He reached out but she didn’t lean into his arms.
“And she’s fine!” She slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. At last, she collapsed, her face in one hand, and rocked slowly. “She’s fine—she’s sleeping, just sleeping, and he’s—”
Tad leaned forward to wrap his arms around her. His eyes were tightly closed and all he could think was that he couldn’t cry because she needed him right now.
“It isn’t fair,” Mary whispered, her words barely coherent around the sobs. “And it’s my fault. I set him up on the date and he never would have met her if I hadn’t.”
He cupped the side of her face and leaned his forehead against hers. “None of this was your fault,” he told her. “Imagine what Father LeMarc would think if he heard you say that.”
She pressed her lips together and took a shuddering breath.
A knock at the door made them draw apart and they both looked at the entrance as it opened to admit a doctor. She was quiet and watchful, her black hair streaked with grey, brown eyes deep-set, and a distinct arch to her nose.
“Mr. and Mrs. Williams.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m Dr. Goli, the attending physician. May I come in?”
“Yes.” Mary wiped her face. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize.” The doctor crossed the room to them. “I was here when your son came in, and I am happy to say that he stabilized quickly and has remained stable since then. There were two dislocations but no breaks, and there are no signs of internal bleeding.”
They both nodded.
When the doctor hesitated, however, Tad braced himself.
“Unfortunately, your son suffered extensive trauma to the head,” Dr. Goli said. “At this point, his prognosis is not clear.”
Mary grasped his hand harder than he knew she could. “When will you know?” Her voice was level.
The doctor folded her hands around the clipboard. “I wish I could say, Mrs. Williams. Unfortunately, there’s very little we can do for traumatic brain injuries at this stage. The brain sometimes heals itself, but there’s no way to know if it will or how long it will take. It’s entirely possible that your son could wake up tomorrow and be completely fine.”
Mary paused and took a deep breath. “And it’s possible he’ll never wake up,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
Dr. Goli hesitated before she nodded. “That is a possibility, yes. In all likelihood, his recovery to full health would take some time.”
“I see.”
Tad’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he looked at the number of the insurance company.
“I need to take this,” he told his wife.
She nodded as frustration flitted across her face but it was gone in an instant.
He didn’t want her to think he was stepping away for no reason but he also didn’t want her to worry, the way he did, that this call might be the insurance company denying their claim. He left the room wordlessly and answered the call in the hallway. “This is Tad Williams.”
“Mr. Williams.” The voice was warm but brisk. “This is Matthew Heigl with Unity Insurance, calling about your claim.”
“Yes?” He closed his eyes briefly.
“I’m pleased to say that it has been approved,” the agent said. “Your son is covered for up to five hundred thousand dollars and—”
“Oh, thank God.” Tad sank onto a bench that didn’t exist and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. He leaned against the wall, shaking. Relief made him light-headed. Five hundred thousand dollars would be more than enough.
“Now, we haven’t yet received the bill for the life flight and the initial surgeries,” the agent continued.
“How much does a life flight normally cost?” Tad asked.
“I can’t give any specific numbers, sir.”
“Ballpark it for me, Heigl.” He looked heavenward and prayed for patience. “What’s the average?”
“Roughly forty-five thousand dollars.” The agent’s voice was subdued.
Tad gripped the phone. “Could you say that again?”
“The average for a life flight is about forty-five thousand dollars,” the agent repeated. “That, of course, does not include the original emergency services response or any of the surgeries. Or the hospital stay.”
“I’m…” Tad looked at the door. Inside that room, a doctor was telling his wife that Justin might be under for an indeterminate amount of time.
“You’ll also want to account for physical therapy after he’s released,” the agent added.
“How long?” he asked.
“It would vary based on what type of physical therapy he needs.”
“No. How long will he be covered in the hospital?” He thought he felt the phone creak in his grip.
“Um.” The agent seemed to guess from his tone—correctly—that a noncommittal answer would be the wrong choice. “About three months, sir. Without accounting for physical therapy.”
“Thank you.” Tad hung up and stared at the blank wall in front of him.
Three months. Three months without counting the rehabilitation. Three months after which…
What was he supposed to do then? He was a junior senator and didn’t have the reserves the older senators did. He didn’t have the connections, either.
Alone in the hallway, Tad squeezed his hands until his nails began to break the skin on his palms.
What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter Five
Today’s work at the office had been done hastily, with aides running in and out of Tad’s sun-drenched office, bringing briefs and chattering message reports and watering the plants until he had to usher them all out of the room simply for a moment of quiet.
He had promised himself he would make coffee when he was done with this call. Unfortunately, after three days of sleeping in hospital chairs, he had begun to fantasize about a nice, big mug of coffee with foam at the edges. It would taste so good. The heat would feel so good.
This was a bad sign and he shook himself to clear the thought. Normally, he didn’t even like coffee.
