by Irene Hannon
“Why?” She searched his eyes. “It’s more than a cracked rib, isn’t it?”
“Yes. His ribs are fine. But he has a lacerated spleen. And some internal bleeding.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, then opened them.
“I had a feeling it was bad. What happens now?”
“If Henry was younger, we might take a conservative approach and see if the spleen would heal on its own. But that treatment option hasn’t been very successful in patients over fifty-five. So we’re going to remove it.”
“What’s the downside of that?”
“Short-term, the typical risks of any surgery. Long-term, greater susceptibility to infections.”
Marci frowned and clasped her hands in her lap. “How long will the surgery take?”
“Two or three hours. Henry said I should tell you to go home.”
“Forget it.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“How long will he be in here?”
“If all goes well, four or five days.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not sure. Recovery can take months. And he’ll need a fair amount of help initially.”
She turned to look out the window, giving him a view of her pensive profile. “When we were waiting for the ambulance, he told me his wife never came home after she was taken to the hospital.” She looked back at him, her expression troubled. “I sensed he might be thinking that will be true for him, too.”
“I got the same impression. But I’m going to do everything I can to make certain that doesn’t happen. Henry’s very active and healthy for his age. Other than arthritis, not much slows him down. There’s no reason he can’t recover from this—unless he gives up.”
“He’s not the type to do that.”
“That might change if his independence is compromised. Or if he has to leave his cottage. I’ve seen it happen.”
Marci’s perceptive gaze softened as she studied him. “You’re not talking about your experience with patients, are you?”
The woman across from him might be fair-haired and beautiful, but no way did she fit the dumb-blonde stereotype. Her insights were way too sharp. And her well of compassion—and empathy—seemed to run deep. He had a feeling she’d excel at social work.
“No. I saw it happen with my grandfather.” He was tempted to tell her more, but a quick check of his watch confirmed there was no time for a prolonged discussion. “I have a waiting room full of patients to see, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ll be in touch with the hospital, and I’ll give you a call if there’s any news. You might want to run home for a while, Marci. Henry’s right. There’s nothing you can do here while he’s in surgery.”
She shrugged and stared at the toe of her sports shoe. “Leaving doesn’t feel right. It would be sad to be in surgery and think no one cared enough to hang around.” Raising her chin, she met his gaze. “Would you tell him I’m staying?”
Christopher’s throat tightened, and he touched her hand for a brief second before he stood. “Yes. I’ll run back and talk to him before I leave.”
“Thanks.” She slumped against the wall, refolding her arms across her chest. Looking once more as if she could use a hug.
For a fleeting instant, Christopher was again tempted to follow his instincts and wrap her in his arms. To hold her close and assure her Henry would be fine.
But Marci had done nothing to encourage that kind of gesture.
And he didn’t know what the future held for Henry.
Chapter Six
After her stomach rumbled for the third time, Marci rose and started pacing, hoping moving would quiet its complaints. Or mask the noise, if nothing else.
Three hours had passed since Christopher had left her in the waiting room, and the cast of characters around her had turned over at least twice. In all that time, there’d been no word about Henry.
Nada.
Zip.
Zilch.
Had everyone forgotten she was here? Including Christopher?
Deciding to throw herself on the mercy of the woman at the E.R. intake desk, she turned that direction—just as Christopher pushed through the door.
Her pulse leapt, and she met him halfway as he wove through the room. “Well?”
“He’s out of surgery. Everything went well, and he didn’t need a transfusion. He’ll be in recovery for a while, then moved to a regular room later tonight.”
The tension in her shoulders eased. “Can I see him?”
“Not yet. He won’t be coherent for an hour or two.”
Her stomach rumbled again, and Marci’s cheeks grew warm. “Sorry. Must be the stress.”
“Or hunger. Did you eat lunch?”
“I had some yogurt. I wasn’t that hungry.”
“Sounds like you are now. Why don’t we grab a quick bite? By the time we’re through, you should be able to see him for a few minutes.”
Before she could process the unexpected invitation, her phone began to vibrate. Saved by the bell, she thought, grateful for the interruption as she retrieved it from her pocket.
“Excuse me for a minute.” She put the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
“Marci? Are you okay? We got worried when you didn’t return the car.”
“Hi, J.C. Yeah, I’m fine. Henry had an accident, and I’ve been at the E.R. all afternoon.”
“Is he okay?”
She gave him a quick rundown. “If you don’t need the car tonight I’d like to hang around a while,” she finished.
“No. We’re planning a quiet evening at home. You want us to bring you over some dinner?”
She glanced at Christopher, who’d taken a discreet step back. “I, uh, already have other plans.”
“With who? I didn’t think you knew anyone here other than me and Heather and Edith and Chester.” A few beats of silence ticked by. “Except Henry’s neighbor. The doctor. Otherwise known as ‘the glove man,’ maybe?”
No wonder her brother was such a good detective, Marci thought in annoyance. “No comment.”
