“Yeah,” Matt said, slumping down into the chair and staring out over the mountains.
“They’re excited to have discovered a new cousin.” Adam let go of the chair arm to reach into his breast pocket. Pulling out the photo Ellen had given him, he stretched his arm toward Matt. “They thought you might like to see what they look like.”
The boy looked at the proffered photograph as though it might bite him. Finally, he took it and dropped it in his lap without even glancing at it. “What are we doing after they leave?”
Adam wrapped his fingers around the hard wood again. “I don’t know.” He decided to take the plunge. “How would you feel about Disney World?”
“Disney World? Seriously?” Matt had pivoted in his chair and was gaping at his father.
“I can’t tell if that’s a yes or a no.”
“Yes!” Matt said, in the teenage tone that indicated his father was in idiot. “That would be so cool.”
“That’s what we’re doing.” He’d deal with the dolphin question later. He’d barely made it through the Disney issue, and he was going to have to pull a lot of strings just to get a room at this time of year.
“Cool,” Matt said again. “Thanks, Dad.”
His son’s last word sent a spear of pain slicing through him.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked. “You look kind of weird.”
“Just tired from all the flights.” Adam levered himself out of the chair. “I have to go to work.” Trace stood up before Adam signaled him to stay.
“Right.” Matt’s voice was flat. He yanked his hood up over his head and slouched down in the chair.
Adam walked to the door Matt had left ajar. Looking down at his hand on the doorknob, in a voice hoarse with emotion, he said, “I love you, Matt.” Then he strode through the door and pulled it shut behind him.
Chapter 25
GUILT JABBED AT Hannah when she caught sight of Adam’s Maserati standing alone in the nearly empty parking lot. Heading to her own car she hesitated, wondering if she should retrieve his keys from Estelle’s desk in case he wanted the car after the animal hospital closed.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, yanking open the door of her Subaru. “He’s got to have a spare for that fancy car.”
And he wouldn’t want to see her anyway. She’d sleepwalked through her afternoon appointments with half her mind on her patients and the other half on whether she should apologize to Adam for the awful things she’d said. She’d tortured herself by remembering all he’d overcome to get where he was, admitting to herself that she didn’t know whether Matt would be better off with his father or with the seemingly perfect O’Briens, no matter what her instincts told her.
She forced herself to drive to Paul Taggart’s office, although the last thing she wanted to do right now was dredge up the horrors of her past in Chicago.
The windows of the law office glowed gold and welcoming in the late afternoon dusk. Paul’s secretary waved her through to his office with a smile and a flash of enormous rings on every finger.
Paul stood up behind his desk, coming around to give her a peck on the cheek. “Hello, doc. Something to drink?”
She swallowed and noticed her throat was tight. “Water would be great,” she croaked.
He opened the refrigerator and brought two bottles over to the couch. “Good news,” he said, unscrewing the cap and handing her the water. “Sawyer has agreed to admit he was misinformed, and blamed you and your veterinary practice wrongly. He’s also going to make a handsome donation to the local animal shelter in Sophie’s memory. You just have to decide how you want him to get the word out to the media. He’s willing to do whatever you want on that front.”
Hannah waited for the flare of jubilation but her despair over Adam muffled every other emotion. She tried to sound enthusiastic. “You got Robert Sawyer to let me decide how he should apologize? You’re a miracle worker.”
“No, I just have leverage.” His excitement faded slightly as his gaze met hers. “Are you worried about the media? Because we can keep it low-key if you prefer.”
She made a face. “I’d prefer to have no media at all, but that wouldn’t accomplish what I want.”
“Which is?”
“To make sure everyone in Sanctuary knows Tim didn’t hire some sleazy veterinarian to take care of their animals. And to clear my partners in Chicago of any lingering stain on their reputation.”
