Carl had been a friend, and she was going to make certain what happened in the next days and weeks honored his memory and didn’t make a spectacle of the crime.
Dad was in recovery. Get him into ICU, firmly back on the road to recovery, deal with a thousand details from family to press, and after it was all past, then she would stop and let the emotions take over.
“We’re going to make the final decision after the family gets here. Call me back about 1 P.M.. and I’ll let you know details. You can release them then,” she offered, giving him at least something to work with.
“In the meantime, could you send me out copies of all the area newspapers? I want to see how this is playing and correct any inaccuracies I can before they spread. And before you release John’s itinerary, give me a heads up so I know reporters have it.”
“I’ll do that. How’s your father?” Chris asked.
“Still in recovery. We’re not releasing information yet. Anne volunteered to serve as our family spokesperson. I’ll let her release a statement once she gets here.”
Shari spotted Marcus coming from the ICU and cut Chris off. “I have to go. Call me at one.”
The phone closed and tucked in her back pocket, she walked across the hospital hallway to meet Marcus, bringing with her a second cup of coffee she had poured when the nurse told her Marcus was in with Joshua.
He smiled as she drew near. “Your idea of a double hit of caffeine?”
“Double latte this is not,” she agreed, longing for a stop at Starbucks for her normal start to the day. “But in this case, I thought you might need it,” she offered, holding out the cup. “Black. And strong enough to drop an elephant.”
“I’ll risk it,” Marcus said, accepting the Styrofoam cup.
“You haven’t had any sleep yet,” she observed, reaching out to touch his forearm.
“Too much to do. I’ll get around to it later.”
“In that case, I hesitate to ask, but do you have a minute?”
He sipped the coffee, smiled. “Absolutely. What’s happening?”
“I’ve been thinking about who might have had motive to kill Carl.”
The humor disappeared from his gaze. “Go on.”
“There’s a document in my briefcase back at the hotel that I think you should read. It’s a brief, recommending Carl for the court.”
“You wrote it?”
She nodded. “There’s a section that addressed his controversial cases. Some of them sound obscure, but I’ve read the transcripts. I’d like to sit down and go through them with someone.”
“Shari.”
“You said I could help.”
“We are already looking at his past cases.”
“Please. I know them better than his own law clerks. And it would help feeling like I’m doing something. He was a good friend, Marcus.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, then finally nodded. “Later today, after your family is here and settled?”
“Thanks.”
He nodded toward the officer who had been with her all morning. “Is Craig working out okay?”
“He’s been a doll.” And never more than a few feet away even on this well-secured hospital wing. Shari found that . . . interesting. She didn’t want to hear why Marcus considered it necessary.
Marcus winced. “Don’t tell him that.”
She laughed. “I didn’t plan to.”
The floor nurse came to get her. “Shari, your father is being brought down from the recovery room.”
She took a deep breath. The light moment had just been swallowed by reality. She knew seeing her dad was going to be a shock. The surgeon had been down twice to talk with her since Dad had been moved to the recovery room. “Let me get Mom.”
“Shari.”
She looked back at Marcus.
“He’s a fighter. Remember that.”
It helped, just hearing Marcus say those words. Dad would get through this. She had to believe that. She nodded her thanks and went to join her family.
* * *
The hospital chapel was a small room. Shari came seeking relief from the exhausting pressure. The chapel had padded pews and rich red carpet; a simple layout designed for all faiths. The room lights were muted. Shari walked to the front and slipped halfway into the second pew.
Her hands reached for the back of the pew in front of her and she rested her chin on the wood, looking not at the muted watercolor on the wall before her but back in time at memories, at the days before the shooting had occurred.
She pressed her forehead against the mahogany wood of the pew. Would her dad ever wake up? Jesus, I can’t take much more of this. The day was creeping by without change and it was killing her slowly. Please let him wake up and get stronger. I can’t lose him. I can’t.
Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped them away. She couldn’t fall apart. Her family was here, and they had enfolded her in warmth, but they also required her to be strong. She didn’t have any strength left.
She just wanted God to answer her prayer. She was trying not to let fear get the upper hand. God was in control. But as the day progressed with little change, it became harder and harder to pray without sounding desperate.
Her mom was at peace even in the midst of this uncertainty. Shari knew it came from her mom’s own two brushes with death: the heart infection and the mild heart attack. Beth had accepted her life was in God’s direct hands. And facing this crisis was her way to say Bill was in God’s hands and rest at peace.
Try as she might, Shari couldn’t find that same quiet trust and peace. She wanted to wrestle with God like Jacob had done to get the answer she wanted—her father to stabilize. Which was better? The passive, simple trust her mother had, or the intense, this-matters-to-me persistence she felt?
She wished she understood prayer. Two decades as a Christian and she still struggled with it.
