by Tinnean
“I imagine you’d much rather be outside now too.” He started a loop and began a row of chain stitches.
“You never cease to amaze me, Mark.”
“Well, you never can tell when it’ll come in handy.” He grinned but kept his eyes on the row of stitches.
“Such as when you’re confined to a hospital bed?”
He raised his head so abruptly I wouldn’t have been surprised if he gave himself whiplash. “Ma’am?”
What had happened to him that mention of a hospital bed affected him in such a manner? I nodded toward my bed.
“Yeah, that’s right. One of the men my old lady dragged home was a Portuguese fisherman. He said it was good for a man to know a variety of things.”
“He sounds like a smart man.”
“He was. Except when it came to women. Beat hell out of me why he’d be attracted to a woman like her.”
“What happened to him?” There had been no mention of the man beyond the year Mark turned eight.
“His ship went down in the Halloween storm of ’91.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was doing what he loved, what he was good at. There isn’t a better way for a man to die.”
“Not in bed, surrounded by people who care about him?”
He hunched a shoulder. “If you’ve got people who care about you.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Frankly, I never thought I’d make it to forty.”
“Do you honestly believe no one cares? Quinton does, as do I. And didn’t you tell us you were family?”
“Huh? When? Oh…right…after you’d come to. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He scowled at the row of stitches he’d just completed. “But I was just ragging on Quinn.”
“I don’t ‘rag,’ Mark. In fact, I’m deadly serious.”
He raised his head and met my eyes, his expression puzzled. “I’m sure you’ve heard what I’m capable of. Why?”
“I can’t begin to explain my son’s feelings for you, but as for me, you saved his life in Paris, you discovered what was causing his sleepless nights and high level of exhaustion. You’ve made him smile. Mark, you could be a serial killer, and I’d still care about you.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it with nothing more than a mumbled “Thank you.”
* * * *
The next day, the only person not waiting for me to be discharged was Mark.
“Where’s Vincent?” Tony asked. “Is he avoiding us?”
“Of course not. Why would he?” My tone was innocent, but I made sure they didn’t see my expression. “After all, it isn’t as if he knows you plan to ask what his intentions are toward your nephew.”
Quinton looked up, biting back a laugh. “He said something about golfing.”
“Golfing? Vincent?” Gregor found the idea uproarious.
“Apparently Trevor Wallace thought that would be a good idea,” Quinton said mildly.
“Wallace?” Tony stroked his chin. “He golfs, doesn’t he? I wonder what he has in mind for Vincent.”
“I have no idea. That’s a very pretty scarf, Mother.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I began talking about the scarves I planned to crochet for my brothers, and the subject was neatly turned.
We waited for my doctor to appear to discharge me. And we waited. Finally, Bryan went out to the nurses’ station.
“Franke’s out of town and his associate is tied up in surgery,” he said minutes later. “There was a pile-up on the Beltway. We have to wait.”
Sometime after two, Dr. Baxter bustled in. “Doctor Franke was unexpectedly called away, and I’m filling in for him.” Baxter was a little under average height and rotund, with sandy hair and myopic eyes. I’d met him before, had found him supercilious, condescending, and arrogant, and had told Dr. Franke I preferred another physician.
Dr. Franke and I were going to have a discussion about this.
“How are we feeling today, Mrs. Mann?”
“I don’t know about you, but I feel fine.”
“Heh heh. You’ll have to let me be the judge of that.” He had me breathe in and out and thumped my back, declaring my lungs sounded fine but that he and Dr. Franke didn’t want to take any chances. “I do think it best to keep you here for another night.”
Looking from one pair of Sebring eyes to another, he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly, gave a weak smile, and scurried out.
“I don’t like it,” Tony snarled.
He liked it even less when a girl who couldn’t have been much more than fourteen tapped on the door and entered. She wore a candy striper’s uniform and held a stack of magazines—People, Entertainment Weekly, and Soap Opera Digest, when I was more likely to read Time or Newsweek.
“I’m sorry you won’t be going home today, Mrs. Mann.”
“How did you know that?” Tony demanded, and she jumped.
“I…I must have overheard…I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” She looked as if she was about to cry.
“No, my dear.” I patted her hand.
“I’ll just be…I have to go now.” And the poor little girl bolted out.
Quinton worried his lower lip. “How possible is it that anyone on this floor could have already known you’d be staying another night, Mother?”
“If something was wrong, then yes, it is possible—word always gets out.” I opened the envelope that had come with the magazines and took out the small square. “A little light reading to pass the time. I’m sorry you’ll be staying another night, Portia, my dear.” I crushed it between my fingers. “It’s signed with an R.”
“Richard Wexler?” Bryan took the magazines from my bed and dropped them on the heating unit beneath the window.
“Who else? You saw that Birnam Wood of a flower arrangement he sent.”
“But how did he know you’d be here another day?”
“We’ll have to assume either Baxter or one of the nurses is on Wexler’s payroll. Or even one of the aides.” Quinton pulled out his cell phone. “He had the sense not to show up before now, but I wouldn’t put it past him to use this as an excuse to pay you a visit. I’m staying with you tonight, Mother.”
