Maggie watched Roman till he was gone, then turned to face Jack and asked, “Why did you tell him about Brian?”
“Why not?” Jack said.
“It wasn’t your decision to make, Jack.”
“You’ve carried the burden by yourself long enough, don’t you think, Maggie? Why not let some of us who care about you share it?”
Jack cupped Maggie’s nape with one large hand and drew her toward him. Maggie waited for some urge to resist to rise up and rescue her from Jack’s comforting hug. But in the cold, cold place deep down inside of her, within the thick block of ice that was her heart, a warm spring thaw was going on.
“I’d be happy standing right here for the rest of my life,” Maggie murmured.
Abruptly, Jack shoved her away from him, fumbled to get a beeper out of his jeans pocket, and looked at the number. “Gotta go.”
“I didn’t hear a beep,” Maggie said. He didn’t answer, because he was already gone from the room.
Maggie stared after him, her brow furrowed. Then it dawned on her what she’d said: I could stand right here the rest of my life. She knew why Jack had beat such a hasty retreat. He didn’t want to get involved. He wasn’t interested in commitment. “The rest of my life” was pretty serious stuff.
Maggie had to remember the rules. After all, she had set them herself. She could get close, but not too close. She could like Jack, she just couldn’t love him.
“Oh, hell,” Maggie said. It was already too late for that.
Chapter 17
When the beeper vibrated in Jack’s pocket, his first thought was, Another victim! A glance at the phone number on the beeper revealed he was needed by whoever was monitoring the ICU, but there was no emergency.
His second thought was, I wish I didn’t have to let go of Maggie. He had a lot better idea now why she’d posted all those No Trespassing signs to keep men-him-away. But her attitude had obviously undergone a recent change.
His third thought was, Just about every murder suspect I have just left the conference room headed for the ICU. Maybe the situation on the fifth floor is more dangerous than the cop on duty realizes.
All three thoughts together took less than a second, so Jack’s “Gotta go” came in tandem with his examination of the beeper. He realized on his way out the door that Maggie had no idea what had sent him flying, but he obeyed the instincts that told him, Go now, explain later.
He bolted out the door of the conference room and raced up three flights of stairs, unwilling to take a chance on the elevator. The heart that was already pounding in his chest from holding Maggie began tripping double-time, and Jack’s gut squeezed tight with fear.
He headed straight for the linen room, where Detective Fuentes had been replaced by another detective whose name Jack couldn’t recall. “Why’d you beep me?” he said the instant he came through the door.
“There are too many people in the room for me to watch all of them at once. I figured better safe than sorry.”
Jack saw the problem immediately. Lisa was sitting on one side of Amy’s bed—bed eight, in the farthest corner of the room—while Dr. Hollander talked with Isabel on the other side. The replacement for Nurse Cole was attending to the little girl in bed three—Patty, Jack remembered—while Victoria sat in a chair next to Patty, wearing a peach-colored hospital volunteer’s jacket and reading the unconscious child a book.
It was hard for Jack to do nothing but watch, because the way people were moving around, it was difficult to see their hands at all times. He wanted to stand unobtrusively in a corner of the ICU. But in that case, the murderer would hardly be likely to show himself. Or herself. Jack sat down beside the detective—Joe Harkness, he remembered—and began to watch. And wait. And think about Maggie.
So far, Jack hadn’t let himself fall in love with Maggie Wainwright. At least not the sappy “She can do no wrong/Isn’t she perfect?” kind of love. He saw Maggie with eyes that were all too clear. And she was far from perfect.
She was outspoken and opinionated. She was consistently late for meetings. She had a caesarian scar on her abdomen. And of course, she was an alcoholic. Jack could easily have fallen in love with her despite her flaws . . . . despite all her flaws but one.
He would have to be a fool to let himself fall in love with an alcoholic. Especially when he knew the downside and the dangers of the disease.
Jack Kittrick was no fool.
