by Webb, Peggy
“Papa!” Nicky was bouncing up on his toes in front of Thomas, his cowlick bobbing and his face shining. “I got a ‘prise for you.”
“Well, I sure could use one right about now.”
Nicky raced to the kitchen, and Elizabeth sat down beside him and put her hand on his arm.
“Papa, are you feeling all right? You don’t look good.”
“I haven’t looked good in thirty years, Elizabeth. I don’t know why I should start now.”
She was studying him like he might be a bug under a microscope, and he could tell by the way she got that little wrinkle in her brow she was going to say something else regarding his health, probably ask a bunch of questions he didn’t want to answer.
It was Nicky who saved him. He raced back with a handful of cookies and a mouth decorated with chocolate.
“See. I got cookies for you, Papa. You won’t have to salve over a hot stove.”
“Who says I’ve been slaving over a hot stove?”
“Uncle Fred.”
“Uncle Fred talks too much. He’s always talking when he ought to be listening.”
Nicky giggled, and it was the happiest sound Thomas had heard in days. Then the boy grabbed his mother around the legs, and she pretended he had wrestled her to the floor where they both rolled around like bear cubs.
They stayed until it was time for Elizabeth to go to work at the bakery.
“I’ll be back tonight to tuck you in, Nicky.”
“You pwomise.”
“I promise.”
“Will you read three bedtime stories?”
“Yes.”
“Four?”
“Maybe, we’ll see.”
She teared up again when she hugged him goodbye, and Thomas could tell she didn’t want to let go. Who could blame her?
Nicky stood at the window and waved until they were in the car.
“I wouldn’t even go in to the bakery if I wasn’t afraid of being fired.”
“That Celine is one major witch,” Quincy said. “I don’t ever buy doughnuts from her, never mind they’re the best in town. I’m not putting hard-earned money in the pocket of an old’ fool like Celine DeShay.”
Elizabeth’s laughter seemed to be coming from someplace faraway, and Thomas had this funny feeling that he had floated up out of the car and was looking down on the two of them from a cloud. A black cloud, which didn’t surprise him one bit. It was that same black cloud that had been following them around ever since Helen Parkins took Nicky.
“Let me out at the park,” he said.
“Are you sure, Papa?”
“I’m sure. Maybe the fresh air will do me some good.”
“I don’t like to leave you here by yourself.”
“I won’t be by myself. Fred said he was going to sit in the sunshine today. Next thing I know he’ll be tryin’ to take over my park bench.”
Elizabeth parked at the entrance, then got out and held onto his elbow as if was one of those feeble old codgers he’d seen in the hallways of nursing homes.
“Don’t stay too long, Papa. When you get ready to go home, take the bus.”
“Or call me,” Quincy hollered out the car window. “I ain’t got nothing to do today but take care of my friends.”
“Stop your fussing, you two, and go on. You’re makin’ out like I’m old.” He did a little soft shoe on the sidewalk to show he could still cut the mustard, but it seemed the sidewalk had tilted sideways and the ground had moved farther away than it ought to be.
“Papa? Are you all right.”
“Never felt better. Go on, now. I see Fred. We’ve got lots to talk about.”
Fred hollered at him, something Thomas couldn’t quite make out.
“Quit your yelling. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Fred lit into him the minute he sat down. “You’re gettin’ slow as Christmas. If you don’t watch out Elizabeth’ll be gettin’ you a walkin’ cane.”
“I need a walkin’ cane about like a hog needs a side saddle.”
Fred slapped his thighs, laughing. Thomas joined in.
“Lord, Thomas, don’t it feel good just to set here in the sunshine for a little while and forget everything that’s happened?”
“Yes, it does. We got some good news today, for a change. Quincy got Nicky moved to her daughter’s house.”
“That’s one helluva woman. I’m liable to ask her out dancin’ one of these days.”
“I didn’t know you could dance.”
“Dancin’s not the point. Sparkin’s the point.”
“You’re so old you wouldn’t know a spark if it set your britches on fire.”
“Who are you callin’ old, you old fart? Look at yourself. Can’t hardly walk without a cane.”
Thomas wished Fred wouldn’t keep bringing that cane business up. The thing that bothered him the most is that it was the truth. Lately he’d been wobbly as a newborn calf.
But he wasn’t about to give in to old age. No sirree. And just to prove it to Fred, he decided to cut the mustard around the park bench, only it didn’t turn out that way at all. He stood up and first the bench moved, then the ground, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back and Fred was bending over him working his mouth like a fish.
Thomas tried to say speak up, I can’t hear you, but then Fred started slobbering and blubbering and Thomas felt sorry for the old coot. But there wasn’t a thing in the world he could do about it, for the black cloud that had been following him around for so long suddenly swooped down out of nowhere and covered him up.
o0o
David didn’t know what compelled him to look at his office window at the park, but he’d learned never to ignore his intuitions. He left the report he was reading in mid-sentence. The first place he looked was toward Thomas Jennings’s favorite park bench, and that’s when he saw Thomas on the ground with Fred Lollar bending over him.
