“Patrick?”
He made a snuffling sound. At first, she thought he’d dozed off already, but then he croaked, “Yeah?”
She smiled to herself. “Do you know what today was?”
“Tuesday … No.” He yawned loudly. “It’s already Wednesday. Crap, I need to be up again at six.”
She was disappointed but didn’t want to add to his worry. So she lowered her head, continuing to stroke his hair. “Why don’t you leave a little later tomorrow? You should try to get enough sleep, to stay healthy and all that.”
“I know,” he groaned, “but at the moment I just can’t.”
“But—”
“Amy,” he interrupted pleadingly. “I’m tired as a dog, love. I need to sleep now.”
“Okay,” she replied, hoping he wouldn’t notice her frustration. She needn’t have worried though, for Patrick was already asleep.
She yearned to tell him that she’d talked to her great-aunt on the phone today, and that they’d been invited to Aunt Hazel’s birthday the following month so she could get to know Patrick. She also wanted to tell him about the new painting she’d finished. And she wanted to ask him what he thought of her looking for a part-time job to fill all her idle time. She didn’t have to cook or clean or do laundry or take care of any other household chore, what with the staff doing all that, so she was often left with nothing to do. And although she was painting more than she had in a long while, another task would help fill the long empty stretches.
But since Patrick was too exhausted to discuss any of that, and had bigger worries at the moment, she would have to figure it out on her own.
Another thing she would have to come to terms with was the feeling of exclusion—sometimes flat-out rejection—every time she called his office and was put off by Mrs. McDough. She was embarrassed to think of how often the amiable secretary was forced to regretfully inform her that Patrick couldn’t take her call right then but would call back as soon as he could.
She talked to his secretary more than him.
But she held back now about how that made her feel. She didn’t want to be unfair, and she knew his job wasn’t easy.
It’s only a phase, she told herself bravely, continuing to softly stroke his hair while she stared into the dark and listened to his breathing.
Only a phase.
Part Two
Chapter 1
“What do you mean? A transplant?”
Bewildered, Amy stared at the young physician, who ran a hand over his tired face. He looked as if he’d only just graduated from high school, and a lump formed in her throat as she realized this doctor was probably no older than Justin Bieber. There was no way he could possess the necessary experience and competence to treat her daughter!
Before them, there was a tiny window through which Amy could watch her daughter lying in her hospital bed. The little girl looked so frighteningly vulnerable and sick that it broke Amy’s heart. Paler than ever before, Audrey was hooked up to several different machines, tubes extending from her mouth.
A nurse stepped beside her bed, fumbled with one of the machines, and scribbled something in her file, before starting another IV. Amy crossed her arms and took a shaky breath, staring at Audrey’s. The girl didn’t move; she looked like a ghost.
Never before had her daughter looked this ill.
Audrey had always been a robust, strong, healthy child. Contrary to a lot of the other kids, she had rarely ever come home from daycare sick. No, she had always been a picture of health. Amy couldn’t process the fact that she was now lying in the ICU, motionless and critically injured, awaiting crucial surgery.
She felt the urge to storm into that room beyond the tiny window, grab her daughter, and take her home as quickly as she could. She wanted to know that Audrey was safe and sound. She needed to hug her tight and never let go again.
All she wanted was to be able to bury her nose in her daughter’s sweet-smelling neck and hear the lovely voice that normally rang through her two-room apartment from morning to night, the one that never failed to make her smile, even if she was down. The heart-warming voice of her daughter, which she had been listening to with delight ever since Audrey had said her first word.
And Amy wanted to turn back the clock so she could prevent the horrible accident.
If she hadn’t promised Audrey she would go for ice cream with her after kindergarten yesterday, the drunk driver couldn’t have hit their car on the way. Instead of getting into this accident on the road to the mall, they would have gone home safe. Audrey wouldn’t be lying here now. And the doctor who still had puberty zits wouldn’t be scaring Amy with his talk of a ruptured liver.
Amy kept telling herself she needed to calm down, but she could barely stand on her own two feet. She was plagued by a barrage of different emotions. She felt like screaming, crying, ranting, and hitting something, all at the same time. She also felt queasy. If she could have changed things, she would gladly have gone to lie in the hospital bed. If that meant her five-year-old didn’t have to. The little girl had her whole life ahead of her. How was it possible Amy had gotten away with a few scratches, bruises, and a concussion?
And there Audrey lay, placed in an artificial coma.
Amy knew she was close to a nervous breakdown. The helplessness was driving her insane. The sheer thought that Audrey’s fate wasn’t in her hands, together with the panicky, helpless feeling, made it hard for her to breathe. It was close to midnight now. The accident had happened a mere twelve hours ago, but it felt as if she had been standing in the hallway of the hospital for days, listening to the young doctor in despair.
She’d lost any sense of time after she’d awoken in the emergency room. She’d still been dazed from her own injuries when they told her that her daughter was in surgery for internal injuries. She’d freaked out completely, and they’d had to sedate her and move her to her own hospital room.