So as much as he wanted to love Maggie, Jack wasn’t going to let it happen. He knew he ought to tell Maggie how he felt. Especially after what he could see was happening. It wasn’t fair to let her fall in love with him, when he had no intention of loving her back.
Roman was speaking with Isabel, rearranging his surgical schedule, but his eyes were on his wife on the other side of Amy’s bed. She was holding Amy’s tiny hand, the back of which contained an IV held in place with an X of surgical tape. He could see Lisa’s lips moving, so he knew she was talking to their daughter, but from where he stood, he couldn’t make out what she was saying. What was she telling Amy?
He knew what he would say. Fight hard. Get well. Mommy and Daddy love you.
Roman wanted so much to sit beside his wife and hold his daughter’s hand. But after what had happened at the committee meeting, he wasn’t sure what Lisa would do if he put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
He had tried to make his wife understand why he was against life-support measures. He wanted Amy to live every bit as much as Lisa did. But he had seen too much, he knew too much . . . and he was too much afraid to take a chance.
Now it looked like he was not only going to lose his daughter, he was also going to lose his wife. It wasn’t only that they had disagreed on what to do about Amy’s medical condition. Lisa’s attack at home early this morning had caught him totally by surprise. She had hidden her doubts and fears about their relationship from him every bit as effectively as he had hidden his doubts and fears from her.
He knew Lisa deserved more time, more attention, more of everything. Even now, when she needed to know it the most, he was unable to show her how much he loved her.
What she suspected—an affair with his nurse—was so far from reality . . . . He wanted desperately to pull her out of that chair and into his arms. But the thought of her bristling like a porcupine or retreating like a turtle kept him where he was.
Roman made himself look at his surgical nurse and see her as his wife did. Even at forty-one Isabel was pretty, he realized. More than pretty. And when he looked into her eyes—really looked—Roman perceived what he’d been too selfishly blind to see. Isabel Rojas was in love with him.
What a fool he’d been!
Roman knew now why Lisa had turned her back on him three months ago. She must have seen Isabel looking at him with love in her eyes and assumed their long-ago affair was on again—or had never ended. The quickest, easiest way to assuage Lisa’s concern was to ask Isabel to transfer to another surgical team. It would be a sacrifice—he would lose both a good friend and a good nurse—but Roman was willing to do anything necessary to convince Lisa he valued her love above anything else in his life.
Even that might not bring them back together if Amy died.
Roman couldn’t breathe when he thought of Amy dying. His mind went blank and the world got dark when he tried to imagine a life without her and Lisa in it.
“Dr. Hollander?”
Roman gave his attention to Isabel. “Where were we?”
“You wanted me to see if Dr. Morgenstern can cover the surgery on Patty Watson. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now. I think I’ll stay here a while longer.”
“I’m so sorry about Amy,” Isabel said.
“I know. Isabel . . .”
“Something else you need?”
“We have to talk later about . . . about some things.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “All right. Call me when you’re free.”
He waited for Isabel to leave bef
ore approaching his wife. His stomach churned when he saw her visibly stiffen as he crossed around the foot of the bed. He didn’t think waiting was going to make things better, so he forced himself to say, “Lisa, we need to talk.”
She turned and stared up at him, her heart in her eyes. “She has to live, Roman,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let her die.”
Because there was no chair, Roman crouched down beside his wife. He reached for her hand and was grateful that she let him clasp it in his own. “Lisa, I . . . we . . . .”
She sighed, a sound so woeful and defeated that Roman wanted to scoop her up in his arms and promise her right then and there that everything would be all right. But he couldn’t make that promise.
“We have to talk,” he managed to say.
“I can’t talk about . . . anything . . . right now,” she said. “Later.”
“Tonight?”
She turned toward Amy and reached out a hand to caress the one small spot on their daughter’s cheek that was not covered by surgical tape holding the respirator tube in place. “If she dies—”
“The first twenty-four hours are critical. She may not . . .” He couldn’t finish.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said. “Tonight.”
