Phoenix Alight (Alpha Phoenix Book 4)

by Isadora Montrose

  “H-h-hello, F-F-Frankie.”

  “Hey.” She was suddenly embarrassed.

  “M-m-mind telling me w-w-what you’re d-d-doin’?”

  “Organizing your meds.” Chagrin at being caught, put her on the offensive. “When did you last take your antibiotics?”

  He closed his eyes. “D-d-dunno.”

  “You were given a two-week supply, three weeks ago. They should all be gone by now. But there are six pills left.” And his fever was back.

  “Hmm.”

  “When did you last eat, Reynolds?”

  A long pause. “G-G-Grant made me some eggs.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “D-d-dinner.”

  “You need a keeper, Bear Boy.” She got up and went into the kitchen. In the fridge, Mom’s stew lay congealed on a plate under plastic wrap. Why hadn’t he eaten it?

  She made more eggs. Two. Scrambled soft the way he liked them. Half an English muffin. Fairy portions. Some orange juice. He was dozing again. At least his eyes were closed. Brown lashes lay on the dark circles under his eyes. “Cam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I made you food. Sit up and eat it.” She used her command voice. It seemed to penetrate his fog. He made it to sitting.

  “I gotta go.” He fumbled for the aluminum walker beside the couch. Ignoring the tray, he clomped out of the room and down the hall.

  Andrew Johnson and Calvin Coolidge. A walker! It was a long time before the toilet flushed and he returned. He had splashed his head because the marks of his comb showed in his wet hair and his bristly jaw was damp. But he was even paler and fresh sweat soaked yesterday’s shirt.

  Awake or asleep, his aura and his brain waves were chaotic. How could he get well if his senses were scrambled? She tried humming, but nothing truly resonated. His aura stayed murky. His brain waves spiked and diminished erratically. Proof, if she needed it, that Cam was not her fated mate. Why did that make her sad and angry? She had known that for three years.

  He didn’t finish his breakfast, or lunch, or whatever meal the eggs now were. She handed him the drugs she had worked out that he was due to take. Not that she really had a clue, but she did her best based on the instructions. She would have to show the list she had made to Eleanor. He swallowed the handful she had given him in one go and chased it with his orange juice.

  “Do you want some water, before I go?”

  “You’re going?”

  “As soon as the dryer is off.”

  “Huh.”

  The buzzer sounded. She folded his things as she took them out of the machine, gathered the stuff she had found in his pockets, and put everything away in his bedroom. It at least smelled better. The honey scent of the bluebonnets growing outside had freshened things. She left the windows open just a crack, but pulled the blinds. Closed the curtains for good measure.

  The discarded food was hardening on the plate. And Cam had apparently dropped off again without waiting for water. Maybe his sunken cheeks indicated dehydration. General Custer, surrounded by people, he was dying of neglect.

  She returned to the kitchen with the tray and found a plastic pitcher and filled it with ice and water. Found a stack of plastic cups. “Okay, Reynolds, time to drink.”

  “W-w-wha?”

  “Water, Bear Boy.” She held out a half-full cup. “Bottoms up.” She made him drink three times. “If I leave this here, will you keep drinking?”

  “P-p-probably. If I r-r-remember.”

  She didn’t want to leave him. But she was already late. Tonight was the dinner for the out-of-town guests. She had promised Mom that she would accompany her to San Angelo this afternoon to make sure the hotel was on top of both the arrangements for tonight and tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner. On cue her phone chimed, alerting her to a new text. Mom, wondering where she was. She had to be going.

  She had put the duplicate pills in the kitchen cupboard along with those infernal sleeping pills. If the truth-in-advertising laws were enforced, no drug company would be able to market sedatives as sleeping pills. Just because the patient closed their eyes and lay still, didn’t mean they were getting the benefit of restorative sleep. Just reading the list of side effects on the website had made her blood run cold.

  “Keep drinking. The rest of today’s pills are in saucers on the coffee table. I labeled them with the times. Can you handle that?”

  “S-s-sure. D-d-drink. Take p-p-pills.” His eyes didn’t open.