“That tells me all I need to know. And good for you. It’s about time you went out on a date.”
“It’s not a…” She shot Christopher a quick look. He raised an eyebrow and she huffed out a breath. “Good bye, J.C.” She said the words very deliberately and punched the end button with more force than necessary.
“Your brother?” Christopher took a step closer.
“Yeah.” She dropped the phone into her purse. “How did you know?”
“I recognize the initials. We attend the same church, and I’ve run into him a few times in the E.R. when he was on duty. Seems like a nice guy.”
“He is. Also nosy.”
Christopher flashed her a smile. “I know what it’s like to have a big brother always looking over your shoulder. And I expect it’s worse for a younger sister. So how about some food? Downyflake is only a five-minute walk. I’ll have my pager with me, if anything comes up with Henry.”
The local hangout was a family place, with bright lights and no hint of romance. It was perfect.
And she was starving.
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s go, then. But watch your step. They’re replacing some of the slabs in the sidewalk.”
He took her arm as they exited the E.R. It was an impersonal, polite gesture indicative of breeding and good manners—and nothing more, Marci knew. Just as she knew the warm spot on her arm where his fingers connected with her skin would soon grow cold again.
But as they headed down the sidewalk, his protective hand guiding her around the rough patches, she let herself pretend for just a few minutes that his touch meant far more.
Fifteen minutes later, seated on opposite sides of a booth, they dived into hearty bowls of quahog chowder.
“This is great.” Marci added a few more oyster crackers to her bowl and stirred them in.
“It’s hard to go wrong with the loc
al specialty.”
“I’ve only had it one other time since I’ve been here.”
“The night I saw you in the restaurant.”
She gave him a startled look, and heat crept up Christopher’s neck. He hadn’t intended to bring up their first encounter. The comment had just popped out. Perhaps because it had been on his mind for the past few days. As had her distress that evening—and the comparison to Denise it had evoked.
The more he saw of Marci, though, the less he believed that link was valid. Denise had been clingy and needy. Marci struck him as strong and independent. Unlike Denise, whose mood swings were volatile, Marci’s personality was generally on an even keel. While tears had been a daily fact of life for Denise, Christopher suspected they were a rare occurrence for Marci.
Yet she’d been crying that night in the restaurant. Meaning if his hypothesis was accurate, something big had rattled her. But what?
“I’m surprised you noticed what I was eating. I got the distinct impression your attention was elsewhere.”
At Marci’s saucy comeback and smile, the flush on his neck rose higher. “Guilty as charged. A lapse for which I’ve already apologized. But the truth is, while I’ve come to admire a lot of other things about you since that night, you do have great legs.”
Now it was her turn to blush. But he also saw a flash of that poignant sadness in her eyes. “Unfortunately, my physical assets are often the only thing people notice.”
He stirred his chowder. “I noticed more than that.”
“Right. My soup.”
“No. I also noticed you were crying. In all honesty, that’s the first thing I noticed.”
She bit her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t usually cry in public.”
He’d half expected her to deny it. The fact that she hadn’t, felt somehow like a victory—though he wasn’t certain why.
“I already came to that conclusion. Which makes me wonder what happened to bring on tears.”
She shrugged and stared down into her chowder. “J.C. and Heather got married that afternoon. I guess I was just caught up in the emotions of the day.”
Her refusal to meet his gaze told him she was hiding something. That there was a lot more to the story—and she wasn’t willing to share it.
As if to confirm his conclusion, she spooned some chowder into her mouth and changed the subject.
“Tell me about the grandfather you mentioned earlier.”
No sense pushing tonight, he decided. But his curiosity was more piqued than ever. Maybe if he opened up a bit about his background, she would reciprocate.
“Pop was a great guy. My dad’s father died when I was very young, so my mom’s father was the only grandfather I ever knew. We had some fabulous times.” A smile of reminiscence tugged at his lips. “He lived in a small town about an hour north of Boston, and he used to take my brother and I sailing every Saturday in the summer. He’d built the boat himself years before. It wasn’t big or fancy, but it gave us priceless memories. And I learned a lot from him. About self-reliance and initiative and courage. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”
Emotion clogged his throat, and Christopher coughed, working to regain his composure.
As if sensing his need to regroup, Marci ate in silence for a minute before broaching another question. “What happened to him?”
He wiped his lips with a paper napkin and balled it into his fist. “He had a stroke six years ago. Pop made some bad investments in later years and didn’t have much money. My parents and my brother and I all offered him financial help, but he refused. He said he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Without telling us, he sold his house. Then he moved into an assisted-living facility.”
Christopher jabbed at one of the crackers in his chowder with his spoon until it disappeared beneath the surface. “He only lasted six months. He just withered away and died.”
“That’s why you help Henry so much, isn’t it?”
At Marci’s soft question, he looked up to find her watching him with a tender expression that made him want to learn more about her. A lot more. He started to reach for her hand as he responded. “That’s part of…”
“Here you go, sweetie.” The middle-aged waitress bustled up to the table and slid a plate in front of Marci. “And the special for you, Doc.” She set the second plate in front of Christopher as he retracted his hand. “Enjoy.”
