He cleared his throat and began explaining in succinct detail the condition of the county’s budget. When it was apparent how desperately cuts were in order, he began talking about the children’s unit. The numbers told the story. Kelso General was owned by the county and simply was not making enough money to warrant a children’s ward.
“Children’s units are more costly because equipment must be adjusted on nearly every level. Smaller beds, smaller machinery, smaller needles and tubing and testing devices.” He looked for a softening among the crowd and saw none.
He went on to tell them how other units at the hospital were essential and that children could still be treated in the emergency room once the children’s unit was closed.
“Children who need hospitalization will be transported to Portland’s Doernbecher Children’s Hospital. Of course that facility is one of the finest in the nation.”
Finally, Tanner dealt with the most difficult truth of all. “The fact is, Kelso General is costing this county a lot of money. While none of you wants to see the children’s unit closed, it would be far worse to see the entire hospital shut down.”
He cited towns that had lost hospitals because of the drain on county funds. “The board of supervisors feels very strongly that this town does need a hospital. Kelso General has a tremendous reputation in the medical community, and the staff there has played a part in saving the lives of hundreds of Kelso residents. You may know someone who is alive today because of Kelso General. Perhaps you, yourself, are here because you had the privilege of living near a top-notch medical facility.”
Tanner scanned the faces before him, relieved to feel the tension easing. “We all want to keep the children’s unit. But if it means the difference between losing Kelso General or keeping it up and running in this great town, is there any question what the board should do? Thank you.”
So much for Plan B.
Tanner sat down and watched as the clusters of people who had been frowning and grumbling quietly considered what he’d said. He could almost read their minds. Children were wonderful and all, but no hospital? Nowhere to go when chest pains struck in the middle of the night? Longview’s St. John’s Hospital was ten miles away and a far cry from Kelso General. Several elderly citizens in the back of the room stood and headed for the exit.
Tanner turned and looked at Lang. There was relief in the man’s eyes, and Tanner silently thanked God. There was no doubt about one thing: The Lord had given him a gift of persuasion. The children’s unit was as good as gone. Maybe his mother was right after all. Maybe he would love being a politician.
Lang stood up. “Are there any questions?” Another batch of townsfolk stood and headed for the door. “All right then, at this point we’d like to—”
“Wait!” It was the girl from the back. She was on her feet staring at the people who were leaving. “Don’t go! You can’t give up that easily.” She motioned toward Tanner. “He doesn’t live here; it’s not his hospital.”
Lang coughed once. “Uhhh, Miss … Conner, is it? Do you have a comment you’d like to address to the board?”
The girl spun toward Lang. “Yes, sir, I do.”
Tanner sensed that for some reason the crowd didn’t like Miss conner, whoever she was. Still, the citizens who had started for the door were turning around and making their way back to their seats.
“I believe we’ve already shared with you the fact that we don’t want to cut the children’s unit. We simply don’t have a choice.” Lang sighed impatiently. “But go ahead. Make your comments known.”
The girl clenched her fists tightly and stood straighter, her eyes blazing. As she met the eyes of her fellow townsfolk, the look on her face softened. “Don’t be fooled by some … some stranger who doesn’t know us. The board of supervisors would never close down Kelso General. Not in a million years. That hospital is a source of pride and strength in this town … every one of you knows that.”
She glared at Tanner, and he was struck by the color of her eyes. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, like the strains of a long-ago song that had once played over and over in his mind. Have I seen her somewhere before? Do I know her? He banished the thought. It was impossible; he’d never been to Kelso before in his life. He glanced down at his notes, preferring them to the penetrating anger in the girl’s eyes.
Her voice was ringing with sincerity. “The county budget covers hundreds of items. Certainly the board can make their cuts somewhere else. And if the hospital isn’t making money—” she waved her hand toward the board members—“well, then, maybe we need a new board of supervisors. A facility like Kelso General should be making money, or there must be something wrong with the people responsible for it.”
A quick glance at the crowd told the story. Outrage was back in the people’s eyes, and Tanner summoned his strength. Maybe Plan B wasn’t dead after all.
The young woman reached down and picked up a snapshot of a blond child, four, maybe five, years old. “This is Shaunie. She has kidney disease.” Her voice remained strong, but Tanner could see tears in the young woman’s eyes … those green, gorgeous eyes. “She’s spent most of the past six months at Kelso General’s children’s unit.” The girl paused. “Today, Shaunie said something to me that I want you to hear. She told me she was glad her mommy and daddy lived so close.”
Tanner shifted his gaze and saw a few women in the crowd with tears running down their faces. Wonderful. Apparently everyone in town knew little Shaunie.
“I held her in my arms and told her that her parents lived with her, not close by somewhere else. But Shaunie shook her head and told me as sweetly as she could that sometimes she lived at the hospital. And when she did, she was glad her mommy and daddy were close.”
Handkerchiefs were yanked from purses and several women dabbed at their eyes. The sound of stifled sniffles filled the auditorium, and the citizens strained to hear the young nurse. “Medical research has proven that children heal more quickly, more thoroughly when they are happy. When they’re not afraid.”
