Two souls. One heart.
God had most definitely set her feet in an exceptionally spacious place.
LATE AUGUST
Blue light, the muted shade of a twilight sky, shone through the rectangular panes of the brick building’s ninth story window. Last night, the light had been yellow. The day before, red.
Brett Somers pressed his hand against his heart. But he couldn’t ease the unbearable pain that threatened to break him in two.
I’d give everything I own if he would only open his eyes.
Not even the scars of his own childhood had engulfed him like this. He hadn’t known such pain was possible.
As the skies darkened with the promise of rain, the random colors became more vivid, more numerous. Beneath the gathering clouds, the lighted panes created a brilliant kaleidoscope of hope.
The children on the other side of the windows controlled the color of their ambient night-lights.
Unless, like the boy in room 927, they were in a coma.
Brett leaned against his Lexus and forced a smile as footsteps ambled toward him. Finally.
“How is he?”
“No change, man.” A mass of curly red hair framed Aaron Wiley’s round Santa Claus cheeks. Come Christmas, he’d don a white wig and beard for the young patients whose vital signs he monitored.
“He just lies there, sound asleep.”
Brett swallowed the sigh building up in his throat. “The accident was weeks ago.”
“Head traumas take time to heal.”
“What about Meghan?”
“She seems to be doing better now that she’s not spending twenty-four hours in this place. More rested. I overheard her talking about a church giving her an apartment, no charge.” Humor twinkled in Aaron’s gentle eyes. “Don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”
“She was going to end up in a bed next to him if she didn’t . . .”
“Take care of herself?”
Brett shifted uncomfortably. He wouldn’t have to resort to these cloak-and-dagger tactics if Meghan wasn’t so stubborn. So unforgiving.
Not that he hadn’t given her a good reason to despise him.
He pushed away from the car and retrieved a colorful gift bag illustrated with zoo animals and balloons from the backseat. “Tomorrow’s his eighth birthday. I want you to give him this.”
Despite the blue and yellow tissue paper sprouting from the top, Aaron peered inside. “What did you get him?”
“It’s not from me.”
“’Course it isn’t.”
“Come up with something, okay? There’s got to be a group or some kind of foundation that donates toys to these children.”
“Several.” Like the big kid he was, Aaron slightly shook the bag as if trying to get a hint of what was inside. “They donate books. Hand-carved wooden toys. Stuffed animals.”
“That works. It’s a stuffed monkey. With an MP3 player inside.”
“Good choice.”
“Wearing an Ohio State football jersey.”
Aaron grinned. “Even better.” He held out his closed fist, and Brett obliged him with a friendly bump.
Brett’s smile quickly faded. A rain-tinged breeze swept along the quiet street, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “She can’t know it came from me. I’m depending on you, Aaron.”
“I’m always here for you, man. You know that.” A rare frown pulled at his mouth. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
Brett closed his eyes and bowed his head. The words he’d been dreading settled like a boulder in his gut.
With anyone else, he’d pile on the charm. Or the pressure.
But Aaron wouldn’t succumb to either. The certified nursing assistant risked his job every time he gave Brett an update. Even if the update never changed.
Brett stared toward the ninth floor window. “I understand.”
“You should just talk to her, man.”
“I’ve tried.” He shook his head. “She hates me.”
“Not used to that, are you?”
“No, Aaron. I’m not.”
“Tell you what.” The Santa Claus twinkle returned to Aaron’s eyes, and his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “When he wakes up, I’ll make sure you know it.”
A sliver of hope slipped past the boulder. “I’d appreciate it.”
“I better go, man. My shift’s about to start.” Aaron’s characteristic smile beamed as he cradled the gift bag. “Don’t worry, she’ll never know this came from you.”
Brett nodded his thanks, and Aaron sauntered toward the hospital.
Suddenly light-headed, Brett bent over the hood of the Lexus, his hands pushing against the black frame.
If only he’d known . . .
He sucked in air, then exhaled.
If he’d known, he wouldn’t have cared.
Not back then. Not when it mattered.
The camera shutter clicked multiple times in quick succession, then Dani Prescott slouched against the medical building across the street from the hospital. By the sun’s fading light, made dimmer by the rain-heavy clouds, she checked the Canon Rebel’s digital display. The images of two men, a handsome blond and an unruly carrot top, appeared in the square screen. In the final image, the Adonis stood alone, his chin lowered.
