The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

  “Sounds about right. You’ve suffered a concussion. You’ve got a nasty bump at the base of your skull. Do you remember hitting your head?”

  She winced as the memory of the sound of her head hitting . . . something . . . reverberated in her brain. “Yes.”

  “Your throat is likely raw from the smoke inhalation. That should go away soon. You’re sore both from the fall and from cushioning the fall of a rather burly gentleman.”

  The doctor had a lovely bedside manner and a pleasing sense of humor. Too bad Sarah didn’t feel like laughing.

  “Do you remember anything about the accident?”

  “Not really. Just disjointed images, sounds . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried again to remember.

  “Some level of memory may return, or it may not return at all. It’s nothing to worry about either way. Despite your harrowing ordeal, you are in good shape. Your head CT shows no signs of bleeding in the brain. No skull fracture.”

  “That proves it,” she croaked, with a slight smile. “Becca always said I was hard-headed.”

  “Well, in this case, I’m grateful for your hard head,” Alex said, a smile flickered around his mouth.

  “X-rays are negative for any broken bones, just some pretty ugly bruises.” He put Sarah’s chart down, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pin light. “I’m just checking those baby . . . greens,” he said as he shined the light into her eyes.

  Sarah winced.

  “I’m sorry. I know the light is painful. It will only take a second.”

  He finished his examination. “Everything looks fine. You may have some dizziness and headaches, possibly some memory loss of the events surrounding the accident, but otherwise, you should be fine. The light sensitivity will recede as well.”

  He made notes in the chart. “We are going to keep you one more night for observation. If you feel nauseated,”—he turned to Alex—“if she seems uncharacteristically confused, or if her speech becomes slurred, let the nurse know right away. Any questions for me?” He looked at Sarah and then Alex.

  “No. Thank you,” Sarah said.

  “Can she have something to drink?” Alex asked. “She’s very thirsty.”

  “Yes. I think we should stick with water for the time-being. See how she keeps that down. I’ll be back tomorrow before we release you.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Smithwick.” Alex picked up the cup Sarah had been drinking from before and held the straw to her parched lips.

  Grateful, she took the cup from him and carefully sipped the water as instructed by the nurse.

  Alex leaned his hip against the bed watching her carefully. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of calling Rebecca and Ann. I rummaged around in your purse, I know,”—he held up his hands— “a woman’s purse is sacred, but I found your mobile and looked up their numbers . . .”

  “Thank you.” She had hoped they would be blissfully unaware, but she supposed the story had been on the news, and they both knew she was supposed to be in London today, or rather, yesterday. “How did they react?” She could just imagine: Ann would be frantic, while Becca would be worried, but all business.

  “Frantic and concerned. They’d tried calling you, but your battery separated from the phone, apparently when your purse hit the floor, so they couldn’t get you, which made them even more frantic. I assured them that you were okay, but of course they both offered to fly over. I told them I would leave that up to you.” He softly stroked her hand.

  “I’m fine. They don’t need to leave their families to come over here.” They were both silent a moment.

  “Tired?”

  “You have no idea.” She tried to laugh, but winced instead. “But I want to talk to you.”

  “Later. You need to rest. Would you like me to read to you?”

  “You have nothing to read,” she said, pouting.

  “All right, how about I recite to you then?” He flashed his brilliant smile.

  “Okay. But I want you to lie next to me.”

  “Sarah, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “Yes. It’s what I want.” She sounded like a toddler who wasn’t getting her way.

  He chuckled, but lowered the bed rail and climbed in next to her, gingerly wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “What should I recite? Shakespeare?”

  “Hmm, that would be lovely,” she answered drowsily.

  He was silent, deciding which of the countless beautiful sonnets or soliloquies to select. He inhaled, and then in his beautiful voice, softly spoke the words of Sonnet 116:

  “‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove.

  O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

  It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

  Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.’”

  Alex had chosen this poem deliberately. Even with her scrambled brains, it’s meaning was clear. True love–their love, was deep enough that circumstances, unkind words, or age would not disrupt it. He was right. They would work out their issues.

  His silken voice continued, softer now as her eyelids fluttered closed.

  “‘Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle’s compass come:

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  If this be error and upon me proved,

  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’”

  He kissed her tenderly on her head before she slid into oblivion. “I love you, sweet Sarah.”

  Dressed and anxious to leave, Sarah sat on the hospital bed, waiting for Dr. Smithwick to release her. Her head still ached, and although she had to turn her head slowly to prevent the room from dipping crazily around her, she was ready to get out of the hospital.

  Alex gathered the myriad bouquets of flowers and balloons that arrived during her short stay here. Ann, Becca, Lady Clara, her former colleagues, the cast and crew, and Michael all sent the customary flowers or balloons. Brooke sent nothing.

