Dillon tightened his grip on the wheel and took every corner as fast as he could, counting down the minutes and the miles until he could see her again.
*
Jack sat in the far corner of the waiting room, cell phone under his chin. He jotted the figures on a page he’d torn from an old magazine.
“Thanks. Fax the contracts to my home office. You have the number?”
He hung up, made one more call and then checked his email, thankful for the Blackberry that wired him to the world no matter where he was. Three messages from the office, and one forwarded from the Bay Bank. He read it over, scanning the details, and then glanced at his watch. Perfect.
Jack looked around for a vending machine. He could use a cup of coffee, even that stale hospital crap, after a night like tonight.
“Cafeteria’s down the hall and to the left,” the receptionist said in a singsong voice when he asked.
Too-bright lights made him squint on the way in, and it took a moment for him to get his bearings. Tables sat in random spots around the room, scratched and scarred with years of people’s nervous fidgeting. Some chairs were pushed in under tables, while others lined up in neat rows or sat tossed to the side. All seemed to tell stories of the people who’d sat in them before. Waiting. Thinking. Weeping. Loving. Losing.
Jack headed for the automatic coffee machines on the other side of the room. A couple of teenagers glanced at him, taking in the ruined tux and dark circles under his eyes, he imagined. He wondered why they sat there or who they waited for. Maybe they worked at the hospital, somewhere in the bowels of the building. Maybe they helped keep the place running for all the dozy-eyed people who wandered in and out every day.
He filled a Styrofoam cup and drank the coffee black, searing his throat and not really caring. He tried to sit down, but the chair dug into his back and his thighs. He stood up instead and filled the cup a second time. Somewhere behind his eyelids he felt his brain wake up, a little lurch helped by the caffeine. It’ll all be settled soon. No way to go but forward from here.
The teenagers vanished through some side door, and Jack stood alone in the cavernous space. One fluorescent light began to buzz above him, giving the whole place a sort of horror-movie vibe. A stooped man pushed a wheelchair through the door, wheezing with the effort. A shriveled woman hooked up to oxygen slept in the chair.
Jack looked away and checked his watch. He’d been killing time for nearly thirty minutes; surely Eden had arrived by now.
I’ll meet you there, she’d promised. Just let me make one phone call first.
He strode back down the hallway and into the waiting area. A few more people had filled the chairs, but no one he recognized. He glanced around, looking for a swath of blonde hair, listening for a Virginia accent. Nothing. Where the hell was she? How long did it take to make a goddamned phone call and catch a cab across town? Jack walked back to the desk. Sometime while he’d been down in the cafeteria, the shift must have changed. Now a bald black man with a thick neck and shoulders sat behind the computer.
“Yes, sir?”
“Maggie Doyle. She was brought in from a car accident a little while ago. I’m checking to see if you have any new information.” He cleared his throat. “I need to see her.”
“Better get in line.”
The voice, smooth and threatening, came from behind him. Startled, Jack turned to see a sandy-haired man about his own age. Lean and muscular, the guy looked like he spent most of his days in the sun. He reminded Jack of some kind of wildcat, golden-haired and wary-eyed and solid as rock. He rested one elbow on the desk and slid both thumbs through the loops of his jeans.
“You aren’t any kind of family, far as I can tell.” He gave Jack a once-over.
Jack’s hackles rose. “No, I’m not.” Not yet, anyway, he wanted to add. “But Maggie is my—”
“She’s my sister,” the man interrupted. A ponytail flopped over one shoulder as he shook his head. “And if anyone’s going to see her, that’d be me.”
“You’re Dillon.” Jack’s shoulders dropped down from where they’d hunched up around his ears. He stuck out his hand. Jesus, there were about a hundred things he wanted to ask the guy.
Dillon waited a long minute before returning the handshake. “Still don’t know who that makes you.”
