Erika paced to the door of Michael's office. Her hand curled around the brass knob, and she hesitated. Opening the carved oak door that separated their offices, she heard him speaking and realized he was on the phone.
"Is he all right?" Panic was evident in the voice she heard. While eavesdropping wasn't Erika's usual method of gaining information, she was concerned about Michael after the surprising news he'd received at the press conference.
Erika pushed the door open. Michael stood, clutching the phone, his back to her, his body stiff.
"Where?" he asked.
Rapidly he scribbled something on a piece of paper.
"I'll be right there." Hanging the phone up, Michael grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
"Michael?" Erika came forward. Something scared her. "Is everything all right?"
He faced her. "A friend of mine is in the hospital. I have to go."
Erika wondered who she was. A surprised streak of jealousy raced through her at the way he'd stood, and the way he was about to run out. She wondered if he'd run to her this fast if she were ill. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
The corners of Michael's mouth turned up slightly and he walked over to her.
"Thank you. I don't know how bad he is yet."
It was a he. She couldn't account for the relief that flashed through her.
"Will you call me when you know?"
A brief smile curved his lips again. His hand came up and touched her cheek. He nodded.
Erika put her hand where his had been when he left the room. Two scares in a short period of time. She wondered if the friend was really all right. First the trauma of Frank Mason and then a friend suddenly taking sick.
Michael was certainly a complex man. She recognized the strained look on his face. He was worried—about his friend, or the press conference revelation?
She wanted to know him, but he pushed her back each time she got close to him.
Last night he'd kissed her so tenderly she'd thought her feet would never touch the ground again. Then he'd rejected her, walked away, leaving her alone, lonely, and without an understanding of what had just happened.
This morning she was more in control, and more confused than she ever thought she'd be. Sharing everything with Michael was light years more complicated than Carlton could have possibly known, if his only intention was to get Michael off that mountain. She wondered if Carlton had thought about her, about the effect Michael's personality and constant presence would have on her. He’d talked about the money when he told he was doing her a disservice. Or was he?
Had Carlton planned this? Was he trying to manipulate them both? Michael was off the mountain, and she—who'd vowed never again to fall in love—was falling in love with Carlton's grandson.
***
The University of Pennsylvania Medical Center housed a first class trauma center. A tan brick structure, built to be functional rather than aesthetically beautiful, it covered several blocks of prime real estate. Michael pulled into a parking space in the hospital garage and made his way to reception.
"How do I get to ICU?" he asked a young, blond woman in a pink and white striped jumper.
"Follow the blue arrows." She pointed to the wall on her left. Michael's gaze followed her finger. The pale yellow wall was bisected by a blue, green, and brown stripe which ran to the end of the room and disappeared through a windowed door. Michael followed the lines on the walls through a maze of hallways that took him into another building before ending at a set of tan-colored doors.
Blood pounded in his ears. His heart seemed to stop as he scanned the beds for Malick Wainscott. Michael approached him slowly, his breath coming in shallow puffs.
Malick lay under a white sheet, pale as kindergarten paste. His silver hair was tousled against the pillow. Michael stood stock still while tubes dripped clear solutions into his friend's arm and machines beeped around him, monitoring his vital signs. Oxygen tubing was wrapped over his ears and a nose tube helped him breathe.
"Malick?" Michael’s voice croaked. Malick didn't stir. Clearing his throat Michael called him again.
Malick opened his eyes and closed them. A second later he opened them again. A frown creased his brow and his eyelids closed. Michael waited breathing easier now that he'd confirmed his friend was still alive.
Stepping forward, Michael leaned over the bed. "Malick," he called. Malick opened his eyes.
"Michael, you made it," Malick said in a weak voice.
"What are you doing here?" Michael tried to cover his concern with a joke.
"I needed a rest." Malick returned his playfulness, but Michael could see the strain in his face and the effort it took for him to talk.
"Don't talk," he said. "Go back to sleep. It's probably good for you."
Malick didn't argue with him. He closed his eyes and was immediately asleep. Michael stayed for a few minutes, noticing the even breathing and the steady sound of the machines flanking his bed. Leaving the room, he went to the nurse's station.
"May I speak to the doctor in charge of Malick Wainscott's case?"
"Are you related to him?" the white-clad woman asked.
"I'm as close to a relative as he has."
"May I have your name, please?"
"Michael Lawrence."
She consulted something on her computer screen. “May I see some I.D., please?”
Michael pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed her a New Jersey driver’s license. She glanced at it and handed it back.
"One moment, please." She dialed a number and spoke into the mouthpiece. When she replaced the receiver she said, "Dr. Washington will be with you in a moment."
Michael paced the floor, waiting for the doctor to arrive. He turned back, glancing into Malick's room. He slept undisturbed. Thank goodness Malick had put Michael down as his next of kin. Without it neither the nurse nor the doctor would see him.
"Mr. Lawrence?"
Michael turned toward the voice. A man about his own age faced him. He had dark, steady eyes, and kept one hand on the folded stethoscope in his pocket.
"I'm Dr. Washington."
