Code Blue

by Janet Lane-Walters

  "Don't say such things." In that instant, her fears that Jim would leave her had been so strong, she hadn't heard him say how he would feel if his prediction came true.

  She shook her head. Jim's eyes appeared to change. Almost, she heard a whispered, "I told you so."

  Several tears rolled down her cheeks. She replaced the picture on the night stand. The queen-sized bed seemed too large, too cold and too empty. What if--

  No fantasies, she thought. Since the night Patrick had held her in his arms, kissed and loved her, he had never done or said anything a friend wouldn't. She had allowed remnants of Monday night's traumatic discovery and tonight's imagined intruder to create the need to find security in Patrick's arms. There was no reason to be afraid...or was there?

  Chapter 4

  The next morning when Patrick opened the door on his side of the large house what Susan saw in his blue eyes confirmed what she had been denying. She didn't see the open welcome of friendship, but desire and need. Before she glanced away, she knew Jim had been right about Patrick's feelings for her.

  "Good morning." His smile raised a delicious warmth. "Ready for the parades?"

  "Hi." She forced the greeting across her lips. She moved past him into the family room and put the pie containers on the counter that divided the long room into two areas. Then unsure of what to do or say, she walked to the kitchen door and stared into the barren yard.

  "Do the pies go in the refrigerator?" Patrick asked.

  "The pumpkin should." The aroma of poultry seasoning and the other spices scented the air. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I'll take your sweater."

  He stood behind her, close enough that she felt the warmth of his body. The awareness increased her uneasiness.

  "Good idea." She handed him the sweater and rolled up the sleeves of her aqua shirt. "Smells wonderful." She stopped at the counter and tasted the cranberry relish. "Is there anything left to do?"

  He winked. "I saved the potatoes for you." He brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

  For a moment, Susan thought he meant to kiss her. Did she want that? Her confusion must have shown. He stepped back and headed to the living room.

  She wondered if he had sensed her need to be alone. His knowledge of her moods often bordered on the uncanny. She recalled a dozen instances of closeness during the past summer when they had shared chores in the yard. Was she ready for a change between them?

  Susan carried a bowl and paring knife to the deacon's bench in the living room. The flames in the fireplace competed with the flickering colors on the television screen though neither held her attention. Her thoughts dwelled on the confusion caused by what she had learned about Patrick's feelings for her. What was she going to do?

  Some time later, Patrick's deep voice startled her. "What?" she asked.

  He chuckled. "You've been paring that spud for five minutes. What's wrong?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing, really. Watching a fire can be hypnotic. I've always loved fireplaces."

  "I never thought it fair for both to be on my side of the house."

  "Jim's choice. He thought fires were messy so when the architect drew up the plans to convert the house, he insisted both be on the tenant's side. For once, I argued and lost."

  She had difficulty deciphering the meaning of the look on Patrick's face. Surprise, and something more. No wonder. This was the first time she had criticized her husband's decisions with Patrick as an audience. She looked away. "When are the children due?"

  "At nine thirty." He grinned. "I know, they're late, but when was Lisa ever on time?" Amusement tinged his voice.

  "Don't I remember missing a couple of movies because she couldn't get organized? How long will the twins be here?"

  "Until Sunday evening."

  "That's a switch."

  "Things are changing. Lisa and Rob are on their way to Vermont for business and skiing. He thought the kids would be in the way."

  "Why? They're great kids. How could he think they'd be a problem?"

  Patrick shrugged. "I don't ask those kind of questions. Rob is on the fast track these days. I'll have the twins for Christmas, too. Rob has a business meeting in Europe and Lisa wouldn't dream of being left behind."

  Susan smiled. "You'll enjoy your time with them."

  Patrick settled into the Victorian smoker that Susan had helped him refinish last summer. His long legs stretched in front of him. "Being a sometimes father was never my choice. I wish Lisa had been willing to try joint custody."

