Shivering in jeans, a sweater and tennis shoes, Jacquelyn consulted the scribbled note in her hand and compared it to the number on the house before her. She hadn’t thought to ask Joe for an address when he called, and she’d had to search for it in the phone book before setting out. Fortunately, the Redfields’ house lay on a well-traveled street near Lake Silver, and Jacquelyn had no trouble finding it in the night.
Joe had left a porch light burning and yellow rectangles of light shone from practically every window of the house.
Jacquelyn quickened her steps up the front walk, then knocked lightly on the door. A tall, gangly youth opened it, and Jacquelyn’s mind went blank as she stared up at pain in the young man’s face.
“I, uh, am Nurse Wilkes,” she stammered. The boy nodded and opened the door wider so Jacquelyn could enter the house. Either he was expecting her or he didn’t care who she was.
The house was a typical suburban model, probably a three-bedroom, two-bath like hundreds of others in this area. An older man with silver hair sat on the sofa in the living room, a Bible in his hands. Their minister, of course. In the kitchen at the back of the house, Jacquelyn could hear the sound of someone rummaging in a cabinet. She remembered all the players and the parts from another deathbed scene, but her foggy brain couldn’t figure out why someone would be cooking at this hour—or why she was here.
The teenager jerked his thumb toward a single hallway that led off the living room. “Mom’s in there,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “Dad’s in there, too. My brother’s making coffee, if you want some.”
Jacquelyn shook her head, then walked toward the bedroom, her feet heavy as she trudged through a haze of feelings and doubts. What was she doing here? She had never been to a patient’s home, never seen a patient die. She wasn’t the type to get this involved. Though she had been blessed by Daphne’s life, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of the dear woman’s death.
The bedroom curtains were drawn against the night, a single lamp burned on a bedside table. A CD player filled the room with soft strains of something that sounded like choir music, and next to the bed, a brown-haired man slept upright in a slip-covered wing chair, an open book on his lap.
Daphne lay silent in the center of the bed, her head elevated on a stack of pillows. Her eternal smile had vanished, but Jacquelyn could still see both delicacy and strength in her face. An oxygen tube ran under her nose, but other than that, she lay unmolested by monitors or other equipment. At peace.
Jacquelyn tiptoed toward the end of the bed, not wanting to disturb either Daphne or her husband. Though she had never hesitated to enter a patient’s hospital room, she felt strangely intrusive in the intimate setting. She would murmur a prayer and then slip out, her duty done. She’d send a card to the funeral, and try to put the past behind her. This—the bed, the woman in it, the minister in the living room—reminded Jacquelyn too much of her mother.
She wasn’t aware of making noise, but at her approach the man’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Though his face was slack with fatigue, his mouth tipped in a faint smile.
“I’m sorry,” Jacquelyn said, turning away from the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep if you want, and I’ll—” What? She couldn’t leave after spending a grand total of sixty seconds with the Redfields. “I’ll sit with you,” she finished.
“No, I shouldn’t have been sleeping.” The man leaned forward and thrust a broad hand toward her. “You must be the nurse Daphne was so fond of. I’m Joe Redfield, Daphne’s husband.”
“So I gathered.” Jacquelyn gave him a brief smile, then looked around the room. “Is there anything I can get you? One of your sons is making coffee, and I could see if he needs help. I’d be happy to take care of things out in the kitchen—”
“The kitchen’s not important.” Joe’s gaze flitted toward the form on the bed. “I was reading to her and I guess I dozed off. She likes for me to read the Bible—she says it takes the pain away better than drugs. And the doctor won’t give her any more morphine. He says it would slow her breathing to the point of—well, it would be dangerous. So she likes me to read. I was reading when she slipped into the coma.” His smile brought an immediate softening to his rugged features. “Guess my voice is about to give out.”
Jacquelyn stepped toward him. “Let me read.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”
“Mr. Redfield—” she waved aside his objection “—your wife got down on her hands and knees to scrub my bathroom when I was recovering from surgery. Reading is the very least I can do for her.”
