“Your theology is pathetic.”
“You’re feeling better. I’ll call Jo-Jo for a ride home. You get inside.”
“Tell your brother hi.”
“If he’s not already,” Carly muttered as she punched in the number.
“Take my car. I’ll have Mom drop me off at your house later.”
Smiling, Carly hugged Cara, nearly squeezing the life out of her. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ve got a big date coming up, and God is too good to let anything mess with that, so the child is fine.”
Laughing, Cara opened the door. “Again, your theology stinks, but I love it anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Well, I know how he felt when I didn’t call after the attack. I’m going insane!”
“He’ll call when he gets a chance.” Diane forced every ounce of confidence that she could into her tone.
After half an hour of pacing, staring at her phone, dialing his, hanging up before it could ring, and generally driving her mother insane, Cara marched into the kitchen. “We’re having fettuccini tonight. Do you have scallops?”
“I have shrimp…” Diane prayed that Jonathan would call before Cara decided on dessert too.
“That’ll work. Maybe quiche. I can make an apple pie while I’m at it.”
Too late. “No apples, sorry.”
Cara pounced on a bag of mixed berries in the freezer. “Trifle!”
Diane barely contained her groan. “Well, when you have a moment, I’d like to hem that dress—”
“Let me get the cake in the oven and I’ll be right in. Go see what you think about those shoes. Carly thought they were perfect but—” Cara’s phone rang, interrupting her monologue.
Both women stared at it for a moment before Cara picked it up and slid it open. Her face fell. “It’s just Todd Graham.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Sorry, I was expecting—well, more like hoping for a call.”
“Jonathan?”
She couldn’t lie. As much as she didn’t want to discuss Jonathan, she had to be honest. “Yes, our conversation was interrupted abruptly, so I’m waiting to hear back from him.”
“Well, I won’t take much of your time then, but I wanted to ask you about a woman— Lynn Czhe—I don’t know how to pronounce it. I got a voicemail today, and she indicated I should send her all information regarding the campaign—that you were no longer a point of contact.”
This sounded odd on many levels. While it didn’t surprise her that she didn’t recognize the name—Mayflower Trust was a large company with hundreds of employees in her building alone—she hadn’t heard of any kind of department organization change yet and— “Wait, when did she call?”
“About five minutes ago.”
“Don’t do it. I don’t know who she is or why she contacted you on a Saturday, but until I hear from Derek, I don’t want to send anything anywhere.” She paused. Her suspicions nauseated her, but she couldn’t ignore them. “Don’t show them to anyone. Keep them with you, and whatever you do, don’t let Della near them.”
“You think—”
“I sure hope not. Once I talk to Derek and Jonathan, I’ll get back to you.”
“Well, he’s probably trying to get through now, so I’ll disconnect. Thanks, Cara.”
“No, thank you. Something smells fishy and I don’t like that smell.”
Cara immediately dialed Derek’s number and waited for him to answer. It went to voice mail, making her want to scream with frustration as she left a message. “Please give me a call on my cell. I’m expecting an urgent call, so if you get my voice mail, leave a message and I’ll call right back.”
As she’d handled her calls, she’d mixed her cake, popped it in the oven, but hadn’t remembered to set the timer. “Any idea when I put it in?”
Diane shrugged. “Set it for twenty minutes and then check every five. That’s all I can suggest.”
All through the process of hemming a dress, making dinner, and layering the trifle, Cara kept one eye trained on her cellphone. Diane, in an attempt to relieve anxiety, took the phone and sat it on the kitchen table, upside down. “You can still hear it, but it’s just driving me crazy watching you cook without all your attention on the stove. I’m going to be rushing you to the ER if you’re not careful.”
Cara stared at the mess in front of her. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want quiche.”
Diane laughed. “Like I didn’t predict that one.”
~*~*~*~
Jonathan’s phone clattered to the countertop as he dove for Riley. With one hand pressed against the gash just above her eyebrow, he dragged his small daughter to the drawer that held the kitchen towels, grabbed one, and shouted for Bryson. “Bry, get in here now!”
He watched his son look up from a complicated looking sand castle in the back yard and race for the back door, knocking over one side of the creation in his haste. Jonathan winced—all that work, gone. Bryson’s face turned white at the sight of the blood soaked rag in his father’s hand. Riley wailed in fear and pain while Bryson stared at his father, terrified.
“What—”
“I need you to help me. You’re going to have to hold this against her head all the way to the hospital. Can you do that?”
“I can’t reach from my car seat—”
“I’m going to move the car seat next to yours. You stay right there, and, Riley, you let him hold that firmly against your head. Do not move.”
Jonathan tore out of the house and fumbled with the buckles for the car seats. His mind felt muddled as he tried to remember all the steps to installing one correctly. Frustrated, he decided that tight was good enough until they got to the hospital. He’d have them help him reinstall it properly before he left. As he turned to get Riley, he jerked the car seat hard. It barely moved. With a sigh of relief, he raced back to the house. Surely, it was reasonably well installed if he couldn’t get it to move.
As he drove away from the house, his phone buzzed. Alone, dancing in place on the countertop, the phone buzzed. No one answered; no one heard.