There was a beep. “Mr. Williams?” The voice on the other end of the line was chipper and pleasant. It was the kind of voice that came from a twenty-two-year-old with no responsibilities and the ability to bounce back from a night without sleep.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Metcalfe is on the line.”
“Senator Williams.” Dru Metcalfe’s voice was easy and affable. “Thank you for calling me back so quickly.”
“Yes, sir.” Tad took a deep breath and tried to keep his eyes from drifting closed. “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes. I’m calling on behalf of Raymond White, the CEO at IterNext. He saw a report in the news about your son.”
He tried to make sense of this in his head. “Yes?” he said finally when nothing gelled.
“Now, you may not realize it, but Mr. White has a close relationship with the administrative board at Bay Health Hospital, and he knows that in this kind of situation, costs can be…surprising.”
Tad straightened a little. “They were something of a shock,” he admitted. He tried to keep his voice neutral but his heart beat faster. This couldn’t be the type of break he was hoping for, could it?
“Simply put, Mr. White would like to take care of the issue for you,” Metcalfe went on. “Some of the bills can be negotiated—they can always be negotiated, can’t they?” He gave a charming laugh. “But that can still leave a great deal. Mr. White doesn’t want that to add to your family’s burden right now.”
“That’s very generous, sir.” There was a moment where Tad felt like he could breathe again for the first time since the police had called him. The house he and Mary had fixed up together was safe. Their nest egg would survive this.
But then he remembered who he was talking to.
He didn’t want to say something to ruin his mental image, but he needed to. The mirage needed t
o disappear before he grew too attached to it. He had the vague idea that if he merely thanked the man and hung up the phone before he could tell him the quid pro quo, he might be too embarrassed to call back…but he knew that wouldn’t work.
“And what does Mr. White want in return?” he asked evenly.
If he hoped to embarrass Metcalfe, he was disappointed.
“As you know, Senator, the regulatory market in Washington can be fickle. Reasonable business interests often take a back seat.”
“Yes.” Tad did know that.
Unfortunately, he was fairly sure he and Metcalfe did not agree on the definition of the term “reasonable business interests.”
“IterNext works hard to make sure their products and services provide groundbreaking medical care,” the man told him. He seemed to have settled into the presentation now. “They give America the next generation of advances, and they want to help as many people as possible live long, healthy lives.”
He wouldn’t be able to get out of this without the full spiel, would he? Tad darted a sad look at the coffee machine. He really should have started it before the call. Lesson learned.
“Mr. Metcalfe, it’s been a very busy morning—”
“Of course, Senator. To be very direct with you, Mr. White has no idea of the next time one of IterNext’s lifesaving products will be unfairly blocked in the senate.”
It took a long moment for him to realize what the lobbyist was saying. He’d expected a sales pitch and had hoped against hope that it would be something he could support in good conscience, and this was anything but.
“He wants a blank check.” His voice had begun to harden and he told himself not to get angry. Dru Metcalfe had something to offer, and it was something he desperately needed. Without the man’s help, where would he find another offer like this?
But was the price tag one he could pay in good conscience? Especially when he couldn’t know what it would entail until it happened.
“Mr. White merely needs to know that he has someone he can count on to make common-sense decisions,” Metcalfe said soothingly. “Too many senators end up choosing their stance before they even know the facts of a case. Knowing there’s someone who can listen to reason will be a weight off his mind.”
Go to hell. Or…what was it he’d overheard Justin say on his headset the other day? Get in the sea? He wanted to say it so badly. This was the type of thing he’d planned to say since the day he decided to run for the senate. That was why he’d gone into politics, dammit. Too many people were bought, captive to interests that weren’t only neutral to voters but actively went entirely against the voters’ interests.
Tad picked up a picture from his desk—Justin, aged five and in a life vest, grinned from the deck of his uncle’s boat.
He needs you right now. And he especially needs you to not be a hothead. There’s a line you can walk.
With the terrible sense that this was how it all began for too many people, he finally said, “I’ll think about it, Mr. Metcalfe. If you’re ever in the area, do stop by my office.”
“Of course, Senator Williams. And again, we’re all praying for Justin.”
“Thank you.” He placed the phone down.
He needed…he didn’t know what he needed. For a brief moment, he had the mental image of sitting at Justin’s bedside and asking him what he should do. But his son couldn’t answer right now and even if he could, it had been years since they’d spoken with no animosity. Justin thought—
It hurt to acknowledge that he didn’t know what he thought. He had seen the rolled eyes when he practiced campaign speeches and had heard Mary plead with him to come to one event, to dress up and support his father. He’d left before he could hear him say something he didn’t want to remember.
Tad didn’t realize he’d dialed the number until Mary said, “Hello?”
“Hello.” He heard the tiredness in her voice. “How are you holding up over there?”
“I’m doing fine.” He could tell she was smiling. “Take as long as you need. I know other people need you right now.”
His gut twisted.
