“That’s one reason I thought it would be safe to work here alone with you.”
“Because I drink?”
“Because I’d never get involved with an alcoholic.” No parley, just stab.
Morgan clenched his fist. “Only a crackhead.”
Her eyes blazed. “I did not know.”
“You stayed with him after you did know. Even when he beat you.”
“Well, I had plenty of practice with Dad.”
Morgan rubbed his face. “Why are we doing this? I had the flu.”
“Dad puked his guts out and swore it was the flu more times than I can count. That man had every flu ever invented. And in between he was brilliant.”
Morgan fought the urge to holler. Children of alcoholics tended to see anyone who drank as problematic. It was natural. “How many times have you seen me sick?”
She turned away. Her hair seemed more severe than ever today, pulling the skin at her temples. “I haven’t seen you sick. But how about all the times I can’t reach you? All the hiatuses, your ‘nonconformities’?”
“It’s how I operate, Denise. If you can’t take it, I understand. I’ll give you a great reference.”
She sighed. “I’m talking myself out of a job, I know.”
“Only if that’s how you want it.”
Her face tightened. “I don’t want to watch you …”
He spread his hands. “I had the flu.” What more could he say? She thought him a drunk. Suzanne probably thought him impotent. Consuela had already sainted him. They were all wrong.
He returned to his desk, lifted the follow-up stack and perused the sheets Denise had printed. Part of his fee included six months’ availability for questions, concerns that arose subsequent to his involvement. That was a good place to focus.
“Malta Systems first.”
He looked up at Denise and set down the sheets. He’d line that up to satisfy her, then work on the other. Now he understood her frustration better. He could be more reachable if it made her life easier. At the very least he could answer her daily correspondence when he was away. It was his style to focus unidirectionally. But he could adapt. And if he accepted Malta Systems, he’d be gone soon enough anyway.
They worked in silence until Consuela brought him the phone. It must be a personal call or it would have rung to the office. He put the receiver to his ear. “Morgan Spencer.”
“I can come!”
He smiled. “That’s great, Todd. I’ll e-mail your flight info. Can Stan get you to the airport? Or Rick might.”
“Stan’ll do it.”
Morgan glanced up. “My assistant’s working on your flight right now. I’ll let you know the details when she’s got it. Is Stan there?”
“Yeah.”
“Put him on.” Morgan waited.
“Hi, Morgan. I’ve got one excited kid.”
“How long can I have him?”
“How long do you want?”
Morgan studied the calendar he’d brought up with a click. He could plug Malta in the last week of September. He would have things rolling with Ascon and begin the initial phase with Malta. But before diving into either, some time with Todd sounded good. “How about a week starting Saturday?”
“Sure?”
“Sure. I’ll teach him to surf.”
By now Denise had given up all pretense of not listening and turned her chair toward him. “We’ll send the info by e-mail. Bye, Stan.” He beeped the phone off and set it down. “Make sure the airline provides an attendant for Todd Marlin.”
“He’s a kid?”
Morgan let the smile only into the corners of his mouth. “He feels pretty mature for thirteen.”
Her lips set tightly. “Another one you didn’t know about?”
Anger surged. She must be hormonal or she wouldn’t dare. “He’s not mine.”
She seemed to realize the line she’d crossed, and all her body language retreated. “You said Saturday?”
“That’s right.” He crossed to the doorway, paused, then went out. It was different having employees in his home. He allowed for that. But this … He forced the anger back. He had set her up to some degree, not explaining about Todd. But her jump to that conclusion, and the audacity to say it … She must be ready to quit.
He was weak still. He felt it in his spine. And the first pangs of hunger gnawed his belly. He crossed the game room and stepped outside to the patio. A short walk in the open air might ease the fury. So far she’d called him a drunk, a liar, and a father to the illegitimate.
He swallowed the sudden shrinking in his throat. How far off the mark was it? He rubbed a hand over his face, then followed the path to the beach, wishing Jill were under his arm. She had scolded his drinking, too, but it wasn’t the same. Her censure showed she cared. He wanted her to care. Wanted it so badly it hurt. He could fly her out to meet Todd. No, that wouldn’t be fair, not to any of them.
He took off his loafers and walked barefoot in the sand, thankful the strip was deserted. But as he rounded the bend he found Scott Menard, a bronzed and oiled demigod, and one of Morgan’s staunchly single friends.
Morgan paused. “Day off?”
“Finished our project. Little bonus time.” Scott winked at the twig in a bikini beside him on the sand. He’d said living on the beach married was like eating before a banquet. He wanted to savor the feast, not wish he were hungry.
Morgan passed by, the heat of the sun beating off the sand. He opened and rolled his cuffs and one more collar button. His shirt fell open and sweat dampened the hair on his chest, evidence he wasn’t one hundred percent yet. He turned and headed back. As he crossed his yard, he noticed Suzanne next door sunbathing nude on her deck. Was this all there was? Emptiness overwhelmed him. His head started to ache. The game room felt overly chilled as he paused at the entrance, then closed the door behind him with a shiver.
Denise came out of the office, took him in with a penetrating glance. “Are you all right?”
Body temperature neutralizing, he nodded.
