Love Is Elected

by Alyssa Howard

  Impotent with rage, she followed.

  Matt stood by the sink, filling the coffee pot with water. "I don't know about you, but I'd like something to eat before we leave for the Preakness."

  "If you think that I'm going to that horse race with you, you're a more conceited, self-centered politician than I ever dreamed possible. You didn't even do me the courtesy of telling me we were going," Kara accused, standing stiffly near the kitchen door.

  "You might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable," Matt told her, gesturing toward one of the kitchen chairs. "If you didn't know that the Preakness was today, then blame your uncle. I've been away all week, remember, and he was supposed to call and tell you about it. We're meeting him there, as a matter of fact."

  Kara maintained a resentful silence. She made no move to pull out a chair.

  Matt turned around and looked her squarely in the face. "I don't understand you at all," he said in exasperation. "One minute you respond like a woman and the next minute you're throwing a childish temper tantrum. What's the matter with you, anyway?"

  "The matter with me?" Kara sputtered. "It's you who…"

  But the dangerous look in his eyes made her stop her accusation in mid-sentence.

  "I've had all of this I'm going to take today," Matt declared, enunciating every word carefully. "You're going to have some breakfast. Then you're going to go upstairs and get dressed in one of your new dresses. And then we're going to go to the Preakness together. Do you understand?" he commanded autocratically.

  Kara nodded miserably, not trusting herself to speak. She knew now she understood Matt Jordan perfectly. He was out to take what he could get, from her and everyone else. And she was a fool to be in love with him. As soon as the campaign was over, she was going to end this charade and force herself to forget about him. But there was no escape for the moment. She would go with him to the Preakness. She would do what was required in public. But in private she would put her emotions on ice. She would build a cool wall of reserve around herself, a wall that Matt Jordan would not break through again.

  Breakfast was a silent meal. And afterwards Kara went upstairs and took her time making her toilet and putting on a yellow cotton sundress with a matching jacket. White leather sandals and a small white purse completed the outfit. When she came downstairs again, Matt was sitting in the living room wearing a stylish but casual sport shirt and slacks.

  Determinedly Kara forced herself to ignore his sensual attractiveness and look away. She would not let herself think about the feel of his muscular torso or the way he had pulled her to him and held her so tenderly the night before.

  She and Matt did not speak to each other during the first part of the drive on the Baltimore Beltway toward Pimlico Race Track. But as they approached the congested area near the entrance, Matt began explaining about the race in the neutral voice of a tour guide.

  "This is the one-hundred-seventh annual running of the Preakness. It's the second jewel of racing's triple crown—after the Kentucky Derby and before the Belmont Stakes," he offered.

  Kara nodded.

  "Have you ever been here before?" he asked casually as he pulled into the special parking lot reserved for VIPs.

  Kara shook her head.

  Matt turned to her with a quizzical expression. "Surely you're not going to be so childish as to give me the silent treatment all afternoon?" he queried.

  "Certainly not," she snapped.

  "That's better—I think," he replied mockingly.

  She held herself stiffly as he helped her out of the car and led her up the concrete ramp to the track's main gate.

  Kara looked up in surprise. Spread out before her in the spacious infield was what looked like a country fair.

  At either end of the wide oval track were two bands—one playing popular rock selections and the other belting out country and bluegrass tunes. In between were blue-and-white-striped booths selling all kinds of food—roasted corn, crabs, fried dough, hamburgers, barbecued sandwiches and pit beef. Others featured various drinks—everything from colas and beer to black-eyed Susans, a mixed drink named after the Maryland state flower.

  She could see thousands of spectators, making themselves at home for a day of partying at the races. Many had blankets spread on the grass. Some had brought their own picnic lunches and kegs of beer.

  Part of the field had been roped off for lacrosse games. As they walked by they stopped for a minute to watch the teams tossing the small, hard ball back and forth with their sticks.

  "When they show the Preakness on TV, you never see all this," Kara exclaimed, caught up in the excitement of the event in spite of herself.

  "This is Baltimore's biggest party. By the time the day is over, there will have been eighty-five thousand people here," Matt replied, warming to the festive atmosphere.

  "It doesn't seem that crowded," Kara commented.

  "That's because the infield is so big. Actually this is the only day of the season they open it like this. Usually people sit in the grandstands, and we'll be going up there later to watch the Preakness. But there's a full bill of racing before the big event."

  Despite her resolution of the morning, Kara couldn't help enjoying the lively goings-on. And why shouldn't I have a good time? she asked herself. I might as well get something positive out of being Mrs. Matt Jordan, she justified to herself.

  She and Matt spent the morning strolling among the merrymakers. As they approached various groups, many in the crowd recognized Matt and greeted him warmly. But few were interested in a sober discussion of political issues.

  "You don't seem like you're doing much campaigning," Kara teased.

  Matt laughed good humoredly. "It's important for us to be seen here, Kara—you should understand that, since you recommended that I relate to the public—but most of those here are more interested in having a good time than getting involved in serious discussions."

  Matt and Kara lunched on crab cakes, corn on the cob and beer. After they ate, he handed her a program. "It's a lot more fun if you place a bet on the Preakness," he explained.

  "How do I pick the winner?" she asked, smiling mischievously up at him.

  Matt chuckled. "If I could tell you how to do that, I'd be a billionaire. Just use your intuition. Then we can go stand in line at the betting booth."

