Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance)

by Beverly Taylor

  Abruptly, Phoebe’s smile faded.

  Katharine gathered from Phoebe’s rigid expression that leaving a deposit or something would be asked of her. Actually, Katharine wanted to ask what the woman and the girl looked like, but decided against it. “Never mind. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” She picked up the manila folder and escorted Phoebe to the front entrance.

  Asheville, Katharine thought as Phoebe disappeared from sight. The place where they’d spent their honeymoon. How could he? Why had he gone there with Cindy? She’d pondered the thought some more, and then it became clear to her.

  “That home-wrecking hussy,” she said to the air as she entered her office and closed the door. The wedding pictures, the divorce and marriage papers . . . . It was all starting to add up. Cindy was a scurvy little spider spinning a web of lies and deceit.

  She needed to talk to Carson. No telling what other schemes Cindy had concocted. Almost fully, though not one-hundred percent convinced, she pieced it together—Cindy, a sneaky, conniving, hissing snake—the lowest form of existence. But she’d have to put more thought into it first.

  Chapter 37

  All night Katharine could think of nothing but the future of the O’Connors at the hands of a venomous Gaboon-Tree viper—the most beautiful and explosive of rattlesnakes. It was a perfect summation of Cindy.

  She opened the front door to retrieve the morning newspaper. In a few minutes, she’d have to get the children off to school. She tossed the paper on the kitchen countertop. Her hand trembled as she reached for the glass of water and raised it to her lips and sipped. She poured the remaining into the sink and left the empty glass in the stainless steel bowl. She sank into a chair, slumped forward and held her stomach. A queasy feeling overtook her. She wasn’t sure if it was from abandoning yesterday’s lunch and dinner or the shocking information about Cindy. Deciding it was a combination of both, she forced herself up and searched for the keys in her purse.

  CJ and Bethany waived at Katharine as they boarded the school bus. She waived back and paused for the bus to leave before returning home to get dressed for work.

  Katharine’s skin felt strange to her fingers as she splashed cold water over her face. Her fingertips seemed to have become extra-sensitized, as if she could feel every pore of her skin. She gazed at herself in the mirror as she dried her face and brushed back her hair, holding it at the nape of her neck with one hand and reaching for a clip with the other. Her eyes fell to her breasts. It was as though she’d become someone else, and she simply could not recognize the woman reflected in the mirror.

  How, she wondered, could she have done such an unnatural thing? Her hand trembled, and she dropped her hairbrush. Earlier, she’d dropped the soap. Her hands wouldn’t work properly. Oddly, her lower lip was quivering too. Something was wrong. She felt a surge of panic.

  For the past several weeks, Katharine had experienced a variety of unusual health problems, including a breakout of hives, a sensation of warmth, and cramping. She’d also suffered more headaches than usual.

  Sadie had begged Katharine to return to Dr. Cordova, but she’d shaken it off, attributing the headaches to her marital woes and the other symptoms to delayed side effects of her surgery that would soon go away. Sometimes they did, but in an hour or so, they would return. Now, though, she felt much worse, too ill to go to work. She was trembling and could hardly breathe. She started to call Sadie but decided against it. Sadie would give her the I told you so judgment, which now was not the time for it.

  She thought about calling Carson. She wanted to ask him about Asheville, about the divorce decree and the marriage certificate, but she could hardly tell a man who might be married to Cindy that she was ill.

  Natalie. The thought had crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Her head was beginning to spin and she felt almost too weak to stand, but somehow she managed to press the buttons to call Freeman’s number. His answering machine picked up.

  “Hi, Walt. It’s Katharine.” Her voice quivered. “Call me back as soon as you get this message. Thanks.” She fumbled to place the receiver in the cradle, but her fingers were growing numb. The phone fell to the floor.

  The room started spinning. Katharine closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead, and tried to focus her vision, but the room spun faster like a high-flying carnival ride.

  Suddenly the room went pitch black.

