by Mary Blayney
“I miss Daddy, too. Very much.”
“I wish you a long, happy marriage, dear girl. It is the greatest gift in life a woman can receive, a man standing by her through the years. Except for her children, it’s wondrous when a man loves you no matter how you change.”
She thought of Ben, and his remarks about blondes, but pushed her discomfort away. “Thanks, Mom. You and daddy were great role models for a committed relationship.” She kissed her mom’s cheek and wiped a tear from her eye. “Are you getting your hair done too? Maybe we could put a little streak of green in your hair, just for fun?”
Before Norma could answer, Molly’s phone vibrated on the table. She reached for it. The next second the room phone rang as someone else knocked on the door. Loudly.
“Molly? Molly, let me in.”
It was Jason. His voice was anguished.
What the hell is going on?
“Hang on.” She hurried to the door and frowned at the cell phone. She didn’t recognize the number calling, so she instead opened the door and turned and grabbed the room phone.
“Hello?” She held up one finger for Jason to wait a second.
“Put the phone down,” Jason said.
In her ear a woman’s trembling voice said, “Molly, it’s Marta. Oh Molly, something very, very bad has happened.”
Molly squinted at her brother, who looked like he was going to burst into tears. “What is it, Marta? Are you okay? Is Mr. Garcia there?” Before she could ask another question, Marta started to moan in Spanish.
“Mi hijo ha tenido un terrible accidente.” The only words that stuck in Molly’s brain were ‘mi hijo’, my son, and ‘accidente’. Accident.
Molly’s voice rose. “Marta. Is it Cruz? Is he hurt?”
Marta started wailing.
“Marta, calm down, please. What’s wrong?”
Jason hurried to his mother’s side and leaned down to murmur in her ear. Immediately Norma got up and held out her hand for the phone. “Molly, let me talk to Marta.”
Molly handed her mother the phone as Jason grabbed her into a bear hug.
“It’s Cruz,” he said. Her brother walked her away from Norma, who was speaking to Marta in a voice that sounded like a priest administering last rites.
“Cruz was riding his Harley and he got hit by a truck,” Jason continued. “He’s about forty miles from here, in some tiny hospital. It’s really, really bad, Molly. They don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Chapter Six
Bethesda, MD
August 13, 3 p.m.
Anne leaned against her car and pressed the cell phone hard against her ear.
“I know, I know. Right?” She was talking to Harry, Jr. and her voice squeaked with emotion. “Yes, it is fabulous news. Dr. Friedman said the scan showed no sign of the tumor, and his blood work has improved. He said it was unusual to see this kind of spontaneous remission, but that I could bring Daddy home as soon as tomorrow, at least for a few weeks! This might be the miracle we’ve been praying for. Can you call Eric? I want you both to come, if not tomorrow, then Saturday, okay? Good. Good. Okay, I love you, son. I’ll talk to you in a couple of hours.”
Anne hurried into the building and down the corridor, and waved at Sara. She didn’t stop to share the news about Harry coming home. There was time for that. She wanted to see her husband first, and celebrate. She wanted to scream for joy, and dance a jig, and thank god for miracles.
She burst into Harry’s room, but her husband wasn’t alone. He sat at the table by the window, hunched over a thick folder of papers. Kirk Stephenson, their attorney, was with him.
But even the sight of that old sourpuss didn’t wipe the smile off her face. “Harry! Hey babe, you ready to blow this pop stand?”
Harry’s face pushed itself into a smile. “Hello, pretty lady. So Doc Friedman got a hold of you, huh?”
She hugged him, kissed his head, and patted Kirk’s back as he watched their display of affection with an embarrassed smile.
“Hi, Kirk.”
“Anne.”
She kissed Harry on the mouth. She wanted to sit in his lap but she managed a little self–control and pointed her finger at her husband. “Didn’t I tell you the chemo would be a success?” She sat on his bed with a little bounce. “I know it took twice as long as we hoped, but look! Now we can celebrate!”
