Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  Sam took off and Sydney followed. “Listen, please tell Jennifer I’m sorry for calling her to the hospital on her day off.” Though she found it odd for a doctor to take off on a Tuesday.

  “Oh, you didn’t.” Sam smiled and pulled the car keys from her purse.

  “What are you talking about? She wasn’t dressed for work.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? She turned over a new leaf when she met Jax.”

  Sydney vaguely recalled the story of how the two met, something about he was her gardener, or lawn guy. At the time she was engaged to be married—to someone else. But it seemed the two hooked up and out went the wedding. With the original fiancé, anyway. Apparently a lot of people seek “greener” pastures, even after professing their love and commitment. “So what is she doing now?”

  “She and Jax do missionary work throughout the Caribbean. They sail around on his boat, stopping to help sick people island by island. A real couple of beach angels, those two.” Sam grinned, pleased by her metaphor.

  The comparison invoked thoughts of Clay. He was a sailor. Had he ever been to the Caribbean? Did he like the islands, the crystalline blue waters offering up miles of freedom and time? Or was racing all he cared to do, hell bent on getting from one place to the next before anyone else. There was so much about Clay she didn’t know. Two weeks had not been nearly enough time.

  “Anyway, when they’re stateside, she runs a clinic that provides free care to the poor and they don’t care how she dresses. Though personally, I think Jax is the reason she’s mellowed. Really loosened her right up, if you know what I mean.” Sam grinned again, this time with a lascivious gleam in her eye. She pressed the auto unlock for her Mercedes.

  Which could only mean she was talking sex. Sydney mused, flipping her gaze up into the trees. How unusual. It explained the tan, anyway. Probably an allover tan, if what Sam was alluding to was true. “How can they afford to do that? I mean, medicine costs money. It doesn’t grow on trees.”

  “Independently wealthy,” she replied.

  Sydney blew a wisp of hair from her eyes. “Must be nice.”

  “Not really.” Sam opened her door. “It’s due to an inheritance from her parents’ estate. Her mom died a couple of years ago leaving Jen with a boatload of money. Add what she gleaned from the sale of her home in the Gables and she’s doing quite well. Besides, Jax earns money doing landscape work while they’re in the islands.”

  “Really?”

  Sam laughed and grabbed hold of her car door rim. “Oh, you should see some of the landscapes he does. While she’s busy healing the poor, he’s out designing gorgeous lawns for million dollar homes!” She shook her head. “What a life.”

  Yes, what a life, she thought and clasped the passenger door handle. Smooth steel filled her palm as she imagined a life of travel, luxury, doing the work you love with the person you love by your side. Definitely a life she could get used to. And should. She opened the door and eased down to the leather bucket seat. She was still young. She could still change course, alter her direction. What would you do if you knew you would not fail? It sure as heck wouldn’t be gluing herself to a dead-end job like she had with JL Conventions, a boss who didn’t appreciate her and a coworker out to get her fired.

  # # #

  Five o’clock came much too soon. Sydney had done nothing but pick up her car, drive by her office then back to the hospital. Charlie had done his good deed for the day and checked out her venues reporting to her that all was well. She thanked him, though it still stuck in her craw that it took a child’s near death experience for him to turn decent. A decency that was short-lived. The second he asked about Trish was the second she ceased doling out the credit.

  As she entered through the front doors, a flutter of nerves scrambled within her chest. Nothing she wasn’t used to by now, but it still bothered her. She didn’t like the sensation of constantly being on edge, on guard. But that’s what a life with Clay and Trish would mean. Only more intense, because then her heart would be invested. Not a winning return, if you asked her. Sydney aimed straight for the information desk. At present she had no idea where Clay and Q were, but for the last hour her mind had been humming with anticipation at seeing them again, nerves stretched tight and brittle. Pluck, pling. Like they could break at the merest hint of pressure.

  “Hello.”

