“Oh, we’re fine. I just keep missing you every time I call. Are you working the summer again? You need time to relax, keep your perspective. They ask too much of you.”
“I actually have it off.” Through no choice of her own. Thump, thump, thump. She pressed her hand to her heart. What was happening, a panic attack? She’d never had one, but it felt like she’d run too hard and long.
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s such draining work. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I love working with the kids. But it is hard.” Not as hard as praying and fighting for Kelsey, or explaining that to her mother.
“Jewels in your crown, Jill.”
Kelsey was her jewel. “Mom …”
“What is it, dear? You sound different. Is it stress?”
She had to be honest. Who was she to lecture Morgan when she couldn’t be frank with her own mother? “I’ve had some stress lately.”
“Nothing dangerous, I hope. I hate you living alone.”
Jill straightened. “Mom, I live across from a police officer, for heaven’s sake.”
“Speaking of which, are you still dating Dan?”
And what a wonderful segue into the meaty part of her confession. “Not really.” Coward.
“Well, your father and I met a young man at church whose wife died of cancer. Two years ago, I think he said. A little older, he’s fortythree. But such a nice man.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“We told him about you.”
Sure you did. All except the dark parts.
“You’re thirty-one, Jill. Work can’t be everything forever.”
At least her heart had stopped thumping through her chest. Because she wasn’t going to mention Morgan’s name? “I’m not really interested right now.”
“We could have the two of you over for dinner.”
“How subtle.”
“You don’t have to be sharp.”
Jill sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you mean well.”
“You’re my daughter and I want … what’s best for you.”
For a moment Jill thought she would say for her to be happy. “I know, Mom.”
“Think about it, will you?”
She didn’t want to lie. “I’m not in a very good place for that now.”
“Because of Dan?”
Say Morgan. Just say it. “It’s not a good time, that’s all.”
The sigh. “Your father sends his love.”
“Mine to Dad, too. Good night, Mom.”
Jill hung up and went back to the chair, calling herself every kind of coward. She picked up the envelope and tore it open, taking out the inner padded envelope. She wasn’t cheating Kelsey; she would get it to her at the earliest opportunity. She peeled it open and pulled out the stiff watercolor. Morgan’s face—rakish, yes, but irresistible.
Breath leaked from her lungs and left an ache. Noelle was talented.
She had captured not only the form but the substance. Jill closed her eyes and saw it still. And now the price of her nosiness; she didn’t want to let it go. She had so little of him.
She opened her eyes again, crossed to the couch, and slid her purse onto her shoulder, then drove to the twenty-four-hour copy shop. The sorts of machines they had now should suffice. “I’d like the best possible copy of this,” she told the clerk, laying the painting on the counter. It took less than five minutes.
Then with the copy and original, she drove back home. She had felt so close to Morgan at his family’s house. Eating around their table had almost brought tears to her eyes, listening to the chatter that had matured but not diminished. She had told them more about her visit with Morgan, about the incident with Juan. They seemed to hang on every word. Why wouldn’t he talk to them? They were so receptive and desirous.
She took out the copy of his portrait, studied his broad but roguish smile. His family did not hide the past or cover his flaws. They didn’t pretend he was some perfect offering for a widow at church.
Dinner with the Spencers had not been peaceful, but it had given her hope, and she’d enjoyed getting to know the girls again. She had sensed a true affection from Hank and a softening on Celia’s part. Most of all, their prayer together had filled a dry well inside her, wakened again that sense of purpose. God was moving.
She refused to let her mother’s phone call get in the way. Lord, I don’t know your purpose. Her heart leaped to prayer in its new manner. Whatever way you can use me, I’m here.
Morgan shivered. If he could just get warm. The only good thing was this hadn’t happened when he was on the job. But then his focus had been too complete. Coming home was dangerous. He was not a brooder by nature, but he’d done enough of it these last weeks to brew up a major illness. He clutched the sheet and cover around him, aching up his spine into his head, his arms, his legs. He should never have let down.