  “Bye,” she whispered as she left. She met Grant on her way to the house. Oh, well, it had to happen sometime. She had to face the music.

  He stepped into her path. “Frankie D’Angelo, you need spanking!” But he was grinning, so he couldn’t be too mad. Right?

  She gave him a sheepish smile. “Oh. So the wedding’s still on?”

  “No thanks to you!”

  “I’m glad.” But she still owed him an apology. She squared her shoulders. “I had too much to drink last night. I spoke out of turn. I’m sorry I upset Gen.”

  “No harm, no foul. Apology accepted, Frankie. Good thing for you that Reynolds is in your corner.”

  “That wreck?” she scoffed.

  “Reynolds may be a spacey mess, but he knew what to do. You owe him big time, little sis. We both do. Got our sisters-in-law to set Genevieve straight about the Egg of Immortality.”

  “Oh. He didn’t mention it.”

  Grant shook his head. “At this time of day, Cam’s usually asleep. Not that he’s much for talking these days, poor bugger.”

  “I made him something to eat. He didn’t eat much of it. Can you see that he gets some dinner? And takes his meds on time? I’ve got them all laid out and labeled.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, kid.” Grant went on his way whistling.

  * * *

  Cameron~

  Warrior Woman was gone when he came to. Had she really been here in the room with him? Had she fed him? Brought him water? Or had he been hallucinating again? The water jug and row of saucers on the coffee table were evidence that he was not confusing reality with fantasy. This time. He struggled down the hall to the bathroom.

  The bear in the mirror was a goddamned mess. Hollow eyed. Greasy haired. Stubbly as a stumblebum. Presumably, the aroma of billy goat was what had driven Frankie off. Hadn’t Tasha said something about it yesterday? He didn’t feel up to it, but probably he should shower.

  He had to lean against the wall in order to dry himself, but he got the job done. Except for the damp patch on his back that was too much trouble. Frankie had cleaned up his room too. He ought to feel ashamed, but the feeling wouldn’t come. What the hell had she done with his clothes?

  He found his socks and underwear in the dresser drawer. His shirts and pants in the closet. What a concept. But the clean fabric felt good against his skin. Smelled good too. How unlike Warrior Woman to provide maid service for any man.

  For just a moment he allowed himself to wonder what would have happened if he had married her three years ago. But his bear was dead. He had no right to such fantasies now.

  The bed looked cool and fresh, the sheets military tight. Inviting even. But surely there was something he was supposed to do? Something that would knock this pain back to endurable?

  “You coming to dinner with us, Cam?” Grant asked from the doorway.

  “D-d-dinner?”

  “Mom and Dad are hosting a meal for our side in San Angelo – just the out-of-towners. That includes you – if you want to go.”

  “W-w-when’s the w-w-wedding?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Cam took stock. Grant was wearing a suit and tie. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. Was he up to changing? Hell, no. He wasn’t up to getting out to the kitchen. “N-n-no thanks.”

  “Mom sent you a bowl of chili, in case that was the way you felt. Want me to heat it up?”

  Was he hungry? Not really.

  “You need to eat, Cam.”

  “Huh?”

  “Come
on, buddy.” Strong arms supported him to the living room and the couch. “Don’t lie down yet.” Grant rustled papers. “Here. Take these.”

  A fistful of pills came his way. Followed by tepid water. He gulped it thirstily. Held out his cup again. Grant refilled it and waited while he drank. Handed him a napkin to wipe his chin.

  “Lie down. I’ll be back.”

  The chili smelled good. He sat up and took the bowl. “W-w-water?”

  “Here you go.”

  Now that he wasn’t so thirsty, he was hungry. It was Texas chili. His mom’s had had beans, but this was good too.

  “There’s more if you want it.” Grant broke in as he scraped his bowl.

  “N-n-no thanks.”

  “While you’re upright, have another drink.”

  Only after he had gulped two more cups did he recall what all this water meant. More trips to go potty. Shift and damn.

  It was a long evening trotting back and forth to the john. And now that there was water within reach he kept drinking. He took the next lot of pills on time, because he was up anyway. All those trips to the john must have tired him out, because long before Grant was back, he turned in.