“Tad?” Her voice was concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he managed. “I could use a little more sleep. Or much more coffee.”
Mary clucked her tongue. “And a year ago, you didn’t even drink it. What’s happening to you there in big politics?”
She was joking, but he squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead in his hand.
“Tad. Something is wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice had no humor in it now. “What is it?”
“I had an offer,” Tad said. “A blank check for a CEO in return for—a bribe. They offered me a bribe.” Maybe if he said it out loud it would make it seem real or less ridiculous.
“You knew that would happen,” she said evenly. “I’m surprised it took them this long, frankly.” She paused and when he said nothing, she added, “Don’t be upset, my love. You knew they would try. What they need is for someone to tell them no. Once other senators see it’s possible, there’ll be real change.”
“What if…I didn’t say no?” His voice broke a little.
Mary said nothing.
“They offered to pay Justin’s medical bills.” The words came out in a rush.
“Tad, we have insurance.”
“He’s covered up to five hundred thousand dollars.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her this but now, he couldn’t seem to stop talking. “That’s all. And I thought it would be enough, but he’s already up over a hundred and it’s thousands a day, Mary. Not only that, but he’ll also need physical therapy when he gets out and we don’t know how long it’ll even take for him to wake up…” His voice trailed off and he clenched his free hand.
“I wish Justin could hear you,” she said finally.
“What?”
“He thinks you’re too idealistic.” Her voice was distant. Tad could practically see her staring at the hospital bed where Justin lay amidst the monitors and wires. “He thinks you can’t see how complicated life is. He said when push came to shove, you’d choose your principles over doing the expedient or self-serving thing.”
He laughed bleakly. “I hope you’re going somewhere good with this.”
Mary laughed as well, although he could tell she was on the edge of tears. “I think it would do him good to know you want to do this for him,” she said. “You campaigned on one thing, Tad, and you’re ready to throw it all away.”
“Do you think I should?” It seemed as if the ground shifted beneath him. He didn’t know where he stood anymore. While he was desperate for her to say yes, he was terrified she would. “Mary, I can’t do this alone.”
“You don’t have to.” It was like she was there with him, holding his hand. The pressure in his chest eased. “I’m here, Tad. I’m always here.” She took a deep breath. “And, no. I don’t think you should take the deal.”
Her voice didn’t even waver.
“You don’t?” he almost whispered. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to gripe at Justin right now. What he wouldn’t give to walk past his room and see him playing video games, or sleeping in, or slouching to the dinner table in sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I don’t know what the answer is, Tad, but I know it’s not this—and you don’t think it is, either. If you thought this was something you needed to do, you’d simply have done it. You wouldn’t have called me.”
Tad squeezed his eyes shut. “But what if—what if nothing else comes up?”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” his wife told him. “Don’t compromise everything you are for this. I don’t know if…if Justin will wake up.” Her voice shook. “But if he does, he needs you—not the person you’d be if you did this.”
They said their goodbyes and he hung up. He rested his face in his hands for a long moment before he pushed to his feet. He hadn’t gotten there, he told himself, by cracking at the first sign of a problem. He
would have coffee, he would get paperwork done, and he would find a way to make this work without Dru Metcalfe and his offer. This afternoon, before he returned to the hospital, he would call him and tell him as much.
He wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or purpose that sustained him, but he managed to make his way to the coffee machine and began to measure beans out. He had barely finished grinding them when one of his aides entered.
“Excuse me, Senator? Two men are here to speak to you about a medical device.”
How quickly the blank check was getting called in. Tad gave a bleak smile. It looked like he’d tell Mr. Metcalfe off sooner rather than later.
“Send them in,” he said over his shoulder. He heard their footsteps as he shook the grounds into the filter and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you for having us here, Senator.” The line sounded rehearsed. “We have something truly groundbreaking to discuss with you today, something we believe will transform your life.”
“Are you lobbyists or are you missionaries?” He poured the water into the machine, put the lid down, and pressed the brew button. “Because your presentation—” He turned and stopped in surprise.
The two men who stood there weren’t lobbyists or if they were, they were the worst he’d ever seen. Instead of tailored suits, they wore dark-colored jeans bunched around the ankles rather than hemmed appropriately. One of them wore a button-down shirt and tie with a modicum of grace, but it looked like the shirt had been pulled hastily out of the back of his closet without being pressed. The other wore an unseasonable sweater, probably to hide a t-shirt.
Interestingly, both of them looked as exhausted as he was.
Tad considered them for a moment. “Aren’t you two a little young to be piranhas for the DC elite?”
The one in the sweater looked at the one in the tie before he answered. “We’re not piranhas, sir. We’re engineers.”
“Sometimes considered a close cousin,” the other one joked with a flash of real humor, “but you’re probably thinking of the team over in legal. We hate those stuck up bastards.” He waited to see how the joke would land and when Tad didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Senator, we think we can help your son.”
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