The Still of Night

by Kristen Heitzmann

  She rested her hand on his arm. “That’s not all your things. Are you coming back?”

  He shrugged. “I might.”

  “Morgan …”

  He bent and kissed her cheek, then remembered another just as smooth, accented with feathery blond hair. What if he’d kissed Jill last night, taken her into his arms as he’d wanted to when he saw her approach—just stood up and pulled her into his arms and kissed her? His pulse raced as he slid his hands from Noelle’s shoulders. “Be good.”

  Her eyes held his. “Can I say the same to you?”

  He smiled. “Gotta have fun doing it.” He chucked her chin lightly. “Tell Rick good-bye.”

  She didn’t try to stop him, just watched as he went out the door with one last wave, then headed down the stairs and outside. The sun tortured his eyes as he reached the gravel. The ache in his head defied the aspirin he’d swallowed. He squeezed his shoulder blades back with a low grunt, then opened the trunk and put in his soft leather travel bag. He turned when Todd sauntered up.

  “Where are you going?”

  Morgan eyed the kid. “Not sure.”

  Todd’s pointy face glared. He leaned close, staring, and sniffed, then backed off. “You’re messed up.”

  “No.”

  “Yes you are. I smell it.”

  “I brushed my teeth.” Who was this punk kid to jump on his case?

  “It’s in your skin.”

  Morgan scowled. “I showered.”

  “It comes out anyway. I remember.”

  Expelling a hard breath, Morgan rested his hands on the open trunk frame. “Your dad?”

  Todd kicked his toe into the dirt. “Why’d you get drunk?”

  Morgan squinted. Why in heaven’s name had he come to Rick’s ranch? “I don’t answer to you.”

  “Yeah.” Todd’s face was all snarl. He walked away with a bigger chip than he’d come with.

  “Todd.” With a sigh, Morgan caught up to him, grabbed his arm, and turned him. “You’re right. I got messed up last night, drank more than I should, and right now I feel like something you don’t want to step in.”

  “Why?”

  Morgan looked at the angry, defensive kid. He did not have an answer. He had no answers at all.

  Todd’s eyes darted to the side. “I wanted you to talk to Stan.”

  Morgan’s head throbbed. “What about?”

  “You and me doing stuff.”

  Doing stuff? Morgan swallowed. This kid was not his responsibility. Some undersized, overcharged kid … Then he realized Todd had not sworn even once. His chest squeezed. “What sort of stuff?”

  Todd shrugged. “I’ve got all these chores now. Like they think it’s gonna help me get responsible.” He shot him a glance. “But after … we could talk or somethin’.”

  What had he started? “Don’t you talk to Stan?”

  Todd shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  Todd kicked his toe into the dirt in a steady rhythm, raising a little cloud. “He gets all mad if I swear or say something he doesn’t want to hear.”

  Morgan sagged. He did not need this. He looked at the car waiting to carry him away, somewhere, anywhere.

  “Go ahead.” Todd must have followed his gaze. He turned away.

  “Where is Stan?”

  Todd glanced over his shoulder. “What do you care?”

  Nothing. Morgan almost turned and headed for his car. Instead, “I’ve got time if you want me to talk to him.”

  “What difference does it make if you’re leaving anyway?”

  Morgan sighed. “Todd, would you get Stan?” Why was he standing there begging the kid?

  “He’s in the cabin. Hold on a minute.”

  Morgan waited. Todd came out of the cabin with Stan, and Morgan took another good look at the man. Taller than average height, though he stooped, sandy hair thinning, perpetual bags under the eyes but a strong chin.

  Stan shook his hand formally as though they hadn’t just spent the week in some proximity. Though counting all the “sightseeing” drives the family had taken, they hadn’t connected as much as they might have. “Todd says you’d like permission to do things with him?”

  Morgan glanced at the scrawny spin artist, then back to Stan. “Thought we could try out some hiking trails, take in a movie or two.”

  Stan rested his hands on his hips and nodded. “Since you’re Rick’s brother, I don’t see why not.”

