"Matt. Alan Brady. Jenny needs you, man. Where are you?" The message machine beeped, and Matt sat up in bed. The sudden movement sent his head into a tailspin, matching the rumbling in his stomach. He rubbed a hand over his grizzly cheek and tried to figure out what was going on. He had never had a call from Jenny's boyfriend before.
A sense of uneasiness made its way through his hangover. Jenny. She had been yapping about something last night. What was it? Matt tried to remember as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and cautiously stood up.
Oh, yeah. Danny. The kid had gone somewhere. But where? His mind refused to click in. Matt stumbled into the bathroom, took a piss, then ran cold water over his face. He felt marginally better.
He walked into the living room of his beachfront condo and stared at the answering machine with the accusing red light. He pushed the Play button and waited as the tape rewound for an endless amount of time. Finally, it began to play back.
"Matt, Howard Ralston. Call me on Monday. I may have a lead on a job for you."
Yeah, right, Matt thought. Ralston was his former agent, the one who had done diddly squat for him when his career ended six years earlier.
"Matt, this is Merrilee. There's been an accident." Matt felt his gut tighten. "Danny was hit by a car. I'm at Peninsula Hospital. Come as soon as you can."
Hospital? Danny?
Matt leaned against the back of a chair, his legs suddenly weak.
"Matt, where are you?" Merrilee's voice again, more frantic this time. "Jenny is sitting here like a zombie. I don't know what to do."
"Matt? Alan Brady here. We're still at the hospital. We'll probably be here all night. Danny's out of surgery. He's in ICU."
ICU? As in intensive care? Matt closed his eyes and tried desperately to breathe. Oh, God, what was happening?
"Matt, it's Merrilee again. Ifs after midnight. Where are you? I'm home now. Jenny is staying at the hospital. I don't know much more except that the person who hit Danny didn't stop. Call me as soon as you get home, no matter what time it is."
"Matt, Alan Brady. Ifs six o'clock in the morning. Jesus, man, where are you? Danny is in a coma. It doesn't look good. I'm going to the station to see if we have any leads on the son of a bitch who did this to him. The kid was almost home, too. Probably some drunk who hit him."
The machine beeped. Then the final message from Merrilee came again, the one he had awoken to. Matt stared at the machine, willing it to say something more, to tell him that Danny was out of danger, that everything was okay, and everyone was home now. It stayed ominously silent.
A thousand questions ran through his mind, but only one answer. He had to get to Jenny and Danny. He ran back to his bedroom, grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor and pulled them over his briefs. He picked up a wrinkled shirt from the chair, kicked on his tennis shoes and ran back to the living room, grabbing his keys off the table on his way to the door.
When he got to the front porch, he stopped abruptly. His Jeep Wrangler was not in the driveway where he usually parked it. He looked at the street. It was empty. His mind grappled with the problem as he tried to remember where he had parked his car when he had gotten home last night.
His mind went blank. He remembered walking into the parking lot at the Acapulco Lounge, trying to get the key into the ignition. But it was foggy, and he had been a little high. Then there was nothing but blankness. Had he gotten in the car? Had he driven it home? He had his keys. How could he have his keys and not his car?
Matt sank down on the step in front of his condo as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His car had to be somewhere. Maybe it was at the next bar they had gone to. At least he thought they had gone somewhere else. He vaguely remembered bouncing along the road, wondering why the fog was so thick, why there weren't any lights.
Shit. Where the hell was his car? And how had he gotten home? He had to get to the hospital, to see Jenny, to find out what had happened to Danny.
What had happened? Danny had been hit by a car. A few blocks from home. The car didn't stop. Probably some drunk ...
Fuck. Matt buried his face in his hands as a terrible feeling of disaster filled his body. His mind screamed out a desperate protest. It couldn't have been him. Could it?
Chapter Eight
"Hush little baby, don't you cry, Momma's going to sing you a lullaby ..." Jenny's voice dropped to a whisper, then came to a complete stop. Danny wasn't crying. He didn't need a song to soothe him. He needed something loud, something to wake him up.
