Trouble Don’t Last Always

by Francis Ray

  “At least he’s on the road. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll pick up a razor while I’m there.”

  “The woman was dead. Her car had stopped and she had hitchhiked with a kind-faced man who turned out to be a serial killer. The boyfriend waiting for her at the restaurant would never see her again. The killer had made sure of that.”

  Adam’s fingers fumbled as he hit the STOP button. He rolled his shoulders to get the tension out. That story was fiction. The author had a vivid and grisly imagination. There was no reason to think the same thing would happen to Lilly when she left. He himself had been chosen at random because of the car he’d driven. The two addicts who attacked him wanted to sell the car to a chop shop—they’d needed the money for their drug habit. They hadn’t gotten away with it, but he was living in a world of darkness nevertheless. Even their being caught and jailed didn’t change that.

  He hit the PLAY button and settled back. Fiction was not reality.

  Adam thought he was doing fine until a hunter in the story accidentally stumbled upon the woman’s remains. By the time Forensics made a positive identification and the boyfriend had been notified, Adam felt the tension seep back into his body.

  Lilly would probably be just as gullible to offer a ride to a baby-faced hitchhiker. Kristen had. When Adam had found out, he’d read her the riot act; then his mother and Jonathan had raked her over the coals as well. Kristen had promised never to do anything so dangerous again. Young women alone were too vulnerable.

  Adam hit the STOP button. Was Lilly young? He thought so, then wondered why. It didn’t take long to recall the shy, hesitant tone of her voice, the quickness with which the angles of her voice would shift, the briskness of her steps. Plus he never remembered her being winded when she reached his room after climbing the stairs. Together these things pointed to a young, agile woman.

  Getting up, Adam went to the phone. In less than a minute Jonathan was on the phone. “Glad you decided to speak to me again.”

  “Don’t make me sorry,” Adam quipped, realizing how much he had missed hearing the other man’s voice.

  Jonathan chuckled. “Straight to the point. I’m taking Lady Lost out this weekend. Want to join me?”

  Lady Lost was Jonathan’s thirty-foot speedboat. She handled like a dream. “A criminal name for such a sweet boat.”

  “Better than Paradise,” Jonathan retorted, then added, “but we both know why you named her that.”

  Before Nicole, there had been a steady progression of women in Adam’s life. He’d enjoyed making love as the boat gently rode the waves. Like his vision, those days might be gone forever.

  “Look, I called about something else,” Adam said, his voice impatient.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want you to call the garage and check on Lilly’s car. Make sure she’s not being taken.”

  “Pardon me while I shake the phone.”

  Jonathan’s droll sense of humor could be funny or irritating. At the moment, Adam wanted to shake him. “Just do it. She plans on driving to New Orleans after she leaves here. I just want to make sure she gets there.”

  “You two seem to be getting along.”

  “She’s irritating as hell, but she means well,” Adam said.

  “In that case, I’ll call the garage.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  “Yes, but you can’t give it to me.” Quietly he hung up the phone.

  Something was wrong. Lilly looked at the barely touched meat loaf on the plate for dinner. He hadn’t eaten lunch, either. “You want something else?”

  “No.”

  Lilly bit her lip. She didn’t know what had happened to send him into this depression, unless it was the tapes. But Mrs. Wakefield had said he’d enjoyed listening to them in the past. So there had to be another reason, but what?

  Her spirits plummeted. It wasn’t likely he was going to tell her. “Odette is going to be disappointed. She enjoyed preparing meals.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Slouched in the leather chair, he still wore his robe. His arms rested loosely on the armrest; his long legs were stretched out in front of him.

  “You haven’t been hungry for a couple of days now,” she ventured.

  “I’d like to rest now.”

  All he did was rest. Today he hadn’t gotten out of bed until dinner. “Would you like me to turn the radio on?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll check on you before I go to bed.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll be asleep and won’t hear the door.”

  Meaning he didn’t plan on answering the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  His hands tightened on the armrests. “No doubt.”

  Leaving, Lilly went back downstairs. Odette and Samuel waited in the kitchen. It was almost six and they usually were gone by now, but both were concerned by the depression Dr. Wakefield had been experiencing since last Friday.

  “Maybe if I fixed some more gumbo?” Odette said, looking at the barely touched meat loaf on the tray.

  “He wouldn’t eat it.” Lilly scraped the food into the sink.

  Behind her the phone rang. They all knew who it was.

  Setting down the plate, Lilly reluctantly answered the phone. She had been hoping to have better news. “Hello, Mrs. Wakefield. There’s no change.…Yes, I’ll call in the morning.” Hanging up, she went back to the sink, pressing her hands against the countertop.

  “What happened? One minute he was gobbling food like there was no tomorrow, and now for the past two days he’s barely touched his meals.”

  “He’s got to eat,” Samuel said, his dark brows furrowed in concern.

  “Yes,” Lilly said and faced the worried couple. “But I have no idea how to get him to do so.”

  She wasn’t home.