  Yes, any brother of Rick’s must be good as gold. Stan’s sense of smell must not have Todd’s acuity.

  Stan nodded toward the bag in the trunk. “Were you going somewhere?”

  Todd’s eyes darted and Morgan’s met them. “No.” He could tell himself the word came without thinking, but it hadn’t. Somewhere between tossing the bag into the trunk and shaking Stan’s hand, he’d decided not to leave.

  Stan’s eyes ran over the rest of the car. “What do you do, Morgan?”

  “I’m a corporate consultant, troubleshooter. I solve people’s problems.”

  Stan nodded. “Must do all right with it.”

  Morgan formed a quick smile. “Yeah.”

  “He’s not as rich as Bill Gates,” Todd said.

  “Todd.” Stan frowned.

  Morgan laughed. “That’s okay. I told him that.”

  “Well. Todd has some work to finish up.” Stan raised a hand. “Just let me know when you want to put something together—with Todd, I mean.”

  Morgan nodded. “Sure.” Stan seemed a decent enough guy, though he’d jumped to a conclusion comparing him to Rick. Still, Todd could do a lot worse. As they walked off, Morgan pulled his bag from the trunk and started back into the house.

  Noelle had begun the vase and stems when he went back upstairs. She turned and smiled, guessing in advance his change of heart.

  “I guess I’ll stay awhile, unless you’ve fumigated my room.”

  She shook her head. “What changed your mind?”

  He glanced behind him. “Todd.”

  Noelle’s smile spread, reading more into it than there was. But then, maybe not.

  “Just a few days probably. That’s all the quiet I can stand.”

  “You’re welcome as long as you like. You know that.”

  He did. Though he and Rick were as opposite as two brothers could be, there was a bond between them. Maybe more so since Noelle had entered the picture, strange as that seemed. Someone less than Rick might be jealous and suspicious, especially when Morgan pressed the limits. Instead he freely offered his home, his family. Morgan nodded. Sometimes he needed that.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Jill stared at the letter, an impersonal sheet of paper typed by uncaring hands, the scrawl of a signature at the end. She felt light, as though gravity had suddenly released her, then realized with a crash it had not. Her head struck the edge of the table. Pain.

  “Jill!” Shelly rushed in, slamming the measuring cup onto the table and crouching beside her. “Did you faint? Are you sick?”

  Jill cleared the shock from her head. Sick? No. But her heart did not believe it.

  “You have not been eating, girl.”

  That was true. Yet she’d gotten up at dawn every morning and run, hoping the exercise-induced dopamine would suffice. She had poured herself into tutoring the students who qualified for the extended schoolyear program while she had waited to hear the results. And now …

  “What’s this?” Shelly snatched the letter.

  Feebly Jill tried to take it back.

  Shelly stood up. “What is this?” Her face paled, her mouth hung slack. “Pre-transplant bone marrow test results? Jill! Are you dying?”

  Jill dropped her face to her hands. “No,” she said flatly. “My daughter is.”

  Shelly dropped her hip against the cabinet, mouth open, staring as though Jill had suddenly turned green and sprouted antennae.

  “A bone marrow transplant is her only chance for cure.” Tears stung and her throat burned. “I don�
��t match, Shelly.” And she broke down, shaking with the terrible sobs that came. “I don’t match.” She was vaguely aware of Shelly rejoining her on the floor, arms coming around her. She buried her face in Shelly’s neck. “Oh my God, my God.” Would He ever stop punishing her?

  “Shell? Burgers are on the grill; we need—” Brett stopped just inside the patio door.

  Shuddering, Jill looked up and saw Dan come in behind him.

  He pushed past Brett and dropped to the floor. “What’s wrong? Are you injured? Did you fall?” He touched the lump on her head.

  “Shelly, what’s going on?” Brett demanded.

  Jill snatched the letter and pressed it to her breast, sending Shelly a beseeching look.

  But Shelly shook her head. “No way. I’m not letting you face this alone. We’re your friends, Jill. At least I thought so.”

  Jill dropped her chin, fresh tears flowing. What did it matter? What if the whole world knew? Her daughter was dying, and she could do nothing to stop it.