Joe didn’t protest, but lifted the Bible from his lap and offered it to Jacquelyn. She sank to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Daphne, and hoped Mr. Redfield would relax and sleep again. He was a handsome, masculine man, but fatigue had settled in pockets under his eyes and his hands quivered with exhaustion.
“I had just finished the top of that page,” Joe offered, settling back into his chair.
“All right.” Jacquelyn looked down at the Scriptures. He’d been reading from Psalms. If Daphne could hear him, surely she found comfort in the words.
“I look up to the mountains—does my help come from there?” Jacquelyn began.
“My help comes from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth!
He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep.
Indeed, he who watches over Israel never tires and never sleeps.
The Lord himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade.
The sun will not hurt you by day, nor the moon at night.
The Lord keeps you from all evil and preserves your life.
The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.”
Joe’s breathing had slowed and deepened, and Jacquelyn thought he might be asleep again. She lowered the Bible and leaned forward, studying Daphne’s face. Her lips were curled as if on the edge of laughter, and a musk-rose flush covered her high cheekbones. Had the flush been there when Jacquelyn arrived? She couldn’t remember.
“Does she hear us, do you think?”
Joe’s question startled Jacquelyn. “Um, it’s possible.” She looked down, a little embarrassed to be caught studying her patient so closely. “Some patients have reported being aware of what was going on around them while they were comatose. It’s hard to know what the subconscious experiences.”
“I think she hears us.” Joe spoke in a certain, clipped voice that forbade any argument. “I know she does. She looks…more peaceful when she hears the Scriptures. Will you read some more, or shall I?”
“I’ll read.” Jacquelyn opened the Bible again. Her eyes skimmed across the page to another psalm. “Those who trust in the Lord are as secure as Mount Zion; they will not be defeated but will endure forever…”
Jonah paused in the doorway, surprised by Jacquelyn’s presence. What in the world had possessed her to come to the Redfields’ house in the middle of the night? Even the minister who had been keeping this vigil had gone home; he and Jonah had passed each other on the front porch.
He leaned against the door frame, momentarily mesmerized by the sweet sound of the psalm on Jacquelyn’s lips. “O Lord, do good to those who are good, whose hearts are in tune with you.”
Whose hearts are in tune with you…When had his heart last been in tune with God? Probably seven or eight years ago, back before the UVA incident. In those days he was honestly trying to please God with his profession, still trying to make a difference in the physical and spiritual lives of his patients. His parents had been proud of him, as had the entire congregation of the Oak Woods Community Church. He was the church’s missionary to the world, the brilliant small-town boy who would make good and do good at the same time….
But then his name—and theirs—had been disgraced. And human nature, which he had always imagined capable of the highest kind of altruism and selflessness, had proved itself to be tawdry, coarse and selfish. And throughout his ordeal, God had not answered a single prayer for either mercy or justice.
He’d been running ever since.
Just as he was preparing to run again.
But he couldn’t leave Daphne. She would be one of the few individuals who thought of him as the kind of doctor he’d dreamed of becoming back in Oak Woods. She’d be in Heaven before she learned that he was a coward, a deserter and a hypocrite.
Daphne hadn’t stirred since ten o’clock, the last time he’d stopped by the house. She had been growing steadily weaker over the past few days, despite his frantic efforts, even despite the few prayers he’d forced himself to offer on her behalf.
Her husband, distraught and exhausted, had finally urged Jonah to let her go. “She’s ready to leave us—can’t you see that, Doctor?” Joe had said that afternoon when they debated whether or not to check her out of the hospital and send her home. “She’s worn out. She’s ready to meet the Lord.”
