SCOTT’S MIND WHIRLED with plans, deadlines, things he had to do. This was the big one…the account that would put Harper Concepts on the map. In the midst of all the details, he managed to savor the moment, even briefly imagining himself accepting a Clio Award, his competitors on their feet applauding the success of the Jordan campaign. Brenda had already called two of their graphic artists at home to jump-start work on print ads, and the agency media buyer had offered some great ideas on maximizing the Jordan name with the target demographic group. Scott would hit the ground running the minute they landed in Tulsa Monday morning. Just thinking about the challenges ahead gave him an exhilarating surge of adrenaline.
The only sting of disappointment was Meg’s lukewarm reaction to the news. Sure, she’d said the right words, but her eyes had betrayed her. He wanted someone to celebrate with, someone who understood his achievement. Brenda.
He sank wearily into a kitchen chair, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. No way could he entertain that notion. If only Meg would look at him adoringly as she used to and take an interest in the ups and downs of the advertising game. It was a cliché to say it was “a jungle out there,” but it was the truth. Why couldn’t Meg give him the occasional chance to feel like a hero?
Last night he’d thought maybe they could rekindle what they used to have. Now he wasn’t so sure. How could they share a life when neither of them seemed to understand what was important to the other? Like his bafflement that she couldn’t trust his folks to handle the kids. Just once when they were together, he’d like her to focus all of her attention on him.
He stared at the numbers on his computer screen, then out the window at a wedge of tree and sky. He’d almost forgotten where he was, why he was here. The second honeymoon he and Meg were supposed to be enjoying. Ironic.
What was she doing in the bedroom? Was she actually planning to go hiking by herself? He shoved back his chair and stood, just as Meg, dressed in jeans, an oversize sweatshirt and hiking boots, entered the room. She gave him a cursory nod, then grabbed her coat off the hook by the door and started outside.
He ran after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She stopped, a disgusted expression on her face. “For our hike.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not.”
“Oh, really?” Her voice oozed sarcasm.
“Meg, couldn’t you at least be a little excited for me? For the agency?”
She put her hands on her hips. “It’s not that I don’t care about your work, Scott, but for a deluded moment last night I thought this marriage might, just might, have a chance.” She shook her head. “But this morning you made it abundantly clear where your priorities lie. You couldn’t get on the phone and computer fast enough. Look at you. You’re not even dressed, much less ready to go on a hike.”
He stepped out on the porch in his bare feet. “It’s dangerous to hike alone. Please don’t go.”
“I need to clear my head. I’ll drive to the trailhead and be back later this afternoon. Not to worry, I won’t do anything reckless.”
He stared at her. The softness he’d seen in her features last night was gone, replaced by a resolute firmness of jaw. “Don’t be like this.”
Her face flushed. “Me? What about you? Wes, Brenda, Ward Jordan—where exactly do I fit in the pecking order?”
Scott raked a hand through his hair, then sighed. “You’re saying I did it again, aren’t you?”
“Did what?”
“Put business first.”
She glared at him, incredulity sparking from her eyes. “Well, ye-ah. Did yesterday mean nothing to you?”
“You know better than that.”
She took a step toward him. “I really thought we’d made some progress. And now?” She shrugged.
Pain filled his chest. “Then I guess we’ll have to make some decisions tomorrow before we go home.”
“Yes,” she said. “We will.”
From inside the house he heard his cell phone ringing, a summons impossible to ignore, especially this morning. “I’ve got a call, Meg.”
“Hey, don’t let me keep you from anything that really matters.” Then she wheeled around, strode to the car and drove off down the lane.
He’d blown it. Again. The phone rang another time—and twice more before he finally went back inside and picked it up.
When he heard his mother’s voice bordering on hysteria, he crumpled into a chair and tried to concentrate on the senseless words she kept repeating. A stroke? His dad was as healthy as a horse. He couldn’t quite grasp the thought. “Mom, calm down. I’m right here. Tell me exactly what’s going on.”
She explained she was with Justin at the hospital where his father had been taken by ambulance following his collapse in the library earlier that afternoon. Indications were that Bud had suffered a major stroke.
A tension headache began to beat against Scott’s temples. “We’ll drive into Denver right away and catch the earliest flight we can. Could you put Justin on?”
“He’s pretty shaken.”
“Dad?” The neediness in Justin’s voice tore Scott in two.
Like a tidal wave, the story poured out of his son. His panic and helplessness. And worst of all, his fear.
When Scott hung up, he was limp. This couldn’t be happening. Outside the sun shone under a cloudless sky. But darkness, unlike any he’d ever known, had taken possession of his soul.