The morning seemed endless to Lisa, who never left Amy’s side. The respirator pumped and hissed, pumped and hissed, as it forced air in and out of Amy’s lungs. Sometimes Lisa thought Amy’s eyelashes fluttered. Sometimes she thought Amy’s fingers twitched. But it was her own wishful thinking.
Wake up, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy and Daddy love you.
But did Daddy love Mommy?
“Mrs. Hollander?”
Lisa looked up to find Victoria Wainwright standing beside her with a children’s book tucked under her arm. She fought back the spurt of resentment she felt toward the woman for arguing against keeping Amy hooked to the ventilator and forced politeness into her voice. “Hello, Mrs. Wainwright.”
“Hello. How is Amy?”
It was an insensitive question, because the answer was obvious. ” The same,” Lisa replied. As she rose, her muscles protested the long inactivity. She put a hand to the small of her back to counter the ache there as she glanced at her Seiko. 1:33 P.M. She’d missed lunch. And breakfast. No wonder she felt so empty inside.
“I’d be glad to sit and read to Amy for a while to give you a break,” Mrs. Wainwright offered.
Lisa’s first inclination was to refuse. But her stomach growled, and she realized she had to eat something soon. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hollander. I’ll watch over her for you. I’m a grandmother myself, did you know? I have a grandson, Brian. Maggie’s son.”
Lisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Maggie has a son?”
“I know she’d want me to tell you about him. You see, he drowned, too, ten years ago. Unfortunately, he suffers from paraparesis. You do remember what that is, don’t you, Mrs. Hollander?”
“Yes,” Lisa breathed.
Mrs. Wainwright brushed aside a lock of Amy’s hair and said, “It would be awful if that happened to Amy. That’s why I argued against a respirator, you know. It’s so tragic when they don’t recover completely.”
“Mrs. Wainwright—”
“Go have something to eat, Mrs. Hollander. Amy will be perfectly safe with me. I’ll read Peter Rabbit to her while you’re gone.”
Lisa watched as Victoria Wainwright settled herself in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Amy’s bed and opened a gold-trimmed hardbound book. Lisa wanted to yank the other woman out of the way and sit back down herself. But she didn’t see how she could accomplish that without making a scene, and she had already made quite enough scenes for one day.
On the way downstairs to the cafeteria, Lisa realized that if she ate, she would only end up with indigestion. Her stomach was one giant knot from anger. At the unfairness of it all. At Roman for arguing against the ventilator. At Maggie for keeping such a secret. At herself for shouting at Amy. At God . . . . If she didn’t vent some of that anger, she was going to explode.
Maggie was the target she chose.
Lisa headed down Travis Street toward the Milam Building, aware of how warm the sun felt on her shoulders, how blue the sky was, what a beautiful spring day it was. Amy should be enjoying this, she thought.
She took the elevator to the top floor, greeted Trudy with a quick, false smile, and hurried past before the receptionist could offer sympathy Lisa couldn’t handle right now. She hurried down the hall to Maggie’s corner office, closed the door behind her, and said, “I thought we were friends. Why didn’t you tell me you had a son who drowned? Why did I have to find out about it from Mrs. Wainwright?”
She saw the shocked look on Maggie’s face, the oh-so-familiar pain, and burst into tears. “Maggie, help me. I don’t know what to do.”
Maggie had been dreading—yet expecting—the truth to come out for so many years that it was almost a relief to have it happen. And though she felt sorry for Lisa’s obvious distress, she was grateful for the respite from answering Lisa’s questions. She wrapped her arms around Lisa and offered what comfort she could.
It was a while before Lisa’s tears were spent. When they were, Maggie settled Lisa in one of the black leather chairs in front of her desk and seated herself in the other. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
Lisa blotted her eyes with a Kleenex. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Lisa said in a voice hoarse from crying.
