John slowly pulled his spoon from his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then asked, "Are you moving away?"
"No…I don't know. I just need to get out of that department. I don't really like it there anymore. Haven't for years."
John noticed that the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes looked a little deeper, the bags under her eyes a little darker, or maybe it was just the shadows in the kitchen.
"So why have you stayed for so long?" John said.
Megan looked away and shrugged.
"That's a big deal isn't it…getting a transfer?"
"Kinda, I guess. It probably won't be soon. I have to get approvals. Nothing happens fast."
"Will we stay in touch?" asked John.
There was care in the question, in the way he'd asked. He didn't ask in an offhand way as if he was just being polite. He honestly wanted to know if he would still see her after her transfer. Speak to her. Make love to her. As he stared at her, he saw her eyes well up. John rose and came around the table and, as he stood next to her, he had thrown his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She put her arms around his waist and held on tight, letting the tears flow.
***
She'd started the morning ready to chew him out for talking with the moms, and now she was locked tightly in his arms. She was falling hard for him. She thought of the question he'd just asked her about staying in touch, lifted her head to look up at his face, and said, "I want to take you to meet someone." He let go of his grip on her, then wiped her cheeks with his thumb.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"You'll see."
He just smiled his stroke-smile, nodded, and grabbed her spoon and began eating from her cereal bowl. Megan rested her chin on his arm, watching him eat, and thought to herself that if she could, she'd never leave his side.
CHAPTER 39
Megan and John stood in the lobby of the Perkins Convalescent Home. They were there to meet someone…family was all Megan would say. Orange plastic chairs lined each wall, separated by small end tables with Time, Vogue, and AARP magazines splayed across them. Cheap landscape paintings, featuring herds of wild stallions running across flat, amber plains, hung on the walls. The building was more than fifty years old and looked it. They each took a seat.
"I found this place four years ago. Cheapest one I could find. Eighteen hundred a month," Megan said. "Anna was falling down more often. Had to find someplace for her."
John stared across the lobby at a young family gathered in the far corner, next to the sliding glass door that led to the courtyard. They were visiting Grandpa, who had his hands full with his two young grandsons, who were both jumping up and down in his lap, showing off their toy cars. Grandpa seemed to be enjoying himself; a big life-is-wonderful smile on his otherwise deeply lined, craggy face. But his daughter, seemingly worried for her ailing father, eventually grabbed the two boys and banned them to the carpet. Not more than ten seconds later, the older of the two boys shot his toy car, a miniature Corvette, across the lobby floor where it slammed into John's shoe. John looked down at the car. The air in his lungs froze. His breathing slowed, and all sound evaporated.
Megan expected to see John reach down for the car, but when she realized what was happening, she moved to pick up the car and quickly handed it to the young boy, who had already crossed the room to retrieve it, but was too shy to close the last few feet. He stood there a moment studying John, who was staring back at him, his face expressionless. The boy stood about three feet tall, blond hair and blue eyes. He finally turned and scampered back when his younger brother called to him.
Megan kept her eyes on John, half expecting to see him crumble to the floor. But he didn't. He was looking past her with a thousand-mile stare. She turned her gaze back to the boys, who were taking turns slamming their cars into each other, making the crashing sounds that are innately built into the vocal chords of all young boys. Over and over they slammed their cars together, and with each crash she felt John's body tense.
"Hey," Megan said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Huh," John said.
"You okay?"
John blinked as if he were waking from a deep sleep and unsure of his surroundings.
"Yeah. Fine," he said.
"Where were you?"
John took a deep breath and shook his head, giving her a slight smile. He turned back, probably to look at the boys again, but they were walking away, trailing Mom and Dad, who were pushing Grandpa in his wheelchair down the hallway, back to his room.
***
"Who's your boyfriend, and what happened to his face?" Anna Ash said, staring at John in her bedroom doorway. She was sitting in an upholstered rocking chair, her cup of tea sitting on a white doily on the nightstand next to her. She was seventy-nine and looked every bit of it.
"Anna, this is Dr. John Randall," Megan said.
Anna sized up John and said, "I don't need any more doctors."
John stepped around Megan and approached with his hand extended. "Nice to meet you, Anna."
Anna took John's hand and said again, "What happened to your face?"
It was Megan's turn to step forward. "Let's not worry about that. How have you been?"
"I can never get these people to bring me any more blankets."
This was a common complaint that Megan heard with each visit. At first she complained to the staff. They quickly reassured her that Anna had been given all the blankets she could ever need, but then she would call them back and complain that she had too many blankets, and ask to have the extra blankets removed.
"I'll talk to them on my way out," she said, patting Anna's hand.
"So when are you and Russell getting married?" John looked from Anna to Megan as if wondering who Russell was.
"Oh, we haven't set a date yet," Megan said, motioning for John to grab the foldout chair leaning in the corner. He opened the chair and sat across from them both.
"Well, don't wait too long. He's a catch and if you don't take him, some other girl will. I would rather it be you."
"Don't worry, Anna," Megan said. "I have no plans of letting Russell go."
