Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  Eerily detached, Clay stared at his son, lost in a faraway gaze. He made no motion toward her, no attempt at speech. There was no smile, no expression to paint a picture of good news or bad. Nothing existed between them but the reassuring presence of pulse-tracking monitors, the comforting din of doctors and nurses going about the business of life-saving emergency care. She wondered if he’d forgotten he’d said anything to her at all.

  “Q’s gonna be okay,” Clay said finally. “This is just a minor setback.”

  So random and matter-of-fact, she hoped he was right. She hoped it wasn’t the desperate attempt of a loving parent to grasp at the nearest lie when the reality was far different. “I’m sure it is.”

  “He had the gold.”

  And where she expected so see pleasure and pride, she saw nothing but dismay. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I know how much it meant to him.”

  He nodded and Sydney thought he struggled with tears. Upon closer inspection, his lids were reddened, as though he’d already been crying. “It did. Does,” he corrected. “He’ll be out swimming again before you know it, you wait and see.”

  Wait and see. Her breathing grew shallow. “Is that a good idea?” Her gaze dodged toward the bed, Q’s slender body outlined by thin white blankets. The one that seemed so strong and capable in the pool, yet appeared weak and vulnerable now. “I mean, under the circumstances, is that wise?” The boy has had seizures before. “What if it happens again? Shouldn’t his safety come first?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything to put my son in jeopardy.” Clay met her head on. “But you have to understand, without swimming in these events, Q may regress.”

  “Regress? Is that possible?”

  “Anything’s possible.” Clay settled on his son. “Swimming has proved that to him. It’s the one area of his life where he feels good about himself. No one treats him differently. No one asks him questions he can’t answer, puts him on defense with their stares. He’s not the odd man out in the pool.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “He’s the star.”

  It was true. She’d witnessed as much firsthand.

  “His doctors will make the ultimate decision, but I know Q. This won’t keep him down.” He turned to her and behind the confident assertion she detected a wave of fear. “It can’t.”

  Clay was afraid. Swimming had freed his son from his mental cave and the father wanted it to continue. Needed it to continue. It was a need she understood. But with nothing intelligent to contribute to the conversation, she remained quiet. Perhaps it was enough to simply sit and keep him company. Let him know she was here for him.

  He tried to smile, but when it didn’t come easy, Clay seemed content to abandon the effort. He returned to his son. Behind them, a man rolled a large piece of equipment down the hallway, en route to another bed, another patient. She didn’t know what the machine was or why it was needed. Only that it was to help someone which made her feel better, eased the stress. Though she didn’t care much for the sterile atmosphere, the questioning glances from passing strangers as they checked the goings-on in each bed, she felt good knowing she was here in the role of support, of friend. Being here felt right. Clay had done as much for her in the course of their last week together, it only seemed fair she return the favor.

  But is that all it was? A favor returned? A moment of crisis shared between friends?

  Were they friends? She took Clay in from the corner of her eyes, careful not to stare or draw attention to herself as she contemplated their relationship. What were they—more than friends? It was strange how after knowing someone for barely two weeks you could feel close to them, comfortable enough with them to sit by a hospital bed as if you’d known them your whole life. But with Clay, she was beginning to have those feelings. Warm feelings. Feelings of attraction yes, but it was deeper. Sydney was beginning to feel as though she knew the man inside, the man Clay was and wanted to become. He was solid and sure, friendly and kind, and yes, sexy and alluring. But would they ever get there? Would they ever reach the point of consummation, the moment when they both decided on commitment? Were they on their way? And where was there? Miami? South Carolina?

  Sydney shook it from her mind. It was too much. Building her future around a man with whom she had yet to create a foundation was silly. Kinda like starting a new job and deciding after two weeks, yep—this company’s for you! You’ll spend your entire career right here with this boss and this group of coworkers. Thoughts of her current situation scratched into her reverie. She didn’t want to go there.