Jenny clapped her hands in front of his face. Not a muscle moved. His lids didn't even flicker.
"Wake up, Danny. Wake up."
She grabbed his arm tightly, the way she did when she was angry with him, when she wanted him to stay and listen, and he wanted to turn and rim. Then she felt guilty for the pressure of her hand on his arm. What if she hurt him?
The doctors said he wasn't in pain. God, she hoped they were right. It was hard enough to look at him lying there, without worrying that he was hurting inside and unable to cry out for help.
A nurse walked into the room, breaking the silence with a cheerful hello.
"The doctors will be here shortly to do their rounds," the nurse said. "They'd appreciate it if you would wait outside for a few minutes."
"Do I have to?" Jenny glanced over at Danny, so still, so fragile. She was afraid to leave, afraid he would disappear into thin air, vanish like a puff of smoke on a cool breeze.
Her fingers twisted around Danny's fingers, as if she could pull him back to life with the strength of her hand. He didn't respond.
"Mrs. St. Claire, please."
The nurse stood at the end of the bed, waiting.
Jenny stood up. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?"
The nurse hesitated. "He was heavily sedated for the surgery."
"It's not just the medicine that's keeping him out, is it?"
"We'll know more after the doctors take a look at him. It will probably be about a half hour."
"So long?"
"They'll want to do a thorough examination. By the way, my name is Leslie, and I'll be one of the nurses taking care of Danny during the day. Someone will be watching him twenty-four hours a day while he's here."
"That's good."
"Why don't you take a break?" Leslie said. "You've had a long night."
Leslie was trying to be helpful, but at that moment Jenny hated the nurse's round, cheery face, hated the fact that for her Danny was just another sick body and not a person. "I'll be in the waiting room. Please let me know the second I can come back."
"I will."
Leslie walked over to Danny's IV to check the fluid level. Her movements were brisk and efficient. She looked up as Jenny remained in the room. "Did you want to ask me something?"
"Do you ... have you ... have you seen other patients like this before?"
"Yes."
"Did they ..." Jenny licked her lips. "Did they recover?"
The nurse smiled at her with compassion. "Some did."
And some didn't. The words hung between them like a thick curtain that Jenny didn't want to look behind.
"I see." Jenny started to turn away.
"Mrs. St. Claire?"
"Yes?"
"I've seen miracles happen right here in this room. I still believe in them."
"Really?" Jenny wanted desperately to believe that a miracle was waiting just around the corner.
Leslie nodded. "Yes. And I have two kids at home. I'll take good care of Danny."
Jenny's eyes filled with tears as Leslie put a gentle hand on Danny's head and pulled at the cowlick that sent three hairs straight up in relief at the back of his head.
"He's always had that," Jenny said. "Every morning I wet it down, and by lunchtime, it's back up again. He hates when I fool with it." She smiled fondly. "And I always fool with it." She walked over to the bed, wet her fingers and pushed the hair back into place. It popped back up. At least a part of Danny was still fig
hting. She hoped the rest of him would come to life with the same energy.
Jenny walked out of Danny's room, past the nurses' station, down the hall, and through a set of double doors to the waiting room. A television was on. She glanced at the game show -- laughter, joking, bells ringing. She felt nauseated at the thought of so much confusion. How could people be happy when her world was falling apart?
There was no one else in the room, so she turned off the television. It was quieter now, but not as quiet as Danny's room. The elevator continued to ring its arrival. Nurses and doctors got on and off. Down the hall, a child squealed in protest at something unjust. Her mother scolded her for being too noisy. Jenny wanted to run down the hall and shake the mother, tell her that at least her child could cry and scream and be bad. At least her child was alive.
Oh God! What was she thinking? Danny was alive, too. He was just sedated from the surgery. He would come around. He would recover.
Hugging her arms around her waist, Jenny walked over to the window and glanced out into the atrium. It was morning, almost ten. The fog was lifting. Sunshine bounced off the branches of the trees, spilling across a table where a doctor and a nurse were having coffee.
