by Francis Ray
“Come on into the den, and you can tell me the parts of Perry Mason I miss when I fall asleep.” His arm still around her, they headed down the wide polished hallway.
“You’ve seen them so many times, you know the script by heart,” her mother teased.
Brianna almost smiled at the running joke. She’d been raised with love by two exceptional parents. She wished she could have given that to her child.
“Sit here with me, Pumpkin.” Her father patted the couch beside him.
“I’ll get you some decaffeinated tea.” Her mother palmed her cheek, and then she was gone.
Like she had as a little girl, Brianna curled up beside her father. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“We love you. Just remember that,” he said, his voice gruff with emotions.
“I will, and I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she whispered.
He stared down at her. “You could never do that. You’re still the best in my book, and I’ll defy anyone who says differently.”
She did smile that time, then put her head back on his shoulder. She had her family and Justine. She’d make it. She just wished she hadn’t lost Patrick.
Twenty-one
Justine heard the ringing as if from a distance. When she roused enough to tell it was her cell phone, Dalton was already handing it to her. Their eyes met. They’d fallen asleep after making love and left the light on.
Sitting and pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts, Justine glanced at the caller ID, then answered. The euphoric feeling of moments ago disappeared. “Hello, Beverly.”
“Justine, you have to come! You have to come now!” Beverly said, excitement in her whispering voice.
“Come where?” The clock on the bedside read 1:16 A.M.
“The hospital!”
“The hospital,” Justine repeated as dread slithered down her spine.
Dalton sat on the bed and curved his arm around her shoulders, silently giving her his support.
“Is—”
“Just come! I hid in the bathroom, so they wouldn’t put me out. I’ll be waiting.” The line went dead.
Justine cut the phone off, and turned to Dalton. “Beverly hid in Andrew’s room and wants me to come.”
“I don’t suppose you’d consider calling the nurse’s station, and letting them handle this?” Dalton asked.
“She loves him.”
Dalton tenderly touched her cheek. “Love has a way of making people do strange things.”
Justine’s heart thudded. They’d never talked about love.
“We have a lot to talk about when you return,” he said.
She turned her head to kiss his palm. “I don’t want to go.”
“But you will.” He kissed the top of her head. “You care, sometimes too much.” Dalton came to his feet.
Justine watched him in all of his naked splendor, then began gathering and putting on her clothes. When she was almost finished, she saw Dalton had done the same. “You can’t go with me, and you know it.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“I’ll call.” Stuffing her blouse into her pants, she snagged her purse on the way out of Dalton’s bedroom and hurried to her car.
“Drive safely, and call when you get there.” Dalton leaned into the open window on the driver’s side.
“I will,” Justine promised, then backed up and headed for the hospital, trying to decide the best way to get Beverly to leave.
Justine expected the night nurse to go ballistic and even understood her wanting to call security. It had taken some fast talking to get her to let Justine handle it, and promise that this would never happen again.
“It had better not.”
With that ominous warning prodding her, Justine eased open the door to Andrew’s room. The light from the open door illuminated the bed. The rest of the room was in shadows. “Beverly?”
“I’m here.” Beverly popped out of the bathroom. “I’m so glad you’re here. I called you at home and got the machine.”
Justine had no intention of explaining. “Beverly, you can’t do this. They’ll bar you from visiting all together.”
She smiled. “Not after tonight.” Catching Justine’s hand, she dragged her to the bedside. “I wanted you to be the first to see after me.”
“Beverly, please.”
Beverly pointed toward Andrew’s face. “Just look. That’s all I ask.”
“We’ll leave afterward.”
“If you want me to,” she answered. “Andrew, dear, Justine is here.”
Justine looked at Beverly, who put on the light over the bed and waved her hand toward Andrew. Justine slowly turned toward Andrew, her concern for Beverly growing.
“Look closely. Look at his eyes. Andrew.”
Justine decided she had wasted enough time. The charge nurse had probably already called security. She was about to straighten when she thought she saw a movement. Unconsciously, she gasped, then gave a startled cry. Andrew’s eyelashes, always long, flickered.
“I told you! I told you all!” Beverly cried happily. “My baby is waking up.”
________
Dalton prowled his house. He hadn’t gone back to sleep after Justine left. He was too worried about her. Despite what Andrew had done to her, she’d still blame herself if something happened to him. Dalton prayed the bastard would wake up; then, when he was well, he could beat the crap out of him, then thank him for being such an ass.
Swiping his hand over his face, Dalton poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped. He didn’t have to drink his own brew anymore. Justine always got things ready before she left. She’d put homey touches around the place. With her presence, she had made his house a home. Now if he could just get her to make it permanent and legal.
Dalton looked at the silent phone. She’d called when she reached the hospital, but he hadn’t heard from her since and that worried him. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight-thirteen. Since they had to adhere to strict visiting hours, he’d expected her call long ago. He might be jumping the gun, but they had things to discuss.
He’d seen her eyes that morning when he’d mentioned love, he’d seen surprise, but also, he hoped, happiness. Dalton glanced at his watch again. He’d called the store once already, disguising his voice like a teenager.