  * * *

  As soon as he’d received the message, Freeman returned Katharine’s call, only to get a busy signal. After calling several times back to back getting the same busy signal, he had a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. She sounded distressed. His detective instincts told him something wasn’t right. He rushed to his car and, moments later, pulled into Katharine’s driveway.

  He rang the doorbell three times, impatiently. When she didn’t answer, he raced around to the back of the house. He knocked again and turned the doorknob, but the door was locked. After looking through the windows and finding that everything looked normal, he returned to the front door. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He drew his gun and crept through the house.

  When he reached her bedroom, he found her lying crumpled on the floor. He felt for a pulse, found one, barely, and immediately called in a nine-one-one STAT. The ambulance arrived within minutes, and the paramedics carried her on a stretcher to the ambulance. Freeman followed in his unmarked car, with his headlights flashing and his siren wailing.

  At the hospital, the paramedics hustled Katharine onto a gurney and into the emergency room. Freeman tried to follow, but a nurse intercepted and directed him into a waiting room.

  “I’d like to be with her, if you don’t mind,” Freeman said, straining to watch the disappearing gurney.

  “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait out here. She’s getting the best medical attention possible.”

  Freeman nodded and sat down for a few minutes, tapping his fingers against his leg, but the waiting seemed interminable. He began to pace.

  After about an hour, a doctor came out of the emergency room and walked up to him. “Mr. O’Connor?”

  Freeman didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want the doctor to send him away without telling him what was wrong, either. “What’s happened to her?” He listened quietly, intently, as the doctor began his explanation.

  “It appears she’s had an allergic reaction to the silicone in the implants,” the doctor said. “Allergic reactions can cause symptoms ranging from swelling and watery eyes to vomiting, diarrhea, and loss of consciousness, which has obviously happened in this case. Some individuals have what’s called a biphasic reaction, systems that go away but return two or three hours later.” He looked at Freeman resolutely. “Other than the loss of consciousness, has your wife experienced any of these symptoms?”

  Freeman’s heart skipped a beat. Your wife had a nice ring to it, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He shook his head. “No, sir. Not to my knowledge.”

  “Has she had any difficulty breathing? Any cramping or loss in blood pressure?”

  “Not that I know of. I—I still don’t really understand what’s happened to her.”

  The doctor glanced at him sympathetically. “Let me see if I can break this down for you in civilian language.”

  “Please do,” Freeman said.

  The physician placed his hand on Freeman’s shoulder, led him to a chair, and took the empty seat next to him. “The silicone has acted as an antigen—a substance that causes the immune system to produce antibodies against it.” He paused to observe Freeman’s expression. “Are you following me?”

  “You mean her body is rejecting the implants?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “As you probably know, the immune system produces antibodies in response to foreign substances such as chemicals, viruses, or bacteria that may threaten the body.” He paused again. “Are you still with me?”

  Freeman nodded.

  “Mysterious symptoms that resemble arthritis, fibromyalgia, and/or immu
ne dysfunction seem to be associated with implants. Also, typical symptoms associated with silicone include dryness in the mouth, kidneys, eyes, and lungs. Other indications include joint and muscle pain, incapacitating fatigue, swollen lymph glands, skin problems, headaches, and central nervous system disorders similar to multiple sclerosis.

  “So what’s the end result, doctor? I mean, what’s her prognosis?”

  “Well, the first thing we’ll have to do is to remove the implants. From the looks of the X-rays, they appear to be leaking.” He looked around the room as if contemplating his next sentence. “We want to take her into surgery as soon as possible before the implants rupture. The symptoms I just described tend to go away when the implants are removed.” He studied Freeman’s face and smiled kindly. “There’s no need to be nervous, Mr. O’Connor. We have a highly skilled plastic surgeon on staff, and I’m confident Mrs. O’Connor will recover one hundred percent under his care.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Freeman said. All he really wanted to do was to just hold Katharine in his arms and assure her everything would turn out right.