She pointed to Tanner again, and he wished he could disappear. The girl was stunning, and he could feel the fight leaving him. What was he doing arguing with her, anyway? It’s not my budget, lady. You can keep your children’s unit … and anything else you want with eyes like—
“That … that man wants to move Shaunie to Portland, more than an hour away. How well do you think she’ll recover from kidney disease when her mommy and daddy don’t live close by.”
Her attention was back on the people. “Please. Don’t let them close the children’s unit without a fight. We need to stick together and tell this board that we won’t reelect them this fall if they don’t find some other way to cut the budget.”
Tanner caught several of the board members exchanging glances. Obviously “reelect” was the buzzword. He could almost feel them implementing Plan B. The beautiful nurse was finishing her plea. “Let’s take a vote. Please. Everyone who wants to keep our children’s unit open, raise your hand.”
Hands filled the auditorium, and Tanner watched as his persuasive presentation dissolved like sand in a stormy ocean wave. If he wanted, he could take her on, go head-to-head with her in debate, sway the people back to his way of thinking. But then, he wasn’t up for reelection this fall. Besides, he’d angered the nurse enough already.
Lang looked to the other board members for approval, and Tanner saw several of them nodding. Leaning forward, Lang smiled politely at the townsfolk and spoke into the microphone. “If there are no other comments, the board wants all of you to know we appreciate your interest in coming to the meeting today. We also want to thank our new intern for his presentation. Although he has done his homework and made a strong case for closing the children’s unit, the board wants to assure you that this matter is far from decided.”
Tanner grimaced. Nice. Make it sound like the whole thing had been his idea. He’d be lucky if he got out of the building alive.
Lang w
as rhapsodizing about being a servant of the people and doing only that which was best for everyone, but the crowd was growing tired and more frustrated. Eventually Lang caught on. He smiled in Tanner’s direction. “We have therefore decided to postpone any decision on this matter until the first week of September.”
Tanner wasn’t surprised. That was long enough for him to spend the summer researching a better way to balance the budget and save the children’s unit, and late enough that the supervisors could take credit for it. Ah, the life of a political intern.
The meeting was over, and the atmosphere had done a one-eighty. The clusters of townspeople stood in bunches, congratulating each other. They had a lofty air about them now, as though they were far superior to the board of supervisors.
Tanner watched as several of them approached the girl who had championed the children’s unit so well. Again he had the feeling he’d seen her somewhere before. What had Lang called her? The citizens talked to her in a manner that seemed far friendlier than their earlier reception. She remained aloof, an ice queen. But still there was something about her.
Lang approached him. “Tanner, great job up there. We almost had ’em.”
“Eastman.” Tanner’s eyes were trained on the girl.
Lang’s face went blank. “What?”
“My name. Tanner Eastman.”
A beat. “What did I call you?”
“Tanner Ghormsley. As in Professor John Ghormsley. The man who arranged my internship.”
Lang shrugged. “Oh well, they don’t know who you are.”
“Yeah, well, after what happened here today maybe I should thank you.” Tanner collected his file, but his eyes still followed the girl. Every move she made reminded him of something he’d seen before, someone he’d known before.
Lang followed Tanner’s gaze and huffed. “She sure did us in. She’s worked the children’s unit for years. Obviously a bleeding heart—”
“Wait a minute!” Tanner’s eyes widened and his heart pounded in his chest. It couldn’t be, but then … Where had she moved? Wasn’t it somewhere out west? Maybe even somewhere in Washington? Tanner’s mouth went dry as he stared at her, still standing there across the room. “What did you say her name was?”
“Who?” Lang looked around, trying to make sense of Tanner’s question.
The young nurse was gathering her things, making her move to leave, and Tanner was filled with a frantic sense of urgency. “The girl, the nurse. What’s her name?”
Tanner knew he couldn’t wait another moment. He had to know if he was right. He began pulling away, heading toward her, and for a single moment he focused his gaze on Lang, desperate for his answer. “Come on, what’s her name? You said it earlier.”
“Oh, her.” Lang nodded toward the girl. “Conner. What’s this all about? The meeting’s over, Tanner.”
“I have to talk to her. What’s her first name?”
“Ummm, I’m not sure. Wait a minute, I’ll think of it.” Lang concentrated and then pursed his lips, tapping a single finger on his chin. “Let’s see. Jean, was it? No, not Jean.…”
Tanner thought his heart might burst. Lang was still concentrating. “Jane … no, that’s not it.”
“Think, Lang. I have to know.” The girl was leaving, and he absolutely had to know her name, had to find out if it could possibly be her after all these—
Suddenly a knowing look crossed Lang’s face. “I’ve got it. Unusual name. Jade, I think it is.” Lang nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Jade. Miss Jade Conner.”
Five
TANNER STARED AT LANG AND FELT THE BLOOD DRAIN FROM HIS face. For a moment he stood frozen in place. Jade Conner? The girl who’d fought so eloquently against him was Jade Conner?
Tanner shoved his papers at Lang. “I’ll see you at the office.” Lang took the documents, a bewildered look on his face, as Tanner ran toward the door where he had last seen Jade.