He went to the sink. The radio was on, but he wasn’t paying much attention to it. Even when the announcer said there’d been a miracle . . . until he heard Andrew’s name. Rushing across the room, he increased the volume.
“You heard me right, audience. This morning a miracle happened right here in Charleston when Andrew Crandall showed his first voluntary movements after being in a coma for over four months. Doctors had given up hope for his recovery, my sources tell me, but not those who loved and admired the great motivational speaker, especially his wife and mother. There will be a news conference in about thirty minutes at the hospital. This is big and welcome news indeed. Now back to our regular broadcast program.”
Dalton grabbed his keys and sprinted for his Jeep. He drove as fast as he could in the early morning traffic. Parking, he raced to the elevator. He would have paced in the elevator, but it was too crowded. As it was, he tried to keep his displeasure from showing as the elevator stopped at every floor before reaching six. Getting off, he saw the crowd that reached into the non-ICCU area of the floor. Somewhere in there was Justine.
“Excuse me, please.” Some people looked at him with annoyance; others readily moved aside. Dalton kept pushing through the crowd until he gained his objective.
Cameras flashed, microphones were thrust in front of Beverly’s face. She seemed to take it all in with aplomb. Justine, standing between her mother and her mother-in-law, who fielded questions like a pro, looked shattered.
He’d been afraid of this. She didn’t want Andrew to die; she just didn’t want to be his wife. Brianna, looking a bit off, was on the other side of Justine’s mother. Her left hand, as was Justine’s r
ight, was behind her back. They were holding hands while her mother did nothing to support her.
A woman stepped forward and hushed the crowd. “I’m Sue Watkins, head of public relations for the hospital. I’m sure we’re all pleased to see Mr. Crandall’s recovery, but this is a hospital. Once this news conference is over, we’d like for you to quietly disperse,” she told them.
“If you need further information on Mr. Crandall’s recovery, please go through the regular channels. I’m sure you can understand that, while the family is pleased, they also need time. Ten minutes, and that’s it.” She stepped back.
Immediately, microphones were thrust back into Beverly’s face. “What are you feeling now, Mrs. Crandall?”
“Pure happiness. Our Andrew is coming back to us, to the world. Others, like his doctor, might have given up, but Justine and I never did.” She briefly turned to Justine and hugged her. Cameras flashed. “Thank you for loving Andrew as much as he loves you, for being the kind of wife any man would cherish, for keeping the faith.”
“The doctors had given up hope, you say?” asked another reporter.
Beverly’s face hardened. “He even badgered my daughter-in-law to sign papers to disconnect his life support.”
The woman who had spoken earlier stepped up to the mike when the crowd began to grumble. “It is the hospital’s standard procedure to ask a family member to sign the papers. The doctor wants to know the family’s wishes when there is no living will.”
“Mrs. Crandall, do you have anything to say?”
Dalton wanted to snatch the microphone out of the reporter’s hand and bash him over the head with it. He’d have to have been blind not to see how stricken Justine was.
“I—”
“I’ll handle that.” Brianna stepped in front of Justine. “Brianna Ireland, family friend and lawyer. Mrs. Crandall is, of course, overjoyed with her husband’s recovery, and is naturally still trying to process it. I’m sure you understand that, while good news, it has been a shock. She’ll issue a formal statement later today.” Brianna moved back to where she had been standing
“Justine has been the best possible wife to Andrew. When I called her this morning to see for herself she didn’t hesitate to come here. We’re blessed to have her,” Beverly continued.
A reporter asked the doctor, who had just arrived and looked upset, about the papers and Andrew’s recovery. “Ms. Watkins explained it is hospital procedure when there is no living will. As for the length of recovery, that’s unknown at this time. Mr. Crandall can response to stimuli with flickers of his eyelashes; his pupils react to light. Given the three prolonged cardiac arrests he sustained, we are unable to determine how this will affect his recovery or if he sustained any neurological damage.”
“I know. He’ll be fine. Won’t he, Justine?” Beverly declared.
The focus shifted to her. Justine numbly nodded, then glanced away to look straight at Dalton. Her eyes widened in surprise and lit up for a brief second before reality hit. Her eyes dimmed, her head lowered.
When a reporter asked about Andrew’s company, Dalton only half listened. His focus was on Justine. He willed her to look at him again. When she did, he saw what he’d dreaded, unspeakable pain and the frightened look of a trapped animal. With her mother-in-law singing her praises, there was no way Justine could say she was filing for divorce.
Justine’s mother followed the direction of her gaze. She was tight-lipped and angry. Then she smiled at him. His fists clenched. He understood the message.
He’d lost again.
________
“We need to talk in private,” Justine’s mother said as soon as the press conference was over. Without giving her a chance to reply, Helen grabbed her arm and drew her out of the waiting area to a quiet corner just outside the ICCU waiting area.