  Dan came around behind her and lifted her to a chair at the table. “Could someone tell me what’s going on? Face what?” He looked at Shelly.

  Shelly shrugged and eyed Jill expectantly.

  Jill looked from one to another. Her three closest friends. Shelly must have come to borrow something across the narrow yard that separated their patio doors. She could smell the smoke from their grill and remembered she’d been invited to join them but had turned down the invitation. She dropped her forehead to her palm, then pressed the letter flat on the table. “I can’t donate bone marrow to my daughter.” She looked up and saw just the expression on Dan’s face that she expected.

  His jaw hung slack and his brown eyes searched her face as though he’d never seen her. “Your daughter?”

  She smiled dryly. “Safe sex, just the way you teach it.”

  He frowned. “Jill …”

  Shelly pulled out a chair and sat. “Brett, sit down. Dan, stop hovering.”

  When the table was full, Jill looked at her friends again, Shelly’s face sympathetic but hurt. Brett, uncomfortable. Dan … poor Dan. Jill wanted to laugh. It was so … but tears came instead. She fought them away. “I was seventeen. I gave her up for adoption.” Her throattightened, looking into Dan’s face. She saw understanding dawn.

  “A few weeks ago, I got a letter saying she had leukemia.” Her voice broke. Grimly she contained the horror that word still gave her. She’d read everything she found on the Internet about the disease and spent hours sifting the library catalogue for the best available books on the subject.

  “The parents knew where to find you?” This from Shelly.

  “I always update my address with them just in case.” In case Kelsey wanted to find her, not in case she needed to die.

  They all sat in silence. Of course, they didn’t know what to say. Her friends were all revamping their image of her, trying to catch up with the truth but needing to discard so many appearances, starting with chaste. Jill flicked a glance at Dan.

  He reached over and took her hand. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Shelly’s tone was betrayed. “It’s not like we’d pin a scarlet A to your dress.”

  Jill shook her head. “It was fifteen years ago, long before I knew any of you. I—it was behind me.” Except for all the times she’d imagined her child, longed for her, and cried.

  Dan’s hand was warm, his eyes gentle, almost relieved. Maybe now he considered her “normal.” “What’s her name?”

  “Kelsey. Kelsey Renée Benson. She’s fourteen. She’s …” Tears stung again.

  Dan’s hand tightened. “These are the kinds of things you don’t try to handle alone, Jill.”

  She sniffed back the tears. What could they possibly do? Kelsey was going to die and there was nothing they could do.

  Shelly picked up the letter. “So they asked you to donate marrow to stop the leukemia?”

  Jill nodded. “Without a transplant there’s no chance of cure. The initial test result was good, but the cytotoxic antibody screen gave a positive reading for anti-HLA class one antibody.” Stabbing pain shot through her chest as she babbled. Like Cinda, she spouted the right medical terms, but they did not siphon the pain. “If they did the transplant, Kelsey would reject my cells. I can’t help her.”

  Shelly looked up from the letter. “What about her father?”

  Jill’s spine went cold. Morgan. She hadn’t even thought it. Oh, God, I can’t. You can’t ask it. But it seemed God could ask anything. Go to Morgan? Tell him her daughter, their daughter needed him? Wouldn’t he have the other haplotype match and possibly no antibodycross match? In spite of the June heat in the kitchen, she started to shake.

  Dan shot a glance to Brett and chafed her hand. “Take it easy, Jill.”

  But Shelly had fixed her with a piercing gaze. “It’s Morgan Spencer, isn’t it?”

  Dan looked confused. Jill could almost read his thoughts. Should he know something here?

  “Um.” She raised a shaking hand to flick back the soft strands falling into her face. “He doesn’t know anything.” She had lied to the judge at the termination hearing, listed the father as unknown, and served notice to all putative fathers in a newspaper in her aunt’s county where she knew Morgan would never see it. “My parents told him I had an abortion.”

  Shelly drew a long breath and sat back in the chair. “Well, maybe it’s time to enlighten him. Where do men get off thinking if the woman has an abortion it magically all goes away? I bet he was just so relieved.”

