by Robyn Carr
Page 44
Author: Robyn Carr
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “While I was in Oregon I was doing a little consulting work for the county—background checks, looking for people who had skipped bond or owed money. It was more field work than just computer searches and it wasn’t bad. Actually, I kind of liked it. More of a place-holder than career field, but it works for me. . . . I’m getting that damn commendation, though,” she added, straightening and lifting her chin. “I earned it. ”
“And I’ll be there,” he said. And then, deflating slightly, he added, “Unless I embarrass you. . . ”
“If you’d like to go, I’ll take you,” she said with a smile.
“Anything could happen, you know,” he informed her. “I could forget where I am. I could pee in your boss’s wastepaper basket. I could cry or babble or think you’re my wife and not my daughter. . . . ”
“If you want to go, I’ll take you. I’d be very proud. ”
“I’d be proud, too—maybe I could go with you,” Pax said from the doorway. He was dressed in scrubs, as though he’d just made an escape from the hospital. He leaned in the doorway and smiled. “Maybe the whole family will go and make a reunion of it?” he suggested.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, standing.
“We’re here for a little chat,” he said. At just that moment, Genevieve came up behind him, putting her hands on Pax’s upper arms and smiling her most gentle smile. And then Mrs. Mulligrew joined them in the doorway. “And to deliver this,” he said, holding an envelope toward her.
Laine reached for the envelope and found a couple of boarding passes inside. The first was from Boston to Seattle, the second was a small commuter that would take her North Bend, just an hour from Thunder Point. “This flight is today. I can’t leave,” she said. “Senior needs me. ”
“Sit down, Lainie. This was Dad’s suggestion. We’ve got it all taken care of,” Pax said.
“What’s taken care of?” Senior asked.
“Oh, see, whatever scheme this is, it’s not going to work. I can’t leave. ”
“Sit down, Lainie,” Genevieve said. “We’ll explain, you throw a few things into a suitcases or two and head for home. Where your heart is. Literally. ”
After they all explained their idea for Senior’s care, though it sounded well-planned, she was still reluctant. “What if this doesn’t work?” she asked.
“It’ll work—we’re all on board. And if we have to make adjustments, we’ll make adjustments,” Pax said. “Dad?” he asked.
“Dad, if you don’t want me to go, I won’t go,” Laine said.
“Lainie, I don’t want it to be so long until you come home again. ”
“Of course not,” she said.
“And I want to go to that award thing. Where is it? Is it far?”
She shook her head and felt tears come. “It’s not far. And I want you to be there, Dad. ” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you very soon. ”
* * *
At first there was barely enough time to text or call Eric. Her first opportunity was when she was waiting for her plane to board and that’s when she thought that surprising him would be so wonderful. After all, she’d only known for a couple of hours herself. But Eric being Eric might get a little worried if he couldn’t reach her and he did have phone numbers for Senior’s house and Pax’s cell phone. So she texted him that she was very busy, company at the house, lots going on and would call later. Possibly it would be late. She could get in to Thunder Point via rental car before 9:00 p. m.
She relaxed.
While Pax was taking her suitcases to the cab, he told her that Senior had called him. “He said something like, I don’t know what I’d do without Laine right now, but I can’t have her devote her life to my illness. Do something. Work something out. Find some help so she feels she can leave. Of course, he would remember saying that for about ten minutes, but he was both lucid and earnest at the time. ”
And the solution was right under their noses. When Pax asked Mrs. Mulligrew if she knew of anyone who could serve as a live-in attendant she said, “Me and my husband would do it. We kept his auntie Borgia when she was infirm. We kept her for seven years. We know our way around some old folks. And we have the help of the kids. They’ve been helping us for years. I’d have offered sooner but I was thinkin’ you wanted some licensed folks who wear white. . . . ” Licensed folks who wore white? One of the Mulligrew sons was an EMT, another was a school teacher, their daughter had been going back to college post-divorce to study social work.
It was interesting to Laine that she could take on a case of human trafficking or domestic terrorism and go through the steps, line up the evidence, secure a warrant, go undercover or tap a line and yet when it came to nursing care for her own father, she felt completely helpless. Mrs. Mulligrew and her husband had been like a part of the family for years! When Janice Carrington had been so ill, Mrs. Mulligrew was always close at hand in case she was needed. When there were heavy jobs she couldn’t manage alone, like moving furniture for painters or paperhangers, her grown children were glad to help for the extra income. Mr. and Mrs. Mulligrew had been dependable house sitters for many years.
At the moment, the Mulligrews’ divorced daughter and her three children were living in their home, trying to get back on their feet, and Mrs. Mulligrew said she and her husband would be more than happy to move in with Dr. Carrington and keep an eye on things. They’d still need some home nursing help, “But you can be sure there won’t be no pot smoking in the backyard, Lainie,” she said.
Why Laine had not seen this potential solution, she wasn’t sure. Maybe just the fact that she was inexperienced in this. Or maybe it was her terrible fear of making a mistake with her father’s care. It appeared things might work. Surely there would be issues now and again, interruptions in their routines, but Pax and Genevieve and Laine and Eric could live their lives for the most part.