“Jack Major. I…ah…” How the hell was he supposed to define himself in relation to Maggie? “I knew Mags back in school. We ran into each other at the Deveau Ball last night, and I…um…happened to be following her when the accident happened.” He waited for big brother to ask why he’d been tailing Maggie, but the question didn’t come.
“Yeah, think I remember hearing about you. Been a while, though.” Dillon’s tongue poked into the corner of one cheek as he considered something else. “You’re some big-shot corporate guy here in the city, aren’t you?”
“I work for Bullieston Software.” He paused. “Eden call you?”
Dillon nodded.
“Is she here?”
“Don’t know. Never met her. Only talked to her on the phone.” An odd smile zigzagged across his face. He fell silent, still sizing Jack up.
Jesus, we’re like two animals circling each other, Jack thought. Aren’t we on the same side? Aren’t we both here for Maggie? But as he looked into Dillon’s face, he saw something simmering just under the surface: a near-feral devotion, a protective instinct. He knew then that he would feel the same way if some stranger showed up in a hospital demanding to see his little sister.
“Listen, man, I’m just here because I’m concerned.” Jack took one step back and raised both palms.
“You still her boyfriend?” Dillon cocked his head to one side. “Or did you have something to do with the car accident?”
“Jesus, no,” Jack said and then wondered which question he was answering. He hesitated and wondered if he should mention what Eden had revealed to him on the phone. Did Dillon have any idea why Maggie had come to Boston? Did he know what she faced, what she needed to do in order to save everything she owned before time slammed the door shut?
“Have you spoken to Mags? Recently, I mean?”
Dillon scrubbed his chin with a calloused hand. “No. It’s been a long time, unfortunately. Too long.”
Jack wondered who else Maggie had cut out of her life. At least now he had a good idea why.
“You still didn’t tell me what you’re doing here,” Dillon went on. “If you’re not dating her and you weren’t involved in the wreck, then…” He waited for Jack to finish the sentence.
I’m in love with her, Jack wanted to say. I want to marry her—again. For good. Forever. But he held his tongue. Timing was everything, he’d learned long ago, especially when dealing with people who weren’t on your side. Yet.
“It’s a business matter,” he began. “Sort of a sticky thing, actually. I thought we’d be able to talk it out at the ball, but—”
Dillon shook his head. “You’re not here for business. Not at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.”
You’d be surprised. Jack wondered for a moment how Carl was making out with the bank. He changed his tactics. “You’re right,” he admitted. “It’s not all business. I need your help in convincing Maggie to listen to me.”
Dillon whistled. “Mags always was a tough girl to convince of anything.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
The guy’s guard seemed to crack a little, and Jack took advantage of the pause. “Anyway, Eden told me you’re in the landscaping business. I’m hoping you can do me a favor.”
“What does that have to do with Maggie?”
The man at the reception desk interrupted them. “Mr. Murphy? Your sister has been moved to room six-oh-two. If you’d like to go up and see her now, you’ll need to take a visitor’s badge. Take the elevator to the sixth floor. Nurses’ station will be directly in front of you when you get off.” He gestured across the lobby.
Dillon nodded and clipped on a badge. For a minute
he hesitated, looking at Jack with a steady gaze. “Come on, then,” he said, and moved away from the desk. “Tell me what you need.”
Jack ran a hand over his hair, took a badge, and followed.
*
“You’ve got a couple of visitors waiting outside to see you.” Rosy-cheeked, Nurse Bella pulled the room’s two chairs close to Maggie’s bed. Her wide bottom jiggled with the effort. “Would you like them to come in?”
Maggie opened her eyes and shifted in the bed. The hospital gown rode up on her thighs. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway, just reliving the last twenty-four hours in excruciating detail. Who is it? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“Okay.” The nurse disappeared, and after a minute, someone knocked at the door. “Come on in.”
Eden’s worried face appeared around the corner. Her hair had fallen out of its updo, and mascara dotted her cheeks. The bottom of her dress was wrinkled, as if she’d been crushing it in her palms or winding it around her fingers. Still, Maggie thought, she looks like she just fell from the pages of a magazine. How to Remain Glamorous the Morning After.