But there were so many things she still wanted to do! Her boys, still seven months shy of their high school graduation, would walk across the stage and receive their diplomas with only their father in attendance. And if Daphne were well, she’d never allow Jonah to give up his work here and run. She’d never allow him to give up Jacquelyn. Daphne had once confided to Jonah that she’d been praying for Jacquelyn ever since her first day in the clinic. “She’s a sweet girl and a gentle soul,” Daphne told him, an uncanny awareness in her gaze. “And I can understand why your eyes light up every time she enters the room. But she’s an independent sort, Dr. Martin, like I was. God had to teach me how to trust Him alone. And I think He wants Jacquelyn to discover that truth, too.”
Maybe your prayers were answered, Daphne. Jonah looked again at the sight of the lovely girl bent over the Scriptures. Only a miracle could have gotten Jacquelyn Wilkes to the bedside of any patient.
“Wait, nurse—do you think she’s waking?” Joe called out.
Straightening, Jonah looked over Jacquelyn’s head toward Daphne’s face. Her flesh had colored and he thought he could see her eyelids trembling. He began to move into the room, then stopped himself. These might be Daphne Redfield’s last conscious moments. She wouldn’t want to spend them talking to her doctor.
“She’s saying something,” Jacquelyn said, standing. She motioned to Daphne’s husband.
Good call, Nurse Wilkes.
“Come closer.” Jacquelyn moved out of the way. “I think she wants to talk to you, Joe.”
The burly auto mechanic perched on the edge of the bed and tenderly took his wife’s hand. “What is it, honey?” he asked, bending low.
As one, Jacquelyn and Jonah leaned forward to catch her words.
Jonah couldn’t hear, but Joe picked up a refrain. “…I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul, he leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”
Joe’s voice clotted; his hand tightened around his wife’s. Jacquelyn cast him a quick glance, then tried to continue the psalm. “Thy rod and thy staff, they…comfort me.”
She needed help; she didn’t know all the words. Jonah stepped into the room, blending his baritone with Jacquelyn’s uncertain voice. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies,” he said, standing behind Jacquelyn. She threw him a quick, expressionless glance, then turned back to Daphne and continued, following his lead. “You anoint my head with oil, my cup runs over.”
The lines of pain upon Daphne’s face lightened as if an invisible hand had wiped them away. Her countenance relaxed as the faint beginnings of a smile curled upon her lips.
Joe joined them again, resignation and peace in his booming voice. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
Jonah heard movement behind him, and turned to see Justin and Jed in the doorway. He motioned them in, then moved to make room for the twins.
“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”
Through the roaring silence that followed, Daphne Redfield breathed one word: Jesus.
Jonah could hear his heart battering against his ears. He had witnessed many deaths, but never one as peaceful, as right, as this one.
“She’s gone,” Joe finally said, speaking in an odd, yet gentle tone. “My bride has gone home.”
Jonah moved toward his patient and automatically pressed his fingers to her neck to make sure there was no pulse. Daphne had made it clear there were to be no dramatic efforts to resuscitate a body that had worn itself out in a long, arduous battle. “Two twenty-five a.m.,” he remarked, noting the time of death. “Now she’s in the presence of the Lord.”
One of the boys hiccupped a sob, and Jonah kept his eyes averted as Joe moved to embrace his sons.
“I’ll miss you,” Joe said, hugging his boys as he stared at his wife’s face. Her eyes had not opened since the coma, only the movement of her lips had given them any clue that she’d returned to consciousness just in time to bid them farewell.
Jonah turned toward the doorway to give the family a few moments alone. Jacquelyn, he noticed, had already retreated to the hall outside the bedroom. She stood there, backlit by the bright lights of the living room, her face awash in tears.
He caught her gaze, expecting to see the same peaceful assurance he’d seen in Joe’s eyes, but was surprised by the storm stirring there.
Silently, he closed the bedroom door and pulled her out into the living room.
“Jackie, I know you’re upset.”
“Upset?” Jacquelyn’s throat closed around the word. After the single most excruciating, discouraging, horrifying and depressing day of her life, how could he stand there and glibly pronounce her upset? Daphne Redfield, the last woman on earth who deserved death, had just lost her battle with cancer. If justice existed anywhere, God should have seen fit to heal her. Daphne was a walking saint, a selfless fountain of truth and light, while Jacquelyn, who couldn’t even get through the twenty-third psalm without prompting, was on the road to recovery. Why was she standing here, alive, while Daphne lay lifeless in the next room with her weeping husband and sons at her side?