  The doctor shook Freeman’s hand and left him alone to reflect on the diagnosis.

  Freeman prayed silently, knowing that God specialized in miracles and healing.

  He spent several long moments gathering the courage to phone Carson only to be informed that Mr. O’Connor was in a meeting. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  “Please, ma’am. Can you get a message to him right away? It’s an emergency.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Tell him his wife is in the ER at Scarsborough General Hospital.” He hung up.

  Chapter 38

  Cindy had successfully avoided Carson since his return from Los Angeles. Her plan was perfectly intact. So far, everything had fallen into place.

  She burst through the main door of the Weekly, rushing to the security desk as if her business took precedence over anything else.

  “Good afternoon,” said the security guard behind the desk, who was monitoring several miniature televisions and simultaneously watching the door. “Sign in, please.”

  “Please, I need to see Carson O’Connor right away,” Cindy said in a shaking voice. She blew her nose into a tissue that came away smudged by her bronze-colored lipstick but otherwise unsoiled. She bunched it in her hand.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the security guard answered. “Please sign the register.” He lifted a pen attached to the sign-in clipboard by a beaded chain.

  Cindy’s hand shook as she scribbled her name on the ruled line.

  “Mr. O’Connor’s office is on the nineteenth floor,” the guard informed her, not realizing she knew the way perfectly well. “The elevators to floors ten through nineteen are to your left.”

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered, continuing her masquerade.

  As she turned to leave, the guard asked, “Ma’am, are you okay? Would you like an escort?”

  “No, thank you.” She sniffed to add dramatic effect and began walking. Within seconds, she was around the corner and out of the guard’s sight.

  The up-arrow button was already illuminated. When the elevator door opened, three other people got in with her. When the last person got out on the sixteenth floor, Cindy rumpled her collar and her skirt to make it look as if she were involved in a struggle of sort.

  She burst from the opening doors of the elevator and rushed over to the front desk. “I need to see Carson O’Connor, right away. It’s an emergency. I’m a friend of his. I’ve just read some dreadful lies about him and his wife. I ran all the way here—four blocks—to tell him. I can’t believe someone would stoop so low—”

  The blonde receptionist cut her off. “Mr. O’Connor is away from the office, Ms.—”

  “Lomax. Cynthia Lomax.”

  “Uh, Mr. O’Connor is out of the office, Ms. Lomax,” the woman repeated. “I’m not sure when he’ll return.”

  Cindy gazed at the woman and said in a calmer voice, “Oh, I see. Well, can you tell me the location of his appointment? It’s very important.” She put on a look of grave concern.

  “Mr. O’Connor is at Scarsborough General Hospital. His wife is in intensive care.”

  Stunned, Cindy gulped the air. “What?” Her brows crinkled. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Cindy stared at the golden haired busty blonde, wondering if she knew more than she cared to admit. Since it would’ve been useless to drill the woman for more information, she just said, “Thank you.” She hurried out of the building to her car and sped through the busy downtown streets, anxious to get to the ICU. All sorts of ideas were traveling through her thoughts. Maybe she was in a bad car accident, or she probably caught a severe case of food poisoning. When the most obvious notion struck her, she choked back a deep breath. Oh, God, she screamed within. The Ledger! Katharine read the article and had a heart attack behind it! The divorce decree, marriage certificate and photos were probably the icing on the cake. Her heart couldn’t take it.

  Cindy gripped the steering wheel with one hand and covered her mouth tightly with the other.

  * * *

  Deanna was eating a salad when her mother called to share the news that Katharine had been hospitalized. Without answering, Deanna dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate.

  “What was that?”

  “My fork!” Deanna angrily pushed her plate aside. “Why can’t she just die? It would make all our lives easier.” What if Carson deserted her and Cindy and went back to his family because his wife was hurt or ill?

  “Deanna!” Cindy snapped. “You should never wish death on anyone. Now take it back and ask God for forgiveness.”