But then Eden burst into tears and darted across the room. “Mags! You’re okay?” She clutched Maggie’s hands in both of hers, weeping. “God, we were both so worried. You have no idea. I couldn’t find you, for the longest time. First we came in the wrong entrance, around the back side or something, and we couldn’t find anyone who knew anything. When we finally did, they wouldn’t tell us anything for the longest time…” She fished for a tissue in her purse.
Maggie glanced toward the door. “Who’s we?”
Eden turned and waved, motioning someone in. A wide-shouldered man took a few steps across the threshold. His brows drew together in worry. Fatigue and pain shot through his features, marring his usual good looks. He leaned against the other empty bed, and his gaze took in the stark walls, the black television, the machines standing like soldiers at attention around the room. Maggie swallowed. She hadn’t expected to see him.
“Andrew. Did the hospital call you?”
Neve’s husband nodded, and his fingers picked at the buttons on his shirt. “I drove up as fast as I could. Met your friend here outside in the parking lot.” He cleared his throat. “Nurse said you’re going to be all right? You can go home in a few hours?”
“I guess so. I sprained both ankles and I’ve got a mild concussion and every other part of me hurts like hell. But otherwise, I’ll be fine.” Maggie pushed herself to an awkward seat in the bed. “How’s Neve? Where is she? The nurse wouldn’t say.”
Andrew shuffled his feet around. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and avoided her gaze. “She’s got a concussion, I guess. Dislocated shoulder and maybe some torn ligaments in her right leg.” His jaw twitched.
“Oh, God.” Guilt hopped onto Maggie’s shoulder and bit at her with sharp, tiny teeth. “Will she be all right?”
“They think so,” he said, but his voice cracked on the last word. He jammed the heel of one hand against his eyes.
Maggie fell back against the pillow. If I hadn’t brought her to the ball…if we’d left before the storm got really bad…if I’d been paying attention at that intersection instead of thinking about Jack…
“It’s not your fault,” Andrew continued. “I guess the police are filing charges against the other driver. He blew a point one-two on the breathalyzer.” Still Neve’s husband stood at a crooked angle, swaying as he looked around the room for the tenth time.
“But the accident—there was a lot of trauma to her body, they said, and Neve…” He could barely get the words out. “…she might have lost the baby.”
8:00 a.m.
Dillon stared at Jack as the guy finished talking. The elevator chimed and slowed at the sixth floor and the two men made their way into a brightly lit hallway.
“You’re kidding me. That’s why she came to Boston? To the ball? Why didn’t she just call me?” I could have written her a check months ago. All she had to do was ask.
Jack shrugged. “She must have had her reasons. You know Mags.”
Dillon did. Exhaling, he took a minute to check the signs in front of them. The nurses’ station, covered with files and charts and a couple of wilting bouquets, sat empty. A custodian walked by, wheeling a towering laundry cart. Static crackled on the intercom above them. Dillon crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “I don’t know if she’ll go for it.”
“I don’t either. That’s why I need your help.” Two hallways led away from them in opposite directions. Jack lifted a hand toward the right. “Six-oh-two. It’s that way.”
“What are you gonna say?” Dillon asked. “Just tell her right out? Or ask her, make her think it’s her choice?”
“I haven’t decided, exactly.”
Dillon chuckled. The guy had an uphill battle ahead of him. He hadn’t seen Maggie in years; still, he couldn’t imagine that she’d agree to this solution without a fight. Feeling magnanimous, he pounded Jack on the back. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he said. “If she says yes, I’ll do it for you. For both of you.”
*
Maggie scrunched around in the wheelchair, trying to get comfortable. Thank God for whatever pain relievers the nurse had given her, because they’d turned her full-body ache into a minimal buzz about the hips and ankles. She looked up at Eden. “Guess I’m ready.”