  The yearning in his voice made Susan wish she could offer a solution. "They're older now. Why not ask again?"

  "I have. She objects to my bachelor status. And of course, there's the child support. She and Rob would miss the extra money."

  Susan stared at her hands. She couldn't point out his ex-wife's selfishness without adding to his pain. The bitter note in his voice made her realize he was very aware of the fact.

  "How are things at Bradley Memorial?" he asked. "Anything new about the Denton woman's death?"

  "Everyone has a theory about what the police are doing, but no one knows anything."

  Patrick leaned forward. "I know the covering reporter. She says the police are working on a connection between the death and the alleged attack in the parking lot."

  "Which may have been a dramatized version of a petty incident. Barbara had an inventive imagination."

  "I don't think so," Patrick said. "When we had dinner last night, Laura said several of the nurses reported seeing a man run into the cemetery on the night of the attack."

  At least no one told the reporter that a man shouted my name, Susan thought. She could imagine Patrick's reaction if he knew. Like Jim, he would want her to leave her job. She didn't want to quarrel with Patrick.

  A shock that had nothing to do with Barbara's death jolted Susan. A friend? Dinner? She reached for the last potato. Did she think he had lived as a monk since his divorce? Why did his closeness to this female reporter trouble her?

  "Another thing Laura said was that Barbara was adept at making enemies."

  Susan concentrated on the knife. "They aren't really enemies, but people considered her an annoyance. I've only heard one person admit to wanting her dead."

  "Who?"

  She reached for the bowl. "One of the nurses on my unit, but it was just talk."

  "Are you sure? Could she have been the one being blackmailed?"

  "Five thousand on a nurse's salary? I don't think so." She carried the potatoes to the kitchen sink. "All this speculation and gossip are some of the reasons I'm not enjoying work these days."

  "Have you remembered anything else?"

  Susan turned on the water. "I thought I did, but whatever I thought I saw eludes me." For a moment, she wondered if she should tell him about the dark car and the sounds of a prowler last night. Did she want to trigger his protective instincts? Then he would want to take charge of her life.

  "Maybe I can help. Was it something about the room?"

  She shook her head. "Her body. That's where the memory stops." She quartered the potatoes and put them in a pan. She turned. Patrick leaned against the end of the counter. His intent stare made her wary.

  "When's your next weekend off?"

  The abrupt change of subject confused her. She fumbled for an answer. "Next week."

  "Great. I'm covering a concert for the paper. We'll go to dinner before and maybe dancing later."

  She hesitated. Did she want to go? If she accepted, he might believe she wanted more than an evening with him. He stepped closer and left her with no retreat. She pressed against the sink. Did she want to run? Before she discovered the answer, he pulled her into an embrace. His lips touched hers. She felt a shiver of delight and fear slide along her nerves.

  The doorbell rang. Patrick groaned and released her. "Lisa always had bad timing."

  Or good, she thought. She wanted to surrender and also to fight the confusion he had stirred.

  The momen
t he opened the door, the twins shot into the room. Patrick gathered them into his arms.

  Susan listened to the enthusiastic greetings. She set the pan on the burner. Tears misted her vision and she fought a surge of envy. The room blurred. Had she wanted children? Since Jim hadn't, she had never considered motherhood. She walked to the deacon's bench and stared at the television.

  "Aunt Susan." Robin's light soprano voice lilted the honorary title Susan had been given years before. "Dad didn't tell us you'd be here. I have a zillion things to tell you. There's this boy--" She tossed her coat to her brother. "Adam, where are your manners? Aren't you going to tell Aunt Susan hello?"

  Adam grinned. "It's not polite to interrupt someone, even a motor mouth like you." His voice cracked. "Hi, Aunt Susan. He's a creep." He sprawled in front of the deacon's bench.

  "Just because he's better at basketball than you are," Robin said.

  Adam stuck out his tongue. Susan ruffled his honey blond hair. "You've grown a foot."

