Conor hurried toward his son, calling his name, his heart filled with unspeakable joy. Wait until he told Alicia! She’d be so happy to know Jon wasn’t really dead, that he’d grown into a fine, strong young man, a little gangly, but perfectly understandable for an adolescent.
Conor moved into the back field, his lungs screaming at the exertion, his chest on fire as the boy and dog outdistanced him.
The anchors on his legs slowed his progress. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his lower limbs to cooperate, the leaden weight holding him back, pressing him down.
He called Jon’s name, not once, but twice, hoping the boy could hear, longing for a chance to feast his eyes one more time.
But now Conor’s eyes felt as heavy as his legs, encumbered by some unseen force, weighty and powerful, pushing him away.
Sinking back, the bright day ebbed, leaving him in the dark, surrounded by strange noises and odd voices bearing an air of urgency he knew he disliked, but was too tired to fight now. Way too tired.
He slept.
Alicia found Addie pacing outside the double doors to the ICU. “How’s he doing?”
Addie’s jaw quivered. She shook her head. “Not good.”
“Is Kim with him?”
Addie nodded. “With Father Murphy. He’s... he’s...”
She couldn’t mouth the words. Alicia gathered her in, this daughter who’d been her staunch defender as a teen, who’d made hating her father a practiced art, mostly at Alicia’s behest. Somehow, Addie managed to grow into a delightful and knowledgeable young woman in spite of her mother’s sheltering arrogance. And she’d grown to love her dad. Go figure. “Ads, you’ve got to believe he’s going to be all right. This is Dad we’re talking about. No stupid little bacteria can do him in. I promise.”
“But—”
“Trust me on this.” Alicia pulled back and gave Addie the look she reserved for discussions on STD’s and best brands of chocolate. “Your father will be fine.”
For some reason her assurance bolstered Addie, but when Alicia was allowed in to Conor’s bedside an hour later, doubts plagued her. Equipment hummed or beeped around his lax form, his color ashen. A ventilator pumped air into his chest, a precaution Dr. Montoya said, to allow him time to rest, but Alicia knew vents weren’t employed casually.
She stood beside the bed, studying the strong man felled by a microscopic organism, praying they’d gotten to him in time. Someone slid a chair alongside her. Grateful, she sat and reached for his hand.
He jerked at her touch, but she refused to let go, his skin slightly cooler than it had been hours before. Addie sat on the opposite side, worried and distraught, clasping his other hand.
Alicia brought Conor’s fingers to her mouth in a quiet kiss, then laid his palm against her cheek like he’d done the day before. The touch was different now, flat and lifeless, the skin tepid and loose. She leaned forward, her lips to his ear. “Don’t even think of dying on me now, Conor Bradstreet. We have things to discuss, remember?” Memories of their restaurant banter should have made her blush, but no. Thinking of how often Conor had teased her in the past, goading her into bed, their playful talk seemed as normal as breathing and way more invigorating. “Get strong, Conor. Come on, you can do this. It’s crazy annoying that you can’t talk back to me. Fight with me.” Make love to me, she added silently, Addie’s presence a deterrent to total verbal honesty. She laid her head against his shoulder, letting her eyelashes blink against his warm cheek. “Butterfly kisses.”
Addie stared at her like she’d grown a new head. Somewhat understandable since she’d done nothing but gripe about this guy for nearly half the girl’s lifetime. “Mom, you just kissed Dad. And gave him butterfly kisses. What’s gotten into you?”
Alicia flicked a glance up to Addie, before resting her gaze on Conor. “I don’t know, Ads. I guess he kind of wore me down. Kind of crazy, huh?”
Addie’s look said her statement went way beyond crazy. “You need some serious rest.” She rounded the bed and put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “If you want to go home and get some sleep, Kim and I will cover here. We’ll call if anything happens.”
“And leave him?” Alicia sent Addie a look of astonishment. “Not a chance.”
