Those lies hadn’t hurt just him. He pushed her away. “My dad wept.”
Her eyes flew to his, ripe with anguish. Did she really think this little episode would undo the hurt? Anger surged. “Oh, he’d teared up before. Actually he’s a softhearted man, you might recall.” Morgan fought a fresh rush of fury. “But I’d never seen him weep. When he got off the phone with your father, he walked out into the yard, held his face, and cried.”
“I know Dad said cruel things ….”
“That wasn’t it. He thought he’d failed, and that failure caused the death of his grandchild.”
Jill clutched her hands at her knees on the floor. “I’m sorry, Morgan. Dad was wrong to lie. He’s not perfect, but—”
“He’s saved.” Morgan tasted the word like something pungent.
She searched his face. “Is that why you turned from God?”
His throat worked painfully. “Do you really think, after that, I could pretend to be anything but what I was?”
She sagged.
“Now if you’re through, I think I might sleep.” He closed his eyes, wiping the sight of her from view, but hardly from recall. That would be merciful.
From her crouch on the floor, Jill stared at Morgan. What had she hoped to accomplish? Had she thought her confession would somehow wipe the slate clean? She pressed a hand to her face. And what had induced her to admit she’d all but planned her pregnancy? She had hardly admitted it to herself.
All she had known was that Morgan would not run out on her if it happened. They were both facing college, four years spent apart. She loved him so fiercely. What if he forgot her? Found someone else? She rested her face in her hands. Why hadn’t she trusted God then?
Could He have given her such a love if it wasn’t His will? Other girls were in and out of relationships all the time. No one had ever meant to her what Morgan did. Once her heart was set, it never wavered. Why hadn’t she seen it as the Lord’s blessing? For Morgan Spencer to date no one else his entire senior year—wasn’t that proof enough that they had something special, something that would stand the test of time?
And, God help her, it had, and would continue to. Tears came and soaked into the cracks between her fingers. Morgan was too gone to notice, too jaded to care. But she cried for all they’d lost. If only there were a way to fix it now. She would give up everything for one more chance. And when he sobered, she would tell him that.
Sniffing, she climbed up from her knees. He was out cold. Alcohol, anesthesia, physical and emotional trauma; he might sleep for hours. She stood and looked around the room. A dozen choices for entertainment, to enjoy alone? No wonder Morgan said they were only things. She looked down at him, heart breaking. I’m sorry, Morgan.
His office was quiet. Where was Denise? In her little cottage, or had she gone into town? She found Morgan’s laptop and opened it on his desk. Even if Kelsey hadn’t written, she could leave her a note, telling her … Morgan was fine? That he’d come through the procedure with flying colors? Was overjoyed with all of it?
Jill brought up her mail. She could ask Kelsey to pray for him. The purity of their daughter’s prayers would surely soften God’s heart and avail much. Over the next few days with Morgan, she would do the same. Though her prayers were not Kelsey’s, they were the best she could offer.
Dear Kelsey,
I suppose by now you’ve received Morgan’s bone marrow. I cannot tell you how hard I’m praying for this to work. Since you were concerned for him, I thought I’d let you know he came through fine. Sore, of course. But I wondered if you could pray for him ….
How could she expect a fourteen-year-old to understand? But then, Kelsey was no ordinary fourteen-year-old. Could you pray for his faith and for … Jill searched for the right word. Healing, forgiveness, restoration. She settled on peace. Yes. If Morgan could be at peace with God, with himself, that would be enough. She didn’t want to reveal too much or impugn Morgan in any way. So she left it at that and asked Kelsey how she was feeling, what the next steps were, and assured her of her constant prayers.
Resting her fingers on the keyboard, she had a sudden sensation of purpose. God’s will was at work. Now if she could just keep out of His way. She raised her finger to exit the program, but the mail message came up. Biting her lip, she clicked on the message.
