She’d done her job well and as a bonus, she’d made Noelle happy. When Skye had left, Noelle told the guard and nurse that she didn’t care what orders the senator left—or why he’d left them; Skye was to be admitted anytime she showed up to visit.
Maybe Noelle’s friendship was the blessing to result from Niki’s death.
* * *
The next morning, Skye woke to the insistent buzzing of her doorbell. She squinted at the alarm clock. Ten forty-five? She had to be at work by eleven. Crap. The doorbell buzzed again and then her cell phone chimed. Skye sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her aching head. Door, phone, or shower? Which first?
Launching off the bed, she snatched her short robe from the chair and her phone as she jogged down the steps to the front door. Since she couldn’t rush the steps and read the display on her phone, she answered it.
“’Lo?”
“Skye? Where are you?”
She slowed at the sound of Mark’s deep voice and paused outside her door. “Hang on a minute; there’s someone at my door. She squinted through the peephole and saw dozens of bright flowers.
“It’s me.” Skye heard in a little far-away phone voice. “Open the door, Skye.” The blossoms quivered and then Mark’s face appeared.
Skye unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door back. Mark stood buried behind armfuls of flowers. His free hand held a newspaper and stacks of boxes of chocolate. Whitneys, Sees, Rocky Mountain Chocolate, Saunders, Herseys, Russell Stovers, and Godiva. Uncertainty covered his face as he juggled his gifts and attempted to swipe his phone.
He knew. Skye didn’t know how he’d found out, but he knew she hadn’t leaked the accident information. She bit her top lip to keep from grinning. Relief blossomed through her in a heady rush. Skye clutched the door to her and forced her face into a questioning expression. Eyes wide, she stared at Mark.
Mark shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know I deserve this, but are you going to keep me out here all day?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Would you stay there all day?”
“If I had to.”
She swung the door wide, shivered and cowered behind the door, away from the freezing air assaulting her bare legs and feet. “Then you’d better come in.”
Skye shut the door and ran past him up the stairs, knowing his view of her bare legs nearly to her butt would remind him what he’d cast aside. She certainly wasn’t above a bit of sensual torture. Appropriate payback.
Skye hustled into her bedroom and threw on some undergarments, jeans, and a T-shirt. So much for a shower. She grabbed socks and sneakers, then sat on her couch and put them on. Mark had propped the flowers up against the tower of chocolates on her coffee table and paced the space in front of it. Skye glanced at the microwave clock. Ten fifty-five.
“Why’re you still in your robe?” Mark asked, looking suspiciously at her bedroom as if expecting a guy to walk through the door.
She was tempted to tell him she’d spent the morning in bed making mad passionate love with another man. “I didn’t get to bed before three.”
“Had to close last night?”
Taking the lipstick from her purse, she swiped it across her lips in two easy motions, stared in the mirror, and smacked her lips. “Writing.”
“Oh.”
Skye glanced around the room. What else did she need to do before work?
“Skye will you hold still? Please.” Mark took her hand and pulled her down onto the couch. “If you’ve been sleeping all morning, then you haven’t read the newspaper.”
Skye frowned. “I don’t have time for this. I’m late for work.”
He picked up the paper and thumbed through it until he found the right page. He folded it back to a full-page ad. In huge font, it said, ‘SK, I am profoundly sorry. I’m an ass beyond measure. Please forgive me, DM.’
Mark stared at her. Gently he reached out to anchor a lock of her hair behind one ear. His hand brushed the tip of her ear, sending shock waves of longing and regret through her. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. Please forgive me.”
The words Skye had dreamed about hearing slid sweetly into her, soothing her heart, yet she refused to look at him.
“Skye? Please—” The emotion clogging his voice tugged at her heart. She stood and walked away. At the kitchen counter, she powered up her computer.
“I know I hurt you.” Mark followed, and put a hand on her shoulder.
Skye shrugged off his touch and backed away. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I tried to prove that it wasn’t me, but you—”
“I know. And I’m sorry.” He stepped closer.
She frowned. “You really hurt me, Mark.”
Shoulders slumped, he hung his head and nodded. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“How can I ever trust you again?”
“Please… I’ll make it up to you.”
She looked up at him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept much in days… Dark circles were stamped beneath his glassy, beautiful eyes. He’d suffered, too. “You might not want to after reading this.” Skye called up last night’s final efforts, pulled out the stool for him to sit, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. “Lock up when you’re through,” she called out.
Skye slammed the door behind her and then collapsed against it. She blinked back tears. She’d wanted to grab the happiness Mark offered with both hands, run away, and hide, but she couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t take another rejection. She couldn’t accept Mark’s apology until he knew everything, and she couldn’t wait two days for the Saturday Feature to come out.
After having read her article, Mark might want to take out another full-length ad to print a retraction.
Skye swiped a stray tear from her eye, pushed away from the door and headed into the pub. She called out a greeting to Molly and put a tea bag in a cup, then poured hot water into it.
“Hey, Philip? Can you make me a burger and fries?” she called out.
“Sure thing. Cheese and bacon?”
“Is there any other way?” She started to feel a little steadier.