Addie frowned and leaned down, her voice a whisper. “Mom, you left him a long time ago, remember? You’ve been divorced for nearly nine years.”
“Addie.” Keeping Conor’s hand firmly in hers, Alicia turned. “I’m not delusional, I’m not on drugs, I’m not crazy. Your father and I have managed to mend some of our differences, that’s all.”
Addie straightened, mouth open, eyebrows arched. “That’s all?” She said the phrase as though uttering the biggest understatement known to man.
Alicia nodded. “Yes. And of course I want him to recover fully. He’s got the checkbook, right? And who knows what he’s done to me in his will.”
“Mom.” Addie remonstrated her with a one word hushed whisper.
The nurse cleared her throat. Alicia stood and smoothed a hand from Conor’s cheek to his shoulder. Gentle, she let her fingers rest there and leaned down. “Get better. Hurry. You and I have a wedding to plan, remember? And a house to fix, a dog to walk, not to mention a bookstore to open. And stop trying to steal my help.”
Addie frowned, stepped forward, kissed Conor’s cheek, whispered something in his ear, and grabbed her mother’s arm. “You’re dangerously psychotic.”
Alicia grinned at her. “Probably the closest to normal I’ve been in a long time, honey.”
*
By late afternoon both girls had dozed off in the less than comfortable waiting room chairs. Conor’s brother had driven in from Pennsylvania. He seemed surprised to find Alicia waiting, his demeanor saying ex-wives should be relegated to end of the line status when it came to visiting rights. Worse, he was right. Kim held next of kin honors now. Alicia was nothing more than a former family member.
The whole notion of that ticked her off.
A shuffle at the door drew her head up from the magazine she pretended to read so she could ignore the baleful glances from her former brother-in-law. An old man hobbled in, his gait uncertain, his mode of dress three shades below casual. A woman accompanied him, tall and attractive. She glanced around the room, unsure, but the man met Alicia’s gaze head on. “You must be the Missus.”
Alicia frowned, confused, but stood.
The old man came her way. “How’s Conor doing?”
This man knew Conor? Alicia studied his face, her mind flipping through pages of memory, trying to age-enhance someone from their past, maybe some long lost, distant relative with really bad taste in clothes. Nope. Nothing. She moved to the man’s side and shook her head. “Not well, I’m afraid.”
He shifted his gaze to the girls curled up at the end of the room and kept his voice soft. “Them girls doing all right?”
Alicia shrugged. “They’re scared.”
The old man worked his jaw. When he did, the scruffy beard twitched left, then right, in Santa Claus style. “They’ll be okay once he’s okay. How about you?”
Something in his voice, or maybe in his look, told Alicia there was more than polite interest behind the old guy’s question. She shook her head. “Not so well, I’m afraid.”
He nodded as if he understood. “Making things right ain’t easy, ‘specially after so much time, but it’s doable. Long as you’re breathing, it’s doable.” He stared at the double doors that blocked them from Conor. “They don’t let you in much, do they?”
“No.” Alicia breathed the word on a rush, then paused, brushing a strand of hair aside. “Five minutes every hour. And only two. Did you want to see him, Mr...?He shook his head, eyes shadowed. “Name’s Sarge, and no, I don’t need to see him. You just tell him I came by, that my smoking partner brought me out here so’s I could pay my respects to you and the girls. Tell him I’ll see him in New York when he’s feeling better.”
“I will, Sarge.
” The name clicked in, along with Conor’s reaction to the dog’s name the day previous. Alicia motioned to the double doors, a hint of insight nudging open a well-rusted chamber of her brain. “They’ll be calling for us soon. Why not stay a few minutes? Tell him yourself. I’m sure he’d love to hear your voice.”
The tall woman smiled her approval. The old man’s fingers gripped the placket of his jacket, his motion insecure, his eyes tender and gruff, an intriguing combination. “Well...”
Alicia took his arm and led him to the chair closest to the double doors. “Sit here. Conor needs his friends right now. We’ll tell them you’re his father.”