  The white-haired woman dressed in pink looked up and smiled. A pleasant welcome twinkled in her aging, brown eyes. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me where Q Rutledge is.”

  “Is he a patient here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Certainly.” She slid her computer mouse across the desk, clicked several times and read from her computer screen. “He’s in room 402, bed one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Take the elevators to your right, dear.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Sydney replied and headed in that direction. Tucked away in a side enclave, recessed lighting illuminated the gleaming doors of stainless steel. She hoped Q would be awake and able to talk. She didn’t want to come all this way and miss him again. Seeing as how it would be the last time...

  Doors slid open and she entered, pressing the button for his floor. As the doors closed, her angst began to build. Would Trish still be here? Would Clay’s parents? She’d like a little time with Clay before...before...

  Before she said goodbye? Is that what she planned to do today? Bid him farewell? Adrenaline screamed through her back, her arms. Her legs withered from a hefty stream of the same. Of course that’s what she was doing. It was the natural progression, the natural end. The elevator doors opened to a wide hall. Right? Numbers were posted on the wall ahead of her. Room 402 would be to her left.

  Pulling the strap of her purse tight on her shoulder, the leather bag tucked securely beneath her arm, she walked to the left and looked for Q’s room. The nursing station was located front and center, with halls leading in three directions. Doctors and nurses crisscrossed paths, orderlies pushed metal food carts loaded with covered plastic trays giving the impression of a well-orchestrated maze, everyone intent on getting to their destination. She could almost see the “do not disturb” signs hanging from their necks. Good thing the numbers were marked prominently on walls and doors. She’d be able to find her way without assistance.

  Continuing until she reached room 402, she craned her head around the edge of the door. Propped up in his bed, Q was awake. He waved. “Hi Sydney!”

  Clay turned his head in her direction and smiled. “Hi. C’mon in.”

  She ambled in, pulse bumping between her ears. She checked the bathroom. Door open, light off. Looked like they were alone. She exhaled a sigh of relief. That would make this easier. She wandered in and stopped near the end of his bed. “Hello, Q.” She summoned forth her best smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.”

  “Doctor said the MRI came back clear,” Clay told her. “EEG looks good.” Clay touched briefly upon Q and added, “Now we wait and watch how he does.”

  She approached the foot of his bed. “That’s great,” she said, recalling the information she received from Jennifer. No additional seizures in the first twenty-four hours and Q should be fine. And he looked good. His color was pink, his eyes were bright. He seemed perfectly normal, like nothing ever happened.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You are?” she asked, then looked to Clay. Was he allowed to eat?

  “Q doesn’t like the food they’re serving.”

  “It’s gross.”

  Sydney chuckled, relieved. Typical kid response. “Well, hospitals aren’t known for their food, Q. But they do know how to help kids when they’re not feeling well.” A sadness entered his eyes and she immediately thought of his lost gold. “I’m sorry about the race.”

  His gaze darted to his dad. “I was winning.”

  “I told him he was way out front. He had the gold.”

  If he finis
hed the race. Left unspoken, the statement stood loud and clear between them. Hanging like a pendulum sweeping to the rhythm of bleeping monitors, they all heard the same thing. If he hadn’t seized, if he’d finished the raced, he could have won.

  The loss wedged deep. She hated losing, remembered the pain very well. While others’ questioned the tears in the eyes of brawny NFL football players, she never did. Losing hurt. Bad. She inhaled and quick breath and said, “You were amazing. I was so proud of how you swam that race.” Tears pushed behind her eyes but she fought them off. She would not cry in front of him. Could not. “It was awesome.”

  He smiled and nodded. “I counted my strokes.”

  “It worked.”

  “Q’s already talking about the world games,” Clay informed her.

  “Really?” She’d heard the next ones were to be held in Brazil. Did Clay and Q plan on attending? Purse clutched tightly to her side, the strap fell from her shoulder.

  “They’re going to be in Rio de Janeiro next summer. Q and I are already plotting out his practice schedule. It’s going to be tough competition, but he’ll do well.” Clay visually confirmed with his son. “Right, Q?”