Her friend grasped the handles and rolled Maggie out into the hall. “Okay. She’s just down around the corner, Andrew said.” They swung a hard left. “Room six-sixteen.”
Maggie chewed at what was left of her thumbnail. Nerves roiled in her stomach, and she thought twice about the Jell-O she’d just finished. Cherry-flavoring coated the back of her tongue, and she forced down the gag that wanted to bring it up again. A clock on the wall read a little after eight. According to Andrew, Neve had been awake for almost an hour. The first person she’d asked for, after her husband, was Maggie.
Eden slowed outside the closed door of room six-sixteen. Down here, near the end of the hall, everything moved at a hushed pace. They heard no voices, no doors opening and closing, no announcements over the intercom. To Maggie, the air itself seemed suspended. As if everyone and everything waited for recovery. As if there were no guarantees about who survived whole and unbroken and who didn’t. She closed her eyes and said a prayer. Everything that had mattered to her hours earlier—the insurmountable bills, her house, thoughts of Jack—had fled with Andrew’s broken words about the baby.
It isn’t bad enough that I jeopardized my own life. I destroyed another one. One that isn’t even here yet, one that’s just a promise, a kiss inside Neve’s belly, a swelling of love and cells and tiny fingers and toes waiting to be shaped.
“Hang on.” She sat in the wheelchair and stared at the door. She wondered if she could face what waited for her on the other side. In another life, an earlier one, she might have fled. She might have pretended to be too sick to speak to her friend. She might have cried into her pillowcase until the worst of the winds passed. She might have pretended that work needed her, that she couldn’t tear herself away from her deadlines.
Not anymore. I‘m not running from things that hurt. I told Jack the truth, after all. I didn’t break apart then, and I won’t now. I can hold Neve’s hand and tell her I’m sorry. I can help her heal. I can face this. I can. She sat up in the chair. Rubbed her cheeks dry. Smoothed the pilled cotton blanket over her lap. Counted the beats of her heart and told it a little bit of fear was okay.
“I’m ready.”
*
“Wait a minute,” Jack said as he and Dillon started down the hall. He pulled out his cell phone. A nurse had reappeared behind the desk, and she frowned as he answered it. Shaking her head, she pointed at the sign behind him, which read “Cell Phone Use is Prohibited in this Facility.”
Jack nodded, acknowledging her and ignoring her in the same motion. He knew the rules. It didn’t mean he always played by them. “Carl? You get t
he contracts?”
“They’re all set.”
“Fax them to my home number?”
“Just like you said.”
“Talk to the bank manager?”
“Just got off the phone with him.”
The nurse cleared her throat, and Jack slid behind a cart of supplies someone had left in the hall. “Okay. I should have her signature in the next hour or so.”
For the first time, doubt crept into the VP’s voice. “You’re sure? I mean, I thought she was—”
“I’ll have it,” Jack said.
“You know the board is going to have a field day with this, don’t you?”
“I’ll handle the board.” Jack flipped the phone shut. Meeting Dillon’s gaze, he gave a sharp nod. “All set. Let’s find Mags.” He fought the nerves clamping his stomach together and continued down the hall. The sooner he got out what he needed to say, the better. He wasn’t sure he could do it more than twice in a lifetime, anyway.
*
Maggie forced herself to look straight at Neve, who lay with the covers pulled up to her chin. Her hair fell across her forehead, damp with perspiration, or maybe tears. Andrew perched on a chair beside the bed. His hands held one of Neve’s, and both thumbs moved against her skin in circles of sympathy.
Maggie inched the wheelchair forward. Lightheadedness flooded her for a minute and she closed her eyes as she thought about what she wanted to say. I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to be a mother. I know the grief that comes with a loss like that, even if you had the stirring of a baby inside you and I never did. Never will. She wanted to tell Neve that she knew about the pain. She understood the emptiness of realizing you wouldn’t carry a child to term. She knew what it meant to give up the possibility of creating a life.
One Night in Boston Page 24
