Lauren couldn’t help feeling guilty whenever she left Michael’s side. How many horror stories had the world heard about the loving parent or spouse who broke the bedside vigil to use the bathroom or to get something to drink only to return and learn that during that absence that their loved one passed away? “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely,” Jeb assured her.
“How about we head over to Lyn-Della’s?” Charlie suggested. “I don’t know about you, but a big blueberry muffin sounds good to me. My treat.”
As with other moms of critically ill children, Lauren was quite adept at ignoring the needs of her own body as she held her vigil for her son. Her stomach rumbled and she had to admit that a muffin sounded good to her too.
“And don’t worry,” Kenni assured her. “I promise I’ll call you if there is any change, any change at all.”
Charlie extended his hand to Lauren. “Young lady, when was the last time you ate something that didn’t come out of a vending machine?”
It was difficult for Lauren to recall the last time she had actually had something besides coffee or a chocolate bar. “I think I had a bowl of cereal last night; I’m not sure.”
Charlie took several steps toward her. “When Michael comes out of this, he’s going to need his mom.”
Lauren nodded and smiled. If only that could be! Oh, how glorious it would be to take him home! She thought, Oh Lord, is there hope that my Michael will make it despite how badly things look right now?
“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” She accepted his outstretched hand.
***
On the upper executive floor of Brannan’s Point Pediatric Hospital, Clay Parmenter glumly regarded the envelope which had been dropped unceremoniously on his desk. There hadn’t been an explanation; in fact, nothing was said at all as it was practically thrown down from his wife’s hand. He was certain it had scratched the finish of the wood and he smoothed it with his finger, hoping the mark was superficial and could be easily rubbed or polished away.
“What’s this, Barbara?” he asked as he looked up at his wife who was standing before his desk with her arms crossed. He knew her narrowed eyes and pursed lips meant that she was stewing about something.
“Come now, Clay, you know perfectly well what it is,” Barbara replied. She moved forward and placed both of her hands on his desk to anchor her upper body as she moved her face closer to his, looking directly into his eyes. “Open it!”
Annoyed, Clay undid the clasp and opened the flap of the tan Kraft envelope. Photographs. He held his breath, thinking, Barbara’s skill at choosing private detectives has improved. This is the first time she has pictures. Knowing he had no choice, he reached in and pulled out a small stack of color pictures. Looking back at him was a photo of Morgan and himself taken a few nights ago at Santoni’s. He exhaled, amazed that whoever Barbara had hired was so busy looking into his non-existent affair with Morgan Cole that he hadn’t tracked his movements with a certain Montgomery County court reporter.
“How could you, Clay? Of all the women in this town, you had to chase after Morgan Cole?”
He looked his wife squarely in the eye. “My love, there is absolutely nothing between Morgan Cole and myself,” he told her honestly—honestly, if not after the fact. “Morgan is a tease, but the honest to God’s truth is that there was nothing more than a little innocent flirtation, nothing happened. Women like Morgan know they got where they are in life because of their looks, and flaunt them on general principles. You’re beautiful, Barbara. You don’t do it, but you understand women who do.”
Barbara wagged her head at him in disbelief, ignoring his comment about her appearance. “These pictures speak volumes!” she snapped. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”
“The only foolish thing you’ve ever done was marrying me,” Clay said wearily as he shook his head. It might have been the first true thought he’d had in awhile. “I know this picture looks bad, but the truth of the matter is that I was in her face in anger, not passion, because she had convinced me to remove a nurse from her daughter’s case. When I realized that I’d made a mistake, I reneged on it and Mrs. Cole was not happy, to say the least. That, and only that, is what this picture is about.”
Barbara wasn’t convinced. “The Coles are on the Board; how could you do this to me? How could you do this to yourself?” she demanded. “Clay, you’re supposed to be above reproach! How do you think this looks with the Chief of Staff chasing after Marcus Cole’s wife?”
Clay’s slender, surgeon’s fingers closed over Barbara’s hand, but she immediately recoiled, snatching it away from his grasp. She peered down her nose at him as if regarding an inferior specimen, and he conceded in his heart that he was, in fact, just that. He didn’t deserve a faithful and beautiful woman like Barbara, a loving wife, an effective and understanding mother, a gracious hostess with superior intelligence. She could have become an acting legend in Hollywood—perhaps even become the first female United States president—instead of the wife of an unfaithful polecat like himself.
“If whoever took these pictures could’ve caught me in flagrante delicto, don’t you think he would have?” Clay gave the use of a logical excuse a try. “This is all he could get because it’s all there was!”
“You mean she would have.”
He chuckled. “A female investigator, my, how times have changed. Okay, then she would have taken more incriminating pictures had evidence of it existed.”
Barbara sighed, she hadn’t thought of that. Her investigator did say she had found no evidence of them meeting at a motel or anything like that, but deemed their behavior “suggestive.”
“That doesn’t get you off the hook,” she warned him. She stood up and began to pace the area in front of his desk. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation about your infidelity. I may not be able to prove it this time, but I know you’re nothing more than an unfaithful weasel!”
