by Robin Caroll
George grinned. "I know. Just like your mom drank it." He headed toward the main entrance of the hospital.
Maddox's muscles tensed involuntarily at the mention of his mother—the way she'd been alive. His memories of her had dimmed so much over the years. For a long time he could close his eyes and almost feel her around him. Catch a whiff of her distinct smell. Hear her whispering voice.
But not in a long time. It was hard for him to even conjure up her living face without looking at a photo. The image of how she looked as life left her was burned upon his memory forever.
And that scorched his heart with guilt and shame.
He stood and paced. This wasn't about his mother. This was about Pop. He glanced at the hallway. No sign of Margie or a doctor. What was taking so long? Shouldn't the cardiologist have come out and updated him by now?
The elderly lady looked up and offered him a half smile.
He smiled back.
"My husband's back there too. The nurse said she'd have a doctor come out to talk to me when he could."
"I'm waiting on the cardiologist to tell me about my dad." Why was he telling this to a perfect stranger? Must be the exhaustion and stress. He was a cop. Knew better than to offer information.
"What's your father's name?"
"Tyson." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Tyson Bishop." He sat back in his chair.
She smiled again. "I'll be praying for him."
God again.
He forced a smile for her, swallowing back his rant. Her husband was sick—she didn't need him to unload his anger on her. He balled his hands and stood again. Pacing helped keep him focused. Moving. Anything besides just waiting.
A man in scrubs and a white coat appeared from the hallway. "Mr. Bishop?"
Maddox nodded and hurried to meet him.
"I'm the cardiologist on staff."
"How's my father?"
"He's suffered a minor heart attack. EKG reflects he's probably had several small attacks."
"He never said anything." Maddox's heart tightened. How could Pop have kept this to himself?
"It's possible he wasn't aware. That's fairly common."
"Oh." Maybe he shouldn't jump to conclusions.
"His heart has sustained some damage. We won't know the extent until we run some more tests. I'm admitting him now, mainly for observation."
"Okay." Damage. Tests. Admitting.
"As soon as we get him transferred, a nurse will notify you."
"Can I see him?"
"Once he's in his room you can." The doctor offered his hand. "A nurse will come for you."
"Thank you."
The doctor left as quickly and quietly as he had appeared.
Maddox ambled toward the main entrance. He needed to find George and tell him what the doctor said.
Damage. Tests. Admitting.
His body began to shake.
FOR ONCE, LUCK WAS on her side. Unbelievable, especially for a Wednesday. Layla found a parking space just outside the hospital's emergency room entrance. She grabbed her scarf and wound it around her neck before securing her truck and heading into the automatic glass double doors. Early morning wind pushed against her, blowing her bangs into her eyes. Maybe she should've taken the time to pull her hair up.
She paused inside the entryway. Where would Ms. Betty be? Back in the room with Mr. James? Would they let Layla go back there?
A nurse behind a desk glanced at her. "May I help you?"
Layla approached. "I'm looking for a lady whose husband was brought in by ambulance. Last name of Page."
The nurse typed the name into her computer. "Mr. Page is still being evaluated. Anyone with him should be in the waiting room around the corner." She pointed to her left.
"Thank you." Layla shivered against the chill of the room and turned the corner. She immediately spied Ms. Betty alone in the stark white waiting room. The poor thing was in her pajamas and robe.
Layla quickly crossed the space and sat beside the elderly lady. "Hey, Ms. Betty. How're you holding up?"
"Oh, Layla. You're such a dear to come." Her face lit up like the morning's dawn after a weeklong storm.
"I came as soon as Alana called me. Have you heard anything about Mr. James?"
"Not yet. They haven't been out to talk to me yet." She smiled again. "I've just been praying."
"I have too." Layla shucked out of her coat and wrapped it around Ms. Betty's shoulders. She glanced over the room. Why didn't they put blankets out here for people during the winter? Or at least turn up the heat?