“Maybe you should see a doctor.” She’d become a believer?
He crossed to the bar and poured a glass of pineapple juice—Jill’s cure. He drank it down. The coffee had stayed put. The juice refreshed. He rinsed the glass and passed Denise on his way into the office. He could work now. He needed to.
“Morgan?” She caught her index nail between her teeth. “
You’ll ruin your manicure.”
She jerked the nail free, then didn’t seem to know what to do with the hand. “I made the reservation. The ticket’s at the Delta counter, DIA. They’ll have an attendant ready.”
“Good.” He sat down and took up the right-hand stack once again. “Contact Malta Systems and get them on the calendar. Last week of September would be good.”
She went to her desk and clicked the keys with her undamaged nails, long ovals in frosted plum that matched her tailored suit and heels. She’d never get involved with an alcoholic? It had never entered his mind to get involved with her.
It was crazy to feel guilty for doing the right thing. The Spencers had wanted to know, had soaked up her information like dry sponges. Maybe it should have come from Morgan, but it wouldn’t have. Jill pressed a hand to her face. But she had to tell him. He would not appreciate being blindsided by a careless comment or even a direct communication from his family. She punched in the number he had given for his cell, then paced the front room, waiting through two rings.
“Hi.” Not the abrupt “Morgan Spencer” greeting she had heard him use before. His voice had a warm syrup effect.
“Morgan, it’s Jill.”
“I know.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, which was taking the brunt of the ache and joy of hearing him. “How are you?”
“On the tail end of something nasty, but recovering, thank you. I walked the beach just now and thought of you.”
She did not want the images that filled her mind of the narrow beach where
he’d kissed her. Better to brave the dragon at once. “Morgan, I have to tell you something.”
“You’re not calling just to hear my voice?”
She expelled her breath. “No, I … I mean it’s nice to hear—would you please stop causing the disconnect to my brain?”
He laughed. “It’s cute to hear you flustered. Jill Runyan, star debater, lost for words.”
“I am not lost for words. You distracted me.”
“I like hearing yours. Just thought it might work both ways.”
She sighed. “Well, it does. But that’s not why I called.”
“Hold on.” She waited through a soft shuffling, then he was back.
“I wouldn’t want Denise to get the wrong idea. She’s mad enough at me already.”
Jill didn’t want to know. “Are you sitting?”
“If this is another of your bombshells, I’d better be.”
She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “No, it’s just that … I wanted you to know that …”
“Deep breaths, darling.”
When his “darling” had just knocked the breath from her? “I saw your family, Morgan. They had me over for supper.”
He didn’t answer.
“They needed to know, so I called them after we spoke, and they asked me to come for supper, and it was really nice. They’re so glad you helped Kelsey, and they wanted all the medical details. I told them what I could.” She bit her lip as the silence lengthened. “Are you angry?”
“No.” But he sounded hurt.
“Morgan, they wondered. They wanted to know. They’d like to hear from you.”
“They hear from me.”
She rubbed a circle on her forehead as she paced into the kitchen. The levity had certainly fled. She was a lightning bolt hanging over him. “I’m sorry if—”
“And your folks? How did they take it?”
Her throat constricted. “They don’t know. They don’t want to.”
“How do you know that?”
She sighed. “It’s been a code of silence for fifteen years. Don’t mention Jill’s shame. Don’t think about it, and maybe it never happened.”
“It happened.”
She pushed off from the counter. “I know it. I tried to tell my mother I’d seen you, but … I just couldn’t.”
He laughed low. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. Better than you, it seems.”
“I don’t want it to be that way.”
His expelled breath rasped in her ear. “Only you can change it.”
“How?”
“Tell them we’re getting married.”
Her heart somersaulted.
“When they learn that’s not true, they’ll be relieved it was only a visit on behalf of your sick daughter.”
Jill sank onto the couch. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, she was sure. And in theory his point was sound. Tell them something utterly impossible and the small infraction of seeing him would be forgiven. She pressed a hand to her eyes. After a while she said, “I just wanted you to know.”
“Any other sabotage in the works?”
She leaned her elbow on the arm of the couch. “No.”
“How’s Kelsey?”
“Everything’s fine so far.”
“Great.” He yawned. “Guess I’m not to full throttle yet.”
“What was wrong?”
“Some flu from hell.”
Jill jolted. Or heaven? “How long were you sick?”
“On my back two days. But I’ve had some sporadic attacks. Not sure what’s going on.”
Prayer was going on. Jill bit her lip. “Well, you’re in God’s hands.” More so than he knew.
“Huh. Take care.”
“You too.” She hung up and pressed the phone to her chest. Why would the Lord want Morgan sick? Kelsey had been more assured than ever that it was exactly what Jesus wanted. She was steadfast in her conviction and faithfully praying for it, and it seemed to be working. Jill realized once again how very little she understood the mind of God.
Kelsey opened the package from Jill that Mom had brought her. It was flat and stiff and she guessed what it held, though it was much bigger than she had expected. Instead of a photo, she pulled out a watercolor and stared at the face smiling back at her. Jill was right. Morgan was handsome. It wasn’t the same, seeing him in a painting, but it was cool. She held it out to Mom, who took a long look of her own.