~*~*~*~
The ER technician stitched Riley’s forehead, and Jonathan held her hands, trying not to look at the bone showing through the gash. Relief slowly washed over him as sutures pulled the skin closed—relief he would have been embarrassed to acknowledge had he been aware of it. As it was, he smiled as the technician covered the wound with a gauze pad. “All done, Ry.”
“I didn’t get to see.”
The technician rolled his eyes. “How did I know she’d be one of those?”
Bryson edged closer now that the job was finished. “Does it hurt, Riley?”
“Not anymore. They put pantybiotics on it.”
Laughing, Jonathan didn’t even try to correct her pronunciation and decided that anesthesia would be even harder for the child to pronounce. “Can I get someone to help me with a car seat? I moved it before I came so my son could press the rag against her head, but I know I didn’t get it in just right.”
“There’s usually an officer out there somewhere. I’ll see who I can find.” The woman turned back and looked at Jonathan. “How did you know—”
“My wife was a bit of a car seat Nazi. She had those things inspected every time she saw an officer ‘just sittin’ there dreaming of donuts,’ as she put it.”
“That’s funny. I mean, it’s good, but it seems a bit extreme…”
“Well, if you’d rather, I can drive to a fire station or police station. They’d be happy to help, I’m sure.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He signed papers, reread prescriptions, and then handed them over to the woman at the desk. “Can you please call this into the pharmacy on the corner of Riverside and First? I’d like to just go through the drive-thru instead of dragging her in and out of the van again.”
“I can have our pharmacy put you on priority status if you’d like. It’d be a bit more
expensive…”
“Please do. Where—”
In less than fifteen minutes, Jonathan and Bryson escorted Riley out of the Emergency Room exit, carrying two balloons, a huge lollipop, and a stuffed alligator nearly as tall as herself. Bryson volunteered to carry his tail, but Riley was determined to “do it myself.” Father and son shared knowing looks as they waited for the officer to meet them.
“You had a car seat problem?”
Jonathan jumped. “Yes. I changed places on the way here. I tried to get it in tight, but you know how hard that is. I just want to be sure it’s okay, and I want to put it back on the other side of the car.”
“Lead the way.”
Officer Juarez watched as the Lymans shuffled to the car, wincing every time the alligator’s tail bounced over the pavement. Twice, Riley started to trip, but they caught her. The third time, Jonathan said nothing, but picked the girl up and carried her the rest of the way. Riley’s tears failed to move him.
“You can cry if you like, Riley, but you aren’t going back in there for more stitches just because you’re too stubborn to accept help willingly.”
“But I do it myself. I’m don’t want you to carry me like a baby.”
While Jonathan tried to reason with his daughter, the officer removed the seat, climbed into it, anchored it securely, and then jumped out again. “You had it in okay. Almost any seat can be pushed in a bit tighter if you get someone heavier or stronger, but it would have been safe in an accident.”
“That’s a mercy, anyhow. I’ll be glad to know I can do it if it ever happens again.”
“Have a safe trip home.” The officer waved and strolled back to the Emergency Room entrance—whistling. Jonathan smiled. It must be good night when you get to help a kid avoid a car seat malfunction rather than try to save him from one.
“Okay, guys, let’s go through McDonald’s, get some food, and get home. I’m beat.”
“Can I call Grandma and tell her about my snitches?”
“Stitches, Riley. Yes.”
“Can I call her in the car on the way home?”
Jonathan reached for his phone. “Bry, is my phone back there anywhere? Can you see it?”
Frustrated, he pulled into the parking lot next to McDonald’s and searched the car. He hesitated and then sighed. He’d have to take the car seat out again. The temptation to swear rose to the surface, but one look in his son’s eyes was reminder enough that he’d regret it later. “Okay, Bry. Let’s get you out—”
“It wasn’t there when the officer put it in. I watched.”
“Are you sure?” His frustration level increased exponentially.
“I’m sure.”
“We’ll have to go back.” With a deep sigh, Jonathan put the SUV in drive and pulled into the drive-thru. The night just got longer.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“I didn’t see you use it at the hospital.”
Bryson was correct. He hadn’t called or answered any calls during their time at the ER. His hands patted down his pockets again, but he didn’t feel a thing. “Maybe it fell out of my pocket.”
“Wouldn’t we hear it?”
“With all that noise—not likely.” As the drive-thru attendant handed him two Happy Meals and a Quarter Pounder with cheese, Jonathan decided to try calling the hospital from home. If the phone was gone, then dragging Riley around the place to find it would be an exercise in futility.
To his dismay, Riley dropped her drink, soaking her in her car seat, and Bryson dropped his entire meal all over the seat trying to help. Bryson’s apologies, combined with Riley’s wails, nearly sent him through the roof. “I’ll turn around and buy more if you both promise to stay silent all the way home.”
By nine-thirty, both children slept, each wearing fresh pajamas and worn out from their evening. Jonathan wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with the phone and call Cara. He jumped. “Oh, no!”
