"I wasn't that, either," she denied. "He was absent for me, too."
"Not when you were little. It's okay to admit it, Grace. You were closer to him than I was. You have a curious mind like he does. He recognized that in you. He and I had nothing in common. So he liked to spend time with you over me. It was what it was."
She didn't have that much of a curious mind, considering it had taken her more than a day to open the package, and she still hadn't actually tried to work the puzzle pieces. On the other hand, she was tempted to open it. Part of her wanted to know what was inside.
"I was just thinking," she said slowly, "that maybe we didn't recognize that Dad's devotion to work actually had a positive impact on a lot of people. It's not like he just left us to go to a bar. He did work long hours."
"You mean when he wasn't having an affair and fathering another kid?" Jillian asked bitterly.
She let out a sigh. "I know he did some terrible things."
"Exactly. So, what's going on, Grace? Why are you trying to excuse his bad behavior now?"
"I'm not doing that, but Dad didn't send me the package in the mail; he had someone deliver it personally, along with a message of how much he cared about us and regretted his actions."
"Nothing you haven't heard before."
Her sister was tough. There wasn't a hint of weakening in her voice.
"Hearing someone else say it was different," she said defensively. "The man who delivered the box is a scientist like Dad. He's a big admirer of our father, in fact. He made me wonder if I was too quick to cut Dad completely out of my life. I mean, we changed our names; we acted like he didn't exist, and he was our father. How many kids do that after divorce?"
"He wasn't around for us, Grace. And we changed our names for Mom. She was the one who took the time to raise us, to love us. He left us. She didn't. It was important to her that we use her maiden name, and I haven't regretted it." Anger ripped through Jillian's voice. "Whatever this guy said should not change the opinions you've held your whole life."
Jillian was right. On the other hand—were they really her opinions?
She licked her lips, as she continued a conversation she knew would annoy her sister, who'd already made her point of view clear. "He left Mom, Jillian. We made it about us, but wasn't it really Mom he left? Dad wanted to see us. He wanted to keep in touch. She wouldn't let him. At the time, I was so hurt and angry that I went along with it, but now I kind of wonder if it was the right decision."
"Look, I don't know what you want me to say," Jillian said in a grumpy tone. "You can't rewrite history, but if you want to open what he sent you, then open it. If you want to talk to him, talk to him; it's your choice, Grace. It's your life."
"Mom would hate me."
"Well, you don't have to tell her."
"How would you feel about me making contact? Are you going to hate me, too?"
"I'm not thrilled with the idea, but like I said, it's your choice. I do feel like he left us as well as Mom, and I was always closer to her. But you're an adult. You can do what you want."
"Do you remember those puzzle boxes Dad used to do with us?"
"You mean with you? Yes. You spent hours on those things to find some secret silly message hidden inside. Why?"
"That's what he sent me. I don't remember how to open it. I'm not sure I want to try."
"Obviously, you want to try, Grace."
"It was easier to send things back when I didn't know what they were." She paused. "I wonder how he got my address. He sent me packages and letters when I was in San Francisco that I always sent back, but this is the first time he sent anything here."
"I don't think you're that difficult to find."
"I guess. Do you think that Mom intercepted letters and packages that Dad sent to us when we first left?"
"Probably. She was devastated and furious. She wanted no reminders of him."
She remembered the painful cloud that had hung over all their lives those first few years. "It has been more than ten years now. She's fallen in love again; she's remarried. Do we need to keep the anger going?"
"Look, if you want to open the puzzle box, then open it. But the worst thing you can do is just stew about this," Jillian said practically. "Either send it back or open it, but don't let it just sit there. It's going to drive you nuts."
"That's probably good advice."
"My advice is always good, and you rarely take it," Jillian retorted.
"I do listen to you."
"Not very often."
She smiled to herself, realizing how much she'd been missing her sister. They might have very different personalities, but they'd always had a deep bond that could never be broken. And no matter how much they disagreed, they'd always be there for each other. "So what's new with you, Jillian? Any men in your life?"
"Two actually," her sister said, a lighter note in her voice.
"I'm impressed. You usually can't find one guy you like, much less two. But that sounds like a juggling act."
"Unfortunately, I don't really like either one of them that much. They're both nice in different ways. They just don't make me want to drop everything to go out with them. They don't get my blood pumping, you know?"
She did know, having recently been reminded just how wonderful it was to kiss a man who got her blood pumping in a really good way.
"Grace?" Tyler's voice wafted down from the upstairs bedroom. "I'm ready for my story," he yelled.
She put her hand over the phone. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Then she said to her sister, "I have to go."
"Who was that? It doesn't sound like you're alone tonight."
"I'm not. I'm with a very demanding male."
"That sounds interesting."
She laughed. "Not really; he's seven. I'm babysitting one of my students."
"Oh, Grace, you really need to get a life."
"I'll talk to you later." She set down the phone, but before she could get up from the couch, it rang again. Her heart sped up as she saw the number—Ian. She hadn't thought she'd hear from him until tomorrow. "Hello?"