  Her agent, who according to Alex stayed long enough to determine Sarah was going to be okay before catching a flight a day late for her meeting in Hong Kong, gave her a bottle of fine Cognac. Leave it to Elizabeth to break the mold when giving a get well gift, or any gift for that matter.

  For her last birthday she’d given Sarah a tandem parachute jump. As if Sarah would ever voluntarily jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

  “Good morning, Ms. Edwards. It appears you are eager to leave us.” The effervescent Dr. Smithwick approached the bed, looking at her meager belongings gathered on a cart. “I can’t imagine why,” he said blandly. He picked up her chart, looking it over before turning to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore. Like I’ve been hit by a train rather than just having hit the floor of one.”

  “And the head?” he asked, pointing out the most serious injury, since she hadn’t.

  “It aches, but I’ll live.”

  “Glad to hear that you’ll live. Always like to have my prognosis confirmed.” He smiled. “You’re free to go, but you have some limitations.

  “First: rest, rest, rest. Second: stay away from aspirin, ibuprofen, or other anti-inflammatory drugs. Tylenol is the ticket. Third: avoid vigorous activity for at least two weeks. No aerobics, running, or other activities that may bounce your brain around. Finally, if any of your symptoms return, seek medical attention immediately.”

  Before Sarah could respond, Alex spoke, “Thank you Dr. Smithwick. I’ll make sure she follows all of your instructions.”

  She rolled her eyes before she realized that made her dizzy. She swayed a little on the bed, but caught herself before either Alex or Dr. Smithwick could change their mind about springing her.
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br />   “Goodbye, Sarah. Take care.” Dr. Smithwick gently shook her hand before leaving. “Lord Rutherford.”

  “I’ll bring the car around and see you out front.”

  “I’ll be the one in the wheelchair,” she said as the nurse wheeled it into the room.

  They both helped Sarah from the bed, steadying her as she turned to sit in the chair. Alex leaned down and kissed the top of her head before he left.

  The nurse leaned over and whispered, “Is that Lord Rutherford, the actor?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a very lucky girl.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter 10

  “Can I get you anything?” Alex asked as he plumped the pillows behind Sarah’s back. They’d just returned from the hospital to the Knightsbridge apartment.

  “Yes. You. You can please stay with me. I want to talk—”

  “Sarah—”

  “No. We’ve put this off long enough. Sit. Please.”

  He unwillingly sat on the bed next to her, his eyes wary, his lips drawn into a straight line.

  “Alex, why didn’t you tell me about the movie? When were you planning to tell me?”

  “There were so many times I’d resolved to tell you, but circumstances would always interfere. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t find the right time. It was wrong of me, and I’m so sorry if I hurt you. It was never my intention.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes, and she knew he was sincere.

  He reached up, gingerly cupping her face in his hands, as tears filled his eyes. “Oh God, Sarah. If I had lost you . . .”

  “Shhh. I’m here.” She pulled his head down to kiss his mouth. He returned the kiss hesitantly, as if afraid she might break. Lowering his head to her chest, he pressed his ear to her heart, breathing deeply. Sarah was so moved by his reaction that she felt tears welling in her own eyes. “I love you, Alex.”

  “I love you, Sarah.” He raised his head, taking her hand in his. “Listen, I know you think I’ve undermined your success by producing the movie, that I’m biased and thus incapable of making an impartial decision.”

  He turned her hand over, absently tracing the lifeline in her palm. “And to be completely honest, when an unpublished novel was presented to me, I wasn’t terribly interested,” he hesitated, wincing as he spoke, “until I found out you were the author.”

  He held up his hands before she could berate him. “Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. I took a look at the manuscript because it was yours, but I optioned it because it was, well, marvelous. You know me. I wouldn’t put my money or my reputation on the line if I thought it was rubbish.”

  She gave him a dubious look, but before she could speak, he continued. “I won’t deny that an added benefit of optioning your work was seeing you again. I’m not finished,” he said as he placed a finger over her open lips. “And I won’t deny that that prospect didn’t have anything to do with choosing to read your manuscript.” He paused, waiting for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he added, “Okay. I’m done.”

  “Alex, I am so sorry about our argument. After the train accident, and having faced the possibility of never seeing you again . . . well, it has put a lot of things in perspective for me. Some things just aren’t important in the grand scheme.”

  Thinking of her father’s advice, she said as she picked at the blanket across her lap, “But on the train, before the accident, I’d been thinking about it, and I realized it was my stubborn streak that made me so angry. I have to let go of this need to do everything on my own. I have to allow people to help me, especially you. Isn’t that what partners are for?

  “And I’m going to start right now. I could use a little help to the bathroom.” She smiled reassuringly into his bewildered face. He recovered, laughing at her inaugural request for help.