  But Clay was different, wasn’t he? I mean, she was here because he wanted her to be here, right? Theirs was an easy camaraderie, a most definite attraction. They shared something special. Calmed by the shift in focus, she breathed in, slow and full, releasing the breath in a stream of calm. Yes. They had something.

  “How’s he doing?’

  The soft feminine voice ripped through her.

  “Same,” Clay replied without looking up.

  “Here’s your coffee,” Trish said. Handing him the steaming cup of nearly black liquid, her free hand landed softly on his shoulder. She caressed his back, bright red nails capturing Sydney’s attention as they swept back and forth across the red of his T-shirt. Red—the color of her shorts, her toenails...the ruby in the ring on her slender finger. The strong scent of coffee filled Sydney’s nostrils. Trish moved to Clay’s other side, her breasts brushing against his body as she pressed by. “Your parents are grabbing a bite to eat,” she drawled and patted his arm. “They’ll be here shortly.”

  “Good. The doctor won’t be back for another hour, anyway.”

  The conversation went on without her and Sydney felt every bit the third wheel. Trish sat, crossed her legs, the arches of her feet high and curvy in four-inch heels. Up close, she thought her tanned skin practically glowed, even in this lighting, as though it were infused with sunshine. Dressed in socks and sneakers, Polo and khakis, Sydney felt plain by comparison. Make that a third wheel with a broken spoke.

  Sydney rose. It was an involuntary reaction to an unexpected intrusion—one she had not anticipated and wanted to fight—but damn it, found that she couldn’t stay here another second.

  “Where are you going?” Clay asked in mild alarm.

  “I need to get back to work.” It was her default excuse. The irreproachable statement of fact that saved her from many an uncomfortable moment with this man would do so now.

  “But isn’t Charlie looking out for things?”

  Her breathing stopped. So he knew. Must be the reason Charlie had been so amenable. It was a favor for his friend. Trapped by indecision, she cast a glance toward Trish.

  “You don’t have to leave on my account,” she said, her southern accent pearly soft and sweet. She followed with a luminous smile.

  Sydney’s feet felt like lead. “No, it’s okay...” She wrestled over her next move. “I have things I need to do.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Clay said abruptly.

  Well that was easy, Sydney mused, disheartened by his quick acceptance of her departure. No argument, no pleading, he was fine with her leaving. As she and Clay headed out, she heard Trish murmur, “Bless her heart for coming. But my goodness, you do have a lot of friends, Q.”

  Sydney’s insides riled at the position she found herself in, cast aside because she wasn’t an insider. Wasn’t part of the family. No. She was just another friend offering get-well wishes.

  Clay walked her to the edge of the emergency room. “Thanks for coming.” He slid a hand up and down her bare arm. Oddly, she sensed he sought to gain more comfort from the connection than to give. She relished the touch all the same.

  “Of course. I just hope Q has a speedy recovery.”

  “He will.”

  Clay dropped his hand and Sydney felt the distinct absence.

  “He was awake earlier.”

  “Does he know he lost?” she asked, conscious of the potential repercussions to his emotions but curiosit
y getting the best of her.

  Clay nodded. “He does. He seems to be okay about it, but I’m sure that’s just for my sake.” She smiled at the image of the son protecting the father’s feelings. “Will you come by again later?”

  Sydney ventured a glance back toward Q and hesitated. Nurses idled bedside, doctors consulted charts at the long desk, a workstation that ran half the length of the room. A few staff members wheeled equipment out through the corridor beside them. Everyone had something to do, somewhere to be. She was out of place here. “Wouldn’t it be better if you three were alone, as a family?”

  “Don’t worry about her. My parents are here, too.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Trust me, there’s no love fest going on here. Just the kin folk sittin’ vigil.”

