by Chris Taylor
With shaking hands, she dialed his number and waited for the call to connect. He answered immediately.
“Mom, thank God. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you!”
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she stammered, her lips so dry she could barely form the words.
Riley paused. “It’s…it’s Dad. He’s suffered a brain hemorrhage, or something. They’ve taken him straight to the operating theater.”
Fear held Marguerite frozen. “Wh-when?” she managed.
“About an hour ago. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”
Guilt surged through her and she bit her lip against the pain. Her husband had been hurting, possibly dying while she’d been blissfully unaware, enjoying being pampered by her hairdresser, content to switch her phone to silent and block out the rest of the world.
“H-how is he?”
Riley blew out his breath on a heavy sigh and the fear inside her magnified. Oh, heavens. Was she too late? Please, God, don’t let her be too late…
“I don’t know, Mom. He’s still in surgery. He was unconscious when they found him.”
“Oh, dear Lord!” she cried out in distress and jammed her fist against her mouth, as if she could somehow hold the pain in. The waiting passenger sidled away, shaking his head at her and muttering under his breath. She barely noticed.
“I’m at the hospital now. I’m waiting for the doctor to get out of surgery and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“Who…who found him?” All she could picture was her husband lying unconscious, alone and in pain, tending the roses in the back garden, where she’d last seen him a mere handful of hours ago.
Riley remained silent. Marguerite frowned. “Riley, what’s the matter? Where was he? Who found him?”
“Mom, it doesn’t matter. Just come to the hospital. You need to come. Please.”
Riley ended the call and Marguerite stared at the phone in bewilderment. Why hadn’t he answered her questions? Confused and disorientated and weighed down with dread, she stared blindly around her and did her best to tamp down her panic. Where had she parked her car? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember.
The salon was halfway along the main street. Surrounded by other shops, it was always difficult to find a parking spot, especially around lunchtime and with the streets full of Christmas shoppers. She gazed blindly at the cars that lined the street, but none of them were familiar.
She shook her head and tried to slow her breathing. She was being silly. The car had to be somewhere nearby. Ignoring her growing anxiety, she tossed her phone into her handbag and stood a little unsteadily. She stumbled out of the bus shelter and headed in the direction of the mall. Sometimes she would park in the underground car park there. It kept the worst of the summer heat out of the vehicle and even though it was a little further away, there was always a better chance of finding a vacant car space. Perhaps that’s where she left her vehicle?
Her recent conversation with Riley replayed in her head and she frowned again. What wasn’t he telling her? And why the call from Detective Parker? Why would the police be involved? She knew she should simply pick up her phone, return the detective’s call and find out exactly what was going on, but try as she might, she couldn’t do it. Fear of what she might discover held her back. A deep sense of foreboding took hold of her and wouldn’t let her go.
Her body trembled. The cacophony of noise from passing cars and pedestrians echoed in her head. She spun around, looking both left and right. Her gaze bounced wildly from the people around her, going about their business, oblivious to her turmoil and confusion.
She stepped off the sidewalk and was immediately blasted by a car horn. She jumped back and narrowly avoided being hit. She stumbled and almost fell.
This was madness.
She didn’t even know what the problem was—or even if there was a problem. Her husband had suffered a brain hemorrhage, but he was still alive. Her son had been sketchy on the details. That was all. There was no reason for her to turn the situation into a drama of mindless proportions with no good reason. She had to get a grip, calm down. She had to find her car and head over to the hospital, to Duncan and to Riley.
Riley. He was waiting for her. He’d make everything all right. He always did. As the only one of her seven children who had returned to live nearby, she’d come to depend upon him more and more over the years and was genuinely fond of his lovely wife, Kate. And then there were their children, her grandbabies. The twins, Rosie and Daisy were two-and-a-half years old and were growing cheekier by the day. They called her ‘gran’ and offered her toothy smiles while they plastered her with sticky kisses. She loved every minute of it.
Of course, they weren’t her only grandchildren. All five of her sons had offspring. It was only the youngest of her children, her daughters, Josie and Chanel, who were yet to marry and produce grandbabies. Between the five boys, she had ten grandchildren and each and every one of them was dear to her heart. It was just that Riley was the only one close at hand and his toddlers the only ones she saw regularly.
Thinking of her family, her breathing slowed until at last, it was almost regular. The distraction had done her good and little by little, she clawed back her self-control. She’d always prided herself on being cool and collected—in fact, in her nursing days, she’d been renowned for it. She hadn’t managed to work for several years in busy trauma units without knowing how to remain calm in a crisis. Yet, here she was, on the verge of falling apart in the middle of the afternoon on a public street and she still didn’t know what had happened.
Duncan was unconscious. Okay, she could deal with that. Unconscious wasn’t dead. Unconscious could mean anything. Who knows? He may even now be waking up.
With that thought in mind, she blinked hard to clear her vision and drew in another deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she made a more concerted effort to locate her car. A minute later, she spotted it, parked near the escalators that took shoppers into the mall. Hurrying over to it, she dug in her handbag for her keys and breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers closed around them. The hospital was in another part of town, well away from the main street. All of a sudden, she couldn’t get there quickly enough.