  Deanna made a huffing sound but didn’t answer.

  “I mean it, Deanna! Take it back, right now!”

  Deanna sucked her teeth. “Forgive me, Lord,” she said insincerely, but it seemed to satisfy Cindy.

  “That’s better.” Cindy said. “I love you too much to have anything happen to you. I just couldn’t bear losing you like I did Norman.”

  Regretting that she’d stirred up such a painful memory, Deanna, now that she’d started her menstrual cycle, decided to remind her mother that they’d planned to discuss sex that evening. She had to turn the disturbing conversation away from her dad.

  “Now that I’ve finally gotten my nerve up,” she pretended, “I was looking forward to an open talk with you about dating and birth control—you know—the whole sex scene.”

  In fact, Deanna didn’t need the talk. Her grandmother had been candid about the subject, advocating abstinence before marriage and giving Deanna biblical references to support her position. Like her grandmother, Deanna clung to the quaint notion that virtue was a deterrent to premarital sex. But Deanna’s intention to save sex for marriage had nothing to do with the Bible. In truth, she didn’t want to gain her mother’s dating reputation.

  Chapter 39

  Cindy parked the car and entered the hospital, making haste along the busy corridors past scurrying nurses and Hispanic cleaning ladies lyrically murmuring to each other in their native language over their buckets. She first sought Carson’s arrival. She wanted to console him, but when she couldn’t find him, she arrived at the Information desk. After acquiring Katharine’s room number, relieved to learn she wasn’t in the ICU after all, she headed directly into her room in the emergency ward. The ER desk staff was reviewing paperwork and too preoccupied to notice her.

  She tiptoed to the bed. Katharine’s eyes were closed. A tube had been inserted into her mouth, held in place by a patch of white tape across her lips. Smaller tubes had been placed in her nostrils. Wires and conduits and catheters attached to various machines disappeared beneath the sheet covering her.

  Cindy reached out to take Katharine’s hand. It was cold, unresponsive.

  The familiar atmosphere sent Cindy back in time so that she seemed to be standing beside Norman’s bed. All his flesh had been eaten a
way from the inside out, his face emaciated. His hand, all bones, was closed around hers, cold and unyielding as metal.

  Months earlier, she learned the prognosis—inoperable cancer had spread through his kidneys, bowels and rapidly moving elsewhere throughout his body. But they’d given him treatments—chemotherapy and radiation to arrest the cancer’s progress.

  Her life changed into a nightmare of hospital visits and aborted outings with Deanna.

  And what had it all done to Deanna? “You don’t love me anymore, Daddy,” she’d cried, rejecting comfort, refusing explanations, rebuffing embraces. “Why won’t you get well and come home?” And from that time to this, Cindy could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Deanna had allowed anyone to show her affection. Instead, she’d found comfort in high-calorie food.

  At thirty-eight, he’d looked eighty. His hair had fallen out after the chemotherapy. The doctors had discontinued everything but the painkillers. Then he died. Norman was dead.

  Cindy broke free from her memory. Her eyes focused on Katharine, who met her gaze and returned it. A shudder passed through her.

  “How dare you!” Katharine whispered, hardly able to talk with the plastic tube in her mouth.

  Cindy’s heart began to pound. She pulled her hand from Katharine’s and wiped her sweating palms on her skirt. Her stomach felt weightless.

  She stared at Katharine but said nothing. A little voice in her head told her to pull the plugs from the wall outlet, but she ignored it. She might be a lot of things, but she wasn’t a murderer.

  Katharine began to move convulsively, and the machine showing her heart rate began to beep loudly and rapidly.

  Fearing that her mere presence had thrown Katharine into cardiac arrest, Cindy darted from the room. She hadn’t intended on it happening this way. Her intentions were actually to comfort Carson. By her being there, it would’ve proven to him how much she loves him. But now that Katharine saw her, she couldn’t possibly stay. If she’d made her presence known, she would be blamed for Katharine’s declining illness or even her death.