  It was the first semblance of the lighthearted Clay she’d first met. And while she didn’t care for the subject matter, she did like to see his spirits pick up. But drawn back to the bed, back to Trish, Sydney couldn’t deny the ambivalence binding her mood. The woman sure seemed pretty cozy with him. Why else, unless she had implicit consent? She looked Clay straight in the eye. Will they continue to be a threesome? Envy cut into her heart. Would she be sidelined while these two played Mom and Dad to Q’s crisis?

  “Are you worried about something?”

  “Me?” Caught cold, she stammered like a fool. “No—I uh, er...” She shoved hands into her front pockets. “I mean, I’m concerned about Q, yes.”

  He swiped a glance back toward Q’s bed. “There’s nothing between Trish and me, I told you.”

  She dared another peek. Trish was fussing with Q’s bed sheets, patted his knee. From her vantage point, the woman appeared all nurture and serenity and going nowhere fast.

  “Listen,” he said, growing unusually agitated. “I know Q would really like to see you. Will you come back later?”

  Sydney wondered if Trish would be gone. She wondered if his parents would take her place. Or Charlie. Pressure built within her chest. Was this really the best place for her to be? Lost in a sea of family and friends? “I’ll try.”

  “‘I’ll try’ usually means no with you. How about we go with a yes, instead?”

  Sydney wanted to come back, more than he knew. She longed to be with him, to share this crisis, to hold his hand, help him wade through the worry, the uncertainties...

  But she didn’t want to come back and sit here while Trish laid claim to Clay as mother of his child. If what Clay said about her having no interest in Q’s well-being was true, then she must be here for some other reason. Sydney probed his face for answers. Was it Clay? Was she after reconciliation? Sydney wanted to know Clay’s true feelings. She wanted to know if he truly wanted her here. Was it important to him that she share this heartache with him? Her stomach flipped. Deep within, pooling in the back of his eyes she detected the answer was yes, he wanted her here. Yearned for her presence.

  It was all she could do not to be pulled under. “Say five?”

  “Great.”

  She blinked. “I’ll be here at five, then,” she repeated, hoping he would get the message and clear the room of unwelcome visitors—if that’s what Trish was to him: an unwelcome intrusion on their time together.

  “I’ll see you then,” he said and pecked her cheek. Without lingering, without showering her with compliments or shamelessly flirting, Clay returned to his son.

  And the boy’s mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sydney sought the nearest exit. She had to escape these feelings, feelings she couldn’t act upon, couldn’t fully express. She didn’t like being caught in the middle. Trish had every right to sit vigil by her son’s bed and Sydney had no business wishing otherwise. After all, she was his mother. She’s the one who should be there, whether Clay wanted her there or not. The fact that she was having a problem with it made her feel ugly and petty and ridiculous.

  But Sydney couldn’t help herself. She didn’t like the way the woman touched Clay, assumed a familiarity with him. Sure they’d once been married and conceived a child together, but that was past tense. History. Clay was hers now. He’d been touching and holding and kissing her and that woman should keep her wretched claws off him!

  Sydney hit the metal bar for the door and with a hard shoulder, pushed outside. She had no idea where it led, nor did she care. She only wanted out of the hospital, out of the stifling confines of that trio, her feelings—only the latter she couldn’t escape. Stepping into the bright afternoon sun, she stopped. Where was Sam? It just occurred to her that she was going nowhere fast without her ride. Sydney looked around the grounds and wondered, had she left?

  She pulled the cell phone from her pocket and punched in Sam’s number. She clenched her teeth. If only the woman sitting by Q’s bedside wasn’t his mother. If only she were ugly. Sydney didn’t want to be comparing herself to her, didn’t want to wonder if Clay was still attracted to her, but how could he not be? Trish was beautiful, stunning. Sydney had nothing on her.

  “Hello?”

  Sydney shoved her thoughts aside and demanded, “Hey, are you still here?”

  “I am. Just chit-chatting with Jen. You need something?”

  “I’m ready to go.”

  “So soon?”