Jacquelyn’s sense of loss went beyond tears. She flung her hands out in simple despair, unable to speak. She had seen too much today, witnessed too much pain. Daphne, who had bravely battled cancer to the end, had probably not complained in her years of suffering as Jacquelyn had in her single month of chemotherapy….
And they had told Daphne the cancer was gone. After her surgery, and after her chemotherapy. And yet she had just died, a forty-six-year-old woman who should have lived to celebrate at least thirty more Thanksgivings and Christmases.
Jacquelyn covered her face with her hands as grief and despair tore at her heart. She needed comfort and reassurance and she did not protest or pull away when she felt Jonah gather her into his embrace. Forgetting her resolutions of a few hours ago, she reached for the solid comfort of his arms and he held her gently, the touch of his hand on her head almost unbearable in its tenderness.
Move away from him. The man was nothing but trouble. Lauren and Stacy would have a fit if they saw her now, they knew he was a liar and a fraud…he would hold her now and break her heart tomorrow.
But now she needed his strength. A war of emotions raged within her, a cyclone of feelings and fears Lauren and Stacy would never understand. Jonah was here. A friend—for now. She rested in his arms, distantly aware of the comforting scent of his cologne, the languid, slimly muscled grace with which he held her.
She turned her head, resting her cheek upon his shirt, damp with tears she couldn’t remember crying. “All Daphne wanted,” she whispered, dismayed to hear bitterness spill over into her voice, “was to see her sons graduate from high school. She didn’t make it. Why couldn’t God have arranged that, Jonah? Was she asking too much?”
“I don’t know.” His voice trembled, but his hand continued to gently stroke the scarf tied around her head. “Don’t you think I’ve asked myself the same questions? Dad would say God works in ways we can’t understand.”
“Daphne should have listened to me.” Jacquelyn abruptly pulled away and met his wet eyes. “She wasn’t eating right. I offered her some of my algae capsules, but she was content to go on, trusting God and you, her doctor—”
“Jacquelyn, don’t.” Jonah flinched at the accusation in her tone, and she knew her words had lacerated him. She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he had hurt her more than she would ever let him know. And truth was truth. Daphne had stood back and allowed cancer to invade her body—
“Do you think she wanted this? Do you think I wanted this?” Jonah’s voice was harsh and raw. “We did everything medically possible. And I even prayed—”
“With your daddy’s faith.” She stepped back, throwing the words at him like stones. “Secondhand faith is no good, Jonah. And life isn’t that simple. You can’t just pray cancer away. You have to fight it.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt to stifle some emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. “Jacquelyn, I understand that you’re angry—about Daphne and maybe even about the way I treated you in the office today. And I know you’re worried about your own cancer. But you’ve got to believe that together we’ve made the right decisions. We can’t save every patient—sometimes we just can’t fix things.”
“But God’s supposed to!” A wave of unfathomable, unrealized fury erupted from within her, almost choking her voice. “God was supposed to heal my mother! And I asked Him to heal Daphne. How can I know He’ll heal me? Either my prayers aren’t working, or God is as ticked off at me as I am at Him!”
“Maybe He’s mad at all of us.” Jonah’s features hardened. “But I won’t have you saying things like this in this house. Daphne’s husband and sons deserve better. They knew their mother was ready to die. You’re angry and afraid, but Daphne wasn’t. She always said God’s perfect love casts out fear—”
“Shut up, Jonah! I’m tired of hearing you quote other Christians.” She pressed her hand over her face, shielding her burning, tired eyes. Like a receding tide, her anger ebbed away, leaving her engulfed in weariness and despair. With a long sigh, she backed away toward the front door.
“I’m tired of everything.” She shook her head, stumbling over words and her own confused feelings. “I want to go home and sleep…or something. I want my dog.”