Hi, Jill. I actually feel better today than I have for a long time. The doctor said it had nothing to do with the marrow yet. They’re always careful I don’t get the wrong ideas. But do you know what I think? I think Morgan sent some of himself with it. Like good wishes or hope or love? I don’t mean like he really loves me, but as I sat there with Jesus during the rescue, I was so covered in love. The Lord’s, of course, and Mom and Dad. But I also sensed you and Morgan. Is that crazy?
No, it wasn’t crazy. Not when she loved Kelsey so much, and after Morgan’s response to the phone call … his tenderness had been tangible.
But I just got your note and I’m curious. You said pray for Morgan’s faith? I will, of course, but I’m not sure why. Jesus loves him so much. That’s another thing I sensed today. As I dozed, I had one of my visions. Okay, maybe it was a dream, but where I get this stuff if it isn’t from God, I don’t know. And Morgan was on his knees before Jesus, and Jesus lifted him up and hugged him really tight.
Jill’s breath stilled. Her eyes closed. Oh, Lord, thank you. If only Morgan knew it.
So, yes, I’ll pray for faith and peace. But I have a secret thing I’m praying also. It makes me very happy to think about it. Oh, guess what? Josh came to the hospital. I could only see him through the window, but he threw me a kiss. Now that kind of kiss is O-KAY. Kelsey
Jill smiled and typed her reply. More than okay. How kind of him to come. Did he know this was your big day?
After a moment, Yes, he knew. My smile is hurting my face.
Jill laughed softly, typed, I love you, Kelsey. And sent it before she could think too hard. She waited, breath held, praying she hadn’t overstepped.
I love you, too. Don’t let Morgan forget my picture. I want to compare it to my dream vision.
Jill had to smile again. At close to Kelsey’s age she’d had dream visions of Morgan, too. She didn’t share that with her daughter, only focused on the beauty of what Kelsey shared with her. She’s the best of both of us, Lord. Please make this work.
She wandered out to the yard, stood at the edge, and looked out at the ocean. Something dark leaped from the water, and she guessed it was a dolphin. She searched the waves for another sight of it or perhaps more of them. A large bird, skinny legs trailing, dipped down and mounted up with a silver fish flipping about in its beak. The lowering sun opalized the clouds where they thinned, but the sea had a grayer cast than the day before.
She could understand how people listened hour after hour to the ebb and flow of the waves. Even on a tape, that sound brought peace. And there was the fin again, only it wasn’t a dolphin. The creature rose up and spouted. Jill sucked in her breath. She’d never seen a whale, not free out in the ocean. What a sight, though it had been so brief.
Near where it disappeared, a flock of white birds glowed over the water in a ray of sun that shot through the clouds. The trees beside her waved in a breeze, then grew still. Oh, Lord, so much beauty. So much life. She wanted Morgan to see it. To know in his soul what Kelsey knew without ever meeting him. Open his eyes, Lord. Let him know your love.
CHAPTER
26
Morgan dragged himself from what was nearer coma than sleep at the incessant shaking of his shoulder. The room was shrouded in night, too dark to make out the hand that assailed him. He vaguely remembered Juan walking him up the stairs at Jill’s direction. So why was he being rousted now?
“Wake up. Señor Morgan, wake up.”
He peeled his lids open, blinking against the gritty surface of his eyeballs. Consuela in his bedroom?
“It’s Juan. He’s been arrested. They say he broke into a car.”
Morgan
lifted her hand from his shoulder. “Stop shaking me. I’m awake.” Her words penetrated his fog. Juan. He’d known something was up. Suspected, at least. He eased slowly up on one elbow. His back and hips ached. But it could be worse, like his head.
He slid his legs out from the sheets. Consuela was too worked up to notice his boxers or care. He sat up and buried his face in his hands.
“What time is it?”
“Two o’clock. I’ll make you coffee.” She hurried from the room.
He hunched on the edge of the bed, feeling every poke from yesterday’s needle. His head pulsated pain, and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Juan arrested. What was he supposed to do about that? He couldn’t think.
