“What would you say to God if you prayed in your own works?” Kelly asked finally, her patience tried. “June, you go first, you’ve done better prayers than Janet tonight.”
Bradley, about to walk away from the doorway where he’d remained unnoticed, turned back when he heard his young daughter’s plea. “Please God, find Uncle Jared. He missed Janet’s and my birthday. He said he’d bring us our own Damselfly Nymph computer game, but he didn’t come.”
“That’s my prayer, too!” Janet chimed. “Uncle Jared promised!”
“That’s enough, girls. Make the sign of cross and get into your beds,” Kelly said, obviously frustrated by the twins’ materialism. “You’re not supposed to pray for things.”
“Well, why not?” Janet started to ask, then noticed her father in the doorway. “Daddy!” she squealed and raised her arms for a hug. Caught, Bradley forced a cheerful smile, came into the pink and white polka dotted room, and kissed each of the children goodnight.
“I guess I’d better go find your Uncle Jared and make an honest man out of him,” Bradley teased, swallowing the concern burning in his throat.
“You can’t just go popping in on him at this hour of night,” Kelly scolded, following her husband into the hallway where Bradley was already pulling a sweatshirt over his head.
“It’s only eight-thirty, not late unless you have kids,” he said, though he’d never popped in on Jared before, in fact, hadn’t even seen Jared’s new house. He knew Jared moved out of his condo and into a substantial home in a prestigious section of Palo Alto about six months before. Usually, he saw him at the office, or when Jared came to a social invitation at their home in Burlingame. Jared had never missed an invitation to see the girls. Until now.
“He’s not answering his phone,” Bradley said, trying again. “Serves him right if he doesn’t want unexpected pop-ins.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Bradley Lawton parked his BMW in front of Jared’s house, surprised to see everything aglow, the huge, stately house all lit up inside and out, the lawn and gardens moist and well tended. He felt anger mix with relief. He’d expected to find the house looking dark and unoccupied. He didn’t know what to think now that he knew Jared was probably inside, not gone AWOL at all. Anger, he decided, he felt anger that Jared was ignoring him.
Strutting up to the front door, he impatiently pressed the doorbell three times and banged the heavy black doorknocker. Served him right if Jared was annoyed by his noisy persistence. His annoyance with Jared outweighed anything Jared could possibly feel.
“You’re late… Oh…” The last thing he expected to see was the pretty, laughing face of Marta Lewski when the door finally opened. Music played in the background and the sound of voices carried from the living room to the front door. What the hell? Jared had never been party person. Was this even the right address?
“I’m looking for Jared Wise,” he said apologetically.
“Who are you?” Marta asked suspiciously. “Are you a doctor?”
“Is this the home of Jared Wise?” Bradley asked again. “I’m looking for Jared Wise. Am I in the right place?”
“Yes, yes, he’s here,” Marta said, but rather than invite him inside, she stood shocked still in the doorway. “What do you want?” she stuttered, her beautiful face marred by the glow of imperfection cast by her guilty conscience and her fear of having been discovered.
“Tell Jared that Bradley Lawton is here,” Bradley said, suspicious of the party atmosphere and the beautiful young woman who looked much like the cat who’d just swallowed the canary. The only thing missing were yellow feathers hanging out of her lipstick coated mouth.
“Actually, Jared’s been in an accident. I’m Marta Lewski, his live-in nurse,” Marta managed to squeak. By then, Fred and Cassandra, along with Kaitleen’s friend Julius, had gathered on the entranceway marble to see what was going on. They’d been expecting Kaitleen to join them at any minute, and thought the doorbell was her ringing, though she had her own key. Julius held a half filled highball glass and raised it towards Bradley.
“Come on in,” Julius invited. “Can I get you a drink? Jared’s asleep. We’re his care team, hired by his Aunt Margaret. Come on in, we’ll explain it to you inside.”
Just then Kaitleen drove up, parking an older model Nissan Maxima behind Bradley’s BMW. She rushed to the doorway carrying bags of groceries. “Sorry I’m late,” she gushed breathlessly before noticing the visitor. “Oh…” Like Marta, she stopped before finishing her sentence and looked just as guilty, though not nearly as pretty.
“This is Jared’s friend,” Julius quickly explained, gaining control of the situation before Kaitleen could say something stupid. “We’re about to reconvene in the living room to fill him in on Jared’s status. Apparently, Jared’s Aunt Margaret hasn’t informed Jared’s friends about his accident.”
Bradley’s thoughts raced a mile minute. Aunt Margaret? Jared never talked about having an Aunt Margaret. He talked about Pappy as his only living relative. Then there was Maggie, Jared’s friend from Boston, apparently the nanny who’d raised him. He’d met Maggie last year. She’d been visiting when the twins had their third birthday and Jared had brought her to their birthday party. No, Bradley Lawton was positive that Jared Wise did not have an Aunt Margaret. But, he was willing to play along for the time being, as long as he could see Jared and ascertain how he was doing. An accident? He felt the worm twist in his stomach. Something felt very, very fishy.