"Thank you, dear." She snuggled into the warm folds of the soft cashmere.
"Alana said he was having trouble breathing?"
Ms. Betty nodded. "He was fine last evening. Went by the church to look at the pipes for Pastor. James got home around four. We had supper at five, just like we always do, then watched the telly. We turned in just after the news. Same as always."
Layla patted her hands. The woman's hands were like ice. Layla unwound her scarf and laid it over Ms. Betty's lap.
"Thank you." She bunched the scarf around her palms before continuing. "His wheezing woke me up. I couldn't get him to talk to me. To open his eyes. And then I noticed the blood on his face."
"Blood?"
"His nose was bleeding." Ms. Betty pressed a shredded tissue against her nose. "I went and got him a handkerchief, and he finally woke up. But he couldn't talk. Couldn't catch his breath."
The poor woman must have been frightened out of her mind. Layla ached for both of them.
"We couldn't get his nose to stop bleeding either. We tried toilet paper. Rags. Pinching. It wouldn't stop, and his wheezing got worse. He couldn't breathe sitting on the side of the bed. So I called 911."
She wrapped an arm around the still-shivering woman.
"The medics said they didn't know what was wrong with him. Kept asking me if he was on breathing medicine. Asked if he had asthma. I told them James didn't have any of the like. He's healthy as a horse." She sniffed. "At least he was."
Sudden onset of symptoms just like Ms. Ethel's. Ice ran through Layla's veins. There was no way this was a coincidence. Something was happening to the people of Eternal Springs, and it wasn't good.
"They put him on oxygen at the house and loaded him up. I had to follow in my car because they said they didn't have room for me."
Someone's shoes squeaked on the floor in an adjacent hallway. The sound skidded down Layla's spine like a malfunctioning power drill. She shivered.
"I filled out all their paperwork, and now I wait."
Men's whispered voices were muffled around the corner.
"I'll stay with you." Layla's eyes filled with tears as she squeezed Ms. Betty's shoulders. "Would you like me to pray with you?"
Shoes screeched right in front of her.
"What are you doing here?"
FIFTEEN
"All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better."
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
LAYLA LOOKED UP AT his question. Her breath caught.
She removed her arm from around Ms. Betty and stood. "Maddox." She barely breathed his name. "I'm sitting with my friend while her husband is being checked out. What're you doing here?"
"My father." His voice cracked.
Her stomach tightened, remembering what it felt like to sit in the emergency room waiting area anticipating news of her father. She laid a hand on his arm. The touch sent her stomach into a downward spiral. "What's wrong with your father?"
"His heart."
Just like her father. Tears welled in her eyes at the memory. "I'm sorry. How is he?"
"They're admitting him."
"I've been praying for him," Ms. Betty announced.
Layla smiled at her friend, then looked back at him. "I'll pray for him as well."
She remembered the feelings she had when she'd been waiting—fear, pain, grief. Her heart went out to Maddox. "Do they think it's a heart attack?"
/> He nodded.
She tightened her grip on his arm, willing comfort to seep into him. "I'm so sorry, Maddox." She hated not to be able to say anything other than offer apologies. They'd always felt weak when people said they were sorry about her father.
An older man appeared at his shoulder. "Maddox?"
Maddox cleared his throat. "Layla Taylor, this is George Vella. Uncle George, Layla Taylor."
She removed her hand from his arm to shake hands with George. Maddox had called him uncle. Were they related? She couldn't detect a resemblance, but the man's smile was heartfelt.
"This is my dear friend Betty Page." She gestured to Ms. Betty.
Maddox bent to shake her hand, then George did.
George straightened and shot Maddox a look with tons of questions in his eyes. "How do you know Ms. Taylor?"
Even Layla didn't miss the implication. Heat flamed in her cheeks.
"A case Houston and I are working."
"Ah. I see." But it was clear he'd have more questions later for Maddox.