As Dani looked up from the display, he interlaced his hands behind his head. She caught a momentary glimpse of his pained expression as he lifted his eyes to the heavens.
Compassion stirred her heart, but it lasted only a single beat. Taking a few steps forward, she lifted the camera and took another quick succession of shots, though she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t need more photos of the guy.
Waiting for him to emerge from his office building then tailing him seemed like a good idea a few hours ago. The thrill of playing detective and all that.
But the reality had been mostly boring. And puzzling.
He’d stayed later at his office than she expected considering it was a Friday night. When he had finally emerged from the parking garage’s elevator, she’d expected him to drive to a restaurant or to pick up a date. By then it was past six-thirty, and she couldn’t wait to snap furtive photos of him out on the town with some Barbie bimbo as shallow as she knew him to be.
But hanging around a children’s hospital? Why?
A blaring siren broke the brooding peace of the lonely street. Dani pivoted, and her stomach clenched as an ambulance sped her way. She blinked, and her breathing accelerated as if racing the siren’s crescendo.
Gripping her stomach with her free hand, she concentrated on deep inhales and exhales. This emergency had nothing to do with her. Nothing.
The ambulance came nearer, then turned and followed the curving drive around to the ER.
“Are you okay?”
Dani spun toward the voice and gazed into the most attractive blue eyes she’d ever seen. A faint smile creased the man’s gorgeous face, revealing deep dimples.
Busted.
Her surveillance plan for learning more about Brett Somers’s personal life hadn’t included actually speaking to the guy. Heat crept up her neck and warmed her cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” The smile disappeared. “You look a little pale.”
Her voice stuck in her throat. Good-looking and self-assured, he was just the kind of man who made her stammer and trip over her own feet. The kind of man who looked right through her or only noticed her because she’d done something clumsy or stupid.
Like secretly taking pictures of him.
“Are you going to be sick?”
“Fine,” she blurted, flushing again at the squeak in her voice. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I just don’t like ambulances.”
“Who does?”
She followed his glance toward the hospital. An assortment of bright colors shone through the windows.
“Taking photos of the lights?”
“Um, yes.” She nodded in support of the lie and forced
a smile.
“Can I see?”
“No!”
He appeared taken aback by the force of her objection but only for an instant. Holding out his hand, he smiled. “Please.”
Her knees turned to jelly when his dimples reappeared. He obviously expected her to succumb to his charms. Most women probably did.
But no way could she show him the images she’d taken. He’d think she was a stalker.
Who was she kidding? She was a stalker.
Though for a very good reason.
“I’d really like to see them.”
She couldn’t let him know how much he intimidated her. If only she could be as poised and self-confident as her favorite classic movie actress. No matter the circumstances, Audrey Hepburn always said and did the right thing.
Of course, Audrey had a scriptwriter.
Dani wished she had one too. With a quiet sigh, she straightened her shoulders and carefully placed the camera in its bag. “The pictures are personal.”
He dropped his hand. “Which window?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which window is yours?”
She crinkled her eyes in confusion. “None of them.”
“You don’t have someone here? A sick child you’re worried about?”
“No.”
“So you take hospital photos for the fun of it?” His gaze bored into hers, and a hint of suspicion weighted his words. “Strange hobby.”
Dani silently agreed. If that were the truth, it would be. She needed to distract him. Maybe a conversation wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Which window is yours?” She tried to sound nonchalant but didn’t think she’d quite succeeded. Small talk with handsome men never had been her forte.
The brilliancy of his light blue eyes faded, and he carelessly shrugged. “Just looking at the lights.”
So he could lie too.
From her research, she knew he’d never been married. Since the death of his grandmother a few months ago, his only family members were a sister and a cousin, both single as far as Dani knew.
So there should be no children in Brett’s life.
Or maybe he was telling the truth, and the present he had given the other man wasn’t for a patient but for someone on the hospital staff. Perhaps he was playing secret admirer.
The image of his earlier pained expression appeared before her as clearly as if she were staring at a printed photograph. His secret didn’t have anything to do with romance. She gazed at the colored lights. Behind one of those windows was a child he cared about.
A mystery.
What would Audrey do?
Feeling his eyes upon her, she met his gaze and awkwardly smiled.
“I’m Brett Somers.”
I know.
“And you are?”