Only a few minutes ago, they’d finally let her visit the ICU to check on her daughter. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Audrey’s condition was critical, even as she desperately implored all the higher powers to let her wake from this nightmare.
The doctor’s next words made it very clear that her prayers weren’t heard.
“Mrs. Gibson, your daughter’s liver was severely damaged in the accident,” he explained gently. “We were able to stop the bleeding with surgery, but the tests we ran show that Audrey’s liver functions …”
Amy felt as if someone was suffocating her, but she managed to interrupt the man. “But … But … I don’t understand. You told me the operation was successful.”
The doctor rubbed the back of his neck and appeared to stifle a yawn before he blinked his tiredness away. “As I said, we were able to stop the bleeding, Mrs. Gibson, but your daughter suffered a traumatic liver rupture, with massive blood loss that damaged a lot of tissue. In addition, the avulsion of the left branch of the portal complicated the injury. Since the amount of damaged tissue is so large, natural regeneration is unlikely. In severe cases such as this, organ failure is all but inevitable.”
“Organ failure?” Paralyzed, Amy could do nothing but stare at him.
“Our tests show coagulation as well as bilirubin and albumin levels are deteriorating. We can delay the failure of her liver for a short time, but …”
Amy swallowed hard. “But what?”
The man shrugged with a sigh. “A transplant is really the only option left to us.”
“A transplant.” She struggled to breathe, and her hands started to tremble. “Alright … alright,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “Then … go ahead and do that. If this is the only option …”
“Mrs. Gibson,” the doctor interrupted, a hollow undertone to his voice. She had already forgotten his name. “Maybe we should sit down for a moment.”
Warning bells went off in her head, and she automatically took a step backward. The expression on the young man’s face had been a bit impatient a mome
nt ago, but now, all of a sudden, it was distressed. That wasn’t a good sign, Amy told herself, tasting bile.
“No,” she said as her breath came ragged. “No, I don’t want to sit down. What … What else is wrong? You just said a transplant is the only possibility to save my daughter.”
He broke eye contact, and the corners of his mouth curved downward. “We could put Audrey on the donor list. Because of the urgency of her condition, she would climb to the top immediately. And there’s also the possibility of a living donation—”
“Fine, yes,” Amy nodded anxiously. “I’m her mother, so you can just—”
He shook his head. “I’m very, very sorry, but none of that is possible in your case. The hospital has contacted your insurance provider. They can’t pay for these interventions.”
Stunned, Amy opened her mouth, but no words would come out.
“Listen, Mrs. Gibson—”
“My name is Amy,” she blurted hoarsely. Her knees gave out and she sank toward the floor, but the doctor caught her and maneuvered her into one of the plastic chairs lined against the opposite wall.
“Amy.” He sighed heavily and dropped into the chair next to her. “Your insurance only pays for primary care up to $15,000.”
“Wait a second,” Amy croaked, giving the doctor a bewildered look. “Are we talking about money here? Right now? At this moment?” She flung an arm toward the tiny window beyond which Audrey lay.
The doctor’s silence told her everything she needed to know.
She gasped for air. “My daughter’s life is at stake! She … She’s lying in this hospital … injured … She was injured when some jerk ran his car into ours! And now you’re telling me that … that you can’t save her … because … because my insurance won’t pay for it?”
“The other driver had no third-person liability insurance.”
“I don’t care what he did or didn’t have!” she interrupted angrily, shaking her head like a madwoman. “You need to perform that surgery on my daughter!”
“Mrs. Gibson … Amy,” he corrected himself, looking tense. “Without assured financing, the hospital won’t put Audrey on the donation list. If … If it were my decision to make …”
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the stammering young man trying to placate her with empty phrases. Despite the bile in her throat and the flickering lights before her eyes, she managed to sound relatively calm as she declared firmly, “If the insurance won’t pay, I’ll field the bill.” She opened her eyes and gave him a determined look. “I’ll pay for the operation. How much do I need to come up with?”
“Listen …”
Her eyes found the name tag on his coat. “Dr. Latham, I don’t care what this procedure is going to cost. Just tell me a figure so I have an idea.”
He raised an impatient hand. “That’s hard to say in advance. There can only be an estimate …”
“How much?”
The tired man sighed again and lowered his head. “It would be $200,000, minimum. Plus $2,000 to $3,000 per month after, for follow-up care, drugs, and therapies.”
Amy lowered her head and balled her hands into fists. This can’t be true, she thought, in a throes of hysteria. It’s only a bad dream, and when I wake up, everything will be okay again.
While Dr. Latham went on and on, all Amy could think of was one thing: To protect and save her daughter, she would walk barefoot over hot coals.
A few minutes later, she was sitting at her daughter’s bedside, holding her small hand. Amy didn’t know whether she wanted to reassure Audrey or herself with the touch. As she studied her fragile- but peaceful-looking daughter, tears dripped onto the sterile scrubs she’d had to put on before entering the room. Up until that point, Amy had hoped against all hope that Audrey’s condition wasn’t as critical as they claimed, but by putting on this ugly top and pants, she had finally realized how ill the girl really was.