“Calm down a little bit, honey. Yes, all the tests look good, but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”
“Okay.” She grinned. “But you’re sleeping in our bed tonight. And that makes me really happy.”
Kirk cleared his throat. “Well, I just have two more things, then I’ll leave you. Anne, here’s the trust documents you need to sign. I’ve explained everything to Harry.” He droned on for a couple of minutes while she nodded and scribbled her name twenty different places. She kept looking over at Harry, and gave him a wink.
He blew her a kiss.
“Okay. That’s it. Now there’s one more addendum I want you to look over.”
“What is it?”
Kirk looked at Harry.
Harry cleared his throat. “I told Kirk about the letter you got from that attorney in New York a couple of months ago. I told him about Stephen Miller, and that whole thing.”
Anne stiffened. She stared at her husband in disbelief. “What? Why did you do that? Stephen Miller has nothing to do with our family. Or with anything.”
Harry patted her knee and inclined his head toward Kirk. “Well, he shouldn’t. It shouldn’t. And most likely won’t. But it was Kirk’s thought, because of past experience with other estates, that it’s best to spell out the fact that this Jane Doe does not have any rightful claim to any part of our estate. Because she was legally adopted by another family.”
“It’s just a precaution, Anne. It protects your boys from any claim Jane Doe might make any time in the future,” Kirk added. “I know you gave up your baby, and she was legally adopted by another family, but stranger things have happened. Especially as Harry said you felt obligated to try and contact the child and pass on to her the information Steven Miller’s attorney sent you, that her biological father had severe medical problems that may have inherited DNA implications. I want you two to protect yourselves.”
Anne’s brain spun. She folded her hands together to keep them from shaking. “I think you should have asked me first, Harry. Before you told Kirk about, about…” She swallowed.
No facts of her life were more unsettling, or less discussed, than those that Kirk Stephenson had just recited out loud, chapter and verse.
Her mind reeled with the facts. When she was sixteen she’d given birth to a baby girl. A sweet, perfect, baby with a mass of ringlets, not an anonymous Jane Doe.
And she had recently received a letter from the estate lawyers of the man who’d fathered the child to say he was dead, and that multiple sclerosis was very prominent in his family. And that it was his wish that she contact the child’s adoptive parents and pass on the news about the disease.
Her sons didn’t know one single thing about any of these facts of her life before she was married. But now there was a legal document sitting a foot away from her that might break their hearts, and hers.
Anne recoiled from the paperwork as if it were a snake, and scooted off the bed. “Just take that document back to your office, Kirk. I’m not signing it right now.” She turned to Harry, her smile several sizes smaller than a few minutes ago. “I’m going to go to the car and get the duffle bag I left, and then pull the car up to the front. We’ll pack and get you home.”
“Anne, don’t be upset about the paperwork. I only told Kirk about all this because we both agreed you need to find the child’s adoptive family and get the information to her. We can do it without causing a fuss to anyone. There’s nothing to worry about,” Harry said.
“Stop.” Anne held up her hand. “And let’s stop calling her a child. The girl is a woman who would be over thirty now. But I have no intention o
f talking about all this today. I’ll see you out, Kirk.” She walked to the door. “Stay put, Harry, I’ll be back in a minute.”
She walked out of the room, not really feeling her legs, and heard the murmur of the men’s voices behind her. Immediately she realized she’d left her purse. She turned around and went back and nearly ran into Kirk.
“I forgot my purse,” she said.
“Oh. Well, there’s a lot going on,” he said. “But you don’t need to lead me out of here, I can find my way.”
“I’m sure you can, but I want to talk to you,” she said softly, though her eyes blazed. “Alone.”
Anne ran in and grabbed her bag and blew Harry a kiss, then motioned toward the hallway. “After you, Kirk.”
Chapter Seven
Calliente, Baja Mexico
August 14, 2 a.m.
You can come in now, Molly. I’m going to take Marta to the car.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Molly hugged Norma and went into the small private room at the St. Rose of Lima hospital. Marta sat at Cruz’s bedside, bereft of expression.
