Max 2 - A Love Remembered

by Annette Broadrick

  "Here." Her voice, although as low and vibrant as ever, had a distinctly schoolmarmish tone. He forced his eyes open. Gone was the blue-gowned nymph he had seen earher. In her place stood a young woman dressed in a lightweight pink sweater and well-worn jeans. A single thick braid was draped over one shoulder. She held out a glass to him, and two white tablets.

  He had no trouble remembering her doing this sometime during the night. He looked at the tablets with suspicion.

  "Go on, take them. They'll help your headache."

  "They knock me out," he pointed out.

  "Not really. What they do is ease the pain and you relax, which causes you to sleep better."

  "From the looks of things, I seem to be the one who slept for a hundred years."

  "What are you talking about?"

  He forced himself to sit up. ''I need to know what's going on. I need some answers."

  ''There's nothing you can do at the moment, anyway, Tim," she pointed out. ''You should rest and give your head time to heal. Perhaps then you'll be able to think a little more clearly."

  "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one with a memory problem."

  "Yes, I know. At the moment I remember a great deal more than I wish I did!"

  Reluctantly he reached out and took the tablets and the glass of water from her.

  "What do you mean by that remark?"

  She shook her head.

  Tim knew that whether or not he liked the idea, he needed relief from the pain that seemed to be steadily growing in his head. Although he needed answers, at the moment he wouldn't be able to do much with them. After swallowing the tablets he drained the glass and handed it to her.

  "Is your grandfather here?"

  Her calm expression wavered as a flash of pain swept over her face. "No."

  "Where is he?"

  "He's in the hospital."

  "My God! What's wrong with him?"

  She shook her head, looking through the windows without speaking. She swallowed as though she found the simple action difficult. Tim caught a brief sign of moisture in the corner of her eye, but when she turned and faced him, her expression was calm once more.

  "He's dying."

  Chapter 2

  "Dying? What happened?"

  Elisabeth moved away from the side of the bed, starting down the steps of the platform. ''His heart is tired."

  Tim lowered himself to his pillow once again. Charlie Barringer dying? It didn't seem possible. Charlie had always appeared to be ageless, his strength and stamina such an integral part of him that Tim couldn't imagine Charlie ever succumbing to old age.

  "Is that why he wrote me?"

  Elisabeth continued across the room toward the door. "Among other things." She didn't sound pleased with whatever other things might have caused her grandfather to write.

  "I need to see him," Tim muttered.

  "You're in no shape to go anywhere," she replied in a reasonable tone of voice that Tim found more than a little irritating. He hated it when someone pointed out the obvious to him.

  What wasn't obvious was why he was sleeping with her. What wasn't obvious was the reason Charlie had written to him. What wasn't obvious was how he'd come to be recovering from a concussion.

  He noticed that she wasn't rushing to answer any of those questions.

  Tim could feel the soothing relief from pain reaching into his head like cool fingers caressing the ache away. He had no choice but to allow the blissful fog of oblivion to overtake him one more time.

  But he would have his answers. Oh, yes, indeed. He was used to being in control... of his life and his environment. He liked having his own way.

  No doubt that was why he had never married. Marriage was made up of compromise. He'd been on his own for too many years. Besides, he had never met any woman who had tempted him to consider settling down... no one at all.

  He carried the steady green-eyed gaze of the woman who had shared his bed into sleep with him.

  From the position of the sun when he awakened, he knew several hours had passed. However, his head felt considerably more clear and Tim's first thought was of Charlie. He had to see him. Somehow he knew that Charlie was the key to at least some of the mystery that surrounded Tim at the moment.

  With grim determination Tim crawled out of bed, descending the ridiculous steps and searching for the bathroom. After a long, hot shower he felt even better. The only thing that unnerved him was to find his shaving gear in the bathroom cabinet. He had certainly made himself at home, he decided, cringing at the thought. Whatever could he have been thinking of?

