Secrets or Surrender

by Mary Tribbey

Secrets or Surrender

  Mary Tribbey

  Copyright 2012 Mary Tribbey

  ISBN: 9781301513802

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Author’s Notes

  Secrets or Surrender

  Chapter 1

  Joan sank deeper into the soft leather cushions of the small corner booth in the plush dining room of Adam's Rib Restaurant and sighed. Although it was her favorite restaurant and was located less than five miles from the small apartment she had recently moved into, she rarely ate there. The food and service were excellent, but, because of their high prices, she only went there when she was celebrating something special. Tonight was no exception.

  The biggest difference between tonight and other celebrations was Suzy’s absence. Normally Suzy, her roommate of the last two years, would have joined her to make it a festive occasion; but, two months ago, Suzy had married Larry and moved to Tucson. For years, Suzy had been her closest and her only real friend. Joan's first thought, after Mr. Johnson called her into his office that morning and told her he was promoting her to office manager, was to call Suzy. Suzy was thrilled to hear her news, but Suzy wasn't around to help her celebrate.

  Joan sighed when she realized she couldn't think of anyone else she wanted to invite to share the celebration with her. At Susie's urging, she had promised, for old times’ sake, to treat herself to a meal at Adam's Rib. Thinking about being alone and trying to celebrate her recent promotion to office manager at the auto parts supply house where she had worked for nearly 8 months, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

  A feeling of warmth and relaxation engulfed her, as she finished the last sip of wine on the small table. The efficient waiter had already cleared off the dishes that a few minutes before had held a succulent prime rib dinner. Joan pulled out a small notebook from her purse and dug down to the bottom compartment to retrieve a pen. Setting the glass off to the side of the table, she opened the book and scanned the notes she had written earlier that day.

  As a part-time freelance writer and a lifelong people watcher, Joan had often filled in time after a good meal, or even after a mediocre one, with jotting down descriptions of people she observed. It helped her flesh out stories she wrote, and it made her feel less self-conscious about dining alone in a restaurant. With a shake of her head, she forced her attention back to the notebook. Joan quickly read the notes she had jotted down about her next travel article on the bike paths along the Pacific Coast.

  She turned to a fresh page, because she just didn't feel like working on the travel article tonight. Over the last two years, she had had several articles published in some magazines. But getting a series of travel articles published in Sunset magazine was her biggest success to date. Joan amended, with a rueful smile; they were the most successful things written by George Adkinson. George Adkinson was the pen name she used on all her work. Joan remembered the thrill she felt when the acceptance check from Sunset Magazine had arrived for George. She had rushed out to buy the magazine as soon as it reached the newsstand. There it was "Favorite Weekend Vacation Spots in Santa Barbara” by George Adkinson.

  Seeing his name in print, Joan felt a stab of regret that her real name was not on it, but she knew that using a pseudonym was the best way she could keep her past a secret. Keeping everyone from learning her true identity was nearly an obsession with her. The thought of having to pull up her tenuous roots and start all over again in a new place depressed her.

  She forced her attention back to the present. Since the pay at the store where she worked was still low, Joan was thankful for the extra money the articles brought in, no matter whose name was printed on them. Shaking herself mentally, she glanced around the room at the people seated at the tables in the cozy dining room. As her gaze drifted past the plush surroundings, she subconsciously noticed the tall narrow leafed ficus plants scattered around the room. They blended in with the dark wood paneling and the cream colored leather upholstery to create an impression of elegant opulence.

  In one corner a stylishly dressed middle-aged woman sat chatting with a distinguished looking gentleman. She smiled as her gaze lingered on the pair. It was reassuring to see a couple looking so contented. It seemed like in Hollywood the only marriage news covered locally was a constant parade of movie and television stars who were feuding or splitting up.

  Joan noticed a group of five men seated around a large table near the center of the room. They were all impressive looking men. Three of them were black; the other two were white. It wasn't their coloring or their clothes that caught her attention. It was their size. They were by far the largest men she'd ever seen together in one group. They were all easily 6 feet tall and very husky, although none of them looked fat.

  They all appeared to be in their mid-twenties and in good physical condition. Their shoulders, arms, and necks were very broad and muscular, but they didn't appear to be the bulging-muscled bodybuilder types that hung out at the beaches around Venice. That overdeveloped muscle-bound type looked grotesque to her. None of these men looked like that. Except for the smallest, none of them would be called handsome, but all were clean and neat and nice looking in their own ways. They were dressed casually: some in sweaters and others in sports jackets. Joan watched them as they talked, laughed, and ate together.