  “Right on!”

  Clay laughed. “That’s his new mantra.”

  Sydney felt a swell of admiration for the boy. Mere hours past his seizure yet here he was, planning his next competition. Talk about bounce back—after what he’d gone through? “Did the doctors say he could swim again?”

  Clay hesitated, but only for a second. “He will. We’ll watch him closely, monitor his progress. If need be, he can take anti-seizure medication.”

  “I won’t need it,” Q spoke up between them.

  “If doc says you do, then you do.”

  Q quieted, but the resolve in his eyes spoke volumes. Affection for him burst inside her. The boy was an athlete; a bull of perseverance and determination. Suddenly, she had no doubt. Q would do it, medication or not.

  “Q has a favor to ask.”

  Startled, she looked at Clay. “Of me?” Sydney pulled the fallen strap back into place.

  “Yes.” Then to Q he directed, “Go on. Tell Sydney what you told me.”

  He looked at her, but his previous exuberance was gone. In its place, the most earnest yearning had assumed residence. Pure, naked, and unashamed. She nearly crumbled under its weight. Whatever he wanted, she’d give it to him. It was that simple.

  “I want you to speak for me tomorrow night at closing ceremonies.”

  Nerves fired and popped. No. Anything but that. Sydney grazed Clay with a questioning glance but returned to settle on Q. She didn’t understand. “Speak for you how?”

  He sought his father for help.

  “Q is what we in the Special Olympics family call a Global Ambassador. It’s a very big honor to be chosen and he’s been selected to say a few words about the events and what they mean to him as an athlete. But under the circumstances, he and I feel it best if he hands the honor off to someone else. And he chose you.”

  She balked. Heart thundering within its confines, she protested, “But I’m not one of the athletes.”

  “No, but you can represent him. You can share his story and his triumph which is what closing ceremonies are all about.”

  She looked at Q, looked at Clay—and felt trapped. She wasn’t a public speaker! Didn’t Clay remember? Couldn’t he have talked Q out of this? Humming with fear, she wracked her brain for a way out. She’d contact the Special Olympics people. They’d understand. Surely they would prefer that a young athlete speak on his behalf. A brave athlete and not some doubt-pecked, scaredy-cat chicken like her.

  “These events have meant everything to him, Sydney. You know that.”

  I don’t know anything! I only know what you told me. She struggled to remain calm. I’m only a bystander. A planner. She didn’t want to upset Q, but she didn’t want to tell him she’d do it, either. She’d only make a mess of things and make them both look bad. Sydney clenched her jaw she glanced between them.

  “You’re an athlete, Sydney.” Q’s voice hooked her attention and pulled it in his direction. “You helped me.”

  “Q, you didn’t need me,” she protested. “You did great on your own. It was all you.”

  “I want people to know I’m an athlete.”

  “They do,” she said, battling the response that most certainly was coming. “Everyone knows it.” She tried to smile and make light. “You have a fan club, remember? They adore you.”

  “I want people to know I worked hard to win and they can, too.”

  Crap, crap, crap. “They do—they saw you. Don’t you remember?” She flashed a glance to Clay, mercilessly mute in her time of need. “The place was packed. Everyone knows what an outstanding athlete you are, Q.”

  “The Special Olympics helped me.”

  “Yes, and they’ll help you with this, too. I bet there are a ton of kids who would love to speak for you.”

  So far from the strong, competitive athlete that he was only days ago, Q looked young and fragile in his bed. He glanced at his dad. Clay nodded. “I want you to thank everyone for me. The Special Olympics said you could.”

  Damn, damn, damn—she fought the words forming on her lips. She dodged to Clay in a desperate attempt for an escape—an excuse—anything that would prevent her from spiraling into another fiasco but as expected, he offered no help. Nothing. Zippo. Returning to Q, she wanted to tell him that his teammates would pitch in. Any single one of them would step up and speak on his behalf. It made better sense! Any one of them would do a better job than her.