  After shaving he returned to the bedroom, looking for his clothes. As soon as he opened the closet door he spotted one of his shirts hanging there. He shook his head and reached for it. A pair of his slacks hung nearby.

  Glancing around, he spotted a chest of drawers and decided to see if he would find any of his socks and underwear. Why wasn't he more surprised to discover both in the second drawer?

  Somehow he had a hunch that his moving in with Charlie's granddaughter had not been Charlie's idea, and Tim had trouble believing he, himself, would have suggested it.

  That left the princess.

  As soon as he was dressed Tim opened the door that led into the hallway. Spotting the top of the stairs, he headed toward them. By the time he was halfway down he saw a familiar face—Charlie's housekeeper.

  ''Hello, Mrs. Brodie." He paused at the bottom of the stairs.

  The short, middle-aged woman had been crossing the wide foyer when he spoke, and she glanced up, obviously surprised at the unexpected voice.

  ''Mr. Walker! You shouldn't be out of bed!"

  Wonderful. Did everyone know where he'd been sleeping?

  "I'm feeling much better, actually. I was hoping I could find something to eat."

  Her face lit up. "Now, that I can help you with. I have everything ready on a tray for you. If you'd like to follow me into the kitchen."

  He dropped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "With your skill in the kitchen, my dear lady, I would follow you anywhere."

  She laughed, her cheeks glowing a fiery hue.

  ''Where's Elisabeth?" he asked, watching her bustling around heating something in the microwave and pouring him a cup of coffee.

  ''She's at the hospital. She hoped to get back before you woke up."

  "Is there any word on Charlie's condition?"

  Mrs. Brodie motioned for him to have a seat, and he followed her silent instructions. "At the moment the doctors say he's holding his own." She shook her head. "There's just so little they can do for him."

  "Elisabeth said it's his heart."

  "Yes. It's just a question of time, I'm afraid."

  "How long has he been in the hospital?"

  "But don't you remember? You arrived a few days after he was admitted."

  Tim shook his head. "I'm afraid not. That knock on the head seems to have completely wiped away my recent memories."

  Her eyes rounded. "You don't say!"

  "Yes. Unfortunately."

  "Does Elisabeth know?''

  "I suppose." He remembered their early morning discussion. "Yes, I'm sure she does."

  ''Oh, that's awful, really awful. Do you think the doctors will be able to do something for you?"

  "I don't think anyone will be able to do anything about it. Head injuries are tricky. I've been around more of them than I would have liked. Fortunately, even those that have caused amnesia have generally not been permanent."

  Tim was pleased to hear himself sound so casual, so unconcerned. He only wished he believed all that he was saying.

  There was no guarantee that his memory would return. None whatsoever. Even if there was, he didn't want to sit around and wait for it to happen. Patience had never been one of his virtues. He wanted some answers. He wanted them now.

  As soon as he finished eating, he announced, ''I'm going in to town to see Charlie."

  Mrs. Brodie had been busy chopping v
egetables and preparing a roast for dinner. She glanced up at him in surprise. ''Oh, but, Mr. Walker, do you think you should be doing so much?"

  "It won't hurt me. I feel much better than I did when I first woke up this morning."

  Tim left the kitchen and let himself out the front door, glad he had worn his sport jacket. Even in May, the late afternoon felt cool to him, and he knew the night would be even cooler.

  Okay, so perhaps he was rushing things a little. He had to admit that he had feh considerably better at other times in his life than he did right then, but he wasn't going to curl up into a fetal position and suck his thumb. Maybe later, he decided with a grin, climbing into his car.

  Strange that he couldn't remember driving here, although he'd visited Charlie at the house several times. He knew his way into town without thought. He watched for the sign along the highway that signaled the correct exit for the local hospital.

  The last hospital he'd been in was in St. Louis when his friend Gregory Duncan had been recuperating from a gunshot wound. That had been several years ago, right after Greg and Brandi were married.