It was a very long day of flying. It seemed forever before she saw the town and she had to concentrate not to burn rubber all the way to her house. She was not surprised that it was dark—Eric always worked late, especially when she was not around. She was fine with that—she’d light the place up! She dragged her suitcases inside and began asking herself—shall I let him find me on the deck with a fire? In the tub? Maybe just naked in the bed. . .
But something was wrong. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she couldn’t smell him. She couldn’t smell his aftershave or his last meal. Everything smelled like fresh cleaning supplies. She turned on lights and it was shiny clean, not so much as a speck of dust or smear of glass cleaner—but the house was so empty. No shoes on the stairs waiting to be carried up to the closet. No towels on the washer waiting for the next load. And no dishes in the dishwasher?
Reluctantly, filled with trepidation, she went to the master bedroom. Again, so tidy. Eric was orderly and neat, but vacuum tracks on the carpet? She went to the closet and. . . Oh. My. God. One lone winter shirt hung there. A couple of wool trousers kept it company. Her heart hammering, she flew into the bathroom and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. His shaving kit was gone. His toothbrush stood stoically alone in the toothbrush caddy.
Gone? Without a word?
A million possibilities shot through her mind, none of them good. Had he found himself a house he preferred? One he liked better? Was he seeing someone? Someone who, like she had, was collecting one piece of his clothing at a time? But why had he never mentioned he didn’t live here? Why hadn’t he said. . . ?
Her first instinct was to call him and ask him what was going on, but she’d become too sneaky as an agent; wherever he was now living, she intended to catch him there. And she felt a need to look into those beautiful green eyes for the truth. Instead of calling, she left the rental car in the drive and walked the few short blocks to his station, which was still lit up. She recognized Al, pumping gas and cleaning off a
windshield. She’d heard from Eric that Al had left, that he had returned. . . .
“Laine!” Al said, grabbing her in his big bearlike embrace. “When did you get here?”
“Just a little while ago, but I can’t find Eric,” she said. “Al, please be straight with me—where is he?”
Al seemed to get a pained look on his face and ran a hand nervously around the back of his neck, a wince on his face. “Honey, he doesn’t talk about it, but I’ve seen him heading in the direction of the Coastline. I sent him home early tonight—I told him I’d lock up. ”
“Why?” she asked. “Oh, Al, is there a woman there?”
“I can’t imagine that, honey. When I checked out of the Coastline, I think he kept that room he used to live in. He didn’t say anything to you?”
“I talked to him three or four times a day,” she said, shaking her head.
“He didn’t say you were coming back today. . . . ”
“He didn’t know,” she said. She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I guess I should go find out what Mr. Lucky does when he’s off work. At the Coastline. ”
“Ah, Laine. . . ”
She turned and regarded him coolly. “Yeah?”
“Welcome home,” he said.
“Thanks. ” And then she walked away.
It was a short walk to the motel. There were more cars there than she usually saw, but that might be due to the start of summer. She knew the room number and knew that Eric had never kept a car there. His three vehicles—two classics and his SUV—took up residence at the station. She knocked on the door, ready to get to the bottom of this. Although her instincts told her there had never been any reason to suspect Eric of anything wrong, there was a tiny part of her ready to see a floozy with bad roots in a push-up bra and garter belt. . . . She wasn’t sure where he would find one of those, but—
“Just a sec,” he yelled.
Hiding the floozy under the bed. . .
He threw the door open and the shock on his face was absolutely carved in stone. Pale, hard stone. His green eyes glittered, his mouth dropped open, he was frozen motionless as if trying to figure out if she was real. And then suddenly he grabbed her, pulled her hard against him, buried his mouth in her neck and groaned, “Laine,” in a throaty whisper. “God, Laine. ” He pulled her into the room, kicked the door closed and held her so tight she could barely breathe. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting,” she gasped out. “Eric, what are you doing here? You moved out of our house!” She pulled back a little bit, enough to look at his eyes. “You took everything and moved out! Why? Are you done with us? Are you seeing someone?”
“What?” he asked. Then he laughed and picked her up, whirled her around and threw her on the bed, then pounced on top of her. “Another woman?” he asked. “Oh, you ruined that option for me a long time ago. ”
“Then why are you here?” she asked again. “Why aren’t you home?”
“I don’t know—it was too big. Too quiet. If I’d known you were coming today, I would’ve gotten my stuff back in there and waited for you. It was hard to be there alone—it was just too. . . ” And he shrugged.
“But, Eric, I told you I’d be back!”
“Not lately, you didn’t. It seemed like every time I talked to you your dad’s condition got more complicated and the help you needed further out of reach. I didn’t want you worrying about me, too, so I just slowly moved back in here. I didn’t really mean to, but. . . I went home, though. Almost every day. But when I slept there. . . ” He shook his head. “It wasn’t the same place without you. Especially late at night. . . ”