She was glad she wouldn't have to undergo the man's interrogation. He'd give Maddox a run for his money, she'd bet, but she hoped he'd be gentle. Waiting to hear news about your father when he'd had a heart attack was unbearable.
Layla knew. She'd been there. Done that. And the hole in her heart would never heal.
A doctor turned off the hallway into the waiting room. "Ms. Page?"
Layla helped Ms. Betty to stand, her own nerves bunching. "If you'll excuse us."
Lord, please don't let Mr. James die. Not like Ms. Ethel.
MADDOX SAT DOWN. GEORGE did as well, then twisted to face him. "So, what's the story with Ms. Taylor?"
"She's a person of interest in Houston's and my case." The response rolled automatically off his tongue. But if he was honest, he'd have to admit Layla undid the places he'd worked hard to keep hidden. How could a woman he barely knew have that kind of effect on him?
"Right." George lifted that single brow again.
"And she's also a recent victim of breaking and entering. Her office was trashed. Computers stolen."
"You don't handle break-ins."
"I do when the vic is involved in my murder case."
"Murder case." George scratched at his thinning hair. "As a possible witness or a different kind of involvement?"
"Not sure yet." Maddox glanced over to where Layla kept her arm around Mrs. Page. "We're working on it."
"Working on something else as well?"
Maddox dragged his attention from Layla to George. "What do you mean?"
"I see the way she looks at you and the way you look at her. Something's there between you two. Under the surface but there."
Maddox shook his head. "It's your imagination, old man." He gave George a friendly nudge.
"I'm serious, son. Don't let the opportunity pass you by. Trust me, as one speaking from experience, I can tell you that regret is a hard pill to take every day for the rest of your life."
Maddox had never heard anything about George's love life. Funny thing—he'd loved George all his life but never wondered about aspects of George's private life outside of how they related to him. Even as a man, Maddox had never asked. He knew the basics of George's hobbies: hunting, fishing, and wood carving. He knew some of George's darkest secrets: He was a recovering alcoholic but had been dry for almost ten years, as well as once having a very hot temper. But he'd never heard George talk about a lady. Ever.
George's eyes filled with remorse. "Take it from me, son . . . you don't want to let the opportunity to find love pass you by because you're too stubborn or stupid."
"You let love pass you by?"
"I didn't tell someone I loved her. Until it was too late." Moisture pooled in George's eyes.
That really caused Maddox to start. He hadn't seen George cry since his mother's funeral. "I didn't know."
George pawed at his reddening face and dropped his head. "Well, I want you to learn from my mistake. I've regretted not telling her I loved her as soon as I felt it."
"If you don't mind my asking . . . what happened?"
Lifting his head, George stared at the stark white wall across the room. "She ended up falling in love with someone else. Got married. Had kids."
Man, that had to hurt. "That bites."
George nodded. "I accepted it and moved on." He slapped his leg. "Enough of my regrets. Just remember what I said. Life and love are precious and rarely do you get a second chance. Grab the opportunities when you can. At least you won't live the rest of your life with what-ifs."
The doctor left. Layla turned Mrs. Page around and helped her to the ladies' room.
"Don't forget," George whispered.
Layla returned to her seat and kept her gaze glued to the restroom door. "They're admitting him to ICU."
"ICU?"
Layla nodded and leaned forward, lowering her tone. "They don't know what's causing his breathing to be so labored or his nosebleeds. This is the second elderly friend who's come into the hospital in the past two days with these symptoms."
"Has your other friend been diagnosed? Maybe it's the same thing."
"I'm sure it is. But my other friend died." Layla shook her head.
Died? Same symptoms. Both elderly. The detective in Maddox jumped to full attention. Maybe he should talk to Margie about Mr. Page.
LAYLA CHECKED HER TEXT message and nodded to Ms. Betty. "Jade's here to run you home to get into some clothes while they're moving Mr. James. The doctor said it'd take them the better part of an hour, so you have plenty of time. I'll wait here." Layla couldn't stand to not do anything. While she couldn't do anything for Mr. James, she could make this as easy as possible on Ms. Betty.