“All right, sweetheart, but it’s Friday.”
“It doesn’t matter. Excuse me.” He hit speed dial. “Hi, it’s me. I won’t be able to make dinner tonight.”
Gregor groaned and rolled his eyes. “Vincent,” he mouthed. “Want us out of here, Quinn?”
“No, it went to his voice mail.”
“Where is he?”
“Really, Gregor, I don’t have him on a leash.”
“What are we going to do about this?” I asked before Gregor could think up a snarky response.
Tony bared his teeth in a harsh grin. “We’ll wait here. If the good senator puts in an appearance, he’s going to get a surprise.”
“And not a pleasant one.” Bryan’s grin was a copy of Tony’s.
“In the meantime, Gregor, why don’t you see about ordering dinner for you all?” The hospital had a good chef on staff for patients who were well enough to eat real food, and family could be accommodated as well, with trays sent to the rooms.
“I’ll get right on it, Portia.” And fortunately, that distracted him enough that he forgot about Mark.
* * * *
My brothers stayed until after dinner, but when Wexler still hadn’t put in an appearance, I told them to go back to the Madison Arms. “You’re making the nurses nervous, standing around, looking as if you’d like to shoot someone. Quinton will make sure nothing happens.”
“Call us if you need to be spelled, Quinn.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, but thanks, Uncle Tony.”
“Portia…?”
“I’ll be fine, Gregor. Now go!”
About ten minutes later, Mark strolled into the room, and I laughed, thinking of Tony’s accusation that Mark was avoiding them.
“Hi, babe.”
> “What are you doing here, Mark?”
“You couldn’t come to me, so I came to you.” He kissed my son, and I was pleased he felt comfortable enough in my presence to do that. “Hi, Mrs. Mann.”
“Hello, Mark.”
“So what’s going on?”
Quinton raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you’re unaware?”
The corner of Mark’s mouth curled in a grin. “Of course not, but I knew you’d want to feel useful.”
“Ass,” Quinton murmured, bumping his shoulder against Mark’s. He went on to explain the situation.
“So Wexler might be here any second? Fantastic!” He shot his cuffs and rolled his shoulders. “Bring it, Senator!”
“Mark, I don’t want you doing anything!”
“Quinn…”
“I’m serious. And don’t give me that ‘Don’t I always listen to you, baby!’ Just don’t do anything!”
“Fine.” He took a deck of cards from his pocket. “What do you want to play?”
* * * *
Interestingly enough, Wexler never showed up, leaving me to wonder who had warned him that I wasn’t alone.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Mann,” Mark said as he helped me roll a skein of yarn into a ball. “I’ll look into it.”
“Mark…” Quinton’s tone held a warning.
“Hey, I just said I’d look into it. I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“Of course you weren’t.”
“You don’t believe me? I’m hurt!”
“Of course you are.” They exchanged smiles, and in spite of how irritated I was by this situation, I couldn’t help being happy at the pleasure they’d found in each other.
* * * *
Chapter 43
The holiday season was quickly coming upon us.
Before the accident, Mark had invited me to his condo for Thanksgiving dinner.
After the accident, he suggested I stay the weekend, since I’d be alone in the house at Great Falls.
The last thing I wanted was to be a fifth wheel, so I called Allison.
“Darling, I’m so pleased you’re home!” She’d been to the hospital to see me just about every other day. “How are you feeling?”
“My physical therapist is a slave driver, and my orthopedist says I’ll need to use this cane for another few months, but other than that, I’m actually feeling human. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“For you, anything.”
“I’m going to be on my own this weekend.” She’d know Gregor would be up in New York, spending the weekend with his sister, who was doing better, and his cousins. “Jefferson and Ludovic are out of the country, and the last time I spoke to Tony, he mentioned a problem with his wife’s ex-husband.”
“Do you think there really is a problem, or is he reluctant to introduce his child bride to the family?” Of course Allison would be sensitive about the age of Tony’s wife.
“I’ve already met her. She’s nice, but…” I really didn’t know what Tony had been thinking. And the best thing to do would be to change the subject. “If you’re free, would you be willing to spend the weekend with me? We could go out for lunch on Friday and perhaps visit the Renwick Gallery. And Gregor has left enough meals in the freezer to tide us over.” She knew what a wretched cook I was.
She was silent for a moment. “Chance has gone out of town, and I have no idea when he’ll be back. So as it turns out, yes, I am free, and I’d like nothing better. Did you want to come to Tommy’s with me for Thanksgiving? His…uh…boyfriend is quite a cook.”
So my godson was gay. “Are you all right with that?”
“I am. I haven’t seen him this happy since he was a boy and we took him to Martha’s Vineyard for his birthday.”
I couldn’t help laughing over that. She’d called, desperate to come up with a clever gift for her third child, and certain I could help, since he and Quinton were the same age. “Books?” I’d suggested.
“Portia, you’re his godmother! You held him even before I did. I know you love him as much as I do, but let’s face it. When God was giving out brains, my son was hiding behind the door!”