Audrey lay in her bed lifeless, connected to equipment and monitors that continuously beeped, reading all manner of levels and data. The little girl was very pale, looking heart-breakingly ill. Amy had a hard time seeing the delicate features of her daughter through a blinding veil of tears.
Since the doctor had told her that her insurance wouldn’t cover the life-saving surgery, which Audrey needed to live, Amy had been racking her brains for a way she might raise the money to pay for it. She had considered all her options but ended up with the same conclusion every time.
She gingerly leaned forward. “Audrey, honey,” she whispered hoarsely, “Mommy won’t leave you here alone. I’ll be back in just a few minutes to watch over you, okay? I promise, my love.” Her fingers trembled as she brushed a curl from the girl’s forehead.
Audrey didn’t stir, of course, and Amy felt that painful lump reforming in her throat. She rose slowly, looking down at the many abrasions and bruises that dotted Audrey’s face. Then she left the room with heavy, halting steps, heading for her own hospital room.
When she reached it, she sat down on the bed, flinching with pain. The concern about her daughter had made her ignore her own injuries, but now she felt each strain and bruise on her body. She gave the telephone on the spartan nightstand a shaky look, breathing with difficulty.
Gingerly, she picked up the receiver. She had no clear idea of what to say or do, but she dialed the hospital operator and let them place the call. After only a few seconds, a friendly voice said,
“Ashcroft Enterprises, New York City branch, what can I do for you?”
It took all of her willpower not to hang up.
For a moment, her tongue wouldn’t obey her, and her brain was empty. It took a lot of nerve just to stammer: “I … I’d like to talk to Mr. Patrick Ashcroft.”
“One moment please, ma’am, I’ll put you through.”
There was a click on the line.
Amy’s heart beat a wild tattoo, and she broke into a cold sweat. While the music jangled through the phone line, aiming to ease the boredom of the caller’s wait, all she heard was her own heartbeat.
She spent five minutes in the waiting loop, feeling her nerves fray and hum while she debated what to say, caught between panic and despair. Or maybe she should hang up and find another way?
The thought of Audrey was all that kept her from throwing the phone out the window.
Just as the idea formed in her head that she could rob a bank to pay for Audrey’s surgery, there was another click in the receiver, and another female voice said, “Mr. Patrick Ashcroft’s office, my name is Mrs. Elister. What can I do for you?”
For a brief moment, Amy was puzzled by the fact that it wasn’t Mrs. McDough on the other end, but then she swallowed hard and got her bearings. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Ashcroft.”
“Mr. Ashcroft is busy right now,” the voice said, her tone friendly enough. “Can I take a message? Or can he call you back later?”
“It’s … It’s a family matter.” Amy took a deep breath, before hastily adding, “A very pressing family matter. This is Mrs. Ashcroft, and I really need to talk to him. Now.”
The voice changed immediately, and the woman apologized with a sigh. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashcroft, I didn’t recognize your voice! Of course, I’ll put you through right away.”
Before Amy knew what hit her, there was a deep, sluggish, familiar voice on the other end. It caught her off guard, though it shouldn’t have.
The voice sighed into her ear, irritated and a little upset. “Barbara, I really have a lot on my plate today. What is it that can’t wait until tonight? Why did you call me at the office?”
Amy felt paralyzed as she stared at the floor in front of her. Hearing Patrick’s voice after six years and being mistaken for his sister … It was simply too much to process so quickly.
“Barbara?” His voice was angry now. “I need to get to my next meeting—”
“This … This isn’t Barbara,” she interrupted, her entire body trembling. “It’s me—Amy.”
Chapter
2
Patrick stared at the desktop in front of him, which was covered in papers, and listened to the nervous breathing in the receiver, utterly dumbfounded.
He blinked away his confusion and swallowed against a lump in his throat.
Someone had to be playing a prank on him. That was the only viable explanation for the trembling female voice that had just given him a major shock. It was impossible that it was really Amy on the other end of the line waiting for him to say something. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Patrick?”
No. This couldn’t be Amy, calling him out of the blue after six years, as if nothing had happened. As if the past six years hadn’t existed, as if she hadn’t left him without a single word of explanation.
As if she hadn’t simply disappeared.
But the voice that whispered his name was all too real, and she sounded exactly like his wife.
His tie was suddenly far too tight around his neck. He pulled at it as he felt his stomach lurch. He ran his free hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “Amy?”
“Patrick,” she repeated.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to say.
“Where’s Mrs. McDough?”
He had no idea why she was mentioning his secretary, of all things, and he had countless questions for her, but he didn’t know how to proceed except to answer her question. “Retired. For about two years now.”
“Ah,” she said nervously. “You … You thought I was Barbara?”
Patrick felt tense as he slowly leaned back in his chair. “Barbara is Mrs. Ashcroft again. She and James divorced last year.”
He heard her gasp in shock. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Again, they both fell silent. Sitting at his desk, Patrick couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that they were making small talk. Not after everything that had happened. Suddenly, he remembered the worry and anger he’d felt after Amy’s disappearance.
Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1) Page 15