Her pager went off. It was her emergency pager; she had shut off her regular one. It was Sam. She waited for the reaction to arrive, the intense emotion at realizing it was him and felt . . . nothing. The upheaval their relationship represented no longer was the emotional swamp it had been before. It was trivial compared to the reality she now had to deal with.
He had called several times during the night and the course of the morning; she had the message slips but had not returned his calls. She would take this page, she finally decided, knowing she needed to talk to him. But not here. She got to her feet. Craig was standing by the door at the back of the chapel.
“Would it be possible for me to just walk around this hospital floor?”
“Sure. Just give me a minute.” He went on the security net and a minute later nodded. “We can circle this concourse, come back around to the waiting room where your family is staying.”
“Thanks.” She placed the call as they walked. “Sam.”
“Shari. Thanks for taking the page.”
It was awkward. “You’ve heard?” She knew he had, but she wanted an excuse not to have to talk about the specifics.
“I’m with John now. How’s your dad?”
“Holding his own.”
“Josh?”
It brought a tired smile. “Already proving to be a bad patient.”
Sam hesitated. “And you?”
Jesus, what do I say? The pain of the past had lost its grip and dropped away. The friendship was still there, under the hurt feelings of the relationship that had failed. And right now she really needed what they had once shared. “It’s been a bad weekend, Sam.” She wished he were here so she could get a hug. He had always been good for a hug.
Windows overlooked a central courtyard. Shari stopped there, rested her forearms against the oak railings, studied the play of sunlight across the grounds.
“How can I help?”
She had known those would be his next words. He had always been a practical man, never more so than when someone was fighting tears. “I’ll need someone at Dad’s law office on Monday to help me w
ith his court calendar, let me know what can be postponed and what has to be transferred.”
“I’ll handle it. What about Josh at the DA’s office?”
“Josh spoke to his boss this morning.”
Sam knew her; he didn’t ask the emotional questions of what had happened. He asked about her family, about things that needed to be done, focusing on the immediate future. They talked for twenty minutes, and it helped more than Sam could ever know.
“It was good to talk to you,” she finally said, relieved to have the past finally feel closed.
“The same. I really would like to come out if you’ll let me.”
“No, it’s okay. Family is here. And it’s more of a relief to know you have things handled back there.”
“If you change your mind, just ask. I’ll call later when I’ve got these details for you. Please tell your family I’m praying for them.”
“I’ll do that.”
After they said good-bye and she hung up, Shari didn’t immediately move.
The sadness was intense. It had gone so wrong with Sam. They should have meshed so well, but it had instead come apart in ragged fashion.
He was one of the best state legislators around, and she had liked him from the first moment John had introduced them. When Sam had asked her out, she had felt so special. And the year going out with him had made her life sweep by.
Sam had been supportive of her work, had listened to her dreams. She wanted with a passion to someday be in politics herself, not just working behind the scenes for someone else. And then the day had come that still haunted her.
Sam had proposed marriage with the assumption that she would stay as the person behind his own political career. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard to accept if he hadn’t also said he wanted to postpone having children.
She had looked at being the wife of a politician and she had loved him enough she had almost said yes. But in the end she had turned him down. And over the painful months that followed had come to resent what he had done. There wasn’t a place for her dreams in his vision of the future, not for a family, not for a career of her own. She had been honest from the beginning and he had heard what he wanted to hear.
She had pushed to have a relationship and what she had gotten was burned. Jesus, I don’t understand what went wrong. I know I made a mistake in that relationship with Sam. Was this again a case of wanting something so badly I didn’t see the problems; I saw only my dreams?
“What’s wrong?”
Marcus had replaced Craig sometime during her reverie. Shari closed her eyes, frustrated. Marcus was seeing her fighting tears again. This was getting embarrassing. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then turned. “Ever have something you wish you could go back and undo?”
He rested his arms against the railing beside her, kindly ignoring her tears. “Shall I count them?”
“Mind naming one?”
“I told my sister Kate I liked her broccoli casserole.”
Caught off guard by his rueful tone, she had to laugh. “You lied.”
“I felt sorry for her. Now I just feel sorry for me. She makes it nearly every time I go over for dinner.”
She needed that. A lighthearted moment in the midst of this mess. “Why don’t you tell her?”
“I’d hate to hurt her feelings.”
“She probably suspects.”
“Knowing Kate, that is more than just probable. But as the years pass, there are some secrets that take on a life of their own.”
“True.”
Shari grew serious and looked at the phone in her hand. “I wish I could change two years ago. Make a yes to a dinner invitation a no. It would have saved so much heartache.”
“You were just talking to him?”
Trust him to assume the truth. She nodded. “It’s hard, picking up the friendship after the relationship falls apart.”
“I know. It can take a lot of apologies on both sides. But it is worth that effort.” He held out his hand. “Want some ice cream? I’ve heard chocolate fixes most problems in life.”