Instead of going back downstairs to clear off the dining table and clean out the car, Jonathan strode to the handset by his bed and picked it up. He dialed Cara’s phone, but it immediately went to voice mail. She was probably frantic, wondering what had happened. He could call her home—if Verna hadn’t tossed the sticky-note with it. In his office, the number still clung to his desk pad. Jonathan punched it into the phone, but her answering machine picked up. Repressing a sigh, he left a message. “Hey there, sorry about hanging up like that. Riley ran full blast into the corner of the counter and cut a big gash over her eye. She’s fine now, but I can’t find my phone. Your cell didn’t pick up—” The machine cut him off mid-sentence.
Remembering the messy kitchen downstairs and the sticky nightmare in his back seat sent a feeling of dread through him. The longer he waited, the more difficult it would be to clean up the mess. With a deep sigh, Jonathan started downstairs, dialing his cellphone as he went. Maybe it slid under the seat. Maybe Bryson had been wrong. It had happened before. The familiar sound of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence” echoed from the kitchen as he reached the bottom of the staircase.
“The counter. I dropped it on the counter. Man I feel stupid.”
Smiling, he redialed Cara’s home phone. “Hey, when you get this, if you feel like talking, call. I don’t care how late it is.”
~*~*~*~
“My phone is dead.” Cara groaned and picked up her mother’s portable. Dialing home, she heard Jonathan’s first message and then his second.
“I’m going home. Can you drive me to Carly’s? He told me to call.”
“Are you sure? It’s almost midnight there.”
“I’ll see if she can come get me.”
“I’ll take you. I just—”
Cara grinned. “Let’s go then! M—the man’s awaitin’.”
Her feet tapped all the way to Carly’s house. She almost forgot to say goodbye to her mother. The worst of it, however, came when she found herself going fifty in a thirty-five zone. “Slow down, girl. He’s not going anywhere at this time of night,” Cara muttered to herself.
Lock the car, take the steps two-by-two, unlock the door—she burst into her living room and grabbed the phone from the handset. Jonathan answered on the first ring. “Hey there.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Hoped.” He grinned at her number displayed on the phone base.
“And maybe also a little help from caller ID?”
“That too. Before I have to tell you about our macabre evening, tell me everything you did today. I just want to hear your voice.”
“Rough, huh?”
“You have no idea. Lily was the one who handled injuries. I don’t like blood.”
“You don’t like seeing your little girl suffer,” she contradicted.
“That too.”
“Well, today Carly dragged me to the mall and I bought shoes. She insisted I spend two hundred dollars for some clear things with crystals on them so she could go all Cinderella on me.”
“Clear—as in glass slipper?”
“As in three inch heels with the best gel soles you’ve ever felt, and then clear with straps.” She read his thoughts even across the miles. “Yes, you’ll see them. I always pull my skirts up before I stand in a long dress. I ruined a school formal once by not being careful. I’m not doing that again. Mom nearly killed me.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I came to Mom’s house, made shrimp quiche, which I tossed, trifle, which I tossed, and then ordered Chinese which we all ate.”
“Why—”
“It sounded nasty by the time it was in the oven.”
“So, you couldn’t take it to a neighbor, call the pastor…”
“Okay, so Mom drove them over to Vince’s. You really know how to kill dramatic effect.” Jonathan sank into the nearest chair and let the stress of the evening ooze from him as Cara chattered on about her dress. “Mom got the hem done. She’s just fiddling with the strap now.”
“Str
ap. Is one too long?”
“It only has one—well, technically two, but they blend into one at the shoulder.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“I love it.” Something about the way she talked reminded him of his cousin in high school, drooling over her prom dress.
“With all that work your mother is doing on it, you’d better.”
She murmured an agreement before adding, “Of course, I’ll never be able to wear it again, but it’ll be nice while it lasts.”
“It wouldn’t work shortened as, say, a cocktail dress?”
“It might.” He heard her sigh and smiled. “Am I totally ridiculous for not wanting to see it changed?”
“Nope. I say you keep it and wear it for quiet dinners at home.”
Something about the way she hesitated told him she’d flirt again. “Will you be there?”
Jonathan grinned. Called it! “If you want me.”
“You wouldn’t laugh at me?”
He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to imagine it. “Considering how good you’re going to look, not on your life.”
Another sigh—and a yawn. “Six days.”
“And nights.”
“Yes, Noah.” She yawned again.
“Go to sleep, Cara mia.”
“You get bossy when I get sleepy. You haven’t told me about Riley.”
“You got the gist on the answering machine. She is now sporting seven stitches, doped on Tylenol with codeine and pantybiotics—”
“Pantybiotics! Oh, that girl!”
“—has a lollipop the size of Rhode Island and a stuffed alligator that will put any Florida ‘gator to shame.”
“Pushover.” She yawned yet again.
“Goodnight, Cara.”
“I’m not hanging up,” she insisted obstinately.
“Well, I am.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“I won’t answer.” He knew he would but had to try.
“I’ll keep calling.” Silence hovered between them for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she tried again. “Jonafan?”
“Yes, Cara mia?”
She grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Goodnight.”
Speak Now Page 22
