Glory Days

by Irene Peterson

  “But,” she objected.

  “No buts,” John said softly. “I’ll get you home and tomorrow is Friday and we’ll know more in the morning.”

  “But Liz,” she said.

  “I’m coming back to stay with Liz.”

  She turned to the other woman and waited. In her distraction, Liz didn’t answer right away. She felt rather than saw Carly standing at her shoulder, a look of concern etching deep furrows in her forehead.

  “Oh, Carly, honey, thank you for helping Gram. Thank you for getting her help when she needed it.” She stopped, took a deep breath before continuing, letting her brain instead of her heart do the talking. “But there’s nothing you can do for her now. I’ll be okay. No use you staying when you have school tomorrow.”

  “She’s a tough lady, you know that. I want to be just like her when I grow up.” Carly hesitated, then bent over Liz and put her arms around her shoulders. “I love her, too.”

  That brought a smile to Liz’s pale face. “She’s in good hands, thanks to you, sweetie. You go now and as soon as I know what’s what, I’ll call.”

  She watched John’s broad back as he left, his arm around Carly’s shoulders and held back the urge to call out to him, to beg him to stay with her. She didn’t need him, she was used to facing tough things on her own. But it would be nice to have someone to put his arm around her. She wouldn’t have objected to that.

  The long terrifying night loomed ahead of her.

  She hadn’t felt this empty since the night baby Jesse died.

  Closing her eyes, she tried desperately to put the dark thoughts out of her mind. All around her the hospital hummed. Disembodied voices sang out over the P.A. system.

  Liz attempted to pray, but she hadn’t had much use for God in the past couple of years.

  A big hand on her shoulder startled her out of a meditative sleep.

  “Any word while I was gone?” John’s deep baritone voice caressed her with the kindness behind it.

  Liz shook off her lethargy. “No. Nothing. I guess I fell asleep sitting here,” she admitted as color tinted her cheeks. “Nobody disturbed me. What time is it? How long ago did you leave?”

  John checked his watch. “I got Carly home and convinced her I’d find out what I could about an hour ago. Here,” he said, thrusting a white paper bag into her hands. “I stopped and got you something to eat. I figured you hadn’t had time to get anything for yourself. I know for a fact that the food here is lousy and I know you’ve been too worried to eat. You need something in your stomach and this is guaranteed comfort food.”

  Her half-hearted smile didn’t seem to deter him. The man definitely wanted, no expected her to eat.

  “I’m not hungry,” she stated.

  “Yes, you are, you just aren’t aware of it. Here. Take a bite of this.” He held out a plump hamburger wrapped in waxed paper. She saw cheese dripping down the side and smelled grilled onions. Then her stomach began rumbling and she took the burger from him.

  One bite and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Second bite and she remembered that maybe she’d only had coffee for lunch.

  Third bite and she forgot she wasn’t hungry.

  She finished it and accepted the soft drink he offered her. “Thanks. I guess you were right.”

  He gave her a quirky smile. “I usually am. And I like your hair.”

  A caustic retort formed in her head but remained there as a doctor approached them. Liz slid forward on the chair.

  “Ms. Atwater? I’m Doctor Patel. Let me tell you first that your grandmother is resting comfortably and you may see her for one minute—one minute only.”

  Liz wanted to cry. “What happened, Doctor?”

  “She suffered a small stroke. The CT scan showed that it was caused by a blockage in a small artery and she was given medication immediately. We have found that in this type of stroke, these medications given within three hours can actually reverse the damage done to the brain. In this case, we were lucky. Your grandmother arrived here in less than one hour.

  “I cannot promise you this, but in most cases that I have seen, there is a very good chance of complete recovery. Of course, she must be monitored and there will be medication and some physical therapy may be needed, but we are hopeful for a full recovery. With luck, your grandmother will be her old self in no time.”

  “When can we take her home?” John asked the very question she couldn’t get out of her throat.

  “Oh, we will have to see about that,” the doctor wavered. “I don’t want to give you a definite day, but I will say that I hope it won’t be very long.” He smiled, looked from John to Liz and then his watch. “I’m afraid I must be going. You may stop in to see her, but she’s got to rest and she may even be asleep, so I do not want you disturbing her. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk, I should think.”

  John stood and brought Liz up with him. She felt herself shaking but couldn’t stop it. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said for her. She managed a tight nod as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Can you walk?”

  She gathered her wits and ordered her muscles to work. “I think so. Let me see her. I have to see her.”

  With a gentle squeeze, John put his arm around her and held her as they walked to the curtained off area behind the swinging doors. A nurse told them where Flo was. John went with her but allowed Liz to peek through the curtains at Flo by herself.

  She let out a small cry. Her grandmother looked so tiny and pale in the harsh hospital light. Tubes in her arms. Oxygen apparatus distorting her delicate nose. Hospital bracelet hanging in dreadful fluorescent orange around her thin wrist. Liz watched her chest rise and fall but said nothing to her.

  Flo would have a fit if she could see herself this way, but blame it on poor stage lighting and makeup.

  “Take me home, please. I don’t think I can drive.”