Her left hand lay on her comatose son’s chest, her right clutched her rosary.
It had been an excruciating eight hours since they’d heard the news that Cruz was injured. Hours during which Molly had hired cars, scrambled her staff in LA, and arrived at the hospital to find Cruz in surgery at a different facility than where she had arranged transport from. Which resulted in another flurry of calls.
But she had the details nailed now. Cruz would be transported out by helicopter in six hours and would be in LA by ten a.m.
“Marta, let’s go out now so Mr. Garcia can get us a taxi to take us back to the hotel. We need to pack up your things so you can fly to Los Angeles with Cruz.” Norma’s voice was firm.
Marta clutched the sheets covering her son. “I can’t leave.”
“He’s stable. You must be strong, Marta, for both of you.” Norma held out her hand. “Come with me.”
Marta rose, her expression a mingle of anguish and fear. She hugged Molly. “Thank you so much for arranging everything. I don’t know what we would do without your help, hija.”
“Shhhh, you know we’re always here for you and yours, Marta.” Molly met Norma’s eyes and saw her own fear and sorrow mirrored there. “I’ll see you later. The doctors there will get him through this. Have faith.”
Marta buried her face against the rosary in her hand and Norma guided her from the room.
Molly stood at the foot of the bed. Cruz’s skull was bandaged, but an iron contraption called a ‘halo’ brace was screwed onto his head to keep his head and neck from moving. The doctors feared he had spinal injuries.
His face was bruised and his chin stitched like a Halloween mask, a line of black X’s ran in a diagonal line from the corner of his mouth down and across his left jaw line. His right arm was in a cast and both legs were on pressure boards.
She shuddered and gripped the bed post. One of the monitors beeped loudly and then the pattern settled, as though her grief had been measured on it instead of his vital signs.
Slowly Molly walked around and sat in the metal chair Marta had vacated. She stared at Cruz’s face, at the shape of his eyeballs under his lids, at his cheeks, dusky with unshaved beard.
The police told Jason that Cruz was wearing a helmet, but that the force of the collision had knocked it off. He always wore the protective gear, but she’d seen him on more than one occasion undo the chin strap.
“I’m wild at heart,” he’d joked with her once, and they’d laughed together. “You certainly are,” she’d replied and then teased him about a sexual technique they’d recently tried, and he’d blushed and squeezed her close to him.
A moan escaped and Molly covered her mouth. No one knew why Cruz was coming to Cabo San Lucas, no one could explain why he’d chosen to ride his motorcycle hundreds of miles from Los Angeles.
“Wake up and talk to me, Cruz,” she whispered. Molly touched her hand gently to his face, and rested it against the stiff cast. For the first time she cried full–out, in agony, consumed by the fear she’d kept at bay, but now gave in to.
The Mexican doctors had talked frankly to her brother, physician to physician, explaining Cruz had suffered a ‘TBI’, traumatic brain injury, and to relieve the pressure from brain swelling which was certain to happen he required immediate surgery to remove part of his skull. They also said, if he survived, that he would most certainly be seriously impaired.
Molly slapped away the tears. This is my fault, she thought. It was my fault to not realize the press would show up at the hotel, and for being a victim he had to rescue. It’s my fault I threw myself at him and caused that terrible row.
And now it’s my fault he’s here. He was surely coming here to see me. She blinked. Cruz was coming to plead with me not to marry Ben. He’d thought about what I said for a week, and knew this was the last chance.
There was no other explanation.
Molly glanced at her watch. It was after 2 a.m. Her mother and Marta were waiting for her. She should send them back to the hotel and tell them she would stay with Cruz until the helicopter came. Her mother could pack her bags.
But I have to talk to Ben.
She stared at the cell phone. She was tormented with guilt and worry over Cruz. And overwhelmed at the thought of Ben’s reaction to this turn of events. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she had to go to the hotel and find him, and tell him how this had changed things. At least for now. Molly stood up.
What I need to say to Ben can’t be said over the phone.
“Molly?” The word was a low wail.