  One of the men was considerably smaller than the others, but no one would have ever dared to call him little. He was almost 6 feet tall, possibly even taller. His shoulders and arms were well-developed, but not as bulky as the others. Joan quickly began jotting down notes about them. She carefully observed each one and then wrote a quick sketch of them individually. Then she began describing the way they were interacting. Joan felt a stab of envy as she watched the easy way they laughed and talked together. It made her acutely aware of her solitary existence. “How wonderful it would be to be part of a group like that,” Joan thought wistfully. Joan shook herself out of her reverie and drank the last of her coffee. She quickly reread her notes, folded her napkin, and began getting ready to leave. She pulled a $20 bill out of her wallet and laid it on the tray with her tab.

  As she waited for the waiter to pick up the money, her attention kept returning to the men at the other table. The smallest one who sat diagonally across from her glanced up. As she watched him, she decided he had a ruggedly handsome face. His dark brown hair was combed back away from his forehead and framed the strong features of his face. When his dark eyes momentarily met hers, Joan glanced down self-consciously. When she looked up again, his attention had returned to his companions. Joan snuck another look in his direction. Somehow his eyes haunted her, and he looked familiar, but she pushed the thought out of her mind.

  Joan had just put on her jacket, when a commotion at the other table attracted her attention. The laughing had stopped, and the men were all staring at their smaller companion. He was coughing and appeared to be chokin
g. As she watched, he stood and began gasping for breath and clutching his throat. Joan took it all in with one horrified glance. She watched as his face changed from flushed red to white. The other men just stared helplessly as he sank back into his chair.

  Joan sprang out of her chair, nearly upsetting it in her haste. Without thinking, she rushed across to where he sat. By the time he had crumpled into his chair, Joan was by his side.

  “Are you choking?” she asked.

  He couldn't speak, but he kept pointing at his throat. As she watched, he slumped down, and appeared to lose consciousness. His body went limp, and his breathing stopped.

  Joan knew she had only minutes to save him from death or permanent brain damage. It was obvious, like a terrible recurring nightmare from her childhood, that he had choked on something and it had lodged in his throat. Without waiting, she ordered the two men on either side of him to lift him up. As soon as they hoisted him to his feet, she stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle and put her clasped hands at the point just below his rib cage. Clutching her hands together in front of him, she made a fist and quickly jerked her hands up, forcing her fists into his diaphragm. Nothing! Joan summoned all her strength and jabbed her clenched hands into his diaphragm again. Still nothing happened! One more time, she repeated the jerking motion. A soft popping sound alerted her that the food had become dislodged.

  “Lower him down into the chair,” she ordered. Quickly she opened his mouth and pulled out the piece of meat he had choked on, and tossed it onto the table. She put her face down close to his mouth. There was no breath coming out. His windpipe had been obstructed so long; it had caused his breathing to stop. Joan touched the pulse point at his throat. She couldn't feel anything. She lowered her ear down to his chest and listened, but she didn’t hear any heartbeats. Joan hurried into action again.

  “Call an ambulance!” she yelled. “Now lay him down on the floor on his back.” She knelt down, tilted his chin back, pinched his nostrils together, and began giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over and over again, she gulped in air and forced it from her lungs into his mouth, watching his chest rising and falling with each breath.

  “Can you help me?” she asked the white man who had lowered him to the floor.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  “Kneel down across from me,” she ordered. He immediately knelt down.

  “Put your hands together like this,” she demonstrated. She put her hands on the prone man’s chest just below his rib cage. “Watch this,” she ordered. She pushed three times, forcing the heel of her hand about 2 inches into his chest. “When I say go, push three times into his chest like I did,” Joan bent over, pinched the victim’s nostrils shut, and started breathing into him. When she lifted her mouth to take another breath, she said, “Go, now.” She continued breathing for him and taking new breaths as the man did the chest compressions.

  After a few minutes, she stopped and put her ear against his chest. She said, “Thank God, it’s beating. You can stop pressing his chest.” She continued forcing air into his mouth. It seemed like she'd been working on him for hours, but it was only about 10 minutes total.

  By the time the paramedics arrived, the man’s skin color had nearly returned to normal, and he had begun to breathe on his own. One time, his eyelids had flickered open briefly, and Joan noticed how dark and beautiful they looked before they closed again. There were small flecks of gold floating in their brown depths.