He scanned the area in both directions, and then he saw her, fitting a key into a newly washed Honda.
“Jade!” He wore Italian dress pants and a starched white button-down with the finest tie his mother’s money could buy. But he dodged the mingling citizens like a wide receiver eluding tacklers. He was at her side in seconds.
She turned around and scowled at him. “What do you want?”
Tanner gulped. Where should he begin? His heart was pounding as he searched her face, her emerald eyes. It was Jade. Eyes as green as the water in Chesapeake Bay. No wonder she’d seemed familiar. “Yes, I … well, you’re—”
“How did you know my name?”
Her question caught him off guard, and when he hesitated she pounced. “Listen, I don’t care who you are or where you’re from or what lofty Ivy League school you attend. You have no right coming to our town and trying to convince those people it’s okay to close down the children’s unit. That’s our hospital, not yours, and personally I don’t care if you have some kind of agenda to work out.”
She railed on him for nearly a minute, which gave Tanner enough time to catch his breath. He relaxed and studied her. She was beautiful. Much more so than his memory of her could have imagined. He watched her eyes flash the way they had back when they were children, and he felt himself smile.
Tanner soaked in the sight of her. Jade Conner. He’d actually found her after all these years.
She released a heavy sigh. “You know, you are an arrogant, wicked man.” Her jaw was clenched, and Tanner felt a twinge of remorse for causing her such grief. “Kelso General is filled with sick children, children you care nothing about, and all you can do is walk in here, give your professional speech, and then stand there smiling at me. I wish you’d turn around and go back to wherever you came from.” She spun around to her car and opened the door. “I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Ghormsley.”
Tanner paused. Don’t you recognize me, Jade?
“Eastman …” He waited while the word hit its mark. “Tanner Eastman.”
It took her a few seconds. Then slowly she turned around and faced him once more, only this time she leaned against her car for support. Some of the color had faded from her face, and her voice trembled when she spoke. “Your name is Tanner Ghormsley.”
“No.” Tanner took a step closer. “Mr. Lang got it wrong.”
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, searching each other’s eyes. Tanner saw her expression soften and then fill with disbelief. Finally her eyes grew wet and she shook her head. “No. It can’t be …”
“Jade, it’s me. Tanner.”
Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and he circled his arms around her, drawing her close as she did the same. All those years as childhood friends and they’d never hugged like this. But now, with the evening traffic whizzing by and the last of the stragglers from the meeting still filing past them, it felt like the most natural thing Tanner had ever done.
He pulled back, his arms still around her waist. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and then pushed her fists into his chest like a petulant child. “So tell me, what do you have against our children’s unit, huh?” Her tone was completely different now, almost teasing, but Tanner could tell she was bothered … and wanting to understand.
His voice was little more than a whisper. “I have nothing against your hospital, Jade. I’m an intern. They sent me a file and I wrote a brief. When I reported in this morning, they told me I was in charge of the presentation.”
Jade released a shaky sigh and then, for the first time that afternoon, she gave a short laugh. “I should have known. Those snakes on the board used you as their scapegoat.”
Tanner watched her, a dozen questions filling his mind. He ran a thumb along her cheek and allowed himself to get lost in the memories her face evoked. As he did, he felt his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You never came back.”
Jade could manage only a slight shake of her head as her eyes grew watery again.
He thought back to that afternoon on his front lawn, the day Jad
e said good-bye. It was all coming clearer now. “You were going to meet your mama in Kelso.” He was transfixed, trapped in her gaze, carried back to the spring of his twelfth year. “You were supposed to come back when summer ended.”
A wall went up in Jade’s eyes and she stiffened. “We ended up staying.”
“But why? What happened?”
She stared at her hands, and he had the strong sense that she was wrestling with something. Finally she sighed. “Mama never came back.”
“She didn’t?” Tanner frowned. “Where did she—”
“I don’t know. Daddy still won’t talk about it.” Jade kept her eyes trained on her hands, and Tanner saw they were trembling. “I used to think she got killed in a car accident somewhere between Virginia and Washington.”
“And now?”
“I found a letter from her a year after we moved, postmarked D.C.” Jade’s expression was hard and Tanner realized the years must have been difficult for her. “She told Daddy to tell me she was sorry. That kind of thing.”
The truth about what she was saying hit Tanner like a truck. Jade’s mother had walked out on her with no intention whatsoever of coming back. No wonder Jade never moved back to Virginia. His heart broke for her, and he pulled her close again, stroking the back of her head as if she were still the ten-year-old girl he had grown up with. “I’m sorry, Jade.”
She remained stiff and although she allowed him to comfort her, Tanner could tell she wasn’t crying.
“Have you heard from her since then?”
“No. It doesn’t matter. She’s dead as far as I’m concerned.”
Tanner got the point. The topic was closed. He pulled away again, this time completely. He had so much to tell her, so many years to make up for, but he didn’t want her to feel like he was prying. He leaned back against her car so they were standing side by side.
A Moment of Weakness: Book 2 in the Forever Faithful trilogy Page 4