“Jacquelyn, wait.” Jonah stepped toward her with an expression on his face that looked like love, but couldn’t be. Her mind reeled in confusion as she pulled the door open, urging her feet to hurry out into the night.
“Jacquelyn!” She scarcely recognized the aching, husky voice that called her name as she sprinted down the sidewalk toward her car. She could ignore him; Jonah wouldn’t follow. He would call the funeral home, fill out the paperwork, sign the death certificate and call the minister to comfort Daphne’s grieving family. In a few hours, when the sun had risen and he had caught a few hours of sleep, the memory of their brief embrace would vanish like a ghost at dawn. He wouldn’t remember; she was no more important to him than any other patient.
Fighting back tears, Jacquelyn fumbled in her purse for her keys and hoped she would forget about him as easily.
Go after her. Stop running.
“I can’t.” He stood in the dark doorway and listened to the sound of Jacquelyn slamming her car door. In the sound of her curt goodbye he had heard a final dismissal. She needed comfort, but she wanted to find it at her home with that goofy dog. She did not want him.
It was for the best. Dr. Kastner had been decidedly cool to him ever since returning from his weekend convention, and before leaving work tonight he’d stopped in Jonah’s office and mentioned that tomorrow they’d have to meet to discuss “a matter of some importance.”
Jonah had heard that line before. The rumors caught up to him faster here than in his other positions, but that was okay. He had already decided to leave.
But the people inside this house had no share in his personal misery. In their eyes he was the doctor who had failed Daphne, and it was time to go in and carry his portion of the burden.
He left the quiet of the night shadows and went back into the house.
What was she doing?
Jacquelyn’s hands trembled as she fumbled with the keys. The ignition seemed to have changed shape and form since she’d last been in the car. Her gaze clouded with tears of frustration.
“Why can’t I get this blasted thing in?” she cried, slamming the jammed key with the brunt of her palm. The blow made her wince in pain, but the key finally slid into the slot.
“Jacquelyn Elisa Wilkes,” she moaned, rubbing her injured palm as she lowered her head to the steering wheel. “Can’t you do anything right?”
As if in answer, the blackened sky above opened. A flash of lightning lit the eastern horizon behind the Redfields’ house, hanging to the earth for a dramatic second before it disappeared, leaving only a pelting rain that drummed overhead on roof of her car.
A storm—how fitting. Daphne had died, and the hope inside Jacquelyn had died with her. And so the earth wept with Joe Redfield and the two boys who no longer had a mother.
But Jacquelyn couldn’t cry, not now. She turned the key in the ignition, threw the car in gear and backed out of the driveway, pausing only long enough to fumble with the switches for her headlights and windshield wipers. The merciful rain blurred the house outside her window, and she pressed her foot to the accelerator, eager to leave the nightmare of this night behind.
What was she to do? Jonah Martin had never said he loved her, had never given her any verbal assurance. Except from the light peck on her forehead this morning—was it only this morning?—he had never even kissed her. Unless you counted that dinner he’d won through that silly bet, they had never even been out on a date.
So why did a rock fall through her heart at the thought of his defeated face? A light had disappeared from his eyes tonight, and for the first time she realized that he might be as distressed by Daphne’s death as she was.
Fatigue oozed from every pore; she was tired, that’s all. She’d feel better and think more clearly in the light of morning. And tomorrow Jonah would have buried thoughts of Daphne in that dark place where he kept all the secrets of his past.
She coasted to a stop at an intersection and gave the rain-washed road a perfunctory glance. No one was coming, no one but criminals and ministering angels went out at this hour of the night. Looking left, she jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, then felt the car rise and fall in a barely perceptible lurch.
She’d hit something.
Blood slid through her veins like cold needles as she slammed on the brakes. Merciful heavens, what could have been on the road at this hour? She hadn’t seen anything, but she hadn’t really been looking, either. Had a vagrant lain down by the side of the road? This was a quiet stretch, with a vacant lot on one side and an orange grove on the other. There were no houses, no all-night diners, no reason for anyone to be near.