"I'm Malick Wainscott's friend. He has no relatives. Could you tell me how he is?"
Dr. Washington walked toward the exit and Michael fell into step with him. They crossed the stenciled hall and went into an office. The doctor sat down behind the desk and Michael took one of the two chairs in front of it.
"In simple language, Mr. Wainscott has had a mild heart attack. That's an area between minor and massive. It's a serious condition. The walls of his heart are not damaged, but his stress factors are very high." He paused. Michael thought he was waiting for the familiar family reaction, which Michael held. He'd felt his stomach fall, his hands went cold, and he wanted to grip the arms of the chair in which he sat, but didn't want to admit that Malick might not recover. "We think with proper rest and less stress he will recover," the doctor went on.
Michael let go of his breath. "Thank God," he said wiping his hand down his pants to his knees.
"We're keeping him in ICU for a few more days, just to make sure he responds to the medication and regains his strength."
Michael was relieved. Malick was a mainstay in his life. He'd never thought of him dying. They'd been friends since his days at Catholic University Law School where Malick had taught him Criminal Law. Both were from New Jersey and initially that was the common ground of their friendship. Then Malick took him under his wing and the two had become fast friends. Michael assumed Malick would be around for a long time. Michael rarely thought about the differences in their ages. Malick was in his late sixties, still young by today's standards. This sudden attack let Michael know how mortal Malick was.
"Is there anything else I should know?" Michael asked the doctor.
"Not that I can think of. We're doing everything we can."
"Thank you." Michael stood, shaking hands with the doctor. He le
ft the office and returned to sit with his friend. Malick slept for an hour while Michael waited. Nurses came in and changed his IV bag. The equipment continually monitored his condition with monotonous precision.
Michael thought of Erika and knew how she must have felt when Carlton was ill. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do to help his friend. Malick woke just before dark. "Michael, is that you?" he asked. His voice was groggy and slurred. "Have you been here all this time?"
He remembered Michael been there before. Michael took that as a good sign. "I thought you'd want company when you woke." Michael achieved lightness this time.
"You'd better go home," Malick said. "Erika might need you."
He remembered he hadn't called her, and she didn't know which hospital he'd gone to. His cell was off due to hospital policy.
"Erika is a strong woman. She can handle anything that comes her way." He was suddenly surprised by his character assessment. Erika was strong, and he knew she could handle things without him. Hadn't she proved that this morning, when the reporters had brought up her past? Then she'd stepped in and tried to bring the discussion back to business when the attack turned to him. She'd defended him, even when she didn't know the impact of the reporter's revelation.
When she'd asked him to explain Michael had put her off. He glanced at Malick, who'd fallen asleep again. He needed to call Erika. He admired her, and right now he wanted to hear her voice.
***
Darkness had fallen and only a small lamp illuminated a corner in Malick Wainscott's ICU cubicle. Erika stood in the doorway, her body casting a shadow on the floor. Michael looked up and saw her.
He sat on the opposite side of the room in the darkness. In a single movement he was on his feet, but he didn't come toward her. She couldn't see his expression in the darkness, and uncertainty about invading his privacy caught her.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "I thought you might need some company." When he'd left the office this morning on the heels of the press conference, she'd been concerned.
For an awkward moment they stared at each other. Then Erika took a step forward. Michael reached for her and she put her hand in his. His grip was surprisingly strong. Erika forced her gaze to the sleeping figure in the bed. Michael must be extremely worried about him if he'd stayed here all afternoon.
The man reminded her of Carlton. He didn't look like him, but he was small and white, and in a medical bed. This was the first time Erika had been in a hospital since Carlton had been released to spend his final days at home. She had the feeling of death about her. Fear gripped her and she clamped her teeth down on her lower lip. She'd come here for Michael, to keep him from the feelings she'd lived with for the long year before Carlton's death. He'd had nurses in the house twenty-four hours a day and the staff was always present, but she'd felt alone. She'd come so Michael wouldn't feel lonely.
"How did you know where I was?" he asked, his voice nearly disembodied in the darkened room.
She glanced at him. "Your secretary told me. When the call came in they identified it as the ICU department at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital."
Michael nodded and continued to hold her hand.
"Is he a good friend?"
"He was one of my law school professors. After I graduated we kept in touch. He's my best friend."
Erika understood. She stepped closer and curled her hand in his. "Have you eaten?" she asked, already knowing he'd sat there since he arrived, keeping vigil.
Michael shook his head.
"Would you like me to get you something?"
Michael stared at her for a moment.
"We could go to the hospital cafeteria," she suggested. "I know you haven't left this room since you arrived. The walk will do you good, and you have to eat."
Michael slipped his arm inside her coat. It went around her waist and he pulled her to him. Erika went easily, turning herself toward his body. He needed someone to hold onto. She knew the feeling, and she was glad she was there. She put her arms around him and held him for a moment. She heard his sigh as warm breath against her neck. His arms tightened, and she felt as if he were a small boy needing comfort. Erika didn't mind. She let him hold her until he loosened his grip and stepped back.