Jenny didn't want to see the sun. She wanted it to be dark and cloudy, in keeping with her feelings. Then again, Danny was a child of the sun. He hated the rain, loved summer and everything that went with it, body surfing, watermelon, and the Fourth of July.
She wanted him to have another summer, at least another fifty summers, until he was old and gray. It couldn't end now, not like this.
Danny needed to wake up today. He could have one last beach fling before Thanksgiving, before winter set in for good.
"Jenny."
She turned to face her sister. Merrilee was wearing black slacks, a white blouse, and a gray blazer with a black-and-white necklace. Her pumps were black and shiny. Her watch and rings accessorized the outfit.
Perfection -- thy name is Merrilee.
For a moment, Jenny felt calmer at the sight. At least with Merrilee, she knew what to expect. No changes. No unpredictability. No emotion. Merrilee wouldn't give her sympathy, wouldn't make her weep. At the moment, it was almost a relief to see her cool, calm face.
"How's Danny?" Merrilee asked.
"The same."
"And you?"
Jenny shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care."
Merrilee looked at her with troubled eyes. "Well, I do care about you."
"I know you do."
Merrilee opened her arms to her. Jenny hesitated, then saw the apprehension on Merrilee's face and felt guilty at the way she had treated her sister the night before. She walked into Merrilee's embrace and hugged her tightly.
It had been a long time since she had hugged her sister. Merrilee smelled like Chanel perfume. It took her back to the days when their mother had worn the same scent, given the same hug. Her mother had been round, soft, and loving. Merrilee was skin and bones, taut muscles and disapproving looks. Merrilee could never take her mother's place, no matter how hard she tried.
Jenny stepped away and walked over to the couch. She sat down and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.
Merrilee sat down next to her. For a moment she was blessedly quiet. It didn't last long.
"Alan picked up the car you were driving and parked it at your house. He said it wasn't yours."
"No, it was Barry's. I borrowed it. He's probably wondering where it is."
"I'll call him for you."
"He's the bartender at the Acapulco Lounge. You can reach him there." Jenny opened her eyes. "I just remembered I'm supposed to go to work tonight."
"I'll call them, too. Is there anything else I can do?"
"I don't think so."
Merrilee paused for a moment. "Maybe you should go home, change your clothes, get some rest."
Jenny shook her head. "I'm not leaving. Not now."
"Danny might be asleep for a long time," Merrilee said, choosing her words with care.
"He's not asleep. He's in a coma."
Merrilee looked uneasy. "He's still asleep -- whatever word you want to use."
"I'm trying not to lie to myself about his condition."
"It's too soon for the doctors to know anything. Keep the faith, Jenny. Danny will come out of this."
Of course Merrilee believed her own words. She was a woman who denied the existence of anything negative in her life. Unfortunately, Jenny didn't have the same control over her emotions. When she felt sad, she cried. When she felt happy, she laughed. When she felt scared, she wanted to run away and hide.
A coward; she had always been a coward at heart. Jenny hated scenes, confrontations. Maybe it was a throwback to her childhood years, when her father had yelled at her mother about stupid things, like socks that didn't match, or a newspaper that had coupons torn out of it. She remembered curling into a small ball in the corner of her bedroom, her stomach twisting into knots as she listened to his anger.
It wasn't just the fights that made her uncomfortable. It was the times they went out to dinner and her father sent his meal back because it wasn't good enough or asked that their seats be changed, because they were too close to the kitchen. So many little scenes. So many upset stomachs.
Jenny felt sick right now, because she knew she had to fight for Danny, and she wasn't sure she could do it. What if she wasn't strong enough? What if she failed? Danny's life might depend on her courage or lack thereof.
"Jenny, I'm talking to you."
Jenny blinked. "What?"
"I asked you if Alan has any information on the driver of the car?"
"I don't know. He left a few hours ago."
"I'm glad he was with you. He's a good man."
"Yes." Jenny stood up and paced restlessly around the waiting room.