He bent over his knees, trying to concentrate. He needed to plan. Needed to make reservations. He could only hope Meg would return soon. Every sinew in his body called him to action, but he needed his wife. Where had she gone? Then another thought surfaced: in light of this awful emergency, there would be no opportunity for a discussion of their future.
It had taken care of itself.
EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON Meg found herself clutching Scott’s hand as a taxi transported them from the Tulsa airport to the hospital. Guilt lay over her like a shroud. Why hadn’t she turned on her cell phone yesterday when she left the cabin? Her fit of pique and the resulting long hike had prevented Scott from making immediate reservations, delaying their departure from Denver until this morning. Scott had been too upset to lash out; instead, they had silently gone through the motions of packing.
Eventually, though, crisis had a way of short-circuiting resentment. At least for the moment. Scott adored Bud. Their closeness had been a source of envy for Meg, who’d always keenly felt the absence of her own father. Yet Bud’s warm, unconditional acceptance of her had gone a long way toward healing that childhood wound. Marie loved her, too, she realized, but whether it was true or not, her love seemed to be doled out in direct proportion to how well she perceived Meg to be taking care of Scott.
She examined Scott’s stony profile. She could only imagine what was running through his mind. He would be expected to be the strong one, the take-charge guy. Marie would probably go to pieces when she saw him.
And poor Justin. She’d talked with him several times on the phone. She was having trouble convincing him he wasn’t responsible for Bud’s stroke. Though extremely upset, he was trying to be brave. Carrie Morrison had come to the hospital and taken him home with her yesterday, and Hayley was staying with her friend, Jill. Thank God for caring neighbors. Meg realized part of her role would be restoring normalcy in the children’s lives as soon as possible.
She closed her eyes, exhausted from the impasse with Scott and from rushing to pack and get to Denver in time for the earliest flight they could catch—and from worrying about Bud and what the future would hold for all of them. Would Bud survive? Would he be impaired? How might his condition affect his and Marie’s plans? What would be expected of Scott, the kids and her? So many questions.
One thing she knew with certainty. Their lives were forever changed. At the very least, Scott would now have increasing demands to face. Somehow, for the time being, she would have to set aside her frustration with their marriage and be as supportive as possible. Even if it meant sharing Scott in more ways and postponing any decisions about their future. She had no other choice.
Up ahead the hospital loomed, imposing and not in the least bit comforting. She squeezed his hand. “Are you all right?”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
She looked into his troubled eyes. “But you’ll get through it. You always do.”
“Thanks, Meg.” He paused as if finding the next words difficult. “I’m glad you’re with me. I need you.”
Her eyes filled with sudden tears. He hadn’t seemed to need her for a long time.
“I’m scared, Meg.”
Her confident, competent husband scared? Yet something in her heart leaped. She couldn’t think of another person to whom he would’ve confided such vulnerability.
SOMETHING WRONG. TONGUE thick. People. Moving. Strange-looking people. A man with glasses. Leaning close. Too close. “Bud? Bud, can you hear me?”
Shouting. The man’s voice was loud. Too loud. Of course I can hear you. You’re shouting in my face.
“Bud? Blink your eyes if you can hear me.”
Blink? Why? Just say it. I can hear you.
“Blink your eyes, Bud.”
All right, then. I’ll blink my eyes. There, are you happy?
“That’s better. Do you know where you are, Bud?”
Why did the man keep calling him by name? Did he think he’d forgotten who he was?
“Stay with me, Bud. Where are you?”
Bud moved his eyes. Felt the bed against his back. Saw IV lines. Tried to lift his right hand. Couldn’t. Why not? Hospital. He was in the hospital. Like a dutiful student, he formed the word. “Hop.” No, that wasn’t right. “Hop,” he said again.
“That’s right. You’re in the hospital.” Strange, he hadn’t said hospital. For some reason, he’d said hop.
“There’s someone here who wants to see you.”
Who? What was this, a guessing game?
“Bud?” A lady with tight gray curls leaned over him. “It’s Marie, honey.”
Marie? He knew her. “Mama?”
“No, dear, Marie.” Then he watched her clutch his right hand. But he couldn’t feel anything. Odd. He looked again. Hand in hand. No feeling. Suddenly a cloud of dread suffocated him. The man with the glasses approached again. “We’re taking care of you, Bud. You’ve had a stroke.”
Stroke? Golf stroke? Tennis stroke? Something about stroke he knew. Something bad. “Hop?”
“Stay calm. You should improve in the next few days. Then we’ll be able to assess your condition.”
He looked at Marie. Nice Marie. He watched her now, kissing his hand. Pretty lady. He liked having her hold his hand.
“I love you, darlin’,” he heard the Marie lady say. It sounded nice. His eyes felt heavy. The man with the glasses stepped closer again, lifting one of his eyelids. Get away.