"Something to eat might be a good idea," he said.
Minutes later they sat in the hospital cafeteria, a room with sterile white Formica tables and blue and white tiled walls. Before them sat buff-colored trays with a hospital version of a turkey club sandwich, hot coffee, and a piece of apple pie. Michael ate in silence, finishing all the food on his plate.
"Talk to me, Michael," Erika said. "I understand what you're going through. I went through it with your grandfather."
He didn't answer immediately. The moment stretched on and Erika didn't think he was going to answer her. Michael got up and took her cup and his. He refilled them both and returned to the table.
"I suppose Malick was my Carlton. We met when I was in law school. I was a young, brash kid who thought I knew everything." He laughed at what must have been a memory of a younger Michael. "Malick quickly made me aware of how little I actually did know." Michael paused, his gaze staring through Erika as if he'd retreated into a past life. "After that he became my unofficial mentor and advisor. We spent hours discussing cases, present and past, politics, art, music. I don't think there's any subject we haven't covered."
Erika wondered if that included her.
"By the time I graduated I was renting a room in his house." Michael laughed and sipped his coffee. "I never actually paid for that room. It was kind of an agreement. I had a lease, but Malick never accepted the money. He said I was a poor law student and I should use the money to buy books or save it to set up my law offices after I graduated."
Erika smiled at him. "Does he still teach law?" She knew from the investigative report Steven Chambers had given her that Michael had gone to Catholic University Law School in Washington, D. C.
Michael nodded. "Five years ago he took a job here." Michael spread his hands, encompassing the room. "The University of Pennsylvania had tried to get him to come for years. Finally they made an offer he accepted."
"You must have been practicing by then."
"I was. My partner and I began our firm in New Brunswick. I'd go down to D.C. three or four times a year and stay with him, and we'd talk long into the night. He'd return the favor by coming to New Jersey. He’s from North Brunswick and has a house there, but his family is all gone. When Malick moved to Philadelphia, we’d meet even more regularly."
"Is he going to be all right?" Erika asked the question softly. Michael leaned back in his chair.
"The doctor says he should recover."
Erika could hear the "but" in that statement. Impulsively she reached across the table and took his hand. He caught it and squeezed. "I'm sure he'll be fine," Erika told him.
As they walked back to ICU, Erika thought of the man next to her. This morning they'd sat before the news media, and tonight Michael stood vigil over a friend's bedside. She recognized there were many sides to Michael Lawrence, the man. Erika thought of the rude mountain man and tried to compare him with the tender-hearted one who held her hand. He had strength and compassion, and Erika had never met anyone like him.
Malick was awake when they entered the room. He looked tired, his eyes half open and his shock of white hair mussed by the pillow. Erika preceded Michael.
"You. . .must. . .be Erika." He spoke slowly and tried to smile. Erika returned it. Surprisingly, her eyes filled with moisture. "I am very pleased. . .to meet. . .you."
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Better," he said, yet somehow she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth.
"How are you and Michael getting along?"
Erika stopped herself from looking at Michael although he still held onto her hand. Michael had talked to him about her. She wondered what he'd told him. Did he know about their kiss?
"We're," she said, clearing he
r throat, "we're having growing pains, but I'm sure we can work them out."
"Growing pains." He grunted, trying to laugh. "Michael will do that to you," he said, as if talking about a child. "But hang in there. He's worth it."
Erika felt strange. Why had he said that? It sounded as if they were engaged. Erika wanted to pull her hand free, but it would look too obvious.
"Malick, you're embarrassing her," Michael said, dropping her hand to move closer to the bedside.
A nurse came in then and told them visiting hours were over. Michael was reluctant to leave.
"Go, Michael. There's no reason for you to sit here watching me sleep. You've been here for hours. Go home."
Malick sounded tired and Michael looked at Erika. He seemed to need her approval. She nodded.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Michael told him.
"It was good meeting you, Malick." Erika took his hand and squeezed it.
"She's prettier than her pictures," Malick said, looking at Michael.
Chapter 8
Jilted Fiancee and Mason Children Lawyer Head Graves Enterprises. The headline greeted Erika as she set her briefcase on the polished surface of her desk the next morning. So much had happened last night that she'd nearly forgotten about the press conference yesterday morning. The story in the supermarket rag detailed just enough of the facts of her engagement to Bill Castle and of Michael's involvement in the custody battle for the Mason children to keep them from being sued. It wasn't that the facts were distorted that bothered her so much as the tone of the article, and the implication that they were incompetent to head the conglomerate.
Erika picked up the paper with two fingers and dropped it in the trash can as if it contained three-day-old fish. She didn't expect the papers to be kind to them. Her history didn't regard her kindly and reporters wanted to sell papers, just as the pharmaceutical division wanted to sell medicine. The difference was that her products were ethical. They had been developed, tested, gone through clinical trials, and approved by the Food and Drug Administration before being given to the public. Newspapers were supposed to print the truth, keep the public informed of the facts, but she knew in her case the facts had been distorted, probably in Michael’s case too.
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 13