Dani’s eyes shifted, and she stared at the tan toes of her canvas shoes. He wasn’t supposed to know her name. At least not yet. Her mind flashed to the classic movie she’d watched last night.
“Regina Lampert.” The lie surprised and emboldened her. Suddenly tickled by her audacity, she grinned.
He arched an eyebrow. “Regina Lampert?”
She nodded.
“As in Charade? Audrey Hepburn’s character?”
Busted again.
“You know that movie?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She mimicked his earlier casual shrug. “You just don’t seem the type.”
“What type?”
“The type to know about old movies.”
His eyes crinkled in amusement. “What type am I, ‘Regina Lampert’?”
“I don’t know.” Careful, Dani. He can’t suspect you already know anything about him. “The never-alone-on-a-Friday-night type. The let’s-fly-to-New-York-in-five-minutes type.”
“I never fly, and New York doesn’t interest me.” The amusement eased into a broad grin, and he spread his hands. “And I’m all alone here.”
She nervously twisted the camera bag’s strap. “So how do you know so much about Audrey Hepburn?”
“My grandmother was a huge Cary Grant fan. I watched Charade with her several times. You?”
She lifted one shoulder and bit her lip. “Too many Friday nights alone, I guess.”
“Pretty girl like you?”
Immediate heat burned her face, and a strange deprecating sound escaped her lips.
“How many stars would you give Notorious?”
“Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman’s Notorious? I love it.”
“It’s playing at the Ohio Theater. Part of their summer classic series.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Before the movie starts.” He flashed that knee-weakening smile again. “I know we’ve just met, but I promise I’m a respectable businessman. Successful too. I own a thriving property development company. And my cousin is engaged to the daughter of missionaries. We used to not-date, so she can tell you what a gentleman I am.”
Dani’s head spun as she tried to keep up with his chatter.
He pulled out his cell and flicked the display. “Should I call her?”
As if it had a mind of its own, her hand shot out and covered the phone’s screen to stop him. “You don’t need to do that.” Her fingers lingered against the warmth of his skin. She drew away and took a step backward. This could not be happening.
“Then you’ll come? My treat.”
“To the movie? It’s probably sold out.”
“I know the manager.”
Of course he did.
“Come on, ‘Reggie.’” He shoved his cell into his pocket and bumped her elbow with his. “Historical theater. Notorious on the big screen.”
Twisting the camera bag’s strap, she tried to think of another objection.
Just say no. N. O. One easy syllable.
But her voice didn’t cooperate.
“A giant bucket of buttered popcorn.”
She grinned. Couldn’t help it, he sounded so pitiful.
“We’ll drive separately. Where’s your car?”
“Around the corner.” She tilted her head to the side street next to the medical building. “Where’s the theater?”
“Just a few blocks over. So how about it?”
Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea. A movie meant little time for small talk, which meant she might find out something useful without giving anything away. Seeing one of her favorite movies on the big screen was a bonus.
“Okay,” she said.
His dimples deepened. “Okay.”
As they walked to her car, he gave her directions in case they got separated. She tried to pay attention, but her stomach tightened at what he must be thinking about her eleven-year-old Honda Civic. The rusted spots seemed to take on a noticeable and vibrant hue beneath the street lamps.
Shoving her not-good-enough feelings aside, she unlocked the driver’s door. So what if she didn’t drive something new and shiny. At least she worked for what she had.
That is until she’d quit her job to follow her dream to nowhere.
Brett grabbed the door as she slid into the seat. “Remember, follow me to the light and take a left.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Good.” He shut the door and waited.
The engine coughed then smoothed into a solid hum. She lowered her window. “Something wrong?”
“Just wanted to be sure you got it started.”
“It usually does.” Her voice held that defensive snap she hated.
“Usually?”
“We’re going to be late.”
“You’re right.” He tapped the window frame then jogged to his car.
A few minutes later, she pulled into the street behind his polished Lexus and gripped her steering wheel.
She was on this lonely street to spy on Brett Somers. How in the world did she end up on a date with him?
Johnnie Alexander is the award-winning author of
Where Treasure Hides. Johnnie is an accomplished essayist and poet whose work has appeared in the Guideposts anthology A Cup of Christmas Cheer. In addition to writing, she enjoys reading, spending time with her grandchildren, and taking road trips. She lives near Memphis, Tennessee.
JOHNNIE-ALEXANDER.COM
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