Broke into a car. There were signs in cities like Tijuana where Juan had come from. Do not park here. Car thieves. It was something of a sport down there. Morgan let the weight of his head rest in his palms.
Consuela was back, restoring his soul with the steam of French roast. He gripped the mug and drank. She’d spiked it with bourbon. He raised his brows, surprised.
“Juan called from the police station. He asked for you to come.”
“I don’t know what I can do, Consuela.”
She pressed her hands to her face and started to cry. “If anyone can help him, you—”
“Stealing from cars is not considered honest work up here.”
“Sí. Sí.” She wrung her hands like rags. “He is lazy, I know. But he’s my brother. Mi hermano pequeño.”
Morgan took another gulp of coffee. What was she thinking, spiking it like that? “Let me get dressed.”
She went to his closet and pulled out slacks and a long-sleeved cotton-knit shirt. She laid them on the bed beside him then went to his dresser.
“Consuela.”
She turned, one hand on his underwear drawer.
“Wait for me in the hall.”
She gripped her hands against her mouth. “Gracias, Señor.”
“Don’t thank me yet. There may be nothing I can do.”
Nodding and wringing her hands, she went out and closed the door. His first order of business was the bathroom. Then he washed his face and head at the sink and brushed his teeth. He poured the rest of the coffee down the drain.
Dressing was interesting. He had old-man legs. But he managed.
Now if he could get his head cleared. He’d need all his wits to get Juan out of this mess. He carried the empty mug to the door and handed it to Consuela. “Straight, this time. No hair of the dog.”
She nodded. “Sí, of course.” She hurried down the stairs.
He made his slow way down the hall, one hand to his pounding head.
Jill’s door opened. “What is it, Morgan? What’s wrong?”
“Juan’s in trouble.”
She stepped out wearing the robe from her closet. “I heard the phone. I thought Kelsey …”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Just a matter of car theft.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”
“Consuela thinks I work miracles.”
Jill pressed his hand. He ought to apologize for his ugliness earlier.
But Consuela hurried up the stairs with a fresh mug of coffee, handed it over, then turned to Jill. “I’m sorry to wake you.”
“That’s all right.”
“You will pray for Juan?”
Jill nodded. “Yes, I will.”
Morgan sipped the coffee. At least Consuela wasn’t pinning all her hopes on him. He released Jill’s shoulder. “You may as well go back to bed. This could take a while.”
She stretched. “I’m awake now. Do you want me to drive you?”
“Consuela’s driving.” She had pulled on a jacket. There would be no convincing her to stay behind, though a police precinct at two in the morning would not be pretty. Morgan motioned Consuela down before him, then followed stiffly.
Jill’s heart steadied as she watched them leave. The two-o’clock phone call had brought waves of fear that something had happened to Kelsey, though if there were an emergency, she and Morgan would hardly be the first called. Rational thought had come with waking, then concern and curiosity.
Juan. Consuela was brave to wake Morgan—or desperate—after how stubborn and morose he’d been when she insisted Juan get him up to his bed. Yet he seemed calm now and willing to do his best. Of course. He’d made an art of rising to the occasion. The least she could do was pray. Or maybe the most. But how could she pray for a car thief? Surely not that he’d be let off, though Consuela’s tearful face was convincing. The Lord’s will be done, then, whatever was best. Leave the knowledge of that to the Lord.
And maybe that Morgan would see God’s hand working and his heart would be opened. He must be exhausted, maybe in pain, certainly hung over, yet he went out in the night, not even waiting until morning to help Consuela’s brother. Jill’s impressions of Juan had not been positive. He seemed sullen, resentful even. Morgan had taken him in and was trying to obtain a green card for him. Yet she noticed none of Consuela’s gratitude. No wonder Morgan had been troubled at the thought of Juan’s work. He knew he couldn’t work legally without a green card. Even then, he gave him the benefit of the doubt.