“Tim isn’t worried about that, and your former partners threw you to the wolves,” Paul said. “So you don’t really need to deal with the press, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She thought of Adam’s constant battle with his past. He couldn’t come to terms with it, so it was warping everything he did. She took another sip of water and shook her head. “I tried to run away from the situation the first time. Now I need to meet it head-on. Otherwise it’s going to follow me around for the rest of my life.”
“You’re sure?”
She squared her shoulders. “Invite every reporter in the city of Chicago.”
Hannah woke up early the next morning, feeling as though a heavy blanket of misery lay on top of her. Trying to escape the memory of yesterday’s disaster, she rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. That’s when she realized she didn’t just feel horrible on the inside; her body ached all over. Laying the back of her hand against her forehead, she moaned as she felt the heat against her skin.
“It’s probably psychosomatic,” she muttered, wriggling out from under Floyd and Ginger to pad into the bathroom for a thermometer and aspirin. She swallowed two pills before shoving the electronic thermometer in her mouth until it beeped. “Oh, crap! A hundred and two degrees.”
Great. Now she could spend all day in bed alone, obsessing over the terrible things she’d said to Adam and worrying about the upcoming press conference in Chicago.
She grabbed her favorite fuzzy purple robe and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Maybe she’d feel well enough after ingesting a hot, caffeinated beverage that she could drag herself into the office for distraction’s sake.
It didn’t work. Two cups of tea later she had to admit that even feeding the dogs was so exhausting she needed to lie down again.
She called Tim, who threatened to send a doctor over. “Geez, do they really still make house calls around here?” she asked.
“I make house calls, so the human docs can do the same,” Tim said with a certain ambiguity.
“You mean you’d call in a favor to get someone to come here,” she said. “Thanks, but it’s just a flu, I’m sure. If I need stronger medicine, I’ll get you to bring me some Oroquin-10, seeing as it worked for Satchmo.”
Her employer chuckled. “I’ll call and check in on you at lunchtime, unless you’d rather not be bothered.”
“No, that would be nice,” she said, tears welling up at the concern in his voice. She always got weepy when she was sick. “But don’t worry about me. I have lots of furry company.”
“They’re good for moral support, but they can’t bring you ginger ale or chicken noodle soup,” he said. “Don’t think about coming back to work until you’re one hundred percent.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d be back as soon as she hit even fifty percent.
Her next call was to cancel her dog walker. She didn’t want to deal with any humans when she was feeling lousy. The dogs would be content with going out in the yard.
Heading for the couch, she lay down and drifted into a feverish dreamland that mixed together Adam, Ward, Matt, Satchmo, and a chorus of barking dogs. The barking finally became so insistent it jerked her awake to hear the doorbell ringing.
Glancing at her watch, she discovered she’d been asleep for three hours. The doorbell rang again. She rolled off the couch and trundled to the door as she shushed the dogs. Peering through the frosted glas
s pane beside it, she saw the blurry form of Sonya, the vet tech she’d foisted Matt on that fateful Saturday morning.
Hannah retied the belt on her robe and cracked open the door.
Sonya held out a canvas tote bag with “Sanctuary Animal Hospital” printed on it. “I come bearing chicken soup from Clingman’s Market,” she said. “Dr. Tim sent me. He said it’s more effective than Oroquin-10.”
Hannah managed a weak smile as she took the tote and held the door wider. “Sounds great. You’re welcome to come in, if you’re not afraid of my germs.”
“Just for a minute to check on you,” Sonya said, stepping inside and unzipping her parka. “What’s your temp?”
“I just woke up, so I don’t know.”
Sonya’s gaze went past Hannah to the three dogs, who sat looking longingly at her. “Hey, guys! C’mon and get some lovin’.” She knelt in front of them and began a petting-fest.
“They’re your slaves for life now,” Hannah said, leading the way into the kitchen where she stowed the chicken soup in the refrigerator.
“You’re supposed to eat that,” Sonya pointed out.
Hannah grimaced. “I’m not really hungry.”
