Morgan went into the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of coffee. She looked around the room as she leaned back against the counter. It was almost as if she could still feel Brownie’s presence and it weighed heavily on her heart. His unexpected appearance had reminded her of their glorious journey, recreated the image in her mind of Miranda holding baby Stephen. She felt guilty and unclean, she couldn’t help thinking that even if she had been able to get away with leading Clay Parmenter on—after all nothing really happened—she couldn’t hide it from herself.
“Oh, what was I thinking?” She sighed. “Dear God, if he walks through that door right now, I’ll tell him the truth about everything. I’ll tell him about Clay. I’ll tell him about Miranda. Give me the strength to tell him the truth!”
“Who is Miranda?” Marcus asked as he entered the kitchen from the living room, taking his wife by complete surprise.
Morgan jumped, spilling coffee onto her red sweater. “Marcus!” She grabbed a towel and blotted up the coffee, then wiped the ceramic tile floor where it had also spilled. Her heart racing, she looked up at her husband. “Where were you? I’ve been so worried about you.”
Marcus ignored her questions. “You were asking God to give you the strength to tell me about Parmenter and Miranda; Parmenter I know about. Who is Miranda, and why do you need God’s strength to tell me about her?” He had spent more than an hour praying with Seth Bernstein and there was no anger left within him—no room for it in his heart. He had even gone upstairs and tried to apologize to Doctor Parmenter, but Sherri had told him that he was gone for the day.
Morgan’s eyes filled with tears. “Miranda was my twin sister,” she said delicately.
“You have a twin sister?” Marcus asked. “Where does she live?” He wondered if there was time to get a hold of her and fly her in for Christmas too.
Morgan grabbed a paper towel and mopped up the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, taking her makeup with them. “Miranda lives in Heaven, Marc. She died when we were Angela’s age.”
Marcus closed his eyes and wondered why Morgan had kept this a secret from him. His first thoughts were that she had deliberately deceived him.
“I used to believe it was my fault,” Morgan said as she began to sob. “I was mad at her and told her I wished she would die. The next day, she did.”
Marcus opened his eyes. He took a few steps toward his wife who was sobbing into a crumpled paper towel. “Morgan, I’m sorry,” he said softly and opened his arms.
Morgan shook her head. “Marcus, she died from leukemia.”
“Oh Lord,” he breathed and tears filled his eyes. The strange story Brownie told in the elevator about a dead twin sister came to mind.
“I believed that God was punishing me for the way I treated Miranda.” She caught her breath between sobs. “I—I always thought it should have been me. Miranda was the sweet one, the one who deserved a long, wonderful life, yet I’m the one who was never sick and found the perfect life!” She looked at her husband. “I found you, Marcus! Our life together has been what fairy tales and little girl's dreams are made of, and then when Angela was diagnosed with leukemia, well, I thought that God was paying me back for being so heartless to my sister, that He had finally caught up with me.”
Marcus closed the distance between them and took his trembling wife in his arms. He held her close to him, heart-to-heart as his tears spilled down his face and onto her hair. Her confession explained it all, including why Morgan had been so insistent that Angela not die at home. While it didn’t explain the whole thing with Clay Parmenter, he believed nothing had happened and that the issue needed to be put to rest.
“It’s alright, Morgan,” he said against her hair as he held her in his arms, simply held her while she wept. One violent sob after another erupted like restless storm waves crashing persistently on shore.
As the December sun began to set in the sky, snow flurries became visible as they danced in the glow of street lights at the end of the long, curving driveway, and Marcus continued to stand in the kitchen holding his wife as if they were the only two people in the world.
Somewhere inside him he heard the spoken words, “behold, I do a new thing.”
