Mother's day

by MacDonald, Patricia J

  Walter smirked at her. “This is perfect,” he said. “I can eliminate the whole lot of you at once. I’ll just tell them I walked into a trap.”

  Karen looked up into his eyes. A weird thought went through her mind. So these are a killer’s eyes. This is what a murderer looks like. He had killed Linda, gunned down her husband. He was ready to crush her and Jenny. An eerie calm spread through her. This is the end, she thought. The Twenty-third Psalm popped into her head. The Lord is my shepherd…

  “Drop the gun, Detective,” boomed a shaky voice.

  Walter’s head jerked up and around. Larry Tillman was standing in the door, his arm outstretched, holding a gun. There were three other cops behind him.

  Walter shook his head. “Larry,” he said, “I’m glad to see you. Look who’s here.” He pointed to Greg’s prostrate, bleeding body. “I was ambushed by these people. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  The redheaded cop kept his gun trained on his mentor. The other officers flanked him, their guns drawn as well. The sound of sirens began to fill the room. Cars were roaring up to the house, and doors were slamming. “We found Phyllis Hodges,” said Larry.

  Karen pushed herself up from the floor. She did not know what they meant about Phyllis Hodges. All she knew was that Walter had let go of her. She crawled over to where Greg was lying. A pool of blood was spreading out beneath her husband. “Please,” she whispered. “Call an ambulance.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  The elevator doors opened and Alice Emery followed by her son, Bill, stepped out onto the third floor of the North Cape Medical Center. Despite the late hour police were milling about on the floor like rescue workers after a disaster. Alice knew the whole story by now. She’d been up doing needlework, her TV tuned to the all-news network, when she had heard the bulletin about Greg and Detective Ference. She had called the police station right away. A boy she knew from high school was a sergeant, and he had pretty well filled her in. Alice scanned the hospital lounge and then walked up to the nurses’ station.

  A dark-skinned nurse with a name tag that read Violet Fisher, R.N., looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to inquire about Mr. Newhall,” said Alice. “How is he doing?”

  “He’s still in the OR,” said the nurse.

  Alice glanced at the clock above the nurse’s desk. “Still?” she exclaimed.

  “Are you family?” the nurse asked.

  Alice hesitated. “No, not really. Well, sort of.” She thought of trying to explain but decided against it. “I’d like to see his family.”

  “They’re not seeing anybody right now,” said the nurse. “No exceptions.” She handed Alice a pad and pencil. “If you want to leave a message, I’ll be glad to tell them you stopped by.”

  “Okay,” said Alice distractedly. “I want them to know I was here.” She wrote her name down on the pad. “Thank you.”

  She walked back toward Bill, who was leaning up against the wall. His hair was uncombed, his eyes still bleary. He had been sound asleep when his mother called to say she wanted to go to the hospital. She wanted Bill to drive her because she was afraid to go by herself that late at night. Glenda had rolled over in bed, grumbling that it was ridiculous, but Bill had not argued. He’d pulled on some clothes and gone to her house to pick her up. She had filled him in on the way over, although he was almost too sleepy to take it all in.

  “What’s the story?” he asked now as Alice rejoined him.

  “He’s still in the operating room. The family doesn’t want to see anyone. They’re in seclusion, I guess you might say.”

  Bill looked at his watch. “God, he’s been in there a long time.”

  Alice nodded.

  Bill poised his finger over the elevator button. “I guess we might as well go?” he asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  Bill pressed the elevator button, and they waited in silence. After a few moments there was a ping, and the doors opened. They rode down alone and walked out of the hospital toward the parking lot. Bill held an umbrella over his mother. It was still drizzling. “I hope he makes it,” Bill said, opening the car door for her.

  Alice slid onto the front seat. “Me, too.”

  Bill walked around to the other side and got in. He shook his head. “I still can’t believe it,” he said. “When I think what Linda went through…” Tears suddenly filled his eyes.

  His mother looked at him askance. “Too bad you didn’t have more pity when she was alive,” she said.

  Bill stared through the rain-spattered windshield, squeezing the car keys in his hand. “I was just so angry with her,” he said. “I didn’t know any of this other stuff, about Dad, and what that bastard Ference was doing to her. All I knew was, I blamed her for ruining my life. And when she came back, that was all I could think of.”

  Alice felt suddenly out of patience with her son. “There’s nothing wrong with your life. You made your own life. If it didn’t turn out the way you wanted it, well, that’s your own doing. You just want to blame everybody else. Honestly, Bill, I feel ashamed of you when I hear you talk that way.”