She shoved the gear into Park, then clawed at the door handle and let herself out. Rain slashed against her skin and scarf as she ran in front of her streaming headlights, then rounded to the passenger’s side of the car.
No one there. She slumped in relief. Only a dark lump behind the front tire, probably a hunk of wood or rubber, maybe a wad of clothing that had blown off the back of someone’s pick up truck.
It moved. Cold air brushed across the backs of Jacquelyn’s legs, and her scalp tingled beneath her damp scarf. What is it?
Kneeling on the asphalt, she strained to see through the darkness and the blowing rain. And then, above the sound of the raindrops pounding on the car, a strangled meowing wail broke her heart.
“Oh, you poor kitty.” Jacquelyn crept forward and cautiously lowered her hands to the animal’s fur. The black cat opened wide green eyes, looked directly at her and rasped another pitiful wail.
Caught up in a sickening sensation of guilt, Jacquelyn gathered the injured animal into her wet and trembling hands. Holding it close to the warmth of her body, she ran to the front of the car and knelt in the wavering beams of the head lights. With the care she’d have shown a wounded child, she lowered the animal to the asphalt and ran her hands over the cat’s torn fur. The animal was literally spilling into her hands, there was no help she could give it, she had no tools, no bandages….
“God, why?”
The cat wore no collar, no tag. She felt wetness between her fingers and lifted her hands to the light, only to see that they were undeniably stained with the crimson dye of blood.
“No,” she told the cat in her most authoritative voice. “Nothing else will die tonight. You’re going to hang on until I can get you to the vet, and then someone will take care of you.”
In one swift movement she unwound the scarf from her head, then unfolded it and slid it under the animal. Using it as a bandage of sorts, she wrapped it around the animal’s belly and tied it with a swift, sure knot.
“Ready, kitty? I’m going to lift you now.”
There was no answering meow, no sound or movement from the animal. As the rough asphalt bit into her knees and elbows, Jacquelyn knelt on the road and lifted the cat’s head, stroking its nose, begging. “Come on, breathe! Open those eyes again, let me know you’re with me!”
Somewhere behind her lightning cracked the skies apart, and the rain pooled into darkly reflecting mirrors on the glistening asphalt of the road. The animal made no sound. Tears blinded Jacquelyn’s eyes and choked her voice. She was helpless. Always helpless, unable to save even one of the simplest of God’s creatures…
“Jacquelyn!”
Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her, spinning her around and pulling her away from the injured cat. With every ounce of her strength she resisted the man who repeatedly called her name, pounding his chest with her blood-streaked hands until she could cry no more.
Her head bowed, her body slumped in despair, and she finally surrendered and held tight to the doctor in the raincoat.
Jonah moved silently through Jackie’s house, stopping finally in the small powder room near the foyer. He paused before the mirror and ran his fingers through his wet hair, realizing that he looked almost as worn as Jacquelyn. He’d put on a fresh shirt and jeans that he always carried in his car for emergencies like this one, but he wasn’t about to take the liberty of rummaging through Jacquelyn’s closet to find dry clothes for her. He wasn’t certain what her mood would be when she awakened, but he was willing to bet she wouldn’t be thrilled to find him in her house.
As much as he wanted to stay, he was going home.
Knowing how upset she was, he had followed her from the Redfields’ house as soon as he could get away. Fear like the quick, hot touch of the devil shot through him when he saw her car turned at that odd angle on the wet road. He experienced a gamut of emotions when he saw her kneeling on the pavement, and his stomach tightened when he heard the faint thread of hysteria in her voice as she tried to coax life back into a dead cat. It didn’t take a psychologist to understand why the accident had upset her so. Even if Daphne hadn’t just died, Jackie had an extremely tender heart for animals.