  The sheets smelled slightly of Frankie. As if her fragrance had rubbed off when she smoothed them onto the bed and plumped the pillows. He fully expected to lie awake sleepless as he had done so often since he had been discharged from the hospital. But the room seemed unfamiliar. Not the place where he had tossed and turned for a week.

  A sweet and gentle floral perfume floated in the window. The wind ruffled the new leaves on the trees. An owl shrieked and a pronghorn barked. He slept. Someone was singing a lullaby. A tune so sweet and soporific, so loving and comforting, that it wrapped him in peace and drew him down into deep and dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Valentine’s Day, Elora, Texas

  Cameron~

  The First Baptist Church of Elora was small and crammed to the choir stalls. Tall blue lupines formed the backdrop for the huge floral arrangements on the chaste altar and either side of the aisle. Texas bluebonnets for a Texas couple. The busy ceiling fans wafted their honey perfume through the air. It might only be February 14, but summer had come to Elora.

  There were a lot of dress uniforms on both sides of the church. But Grant waited for his bride in a dove-gray morning coat and a striped tie. Beside him his eldest brother Harrison was resplendent in his dress blues. Col. D’Angelo’s colorful expanse of ribbons and medals cast Grant’s subdued civilian tailoring into the shade.

  Tasha reached over and patted Cam’s arm. He had woken from his afternoon nap, grumpy and groggy, but she had bullied him into his uniform and pinned his fruit salad on herself. Now he was glad she had. In a moment, Frankie D’Angelo would make her first public appearance in a dress since her high school prom. An event not to be missed.

  The organist was playing Bach. At some signal Cam couldn’t see, she abruptly switched to the wedding march. Twin Amazonian bridesmaids walked down the aisle in perfect time. First Eleanor. Then Frankie. Eleanor was smiling and nodding to folks on either side of the aisle. Her dark hair was studded with small white flowers.

  Warrior Woman looked much the same as her poised twin, but he fancied himself an expert on Frankie D’Angelo. She was worried about stumbling in her unaccustomed heels. And she felt foolish with her hair sprinkled with white blossoms. She looked utterly ravishing. And scared to death.

  The dresses were pale green. Sleeveless. Pretty. Made of some slivery-green fabric that sparkled. He liked the high square necklines. Call him a chauvinist, but he preferred it if his woman kept her rack on lockdown. Both sisters carried pure white bouquets.

  And behind them, prancing and sprinkling rose petals came Becky and Quincy. The prettiest flower girls in Texas. They wore circlets of white flowers. Their dresses were ruffled from waist to mid-calf. Rhinestones made their sashes and white Mary-Janes twinkle.

  The music swelled, Genevieve appeared on her father’s arm. Mr. Carson had sergeant’s stripes on his blue sleeve. Gen’s smile was radiant. Her white bouquet was larger than Frankie and Eleanor’s and contained a single red rose at the center. Well, it was Valentine’s Day. And she was the bride. Grant was one lucky guy.

  Frankie stepped forward and, ignoring the mic set up for the minister, sang ‘Amazing Grace’. Her voice was as remarkable as he remembered. It still gave him chills. If she hadn’t decided on an Air Force career, she could have been a coloratura soprano and given Grant a run for his money in the world of opera.

  When the last notes died away, Eleanor joined her. Together they led everyone in the ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ The rafters rang. As soon as the splendor of the lyrics died away, the ceremony began. It was over quickly. Grant and Gen said their vows in nice clear voices, but by then his head was buzzing and he couldn’t make out their words.

  The air seemed thick and heavy. Too many people, in too small a place. He was beginning to fade. The pastor came out of the vestry and introduced the happy couple. The organ played a joyful march. The bride and groom were walking back down the aisle, preceded by Becky and Quincy who were strewing rose petals lavishly and waving to their fans.

  Tasha gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you sure you won’t come to the reception?” she whispered. He shook his head. She touched his sweating face with her fingertips. “Not long now,” she murmured.

  But there were hands to shake. Kisses to give and take. Reminiscences. Pictures to be suffered through. He found a bench in the old graveyard and rested his aching leg. Becky shook him awake.