And here were his fears materialized. Poor Consuela. It was obvious she cared deeply what happened to her brother. But what would happen? Theft was no small matter. Jill went into her room and settled cross-legged on the bed. Lord, comfort Consuela. Give her peace. Give Morgan wisdom. Uphold our system of justice, but be merciful. She sank into prayer, noticing how much easier it had become once need prompted practice.
The sun was rising when they returned. Jill had dozed, jolting awake now and then at some sound or thought that penetrated. When she heard the door open and their voices, she hurried down the hall, dressed in the capris and a blue-and-white-striped top that she had put on as soon as they left. Their voices came from the kitchen, Morgan speaking low over Consuela’s tears. “It’s best all around. He didn’t want honest work. You know that.”
“Sí.” She sniffed. “But …”
“You can’t change how he is. We gave him the chance.”
That didn’t sound good. As Jill stepped into the room, Consuela looked up with tearful eyes.
Morgan turned Consuela toward the doorway. “Go get some rest. We’ll manage in here.”
Consuela smeared the tears from her eyes and nodded. She stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “Gracias, Morgan.”
“De nada.”
Jill wanted to ask what happened, but maybe it wasn’t her business.
Morgan headed for the coffeepot and poured a mug. “Want some?”
“Just some juice if there is any.”
He walked out to the balcony, pulled oranges from the upper branches of the tree, then came back in and worked silently, cutting them in half and pressing the halves on the juicer. She’d had fresh squeezed but never right off the tree.
When Morgan handed her the glass, she felt as though it were filled with gold. “Thank you.”
He took her hand and led her out to the balcony. The sunrise was off to their left, but the water reflected its glory. The birds were already busy, flocks of tiny, pure white gulls and variegated pigeons, swallows that circled and swooped, singing their hearts out, and sea gulls with their singular cry. Jill breathed the balmy air. “What happened to Juan?”
“Juan goes back to Mexico, which is better than jail.”
Jill sipped the orange juice, a sweet burst of flavor. “How did you manage that?”
He leaned his elbows on the stucco block of the banister, cupping his mug between his hands. “There’ve been seven cars broken into in the last two days. With Consuela translating, Juan confessed that he broke in, took cameras, CD players, and the like.”
“But how can they let him go when people have lost their things?”
Morgan glanced over. “I agreed to pay for whatever couldn’t be reclaimed. Most of it he already pawned off on the beach.”
&nbs
p; Jill watched him with the morning shadows playing on his face. “So you’re paying for his dishonesty.”
“I agreed to let him come.”
“That doesn’t make him your responsibility.”
He ducked his chin. “I owe it to Consuela.”
“You pay Consuela.”
He turned, let his eyes travel her. “I find solutions. That’s why I’m successful. That’s how my brain works.” He looked back at the sea, sipping his coffee. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t often see it this early.”
“You must be exhausted.”
He nodded.
“You should go back to sleep.”
“I need to get you to the airport. Nine-fifteen flight.”
It sunk like an arrow between the ribs. She hadn’t seen it coming. A flight home in just hours. “Oh.”
He reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I wanted to—”
“Jill.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I know what you said. Let’s not rehash it.”
There was so much more she had wanted to tell him, but he had made plans for her strategic and immediate removal. He drained his cup and said, “I need a shower.”
Nodding, she watched him leave, the thread unraveling yet again, maybe for the last time. What reason would they have to reconnect? She stayed on the balcony another moment, soaking in the everlasting rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, even a school of dolphins. But she needed to pack.
She went to her room and folded her things into the bag, then zipped it shut and set it by the door. She stood a moment before the Armani gown, shoes, and clutch, then left them in the closet. That was another life. Morgan met her in the hall and reached for the suitcase.
She kept hold. “I can take it. You’re still sore.”
“You have everything?”
She nodded. Everything that was hers.
He let her into the Thunderbird and loaded her bag into the trunk. Then he drove her to the Orange County airport, where they picked up her ticket from the counter.
The Still of Night Page 33