Chapter 24
Charlie was on his way home from visiting with Lauren and couldn’t believe his eyes as he drove by his toy store. He had closed down for the day to be with Lauren, and his heart thudded in his chest when he saw not only that the lights were on, but there were cars in the parking lot and people inside the store. Fighting a nauseating, panicky feeling, Charlie pulled his truck around back and into his self-proclaimed parking spot. He found the back door locked, as it should be, and he quickly unlocked the dead bolt with his key. He stepped inside, cell phone in his hand in case he needed to call 911 for help. Not knowing what he would find, Charlie threw off his jacket as he hurried through the back room, and emerged from the door behind the main display case and the cash register. He noticed a familiar friend with blond hair and green eyes helping a woman pick out a vintage Mattel Chatty Cathy doll, and exhaled with relief. He had feared he would find looters helping themselves to his merchandise. Instead, the store was filled with shoppers. Items as evidenced by the empty shelves had been sold, not stolen—Brownie had everything under control.
One of his regular customers, Loretta Perkins, cradled a doll lovingly in her arms. “Oh, Charlie, I just love these dolls!” Mrs. Perkins gushed as she placed it on the counter with a smile. Her eyes twinkled with excitement over finding a beloved favorite toy, she seemed as excited as a child and a radiant, girlish blush kissed her middle-aged cheeks. For a moment, it was as if a whisper of her youth seemed to return. “I had a Chatty Cathy doll when I was a little girl, she was my best friend. I was in earlier and bought a redhead for my sister, but I had to come back to buy this blonde for myself.” She touched the doll, affectionately smoothing her saran bangs downward against her rubber forehead. “She looks just like the one I used to have, her name was Cindy. If you have any more left next time I come in, I may treat myself to another one so she can have a sister.” She sighed happily. “Isn’t it funny how toys like Chatty can bring back such nice memories? I feel like a little girl all over again!”
“Yes, it is,” Charlie agreed. “I felt that way about those punching robots that fought each other from the sixties. I found some on eBay, and I was so excited you’d think I was nine years old instead of…well, we won’t go there. And I’m also hoping to keep Chatty on hand, now that Shelley, a very nice lady in Lima, taught me how to repair her voice box.”
Mrs. Perkins turned to Brownie, standing beside her. “You’re such a dear, Brownie! Would you let me introduce you to my youngest daughter? She’d take one look at those green eyes of yours and that would be it! My Allison is a very pretty girl; she’s in the nursing program at Upper Valley JVS!”
Charlie had to admit that Brownie handled it well, absurd as it was that someone wanted to fix their daughter up with an angel. He could have sworn he saw Brownie blush.
“Thank you, Mrs. Perkins, but I’m already spoken for,” the angel replied softly with a truthful response.
Though disappointed, Mrs. Perkins managed a smile. “I’m not at all surprised, Dear.”
Charlie rang up the sale, exchanged Christmas greetings with Mrs. Perkins, and spent the next half hour or so checking out customers while Brownie carried packages to cars. When everyone was gone, Charlie locked the door and turned the sign over to read ‘closed.’ He looked around and marveled over his depleted inventory and the beautiful sight of empty shelves. Items he had doubted would ever sell, as well as things he had found online and repaired were gone.
“Brownie, I don’t know what to say!”
Brownie leaned against the display case and shrugged. “I knew you were spending the day with Lauren, and I also know how much you depend on your Christmas sales to keep your business afloat. All I did was open the door and see that everyone paid for anything they walked out with.”
“I can’t thank you enough, my friend. I decided this morning when Kenni called me that I would spend as much time with Lauren as she needed me to, and that I wouldn’t worry about the store. She needed someone, and it meant more to me to be there for her than whatever sales I might have lost.” A smile played on Charlie’s lips. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
“You already know that I know things. You were obedient when you answered the call to comfort Lauren today. Things like that don’t go unnoticed, or unrewarded.”
Charlie felt a rumbling in his stomach and realized he hadn’t eaten since he’d taken Lauren out for breakfast. Spending so much time sitting in a chair at the hospital had fatigued him, but Charlie had begun to notice lately that his back no longer bothered him. He had thought to ask Brownie about it, but decided against it as Brownie grew uncomfortable when he asked him questions like that, and Charlie decided that he didn’t really need to know why his back no longer hurt—he would just enjoy it.