  That was one relationship that gave Tim reason to believe that with some people, marriage was the best thing that could happen. He had known both of them for years before they had met each other. He felt a special closeness with each of them. As for their children, he couldn't feel closer to his own than he did to the Duncan tots.

  He loved those kids, partly because he knew they were the closest he would ever come to having a family of his own. He had accepted that idea years ago. In his business there was no way a man could plan a future of any sort.

  He followed the street signs to the hospital and pulled into the designated parking area. Tim wondered if Elisabeth would still be there or whether they had passed on the highway. He had no idea what sort of car she drove.

  He knew nothing about her, but for some reason he couldn't keep his mind off her.

  After stopping at the front desk to find out Charlie's room number, Tim followed the arrows until he saw the door, which was ajar. He pushed on it until he could step inside the room.

  Elisabeth stood beside the hospital bed, her hand engulfed by the larger one of the man who was lying propped up in the bed. He was a big man, with a mane of white hair and bushy white brows that he could use to good advantage when he felt it necessary to intimidate someone. He turned his head at the sound of the door opening, a look of surprise on his face.

  Tim felt the shock of seeing Charlie. His color was poor, his cheeks appeared sunken, but his eyes still glittered with sharp intelligence. No one had to tell Tim how Charlie was doing. Not now.

  "What the hell are you doing here, boy? You're supposed to be in bed.''

  "Says who?" Tim's mild manner hid his concern.

  "The doctors, that's who!" Although the delivery was in keeping with the man Tim knew, his voice was weak.

  "Do you do everything the doctors tell you?" Tim asked with amused interest.

  "We're not talking about me."

  Tim glanced over at Elisabeth and noticed that she would not meet his eyes. He wondered why. Could it be that she was afraid he might tell Charlie where he had spent the night?

  ''Good evening, Elisabeth," he said, smiling politely.

  She glanced at Charlie, then looked slightly past Tim.

  ''Good evening."

  "Elisabeth tells me you're suffering from a memory lapse," Charlie said after a rather awkward silence.

  Tim shrugged. "I'm afraid so.''

  "You don't have any idea what you're doing here in Cripple Creek, then, do you?"

  "Not a clue. I was hoping you could fill me in. I have a hunch it has something to do with a letter you wrote."

  ''Ah. So you remember that."

  Tim shook his head. "Elisabeth mentioned it. Unfortunately, I can't recall it at all."

  "I see," the older man said, looking at the woman who still held his hand.

  She met his gaze with a level one of her own, but Tim noticed that her chin was raised and her jaw was tense.

  Charlie looked at Tim. "I suppose it's only natural that you might have some questions."

  Elisabeth spoke up. "But you aren't the one to give him the answers. Granddad. You need your rest."

  "Nonsense. I've got all of eternity waiting with nothing to do but rest. I'm not going to my grave without trying to take care of this situation."

  Elisabeth looked at him. "If you would just follow the doctors' directions, you'd probably be able to go home in a few days."

  "Like hell," the old man muttered.

  "Elisabeth's right, Charlie. Why don't you try to rest? I can come back tomorrow. We'll visit then."

  "You're here now. I may not be here tomorrow." Charlie patted Elisabeth's hand. "I want you to go home now, honey. You've been here all afternoon. Tim and I need to talk.''

  "But, Granddad—"

  "Don't argue with me. You know it will just upset me."

  She choked on a laugh. ''You're disgraceful, you know that, don't you? Using your health as a weapon against me."

  "Never against you, love. Just using whatever tools I have at my disposal to get my own way. What's wrong with that?"

  Elisabeth shook her head, knowing she was defeated. She looked at Tim with a silent plea, meeting his gaze for the first time since he'd walked in.

  Tim found himself reassuring her. "I'll only stay a few minutes."

  She leaned over and kissed Charlie's cheek. "I love you. Granddad."

  "I love you, too, darlin'. Never forget that. Everything I've done has always been with your best interests in mind."

  "I know that. It's just that you and I have different ideas about what my best interests are."