"Grace, I need to talk to you."
There was an urgency in his voice that made her nervous. "About what?"
"I can't do it over the phone. Are you at Tyler's house?"
"I am. I'm about to read him a bedtime story. Can this wait until tomorrow?"
"It really can't. Can I come over?"
She hesitated, not sure what was on his mind. "Ian, we just said good-bye a few hours ago. It's late, and I'm tired, and I don't think it's a good idea."
"It's about your father," he said, surprising her with his words.
"Now I really don't want you to come over."
"Grace, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
She couldn't imagine what he had to tell her about her father now, unless it was something he'd learned at his conference. "Fine. But give me a half hour. I want to get Tyler to sleep first. He's exhausted, and he has school tomorrow."
"Sure, of course."
She gave him the address and said she'd see him soon. Then she went upstairs.
Tyler wasn't in bed; he was sitting on the window seat, staring out at the night sky.
"Hey, you're supposed to be in bed," she told him.
"I was looking for Santa and his sleigh, like Madeline did in the book."
She gazed out the window and saw nothing but tall, shadowy trees and some really shiny stars. It would be something to see Santa and his reindeer streaking across the sky, knowing he was going to make some wishes come true, wishes like Tyler's—to see his dad come home again. She wanted to believe that as much as Tyler did.
She hadn't heard from Carrie all day and nothing more from Tyler's grandparents. She kept telling herself that no news was better than bad news, but it was difficult to believe that.
"Come on, let's get you into bed, and we'll read a different story," she said. "We have an early morning tomorrow. No more snow days. It's back to school."
/> "Just a few more minutes?" Tyler pleaded. "I don't want to miss Santa."
"I don't think he's working tonight. It's weeks before Christmas. He's probably still at the North Pole finishing up with his toys."
Tyler gave her a thoughtful look. "But you don't know for sure, do you?"
"One thing I do know for sure is that Santa wants little boys like you to get lots of sleep."
He sighed. "Okay."
"What do you want to read tonight?"
He scrambled off the window seat and led her to the bed, where he had three books out. "I want to read these."
"All three?"
He nodded vigorously.
"Then we better get started."
He climbed under the covers, and she sat down next to him. "You begin, and I'll help you," she said, wanting to encourage his reading skills.
Tyler started out strong, but his eyelids started to droop, and she found herself finishing off the first story as he fell asleep.
She waited a few moments and then carefully got off the bed. She tucked in the covers and put all the books on the night table.
Tyler was a little angel, she thought, her heart stirring with both love and a little fear for Tyler's future. She wanted only good for him, and that meant both of his parents had to come home.
She walked to the door and turned off the light just as she heard a car pull up out front.
Her nerves immediately jumped, and she moved quickly downstairs. She had no idea what to expect from Ian, but she had a feeling something important was about to happen.
She didn't know what Ian had to tell her about her father, but that wasn't the only thing she was worried about. It was seeing him again. It was the kiss she could still taste on her lips. It was the way his eyes looked into her soul. It was about how much she wanted to kiss him again, to touch him, to be in his arms.
Oh, Lord, she really needed to get a grip. She drew in a breath and came up with a plan. She'd hear what he had to say and then she'd send him away—without a kiss, she told herself firmly.
But as soon as she opened the door and looked into his striking blue eyes, she wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms.
His words stopped her.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said, stepping inside the house and shutting the door behind him. "Where's Tyler?"
"He's upstairs. He's asleep. What's the bad news?" Her heart was now beating faster for another reason. "Has something happened?"
"I'm afraid so. I was at the conference cocktail party, and your father's name came up."
Her muscles tightened. "I don't want to hear about my dad."
"You have to hear this, Grace. Your dad was attacked in his office last week. He has serious head injuries. In fact, he's been in a coma for a week."
"What?" she gasped, putting a shaky hand to her mouth. "I—I don't understand. Someone told you this?"
"Yes, and then I looked it up online. I probably would have seen it sooner, but I haven't been on the Internet much the last few days."
"Is he going to be all right?"
His gaze was honest and grim. "I honestly don't know."
"You said someone attacked him in his office at the university? Who would do that?"
"I wish I had an answer for you. I thought you should know."
She felt suddenly weak, dizzy, unstable. She might have gone down if Ian hadn't put his arms around her.
"I've got you," he said, his husky voice in her ear.
She put her head against his chest. He felt solid and safe. And she wanted to stay there forever. But she couldn't. She had too many questions. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "What should I do?"
Ten
Ian usually liked questions. He prided himself on being able to solve problems that baffled others, but Grace's question was different. It was filled with emotion and drama, and the right answer eluded him, but her green eyes were frightened and pleading, and he couldn't resist trying to help. "You could call the hospital."
"I changed my name. I'm not a Donelan anymore."
"That doesn't make you any less his daughter, Grace."
She licked her lips. "It's the middle of the night there now."
"There's always someone awake in a hospital." He paused. "Or you could call your mother—your sister—see if one of them will do it."