Jacquelyn had, in fact, a tender heart for almost everything, and Jonah marveled that he hadn’t seen the depth of her compassion before. Despite the cloak of self-protective habits she wore in the office, tonight he had seen her deep concern for a patient, and her grief when that patient lost the battle. He had also noticed—though he hadn’t wanted to—the way her body flowed toward his when she came into his arms for comfort. He had behaved like a fool and muttered inanities, but it was hard to remain coherent when he stood close to her. Just the feel of her in his arms had sent his pulses spinning.
He snapped off the light and went back to the living room where Jackie lay asleep on the couch. Out on the road, she had calmed down after he had promised to take care of the cat, and she actually let him put her in his car while he went and bundled the animal in his raincoat. He placed the animal in the backseat, pulled Jackie’s car off the road and out of the way, locked it, and then drove her home.
Not once did she speak during the drive. She sat as still as a statue, her eyes closed, her arms crossed over her chest, fending off some invisible enemy he couldn’t see. She had even seemed to understand why he’d brought her inside the house instead of dropping her off and leaving her to fend for herself. “I don’t want you to think that I’m weak or crazy,” she said, pausing at the top of the steps to look him straight in the eye. “I’m not.”
“I know you’re not,” he answered, holding out his hand for her key. “This night has been rough on all of us.”
“The cat?” she asked, staring at the door.
“I’ll bury it tomorrow.”
She nodded slowly, then fumbled in her purse and handed him a key ring. After opening the door, he led her to the couch, still covered in sheets and a blanket from the long night before. She lay down almost automatically and closed her eyes. He thought he might have to give her a sedative to help her sleep, but she immediately withdrew from him into a shallow doze.
Now Jonah found that he didn’t want to leave her, but for the sake of her honor, he needed to go. But he’d be back in the morning. He’d come back anytime she called, if he could.
The rising sun had swallowed up the wind and rain, leaving the morning quiet and still. Jonah opened the door to Jackie’s house, then let Bailey out into the yard to romp while he searched for a shovel in Jacquelyn’s garage. Within half an hour he had buried the cat and placed garden stones over it to keep Bailey’s digging paws at bay.
When he returned to the house, the romping dog on his heels, Jacquelyn had awakened. She sat on the couch, the remaining coppery strands of her hair tangled and wild about her face, unspoken pain alive and glowing in her eyes.
“Good morning.”
She lifted her chin in answer. “Thanks for taking Bailey out. And…thanks for bringing me home. I wasn’t myself last night. I didn’t know I would be affected like that.” Her eyes misted. “Daphne was special.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did you—did you spend the night here?”
“Don’t worry, I slept in my own bed.” He took a seat in the wing chair across from her and rested his arms on his knees. Bailey, his tail swaying like a lion’s, sauntered over and rested his majestic head in his mistress’s lap.
Her hand fell possessively on the dog’s muzzle, but her eyes didn’t leave Jonah’s face. “I’m sorry. I must have sounded like a heretic or something, but last night was rough. I just don’t understand why God allows some things to happen the way they do.”
“Wiser men than I have been trying to figure that one out for generations.” Jonah heard the dryness in his voice. Two days with little sleep were bearing down on him; he hadn’t been this tired since his residency days. He’d have to go home and sleep for a couple of hours, but first he’d have to call the office and stall Kastner. And there was something else—
“I almost forgot, I have something for you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope Joe Redfield had given him after Daphne’s death. “I would have given it to you last night, but you left too quickly. It’s a letter from Daphne.”
Surprise siphoned the morning blush from her face. “For me?”
He nodded and slid it over the coffee table toward her. “I’ll go feed Bailey while you read it. Just tell me where you keep the Monster Mash, and I’ll mix up something for him.”
“In a big plastic bowl under the kitchen sink,” she answered, her sleepy eyes fastened to the envelope. “He gets three cups for breakfast with a big dollop of plain yogurt. The yogurt’s in the fridge.”
Jonah nodded and rose from the chair, whistling for the dog. Lured by the promise of breakfast, the mastiff took one more look at his somber mistress, then bounded away and followed Jonah into the kitchen.