Molly raised her eyes. A woman stood in the hospital room doorway. Tall and red–haired, the apparition’s skin was as pale as the dress she wore. But it wasn’t a ghost.
“Shar?”
“Oh, Molly…” Shar Mitchell rushed across the room and stopped at the other side of Cruz’s bed. Tears rolled down her face. “Oh my god.” She pointed. “Oh my god, what is that thing on his head?”
Molly tried to speak but her throat constricted. “What are you, how did you find us?” She cleared her throat. “How did you get here?”
Shar put her hand to her mouth. “Ben. Ben chartered a plane. He called me a few hours ago and told me what happened, and offered to help. He said I needed to come right away.”
“Ben called you?”
Shar nodded.
“I see.” Molly grasped the side of the bed frame, willing her voice to stay calm. “The thing Cruz is wearing is called a halo. It keeps his spine aligned until they can run tests. We’re flying him to LA in a few hours. A team is standing by at UCLA medical center. He’s going to need extensive surgery.”
“Is he going to, to…?” Shar cried harder.
“He’s going to get the best possible care. I think we need to all think positively, Shar. Not go to pieces.” Molly sounded too harsh to her own ears, and softened her tone. “Marta is going to need everyone to stay positive.”
“I tried to call her, but I didn’t get any answer.”
“I don’t think Marta has a phone with her. You can tell her in person. She’s outside, ready to go back to the hotel.”
“Okay. I’ll go down and see her in a minute.” Shar took a step closer to Cruz’s bed. She wrapped her arms around her chest and started to rock back and forth, like a little girl trying to calm herself. “This is all my fault,” she whispered.
“What?” A surge of anger flowed through Molly, which quickly turned to embarrassment. For Shar. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is,” she replied vehemently. “We fought two days ago. He was shocked at something I told him and he, he just flipped out! I should have waited for a better time. But he’s been so preoccupied, I just blurted it out to get some kind of reaction from him! And then he wouldn’t talk to me, he just stormed out of the house. I heard the Harley, and ran after him, but he didn’t stop.” She stopped rocking and met Molly’s eyes. “It is my fa
ult he came down here.”
“I don’t understand,” Molly said. “You think because you two had an argument that Cruz decided to drive for two days through the Mexican desert?”
“Yes.” Shar began rocking again, faster, and more tears fell.
Uncertainty seeped into her brain like smoke. Molly shook her head to clear it. What did you fight about, she wanted to ask. But with a cringe of guilt, she knew.
She knew what Shar would say if she asked her. The question filled her mouth again. Maybe it will help Shar calm down if she has to repeat the words out loud.
“You’re still in love with Molly, aren’t you?” Shar had probably shouted at him. “Why don’t you go tell her then. Stop the wedding and tell her you still love her and you won’t let her marry Ben. It’s going to be a huge scandal. You’ll ruin everything between her and him, and hurt her career!”
Cruz wouldn’t have cared about that, Molly thought. But she knew she couldn’t make Shar repeat that conversation. Not to her. It would be too cruel.
She walked over to comfort the woman crying piteously at Cruz’s bedside. Molly knew how humiliated Shar must feel to be here. But it wouldn’t help Cruz for Shar to be around, either, reminding him of this sad drama while he was fighting for his life.
She had to get Shar back on a plane, and out of here today. Damn Ben for interfering.
Molly put her arm around the taller woman’s shoulder. “Please don’t cry. What happened was an accident. Even if Cruz was upset when he left you, he had plenty of time to calm down. It wasn’t your fault that the truck hit him. You need to forgive yourself and move on.”
Shar buried her head on Molly’s shoulder. Her pale hair brushed against Molly’s cheek. She smelled like apples and tears, and let Molly hold her as if she were a child.
“Molly?” Mr. Garcia said from the doorway. “Are you going to be ready to leave soon? The taxi is here and your mother wants to get Marta back to the hotel.”
“Give me two minutes, Mr. Garcia.”
The chauffer’s face was grave. He nodded and made the sign of the cross, and then disappeared into the shadows.