“You’re forcing fluids, though, right?”
“Well, I was sleeping until you rang the bell,” Hannah said.
Sonya chuckled and went to the refrigerator. After surveying the meager contents, she pulled out a bottle of fruit juice and poured Hannah a tall glass. “Drink it, and then I’ll leave you alone. After we take your temperature.”
“Are you qualified to treat humans?” Hannah asked, feeling grumpy, although she picked up the glass and took a sip.
“Two years of med school,” Sonya said. “I dropped out when I got pregnant with Danny.”
“Oh.” Hannah had no idea about Sonya’s history. “In that case…” She took another sip.
The vet tech perched on a stool, her hands thrust into her jacket pockets. “The truth is I found out I’m good with animals, so I like what I’m doing. Maybe when Danny gets older, I’ll go to veterinary school.”
“I’ll write you a glowing letter of recommendation,” Hannah said.
“Thanks, doc. Now where’s your thermometer?”
“In the bathroom. I’ll get it.” She didn’t want Sonya to see her messy bedroom, so she shuffled there and back, sitting down and putting the thermometer in her mouth.
When it beeped, Sonya took it and checked the reading, her eyebrows rising. “One hundred two point five. Doc, you’re pretty sick.”
“I always run a high fever with the flu. It’s no big deal. Really,” Hannah added as she saw the skepticism on Sonya’s face. “I’ll take another dose of aspirin in an hour and it’ll go right down.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you need someone who can write you a prescription for human meds.” The vet tech looked worried.
“A day of bed-rest and I’ll be fine.”
Sonya grinned. “I get the message. I’m going.” She jumped off the stool and headed for the front door, stopping to say good-bye to her new canine friends. As she walked out, she said, “Make sure you eat that chicken soup or Dr. Tim will have my head.”
“Promise.” Hannah closed the door and slumped against it. Her knees felt like they were made of rubber and even her hair seemed to pulse with achiness. “Ugh. Back to bed,” she said, pushing herself upright and stumbling to her bedroom. She remembered to put the aspirin on her bedside table before she collapsed.
Her dreams grew darker. Satchmo lay motionless on the straw as Matt crouched over him and sobbed, while Hannah tried to do a spinal tap on the dying pony. The stall door flew open with a bang and Adam reeled in, clutching a bottle of whisky. He staggered and thudded against the wooden wall. The sound of barking dogs started up again, and she snapped into consciousness.
Her clock showed an hour had passed, so she fumbled open the aspirin and swallowed three. The banging from her dream moved to the real world and she realized someone was knocking on her front door again.
Groaning, she flipped back the covers and swung her feet to the ground. “Don’t they know a sick person needs rest?” she grumbled as she trundled to the door. She didn’t recognize the woman standing outside.
“Just what I need…a total stranger.” She yanked open the door. “Hello?”
The stranger was about her age, dressed in a belted, black wool coat and high-heeled, black pumps, her blonde-streaked brown hair twisted into a neat bun. A wheeled cooler sat at her elegantly shod feet. She made Hannah feel like a walking mess.
“I’m Lucy Porterfield, a hostess at The Aerie, and I’m real sorry to bother you,” her lovely visitor said, “but Mr. Bosch heard you were feeling poorly and wanted you to have this.” She gestured to the cooler with a smile.
“Mr. Bosch?” Hannah closed her eyes briefly as a confusion of emotions roiled in her chest. Maybe Adam didn’t hate her too much.
“I don’t want you to have to pull this heavy thing, so if it’s okay I’ll just wheel it in and put everything away for you.” Lucy reached down and flipped up a handle. She waited with an expectant look as Hannah tried to absorb the implications of Adam’s offering.
“Sure. Fine. Thanks.” Hannah thrust the door back so Lucy could tug her burden inside. “Let me guess. There’s chicken soup in there.”
“Three kinds,” Lucy said, following Hannah into the kitchen after she said hello to the canine greeting committee. “And lots of other goodies.”