  The paramedics pushed their way through the people who had gathered around. They quickly took over and put an oxygen mask on his face. They called to the hospital and began an IV. They lifted the man up and put him on a gurney. The man began moving. He was confused and tried to pull off the oxygen mask. He started struggling and tried to get up. The man who had helped Joan do the chest compressions said, “Stop, Dave. You’ve had an accident. Let them help you.” He looked at his friend and settled down. The paramedics insisted he should go to the hospital to be checked out.

  “Don't you understand? You were clinically dead before we got here! If it weren’t for this young lady, you'd be dead now or have massive brain damage. You need to be checked at the hospital to make sure everything is all right,” the first paramedic explained.

  “You are really lucky she was here and knew what to do or you probably wouldn't have made it,” the other paramedic said as he strapped him to the gurney.

  As he lay on the stretcher, he turned and looked at her. When he reached out his hand towards her, she took his hand and squeezed it. He pulled her closer, and his lips formed a word. She couldn't hear what he murmured.

  “What?” she asked. “I can’t hear you.”

  When his mouth moved again, she leaned closer to hear him better. He raised his head off the stretcher and planted a soft kiss against her lips. She felt suddenly very timid and pulled away. Then the paramedics quickly pushed their way through the crowd and loaded him into the ambulance.

  Joan sank down into the closest chair. The stocky white man, who had been helping with the chest compressions, quickly took charge. He told his three companions to follow the ambulance.

  “I'll meet you there in a few minutes after I take care of things here,” he added,

  He took out several bills and threw them on the table. When he looked around, he noticed Joan’s face was pale, and her lower lip began to tremble.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quickly.

  “No, I've got to get out of here,” she mumbled as a crowd of people began pressing around her. He took her arm, grabbed her purse off the table, pushed through the curious bystanders, and led her outside. Once there, the trembling started. She stumbled and closed her eyes as her surroundings begin to tilt. Suddenly a strong arm went around her and held her steady while the dizziness passed. She shivered and buried her face against the warm strength of his chest and began to cry. He held her gently while she sobbed.

  A group of curious people were beginning to gather around them. Sensing her growing nervousness, he quickly led her away from the crowd towards his car in the dimly lit parking lot. Once around the corner of the building, he paused.

  “It's all right. He's going to be fine, thanks to you,” he soothed. “Don't cry”

  “I can't help it,” she stammered. “It isn't him,” she sobbed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It's a long story.” she mumbled.

  “I’ve got the time, if you feel like talking,” he added softly. “Are you feeling better? Are you all right now?”

  Joan shook her head. “I don't know,” she managed to say.

  His arms stayed loosely around her shoulders. “You were wonderful in there. I don't know what we would have done. None of us knew what to do. How did you know? Are you a nurse or something?” he asked.

  Joan shook her head and tried to pull away. “No, but I’ve seen it before,” she added, tears still running down her cheeks.

  “Are you going to be all right now?” he asked.

  “I feel so stupid,” she moaned. “Look, I’ve drenched your shirt and sweater. Are you in the habit of lending your shoulder to weeping women?”

  “No, but you can use it any time. You saved my best friend’s life. How did you know what to do?” he asked again.

  A look of pain flashed across her face as she began speaking. “When I was about six years old, my father and I were in a café. He swallowed something wrong and began choking. I didn't understand what was happening. No one knew what to do. By the time help arrived, it was too late. He was already dead,” she gulped. “I vowed I'd never stand by and let that happen again. As soon as I was old enough to enroll in CPR classes, I did. It’s come in handy before. I don't ever want anyone to die needlessly again,” she vowed softly.

  He held her, comforting her with the strength of his arms. He gently stroked her hair until she gathered herself together again.
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  “What a terrible thing to have had happen to someone so young,” he exclaimed. “What an awful experience for you and your mother.”

  “My mother died just after I was born. My dad was all the family I had,” she added quietly.

  That’s even worse,” he said. He hugged her close again and held her gently for a few seconds

  “I think I'm all right now,” she whispered softly.

  “I think you're more than just all right. I think what you did in there was super!” He added. His arm tightened around her shoulder briefly, and then he slowly released her.

  “My car is right here. Get inside. We need to get to the hospital.”

  Joan pulled away, “No!” she exclaimed. “I'm not going anywhere but home. I have my own car over there.”

  “Please come to the hospital with me, or follow me there. I know Dave will want to talk to you, to thank you for what you did for him,” he urged.