  “Uncle Cam,” she said reproachfully. “You’re going to miss having your picture taken.”

  He dutifully joined the D’Angelos. Stood where he was pushed. Obeyed the instruction to say ‘cheese’. Although he couldn’t imagine that Gen wanted a photo of a gaunt eyesore in her wedding album.

  At last it was over. Tasha led Cam to her SUV. She and Harrison had taken two vehicles to the church, in case Tasha had to slip away with him. The plan was to drop him at the guest house and then go to the reception in Harrison’s vehicle. The girls were in the colonel’s vehicle.

  He and Tasha had the SUV to themselves. He put his eye-shade back on and closed his eyes.

  “That went well, don’t you think?” Tasha said.

  “S-s-sure.”

  “I’m wondering if you should come back to Arizona with us when we go home,” she continued.

  “D-d-did I m-m-miss s-something?”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I-I’m s-s-sorry.” Objections swirled in his brain but could not make it past his tongue.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just think about it, okay? If necessary, we can hire a nurse for you. I hadn’t realized how bad off you were, or I would never have agreed that you go to Caroline and George’s instead of staying with us.”

  “Oh, T-T-Tasha, y-y-you can’t f-f-fix me with l-l-love.”

  She couldn’t but Frankie could. He was doing better since Warrior Woman had taken to bullying him to take his meds on schedule and clean his plate. Was that love? Or just pity? He didn’t want the latter. Couldn’t accept the former. He had to knock it into his dumb skull that he had forfeited his claim on Warrior Woman when he let his team die in the desert.

  * * *

  Frankie~

  “Genevieve looked gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” Caroline D’Angelo kicked off her pumps and wiggled her toes. “I thought Grant was going to cry when she walked down the aisle. I know I was. Debby Carson and I must have soaked our hankies in record time.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s traditional for the mother-of-the bride to cry,” Frankie assured her.

  “Well, the mother-of-the-groom isn’t supposed to weep.” Caroline’s voice was dry. “I don’t want anyone suggesting I opposed this marriage.”

  “No one thinks that, Mom.”

  “I hope not. They were happy tears. She just looked so lovely and so perfect for Grant. Little Ge
n all grown up.” Mom closed her eyes and raised her footrest. “To be honest, I was a little doubtful about her wearing a dress from the 1950s, but she looked just beautiful.”

  “Magnificent,” Frankie agreed. “I wouldn’t have thought that seventy-year-old silk organza could hold up that well.”

  Caroline sighed. “It wasn’t rotting silk I was worried about, it was how dated that dress might look. But when she was a young woman, Gen’s Nana B must have looked exactly like her. That dress was perfect. It could have been made for our Genevieve. Didn’t you love the line?”

  “I did. The entire bodice is boned, you know, to give that smoothness above the waistline. Maybe those long lace sleeves are a tad old-fashioned, but even I know that the Duchess of Cambridge has brought them back into fashion. And those tiers on her skirt were just right. Elegant. Not in the least ruffly or fussy.”

  Mom chuckled. “Just like your dresses. You girls looked gorgeous too.”

  “Which reminds me,” Frankie rose to her bare feet. “I better go change. Seeing as Grant and Genevieve have left on their honeymoon, someone needs to check on Reynolds.”

  Mom looked stricken. “Oh gosh, I clean forgot about that boy. I’ll bet he hasn’t even had supper. Or his medication.”

  “He had chili – from your freezer. And he had his pills all laid out, so if he skipped them, I’ll know.”

  “Well, thank you for dealing with him tonight. I guess we should see about moving Cam back to the main house, as soon as your aunts and uncles leave.” Mom patted a yawn. “Your dad will be wondering what’s become of me.” But she made no move to stand up.

  “You’d better go on up to bed, your guests have been asleep for hours. They’ll wake up at dawn wanting their breakfasts.” Frankie held out a hand. “Up you get.”

  Caroline didn’t budge. “It’s the thought of having to take this dress off, and clean my face, and brush my teeth. I’m too tired.”

  Dad walked into the living room yawning and shaking his head. “I thought I heard your voices. It’s bedtime, and past bedtime. I’m too old for this kind of frolic. I thought those people would never go home.”