  “So soon,” she said flatly. “I’ll meet you at the front entrance.”

  “Okay, but—”

  Sydney ended the call before Sam could try and convince her otherwise. She’d had enough of Clay’s family unity for one day. Q was okay. She’d stop by later and pay her regards and then leave. There was no need for her to stay. There was only one more day of events and then the Rutledge family would be gone. Clay and Q would return home to South Carolina and she could extract herself from the situation entirely. It was a sticky situation to be sure and one she should never have allowed herself to fall victim to, but mistakes happen. She didn’t know a harmless lunch would lead to dinner, to a kiss and then—

  Stop. Kicking her legs into action, she marched around the building toward what looked like the main parking lot. She glanced around, cars lined as far as she could see in and around mammoth banyan trees. The front entrance had to be nearby. She shielded her eyes from the hot glare. Clay was a great guy and probably a great catch for any woman, but he wasn’t meant to be hers.

  And why not? Too much distance? An ex-wife traipsing along behind them? And she’d always be there—no matter how infrequent her visits may be. Sydney would always know there would be a next one. Long slender legs in high heels would pop in every now and again and check on Q, Clay. Sydney swatted the image. And why couldn’t she hack it? What was stopping her from being with Clay? Why was it that she’d let some self-centered female with her own set of issues come between them, prevent her from going after what she wanted?

  Because she was insecure, handcuffed to doubt and a past that Clay would never understand. He would never understand what it felt like to have hot blades of jealousy cut through her every time she stepped near that woman, sliced her heart in two every time she imagined him thinking about her. It was an awful feeling, a feeling ingrained in her since childhood. Her mother’s insane drive toward perfection was a poor example for any woman to set for her daughter, and her father’s behavior only perpetuated the cycle. It laid a foundation of mistrust, instilled a lack of confidence regarding how others saw her, what they thought of her. Did they think she was good enough? Smart enough? Did they think she was attractive?

  Then her father left and it was as if he confirmed it. You’re not pretty enough, thin enough, young enough. Your skin is dropping into folds and creases and you’re no longer worthy of my affection. Nor is my daughter worth staying. You both lack what I need, what it takes to keep me here.

  It’s the reason Sydney swore off family. Marriage and kids weren’t her thing. That’s what other people did and from her experience, didn’t do it well. They divorced. They fought. They put their child smack in the middle of their problems.

&n
bsp; But not her. She was going to work, and achieve, and find value in her career. She was going to travel and experience life. She was going places and she wouldn’t depend on some man and his attention to get her there. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Javier? How ugly a man could turn and how quickly, she thought bitterly. She once looked up to him, respected him. She once made him the center of her world and what did he do?

  Gawked at other women. He stared and lusted and made her feel small. It was a position she would never put herself in again. She would never be made to feel second-best—not to Morgan and not to Trish. Not to anyone. Clay had been a weak moment on her part. Alone since her break up with Javier, he’d made her feel beautiful, desirable. Images of Trish spit and popped in her mind’s eye. No thank you, she fumed, feeling stronger with every step she took. Clay and his ex represented the downside of love—divorce—and it was a chapter in her life she’d rather not repeat.

  Rounding the building corner, she spotted Sam standing beneath the porte-cochére. Good. She expelled a crisp sigh of relief. It was time to get this scene behind her. She waved and Sam waved back. First she’d call Charlie and check on things, then she’d swing by the office and begin to wrap things up. Venues had to be cleared, vendors had to be called... There were a ton of things to do and wasting her time with Clay was not helpful.

  “How’s Q?” Sam asked as she joined her under the awning.

  “He’s fine—or seems to be,” she clarified, grateful for the instant reprieve from the heat. “Clay thinks he’ll be fine.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” Sam gave her the once over as if to ask, why so brief? But seemed to think better of it. “My car is over there.” She pointed beyond a cluster of banyans, vines dripping down from the canopy, partially blocking the sight of her red sports car.