the ICU.
“Can’t wrap my mind about it. I just can’t understand it.” Now that she was out of immediate danger and had not turned away from him, Jon found he could at last put his attention to what had actually happened.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Sal replied. “A woman’s jealousy became hate, and that hate got twisted into insanity. It’s not your fault, or anyone else’s. People get ditched all the time without killing their rivals. Actually, you were a lot more decent with her than with many others, Jon. I recall a number of girls being informed by instant message.”
“As if you haven’t done that yourself.” Jon cast a furtive, embarrassed glance at Solveigh.
“Sure I have. We don’t need the grand opera for every playmate.” He shrugged. “Come off it, Jon. The way she showed up in Halmar? That was stalking.”
Jon was not as sure as Sal. “You only call it stalking because it’s me we’re talking about. If it were someone else, you’d probably call it romantic and lovelorn.”
This was the part that had him so worried. Naomi would not see it as stalking. She would recognize the desperation and hurt in Sophie’s actions and feel guilty about her death. And Stewart’s.
“Conceited as always, Jon.”
They both looked at Solveigh full of surprise, but she only grinned mirthlessly. “That was not romantic behavior, that was sick. Traveling across continents and oceans to win back a lost love? That’s what I call manic.”
Jon leaned back in his chair, shocked by her words. “But I did that, Solveigh. That’s exactly what I did to get Naomi back. Am I a stalker, then, in your eyes? I would have done anything to find her.”
; Solveigh pushed the glass of milk in front of her away, eyeing their coffee enviously. “No, you’re not, and Naomi is not one whit better than you either, hiding away from the world and then sneaking out on her own to see your concert in London, Jon. You deserve each other. And richly. Maybe you should be put on a deserted island together and left there for all eternity so you can play out your drama to the hilt without involving half the world. But where would be the fun in that, right? No audience.”
Sal was aware of the fact that the restaurant was gradually filling, it being near lunchtime and people taking a break. Some were looking their way, and there was a certain amount of whispering, but no one had made their way over to their table.
“We should go,” he suggested. “We can continue this talk in private. This is a little too public.”
But the scene they found right outside the ICU was no less public and a lot more dramatic. Grace had arrived with Joshua, who had seen his mother briefly and was so relieved to find her awake and out of immediate danger that he finally allowed his pent-up fear and anger out, and it hit Olaf full blast.
“You are not going to take her away from us, Grandfather, you won’t!” he was yelling across the hallway. “It’s not Dad’s fault someone else was out to hurt Mom!”
“I mean well, Joshua, and I want to give you and your Mom back the peace you had all your life; before…before…” Olaf tried to reach out to him, but Joshua drew back and even swiped at his grandfather’s hand.
“But I want to be here. And I know that mom wants to be here, too. She is happy here. She likes it here.”
“And how would you know? You’re too young to realize what your mother really needs.”
Jon would have sworn there were tears in Olaf’s eyes.
“I know she goes through the house singing, and I know she is never sad or angry here. Even when she yells at me for some reason, her heart is never in it and the laughter comes right back. Mom was having so much fun, and we are a family! We belong together, even if things get rough!”
A lengthy, embarrassed silence followed his words.
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 35