He followed the five caregivers into Jared’s living room where they turned off the music and offered him a seat on the leather couch along with the offer of a drink. “Water,” he said, with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t intend to stay long. If I could just talk with Jared for a few minutes, then I can be on my way.”
“Let me check on him,” Marta said. “I’ll be right back. She hastened down the hallway to Jared’s room where, once there, she expertly drew medication up into a syringe, an intramuscular sedative that she silently injected into Jared’s lateral thigh without waking him up. She wasn’t taking any chances that Jared would wake up enough to talk to his visitor.
On returning to the living room, she announced, “Well, he’s still sleeping soundly. He’s had a head injury from the accident. You can see him, but don’t worry if he sleeps through your visit.” Her eyes passed from Bradley to the others who relaxed noticeably when she appeared calm.
“Come on, follow me,” she invited, leading Bradley Lawton to Jared’s bedside.
Chapter Sixteen
As soon as I get home from my hike, I immediately update my dating profile and add hiking and wine tasting to my list of activities. Thinking back to some dating advice from Anne, my new mentor and coach, I’ve decided to change my approach. Rather than waiting for random men to select me, I’ll do the selecting. “More proactive,” Anne advised. Before getting started I check my messages. Surprisingly, four new men have selected me. I can’t help the dizzying excitement that floods me. During my short absence, I’ve become popular!
I gather Isabella onto my lap, petting her enthusiastically while I sort. I add two of the new profiles to my overflowing in basket, the other two go in with the fatal drag and drops. This so exciting! I know in my heart of hearts that it’s superficial richness, but I can’t help the rushing sense of euphoria.
Fortunately, before the thrill goes to my head, the creepy image of Sal the snake sneaks though the gray matter of my brain. The effect slaps me back to my senses. Flashing caution signs replace the image of the serpent, reminding me that I’ll probably have to meet a lot of frogs before finding my one special prince. I laugh out loud, and Isabella casts me a quizzical glance. “Let the frog shopping begin,” I tell her.
I fix a simple supper of tuna fish and pickles, separating out the tuna juice for Isabella who meows like crazy to thank me, while I mull over my options. Then, after I eat and clear away my sandwich crumbs, I send out my first proactive inquiry. I’ve selected a good-looking man n
amed Stan who says he is five-feet-ten inches tall, forty years old, and works as a free-lance investigative reporter and writer. He describes himself as someone who works hard, plays hard. Among his activities he’s included both hiking and wine tasting; says he’s looking for a serious-minded, attractive woman in my age range for a long-term romantic relationship that could lead to marriage and children. Oh-oh, I’m falling in love already.
By the time I’ve watched some TV, talked to my sister Serena on the phone, have taken a long soak in my bubble bath, brushed my teeth, and cozened up in my favorite pajamas, I have an email reply back from Stan. He wants to meet for lunch tomorrow, suggests a Thai Restaurant in Santa Row Shopping Center, and says he loves my attractive photo. I zip off a message accepting his invitation, and with newfound hope and excitement in my heart, I retreat to my bedroom where I try to read something serious, but find my imagination and fantasies have already derailed my common sense.
Just before dozing off, my cell phone rings, startling me, filling me with dread. I’m not used to late night phone calls since I’m new here and don’t really know many people. Glancing at the caller ID screen, I’m surprised to see the name Jared Wise.
“Hi, Jared,” I say breathlessly, only to hear a long silence from my caller.
“Hello? hello.. name ... found… phone… bushes… Stanford…” the words come in broken snatches all but promising a dropped call. Then, surprisingly, a better connection while I’m yelling, “Please, don’t hang up.”
He explains his name is Garth and he’s just found Jared’s cell phone. “I was riding my bike to my dorm room at Stanford. Actually, it’d gotten dark and I was fiddling with my headlamp when I fell off my bike. I found this phone just lying there on the ground where I landed. I turned it on and saw it was juiced, so I just redialed the last number called thinking I might be able to locate the owner to give it back.” He explains the exact location to me. I remember that Jared had called my cell phone when we were returning my car to my carport the morning of the accident.
I gush my thanks to him and explain about my accident with Jared on that same street. “Oh thank you so much. Jared’s still recovering, but I can bring him his phone. When can we meet?”
We make arrangements for me to meet him in the morning on campus.
“The school year is over. I just finished finals and I’m packing up, going home to Baltimore tomorrow night,” he explains.
“Great luck,” I say to Isabella as I close up my phone.
*****
“Oh, God, Jared… I had no idea.” Bradley Lawton’s sad dark eyes looked compassionately down at his broken friend whose pale, listless body lay pressed against the mattress, looking like a ghost of his former self, his head propped against three freshly fluffed pillows. Bradley raked his fingers through his dark wavy hair trying to think of something else to say, or something to do. His raking fingers then clutched into a fist and found his mouth, covering it just in time to prevent the strange, strangled pressure forming inside his throat from erupting. Gaining control, he asked, “Can you talk to me? Wake up, Jared.” His hoarse voice sounded distant and pleading.