Looking tired, the old man did as she asked, then walked to Conor’s room with her a few minutes later, leaving Conor’s brother sputtering something objectionable about the scant five minutes he’d had the hour before.
When she and Sarge emerged a few minutes later, Addie and Kim were awake and obviously privy to their uncle’s distress. As soon as they spied the old man on Alicia’s arm, they hurried across the room.
“Sarge. How are you? I’m so glad you could come.” Kim gathered the old guy in a gentle hug, eyes closed as though relishing the contact.
“My turn.” Addie stepped in, bumped Kim out of the way, and grabbed the old man with all the finesse of a first string linebacker. “I miss you, Sarge.”
The old guy’s eyes misted. “Me, too, but I hear you’re doing well in school. Kicking the old man’s butt, hey?”
Addie grinned. “And proud of it. You saw Dad?”
He nodded. “Nurse said his temp’s down a bit more. That’s a good sign.”
Alicia noticed he deliberately didn’t mention Conor’s renal failure from the stress on his body to fight the pernicious bacteria. Sarge clapped a hand to Addie’s shoulder. “He’s strong and young. He’ll be fine. And tears make him nervous, so mop your faces before you go in there and scare him to death, looking all mopey. You’d think you never saw a sick person before. Sheesh.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“We will, Sarge.”
The old man turned to Alicia, his hand out. “This old man appreciates your kindness, Missus.”
“Alicia.” Alicia accepted his hand and shook it with care. “Call me Alicia, Sarge.”
A smile lit his face from within. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“Mom, this is Cassie Barnes. She’s a—”
“Friend of Sarge’s as well,” supplied the woman, interrupting Kim’s introduction, her hand extended.
Sarge sent the woman a look of appreciation while Alicia shook her hand.
Foster appeared in the waiting room door as Sarge turned to leave. The old man nodded and moved forward, obviously acquainted with Conor’s houseman-slash-butler-slash-well-paid friend.
Alicia watched the houseman dip his head as they talked, an easy hand on the old man’s shoulder. Something Sarge said brought Foster’s gaze to hers, his eyes thoughtful, his expression surprised but accepting. As Sarge headed toward the elevators, Foster crossed the room. “Mrs. Bradstreet.” He reached out a hand. “I’m so sorry. How can I be of help?”
“Foster.” Alicia reached out for him. He hugged her, the years melting away like April snow, quicksilver wet. Alicia mopped her eyes, laughed when Foster presented a hanky, then hugged him again. “I’m so happy he has you,” she whispered.
Foster stepped back in recovered decorum, nodded and met her eye. “And you, I take it. Now.” Being Foster, he stood straight and tall, chin up, expression even. “I need to keep busy. Assign me a task.”
Assign him a task? What a Fosterism. Alicia put her hand against his arm. “There are two things, actually, if you don’t mind.”
“At your service.”
She smiled, his words taking her back to before she was a total twit. “Conor has acquired himself a dog in the last twenty-four hours.”
Her head had a hard time believing that it had only been a day since she and Conor trucked the canine to the veterinary hospital.
Foster nodded. “I see.”
Alicia ignored the fact that Conor’s brother was avidly listening while the girls exchanged looks at her side. “The dog was neglected. We found him chained in the back corner of our old carriage shed.”
“Where we kept our soccer equipment,” Kim declared.
Alicia included her with a nod. “Yes. This poor dog had been in there for weeks.”
Foster’s expression said he understood the rest. “Which veterinary, Madam?”
Alicia gave him the name. Jotting it down, he started to step away, then swung back. “And the other thing?”
“Oh, Foster, don’t worry about that. If you can just go and check on the dog, I’m so grateful.”
Foster stood his ground. “The second thing, Mrs. Bradstreet.”