  Shaking his head, he helped her out of bed and to the bathroom, before giving her some privacy. “Call me when you’re ready to walk back to the bed.”

  Sarah held onto the wall, still a little unsteady on her feet. When she opened the door to ask for his help back to bed, he sat on the bed looking at his hands, a frown on his face.

  “Alex, what’s wrong?”

  He rose, walking over to assist her back to the bed. After getting her settled, he sat on the bed again. “I have one more confession, and then I promise never to hide the truth from you again.”

  She stiffened, her first thought of Brooke. Telling herself to remain calm, she said, “Okay. I’m listening.”

  He heaved an enormous sigh. “This flat is mine.”

  “What? Yours? Why would you vacate your home for me? I’m sure there were hundreds of other places where I could have stayed.” Yes, she reminded herself, too many coincidences.

  “But I knew you would be comfortable here.” The frown returned. “No. That’s not the whole truth. The truth is that I relished the thought of you here . . . in my home . . . in my bed.”

  “Oh.” Why did that jumpstart her heart? “That explains the food in the kitchen. I wondered how someone knew my favorite foods.”

  “Yes. I wanted everything perfect for you.”

  “Lord Rutherford, you are something else.” She couldn’t help laughing, but not too hard because it hurt her head.

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Well, I guess under the circumstances you couldn’t tell me until now, because your entire house of cards would have collapsed, though I’m glad you finally fessed-up. Come here.”

  As he leaned down, she took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly at first, and then more insistently. She tried to ignore the throbbing in her head as her heart broke into a sprint.

  He clung to her, remembering the pain, the uncertainty, but his brain overruled his heart . . . and his libido.

  All too soon he pulled away. “Sarah, remember what the doctor said: no rigorous activity—”

  “Oh bollucks.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her use of British profanity.

  “I’m fine.” She reached for his face again, but he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

  “No. I promised Dr. Smithwick you would follow all his orders. I’m keeping that promise.” He stood up, placing her hands primly in her lap. “You must be hungry. What can I get you to eat?”

  “There’s only one thing I’m hungry for.”

  He only shook his head, smiling at her corny cliché, but chose to ignore its meaning. “Sliced strawberries and mascarpone cheese on toast, with a side of extra-strength Tylenol, it is.”

  She groaned in disgust as he left the room. She hated to admit it, but he was probably right. As her pulse slowed down to normal, the throbbing in her head eased. She smiled. She’d give it a couple of days and try again.

  “Ugh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Alex’s concerned voice came from the kitchen.

  “I’m so bored.” Even reading no longer pacified her. She wanted to toss her book across the room, and she’d never felt that way about books. “I’m tired of being cooped up.”

  Alex walked into the living room, where she lay propped up on the sofa, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “You mean you don’t enjoy being cooped up with me?” His face wore a look of mock distress. “I’m hurt.”

  “I’d love being cooped up with you if our activities were a little more . . . rigorous.” She hoped her seductive smile was enough to persuade him.

  “You only want me for my body.” Another mocking expression.

  “Well, not only for your body, but yes, right now, I want your body.”

  “You’re exasperating. It’s only been a week since you got home from hospital.”

  His voice was placating, but it only served to aggravate her more. “But I’m going stir-crazy. Can’t we at least go for a stroll, nice and easy, nothing hardcore?” Her voice became whiny.

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “If you’re a very good girl and take it easy the rest of today, we’ll go for a walk tomorrow, weather permitti
ng.” He sat next to her on the sofa, wrapping his arm around her. “How’s that sound?”

  Like you’re talking to a child, she thought. But she was willing to take anything at this point. “Okay,” her voice going from whiny to petulant.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea! I bet you have your movies lying around here somewhere. We could watch those.” She was excited for the first time in a week, but from his expression, he wasn’t too fond of the idea. “Why not?”

  “You really are bored,” he said, a little self-conscious.

  “Oh come on. Do you think I haven’t seen them?”

  “You have?” He didn’t know why that surprised him.

  She could feel the heat in her face when she thought about the circumstances under which she’d watched the movies, over and over again, staying up all night and crying in self-pity. But he didn’t need to know that. “Of course I did,” she said, nonchalant in her response.

  “Well . . ?”

  It dawned on her that he was waiting for her verdict. She snuggled up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her hugging her tight.

  “Oh Alex, I loved them.” She could feel his body relax. “How could I not? You really are a very talented actor, and you make the most handsome, sexy Jude, Edmund, and Angel in history. Even though I haven’t seen Fitzwilliam Darcy, I can say without reservation you made the most handsome Darcy ever.” She sat back abruptly, startling him. “That’s what I’d really love to see. Do you have that one?”

  “I’m sure it’s here somewhere . . . if that’s what you really want . . .”

  “Yes. Then I’ll be a good girl, and we can take a walk tomorrow.”