  The disappointment was sharp and deep when there was no answer to Jonathan’s repeated knock on Eleanor’s door. His broad shoulders slumped. He thought he finally had a reason to ensure that Eleanor face him and talk with him. This afternoon when Harriet had come for her appointment, she’d told him the talking clock Eleanor had ordered was in. He’d jumped at the chance to deliver it, sure that this time she couldn’t evade him or put him off. No matter how things had deteriorated between them, she was too well-mannered not to answer her door.

  And now she wasn’t home.

  Heaving a sigh, he went back to his car and took the circular drive that passed the main house. He might as well leave the clock and go home. There was no reason to wait. It was safe to assume that if Eleanor saw his car in her driveway, she’d leave.

  Getting out, he saw the groundskeeper, Samuel, digging in the flower bed and waved. Adam couldn’t have gotten anyone better to care for his home. Walking up the wooden steps and across the wide white porch, Jonathan rang the door chime.

  A few minutes later the door opened. Lilly, dressed in a simple cotton dress that appeared freshly washed and ironed, stood in the doorway. Her hand remained on the doorknob.

  Weariness flashed in her brown eyes. “Good afternoon, Dr. Delacroix.”

  Jonathan lifted a heavy brow. His opinion of the rightness of Lilly Crawford was another matter. “Good afternoon, Ms. Crawford.”

  “Please come in.” She stepped back.

  Jonathan noticed the reluctance in her movement and decided to ignore it. Once he was over the threshold, his gaze went to the staircase and beyond. “Is Adam upstairs?”

  “Yes. Are you going up?”

  “Not today. Do you know where Mrs. Wakefield is?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited for her to elaborate. Nothing. Apparently she had picked up on the undercurrents between him and Eleanor and wasn’t happy about it. He got the distinct impression that she was trying to protect Eleanor.

  “Where is she?”

  “She went for a walk.”
<
br />   “On the grounds?”

  “Yes.”

  Jonathan worked to keep the annoyance from his face. The house sat on five acres. “Do you know when she’ll return?”

  “No, sir.”

  Was there satisfaction in her answer? Studying the slight upward curve of her lips, he decided there probably was. “Please give this to her. It’s the talking clock you wanted for Adam.”

  Lilly had the clock in her hand in seconds. She looked from him to the cardboard casing. He could almost feel her anticipation. “I’m sure she won’t mind,” Jonathan said.

  Opening the box, Lilly took out the fat, triangular object. “Now he won’t feel so lost.”

  Although the words were mere whispers, Jonathan heard them. “You really care,” he said in astonishment.

  Her head jerked up; weariness was back, but so was a brief flash of anger. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Because Eleanor hired you out of desperation and I got the distinct impression that you took the job for the same reason,” he said bluntly.

  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about another person’s pain and suffering.”

  “Adam can’t have made caring for him easy,” he returned.

  Lilly’s eyes narrowed. “Do you treat your difficult patients with less care?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you expect me to.” Her words were a statement, not a question. Before he could answer, her chin lifted. “If you’re sure you don’t want to see Dr. Wakefield, I have to get back.”

  He’d been dismissed. Expertly. He opened the front door. “Adam called me about your car.”

  “He called? When?”

  He frowned at the excitement in her voice. “Three days ago.”

  “What did you say to him? Did you threaten to have him declared incompetent again?” she asked, anger sweeping across her expressive features.

  “Of course not. Why would you suggest such a thing?”

  “He’s almost stopped eating,” she told him, biting her lower lip. “We don’t know what to do.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t she call me?”

  “She—”

  Jonathan didn’t wait for an answer. Hurrying past Lilly, he hit the stairs at a fast clip. “Fix some soup and bring it up.”

  Lilly didn’t question him, just went to prepare the food.

  The knock was brisk and brief before the bedroom door opened. “Adam, what the hell are you trying to do to yourself?”

  Slouched in his chair, Adam lifted one heavy brow. “Come with more threats, Jonathan?”

  “I’ve come to knock some sense into your thick skull.”

  “Go on. I can’t see it coming.”

  “You certainly are a bastard today. Having a good time feeling sorry for yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know anyone who has more of a right.”

  “People love you, Adam.”

  “They pity me. Just like you do.”

  Adam suddenly found himself dragged up. He came out of his lethargy enough to shove at Jonathan’s wide chest and found it immovable.

  “I don’t want to hear that crap. Hell, I admit life threw you a hard curve, but you still have hope; you still have life,” Jonathan said tightly.

  “Being blind! What kind of life is that?” Adam snarled.

  “It’s what you make of it, Adam. Last night I had to tell a husband his wife was dead and that he’d have to raise their twin girls by himself. A blood clot, a stupid blood clot. She was only twenty-four years old. She’d been laughing and planning to take her daughters home and spoil them. What do you want to bet she’d trade places with you in a heartbeat to be able to hold her children, hear their laughter, feel her husband’s arm around her?”

  The misery in Jonathan’s voice penetrated Adam’s own anguish. He’d lost his own share of patients. “I’m sorry.”

  Jonathan released the lapels of Adam’s robe. “No matter how many times it happens, it still tears you up inside.”

  “Sit down.”

  “How do you know I’m not sitting down?”