“How about I take you out for dinner?” Charlie asked. “I know you’re going to tell me I don’t need to thank you for what you did today, but I insist. There’s nothing I can get you, as you have all that you could ever want or need. Besides, I know that you do like earth food, even if you think that we’re a weird bunch.”
The remark made Brownie smile. Soon it would be time to leave, and most likely he would not have time to say a proper goodbye to Charlie. He would miss him and the others he had grown to know, and would never forget this confusing group of humans God seemed so fond of.
“What do you have in mind?” Brownie asked.
Charlie shrugged. “I’m thinking maybe Italian food. Santoni’s has great pizza, spaghetti, lasagna—you name it, and it’s about the best you’ll ever eat. They also make New York cheesecake that is truly out of this world.”
“You’re on!” Brownie laughed.
***
Jeb and Kenni stood in the hallway outside of her office where they had met by chance. “I think I’m going to be here awhile,” Jeb told his wife somberly and explained that another child had been brought in, a chemo patient who had contracted the flu. The entire family was sick, and her mother had appeared so ill that Jeb sent her home. “I’m afraid I may be dealing with another case of pneumonia.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Kenni assured him as she smiled up at him. He wouldn’t be Jeb if he put his own wishes before his patients. “Sweetheart, what about Michael?”
Jeb wasn’t sure what to make of Michael Donahue’s case. “I honestly don’t know why that boy is comatose—I really don’t. I wish I could give Lauren more hope.”
“I think I’ll go and sit with her for awhile,” Kenni said. “She’s alone so much of the time. Maybe she’ll go out to dinner with me. I know that she’s afraid that Michael will wake up while she’s gone—or worse—and she would never forgive herself if she wasn’t there.”
Jeb’s cell phone made a vibrating sound. He read the text message and sighed wearily. “This isn’t good; Samantha Long, my flu patient, is having trouble breathing.” He leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “It may be a long night, love, but I’ll see you home, eventually. Be careful out there. It was flurrying before.”
“Did your rental car arrive?”
“Yes, it’s a little white car—smaller than yours—that looks like it will probably have me driving with my knees touching the steering wheel, but it’ll get me around until mine is fixed.”
“Be careful, my love.”
“I will, you do the same. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Kenni watched her husband as he ran down the hall until he disappeared inside the elevator. The sudden sound of a group of footsteps and unusually loud voices caused Kenni to turn toward in that direction. She was surprised to see the news reporter she recognized as Alicia Phelps, who was flanked by a tall, dark-haired woman and a Hispanic cameraman.
“May I help you?” Kenni asked as she tried her best to block the hallway with her body by standing in the middle of it. It was unusual for news people to be wandering around the hospital without an escort, and was definitely against policy.
“Hi! I’m Alicia Phelps, from the News Room,” the blonde reporter announced with a charming smile, a sparkle of blue eyes and a shake of her elegant, perfectly styled star hair that was the envy of her numerous teenaged fans.
The dark-haired woman stepped forward and thrust her hand out toward Kenni in an obvious display that she was in charge. “I’m Tina Elverson, Alicia’s producer. We have some questions about a rumor we’ve heard that there have been no fatalities here at Brannan’s.” She smiled and Kenni sensed that at one time she, too, had been a vibrant young reporter who now worked the other side of the news. “And who might you be?”
“Kendall Hastings, the ranking oncology nurse for this section,” she said as she accepted the woman’s hand. When the handshake ended, a set of Tina’s and Alicia’s business cards were thrust into her hand. “I’m sorry, but you can’t walk around unescorted. It’s against hospital policy.”
Tina cleared her throat. “I’m sure it will be fine. We’re only looking for answers,” she said matter-of-factly. “We mean no harm and we’ll stay out of your way—you can trust us.”
Her dark eyes were heavily made up and Kenni thought the harsh black shade of eyeliner made her look tired instead of the sultry, smoky-eyed look she had obviously sought to create.