The chef laughed.
Skye carried her tea and rounded the bar. What’d she need to do?
Inside the bar entrance, Skye spotted the stack of daily newspapers. She walked over to them, as if in a trance. She picked up the one with Mark’s ad and hurried back behind the bar. Four guys dressed in white shirts and ties walked in and seated themselves. Molly came out to greet them. Skye opened the paper to the full-page ad and reread it. Sweet. She shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe she did have masochistic tendencies. She crammed the paper behind a crate of clean glasses.
The pub door slapped shut and Mark walked in. Skye’s heart shot into a gallop as she tried to read his face. He lifted the counter gate and came behind the bar, stopping so close in front of her his cologne mingled with the scent of her fear. He rested his hands on his hips and silently stared at her.
Skye’s mouth went dry. Oh my God. What was he thinking? Tears bathed Mark’s red eyes as he raised a hand to cup her jaw. He brushed his lips across hers before resting his forehead against hers. His hot breath swirled in the space between their faces.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The emotion and love he put into those three little words enfolded and lifted Skye in a tingling, warm embrace. She threw her arms around him and launched herself into his arms.
“Took you long enough.”
Chapter 33
Eleven-thirty at night, Edward dragged open the Fisher Rehab door and moved into the lobby. Rubbing his stinging eyes, he tried to shake off the exhaustion of a week of late nights spent at the office followed by the short flight to Michigan. He should have gone straight home and come first thing in the morning, but he’d needed to be near Noelle.
Edward had really wanted to be with her when she had the stem cell wash, but important last-minute votes on defense appropriations, emergency supplemental aid for Syria, an
d Joe O’Connor of the American Auto Industry insisting on talking to him about Detroit’s emergence from bankruptcy and what it meant to the auto industry had made it impossible.
The Fisher Rehab night clerk made Edward sign in before allowing him on the floor. He plodded down the hallway, ignoring the dim lights and muted TV sounds of a sitcom coming from the room on his right. He nodded to the night officer as he passed. Edward’s shoe caught on the carpet, and he stumbled before Noelle’s doorway.
Lord, he was tired. He’d give anything to be able to crawl into bed, pull Noelle into his arms, and let his exhaustion and worry drain away in the safety of his wife’s embrace, but he’d settle for her presence. Edward wouldn’t wake her; he just needed to see she was all right.
He’d take a little nap on Noelle’s couch to rejuvenate himself enough for the twenty-minute drive home. If not for the whispering nurses and bleeping machines, he could almost trick himself into believing he was meeting his wife at the Ritz Carlton for a romantic getaway and that this nightmare had never happened.
He pushed Noelle’s door open and entered the darkened bedroom. Edward paused just inside the threshold and smiled at his wife. The nightlight near her bed cast a soft, welcoming glow. Splints on her arms, she lay propped on her side, sleeping peacefully. He moved close and kissed her forehead. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the familiar scent of her perfume and soap. Home.
Noelle murmured in her sleep but didn’t awaken. Edward sank into the bedside chair, content to watch her sleep and soak up her presence in the silent room. Resting his head on the back of the chair, Edward’s eyes drifted shut, allowing himself to fully relax into a boneless state of being.
For the first time in days, he permitted his mind to shut down, and he gave himself over to the solace of the darkness and silence, savoring the rare treat. Since her accident, he was rarely alone with Noelle and never in such complete peace.
Then she coughed.
Edward’s eyelids sprang open. His gaze sharpened on his wife’s face. The sound cut the sleepy fog from his mind, bringing him to instant alertness. Noelle hadn’t coughed in months. She couldn’t cough while on the ventilator, yet he’d clearly heard the noisy release of air from her lips. He carefully focused on the faint, yet steady, rise and fall of her chest.
Edward sat stone still, straining to hear the cough again, needing proof that he hadn’t imagined it. At the same time, his eyes swiveled to the left to locate the silent ventilator waiting near her nightstand. The plastic tube lay neatly coiled around the machine like an anemic, sleeping snake.
He blinked twice, unable to believe what his senses were telling him. Noelle was breathing on her own. Edward pulled himself to the edge of his seat and leaned forward to study her. She breathed quite easily, rhythmically, without the help of that hated damned machine.
Tears of relief flooded Edward’s eyes, and he lifted his face to the ceiling.
Thank you, God. Please make this permanent and not a temporary trick of fate.
He stared at Noelle. Could this really be the result of using the stem cells? So soon? It’d only been... Edward did a quick mental calculation, three weeks since she’d had the stem cells injected. He wiped the moisture puddling in the corners of his stinging eyes with his sleeves. He couldn’t force his gaze from his sleeping wife, for fear it’d have been a cruel trick of his exhausted mind.
He registered a hand on his shoulder. “Senator?”
Edward glanced over his shoulder at Noelle’s private nurse. He brought an index finger to his lips as he rose and followed her from the room.
“You don't need to worry about waking her. Noelle’s so exhausted from therapy that she sleeps soundly at night.”
“How long she’s been off the vent? How?”