CHAPTER THREE
Marguerite
Grafton Base Hospital
Marguerite hurried into the lobby of the Grafton Base Hospital, barely noticing the brightly colored Christmas decorations that hung from the ceiling. She headed straight for the information desk. While she’d never worked there, she knew the hospital well. She volunteered three times a week in the hospital cafeteria. She was a familiar sight on the grounds. The girl manning the desk wore a cheerful Santa hat and smiled upon her approach.
“Mrs Munro, how are you today? Might I say, your hair looks spectacular. I wish I could get that kind of color. Where do you get—”
Marguerite’s smile was strained. “Isabelle, sweetheart, thank you, but I’m in a bit of a rush. My husband’s been admitted to the hospital. Could you please tell me where I can find him?”
Isabelle’s face collapsed in shock and embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize. I’ll let you know in just a minute.” The girl quickly tapped on the keyboard in front of her and focused on the computer screen. A moment later, she bit her lip and a frown appeared between her eyes. She looked up and met Marguerite’s anxious gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Munro, he’s in the Intensive Care Unit. It’s up on level three.”
Marguerite’s her heart plummeted at the news. Only the sickest patients were treated in the ICU. Refusing to let the knowledge affect her, she nodded her thanks to Isabelle and headed toward the elevators.
Much too soon or way too long, the elevator dinged and opened its doors. She drew in a deep breath and stepped into the quiet corridor. Riley sat hunched in a hard plastic chair outside the door to the ICU. He looked up at her approach. For a moment, relief flooded his face and eased a little of the tension that held his jaw
tight. He stood when she reached him and engulfed her in a hug that was tinged with desperation.
“Thank Christ. I’m so glad you’re here, Mom.”
Marguerite nodded and pulled out of his arms. “How is he?”
Riley’s shoulders slumped. “He’s out of surgery, but still unconscious. The doctor came out awhile ago and told me a blood vessel at the base of Dad’s brain has ruptured. They’ve repaired the damage to the vein, but only time will tell how much damage his brain’s suffered.”
Her stomach took a dive. “Have you seen him?”
“Not yet. I was out on a job when I took the call from Joel Parker. He’s the detective who attended the scene. He recognized Dad right away. He’d tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“Yes, he left a message on my phone.” Marguerite reflexively touched her freshly cut, dyed and blow-waved hair. “I-I was at Shelley’s salon.”
Riley nodded brusquely. “When Joel couldn’t reach you, he called me.”
“Of course. I’m glad he did.” She paused, still trying to piece everything together. “Why were the police notified? Where in heaven’s name was he found?”
Riley averted his gaze. A blush stained his cheeks. Marguerite stared at him, her instincts on high alert. What wasn’t he telling her? The dread that had eased slightly upon her arrival at the hospital now returned in full force.
“What is it, Riley? What aren’t you telling me?”
He met her gaze without flinching, but the tension in his jaw told her how much of an effort it was. She held her breath, instinctively knowing something was terribly wrong.
“They…they found him unconscious in a hotel room near the river.”
“A hotel room? What on earth are you talking about? That can’t possibly be right. What would your father be doing in a hotel room? I saw him at home in the garden not long before I left for my appointment.”
Riley’s cheeks turned redder and he once again averted his gaze. Her dread escalated into full blown confusion, holding her immobile. She stared at her son, unblinking and unmoving and willed him to provide a logical explanation.
“J-Joel says it appears that Dad was…” His voice faded away.
Impatience and an increasing anxiety made her voice sharp. “For heaven’s sake, Riley, spit it out. Why was your father in a hotel room?”
Riley closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, his face pained. Marguerite bit her lip until she tasted blood, suddenly sure she didn’t want to know. Before she could tell Riley she’d changed her mind, he spoke in a voice that was rough with shock and disbelief.
“Joel attended the scene. He said it appears Dad was at the hotel for the purposes of…of a romantic assignation. That he was expecting a woman—”
A low growl of denial started deep in her throat and made its way out through her mouth. Her vision narrowed to mere pinpricks of light and there was a roaring in her ears.
She’d heard him wrong. It couldn’t be right. An affair? It wasn’t possible. Not her husband. Not Duncan. She refused to believe it.
“No!” she shook her head from side to side with increasing vehemence. “No, you’re wrong. Joel’s wrong. Your father would never cheat on me. I won’t believe it. You can’t make me believe it.”
Riley’s face filled with sadness and pity. The sight of it infuriated her. “Don’t you dare look at me like that, Riley Munro. Don’t you dare. I don’t care what Joel thinks. He’s wrong. Do you hear me? He’s wrong. There’s no way your father’s having an affair.”
“Mom, he was found in a suite at the Bellevue Hotel. He’d registered as John Smith. According to Joel, there was more than one sign that he was expecting company…of the female kind.”