  “No!” she explained. “No hospitals. I hate everything about them. Because of…of past things, I just can't go there. I’m not able to force myself to go into one, not even to visit a friend. I know I must sound like a terrible coward, but I just can't face going there.”

  “Okay, I don’t really understand, but the last thing I want to do is upset you again, but I know Dave is going to want to thank you personally,” he said.

  “Please just drop it. I didn't do it for thanks or rewards. It was for my dad and me. I'm sure that sounds weird, but that's the way I feel,” Joan added softly.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. “Where do you live??”

  “I…I…uh…I don’t… I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that. I don’t even know who you are,” she stammered.

  “I'm sorry! You probably think I'm some kind of weirdo. My name is Lyle Gordon. Do you recognize my name?” he inquired.

  “No. Should I?” she asked.

  Lyle answered, “I guess not, but I play center on the Los Angeles Rams football team, and a lot of people recognize my name. Do you know who you just saved from dying?” Lyle asked.

  Joan shook her head. “Someone you called Dave. That's all I know; but I would've done it for anyone. It really didn't matter to me who he was.”

  “Well, it really mattered to a lot of people, sweet lady. You just saved the life of David Allen, probably the greatest quarterback the Los Angeles Rams ever had. He's by far the most famous football player in the United States right now, and the nicest guy I've ever known. If he had died tonight, I don’t know what I would've done. He's my best friend. He was Best Man at my wedding and is Godfather to my sons. My kids would never have gotten over it. They both adore Dave. You have to let me do something for you,” he pleaded.

  “My name is Joan, Joan Marshall, but I don't need anything. I don't want any fuss or anything. Please, just drop it,” she stammered.

  “I can't just forget what you did for Dave and me. Well, Joan, if you won't go to see Dave in the hospital, I have an idea. Please let me give you tickets to next Sunday's game. My wife Cindy always comes to the home games. I know she'll want to meet you. If nothing else, you could see what a great player Dave is. Please come! It would really mean a lot to me. You did so much for me today, for my family, for Dave, and for all of his friends.” As he dug in his wallet, he asked, “Do you have a husband or boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Why are you asking that?” Joan asked suspiciously.

  “Sorry. Nothing sinister intended,” he chuckled. “I just thought if you had a boyfriend or husband, I’d give you two tickets. Don't worry. I am a very happily married man. I'm not trying to pick you up.”

  “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a suspicious person, but with no boyfriend, no husband, being single, and living alone, it makes me extra cautious. I'm also a very private person. I'm sorry I reacted so suspiciously,” she added quietly.

  “That’s okay. I understand completely. I'd want my wife Cindy to be just as cautious as you when it came to giving information to a stranger. There are a lot of crazy people running around loose. Are you sure you won't come to the hospital with me? I know Dave is going to want to see you,” he informed her as he handed her the ticket.

  “I'm sorry. I can't,” she answered quickly. “All I want to do is go home and lie down.”

  “Let me walk you to your car. Which one is it?” he asked.

  “It’s that old blue VW over there,” she indicated, pointing to a corner of the parking lot. He kept his hand on her arm as he guided her across the uneven ground to her car. She unlocked the door. Before she got in, he gave her another hug and a kiss on the cheek. When she was inside, he pushed down the door lock button.

  “Promise me you’ll use your ticket. This $20 is to pay for your transportation and some food while you are at the game. It would mean a lot to Dave and me if you come to the game. Please, Joan, promise me you’ll come on Sunday,” he pleaded.

  “I can't take this money,” she argued. “I didn’t do this for money or rewards.”

  “The money isn't important, but if you still feel that way, you can return it to my wife at the game. She’ll be there, and she would love to make a new friend. She's been so lonesome since we moved away from her family in Georgia. Please, promise you’ll come,” Lyle added.

  “Well, I've never been to a professional football game. I guess it might be interesting. Okay, I'll be there. Now can I go home?” she asked with a low laugh.

  “Yes, you may, Joan, now that you've promised,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Goodnight. Thanks again for the shoulder to cry on,” she added.

  “Anytime,” he said as she pulled away, “Drive carefully. See you on Sunday.”

  Joan waved, and pulled away from him and the parking place, heading for the exit. He watched her drive to the exit. While she sat there waiting for a break in traffic, he pulled out a pen and jotted down her car's license plate number. “Just in case you don't show up,” he muttered to himself. “We may need to find you some day.” He watched as her car turned north and moved out of sight. He went back into the restaurant to gather up Dave’s jacket. As he was starting to leave, the waiter asked if the woman who helped was still around.