He’d spent last night with dry heaves. Consuela had tried to help several times throughout the day. He hadn’t let her through the door. He couldn’t focus his thoughts; nothing held his attention. Malta Systems. His meeting with Bern, and what to do about Kelsey. His favorite night spots, his upcoming prospects.
His stomach seized. He hadn’t eaten since the airplane from New York. Maybe he’d been poisoned. He kicked off the covers as heat radiated from his skin, tried to lift his head, then let it fall. It was night again. The moon’s silver glow shone through his skylight. A knock on the door.
“Señor Morgan.”
“Let me die in peace.”
She opened the door.
He whisked the sheet over himself. “Do you mind?”
“I had a husband and two sons. What haven’t I seen?”
She hadn’t seen him. But she came right in and pressed her palm to his forehead.
He clutched the sheet. “It’s running its course. Let me be.”
She set a glass beside the bed, its fizzing crackling in his ears and a slight scent of lemon-lime. “You need the liquid.” She was probably right.
“Tomorrow, I call the doctor.” She pressed a holy card into his hand. “Tonight, I pray.”
“Whatever you say.” Just go away and leave me alone.
“It’s an attack of the evil one. You helped too many and drew his eye.”
He rolled to his side, dragging the sheet with him.
“I will light the candles.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You are a good man. It attracts the notice.”
“Consuela …”
She patted his shoulder. “I go now.”
He nodded. Good.
“You drink.”
If only he could. He nodded again. She left, and he reached for the glass, brought it to his lips, achingly thirsty. The soda was crisp and sweet. He took one gulp and let it settle. His elbow slid on the laminated visage of the holy card, rays of light shining from the heart of Jesus.
Closing his eyes, he sank into the pillows. Sweat beaded his forehead. If he was poisoned, it would soon be purged from his pores. His stomach tolerated the soda, so he took another gulp. He must be dehydrated. But the third gulp sent warning signals.
He set the glass down and clutched his stomach, curling up like a worm. He thought of the crab pecked at mercilessly, dashed against the walk, and ripped apart. Had God removed the kid gloves and decided to go at him in earnest? A hard ache balled his stomach.
What do you want? He writhed, rolled to his feet, and staggered to the bathroom to lose the soda. One hand pressed to his face, he shuffled back and dropped to the bed. He set the Sacred Heart next to the soda, then buried his face in the pillow. If he could just sleep.
“You are a good man. It draws the notice.” His sweat soaked the pillow. Thank God he hadn’t gotten this before the bone marrow harvest. Thank God? Why not? At least his daughter would heal. Had his marrow engrafted? Was it making new cells, teaching her body to live? There was a thought he could cling to. Don’t waste Consuela’s prayers on me, Lord. Use them for Kelsey. He
sprawled to his stomach, kicked off the sheet, and tried to sleep.
Kelsey stood up, determined to accomplish the “hall walk.” Since she had not yet managed food, she slid her IV pole alongside and made it to the doorway. The mask over her mouth crinkled when she smiled at the nurse watching her progress. It was Jackie who usually did her daily measurements of waist girth and weight, drew the blood for the bilirubin and blood-sugar checks, and monitored her blood pressure, like any of that told them something they didn’t know.
Her face was shaped like the moon, her waist like the lollipop girls. For someone who couldn’t eat she was certainly putting on weight, and by the looks on everyone’s faces it wasn’t a healthy glow her skin had developed. It burned like a sunburn and itched.
“How did the ultrasound go?” Jackie pushed the door wide to fit the IV pole through.
Kelsey shrugged. “Haven’t seen the pictures, but I’m hoping for a bouncing baby liver.”
Jackie smiled. “You know this is all in the expected range.”
“Oh, I know. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the experts.” She took a step down the hall, then realized how sharp that had sounded. That was another thing; her moods were all over the place and it was really hard not to give in to them. “Sorry, Jackie.”