Sleep. But before he let himself sink into the vast grayness, he tried one more time, his brain struggling to make his lips and tongue form the word. “Ma… Ma…rie?”
Just before he drifted off, he heard a sobbing sound from the lady holding his hand. Marie. Wife. His Marie.
SCOTT DIDN’T KNOW EXACTLY what he’d expected to find, but what he encountered was far worse than anything he’d imagined. He slumped into the battle-scarred waiting-room chair and hunched over his knees, shielding his eyes with his hands. Meg patted his shoulder, but he couldn’t look up. All he could see in his mind was his father’s strong body rendered nearly lifeless and his mother’s tear-filled eyes as she explained that Bud had some paralysis on the right side and difficulty speaking. The doctor who had finally arrived, had been cautious, adopting an infuriating wait-and-see attitude. Scott wanted to do something, anything, to reverse this awful diagnosis, to wipe the patronizing words from that doctor’s vocabulary. “In cases like this,” he’d said. Cases like this? This wasn’t any old case—this was his father they were talking about.
Gradually, he became aware of Meg’s hand massaging his back, the manic voices of the Sunday TV sports commentators, the sounds of a vending machine, the rattling of a newspaper. Finally he looked up. “It’s bad.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Devastated, as you’d expect. She’ll be out in a minute. She wants to see you.”
“I’ll wait for her, of course. But then I should go pick up the kids. They’re really upset, especially Justin.”
“I know.”
“Have you called Kay?”
Kay. Yeah, right. As if his older sister would consider coming to help out. Resentment flared in him. His mother had always coddled Kay. Even now, as a grown woman, she was less mature than Hayley by a long shot. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, thanks to an extremely generous divorce settlement from her wealthy ex-husband. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited their parents in Nashville. They always went to her home in Florida. “Mom called her.”
“And?”
Meg could predict as well as he what Kay’s reaction had been. Obligatory concern followed by thinly veiled irritation at what would be an inconvenience to her busy social life. Yet Mom, ever blind to Kay’s faults, clung to the belief that she’d catch the next flight to Tulsa. “She’s standing by for more news before she makes any decisions.”
“Probably makes sense.”
Maybe. Was he overreacting? Lashing out at his sister because of his own helplessness?
“Before I leave, would you like me to bring you coffee and a sandwich from the cafeteria?”
“Yeah, that would be great. I’ll wait here for Mom.”
“I’ll be right back.”
After Meg left, he lolled in the chair, wondering how long it would be before they learned anything more definitive than “wait and see.” Memories of his strong, tanned father playing catch with him, shooting hoops out by the garage and teaching him to tie flies flooded his brain. Images of strength and agility, now replaced by the ashen complexion and limp body in a hospital room down the hall.
How could he possibly work on the Jordan campaign in the midst of this? Somehow, though, he had to. Others were counting on him. Compartmentalize. Detach. His stomach roiled. Gut it through. And underlying all of that, was his concern for Meg and the kids and how his dad’s situation would impact them. He’d thought things couldn’t get any worse. Wrong again. “Scott?”
He looked up. Brenda, dressed in a formfitting black dress and killer high heels, made her way across the room, arms outspread, a sympathetic look on her face. “I’m so sorry.”
He stood and accepted her hug. “Thanks for coming.”
Instead of stepping away, she remained in his embrace, studying his expression. “Are you okay?”
Before he could answer, he heard a sharp gasp, followed by the splat of spilling liquid. Over Brenda’s shoulder, framed in the doorway, was Meg, hot coffee pooling at her feet, shock registering in every line of her face.
Worse? Try catastrophic.
WITH A SAVAGE KICK, Justin sent the soccer ball flying toward the left sideline. Out of bounds. He ran to take up his defensive position, trying to block out what his coach had yelled at him: “Keep your head in the game, Harper.” Mrs. Morrison had insisted it would be good for him to play this final game of the tournament and get his mind off his troubles. But he didn’t even care about winning. All he could concentrate on was what had happened yesterday to Grampa. How he’d been reading along just fine until… Justin’s mouth filled with a metallic taste. He didn’t want to think about it.
One librarian had rushed over and laid his grandfather on the floor while another had called 911. His stomach tensed every time he thought about Grampa being tended to by the paramedics or about the stunned, fascinated faces of the people in the library and the sickly-sweet way this other librarian had led him into an office to phone his grandmother.
When the ball was inbounded, Justin missed a chance to clear it and start downfield.
What if Grampa died? Justin’s heart nearly stopped.
If only he hadn’t lied about the oral book report, cut school and caused Grampa so much trouble, they wouldn’t even have been at the library yesterday afternoon.
In a daze, he moved toward the opponent’s goal, watching the ball carrier as if from underwater. He checked the sideline to see if his mom had come yet and looked back too late, just in time to see the ball bounce past him.