Rather than dive into her food, Marci tucked her hands in her lap. Telling him she’d noticed his impulsive gesture and didn’t welcome it. Picking up his fork, he stifled a surprisingly strong surge of disappointment and tried to shift gears. “My experience with my grandfather did give me a lot of empathy for the needs of the elderly. I’d hate to see Henry end up in the same situation as Pop.”
“I thought you said he should be able to go home once he recovers.” She eased a hand over to the ketchup bottle and squirted some on her plate. The slight tremble in her fingers was telling.
“That’s true. But his daughter will fight it. She’s been after him for the past few years to either move into a retirement home on the island or go live with her in Boston. This will give her an excuse to renew that crusade. And in light of his weakened condition, she may wear him down this time. But his whole life and all his memories are connected to that cottage. Take him away from that, and he’ll be finished.”
“Why is she pushing so hard?”
Christopher speared some broccoli as he debated how to answer. “I’ve only met her once, but my impression wasn’t too favorable. I think she’d like to sell the cottages. Property on Nantucket is outrageously expensive, and Henry’s two houses are worth a lot.”
“Does she need money?”
A mirthless smile twisted his lips. “Depends on how you define ‘need.’ She married into wealth, lives in a very nice home in one of Boston’s most desirable neighborhoods, travels quite a bit, wears designer clothes. But I suppose there’s always another cruise to take or diamond ring to buy.”
Marci frowned. “She doesn’t sound like a very nice person.”
“Suffice it to say, she and Henry are night and day.”
“There has to be something we can do to override whatever pressure she puts on him. I’m sure we can find a way to help him stay in his house.”
Her determined tone reinforced Christopher’s impression that Marci Clay could be a force to be reckoned with once she set her mind to a task. “Sounds like Henry has another champion.”
She shrugged. “I like him. And I admire independence.”
“So do I.” He pinned her with an intent look and a soft flush stole across her cheeks. “Maybe between the two of us we can come up with a plan. But first we need to help him get through the next few days.” He took a bite of his flounder. “Let’s finish up and go pay the patient a visit.”
Twenty minutes later, as they approached the door to the recovery room, Christopher paused and turned to Marci. “Have you been in hospitals much?”
“No.”
“Don’t let all the equipment disturb you. We’ll be keeping a close watch on him for the first day or two.”
“Okay.”
He pushed the door open and moved aside to let her enter.
Marci was glad Christopher had prepared her. Henry’s bed was surrounded by all sorts of machines emitting odd noises, their digital screens displaying a dizzying array of data.
When she faltered, she felt a comforting hand in the small of her back.
“You okay?”
He spoke close to her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. Good thing she wasn’t hooked up to that heart monitor, Marci reflected, eying the steady blip indicating Henry’s pulse. Her reading would be off the charts.
She gave a brief nod.
With his hand urging her forward, she moved beside Henry’s bed.
“Everything okay?” Christopher asked the nurse on the other side of the room.
“He’s doing great.”
Henry’s eyel
ids flickered open, and he squinted up at them.
“That you, Christopher?”
“It’s me, Henry. Marci’s with me.”
She moved into Henry’s line of sight. Closer to Christopher. She assumed he’d shift back slightly, but he didn’t. Instead, he angled his body until her shoulder was brushing his chest. Which did nothing to steady her pulse.
“Hi, Henry.” Her words wavered.
“You should have gone home, Marci.”
“I wanted to stay.” She leaned closer and took his hand. “How do you feel? Are you in any pain?”
“Not feeling much of anything at the moment. They must have given me some mighty powerful drugs. What time is it?”
Christopher checked his watch. “Eight-thirty.”
“Go home. Don’t put in any overtime on my account. You, too, Marci. The two of you have better things to do than sit around an old man’s bedside. And if you don’t, you ought to.”
A deep chuckle rumbled behind Marci, and she felt the pleasant weight of Christopher’s hand on her shoulder. “I think we’re being kicked out, Marci.”
Every instinct in her body told her to lean back. To rest against his broad chest. To let his solid strength support her.
But she wasn’t a leaner. Never had been. It was safer to stand on your own two feet. To count on no one but yourself.
Bending to press a light kiss to Henry’s forehead, she used that as an excuse to disengage from Christopher’s hand. “We get the message, Henry. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks a lot for hanging around today. I didn’t expect it, but it sure made me feel good.” He angled his head to peer around her. “Why don’t you take this pretty little lady out for a bite to eat, Christopher?”
“I already did.”
Henry’s eyebrows rose and he gave his tenant a pleased smile. “Did you, now? Well, maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Marci closed her eyes. Henry was as bad as Edith when it came to matchmaking. Dipping her head, she rummaged around in her purse, taking far longer than necessary to find her keys. When at last she pulled them out, she pasted on a bright smile. “I guess I’ll head out.”