Marguerite absorbed the information as best as she could, but the words hammered away in her heart. The Bellevue Hotel was a renowned meeting place for illicit liaisons and why would Duncan give a false name? Why would he be there at all? It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
“I want to see him,” she demanded. “I won’t believe it until he tells me himself and even then, I might not believe it.”
Riley shook his head. “Oh, Mom. I know how you feel. I feel the same way. Dad, an adulterer? I can’t believe it, either. I don’t want to believe it. But the facts don’t lie.” He drew in a ragged breath and looked away. When his gaze returned to hers, she almost gasped at the bleakness in his eyes.
“I didn’t want to tell you, Mom, but I think you need to know. Joel found a rose and a piece of racy lingerie on the bed. The receipt for the clothing was in Dad’s luggage. Two hundred and fifty dollars and it was only dated a week day ago. There was lubricant and massage oil on the nightstand. He’d ordered expensive champagne and two glasses—”
“Noooo!” She put her hands over her ears, unable to bear listening to any more. Her jaw was clenched so tight, she thought her teeth might snap. The sob worked its way up through the tension in her stomach, the constriction in her chest, until at last, she couldn’t hold it back.
She howled. Her breath came fast. Riley stepped forward, pleading and placating. He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away.
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. The police had it wrong. Duncan wouldn’t cheat on her. It would be more likely for him to fly to the moon. They’d been married forty years. Only that morning, he’d kissed her good-bye and told her how much he loved her.
It was a lie. It was all a lie. She needed to see him, to speak with him. She needed to hear him tell her it wasn’t true. She refused to believe every word, every smile, every kiss—forty years of togetherness—had been a lie. She refused to believe her life and their love had been nothing more than an illusion.
Spinning on her heel, she strode over to the door of the ICU and stabbed at the buzzer. The intercom crackled and was answered by someone almost immediately. Marguerite cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders and requested entry to see her husband.
A few moments later, the door was opened from the inside and a young nurse with blond hair and kind blue eyes greeted them quietly.
“H-how is he?” Marguerite stammered, fear now constricting her throat. She was grateful for Riley’s presence.
“He’s still unconscious, but he’s doing okay,” the nurse replied, directing her response to Marguerite. “The doctors are pleased with the way he came through the surgery. We’ll know more soon. You can come in and see him, if you like.”
Marguerite nodded and glanced behind her to where Riley stood, tense and still. The nurse followed her gaze.
“I’m sorry, but the doctors have restricted his visitors to one at a time and for only a few minutes each. It’s tiring for the patient, regardless of their level of consciousness.”
Riley gave a brief nod and stepped back. “Of course. I understand. I’ll wait for you out here, Mom.”
Marguerite acknowledged him with the slightest movement of her head, her focus now entirely on the hospital ward. In a matter of moments, she’d see her husband—not as she had a matter of hours ago, but gravely ill, unconscious… She steeled herself against the impact and followed the nurse through the ward.
CHAPTER FOUR
Riley
Grafton Base Hospital
Riley stared after his mother. He recalled the pain and devastation on her face when he’d first given her the news and then how she’d pulled herself together and marched into the ICU like it was something she did every day. Admiration for her courage and her strength flooded through him and he couldn’t help but send a desperate plea heavenwards, that her faith in his father wasn’t misplaced.
When Joel had called him with the discovery, he’d refused to believe it. Not his father, the former judge: upstanding, loyal, unimpeachable. It wasn’t possible. But the evidence was there for all to see, including Charlie, the boy at the hotel who had raised the alarm.
His father had ordered room service; enough food for two. When Charlie’s knock had gone unanswered, he’d become more than a
little concerned. He’d spoken to the judge a couple of hours earlier and had noticed…certain things. The boy had alerted the manager who then entered the room by force. Duncan had been found on the bed, unconscious and barely breathing.
With no wallet or ID, and nothing more than the name he’d registered under, the hotel manager had no choice but to call the police. They’d arrived right behind the paramedics. It had taken Joel less than three seconds to realize it was Riley’s father.
Riley had jumped into his unmarked squad car and had driven the two hours to Grafton. He’d phoned his wife, Kate, on the way and had stumbled through an explanation. He couldn’t even recall what he’d said. He then phoned his mother more times than he could remember and cursed when he kept getting her voice mail.
His mother… He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. He prayed she’d be okay.
Okay? What was he thinking? Of course she wasn’t okay. Neither of them were okay and his brothers and sisters wouldn’t be, either.
The reminder that his siblings had yet to be informed stopped him cold. What was he going to tell them? They respected and adored their father. He’d been a positive role model all of their lives and an inspiration to them all. To be appointed the first aboriginal judge to the New South Wales District Court was an achievement that had left all of them in awe—even more so now that they were adults and could fully appreciate exactly what it had taken Duncan Munro to get there.
Riley drew in a deep breath and tried to ease the tension that gripped his body. Glancing down the corridor, he noticed it was empty and suddenly longed for the comfort of Kate’s arms. His stumbled explanation had been met with shock and confusion. He couldn’t even remember whether she responded. Of course, she would have. He wished he could remember what she’d said.