“I wonder why he didn’t send a photograph.”
“Maybe he didn’t have any.” Kelsey thumbed her father. “How many pictures would we have of Dad if you didn’t drag him to the studio?”
“I’d take lots of pictures if it weren’t for this big nose.”
She loved his big nose, and the ears that stood out just a little too much, his broad shoulders he used to carry her on, and his big rough hands that were so gentle when he stroked her head. Masked now and gloved, wearing scrubs and slippers, he looked like a big blue bear.
Mom handed him the picture, and he held it back a little to take a look. “I know this guy. He’s the one all the women faint over.”
“Daddy.” Kelsey giggled, though Morgan did have that sort of movie star appearance. Pierce Brosnan and Tom Cruise together.
“You want me to hang it, honey?” He looked over her walls covered with pictures of her friends and the people praying for her.
Kelsey considered it. Morgan looked near enough the person she’d seen in the Lord’s hug to know she was on track with that part of her mission and also the secret part. She wasn’t exactly sure the Lord had directed the other part, but she was praying for it anyway. And since she was feeling a little better, she had renewed her efforts on both accounts. She smiled at Dad. “Okay.” Morgan might not be praying for her, but she was sure praying for him.
Mom nudged him. “It’s a shame to put tape on that art. Why don’t we set it on the table for now, and I’ll pick up a frame later.”
Kelsey leaned back in her pillows. “Thanks, Mom.” It hadn’t gone over too well when she told them she had not only called him but asked for a picture.
“Kelsey, that’s very presumptuous when we’ve made it clear there won’t be any contact.” She had apologized, and she did feel bad that they were not happy, but she didn’t really regret talking to him. And she was glad she had the picture. Its being a painting actually made it stand out, though she wasn’t sure yet whether that was a good thing.
She didn’t want Dad or Mom to obsess on it, though they were trying not to show their discomfort. She wanted to tell them she was just curious. But maybe it was more. Everything got more important when she thought there might not be much time left.
They had determined her problems were not merely side effects of the immunotherapy drugs but acute GVHD, graft-versus-host disease, striking in spite of the drugs. Basically it meant Morgan’s bone marrow had realized her body wasn’t his and had decided to attack it. The “sunburn” now covered three quarters of her body, and though she was eating a little, the stomach and intestinal problems had worsened.
Dr. McGraine said there was also a graft-versus-tumor benefit to GVHD, and kids who got it had less chance of relapse. So they were all waiting for it to burn out with as little damage as possible to her important organs. Today had been a little better, and she dared to hope it was turning around.
“Guess who came to see me.”
“You had a visitor?” Mom sent her a surprised and curious look. They knew no one in New Haven except the hospital workers, who were now becoming like family.
“Josh. Remember Rachel’s brother?”
Mom smiled. “Of course, I remember. He came on the day of your transplant.”
“He came again, but he could only stay a few minutes.”
Dad seemed puzzled. “Who’s Josh?”
“My friend.” Kelsey pictured Josh’s eyes filling with tears, then laughing at her silly jokes. “He likes bald, bearded girls.”
Dad draped his hands between his knee
s. “He knows my little girl’s the best thing going.”
“Sure, Dad. I’m shaped like a pickle.” The fluid leaking from her liver into her body cavity not only made her uglier than before, it was putting pressure on her lungs and making it hard to breathe.
“That’s the VOD,” Mom said. “Now that they’re restricting salt and fluids, it’ll get better.”
“It has to.” Dad waved at her walls. “Just look at all the people praying for you, Kelsey.”
She’d felt the prayers today. She’d been much more hopeful and less tearful. Getting Morgan’s picture was a bonus. Now she needed one from Jill. The two of them had given her life. That had new meaning now—even with Morgan’s bone marrow making trouble inside her. The fluid buildup from the veno-occlusive liver disease, caused by the high conditioning levels of radiation and chemotherapy, the symptoms of the GVHD, her burning, peeling skin, blurred vision, and stomach and intestinal distress—it all amounted to an assault on her body that frankly made the leukemia seem tame. The enemy inside her had recruited fresh bullies, and her angels needed all the prayers people sent.
And now it was time for a fresh platelet infusion. Mom and Dad went back to the hotel apartment, and Kelsey lifted her laptop to her lap. A lot of leukemia kids had Web pages that told their story, but hers was the only interactive page for questions and answers that she knew of. It was her ministry, her way to use this nightmare for God’s glory.
Not that she was any holier than the next kid. It was just that she had no chance at a normal life. It was easier to be close to Jesus when you had nothing else. The kids with everything would not understand. But the ones she wrote to needed hope and someone who would not laugh or turn away embarrassed or avoid them. Jesus came for the sick.
CHAPTER
31
Jill sat with Brett, Shelly, Dan, and his date in the high school bleachers. A definite fifth wheel. Yet she was ready for some all-American small-town fun to take her mind off everything else. The afternoon rain had been enough to clean and cool the air without ruining the field for tonight’s game. The diamond was combed and chalked, and Beauview’s varsity team stood ready in the dugout for this exhibition.
The Still of Night Page 38