“Well, from what I recall, he was very taken with Jaws.”
“We’re not giving him a great white shark!”
“No, but what about a vacation on Martha’s Vineyard, where they did most of the filming?”
“Portia, darling, you’re a genius!”
Now I said, “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll be spending the day with Quinton and his friend.”
“Are you saying he’s dating someone?”
“Actually, I think it’s gone beyond that point. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
“You’d better! I just hope she’s nicer than that witch we ran into last winter.”
“I think so. I’ll see you on Friday.”
* * * *
The doorbell rang. Gregor had left a couple of hours earlier to catch his flight to New York, and so I was alone in the house. I walked slowly down the hallway. Had it always been this long?
I peered through the etched glass that framed the door, and spat out a curse. Why was Wexler here?
“One moment, Senator.” I didn’t want him in the house when I was alone and my Smith & Wesson was in my bedroom. I looked down at the cane that bore most of my weight. If I braced myself on my good leg and lashed out with it, it should afford me some protection.
I opened the closet door and removed Gregor’s sweater. As I put it on, my riding crop caught my eye. I slipped it inside the sweater, then opened the door and stepped out onto the front step.
“Yes?”
“Surely you’re going to invite me in!” Wexler gazed up and down the street, looking decidedly disgruntled.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Senator. My mother taught me never to be alone with a man.”
“But my dear Portia…”
I stood there not saying anything. It began to drizzle.
“I…I wanted to see how you were.”
I gave a truncated wave to indicate my surroundings. Anything broader and the crop would have fallen to the ground. “I’m confined to my house and have no choice but to use a cane. As you can see, your aide did a good deal of damage.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! And if my aide had a vendetta against your son, that had nothing to do with me! With us!”
“There is no ‘us’.” I regarded him stonily.
“I…I sent you flowers. And reading material!”
“You did.” I’d be damned if I thanked him for them. “And how is your wife?”
“Eh. Elizabeth’s been sedated. Even after all this time her injuries are quite painful.”
“You’re aware she had my tires slashed?”
“N-How did you know that?”
“I’m a Sebring, Senator. There are a good many things I know.”
“Er…” He looked uneasy.
“It’s cold, and I’m getting wet. Your visit has been duly noted. Please don’t make another. Good afternoon.” I reached behind me, found the doorknob, and opened the door.
As he stood there, his mouth gaping, I backed into the house, catching myself as I almost lost my footing, and then shut the door and threw the lock.
I expected him to lean on the bell, as if that action would force me to open the door. I was prepared to telephone for help, but to my surprise, he stormed down the walk and got into the long black car parked at the curb. It drove off, and I breathed a sigh of relief and replaced my crop in the closet.
I hobbled to the stair lift, seated myself on it, and pressed the control that put it in motion. At the top of the stairs, I eased off the lift and made my way to my bedroom. My Smith & Wesson was in my handbag. From this moment on I would carry it on my person.
* * * *
Quinton arrived early on that brisk, sunny Thursday.
“Sweetheart, would you mind picking some chrysanthemums?” They grew in profusion along the edge of the
property. “I know Mark said we were to bring nothing but ourselves, but I think the copper and bronze mums would be suitable. And perhaps some maple leaves.”
“For a touch of red? Wonderful idea.”
I had some sheets of tissue paper ready. He wrapped the stems, helped me on with my coat—the Russian sable that had been Mother’s—and made sure the alarm was set and the front door locked.
As we drove to Alexandria, I glanced over at him. “Quinton, I’d like to invite Mark to spend Christmas with us.”
“Really, Mother?”
“Yes. If you have no objections?” Mark might not understand what that meant, but Quinton and I would.
“No objections at all.” A faint smile curved his lips. “In fact, I’d like it very much.”
“Excellent. Oh, will DB be joining us again this year?”
“Actually, no. He’s in a relationship with a couple of women—have I shocked you?”
“Startled, perhaps—he’s such a quiet man—but it would take more than consenting adults participating in a threesome.”
Quinton burst into laughter. “My exact thoughts! It’s always the quiet ones.”
“Well, I’m very happy for him, and I hope one day I’ll get to meet his partners.”
“It might not be for quite a while. They work for the Company.” He slanted me a glance. “I’m not supposed to know who they are.”
“But you do?”
“Of course!”
Of course. Quinton was as much a Sebring as he was a Mann.
* * * *
Mark met us in the lobby of his building. Although he preferred to use the stairs, on this day he informed me the stairs were out of order, and we all rode the elevator to the third floor.
While he was busy in another part of his condo, I murmured to Quinton, “Sweetheart, I think you should invite him to Shadow Brook for New Year’s Eve as well.”
* * * *
Chapter 44
It was Christmas Day. Gregor was in the kitchen doing prep work for our dinner, and I was putting the last of the gifts under the Christmas tree.
The doorbell rang, and I stiffened, which was foolish. It was only heralding the arrival of my brother and his partner.
I pressed the button on the intercom. “I’ll get it,” I told Gregor.