"I just talked to Jillian. She's still really angry with my dad. And my mom…" She shook her head. "It has to be me." Then she frowned. "Why didn't anyone call me? Why didn't the hospital or the police? I know Jillian doesn't know. She would have said something."
He shrugged at another question he couldn't answer. "Maybe they didn't know where any of you are."
Guilt ran through her eyes. "We did cut all our ties."
She pulled out her phone, her hand shaking. "I don't know which hospital. I don't know the number. I don't know—"
He cut her off, taking the phone out of her hand. "What's the hospital nearest the university?"
She blinked a few times, then said, "St. Mary's."
He searched for the number, then punched it in and handed her phone back as the call rang through on speaker.
She drew in a deep breath. "Hello," she said as the operator answered. "I'm—I'm looking for information on my father's condition."
"One moment," the woman replied.
The next person to come on the line said, "Patient Services."
"I'm looking for information on my father's condition," Grace repeated. "His name is Seamus Donelan. He was admitted last week."
"And your name?"
"Grace Donelan; I'm his daughter."
"I'm going to transfer you to the nurse's station; they'll be able to answer your questions."
Ian stayed close as Grace swayed a little. "Do you want to sit down?" he asked, while they waited for the call to go through.
She shook her head. "I'm okay." She straightened as another voice came on the line.
"You're asking about Seamus Donelan?" the woman questioned.
"Yes. I'm his daughter, Grace. Can you tell me how he's doing?"
"His condition is unchanged. He suffered a serious head trauma. He's been unconscious since he was brought in."
"Is he…" Grace licked her lips. "Is he going to be all right?"
"I'm sorry. We don't know yet. Until the swelling goes down, and he wakes up, we won't be able to determine the extent of the damage."
"Who is his doctor? When will he be in? I'd like to speak to him. I don't know why anyone in the family wasn't notified."
"Alan Merrick is his physician. He'll be in at eight. I can have him call you. However, Dr. Merrick did relate all pertinent medical information to your mother several days ago."
"What?" Grace asked in astonishment. "He spoke to my mother?"
"He spoke to Patricia Donelan Carmichael. Is that your mother?"
"Yes, it is. I—I didn't realize. Thank you."
"No problem."
She disconnected the call and looked back at him through confused eyes. "I don't understand. My mother was notified, and she didn't tell me or Jillian. At least, I don't think she told Jillian. Maybe my sister was in on keeping the secret, but on the other hand, she's not that good at keeping secrets, and I just talked to her."
Anger joined her bemusement, and he had a feeling her sister and mother were about to get an earful.
"My father could be dying, and no one told me," Grace added. "How could my mother not say anything?"
"When did you last talk to your mom?"
"Thanksgiving. We didn't spend the holiday together. She was in Hawaii, and Jillian went skiing with a college friend, so we all did our own thing this year. But I wished her a happy holiday, and she never said a word about my dad."
"Maybe she didn't find out right away."
"But she's known for a while, and she knows how to reach me."
"Is it that surprising? From what you've told me, your mother has never wanted you to have a relationsh
ip with your father. She probably didn't want to worry you or get you involved."
"I'm sure that would be her reason, but it's not right."
She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. She drew in a breath, then blew it out as he took a seat across from her.
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he told her. "I debated whether or not I should tell you tonight or tell you at all."
"You were right to tell me. I needed to know."
He was immensely relieved that she felt that way. "Okay, good."
"But what do I do now? Do I go there? Do I stay here?" She paused. "What if he dies? What if he never wakes up? What if I never see him again?" She jumped back up to her feet, obviously too agitated to sit.
He sat back in his chair as she paced around the room. He let her walk off the adrenaline. There was nothing he could say to talk her down; she needed to get there on her own.
Finally, she came back to the couch. "You probably think it's weird that I'm so upset when I've spent the last couple of days telling you how I don't need him in my life, that I cut him off a long time ago, that I didn't even want to open the package that he sent me."
"I think that your relationship is complicated."
"That's an understatement. I don't really know how things got so tangled up."
"Maybe you'll be able to figure that out once you untangle them."
"How do I do that now? He's in a coma. He has a brain injury. Even if he wakes up, he might not even know who I am."
"True, but he's only part of the tangle."
"You're talking about my mother."
"She seems like a good place to start," he admitted.
Grace glanced down at her watch. "She hates when I call her after nine, but I need to talk to her."
As she grabbed her phone again, a noise came from upstairs, like someone had knocked over something.
Grace immediately frowned. "Tyler is supposed to be asleep."
"I'll check on him. You make your call."
"You come right back if something is wrong," she ordered.
"I promise. Tyler probably just got out of bed to go to the bathroom."
He jogged up the stairs and down the hall, passing Tyler's parents' bedroom on the way. When he entered Tyler's room, the lights were out, but he could see the little boy sitting in the window seat, looking out the window. He stepped back into the hall and yelled downstairs. "Everything is fine, Grace. Ty is just looking at the sky."
Closer To You (Callaways Book 11) Page 12