"Good. He tells me he loves you…says you're the best thing that ever happened to him."
Megan smiled upon hearing the familiar words. Like a script reading. The same play. The same players.
"I know," she said. "He tells me the same thing." She turned and winked at John. John smiled back, his bandage crinkling as his cheek stretched. She knew he'd had patients with Alzheimer's over the course of his career, so he knew the drill.
"And who's this?" said Anna, staring at John again.
John stood. "Hi. I'm John. I'm a friend of Megan and Russell's." He extended his hand and Anna took it. Caught by his perfect response, Megan found one more reason to love the man.
"Nice to meet you, John," said Anna. John sat back down.
"How are you feeling today, Anna?" Megan asked. This was more than just a simple inquiry. Anna was diabetic and needed insulin shots throughout the day. The doctors told her during her last visit that the circulation in Anna's legs was getting worse and warned that they may have to amputate at some point. Megan didn't know how she would handle explaining the loss of two legs, and worried every time she visited.
"I feel fine…but I am a little tired."
And as if on cue, her attendant, a friendly old Irish woman named Katherine, stepped into the open doorway and said in her thick Irish accent, "Well, Anna, I'm sorry to end the party but it's time for your bath."
"Well, we won't keep you," Megan said as she stood. John stood and folded the chair and set it back in the corner. Megan bent down to kiss Anna on the cheek.
"I'll see you next week. Okay?"
"Okay. When is Russell coming to see me?"
"I'll make sure to bring him with me next time."
"He's a police officer, you know."
"I know," Megan said. "Bye, Anna. I love you."
Megan turned to join John, who waved and said, "Good-bye, Anna,
it was a pleasure to meet you."
They stepped into the hallway as Katherine stepped inside the room. Once they reached the lobby, Megan excused herself telling John she wanted to speak with the house manager. John picked up a Readers’s Digest as she walked away. A few moments later Megan returned.
"Everything all right?" asked John as he stood and tossed the Digest back onto the table.
"Yes, I wanted to make sure Anna was still getting her medications," she lied. She grabbed John's hand, walked with him to the front door, and stepped out into the cold blustery air.
"So…" John said.
"So?" Megan replied.
"Is Russell a figment of Anna's imagination, because I hear he loves you?"
Megan gripped his hand tightly and said, "Don't you know, everyone loves me." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed John. He pulled her close and they kept the kiss going, finally parting and closing their arms around each other as they reached the front stairs. Within seconds of stepping down the stairs, Megan felt the first sprinkle of rain on her forehead. A wave of tension swept through her, a sudden haunting feeling that told her she might soon be staring into another young girl's dead eyes.
CHAPTER 40
Bell stood beside Megan's empty desk, his head swiveling from side to side, searching the room.
"You seen her yet?" he asked.
Andy, sitting at his desk behind Megan's, shook his head, "Not yet."
He didn't wait for Bell to ask a follow-up question, but instead grabbed a file on his desk and then the computer mouse as if he were looking up some vital piece of information that just couldn't wait. In reality, Andy didn't want another "Megan conversation" with Bell. He shouldn't be surprised every time she didn't make it in for the briefing. As far as Andy could tell, it was situation normal. She'd eventually show up. She'd do her work. They went out on calls and took interviews with witnesses. It's not like she was AWOL and wasn't going to return. For as long as it had been going on, it was strange that Bell acted as if it were the first time…every time it happened. Andy had seen Megan get chastised by Bell. Each time she had a seemingly valid excuse and things were soon back to normal. This was the only homicide division Andy had ever worked. He didn't know how other homicide divisions in other police departments would handle a detective like Megan, but he didn't sweat it. Then again, he wasn't running the show and responsible for the team like Bell. So, when it came to Megan, Andy would have to play by Bell's rules and hope that Megan would soon get her act together.
Andy watched from the corner of his eye as Bell bent down and scanned the files on her desk, using the tip of his pen to slide the files and pages to one side, as he would at a crime scene. He swung around, walked back into his office, and slumped into his black vinyl swivel chair. Andy took one last look at Megan's empty desk before getting back to work.
CHAPTER 41
Megan had dropped him off at his house, kissed him deeply, then wished him a great day, and sped off to work. John watched her go from his porch, then ran through the rain back out to his car and drove to Greenwood Memorial, where he was now waiting. He paced back and forth next to his parked car as he watched for Nurse Carrie to exit the rear employee door of Greenwood Memorial.
How many times had he stood in this same parking lot, thinking about his life and where he and Paulette would end up? He’d wondered about Carrie too. As familiar as it all was, he knew that he wouldn't have either of those thoughts anymore. He knew Carrie worked the day shift. He spent the time watching the parking lot and waiting, noting a couple doctors and other staff he'd recognized walking in and out over the course of the hour. He didn't mind sitting and waiting. He'd already walked over to Carrie's car earlier to peer inside the window. The same zebra print steering wheel cover. The same women's health magazines in the backseat. The same coffee cup in the holder. It felt as if no time had passed.