Justine didn’t see any reason to resist. Thankfully the waiting area was clear of reporters and friends. She’d sent Brianna home. She’d heard over the radio and rushed over. At the moment, Beverly, Marcus, and Kent were visiting Andrew. The hospital couldn’t do enough for them after they determined that Andrew was indeed waking up. Justine was still dealing with that, and wondering how long before she could file for a divorce. With all the praise she was receiving, it wouldn’t be any time soon.
“What is going on between you and Dalton?” her mother asked sharply.
Justine didn’t have to fake shock. “What?”
“I know you. Andrew’s recovery might have been difficult to deal with, but you don’t seem happy about it.” Helen’s gaze narrowed. “Neither does Dalton.”
“Mother, I’ve been up since one this morning.”
“Evade my questions if you want, but you listen to me. Don’t throw away your happiness for a good-looking man who’s just out for what he can get. Andrew is a wonderful, loving husband. Count your blessings instead of looking over the fence. Don’t mess up.”
There had been times in her life when she would have cowered, tried to appease her mother. Those days were thankfully over. “I’ll give what you said all the consideration it deserves.”
Her mother’s lips tightened. “Have it your way, but don’t come running to me when it turns sour and, believe me, it will.”
Her mother huffed off. Justine was about to follow her back to the waiting area when her cell phone rang. She’d forgotten to turn it off. The frequency affected pacemakers. “Hello?”
“I’ll wait at your house tonight after dark for as long as it takes,” Dalton said. Then he was gone.
She wished she had the strength to tell him not to, but she couldn’t. She needed to see him one last time. Her mother’s words worried her. She didn’t want to embroil Dalton in any negative gossip.
He deserved to hear it was over from her in person. Shutting off the phone, she slipped it back in her purse and prepared to continue acting a lie.
Patrick had heard the news on the radio and knew Brianna would be at the hospital with Justine. He debated whether he should go just to see her and try to gauge how she was doing. He decided to stay away. Hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, his head down, he followed the path of the walking course around the condominium.
He’d considered taking the Proud Mary out, but the ocean was no place to be when your head wasn’t on straight. His certainly wasn’t.
Leaving the paved path, he walked nearer the water and braced his arms on the railing that ran the length of the marina, then stared out to sea. Life sucker-punched you at times. He knew that as well as anyone.
What was Andrew’s waking up going to mean to Justine and Dalton? He knew they were having an affair, but he’d learned long ago to stay out of other people’s business. He liked both of them, and believed there was no reason for them not to be together, since it hadn’t appeared as if Andrew would recover. Only now that had changed, and Andrew was very much in the picture.
Just like the unknown father of Brianna’s baby was in the picture.
The squeak of a hungry sea gull caught Patrick’s attention as it swooped down for food. Usually he enjoyed the sight. Not today. His mind was in too much turmoil. He’d never been torn by such strong emotions.
His hands came out of his pockets to wrap around the iron railing. He loved Brianna. He’d started falling in love with her the night she’d brushed him off at Justine’s bookstore. He liked to think she cared for him as well, but that no longer mattered.
What was important now was what was best for her and the baby. He’d give her a few days to get used to the idea, let her talk with the baby’s father. Brianna was too up-front not to contact the man. But if Patrick got even an inkling of an idea that the meeting had not gone well, he would do his best to get a ring on her finger.
He loved the woman; he’d love the baby as well. You didn’t have to be the biological parent to love a child that came into the family. Brooke and the rest of his family had proven that with Amy and Mark.
Patrick pushed away from the rail and headed back ins
ide the condo. The elevator door opened and Brianna stood there. Her face was wan, her eyes sad. He didn’t think it was because of Justine. If he ever met the stupid guy who put that look on her face, the man was going to wish he hadn’t.
He stepped on the elevator, effectively blocking her exit. “Did you eat this morning?” A safe question.
She shook her head. “I didn’t want to chance being sick.”
The door behind him closed. Patrick pushed four. “You need something in your stomach before you go to work. Decaf tea and toast, then I’ll take you by your office to see what needs to be done. After that you’re coming back and going to bed.”
The elevator door opened on his floor. Gently he took her arm and went to his place. He knew how exhausted she must be when she didn’t object. Opening the door, he sat her on the couch and went to the kitchen.
Patrick proved he was a man a woman could depend on. He’d cared for her as tenderly as her mother would have. It hadn’t seemed to matter that she was carrying another man’s baby.
It hadn’t mattered to her either. Pitiful and needy that she was, something she had never been before, she still wished she could curl up in his lap, close her eyes, and rest. He’d let her, too. Just like he’d coaxed her into eating a half slice of dry toast and drinking a cup of tea.
“I’ve never known you to have tea and certainly not decaf,” she said when they were getting in his truck. She hadn’t resisted because she hadn’t felt like driving. If she’d taken a taxi, Matilda would have told her parents and they would worry. She had caused them enough concern.
And deep down she wasn’t ready to give up Patrick’s friendship.
“I got it for you.”
She hadn’t known how to respond then. Twenty minutes later, when he was pulling into the parking spaces behind her office, she still didn’t.