  “No, she left a few minutes ago. Why do you ask?” he queried.

  “After all the excitement, I found a notebook under the table where she’d been sitting. I remember she’d been writing in it earlier; so I'm sure it belongs to her. I just wanted to return it,” he explained.

  “Does she come here often?” Lyle asked.

  “I've never seen her here before,” he answered.

  “I’ll be seeing her on Sunday. I can give it to her then,” Lyle explained. He took the notebook, picked up Dave’s jacket, and left the restaurant.

  Lyle walked straight up to the reception desk at the hospital emergency room entrance. He started to ask about Dave when he spotted Henry Washington standing about halfway down the hallway talking to a cute black nurse. He quickly strode over to join them.

  “Henry, have you heard anything about Dave? Is he all right?” Lyle asked.

  “They haven't told us anything yet. They took him into the main examining room as soon as the ambulance arrived. He was talking and seemed like he wanted out of here. I guess that's a good sign,” he added, flashing a smile at the nurse.

  “When can we find out what his condition is?” Lyle asked the nurse.

  “I don't know. I’ll go see if I can get some information for you. I'll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. Henry watched her walk away and said quietly, “What a dreamy girl. I think she likes me. I’m going to get her phone number before I leave here tonight,” Henry added. As she disappeared into the examining room, Jordan and Alonso came strolling up with cups of steaming hot coffee in their hands. Jordan offered a cup to Lyle, but he waved it aside.

  “I don't usually like hospitals, but they sure do have some cute nurses here,” Henry
leered as he watched another nurse disappear down the long hallway. “I wouldn't mind some TLC from that one.”

  “Henry, you’re hopeless. Are women all you think about?” Alonso asked.

  “No, I think about food, too. Food and women, that's two things I can't seem to get enough of,” he chuckled.

  “It looks like Lyle did a little more than just think about women. What’s Cindy going to say about that lipstick on your shirt collar?” Jordan asked, pointing at Lyle's right shoulder.

  “I thought Henry was a fast worker, but it looks like Lyle found more action than Henry tonight.” Alonso added.

  “Hey, man. You’re ruining my reputation as number one flirt, and you’re a happily married man,” Henry cautioned.

  “I wonder what Dave will say when he finds out, while he was out of commission, Lyle made a successful pass!” Henry quipped.

  “All right, you guys! That's enough kidding! Someone had to take care of things at the restaurant. If you weren’t such a bunch of clowns, I’d tell you the whole story, but I will personally knock the block off anyone who says anything bad about the lady who saved Dave’s life. She’s a special woman. If you ever tease her about this, I swear you'll regret it,” Lyle snarled.

  “Calm down. We didn't mean anything by it. We were just kidding around. Don't get so sore,” Henry apologized.

  “I'm sorry. This business about Dave really got to me. If she hadn't been there, he'd be dead. That thought scares the hell out of me. What if she hadn’t been there…” Lyle stammered.

  “We all know how you feel. I never felt so stupid or helpless in my life. She was terrific! I wish I'd thought to thank her, but I was so shocked, I didn't think about anything but getting Dave to the hospital,” Jordan admitted.

  “You know how we all feel about Dave. We were only blowing off steam to break the tension. My nerves are shot. I never realized how quickly something like this could happen! God bless her! I don't understand how anyone could know how to react as quickly or as calmly she did. She sure took charge. She saved his life!” Henry said.

  “I tried to get her to come to the hospital, but she was pretty shook up about it, and she said she couldn't face coming here. I know Dave is going to want to thank her, but I couldn't talk her into coming.” Lyle admitted.

  “I'd like to thank her, too,” Alonso added. “Dave’s been a real friend to me. He's such a great guy.”

  “Well, maybe you guys will get a chance to thank her, but not tonight,” Lyle hinted.

  “When?” Henry asked.

  “That's all I'm going to tell you until I know anything more definite. What's taking them so long in there? Do you suppose something’s gone wrong?” Lyle asked.

  “Calm down, Lyle. We’ve only been here a few minutes. Things take time in an emergency room! You've had knee surgery. You know how long everything takes when it comes to doctors and hospitals,” Jordan teased.

  “Yeah, they figure the longer it takes, the more they can charge,” Henry quipped.

  “Dave will be upset that she isn't here.” Alonso fretted.

  “I know, but I'll take care of Dave,” Lyle said.