  “Sure,” he said, gathering her to his side and giving her a hug. “Let’s get you home.”

  Chapter 31

  He watched his daughter as she slept on the sofa bed, her light hair spread out on the pillow as a slash of streetlight seeped through the window shade. Her thumb rested on the end of her bottom lip as usual and he tried to picture how she had looked as a baby.

  No one had memories of her that way. No photographs existed. No tender “first bath” to embarrass her. No first steps—who saw them? The nuns? Did they clap for her the way he had clapped for his nephews and nieces? Did they hug her close and shower her with kisses? Or did the day workers in the social services home do anything more than change her diaper and feed her?

  All this first stuff was too late for him to share with his daughter. And he’d only just found her.

  His thoughts turned to Liz. She’d had all her baby’s firsts, but he realized that it hadn’t been enough. Would never be enough for her. She deserved another chance. Maybe a little red-haired baby girl this time around, for her to love and cherish. He could almost picture it, a little Liz clone, toddling around, riding on his shoulders, teaching her how to blow spit bubbles, playing patty-cake and those stupid baby games. All the stuff he’d missed with Carly.

  If he had more time, if the sexy redhead had only come along a few years earlier, maybe he and she could have....

  Nah.

  This was no time to get sentimental.

  Curtis had called. The old lady would be dead before morning and her son had made his deathbed visit without pretense of disguise.

  The bastard figured he was safe from capture and prosecution.

  There was no statute of limitations on murder.

  Now he had a few days before the funeral. John knew that was where he’d be able to take out the sonovabitch.

  He looked again at his daughter. She would be killer beautiful in a few more years.

  Carly opened her eyes and slowly levered herself up. “How’s Flo?”

  John felt the weight of the world descend on his shoulders once m
ore. “It looks good for her. The doctor came out and told us that, thanks to you, they were able to get the newest medicines into her and everything looked promising. She’ll be rocky for a few more weeks, but she’ll be back at the restaurant and carrying on in no time.”

  She stifled a yawn with her hand. “That’s great.”

  “Why don’t you go back to sleep? You’ve got school tomorrow.” He shook his head when she sat up straighter.

  “I think we ought to talk.”

  “Not now, kiddo. I’m beat.”

  Carly put her pillow behind her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “We need to talk.”

  He gave up. “Okay. What’s on your mind, little girl?”

  She flinched at the words at first, then smiled. “Plenty. We ought to talk about this father-daughter thing. We ought to tell each other stuff. I have stuff to tell you.”

  John shook his head, realizing that she was right, even though it was after midnight and they both should be asleep.

  “Okay. Go ahead. I’m here for you.”

  Carly raised one delicate eyebrow. “I got invited to the prom. I’m working for the dress money, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  This was news. “Do I know your date? You do have a date, don’t you? I mean, you’re not going stag . . . I think that’s stupid.”

  “Yes, I have a date.”

  Fatherhood flared in his gut. “Do I know this guy?”

  She stifled a yawn. “Yeah. It’s Frankie’s friend Choochie—I mean Jason.”

  He’d watched the kid grow up with his nephew and knew his parents. They were okay. “That’s good. Jason’s a nice kid. He’s responsible and a good baseball player.”

  She beamed. “Yeah, I know. He’s sweet.”

  John couldn’t believe he was having this talk with his own daughter in the middle of the night after a day like today had been, but he found he enjoyed the intimacy.

  “So, what else? No more trouble at school?”

  “Nope. I handled it.”

  “Good.”

  “If it’s okay, I’m going to sleep over at Bridget’s tomorrow night.”

  His eyebrows went down. “No boys?”

  She recoiled in mock horror. “Of course not. Bridget’s parents will be there an’ all. No boys.”

  “This is where I say ‘okay’?”

  “Yeah.”

  He found himself grinning. “Okay, you can go.”

  “So, what’s with you?”

  John shook off his weariness with great difficulty. “Not much.”

  Carly looked up at him, her eyes rounded with fear. He felt this tightness in his chest get even tighter as if someone were ratcheting a load binder. “Please,” she whispered, “please don’t go through with it.”

  Refusing to answer, he rose and made his way to his room. “Good night, Carly.”

  Sleep tight, little girl.

  Liz called the hospital four times before breakfast.

  Nothing had changed. Flo was sleeping comfortably. The doctor had not seen her yet, probably not till ten.

  “That means probably not until after lunch.” She understood that the nurses couldn’t tell her much, but she longed to hear the truth.

  She might as well open the soup bar. What was Flo going to call it? S.R.O. Yeah. And fix it up with old posters and costumes. It really wasn’t such a bad idea. Sort of a theme. Fine for the soup bar, but would it hold the same allure when they switched over to soda fountain?

  What the hell . . . she’d look over those old trunks and see if there would be something to make a theme that would cover both aspects of the restaurant. Soup bar. Soda fountain. Luncheonette. Whatever this place was . . . it was all hers for awhile.

  Hers to build or ruin.

  She hastened up the stairs, attic key in hand. Just in time to see Carly gently pulling the door to John’s office shut.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  Carly hurried over, backpack slamming against her thighs. “Hear anything about Flo?”