  "I know it's not going to be easy for you, girl. I wish I could be there to make it easier. I've done everything I can."

  Elisabeth blinked away the moisture that seemed to fill her eyes. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you in the morning."

  She turned away and walked out of the room without looking at Tim.

  He watched the man on the bed carefully, wondering if he should, in fact, postpone their discussion.

  ''See this little box?" Charlie asked, pointing to what looked like a small tape recorder on his chest. ''Know what it is?''

  Tim shook his head.

  "It's hooked up to the nurses' station down the hall. If my heart starts doing the two-step, or do-si-doin' around, they all come running—doctors, nurses—you never saw such a crowd."

  "I'm sorry about your health, Charlie. You've had me convinced that nothing would ever stop you."

  Charlie's smile was amused. "Yeah, well. Things happen. And life has to go on. I can't really complain. I've always enjoyed life. I've been determined to live it to the fullest. I don't have regrets. Just remember that, son." He paused, his gaze slowly taking in the room. "I insisted they leave me here because I know that my old ticker isn't going to work much longer. I didn't want Elisabeth wearing herself out looking after me."

  "From what I've observed since I woke up this morning, she's been too busy looking after me."

  Charlie grinned. "And you don't have any idea why. She's been mighty upset over that, let me tell you."

  "Because I can't remember anything?"

  "Partly. Partly because she didn't care about all the arrangements you and I have made these past few weeks. The only way I could get her to agree to them was to play on her sympathy."

  There was so much said that Tim didn't understand, that he didn't know where to start. ''I've been here weeks?"

  "Something like a month, maybe."

  It was worse than he thought. How could a whole month be missing from his life, possibly more? "You'd better fill me in, Charlie."

  "Yes. It feels a little strange, going through all of it with you once more. It was tough enough the first time. Sometimes I wonder why God ever intended us to have family."

  "You mean Elisabeth?"

  ''Hell, no, I don't mean Elisabe
th. She's the only thing that's been worth anything to me. Has been for years."

  "How come you never told me about her?"

  Charlie sighed. "Don't really know, Tim. For one thing, she's only moved in with me these last couple of years, and you and I have been out of touch lately." He frowned. "Besides, I have to admit that I've been ashamed of the way she's been treated by all of us... like some orphaned stepchild."

  Tim didn't want to interrupt Charlie, but he hated to see him wear himself out. And Tim needed some answers.

  "Why did you write me, Charlie?"

  The older man's eyes closed for a moment, as though gathering strength. "I wrote when I got the verdict about my heart. I managed to pull through a massive heart attack, but there's not much they can do for me without surgery. And I'm too old for surgery.

  Hell, I'll be eighty-two if I live to see my next birthday."

  Tim shook his head. "I had no idea. I thought you were in your sixties."

  ''Humph. I've got grandsons pushing forty— Jason's thirty-eight and Marcus is a couple of years younger. Elisabeth's brothers," he muttered with evident distaste.

  ''She doesn't look that old."

  "Of course she doesn't. She's not quite thirty. And she's nothing like them, thank God. Maybe that's because they have different mothers."

  "I see."

  "The hell you do. I know I'm not making much sense. My son, Chuck, never got around to divorcing his first wife before he moved in with Elisabeth's mother. He was killed overseas before he ever knew she was pregnant with Elisabeth. I never met Cathy. I have a feeling I would have enjoyed her. I always hoped that she made the last couple years of Chuck's life happy."

  Tim had heard the story of Charlie's only child, had sat with him one night as he'd relived the loss of his son, but had never discussed the children the son had left behind.

  "How did you find out about Elisabeth?"

  "Her mother had left a letter with her lawyer, to be mailed to me only in the event something happened to her before Elisabeth was grown. So I didn't meet Elisabeth until she was a teenager. But I knew she was mine. There was no denying her. She's the feminine version of Chuck, all right, right down to her damned stubbornness and her willfulness."