“How did Mr. Bosch find out I’m sick?”
“Oh lord, everyone finds out everything here in Sanctuary,” Lucy said. She flipped up the top of the cooler and began stowing containers in the refrigerator. “To tell the truth, I volunteered to come. Mr. Bosch was as cranky as a black bear who can’t get the lid off a garbage can.”
That startled a snort of laughter out of Hannah as she pictured Adam wrestling with a galvanized-metal can.
“My granny always told me laughter’s the best medicine,” Lucy said. She brushed her hands together in a gesture of accomplishment. “There. It’s all put away. Everything’s labeled with contents and warming directions.”
“Is Mr. Bosch often cranky?” Hannah asked.
“Hardly ever.” Lucy tilted her head as though considering. “He looked kind of tired when I first came in, but it wasn’t until he burst out of his office, saying he needed to make chicken soup, that he seemed kind of upset.” She looked at Hannah. “I guess he’s worried about you.”
Hannah sank onto a stool. Had he forgiven her? “Is there any caviar in there?”
Lucy frowned at the array of nonperishables on the counter. “Caviar? I don’t think so. Mr. Bosch probably thought a sick person wouldn’t like the strong taste of it. But if you want, I’ll ask him for some.”
“No, no, please don’t do that,” Hannah said, waving her hands frantically as though to erase her words. “I was joking.” She didn’t know what possessed her to ask that. Except that it might have meant Adam wanted to see her again.
Lucy picked up the handle of the cooler. “I’m sorry I woke you, but I wasn’t going back to face Mr. Bosch without delivering the food.” Her heels clicked on the tile floor of the foyer as she rolled the cooler to the door and waved. “Hope you feel better real soon!”
Hannah followed her to bolt the door before padding back into the kitchen. Pulling open the refrigerator door, she randomly chose one of the pale-green containers marked with the soaring-eagle logo of The Aerie. Handwritten on the top was “Curried Chicken Soup. Heat in a saucepan to desired temperature.” She didn’t know if it was Adam’s writing or not, but it was bold and finished with a flourish. She picked up another container. “Hearty Chicken Soup.” Same cooking directions. Finally, there was “Chicken, Brie, and Artichoke Soup.”
Lucy said Adam had made it for her. She had a vision of him standing in fr
ont of the stove, his hands hovering over the ingredients, choosing the ones he thought she’d like the best. She closed the refrigerator door. “Time to go back to bed before you get any more pathetic.”
When the barking dogs jerked her awake for the third time, she discovered her fever had broken, leaving her pajamas and the sheets soaked in sweat. “Ugh,” she said, climbing out of bed and flipping the covers back to air out.
The doorbell was ringing, but she couldn’t greet a visitor in her soggy pj’s so she quickly changed into new ones and grabbed her robe. Shuffling to the door as she finger-combed her damp hair, she squinted through the glass to see the vivid, red mane of Paul’s wife, Julia. The artist carried a glass vase of tall, yellow flowers in one hand and had a picnic basket hooked over her other arm.
By now Hannah had resigned herself to the fact that people took care of each other in a small town whether you wanted them to or not. Maybe she’d call the dog walker back, as her sleep kept getting interrupted anyway.
Hannah tightened the belt on her robe and cracked open the door, hoping Julia would hand her the flowers and basket and leave.
“Oh, dear, you look terrible,” Julia said, her gaze sympathetic. Then she looked horrified. “I mean, you look like you feel terrible.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure both are true,” Hannah said. Julia’s faux pas had dissolved her annoyance, so she opened the door wide.
“I won’t stay long, but Claire was worried when she found out you were sick. She got tied up at the gallery, so she sent me with her food.” Julia stepped inside and set the vase down on the hall table. “I added the Dancing Lady orchids because I think beauty helps heal just as much as chicken soup does.”
The Place I Belong Page 25