“I think maybe it’s time,” Maggie said, hearing the hurt behind Lisa’s anger. “Especially with what’s happened to Amy.”
“Amy’s not going to end up like your son.”
“Maybe not,” Maggie said. And then more softly, “But you have to face the possibility she may.”
“No.”
“I never expected my sons to drown, either. But—”
“Sons? Plural?”
Maggie nodded. “I had two sons who drowned. Twins. Stanley died, but Brian survived and lives in a very fine nursing home in New Braunfels.”
“And you can give me the address in case I need it?” Lisa snapped.
Maggie felt stung, as though she’d been expecting a kiss and gotten slapped. “If you want it, I have it,” she managed in a steady voice.
Lisa leapt from the chair and began pacing like a caged animal. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t know where that came from.”
The pain, Maggie thought. She knew about the pain.
“God help me. What will I do if the same thing happens to Amy that happened to Brian?”
“Survive. We women are very good at it, I’ve discovered.”
“I can’t bear it, Maggie. I can’t bear thinking about it.”
“Then think about something else just as important.”
“What else could be more important right now than Amy?”
“Your marriage to Roman.”
Lisa stared at her, dumbstruck.
“You have to support each other during this terrible time. And you mustn’t blame yourselves.” Maggie had suffered on that rack for too many years.
Lisa stared at her knotted fingers and said, “Roman and I may separate for reasons that have nothing to do with Amy.”
Maggie crossed and put an arm around Amy’s shoulder. “Can you be happy living without Roman?”
“I don’t think I can be happy living with him,” Lisa admitted in a small voice. “At least, not the way things are right now.”
“Don’t give up without a fight,” Maggie urged. “You owe it to yourself—and to Amy—to try and resolve your differences with Roman. Tell him what you’re feeling. Tell him what you need from him. It’s not too late for you.”
Maybe if she had talked with Woody sooner, he would have rearranged his priorities and put her and the boys first. Maybe he would have been home that Saturday morning. Maybe her life would have been entirely different as a result.
“I accused Roman of
having an affair with Isabel,” Lisa blurted.
“What did he say?”
“He never had a chance to answer. The smoke alarm went off and . . .” Lisa sniffed and wiped her nose with the Kleenex. ” He wants to talk about it tonight.”
“Then I suggest you keep the appointment,” Maggie said.
Lisa’s stomach growled loudly. “I need to eat something. And I need to get back to Amy.”
“I’ll walk you back to the hospital. You can get a sandwich at the shop downstairs on the way.”
“It’s a deal,” Lisa said.
On their way out, Maggie told the receptionist, “I’ll be at San Antonio General with Mrs. Hollander, if anybody’s looking for me.”
As the elevator doors closed behind them, Lisa said, “How about taking some of your own advice, Maggie?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to let Jack Kittrick get away?”
Maggie laughed self-consciously. “You make it sound like he’s a steer I’ve got hogtied for branding. I don’t have any ropes on Mr. Kittrick. He goes where he pleases.”
“You should talk to him, Maggie. Tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t know how I feel,” Maggie said irritably.
“You’re in love with him,” Lisa said.
Maggie stared at her friend. The elevator doors opened with a ding, and they headed for the sandwich shop. “That’s a pretty big assumption to make.”
They entered the sandwich shop, and Lisa told the server, “Tuna salad on whole wheat and a Diet Coke.” Then she turned to Maggie and said, “I’ve seen the way Jack looks at you.”
“That’s lust.”
“You aren’t the type of woman men lust after,” Lisa said matter-of-factly.
Maggie laughed rather than feeling insulted. “Oh? What type am I?”
“Wholesome. The one-man-one-woman-till-death-do-us-part type,” Lisa said, accepting a brown paper bag and handing over her money.
“Well, phooey,” Maggie said as they headed out the door of the Milam Building onto Travis Street.
“What’s the matter?” Lisa asked.
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