“That’s okay. How far are you going to go?”
Kelsey looked down the hall. “To the bulletin board and back.”
“Good goal. But this is your first time. Be gentle with yourself.”
Meaning Jackie didn’t think she could do it. All right, army, fight off those lying spirits. I am making it to the bulletin board and back. Her mouth was on fire, a side effect of the methotrexate, and even though she sponged her teeth and gums to avoid splits that might get infected, she had developed painful sores. She fought tears, but they came anyway. Why are you doing this, Jesus? I don’t understand.
She swiped the tears so she could see where she was going and kept plodding. Guess I misunderstood. I thought we were praying for me to get well and Morgan to get sick. And that was such a snippy thought, she immediately repented. Actually, could we both just be well now? She felt too terrible to wish illness on anyone.
She sniffed. “I’m sorry, Jesus,” she whispered. But for once there was no answer. Maybe the medications had blocked her ability to communicate spiritually. They had adjusted the drugs, but nothing was the same. “I know what you asked. But I’m sick enough for both of us.”
She caught her foot on the roller and gripped the pole to steady herself. It doesn’t make sense anyway. Nothing makes sense. But the message had been so clear: pray for him to get sick. That much she could remember even with her mind foggy. She looked down the hall. The bulletin board was too far. She might get there, but she’d never get back.
I don’t want to make him sick. It wasn’t as easy as it had seemed when she told Jill. Jesus had been so clear, and she had trusted Him so completely. Now … She frowned at the stupid bulletin board. She couldn’t make it. She turned around and there was Josh in gown and mask and gloves.
“Need a hand?”
She looked into his freckled face and started to cry. Of all the stupid things to do in front of him. But the tears would not stop. “It’s the Prednisone.”
His eyes smiled. “Your mask is soggy.”
“It’s the new style.”
He laughed.
She dabbed her nose with her finger. “How’d you get through security?”
He took her elbow. “Bribed the nurses.”
“With what?”
“Fudge.”
“Don’t offer me any.”
He nodded. “Still not eating?”
“You’d never know it, I’m such a blimp.” They were almost back to her door, and her legs were in revolt—just like her stomach and kidneys and liver.
“It’ll go away.”
“Will it?” She lowered herself to her bed. “Because I don’t know that. Every day they come in with something else that’s going wrong and right now—” She stopped at his pained expression and pressed her hands to her face. “I’m so sorry.” She peered between her fingers. “I didn’t think. I’m so sorry about Rachel. I didn’t get to tell you.” She dropped her hands to her lap.
His eyes had teared up. “I’m really sorry, too. I miss her. I miss teasing her.” He tried to smile.
“I guess she knows that. I bet Jesus lets her watch and listen. If she wants to, I mean.”
His sigh billowed the paper mask. “Maybe. That’s why you have to get well for both of you. So she can see it and be glad.” He looked around her room. “I was going to bring you flowers, but they said you couldn’t have any.”
Kelsey raised a pair of monster hands. “Fungus amungus. No fruit or veggies, either. At least not fresh. Of course, what goes down must come up, so I’m just as glad I can’t have them.” She could not believe she’d actually said that, but Josh laughed again.
“I really like that about you.”
“What?”
“You’re funny.”
It surprised her to realize her own mood had lifted. “I’m glad you came.” And the burn that rushed to her face had nothing to do with leukemia. “How’d you get here?”
“Guess.”
“I don’t know.” She leaned back into her pillows.
“I drove.”
“By yourself?”
He nodded. “Got my license.”
“You mean you’re sixteen now?” It suddenly seemed impossibly old.
“Yesterday. And I got my license so I could come see you.”
She was not thinking clearly. “Did you know cyclosporine causes female facial hair?”
He cocked his head. “No, but I like bald, bearded girls.”