He raced back to his desk as fast as a man with a prosthetic leg could move, then he buzzed Peter. “Call the ambulance. Thomas Jennings is down in the park.”
Peter would follow instructions to the letter without delaying to ask questions. David hurried back to the window and focused his telescope on the scene below his window.
“Thomas, can you hear me? Can you see me? Thomas, answer me.”
Fred Lollar was almost in hysterics. David hated to think what Elizabeth would be like when she found out about her grandfather.
As he abandoned his telescope and headed toward Peter’s office he could hear the sirens screaming. In a matter of minutes Thomas Jennings would be on his way to the hospital. Elizabeth was David’s concern now.
Peter looked startled when David burst into his office.
“I have a job that needs your immediate attention.”
“The ambulance is on its way,” Peter said.
“Yes, I know. I want you to call Edwards, then pick up Elizabeth at Celine’s Bakery and carry her to the hospital.”
“What shall I tell her?”
“Tell her Thomas passed out in the park and tell her in the gentlest, kindest manner you know how. She’s already carrying a load way too heavy for her.”
Peter nodded. He was already on the intercom instructing Edwards to bring around the car. Within two minutes he was headed to the door.
“Peter.” His assistant turned around. “Hold her hand when you tell her. Put your arm around her and let her lean on you. She’s going to need that.” David grabbed a box of tissues off the desk and tossed them to Peter. “Take these. She’ll need them. And, Peter... stay with her as long as she needs you.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, David. I’ll take as good care of her as if she belongs to you.”
McKenzie had been talking. What would she say when she found out about David’s proposals to Elizabeth? What would she do if Elizabeth accepted the second one?
The very thought of being married to Elizabeth Jennings filled him with such wonder, such terror, he could hardly breathe. Eve
n if it would be in name only.
Still, she’d be in his house, eating at his table, reading his books, sharing his linens.
David couldn’t bear to think about that right now. Furthermore, he didn’t have the luxury of such musings. The main thing was to ensure that Thomas Jennings got the very best of care.
He picked up the phone and called the hospital.
Chapter Twenty-four
She could lose Papa, too. It was unthinkable. Elizabeth huddled in a hard chair in the waiting room and relieved every minute since Peter Forrest had walked into Celine’s Bakery and announced that Papa was on his way to the hospital.
Celine had yelled that if she walked out she might as well not come back, which struck Elizabeth as a plain relief. She hadn’t realized how much she hated working at that bakery until she had settled herself in the limousine and leaned back on the leather seat cushions knowing that she never had to go back.
The relief didn’t last long, though, because Peter Forrest was telling how Papa had passed out in the park. He’d patted her hand and looked her straight in the eyes and even handed her some tissues when she cried.
He kept saying that everything possible would be done for Papa, and not to worry, which was like telling the sun not to shine.
How could she help but worry? Papa was too old for all the heartache she’d somehow brought into their lives. Stress kills. She’d read about it. And now it was happening right before her eyes.
“Can I get you anything, Elizabeth?” Peter Forrest was perhaps the nicest young man she’d ever met. Polite. Kind. Gentlemanly. And extremely handsome.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you. You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to stay.”
He sounded sincere. He even looked sincere.
Now that she was through crying, now that she knew Papa was still alive, she was full of questions for him. Not why was he there? David had sent him, of course. Peter had already been on his iPhone calling in a report.
“How did David know about Papa?”
“He buzzed me on the intercom and said to call an ambulance, that your grandfather was down in the park. He must have seen the whole thing from his window.”
“Then you’re the one who saved Papa’s life.”
“I’d say David is the one.”
“Both of you. How can I ever thank you?”
Peter smiled. “You just did.”
She had no more time for questions because Papa’s doctor was there.
“How is he?” she said.
“The EKGs show Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome. We have him on an IV, and we’ll be monitoring him very closely for a few days. If all goes well, as we expect it to, we’ll switch from IV to a dosage of Flecanide.”
He might as well have been talking Greek. Obviously Timothy Lawrence was one of those doctors who figured that everybody and his dog had a degree in medicine and was therefore conversant with medical jargon.
When he asked if she had any questions she was as shocked as if he’d asked her did she want to strip buck naked in the middle of the waiting room. She’d figured he would be the kind of doctor you’d have to grab by the coattails to keep him from flying out the door, then wring by the neck to get the least bit of information you could make heads or tails of.
“Yes, I have a question. What does all that mean?”
He laughed, which surprised her even more. “Arrhythmia is the abnormal heart rate that caused your grandfather to black out. In WPW syndrome, an extra electrical pathway exists between the upper and lower chambers of the heart, the atria and the ventricles, and it’s this extra pathway that may at times encourage a rapid heart rhythm. This condition can go undetected for years, then suddenly it rears its ugly head.”
“Is it fatal?”
“It generally responds extremely well to medication, and that’s what we expect with your grandfather.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“There is a procedure we can do called a catheter ablation which will destroy the abnormal pathway by means of heat delivered through radio-frequency waves. I’d like to stay away from an invasive procedure with your grandfather if I can.” He smiled again. “Anything else?”