  "That's because you haven't seen me since summer. You're never here when we come to see Dad. Did they give you the day off?"

  "I have to be at the hospital by three."

  "When are you off?" Robin asked.

  "Tomorrow."

  "Good." Robin kicked off her sneakers. "You can take us Christmas shopping like you did before --"

  Divorce and death, Susan silently finished. She reached for the girl's hand. "Sounds like fun, but your dad might have plans."

  Patrick shook his head. "The day is yours, but only if you promise to come back and eat leftovers with us. Put together a game plan while I finish dinner. Then we'll set the table together."

  Susan's gaze met Patrick's. Her cheeks flushed and she glanced away. Had her eyes promised too much, she wondered. She wanted to spend the day with him, yet she feared the erosion of their friendship and the ceding of her independence.

  The twins chattered with one often finishing a sentence for the other. Susan felt a sense of belonging that troubled her. He wasn't her husband. Still, for a moment, she allowed herself to pretend they were a family.

  A short time later, they gathered in the dining room. Patrick handed Susan heavy plates made from pale cream-colored pottery that was streaked with rust tones. Robin and Adam put the silverware and glasses at each plate.

  "Aunt Susan, did you know the nurse who was killed?" Adam asked.

  The intrusion of reality startled Susan. Her smile faded.

  "Aren't you scared to go to work?" Adam asked.

  "Yes to both questions." Susan's voice broke.

  Patrick touched her hand. Comfort mingled with awareness. "Cool it kids. Susan doesn't want to talk about the murder."

  "Maybe tomorrow?" Adam asked.

  The wistful tone of his voice made Susan smile. "Maybe, but don't bug me."

  "Let me tell you about Jeff Midori," Robin said.

  "That creep."

  "He's better at baseball, too."

  The moment of panic passed. Susan folded the linen napkins into fans and listened to Robin's enthusiastic chatter about the boy who had captured her attention.

  That evening, Susan sat in the lounge and prodded a piece of celery with her fork. If Leila hadn't planned to join her for dinner this evening, she would have skipped the meal. With luck, the loss of appetite would last through the holiday season, or until the last five pounds she wanted to lose had been shed.

  She stretched and remembered the plate of food, a reprise of Thanksgiving dinner, she had left on the counter at Patrick's. The twins, the feeling of belonging, her wishes to prolong the sense of family had nearly made her late for work. At the last minute, she had hurried home to change clothes.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes and recaptured memories of the morning. Robin's chatter. Adam's questions. The interrupted kiss. Her fingers touched her lips. What had the kiss meant to Patrick?

  When he had jumped in to protect her from his son's curiosity, she had felt warmth instead of resentment. Yet, as she drove to work, she had found herself wishing she had let her answer. She would have said the same thing, but he had taken her option away.

  Jim would have answered for her, too. Was that the reason for her annoyance? Did her resentment stem from seeing another similarity between the men? She dropped the fork on the plate. Friendship was the key. She didn't want to fall in love again. Her fears of forming another dependent relationship were too strong. For that reason, she hadn't told Patrick about the dark car or about the prowler she had heard.

  The lounge door closed with a bang. Susan gasped and immediately recovered. Leila held a tray. Susan raised an eyebrow. "Thought trays weren't to be taken from the cafeteria."

  "They trust me to return it." Leila put her dinner on the table. "I knew you'd never join me there."

  "And waste half my dinner break waiting for an elevator." Susan speared a piece of cucumber. Leila looked drained. Shadows and lines that hadn't been there Monday night marked her face. "Have you heard anything more about Barbara?"

  "The funeral's tomorrow." Leila reached for a fork. "Some of the supervisors are going. I'm glad I won't be in town. She caused me enough heartache."

  "How?"

  "One of these days, I'll tell you. Are you going?"

  "No." Susan carried two cups of coffee to the table. "When will things get back to normal around here?"

  Leila sighed. "I'm not sure they ever will."

  "Don't say that."