Alicia met his gaze and saw nothing recriminatory or critical. Just Foster, wanting to help, ready, willing and able, a trusted employee, a true friend. What a blessing to have his stalwart presence. “I need clean clothes. I don’t want to leave again while he’s this bad, and I just threw on yesterday’s clothes when I woke up in the middle of the night, not the dog smelling ones, of course, that would be awful, but I knew something was wrong, so I called Conor and he didn’t answer his cell, so I called again, and you know Conor, Foster, he always, always, always, answers his cell.” She was babbling, she knew it, the words free-falling from her brain to her tongue in slip-shod shape, tumbling over one another in her haste.
Tears she hadn’t allowed herself began streaming down her face. Foster put out a hand for her keys as Kim embraced her.
Foster’s expression stayed firm and calm in spite of her histrionics. A neat trick. He nodded, his gaze a comfort. “You’re quite right. He does always answer. You got to him in time, Madam. You did the right thing.”
Did she?
No. She knew she should have stayed, she’d felt it in his suite of rooms, as if the Holy Spirit himself had nudged her to sit and keep watch by his bed, but she hadn’t listened to the tiny, inner voice.
What if she had? Would he suffer as he did now? Would he linger at death’s door if she’d gotten him help six hours before?
Foster dipped his chin, surveying her outfit. “I think comfortable would be the best choice for today.” He sent a disparaging and utterly British look to the vinyl seating and barely suppressed his shudder. “Something not... sticky.”
His tone reminded Alicia of how capable the houseman had been during Jon’s illness, the many things he’d done to help with two half-crazed adolescent girls and frantic parents on the verge of losing their son.
“God bless you, Foster.” Never had she meant a blessing so much.
He met her gaze, his eyes compassionate. “Oh, he has, Madam. He has.”
*
A familiar man walked into the waiting room on Monday afternoon. “Mrs. Bradstreet?”
Tired, Alicia stood to meet him. “Yes?”
He moved forward and motioned her back to the chair. “No, sit, please, sit down. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She shook her head, still unable to place the visitor. “You didn’t. Not really.”
He extended a hand from his well-cut suit. “Reggie Preston from Garlock Estates.”
Of course. The zoning board chairman. Alicia nodded, remembering how miffed she’d been when he and Conor let business interrupt the planning of Kim’s wedding. Stupid men. “How are you, Mr. Preston?”
“I’m fine, but I’m concerned about your husband. The word is he’s quite ill.”
“The word is correct.”
“Mrs. Bradstreet,” he sat forward, his expression earnest, “Conor and I had discussed some plans projected by a team of local developers.”
“Of course.” Why wouldn’t development take precedence over Kim’s wedding? Duh, Alicia.
“Because he’s directly involved in this venture, I wanted him to know that the sale is complete as of this morning. His sound insight and our legal team
were able to work things out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Except the poor bloke who lost his shirt in the deal, no doubt. Alicia tried to muster a smile of acceptance and failed. “And you think this is important enough for me to share with him while he fights for his life?”
Reggie’s expression switched to one of confusion. He paused a moment, puzzled, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you were unapprised of the situation, considering Conor’s request.”
“Request?” Alicia wished her brain were working better. Short sleep for the past two days had things mis-firing. “What request?”
“We’re building a campground, Mrs. Bradstreet, a special needs camp for gravely ill children.”
His words brought Alicia more upright. “Oh?”
Reggie nodded. “When Conor heard about the project, he called and offered a substantial donation with one stipulation.”
“My bookstore.” Suddenly her timeline for the bookstore approval became much clearer. “He bought you.”
Reggie laughed out loud. “I thought the same thing at the time, but no. That wasn’t his intent. At least, not his sole intent. The only thing he asked for was to have something in the campground named for your son, Jonathan.”
Conor did that? Her Conor? Alicia’s chest tightened. Her throat went thick. Words came hard. “And?”
Reggie handed her a pamphlet, full color, a rendering of a kids’ camp at mid-summer best, the brace of background trees green and full against a deep blue sky. “I know how you like horses. Conor told me that Jon did, too. I thought this would be appropriate if you approve.” He pointed a finger to the centered picture on the third wall of the glossed pamphlet.
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