  Liz shook her head. “Nah, they just tell me she’s resting comfortably. I’m going to go down there right after lunch is over, but I’ll try calling around ten or so. That’s when the nurse said the doctor would be coming around.”

  Carly’s face grew solemn. “Look, if you need any help, I can stay and help you. . . .”

  Liz smiled, despite the real need for her help. “I’ve got everything under control. She has enough soup base stored in the freezer to last about a week and if we run out, you can come down over the weekend and help me make more. I expect you to help out Saturday. You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “I’ll be there for lunch. I’m staying with Bridget overnight, though. We’re going to have pizza and talk about boys and she said she wanted to try out hairstyles for the prom . . . she says she’s good with hair.”

  Liz laughed, remembering all her friends who were good with hair. “Just don’t let her strip it for you. A friend of mine once ended up with white hair that had the ugliest black roots you can imagine. She looked like a cartoon. But you’d better get a move on it or you’ll miss the bus.”

  Already in motion, Carly called over her shoulder, “It’s still not too late for me to stay. Call me back any time before I hit the stairs.”

  “Go to school!” Liz shouted at her then waited for the sound of Carly’s footsteps down the stairs and out the door. Turning, she made her way toward the attic door and realized that there were two other offices, small, to be sure, but probably big enough for two rooms apiece in this front part of the building. Why hadn’t her grandmother rented them? Surely she could always use the income. Hmm. Something else to consider since it looked as if she’d be staying in Asbury Park for some time.

  Now, up to the attic to see what treasures, if any, awaited her.

  John heard someone thumping around overhead and woke with a start. Sliding from his bed, he stepped into a pair of jeans then padded silently to his closet. Removing his gun safe, he took out his Sig and slinked into the outer office and the hallway on cat’s feet.

  He waited by the attic door, weapon held at the ready close to his cheek.

  Arms full of delicate, faded costumes, Liz turned on the landing to find herself looking into the barrel of John’s Sig Sauer.

  “Stop right there,” he growled at her.

  “Christ Jesus!” she squeaked.

  Seconds expanded into elastic time as he looked down the length of the gun which was aimed directly at Liz’s heart.

  All the color washed from Liz’s face and Flo’s precious old garments fell to the floor.

  John pulled up the gun, checked the safety, and stuck it into his waistband. “Sorry,” he murmured as he bent to help Liz pick up the clothes.

  “Sorry,” she seethed. “You nearly scared me to death! I’ve lost at least ten years—no, make that twenty years of my life over that little ‘sorry.’”

  John grinned at her, leaning with indolent leisure against the door jamb. “Would ‘oops’ be any better?”

  He could see her trying to hold back her smile as her lips twitched before finally giving in. “You jerk!” She shoved some lacy skirts into his arms. “Help me get these downstairs.”

  John deposited the weapon back in his office, tossed on an FBI sweatshirt, then went down to the kitchen where he accepted the cup of coffee from Liz. “I guess I woke you up.”

  He saw the dark circles under her eyes, the general weariness that enveloped her, even turning her bright coppery hair dull. “You didn’t sleep much,” he observed.

  She sighed. “It just didn’t happen until about four, I think. Leastways, that’s the last time I looked at the clock.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Want some breakfast?” The corners of her mouth quirked up but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  John shook his head. “Tell you what, since you or your grandmother has made my breakfast for the past couple of years, how ’bout I make some for you?”
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  At her protest, he held up his hand. “In case you’re wondering, I know how to cook some things. You’ve had my steak and baked potatoes and I didn’t hear you complain about the meal.”

  Liz had the decency to blush. “Okay. The grill is all yours. Know how it works?”

  “Do I know how it works, she asks. I should be insulted,” he said as he set to work, “but considering your condition, I will overlook it. In fact, I will even offer to help you out with the lunch crowd.”

  Liz sputtered a protest but he would have none of it. “I know what to do. Just say ‘thank you’ and that will be fine.”

  Looking at him over her shoulder as he demonstrated his proficiency, she demurred. “Thank you, John. You’re not half as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Oh, no? I thought I was downright badass.”

  With a shake of her head, she boomed out a laugh. “You? Badass? You’re a pussycat, John Preshin. Just a pussycat.”

  Knowing better, John didn’t respond. The rock in his gut, having temporarily been forgotten, made itself known once more. Not a pussycat.

  Lunch was frantic. Word about Flo had passed through the street and many of the locals stopped in for soup and take-out sandwiches. Even the construction workers who had taken to the restaurant expressed their concern to Liz. Her grandmother would be delighted to know so many people held her in such high esteem.

  She’d made three calls to the hospital during slow periods with John manning the counter. Nothing new to report except that Flo had eaten and complained about the food but appeared chipper and without anything discernibly debilitating other than weakness in her left arm. They were going to get her out of bed later and Liz wanted to be there.

  During one of his breaks, John expressed the desire to drive her to the hospital. “You’ll thank me for the ride,” he told her and Liz knew she’d be grateful, she just didn’t want to grow too dependent on his kindness. She knew damn well how easy it would be to fall in love with him, except for the fact that he scared her. Kind, always kind. But mysterious all the same, except for that one night.