When Carrie finally stepped out the door, she was wearing a long, gray, brushed-wool overcoat under which was a white nurse's coat. She was digging through her handbag—probably searching for her keys. She was nearly upon him when she finally pulled them out.
"Hello, Carrie," John said.
Carrie dropped her keys to the ground.
"Oh my God, John. You scared me," Carrie said, as she bent down to pick up the keys.
John stepped forward in an attempt to help, but thought better of it. She rose and took a couple steps back, as if coming too close might cause something bad to happen…again.
"Sorry If I scared you," John said.
A dark Humvee zoomed behind them. John recognized Dr. William Keating behind the wheel. He was a damn good surgeon and a damn good poker player. John knew from experience. What started out as a friendly game two years ago turned into a shouting match. The two of them never spoke again—other than professionally. John turned back to Carrie.
"How are you?" John said.
Carrie nodded and answered, "Okay, I guess. You?"
"Hanging in there."
They stared at each other for a brief moment. Carrie broke the silence.
"Danny says you'll be seeing Dr. Samuelson?"
"In the next few days," John said, his eyes darted to his right then returned to look at Carrie. "I…wanted to apologize for putting you though that."
"You don't have to—" Carrie said.
"Yes, I do," John said, cutting her off. "I shouldn't have put you through that. I could have gone home and taken care of it."
"Right, stitch up your cheek in the mirror half drunk."
John smiled, which made her smile. Carrie stepped forward and put her arms around John. He stiffened before allowing himself to accept her hug, but then reciprocated with a strong hug of his own. It felt good. It felt warm and right. She was a friend. A good friend. And she had helped him that night, took care of the bleeding, and stitched up his face. She stayed with him until Danny arrived. He also knew she was the one who called the police, but knew she had to do it. Megan suddenly entered his mind and he quickly closed that door.
Not here.
Not now.
Carrie slowly pulled away and took a step back, curling a finger to remove a stand of black hair that had blown across her dark brown eyes. John loved those eyes. He knew what he wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it. It was the reason he came. It had been on his mind a lot before his suicide attempt, and he came here today to get it off his chest.
"Well, I should be go…"
"Do you ever think about it," he asked. "That night?"
Carrie froze, blinked her eyes twice, and then dropped her keys inside her purse, almost as if she wasn't really thinking about what she was doing.
"I try not to," she said, her voice cracking. "It's not something I want to think about John. I don't mean to make light of it, but it's been a long time."
"We didn't cheat," he said, staring deep into Carrie's eyes.
"It was only a matter of time," Carrie said.
He took a deep breath and what he prepared to say next were words that had been written and rewritten a million times over in his mind, at least for the first three months following the accident. Only he had never seen her again, face-to-face, to be able to say them. But now he was here. And he brought it up, so it was time to finally say those words.
"We flirted so much that day…"
"John you don't have to say—"
"I do. Please let me say this. I have to."
Carrie nodded.
John took a deep breath and said, "I stayed later because that one patient came in, the woman and her husband. But I really stayed just so I could flirt longer. Then Paulette called and yelled at me, and I yelled back. I told her to go without me and I would meet her. We had plans that night. But I stayed late. It was my fault. I wanted to make sure you knew that. My fault. I never knew how you felt. What you thought of me…of us. So I came here today to tell you that…and say thank you, for helping me the other night. I didn't know where else to go."
Tears had welle
d up in Carrie's eyes and she wiped them with the back of her hand. She pulled her coat together and cinched the strap tightly.
"It was very chaotic," Carrie said. "For all of us. I cried so many tears for you. Not for us. For you. For Paulette and Trevor."
John nodded. He remembered Trevor and the chaos that ensued after he'd arrived in the ambulance. And then the funerals.
"I took time off. Danny kept working, insisting he was needed without you around. He took time off for the funeral, but went right back that night after saying good night to you. I thought of you then, alone in his house after Danny had left. I couldn't imagine your pain. I felt guilty, too, you know. "
"No," John said quickly, shaking his head. "None of it was your fault."
"If it wasn’t my fault then it wasn't your fault either," Carrie said.
John's hands were in his pockets and his eyes were looking down, kicking at a cigarette butt on the asphalt.
"I kept working, John. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Every day when I stepped into emergency, I remembered that night. But what else was I supposed to do? We had to go back to work. You quit."
"I couldn't go back there," he said.
"Then go somewhere else, John. Find something. Doctors Without Borders, anything."
"That's the second time I've heard that advice in the past week," John said.
"Then maybe that's what you should do," Carrie said. "I'm sorry it happened. But you know what, I fell in love…was falling in love. But it would have failed. You know that. And now I feel as guilty as you. You ever think about that? I feel as guilty. I knew why you were still there. I knew you'd had an argument with Paulette. I didn't know what it was about, but that doesn't matter. I carry that with me to this day. I will always know that I was a part of their deaths. But I had to move on. You have to move on too. She would not blame you, John. She was a loving person and I know she would tell you to move on."
Carrie stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder.
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