  “Will you do it, Sydney?”

  The question was quiet, vulnerable. The tender request crushed any and all resistance, every ounce of defense. Her shoulders sagged. “Of course.” She blew out a ragged sigh and the lid to her coffin fell closed. “Of course I will.”

  Clay joined her outside Q’s room. In the hall, staff worked around them, some busy, some hurried, yet Sydney felt disconnected to the hive of activity around her. He touched her arm with the palm of his hand and she tensed. Warm and hot, the connection was a stark reminder of the intimacy they shared. “I really appreciate you doing this for him.”

  She nodded. She knew that he did. Clay was all about his son and anyone that was a friend to Q was a friend to him. Great. She was admirable. She’d make an admirable fool of herself this time.

  “I’ve already cleared it with the Special Olympics committee. While they declined at first, they eventually gave in.”

  Yes. They’re smart that way. They’ve heard me speak on stage.

  “You don’t have to say a lot. You can be brief. Just a few words of thanks to the organization, let them know how these games have really helped Q not only with his athletic ability, but his schoolwork, too.”

  She nodded again, dulled to the enormity of gratitude swimming in his gaze, the polite glances from passersby.

  “And give thanks to Q’s fellow athletes. Let them know how much he appreciates them. Give them some words of encouragement moving forward. And tell them all he will see them at the world games.

  “Anything else?”

  “Try not to look like you’re walking the plank.”

  “Very funny.” She heaved a sigh and raked a hand over the smooth hair on her head, the taut ponytail behind, dragging the length of it with a curled finer. Sydney took in their surroundings and warned, “You know this isn’t my thing.”

  “I know.” He tipped her chin up to face him and she allowed her hand to fall away. “Which makes me all the more happy that you agreed.”

  “I couldn’t very well say no.”

  “You could have.” A smile formed on his lips. “But it would have devastated him.”

  “Great.”

  “And me.”

  Her mood sank. “You’re good at this guilt stuff.”

  “You can thank my mother.” A glimmer of mischief flitted across his eyes. “My parents will be sitting in the front row.”

&n
bsp; She moaned. “Perfect.”

  “Afterward, you and I can have dinner.”

  “At ten o’clock at night?”

  “You owe me.”

  “Owe you, how?”

  “Before Q’s race you promised me one last dinner. Tomorrow night.”

  Memories of the morning rushed to the forefront of her mind. Clay’s heavy-handed grip, his refusal to take no for an answer. His resolve to convince her she was wrong, they did have a chance. She’d completely forgotten.

  “I’m holding you to it.”

  A mix of desire and trepidation washed over her. She was supposed to be ending it between them. Convince him it was unrealistic to pursue a relationship. They had no chance. How was she going to do that over dinner? A shimmy of excitement skated through her loins, betraying her resolve. Dinner with Clay usually opened more doors than it closed.

  “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded. “But not for dinner. We can talk, but I’ll have already eaten by then.”

  “Have it your way,” he said, then touched his lips lightly to hers. The soft press of flesh, the warm, intimate promise left her breathless—and aching for more. “Tomorrow night,” he whispered.

  Tomorrow night.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Seated in the front row on the opposite side of the stage from Clay’s parents, Sydney felt the familiar knot twisted within her stomach. Wound so tight, the lump of nerves began to make her feel nauseous. She did her best to ignore it, breathing in, breathing out. She told herself to calm down, she could do this. It was a mantra she’d repeated many times in the past on the volleyball court and it worked. Made sense it should work here, too. But no matter what, she could not make Q look like a fool for choosing her.

  Clutching tightly to the paper in her hands—her speech notes—Sydney glanced into the stands, landed on bystanders here and there and mentally went over her talk. Athletes were still filing in to a splash of grand music, medals hanging from their necks by wide ribbons. Some had one, some had two, but a few athletes wore three or four spread across their chest in layers.