"Did you tell him about Luke?"
Merrilee's question made her pause. Slowly, she turned. "You did that for me."
"I only said that Danny was looking for his father," Merrilee said defensively. "I wasn't thinking about his reaction at the time."
"It doesn't matter."
"Did you speak to Luke last night when you went to his house? You never said."
"No. I looked through the window. I did ring the bell, but the housekeeper wouldn't let me in. She told me Danny wasn't there, so I left."
"Don't tell Luke now, Jenny. Keep him out of your life. It's for the best."
"Believe me, I have no intention of contacting Luke."
"You won't have to, because I'm already here."
The voice, so familiar, so haunting, made Jenny whirl around in disbelief. Standing in the doorway was Luke Sheridan, the man who had given her so much joy, so much heartbreak, so much anger.
Jenny couldn't say anything. She simply stared into Luke's face. He was an older, harder version of Danny, but he had the same blond hair, the same bright blue eyes, the same cleft in the chin. She remembered tracing his lips with her fingers, tickling his nose with her hair, kissing his eyelids, the long curve of his aristocratic nose. He had been her soul mate, her playmate, her lover.
Luke's face was grim and stern. He didn't have Danny's pug nose, Danny's dimples, or her son's generous mouth. Those features came from her, reminding her with bittersweet irony that Danny came from her as well as from Luke, that this man was Danny's father.
Why now? Why did he have to come back now? As she studied his face, his eyes grew dark. Worry lines shadowed the corners of his eyes.
Merrilee came up behind Jenny and put a strong arm around her shoulders. "What do you want, Mr. Sheridan?" Merrilee asked.
Luke didn't answer Merrilee. His attention was focused solely on Jenny, as if he could see right through to her soul. Luke had always read her so well. She didn't want him to read her now, didn't want him to know how strongly he affected her. It had been thirteen years since she had been this close to him. She shouldn't be feeling anything, but she was.
He smelled like her youth, like warm summer d
ays and hot sultry nights. His voice took her back to bonfires on the beach, to love songs played on an old guitar. Her gaze traveled down his body to his hands, to the strong, capable hands that had played her like a fine instrument.
Jenny closed her eyes and felt dizzy. Her body swayed. If Merrilee hadn't been holding her up, she probably would have crumpled to the ground. It was too much to take in. Danny's accident. Now Luke.
"Jenny, Jenny," Merrilee said with a shake. "Are you all right?"
Jenny opened her eyes again, hoping he was gone. He wasn't. "I'm fine," she muttered.
"What are you doing here?" Merrilee asked Luke. "Can't you see you're upsetting her? Go away."
"I can't go away. I have to speak to Jenny."
"She's upset. She can't talk to you right now."
"It's important."
Jenny watched the play between them like a tennis match.
"I want to speak to Jenny -- alone," Luke said firmly.
"Anything you have to say can be said in front of me. I'm her sister, in case you've forgotten."
"How could I forget? You're quite the protector."
"Someone has to take care of her."
Jenny straightened at her sister's words. They were talking about her as if she were a child. "What do you want, Luke?"
"Jenny, you don't have to talk to him," Merrilee protested.
"It's okay."
"I saw an article in the paper," Luke said. "A boy was hit by a car. Your son?"
Jenny slowly nodded. "Yes. Danny." Her voice caught.
Luke took an impulsive step forward, his hand reaching out to her.
Jenny stiffened, feeling the pull between them as strongly as he did.
Luke stopped abruptly. He lowered his arm and dug his hands into the pockets of his slacks, wrinkling his fine suit coat in the process.
"How -- how is he?" Luke asked.
"Not good. He has a head injury."
"Jenny, why don't you sit down?" Merrilee suggested. "You can speak to Mr. Sheridan later -- much later."
"Jenny, I need to talk to you alone, just for a moment."
Jenny hesitated, her brain sending out a thousand screaming warnings to say no. But Luke sounded desperate, and it wasn't an emotion she had ever associated with him.
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