“When can I see him?”
“I’ll take you back.”
Papa looked shrunken and helpless and extremely fragile. For the first time in a long while, Elizabeth let herself think about his age... and his mortality. She’d been traveling the river of life in a leaky boat for so long she didn’t know what it would be like to have a solid craft under her feet, but with Papa always at the helm she’d barely noticed her plight. Now it rose up like fire and brimstone from Hades’ own inferno. If she didn’t do something quick, she was fixing to choke to death. They all were. Papa ... Nicky...
Papa had his eyes shut, and she tiptoed across the room so he could get his rest. She was halfway to his bed when he jerked awake.
“What are you pussyfooting around about?” he said. “Get on over here so I can talk without having to shout.”
She kissed his cheek and held onto his hand. “Don’t try to talk, Papa. Just rest.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
She knew better than to lie to him, or even to sugar-coat the truth.
“Your heart, Papa, but the doctor believes he can treat you with medication and you’ll be all right.”
“Then I’m not gonna die?”
“Someday we’re all going to die.”
“Did I ask for a philosophy lesson? Answer my question.”
“No, you’re not going to die.”
“Good.” He shut his eyes. “Thank you, God.” When he opened them again he was Papa once more, strong-willed and ornery, a rock, a mountain, the captain of Elizabeth’s ship. “Now, tell me what in tarnation David Lassiter told you about gettin’ Nicky back?”
She told him as briefly as possible, for even if news that he would live suddenly made Papa think he was invincible once again, Elizabeth knew better. Sometimes she had to be hit on the head with a ton of bricks to learn a lesson, but by George, once she learned she didn’t stand around waiting for the next landslide.
Papa was under too much stress, and she was the only one who could lessen the load. All of a sudden, it came to her what she was going to tell David, the only thing she could tell David. He had given too much already: it was not fair to ask him to give more. And so she not only recounted David’s proposals, she also told Papa what her answer would be.
He pursed his lips, thinking it over, then he nodded.
“That’s a good decision, Elizabeth. I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you.”
She was going to cry again. She could feel the tears clogging up her throat. She was so tired of crying she didn’t know what to do. After all this was over, she was going to grab hold of every joyous moment that came her way and not turn loose till she’d laughed and danced and sung herself silly.
“What are you standin’ there for, girl? You’ve got a man to see and child to get back.”
“I can’t leave you here like this, Papa.”
“Pshaw. I’ve got so many doctors and nurses taking care of me I’m gonna have to beat them off with a stick. Go on and get the ball rolling, Elizabeth.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right, here all by yourself?”
“With this little buzzer and all these people at my beck and call? I’m liable to get used to this and not even want to go home. Besides, I’m not here all by myself.”
Papa winked at her, and when he began singing “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand,” Elizabeth could might near swear Mae Mae was standing over by the bed holding his hand.
Peter was waiting for her. “I’m ready to go now,” she said.
“Where to? Home?”
“No. Take me to David.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Peter was still at the hospital with Elizabeth, the report sounded encouraging, and now instead of worrying that Elizabe
th would have a death to deal with, David got into one of his contemplative moods and started thinking of himself as Cyrano de Bergerac. Ashamed of his looks. Sending somebody to take his place with the beautiful woman.
Hiding under the balcony while somebody else sang the love songs he’d written. Or in his case, hiding in a tower.
That was ridiculous, of course. David was not in love, didn’t even have the slightest notion what being in love meant, and this was the twenty-first century, not the seventeenth.
He was beginning to think he’d stayed cooped up in his ivory tower too long. Years of isolation had robbed him of his ability to separate reality from fantasy.
But more than that, he was so incredibly lonely he felt like climbing onto the rooftop of Lassiter Building and howling at the moon. His loneliness hadn’t merely grown through the years: it had multiplied exponentially so that instead of having a huge aching void inside him, he was totally empty. A shell of a man. He was skin stretched over bones with nothing underneath. No dreams. No future. No heart. Especially no heart.
What would it be like to care so deeply for another that you bled when they cut themselves, ached when they stumbled and fell, cried when they said goodbye?
He loved his sister. Of course, he did. But that was a connection of blood and bone, home and history. And though their bond was strong, it wasn’t the same as a connection purely of the heart.
The intercom interrupted his musings. It was Peter, calling from downstairs.
“David, Elizabeth Jennings is on her way up.”
The news shook him to the core. He’d always been in control of their meetings. He’d always had time for elaborate preparations.
“Thanks, Peter.”
There was no time for questions. Of course, his secretary would stop her in the outer office, but David didn’t want her turned away. He merely wanted to prepare for her visit.
He began to press buttons. The heavy draperies slid shut and the lights went out. Even though it was early afternoon, his office was plunged into complete darkness. David hurried to the bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair. When he caught a glance at himself in the mirror the irony struck him. He might as well be pouring perfume on a muskrat or putting that legendary side-saddle on the infamous Southern hawg.