  Bill did not try to defend himself from her criticism. He did not seem to hear her.

  “What’s so bad about your life, anyway? You have a good job and a fine family,” she reproved him.

  Bill shook his head and seemed oblivious of the tears that were running down his cheeks. “I guess in the back of my mind I was figuring there was time to make up. You know, one day we’d sit down and talk about it, and that would be it. I just wanted to punish her for a while. But there wasn’t time. I never had the chance to tell her…”

  Alice pressed her lips together angrily as he rested his head on his arms, folded over the steering wheel. She stared out at the raindrops and thought about her husband, who had kept his ugly secret all those years. And the price their daughter had paid for it. The ultimate price. And Alice had never suspected. How could she have been so blind, so gullible? She had accepted Jack’s version of the past without question. He was a good husband. It suited me to believe him, she thought. Whenever I wondered, I just made an excuse and went on. The bitter lines of her mouth trembled, and she sighed. She looked over at her son. Then she began to rub his shoulder sympathetically. “Everybody makes mistakes,” she said. “We all wish we could go back sometimes.”

  The hospital had provided a small room where they could wait, out of the range of curious eyes. Even at that late hour reporters wanted to have a crack at them. Even some insomniac patients had come up to their floor, trying to catch a glimpse of them. Karen sat with her eyes closed, but she was wide awake. She clutched her empty teacup in her hands. Jenny moved impatiently from one chair to another, leafing through ancient magazines with no interest.

  They had not been allowed to go into the ambulance with Greg. Technically he was still under arrest, although Chief Matthews had come to the Emergency Room and assured them that Detective Ference was being charged, and that part of their anguish was over. Now, they just had to wait.

  “Mom,” Jenny cried, and Karen’s eyes flew open. “One of the doctors.”

  They both stood up and looked expectantly at the gowned figure who approached them. There was blood speckled all over his scrubs.

  “Is it over?” Karen asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “We’ve run into some problems,” he said.

  Jenny clutched Karen’s forearm. “What sort of problems?” Karen asked.

  “There was a lot of damage to his organs from that bullet, and there’s extensive internal bleeding. This whole thing is complicated by the fact that he had a high fever, probably pneumonia, when he was shot. He’s lost a lot of blood, and unfortunately he’s type AB negative.”

  “Why is that unfortunate?” Karen asked, trying to make her voice sound calm and rational for Jenny’s sake.

  “It’s a rare type, and we’ve about exhausted our supply.”

  Karen nodded, pretending not to be afraid of the im
plications.

  “We’re waiting for some to be sent to us from a blood bank in Boston,” the doctor continued. He looked gravely at Jenny. “The reason I’m telling you all this, is that it would be very helpful if you were able to provide some blood. Being his daughter…”

  “Maybe I have the same type!” Jenny cried.

  “Well, we would like you to be tested “

  “She’s adopted,” Karen said quickly.

  The doctor frowned. “Oh, I see “

  “Mom,” Jenny protested, “he’s my real father.” She turned to the doctor. “Let me be tested.”

  “No,” Karen said sharply. “She’s weak. She’s been through so much.”

  The doctor frowned and rubbed his forehead with his forearm. “Is she his biological daughter?”

  Karen hesitated. “Well…yes.”

  “I wouldn’t ask, but this is a critical situation. Do you know her blood type?”

  Karen opened her hands helplessly. “It was never…I mean, we never needed to…”

  “That’s not unusual with a healthy child,” said the doctor. “Look, time is precious here.”

  Jenny tossed off the sweater she had draped over her shoulders. “Let’s go. I want to be tested.”

  “Honey, don’t feel bad if it…you know, proved to be different. I mean, you could have Linda’s blood type. That’s entirely possible.”

  “I know, Mom. I take biology.”

  “Will you give permission?” asked the doctor.

  Karen nodded numbly.

  “The nurse has forms. Come with me, young lady.”

  Jenny waved to Karen and squared her shoulders. Karen felt an ache in her heart as she watched her go.

  She hadn’t wanted to say it aloud, but a repellent possibility kept rising in her mind. It probably started when she read Linda’s note, and it remained there, permeating her thoughts like some poisonous cloud. Jenny might not have been Greg’s child after all. She might have been fathered by Linda’s assailant. After all, Ference had kept Linda in his thrall until she ran away. It was possible that at the same time she had her brief affair with Greg, she was still being used by Walter. God knew, maybe the whole thing with Greg had been a plan, a way for her to get free of Walter Ference. Maybe she was already pregnant when she slept with Greg and she knew it. Maybe, in her desperation, she took advantage of Greg’s longing for a child. All the awful possibilities tumbled through Karen’s mind as she sat there. No matter what, she would never say • these things to Jenny. She didn’t want to plant that idea in the child’s mind, that she may have been fathered by that monster. But there was no getting around it.