Clay couldn’t help but smile at what she had called him; he had most definitely been called worse. She still loved him and he knew it, and that put her at a disadvantage he could continue to use against her. “Barbara, you know that you’re the only woman for me,” he wooed, and it was true enough. While he had been involved with numerous women during the course of their marriage, he still loved his wife. She was the only woman he had chosen to marry and his feelings for her had never changed. The court reporter was becoming boring—another young woman looking for a husband and to have children—and meant nothing more than a physical distraction for him to pass the time with; he would end it and once more try to be satisfied, at least for awhile, with what he had.
She frowned as she faced him. “Maybe it wasn’t Morgan Cole. Who will it be next time?”
Clay rose from the chair and slowly moved toward her, closing the small space between them. “I love you, I’ve always loved you. Whoever you hired took some misleading photographs to make sure you paid him, I mean, her. I’m sorry, Babe, but that’s what it boils down to.”
Barbara narrowed her eyes at the words she’d heard so many times from him before, words full of lies. “It will be interesting which version of this fairy tale Marcus hears when he confronts Miss Cosmetics. Pity, I’m certain he’ll never share that with me.” She watched as her husband’s healthy complexion lost a bit of its glow.
“I’m certain he’ll hear the same truth I’ve just told you.” Clay couldn’t help feeling that Morgan deserved to squirm at least a little for leading him on the way she had. He admitted to himself that even though nothing actually happened between them, this was not a good development, one he had never counted on.
Barbara chuckled. “Right, like that means anything,” she quipped. “Even the youngest children know to get their stories straight so that even the most blatant fabrication can sound true.” She smiled; it wasn’t warm or loving, but cold and challenging. “Unfortunately, Dear, I doubt you’ll have time to call her beforehand to give her a h
eads-up. I saw Marcus first, and then I took my time getting here.”
“Barbara,” Clay murmured and reached his hand out to touch her cheek.
She slapped his hand away. “I’ll concede that if my investigator had more to photograph, the pictures would have been far more telling.” She was relieved they hadn’t been, for Marcus’ sake. He had a solid reputation, was a genuinely nice guy and did not deserve to be embroiled in a scandal, especially now that his daughter was healthy again.
“Then that should make everything alright between us, shouldn’t it, Barbara, Sweetheart?”
Barbara sighed, crossing her arms. “We both know that you’ve never been faithful to me. I may not have hard evidence this time, but you’ve been seen with other women, most recently a certain young woman who works for Montgomery County—a court reporter named Clair Jennings, I believe. Twenty-nine, pretty, looking for an easier way of life. You’ve been tattled on more times than I can count; even our son has seen you!”
How could she know about Clair? The thought horrified him. “What are you talking about? What woman from Montgomery County? And when did Keith ever see me with anyone besides you?”
“Perhaps you should take that up with Keith.” Barbara took a couple of steps backward, distancing herself from him. “As for me, I will need time to process all of this.”
For perhaps the first time in his life, the illustrious and often arrogant Clay Parmenter tasted the cold, bitter taste of fear. He had always been able to sweet talk his way back into Barbara’s good graces. He couldn’t help but worry that Keith might have seen something he shouldn’t have. He wondered, did Keith see me with Clair, is that how Barbara found out?
“What is there to think about?” he asked. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing going on! Let’s not allow something that didn’t happen to come between us!”
For Barbara, it was like seeing her husband for the very first time, probing beneath the handsome doctor-like facade, and despising what she saw. While she knew there wasn’t solid evidence that anything had happened between him and Morgan, there had been a number of other women, some of whom she knew personally. In the past, she had made herself put it aside, forced herself to choke down her feelings and go on with things as if their relationship was marital perfection and harmony.
When Keith was younger, he was her excuse for not wanting to leave Clay. Now a high school senior and honor student, Keith was set to go off to Yale in the fall. Barbara knew he admired his father, but that he also viewed him through the clear eyes of reality.
“I’ll let you know what I decide.” She turned and strode toward the door. She opened it and then looked back at him with a wry smile. “I’m sure you can find somewhere else to stay until I make my decision; it may be awhile. Maybe your sweetie, Claire, in Dayton, will let you sleep on her couch. In the old movies, I could send you off to get a room at your club. Do they even have those men’s clubs anymore? I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to stay, not that it’s my concern.”
“You can’t be serious,” he protested. “It’s Christmas!”
“Forgive my manners! Have a Merry Christmas, Clay.”
***
Charlie watched Lauren finish the last of the pancakes on her plate, looking at her from above his coffee cup as he took a sip. Lyn-Della’s was practically deserted. Christmas music streamed through an overhead speaker and a festive wreath of pine cones and red-and-green gingham ribbon on the wall above their booth reminded him that it was indeed Christmas, regardless of what was happening at the hospital with Michael.
Lauren finished the last bite of food and dabbed a napkin at her mouth to remove some sticky maple syrup. “That was wonderful,” she sighed as she picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. She hadn’t been aware of the extent of her hunger until a plate of pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon were set before her.
Charlie smiled as he put the cup down on the table. “I take it you were just a tad hungry?”