  Jill bit her lower lip. She hadn’t been there when her parents told him, but she’d seen his face when she first mentioned it, and she’d heard her father yelling at Morgan’s over the phone. No, she didn’t really think the Spencers, or Morgan, had felt relieved. But what could she do?

  “So,” Shelly said, forcing the issue again. “Do you know where to find him?”

  “Only a post office box in California.”

  Shelly’s face reflected Jill’s own uncertainty. As much as she would like to, it shouldn’t come to him in a letter. And she had just seen him! Could have told him, but instead they’d exchanged stupid words that meant nothing.

  “His family lives near here.” At least they had. She pictured the classy Spencer farm where she’d spent some wonderful times. “I guess they’d know where he is.” She sniffed back tears and noticed a distinct smell.

  “Oh no!” Brett shot up. “The burgers.” He hurried out, the rest of them staring after him.

  Dan said, “Those burgers will be charcoal. Shelly, why don’t you and Brett go out for dinner? I’ll stay here with Jill.”

  Shelly looked from him to her. Jill sensed her indecision but knew she would obey. Anything Dan wanted. Even if it meant she wasn’t the first to get the whole story. Weariness settled like a blanket.

  Shelly stood up. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Shelly’s expression left no doubt that she would.

  Jill sent her a bleak smile. What if she said no? Did Shelly ever take no for an answer? At the door Shelly glanced back, then went after her husband. Jill sat without speaking, her hand cupped between Dan’s.

  “So that’s the real reason, isn’t it?” Dan spoke softly, but there was an edge in his voice.

  She looked into his blunt, suntanned face. He was the guy they’d call for a good-cop/bad-cop routine. His was the face you would trust. But she hadn’t. She lowered her eyes. “I meant everything I told you.

  I believe in marriage. Intimacy belongs within the covenant. All of that is true.”

  “Now.”

  She drew her hands away. “I was seventeen years old, Dan. I had people like you telling me I could and should be sexual.”

  “And of course Morgan Spencer.” Again the clipped tone. Was he jealous?

  She sat back in her chair. “I don’t need this now. Yes, I learned the hard way. Does that make the lesson less valid? If I had done things right, do you think I
’d be sitting here begging God not to make me tell Morgan the truth, and praying he doesn’t hate me so much he’ll let our daughter die?”

  “Real boy scout, is he?”

  Jill pictured the cold, cynical man Morgan had become and started shaking again. “I don’t know. We were kids. He was eighteen years old; what do you expect, Dan? My parents gave us no choice. They blamed it all on Morgan and sent me away before I could even see him again.”

  He released a long breath. “Okay. I’m sorry. But we’ve been together almost a year and I had no idea. I thought I knew you. This is the kind of thing that scares the you-know-what out of me. If we can be in a relationship this long and you keep something like this to yourself …” He shook his head. “It’s Liz all over again.”

  Jill knew it was his hurt speaking, but that was uncalled for. “I never lied to you, Dan. And I certainly didn’t cheat on you.” And now anger covered her hurt. “And the fact that I have a daughter is really none of your business at all.” She tried to stand, but he caught her wrist.

  “Jill. I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

  She settled back, wishing the anger wouldn’t subside. But it did, leaving only the terrible fear and disappointment.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Her chest tightened like a vise. “Find Morgan.” She didn’t want to say it, but she had to. Kelsey needed any chance there was.

  Dan rubbed her hand. “You don’t look too good.”

  “I don’t feel too good.”

  “How’s your head?”

  She reached her fingers to the bump. “It’s all right.”

  “Why don’t I start you a hot bath? While you soak I’ll make us something ….”

  “Dan.” Jill covered his hand with her other. “No.” Then she drew both her hands away. “I need to be alone.” To think. To pray. But she didn’t say it aloud. She was already a hypocrite.

  He was hurt. He wanted to make something happen between them that she knew now was not going to happen. Just the thought of facing Morgan was enough to keep her from ever risking that kind of intimacy again. She took the letter, folded it, and slipped it back into the envelope.