  Nurse Fisher leaned into the room and looked at Karen kindly. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  Karen smiled thinly. “I’m okay.” She looked at her watch. Jenny had been gone so long.

  (“Can I get you some more tea?” the nurse asked. “You’re busy. I’ll get it.” Violet Fisher laughed. “Are you kidding? This is the graveyard shift.”

  Gratefully Karen handed over her cup. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “Try not to worry,” said Violet.

  Karen nodded and resumed her seat.

  Suddenly Jenny burst into the room, pointing proudly to the gauze patch on her arm. “Mom,” she cried. “Look.”

  “Sit down, young lady,” said the blood bank worker who accompanied her. “You need to take it easy.”

  Jenny beamed at Karen. “We’re the same,” she said. “I gave him blood.”

  Karen’s eyes filled with tears and she pulled Jenny to her. Jenny embraced her contentedly. “I think he’s going to be okay, Mom.”

  Karen rested her cheek on the top of Jenny’s head and stroked her silky hair. “I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed, feeling suddenly drained of everything, all feeling. She closed her eyes and thanked God. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, she thanked God that Jenny was Greg’s flesh and blood. “You rest now,” she murmured. Mother and daughter both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Some time later, Violet Fisher shook her shoulder and Karen awoke with a start.

  Jenny let go of her mother and stood up. “How is he?” she demanded.

  “The doctor says you can go in and see him in recovery for a minute, but you can’t stay. He’s very weak,” the nurse said gently.

  Jenny was at the door instantly. “Come on, Mom,” she said.

  Slowly Karen rose to her feet and tucked her shirt into her pants.

  “Hurry,” said Jenny.

  They followed Violet down the hall and stepped past her as she held the door open to the recovery room.

  At first Karen didn’t recognize him. He was as pale as the sheets he lay on, and there were tubes attached to him all over. His blond hair seemed to have faded into gray. There was no doubt the stubble of his beard was coming in gray. His muscled arms, under the thin, short-sleeved johnny coat, looked flaccid and useless, outstretched on the sheets. There were gurgling sounds as he breathed, and his eyes were closed.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Jenny cried, gazing fearfully at the inert figure on the bed.

  He opened his eyes and his gaze moved groggily around the bright, sterile room until it came to rest on Jenny. Then his cracked lips curved into a weak smile. “Hi, baby,” he whispered.

  Jenny rushed to his side and took his hand gently, careful not to disturb the IV tube taped to it, a patch of blood blotched beneath the cloudy, yellow tape. “You’re going to be okay,” she said bravely. “You just have to rest. Everything is going to be okay now.”

  His gaze was fastened to her face, as if he were watching her from a great distance. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved sluggishly.

  “It’s all over now,” she said, and tears filled her eyes. “They know you didn’t do it. So, all you have to do is get well.”

  “Okay,” he whispered. He moved his head with painful slowness on the pillow and looked for Karen, by the door. Their eyes met.

  Karen’s heart twisted inside of her. She knew the bitterness was still in there, but it was overwhelmed by pity at the sight of the pale stillness of that so familiar, long-loved face. She thought of herself, cowering at Walter Ference’s feet, trying to shield Jenny, and then that gunshot, and he had been there. At her worst moment, when she opened her eyes, he had been there, ill and weak and trying to save them. Being the man she knew.

  Jenny reached over and stroked his hair. “You just get well and come home, okay?” she pleaded, and her voice was thick with tears.

  His eyes seemed to grow cloudy and he dropped his gaze.

  Jenny turned to Karen. “Right, Mom?” she cried. “That’s what we want, isn’t it?”

  Karen hesitated for a moment. The thought of revenge crossed her mind. She couldn’t deny it. She could turn and walk away from him here and now, and it would hurt him as much as he had ever hurt her. More, even. In his weakened state, it might kill him. The complete revenge.

  And then who would suffer the most? she thought. She knew the answer. She knew herself well enough to know. Truth time, she thought. She walked to his bedside, and he looked up at her. He tried to gaze at her steadily, but his illness was betraying him. She saw him flinch and she felt ashamed.

  “That’s right,” she whispered fiercely. “I need you.” Then she did what she wanted to do. She leaned over, held his face gently, and kissed him.