A broad grin split the nurse’s face. “This is her second night without it. We began really working at weaning her five days ago, and she’s doing fantastic.”
“Why didn’t anybody contact me?”
“She wanted it to be a surprise.” The nurse arched her eyebrows. “Surprise.”
“So she’s off it for good?”
“It looks that way.”
“Really?”
“She improves a little every day.”
“What do you mean?”
She put a hand on his arm and moved closer. “Well, I’m probably not supposed to tell you, so act surprised.”
Edward nodded, impatient to know the details.
“She’s experienced a little tingling and itchiness in her upper arms and shoulders.”
“It worked,” Edward breathed. “It really worked.”
She nodded. “It looks like it. It’s still very early, but the team is cautiously optimistic.”
Damn, those magical little stem cells were doing it. They were pulling off a miracle. “Yesss.”
“You won’t be needing me or any other night nurse much longer.”
Edward barely heard her comment, nor noticed when she urged him down upon the sitting room couch. He grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it close. Noelle was getting better. It’s true, not a dream.
He stretched out on the couch. Lost in the wonder of her recovery, Edward didn’t even feel the nurse cover him with the soft flannel blanket from the foot of Noelle’s bed. Closing his eyes, he clutched the pillow to his chest and eased into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Those miraculous little stem cells had worked.
* * *
Early the next day, before the nurse woke Noelle for her morning routine, Edward snuck out and drove home. After a quick shower and cup of coffee, he headed to his father-in-law’s house to pick up Jeff and plan their celebration. Jeff and Joseph were co-conspirators in keeping Noelle’s secret, but enthusiastically threw themselves into party preparations.
Edward stopped by a florist and bought a dozen of Noelle’s favorite pink tea roses on his way back to Fisher, while Joseph and Jeff picked up chili dogs and Caesar salad from the Grosse Pointe Café, and a cherry pie for dessert.
It still felt weird eating in front of Noelle when she got all her sustenance through a tube. But getting off the vent would likely change that, too. Soon, she’d be able to taste food for the first time in months.
She was off that damned machine. She could breathe on her own again. Just think how far she could go after the neuron implants. No one dared put to words the thoughts of full recovery, but Edward refused to rule it out. He couldn’t wait to move forward with phase three next month.
Edward looked at Noelle and grinned. He might never get this silly grin off his face again.
“What?” she asked.
He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice again.” He cleared his throat, thick with gratitude, as he trailed his hand down her cheek. “It’s just so amazing to hear you, sounding like you.”
Noelle smiled. “It’s pretty great for me, too. It feels like a giant step forward.”
“Just the beginning, baby. It’s just the beginning.”
“While you’re in such a good mood, I want you to read something Skye brought me.” She nodded at the papers on top of her silent ventilator.
Edward retrieved the sheets and narrowed his eyes at the title. His jaw clenched tight.
“Edward, don’t look like that. Just read it.”
He looked up. “Have you read it?”
“I have. We worked on it together.”
Worked on it together? That conniving bitch. He’d really underestimated Skye’s powers of persuasion. She might not have told anyone about Jeff, but he still didn’t trust her—apparently, with good reason.
“Just open you mind and heart, and sit down and read it.”
He didn’t like Noelle’s soft, cajoling tone but did as she asked. Resting his ankle on his knee, Edward gave the article his full attention. When he finished, he closed his eyes and sat still. Finally, he took a deep breath, blew it out, and looked at Noelle. “God, I wish she hadn’t done that.�
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“Well, I’m glad. It’s well-written and compelling.”
He frowned. “And private. She had no right saying those things about the miscarriages. And your tattoo is private. It’s ours.”
Our secret. Our special memorial to the little ones. Until her accident, nobody knew about it but him and her. Now Noelle had so many caregivers, they undoubtedly knew her body better than either of them. Edward ducked his head. Now everybody knew. Knew about the miscarriages, the tattoo, his personal struggles to make the right decisions for his family. How humiliating. He felt so exposed.
“I asked her to include it.”
His head whipped up. “You wha—? Why? Why would you do that?”
“It’s time, Edward.”
“It’s personal.” He shook the sheet. “All this stuff, it’s our life. It’s nobody else’s business.”
“Sweetheart, you’re overreacting. We’ve a lot more special memories than that. And maybe sharing our struggles will help others.” She paused. “Edward, you’re not built the way I am. I need to talk about stuff. Years of bottled up grief ate at me. Not being able to talk about it with even my friends for fear it’d get out, was…really difficult.”
“I didn’t know. You never said—” Noelle was always so strong and composed. The perfect politician’s wife. He hadn’t realized it’d come with a cost. He felt sick to his stomach.
“I know, and I’m not blaming you. I want you to understand. And there’s something else.”
God, how else had he failed her?
“Edward, without exception, you are the best man I know.”
Hardly. He frowned and looked down. Never more than now did he feel so unworthy.
“Look at me.”
He looked into her smiling face. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true. You are. My dad’s a pretty great guy, but honey, you’ve got him beat. You have a heart of gold—twenty-four carat. And you love us so well. Not that you’re perfect—” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a knowing look.
The Lives Between Us Page 37