  “By the angle of your voice,” Adam answered. “Now sit and tell me about her.”

  Lilly stood at the door with the tray in her hands, tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks as she listened to Dr. Delacroix. Mother Crawford always said each person always thought his heartache was the worst until he heard someone else’s.

  “You did all you could to prevent this from happening. I’m sure of that, Jonathan.”

  “Knowing that doesn’t make it easier. Life is precious. Wasting it angers the hell out of me,” Jonathan answered tightly.

  Adam rubbed his neck where the collar of the robe had bitten into the skin. “I noticed.”

  Lilly knocked on the partially opened door and entered. “I brought you some soup, Dr. Wakefield.”

  “Is there a sandwich with it?” he asked.

  “No, but if you give me five minutes there will be.”

  “Bring one for Jonathan. You haven’t eaten today, have you?”

  “No.”

  Lilly mouthed, Thank you, to Dr. Delacroix and hurried back downstairs. When she returned, Adam’s dining table was between the two men. Placing the pita bread ham sandwiches in front of them, she told Dr. Wakefield the position, pleased that before she left he picked up his sandwich and took a hefty bite. Whatever the crisis had been, it was over.

  Lilly was waiting for Dr. Delacroix when he came downstairs. There was no sense beating around the bush. “Thank you. I–I didn’t know what to do. I guess you were right about my experience.”

  “I was wrong. You have something infinitely better. Empathy. I thank you for that. Good night.” He was almost to his car when the door behind him opened. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I forgot to ask how much the talking clock cost?”

  He surprised her by answering without hesitation. “Sixteen seventy-eight. Tax and shipping included.”

  Lilly studied the well-dressed man whose very size made her wary. He obviously cared about the Wakefields. She’d been judged unfairly too many times in the past not to feel a little guilty about doing the same to Dr. Delacroix.

  “By the way, Mrs. Wakefield returned while you were upstairs with Dr. Wakefield. I told her you had gotten him to eat. She’s at the cottage.”

  Jonathan studied Lilly a long time before a slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Thank you. I think I’ll drop by.”

  “I thought you might.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Why didn’t you call about Adam?” Jonathan hurled the words without preamble when Eleanor opened the door.

  Her fingers clutched the doorknob. She’d known before opening the door that he was angry. She’d seen that side of him too many times in the past not to recognize what the set jaw, the narrowed gaze, the tense shoulders meant. She just hadn’t correctly calculated the degree of his anger.

  However, even if she had, after Lilly called a few minutes earlier with news of how he had gotten Adam to eat, Eleanor would have opened the door in any case. He’d gotten through to Adam when they were all floundering. She owed him that courtesy.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  Her accelerated heartbeat, the strange fluttering in her stomach, were the reasons she hadn’t called, reasons she couldn’t possibly share with him. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  His handsome face harshened. “That’s a crock, Eleanor. I love him, too, and you damn well know it. Now why didn’t you call?”

  Eleanor felt the pounding in her head that had been a slow tapping for the past three days become the loud clang of an angry anvil. Her fingertips massaged her throbbing temples. She would have faced the devil himself if she thought it would help Adam, but she hadn’t been able to call an old friend because his mere presence sent her heart skipping in her chest.

  She moistened her dry lips before she spoke. “Thank you for helping, but do you think we could discuss t
his later?”

  Jonathan’s shrewd brown eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? You have a headache?”

  “Yes. So, if you don’t mind ...”

  “I do mind,” he said and brushed past her into the house.

  Incensed, Eleanor whirled around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Jonathan kept walking. Fuming, Eleanor closed the front door and followed. When she entered the kitchen he was bent over looking inside the refrigerator.

  “What are you doing?”

  Straightening, he shut the door. “You’re not eating again.”

  She’d had enough of his interference, of her acting like a simpering fool. “You’ll have to forgive me if I forgot to eat when my son wasn’t eating.”

  “Would starving yourself help Adam? Would going blind help?”

  Her head snapped back. “You’ve gone too far.”

  “I haven’t gone far enough.” He began opening cabinets, then turned to face her. “Did you stock food after you decided to stay?”

  Beside a few staples, she hadn’t. “The main house has everything I need.”

  “Then why aren’t they here? Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

  She couldn’t answer. The pounding became worse. Her hands went back to her temples. “Jonathan, please. I really don’t feel well.”

  “Be glad I can see that or you’d see just how upset I am,” he said, advancing on her. Unsure of his mood, she cringed. Despite the anger in his face, the hand that closed around her forearm was gentle. “Come on.”

  Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to pry his unrelenting fingers loose. “Stop. What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you eat. You need more than a sandwich.”

  “I’m not Adam!”

  He stopped and stared down at her, his brown eyes blazing. “In some ways you’re as blind as he is.” He started toward the door again.

  Eleanor didn’t say anything. She didn’t think he meant physical blindness, but she didn’t want to discuss it.

  Opening the passenger side of his car, he helped her in, then went around and climbed inside. Instead of starting the car, his hands flexed on the steering wheel. His face looked hard, remote, but there was something else there that pulled at Eleanor. “Are you all right?”