Jared’s eyes fluttered briefly and his hand made a tiny rumple under the sheet, but Jared was drugged to the world and unable to respond to the sound of his friend’s voice, a sound he’d been waiting to hear.
Not knowing what else to do, Bradley paced in front of Jared’s bed. He looked around the room filled with medical equipment and humming sounds. He wandered over to the dresser where prescription pill bottles were lined up in a row. He didn’t know much about medicine, but he picked the brown plastic bottles up, examining one after another, recognizing the names of some; the pain pills, anti-anxieties, antibiotics, vitamins, calcium, sleeping pills and sedatives. Others he’d never heard of before. Then he saw a familiar name: Dr. Mark Matthews, the neurologist. Mark Matthews, who was Bradley Lawton’s friend and golf buddy, was Jared’s attending neurologist.
On seeing Mark’s name, Bradley relaxed. He stopped pacing and returned to Jared’s bedside. “Your in good hands buddy. Don’t worry about a thing,” he said, feeling relieved, positive that he was right. Maybe he’d be able to sleep tonight after all. Tomorrow he’d call Mark and let him know that he was Jared’s closest friend, and hear first hand how Jared was progressing.
*****
Morning comes all too soon. All the fresh air from hiking yesterday must have worn me out. I hustle through my shower, anxious to meet Garth, anxious to get hold of Jared’s cell phone, though I don’t know why. I don’t know any of his people, it’s out of my hands, and Jared probably still can’t talk much. Still, I feel like progress is being made.
I pour coffee into my red, insulated, non-spill cup and dash out the door to my Honda. I brush a scant bit of makeup across my cheeks at the first red light, and finish with lipstick at the next. Garth is waiting for me right where he said he’d be, under a tree in the designated quad. He hands me Jared’s phone, we exchange a few brief words about the weather, what a glorious day, and my morning mission is done.
My lunch date? Now that’s another story. I only have about forty-five minutes from collecting Jared’s phone at Stanford until I need to meet Stan at the Thai Restaurant in San Jose, not enough time to take the cell phone over to Jared until later. By the time I find my way to Santana Row, park my car, dash into the restroom to brush my hair and refresh my makeup, it’s time.
Wow! It’s all I can say. Stan stands strong. He looks like one of those body builders with muscles flexed on top of muscles. Of course, unlike body builder’s posing in stretchy shorts and tank tops, Stan wears regular clothes, jeans with a pale blue short-sleeved polo shirt pulled so tight across his bilateral biceps it looks like the fabric might tear, and pulling more tight fabric across his wide, rippled chest. You can see the ripples through the cloth. Arms that long to hold me, I croon silently, remembering that he’s clearly stated that he definitely wants love and marriage with children.
I have never eaten Thai food before, but I’m embarrassed to say so to Stan. Everyone I’ve met since moving here seems so worldly and wise, while I have never even been out of the country. I don’t even own a passport. So, I order something I think might be simple called Chicken Pad Thai with tamarind. He orders Pad Thai with shrimp.
“I see you’re a woman who knows what she likes,” he says for an opening line.
I try to think of something to say, but I feel like a sinner caught in a lie. I begin to stutter, but quickly opt for full disclosure. “Actually, I’ve never eaten Thai food before,” I confess. He seems surprised, but drops the subject.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he says, an open ended question, and I’m not sure where to begin or what’s important to him.
“Well, I’m new to the area. I’m a nurse and will be starting my new job next week at Pacific West Hospital. So far, there’s not much more to say about that. I think I’m going to like working there. I’m already making some friends with other nurses I met when I was hospitalized after the accident.” I realize my blunder as soon as I say it. I really didn’t want to talk about that.
Stan picks it right up. “An accident? Were you driving alone?”
It’s not easy knowing how much to tell a stranger, and I’ve never been good with secrets, so I tell him everything. Well, almost everything. I just blurt it all out in a rush, my broken engagement, my lost dreams, running away to San Jose, and getting into a car accident on my first date with Jared. At least I stop before I admit that my date with Jared began in the evening and lasted overnight with me so drunk I didn’t even know whether or not we’d had sex.
Stan folds his arms on the table and stares at me through kind blue eyes. His blonde hair fringes his eyebrows. His face is tan, his skin clear and unblemished. I can’t believe how good-looking he is, and how easy he is to talk to. And, he’s really, really kind. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot. That’s nice of you to take care of the guy’s cat, too. Isabella
?”
“Yes, Isabella. I’ve actually fallen quite in love with her,” I say, embarrassed that I’ve actually said quite in love. I’m feeling stupid and tongue-tied. I try to shift the focus to him. “Enough about me. Your turn, tell me about you.”
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