“Harper, heads up!” The coach again. Justin, his face flushed with anger, clenched his fist, fighting tears he knew would make the other guys laugh at him. He wanted to quit. Just throw down his jersey, start walking and never come back.
He’d only been at the Morrisons one night, but it seemed like forever. They acted real hush-hush around him as if he were a guest celebrity or something. He even missed his annoying sister. Go figure. She’d called him a couple of times, all worried about Grampa…and him. He guessed maybe she wasn’t so bad.
He wished he and Hayley could go to the hospital. He could tell Grampa how sorry he was. But it was too early, Gramma said.
Brad Ambler tapped him on the shoulder. “You asleep? I’m comin’ in for you.”
Justin set no speed records getting off the field, and when the coach put an arm around him and tried to tell him how to play his position, he hung his head and stared at the clump of brown grass at his feet. He had no idea what the coach was saying. Big deal. He didn’t care, anyway.
He walked along the bench, fumbled for his water bottle, took a swig and sat down. How long were his parents going to be at the hospital? He had this funny empty place in his gut. He wasn’t a baby, but he really needed his mom and dad. Maybe then everything would be back to normal.
Then he remembered. Normal hadn’t been so good, either. Ignoring the game, he picked at his cuticle until he noticed it was bleeding and rubbed his thumb on his soccer shorts, leaving a pinkish trail of blood.
MEG STAYED AT THE HOSPITAL only long enough to get the car keys from Marie, then bolted for the parking lot, barely able to contain the rage and betrayal she’d experienced in the waiting room. The picture of Brenda in Scott’s arms had seared an unforgettable image on her brain. Brenda, her platinum hair perfectly coifed, her clinging jersey dress designed to showcase her figure. The mock-innocent look on Scott’s face. If the whole scene weren’t so tragic, it would have been laughable.
After reaching the car, she sat shaking, her head resting against the steering wheel, nausea rolling in her stomach. The aborted honeymoon had turned into a nightmare. Poor Bud. He was such a gentle and loving man—he didn’t deserve this. As for Brenda and Scott? Meg shouldn’t have been surprised. It simply confirmed her suspicions, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Somehow she was supposed to pull herself together, pick up the kids, soothe their worries and keep the home fires burning. Yeah, right.
She started the engine, backed out and made the seemingly endless trip down ramps to the pay booth. Once she was out on the street, the brightness startled her. Long rays of the setting sun highlighted the downtown skyline. The effect could almost be considered picturesque, if she’d been in the mood for something like that. She wasn’t.
She felt like a cast-off mongrel, kicked to the curb. If ever she’d entertained thoughts of finding her way back to Scott, today had put an end to that notion. Oh, he’d tried to explain. Brenda was just a friend offering sympathy. Did he think she was born yesterday? She’d heard the hypocrisy in Brenda’s voice, seen the possessive way she’d looked at Scott. “Fool,” she muttered to herself. How could she ever have thought that one argument-free day in Colorado could turn the tide of their marriage?
She decided to go straight home and get her emotions under control before she saw the kids. They had to be worried about Bud; they didn’t need to worry about her, too. And it was nearly dinnertime. She couldn’t face going to the supermarket. She’d rummage in the kitchen and see what she had on hand.
Later, of course, loomed the inevitable confrontation with Scott, who would undoubtedly label her reaction to Brenda “ungracious.”
Deep down, she knew Scott was exhausted. That he had far more important things on his mind than her jealousy. Now was not the time to throw the whole family even more off balance.
Okay. She’d hang in there, carry on with the dutiful-wife act, wait out the crisis with Bud, and then she and Scott could settle things once and for all.
Nearing her neighborhood, she called the kids on her cell phone and made arrangements to pick them up in fifteen minutes. When she pulled into the driveway, a wave of nostalgia engulfed her. She loved this house. Loved the dreams she’d had for it.
Inside, the quiet wrapped her in comforting normalcy. The things she treasured—the basket collection on top of the kitchen cabinets, the antique mirror over the breakfast room buffet, a braided rug in varying shades of blue she’d bought in Vermont—represented family gatherings, harmony and love. Not the tense stand off of the present.
Checking the freezer, she found some chopped sirloin patties and a package of frozen hash browns. That and canned green beans would do for supper. She opened the door of the pantry and reached for the green beans, but instead faced a row of cake and bread mixes. What the—?
Anger swept over her. Obviously her mother-in-law had taken it upon herself to reorganize every last shelf.
It was a little thing. Meg knew that. But it symbolized her own incompetence. Her failure to create the perfect home and family.
Not trusting her eyes, she stared at boxes of cereal, bags of rice, bottles of salad dressing—all in unfamiliar locations—and burst into tears.