Especially if Mr. James . . . No, she wouldn't even think it. God, please. Not Mr. James too. Losing him would kill Ms. Betty.
"Are you sure you don't mind staying, honey?"
"Of course. You take my coat. I'll be fine. I'll wait right here."
Ms. Betty stood and let Layla help her slip on the coat. She loosely wound the scarf around Ms. Betty's sagging neck.
"You're such a dear. I'll be back in a flash." Ms. Betty shuffled toward the exit.
"Where's she going?" Maddox moved to the seat next to her.
"Jade Laurent is here to drive Ms. Betty home to get some decent clothes." Layla's gaze followed Ms. Betty out the automatic doors. "Bless her heart, she didn't even bother to get dressed before she followed the ambulance here."
"So tell me more about these mysterious symptoms."
His tone caused her to jerk her gaze to Maddox's face. Why was he prying? Did he really care, or was he digging for something?
His face reflected genuine interest. His uncle's did as well.
Maybe they needed something to keep their minds off of Maddox's father. She could understand that—she had. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he could be facing heartbreak. If she could help, even in some small way . . .
"It's strange. Ms. Ethel came in with shortness of breath. Well, she could hardly breathe. And her nose wouldn't stop bleeding." Chills skittered down her spine, and she rubbed her arms. "From what Ms. Betty says, Mr. James's symptoms are the same."
"Was she younger?"
Layla didn't really know. Not for sure. But there couldn't be too much of a difference. "Maybe by a few years. Not more than five."
"Do they live at the same nursing home or apartment maybe?"
"No. Ms. Ethel lived at her apartment. Mr. James and Ms. Betty have their house."
"In Eternal Springs?"
"Yes."
"Guess they don't work at the same place?"
She chuckled. At least he was trying to make a connection. And his mind was off his father for the moment. "Nope. Mr. James drives a van and does light janitorial work. Ms. Ethel is retired."
He rubbed his chin covered with black stubble. "How do you know both of them?"
"We go to the same church."
He
sat forward to the edge of his chair. "Both of them?"
She nodded, her pulse jumping. Was this the connection?
"What church?"
"Eternal Springs Christian Church."
George Vella gasped.
Maddox twisted and looked at his uncle. "What?"
"That's the church your father recently started attending."
Layla's heart hiccupped.
"Why would Pop go there?"
George shrugged. "Close enough to Westlake. He met a couple of people who attended that invited him. He likes it."
Maddox turned back to Layla. "Do you know my father?"
"Who is he?"
"Tyson. Tyson Bishop."
His image flitted across her memory. She locked stares with Maddox. How could she not have noticed the resemblance before? "I met him a month or so ago at a covered dinner. Very nice man."
The muscle in Maddox's jaw flinched.
As the realization hit, trembles shuddered through her. She leaned forward and grabbed Maddox's hand. "Are they sure it's his heart? Is he having breathing problems? A nosebleed?"
Maddox looked to his uncle.
"No nosebleed and he was breathing fine," George said.
So that wasn't the connection. Disappointment fanned but she pushed it down. Then she realized she was still holding Maddox's hand. She jerked hers back into her lap. Heat spread across her face.
George cleared his throat and stood. "I'm going to find something cold to drink." He threw Maddox a look she couldn't understand. Apparently Maddox did because he shifted and the tips of his ears turned red as George headed to the hospital's main entrance.
"It was a good thought. About the church connection." Maddox smiled, as if he'd read her mind. "Good detective instincts."
The heat moved all the way to her feet. "I just feel so helpless."
The smile slid off his face. "I know what you mean."
"You? Big, bad detective?" She grinned.
"Yeah, me." He spread his hands, then jabbed his fingers through his hair. "I can't do anything for Pop."
"You can pray."
He finally made eye contact again. "Well, that's not really my thing."
"Really?" Every nerve in her body tingled. "Why not?"