Kelsey sputtered a laugh through her mask. “You do not mean that.”
Jackie tapped the door. “Sorry, Josh, but it’s time.”
Kelsey drew her brows together, but she knew they’d already bent the rules. Probably because of Rachel. He didn’t live far, right in New Haven. Maybe he would come again. “I’ll see you, Josh.” She tried to sound casual.
“I’ll try to get through again. The others aren’t as easy as Jackie.”
“I heard that.” Jackie put a hand to her hip.
Josh stood another moment, then gave a little wave and walked out. Jackie tossed her a smile. “Good job on your first hall walk.”
Kelsey nodded. If Josh came back, she wouldn’t even use her feet next time.
CHAPTER
30
Morgan sat on the side of the bed, a limp slug, but at least the cramping had left his stomach and his head no longer throbbed. It did, however, rest on his palms, braced by the elbows on his knees. He moaned at the knock. “I’m alive, Consuela.” “It’s Denise, Morgan. I have a wave of e-mail messages from a Todd Marlin? He insists you promised to meet with him. Are you in any condition to deal with it?”
Morgan grinned at her tone. He’d enjoy her expression more if she knew it was a thirteen-year-old kid making the demands that had her in a lather.
“Morgan?”
“You’re right, Denise. This one’s important. I’ll be down shortly.” Since when did his secretary roust him out of bed? Something was wrong with that picture. Of course, he’d been out of commission two days after promising to catch up.
He pushed himself up and stood still, checking his equilibrium. Not bad. The top stayed up, the middle didn’t waver, and the legs held firm. Good. He went to the bathroom and took a shower, cleaned his mouth thoroughly, and even shaved. He dressed in a crisp shirt and slacks, though no tie, and went downstairs.
He waved Consuela off in the kitchen. “Just coffee, strong.” Then he went downstairs to the office. He passed Denise without comment, booted up the computer, and got into his mail. He almost felt human. When Consuela arrived with the coffee and he took the first swig, he knew he’d live.
He pulled up the seventeen messages Todd had sent, surprised the language hadn’t clued De
nise. But then, many players in the high-tech field were equally illiterate with anything beyond acronyms.
He typed, Hey, Todd. Cool your jets. I’ve been flat on my back dog-sick. Wouldn’t want to pass you those germs. How about this weekend? Think you can make it? Ask Stan. Ask nicely. Morgan.
He sat back from his desk and looked at Denise. “I’ll meet with him this weekend if he works it out. Can you arrange a flight for one, first-class from DIA?”
“Transportation from the airport?”
“No, I’ll pick him up.”
“Morgan …” He knew her objection. She hated the image of him meeting a prospective client at the airport himself.
“Trust me on this, Denise.”
She turned back to her desk. “There’s Malta Systems.”
“I’m on it.”
“I’ve printed the ten top prospecti for—”
Morgan quirked an eyebrow. “Did you say prospecti?”
She sent him the stare. “The prospects you tagged before leaving. They’re on your desk to the left. On your right, you’ll find several follow-up issues, one from Techstar that requires prompt attention.”
“Thank you, Denise.”
“Are you over your … flu?” Something hard in how she said it. Did she think he’d faked it? Played hooky?
“I seem to be. No more fever, chills, or bellyache.”
She snorted softly.
He stood and walked to her desk. “Am I missing something here?”
“You could at least do your drinking after hours.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?” Did she think he’d been on some two-day bender?
She rotated her chair. “You remind me of my father.”
By some of what she had told him the night in the hospital, that was not a compliment.
Her face hardened. “I admired him more than anyone I knew. Admired and despised him. He had so much promise, genius even.” She waved her hand. “Except, of course, when booze made him an idiot.”
“Which part are you reminded of?”
Her gaze chilled. “Both.”
“Well, now that we’ve cleared the air …”
“I watched him destroy himself.”
“I get the point, Denise.” And she was crossing the line.
The Still of Night Page 37