He surprised her again. “You brought ice cream.” He had arranged lunch to be catered in earlier for her family, as there was a large press presence in the cafeteria.
“Guilty. I promised your young cousins Heather and Tracy.”
She took the hand he offered and let him turn her away from the railing and the memories. She would have liked to keep hold of his hand, an embarrassing realization; when he released her hand, she pushed hers into her pocket. “Was this before or after you answered their dozens of questions about being a marshal?”
“I like kids.”
“I noticed.” She tilted her head to one side and glanced up at him. “I don’t suppose you brought cherries to make a sundae.” She was craving a sugar fix right now.
“And whipped topping. The good stuff is in the details.”
“That’s a great line. Could I borrow it and use it someday?”
“Use it? In a speech you mean?”
“Absolutely. Speechwriters love the perfect phrase. Evil empire. Where’s the beef? Nixon’s checkers speech. Every speechwriter dreams of having something they wrote become part of the national lexicon.”
“Anything of yours reach that stature?”
“I’m working on it. I want something funny to be my legacy.”
“Not something profound?”
“There are too many boring politicians. Trust me, I listen to the speeches.” Her mouth quirked in a grin. “Besides, profound isn’t very likely to happen. So I’d rather be remembered for something funny.”
“It’s good to have a dream in life. Someday you’ll figure out that perfect line.”
“You seem certain of that.”
“Trust me, Shari. You’ll think of it.” He paused to let a nurse pass in the crowded hallway. “Is there anything else I can do for your extended family here? Anything else you need?”
“Could you get me the national newspapers? I don’t want the TV on because they are only able to speculate right now and keep repeating what happened.”
“All of the national papers?”
“I’m news starved. I admit it. It’s an election year.”
“And it’s a good distraction for you to have right now.”
She appreciated the fact he understood that. She forced herself to turn back to serious matters. “We’ve got Carl’s funeral arrangements decided.”
“I spoke with your mom before I came to find you. Don’t worry about transportation back to Virginia. There will be assistance for all those kind of details.”
“I appreciate that.” They turned the corner back to the secure wing of the hospital. He reached around her to open the waiting room door for her. She wanted to keep talking with him—she was enjoying the conversation—but the kids came to join her, reaching for her hands.
“I’ll be around, Shari,” Marcus reassured. “And if something comes up, just page.”
She nodded her thanks and had to leave it with a smile as her good-bye.
Chapter Seven
“Jennifer.”
It was 5:45 P.M.. Saturday night, and Marcus had walked out of an update meeting before it concluded, leaving Quinn, Dave, and Mike to handle the last details with Washington. He had to talk to Jennifer before her flight. It was too important a conversation to let this case push it into something done over the phone.
Jennifer turned from where she stood looking at the window display of one of the shops in the hotel main corridor. He could see the fatigue. She had been at the hospital visiting with Shari’s family. He had paged her to come over to the hotel but now wished he had arranged to meet her there instead. His tentative idea that they could get a quiet corner of the restaurant and talk changed to something more practical. Room service would do fine. Kate would be joining them soon.
“Do you mind if we talk upstairs? It will be a lot more private than anywhere else. I promised Kate dinner when the meeting she’s in finally g
ets done, and room service sounds like the best option.”
“I’d prefer that,” Jennifer agreed.
Marcus dug out his room key for the suite on the eighth floor he shared with Quinn and gestured Jennifer to the nearest elevator. “How are things at the hospital? Any change with William?”
“His blood pressure is still fluctuating. That’s not a good sign. But he’s held on this long.”
“Still unconscious?”
Jennifer nodded. “Shari and Beth have been taking turns sitting with him. It’s hard on them, the waiting. But at least Joshua appears to be firmly out of the woods. The doctors are talking about moving him from the ICU sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good—for more reasons than one. He strikes me as a man able to keep Shari from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.”
“You don’t have to listen to her for long before you realize how close the two of them are. But if you think Josh can keep her in line—”
“Okay, she’ll humor him, but she’ll listen to him.”
“That I buy.”
Marcus unlocked the door to room 812 and held it open for Jennifer.
“I can see Quinn is being his normal meticulous housekeeper.” Jennifer picked up two shirts tossed across the living room chair and added them to the stack on top of Quinn’s open suitcase that was dumped by the door of the suite rather than put away in the bedroom.
“Neatness is a virtue I have yet to instill in him,” Marcus replied dryly. With four sisters, he had learned early. “Cut him some slack, his mind has been on other things.”
Marcus flipped closed the stack of files on the couch and put them back in his briefcase so he could sit down. He vaguely remembered reading them Friday afternoon before all this had begun.
“Does Quinn travel anywhere without this hat?” Jennifer picked up the cowboy hat tossed onto the side table and tried it on for size, laughing. “This thing needs to be given a decent burial somewhere. It’s been beaten. And it smells like a horse.”
The Guardian Page 10