“Just wee bit,” she said with a smile, enjoying the teasing note in his voice before she took another sip of coffee. “I don’t have much of an appetite these days.”
“That’s understandable.”
Lauren put down her cup and looked up at Charlie. “What you said about Michael needing his mom when he gets better….” She licked her lips before continuing. “Do you think Michael could get better?” He was the only one to have phrased his words in such a positive manner. It was as if he might be the only person who didn’t think it was wrong to give her hope, even if it turned out to be false.
Charlie leaned back against the padded vinyl booth. “I believe that until someone dies, there is always reason to hope.” He noticed Lauren watching him intently with her spectacular eyes, hanging on every word he said—and he loved it. “God gave us our very first breath and I believe He’s with us for our last here on earth. I believe that until that happens, it’s wrong for us to give up hope that things could change. We don’t know what God is doing right now, why Michael has gone through all of this, but we know as believers that there is a purpose for everything. In the end, it will be used for His glory.”
Lauren watched him silently as she listened and was amazed that he seemed to believe the same things as she. She admired him and knew there was more to Charlie than what others saw, more than a nice guy who owned a toy store and repaired toys.
“I mean, Michael could come out of this and grow up to become a research scientist who discovers a cure for pediatric cancers,” Charlie continued. “I don’t know, Lauren, I just believe that it could happen, that Michael could recover. Maybe it won’t happen, but maybe it will.” He shook his head. “I hope I don’t sound simplistic, but that’s how I see it. So many people are praying for Michael, and while I know that despite prayer people do die, sometimes that cover of prayer can make a difference.”
Lauren found herself nodding. “That’s sort of what happened with Darryl. When he died, I know that a lot of people were bummed out that all their praying didn’t change anything. While I never thought that, I did wonder why.”
“Did you ever come up with an answer to your wondering?”
Lauren nodded. “Now it’s my turn to be simplistic, but the answer as I saw it was that God wasn’t denying our prayers or deliberately taking my husband away. Darryl’s time on earth had simply come to its end, as all of us will eventually face.”
“We can always pray that it isn’t Michael’s,” Charlie encouraged.
Lauren smiled. “Amen.”
Chapter 22
When Marcus Cole arrived at Brannan’s Point Pediatric Hospital, he was pumped and ready to confront Clay Parmenter about what he had or had not done with Morgan. He had managed to calm down in the elevator but a surge of adrenaline kicked in the moment he burst through the door to the Chief’s outer office. He ignored the wide-eyed blonde secretary who watched him as he walked past her desk, paying no mind to her insistent pleas that he could not enter Parmenter’s private office.
“Sir, you can’t go in there. Sir, please stop!”
Having heard an adamant feminine voice from behind the closed door of his office, Clay looked up from reading a JAMA article about myeloma. He then heard an unknown male voice uttering a few unintelligible words as almost simultaneously the door swung open so hard it practically shook free from its hinges.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Parmenter!” Sherri Thompson was frightened as she apologized for the intrusion she had been unable to prevent. Her blue eyes shimmered as tears of frustration began to well. Freed temporarily from the secretarial pool to fill in while Brenda was out of town for Christmas, Sherry was tall, blonde and curvaceous, and exactly whom one would expect to see manning the office outside the Chief’s door. While she had what it takes to be considered eye candy, she was inexperienced in dealing with persistent people. The intruder’s successful entry to Doctor Parmenter’s private office left her visibly shaken.
Clay glanced at him, and then focused his attention on his t
emporary secretary who appeared to be scared out of her wits. “It’ll be okay, Sherri,” he assured her with a sigh.
“Should I call Security?” Sherri asked. The man looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. Suddenly she realized he was Marcus Cole, and she wondered what had compelled someone of his reputation to behave so rudely.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Clay replied calmly. “I’m sure Mr. Cole meant no harm.” Had Brenda not been off for the holidays, he might have been spared the impending confrontation he wished he could avoid. Sherri had never worked as an Executive Administrative Assistant and didn’t know the ropes, but she was also far too pretty to hold that against her. “Please close the door, Sherri; you can leave us alone now.”
“But are you sure you’re okay?”
“Go on back to your desk now, and don’t give it another thought. Everything is just fine. Go on now.” He stopped short of telling her to ‘run along’ as one might instruct a child.
Knowing there was little else she could do, Sherri reluctantly nodded. She slipped out, closed the door, and took her curiosity with her.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Clay admonished as he looked with narrowed eyes into the angrily twisted features of a powerful board member, and the husband of a woman he had entertained the notion of bedding. “Do you want the entire secretarial staff of this hospital listening outside the door? They’ll do it, you know. Then the hospital gossip chains go viral, and they feed on this stuff, share it on Facebook, for crying out loud. Once it starts, it’s virtually unstoppable!”
Marcus didn’t care who was listening. “You should have thought about that when you decided to mess around with my wife!” He growled through teeth clenched so tightly his jaw was beginning to ache. His muscles were tightly wound and he suddenly understood the expression of someone being described as a loaded gun—the target in sight, weapon aimed and the trigger cocked, ready to fire.
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