  "A death like Barbara's will take a long time to forget."

  "We have to try." Susan sipped the coffee. "Any idea when we can use the storage room? Sending to Central and the ER every time we need equipment is a pain."

  "The police have promised to finish by Monday afternoon. They're still searching for the murder weapon. Your shift will have first rights."

  Susan shuddered. "I don't think I'll ever willingly go in there alone. What's the scoop on the killing? There has to be some news."

  "More rumors than facts. Murry said they're looking at the men in her life."

  "That could take forever. Three ex-husbands, plus the maintenance men and security guards from here whom she dated." Susan shook her head. "I didn't think she was attractive, but men sure did."

  "She wasn't ugly, just her attitude." Leila cradled her coffee cup. "One of her husbands was recently released from jail. He served time for burglary. Used to work here. At the trial, he said she told him what houses to hit. I believe she might have. They were homes of patients on her former unit." Leila shook her head. "She charged one of her ex-husbands with abuse. How am I doing?"

  "Tons better than Kit and about par with Patrick. He knows a reporter who says the police are trying to connect her death with the attack in the parking lot."

  "Doesn't that trouble you?"

  "Why?"

  "She said someone called your name in warning."

  Susan inhaled a breath. "And how often did she tell the truth? I think she was trying for shock value."

  Leila winked. "How is that good-looking neighbor of yours?"

  Susan shifted in her chair. "I had Thanksgiving dinner with him."

  "And?"

  "His children were there. They're great. I enjoyed listening to Robin talk about her latest crush and Adam tease her about the boy."

  "You're evading the question."

  "I think he's in love with me."

  "Grab that man and run."

  Susan laughed. "It's not as simple as that. There are many things I have to consider before I leap into his arms. What I feel toward him, my job, my independence."

  "What does independence have to do with love?" Leila shook her head.

  "Friendship is all I can handle right now. If we were dating, that would change."

  "Why?" Leila lit a cigarette.

  "Leila, no." Susan pointed to the cigarette.

  Leila walked to the powder room. "Once more, why?"

  "How often does a dating couple remain friends?"

  "Must have hap
pened a time or two. You could start a new trend. You can't be alone forever."

  "A lot of women are."

  "You're not one of them. Instead of spending your energies on the patients, you need someone to love."

  Susan walked to the credenza and refilled her cup. "I did that once."

  "What's wrong with trying again?" Leila spoke over the whir of the vent fan. "I know Jim treated you like a child who was incapable of making decisions, but Patrick might be different. Also, remember how much you've changed."

  "How many women choose the same type of man again and again? You've seen it happen."

  "Joe's nothing like my ex."

  Susan put her cup on the windowsill. Maybe Leila couldn't see the similarities. Joe didn't abuse Leila but he placed his own concerns first. Did love always create tunnel vision?

  "Patrick is a lot like Jim. They grew up together and were closer than many brothers. He protects his children. He protects his ex-wife. I won't be swaddled again."

  "Then let him know. Don't push him away before you try." Leila joined Susan at the window. "Did Barbara say anything Monday night about Joe and me?"

  Susan glanced at the door. "Not about Joe. She was furious with you. Were you really going to recommend she be put on probation?"

  Leila raked her hair. "I was going to and I would have even though she tried to blackmail me into turning over the material I'd collected. She spied on us. Even named times and places where we met."

  "Did you destroy the things?"

  "Not on a bet."

  "Was Jim upset?"

  "At me, not her. We had our first argument because I refused to give her the documents. He didn't understand that the next time she wanted something, she'd remember about us and make new demands."

  "You were right about that."

  "He planned to offer her money." Leila returned to the powder room. "I hated her. She tainted something special."

  "Did he give her the money the police found?"

  "I don't know, but who else could have. I didn't even know he had come to the hospital that night."

  "Ask him." Susan cleared the table. "Not knowing would drive me crazy."

  Leila shrugged. "He has too much to cope with these days."