“Tell me, Ms. Hastings; are you aware of some of the events taking place here, and other parts of the country?” Tina asked.
Kenni felt caught in a game of cat-and-mouse without the benefit of knowing the objective of the game. “Perhaps you might enlighten me.”
“Is Doctor Bernstein around?” Alicia asked impatiently. She was used to going over other people’s heads when it came to getting the information she needed and didn’t consider a mere nurse to be much of a roadblock. “He and I spoke the other night and Janice, his secretary, called me to confirm that there have not been any deaths. I’m continuing with the story, and Doctor Bernstein was quite intrigued when we talked.”
Kenni heard footsteps behind her, then the confident, authoritative sound of her husband’s voice. Hooray for the Calvary, she thought. With Jeb present, she relaxed.
“Doctor Bernstein has left for the day,” Jeb answered as he stood beside his wife. “I’m Doctor Hastings. How can we help you?”
Another set of business cards was pulled out of Tina Elverson’s pocket and put into Jeb’s hand. He scanned them briefly, looked at the TV news people and asked, “So, what makes our hospital newsworthy this evening?”
“Hey, are you two married?” Alicia asked as her gaze traveled back and forth between them.
“Yes,” Jeb replied. “I hate to sound rude, but it is against policy for the press to be unescorted. If there is something specific you need to know, I’ll do my best to get that information for you. I can’t, however, allow you to continue on by yourselves. I’m sure you’re familiar with the HIPAA laws about medical information all hospitals must follow. Contact the administration offices to set up an appointment; I’m sure they’ll be happy to help you.”
“Doctor Hastings, is it true that there have been no deaths here for the past several days? If so, how unusual is that?” Tina asked, convinced the whole thing was a wild goose chase.
“It is very unusual,” Jeb agreed, choosing his words carefully. “We are the last stop for many of our young patients, and unfortunately, we don’t win every battle. To answer your question, it is true that we have not had any deaths over the last several days.”
“May I interview you on camera?” Alicia asked and the cameraman aimed his camera lens at Jeb.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Jeb replied and easily read the disappointment in their eyes. He held up one hand. “You have to realize that this hospital has an extremely strict policy on public information. I’m not authorized to go on camera and state facts or opinions on its behalf. The Pub
lic Information Office of Administration is specially trained in those issues, and all information must come from them.”
“Just a few questions,” Tina pleaded and smiled beguilingly at him. Back in the day, her smile had brought her whatever she wished.
“I said not on camera.” Jeb was firm.
With a sigh, Alicia nodded and the cameraman lowered the camera. “I don’t understand what the big deal is! Is there someone else, the Chief of Staff, perhaps, who I can speak with?”
Jeb remained steadfast. “I can tell you that you are correct, that there have not been any deaths, but why have you asked?” Jeb had been trained to handle information seekers and he smiled, yet remained determined to maintain policy and integrity regardless of their reaction. “I’m not trying to get rid of you, Miss Phelps; you must admit that’s an unusual question. I’m a physician and I have to respect the rules like everyone else.”
“Doctor, I have an associate in Saint Petersburg, Florida,” Alicia continued, “and there have been no deaths at All Children’s Hospital either. I have an extensive file of emails and video clips documenting stories about the same thing—no reported pediatric deaths. Any idea as to why that is?”
“That’s very interesting and while I can see why you would want to pursue the story; I’ve already told you all I can.”
“Yes, it is extremely interesting to me, and I’ve heard from other reporters around the country that this same phenomenon has happened in their cities as well,” Alicia persisted. “I’m sure you must have your own opinions about the matter. You might even know something more, something you’ve chosen not to reveal? Is there any way I can get you to do an interview on-camera?”
Jeb shook his head. “I’ve confirmed your information and that’s all I can do,” he replied tactfully. Then he noticed a red light glowing on the camera and frowned. “I hope that you are not filming me after I specifically declined.” A hint of annoyance, the stone-like set of his chin, revealed itself.
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