  Kara looked over the list of eleven horses. There was only one filly—Fool's Delight. The jockey would be wearing the buff and blue silks of a Kentucky stable. She decided to bet on the filly.

  "You picked a fifty-to-one shot," Matt informed her. "If she does win, you'll be set up for life."

  Kara giggled. "Maybe I'll have beginner's luck."

  "Well, I'm going to bet on my mother's foal— Maryland Dancer—who has only slightly better odds," Matt replied. "Let's go over to the window now. It's a good idea to place your Preakness bet early. By the middle of the afternoon, the line will be half a mile long."

  After they had placed their bets, they heard the loudspeaker announce the first race. Kara was surprised to see all the merrymakers drop what they were doing and rush to the railing to watch the horses run. Two minutes later, when the results were announced, they all resumed their activities on the infield as if there had never been an interruption.

  Kara turned to Matt quizzically. "What was all that?" she asked.

  "Just the attendees taking a small intermission for the race. Actually, the preliminary races are only a minor part of what Preakness day is all about."

  "Are all horse races like this?" she asked.

  "Hardly. Most of the people here today are once-a-year racing fans. They're mostly interested in the celebration and having a good time, and the races are just an added bonus."

  As they walked along the field, Kara almost tripped over a couple who had shed much of their clothing and were sunbathing on a blanket on the grass.

  "This certainly is informal," she observed, averting her eyes in embarrassment. She felt herself flushing as she recalled vivid
ly how Matt had disrobed her the night before.

  "You should have been here a few years ago when streaking was popular," he replied easily, not seeming to notice her discomfiture.

  The afternoon flew by. And before Kara knew it, the Preakness was being announced.

  "We'd better get up to the grandstands," Matt told her, taking her elbow and walking her quickly across the field. "They'll close off this section once they start raking the track, and we don't want to be stuck over here."

  In the grandstands, Kara and Matt found their seats in the booth that had been reserved for party officials.

  "Where's Uncle James?" Kara questioned. "I don't see him anywhere."

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Matt replied laconically.

  "Are you sure he's really supposed to meet us here?" Kara persisted. "Or did you just tell me that to get me here?" she added suspiciously.

  Matt shot her a look of annoyance. "Are you questioning my integrity?" he asked in a low voice, trying to keep the argument private.

  Kara gave a mirthless laugh. "Integrity," she retorted. "For someone who admitted to using me for his own purposes, you're a fine one to talk about integrity."

  "You may be taking advantage of your uncle's absence as an excuse to start an argument, but I'm not playing your game," Matt informed her. "If you're not going to watch the race, at least let me see who wins."

  Kara looked at Matt questioningly. How could he concentrate on something as unimportant as a horse race with so much strain between them?

  Suddenly all the emotions he had aroused in her this morning came flooding back. It was all she could do to force herself to stay seated next to him.

  She had played into his hands again today, she realized. Matt had made no secret of the fact that he wanted her to be two things as a wife—a showy political possession and a willing bedpartner. Well, in the last twenty-four hours he had certainly gotten what he wanted, she told herself grimly.

  She was only vaguely aware of the horse race, as the people around her sprang from their seats for a better view. But her own thoughts about the hopelessness of her marriage kept her from getting caught up in the excitement.

  It was only after the eleven horses had finished and she heard the announcer give the final standings that the voice from the loudspeaker was able to penetrate her haze.

  Her horse, Fool's Delight, had come in last.

  How appropriate, Kara thought. I should have known that fools never win. She tore the ticket she was clutching into a dozen pieces.

  "We might as well leave," she heard Matt saying. And obediently she stood up. But just as they reached the aisle, a short, bald man in a brown suit came rushing up to Matt.

  "Mr. Jordan?" he asked breathlessly.

  Matt nodded.

  "I have an important message for you," he said, handing him a folded slip of paper.

  Matt thanked him and opened the note. His eyes scanned the words quickly and a dark frown spread across his features. Then he turned to Kara.

  "It's your uncle," he said gently, putting his arm around her shoulder. "He's had a heart attack. We've got to get to the hospital right away."

  Chapter Ten

  Kara sat frozen in shock in the Porsche's front seat while Matt threaded his way through Preakness traffic toward Johns Hopkins Hospital. The car crawled at a snail's pace. Every block seemed to take an hour to traverse. Crowds of festive people lined the streets, and open automobile windows invited joking back and forth. But what had seemed fun and exciting during the Preakness festival was now nightmarish and grotesque to Kara.

  She couldn't believe that her uncle was critically ill. She tried to picture him lying helpless in a hospital bed, but the image wouldn't materialize. He had always seemed so strong and unassailable.

  "I can't believe this is real," Kara said aloud. Matt, somber behind the wheel, turned and looked at her sympathetically.

  "But it is. Your uncle has been sick for a long time, Kara," he said softly.

  She stared at him in shock. "What do you mean?"

  "He's had a severe heart condition for seven years and he's had to be very careful," Matt explained. "These last two years have been especially rough for him because his condition has grown worse."

  "I had no idea," Kara gasped, tears beginning to well up. "Oh poor Uncle James!" Matt pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes and then looked up at his firm profile.

  "But how did you find out about all of this," she asked, "when I had no idea he was even ill?"

  "I only learned about it on our wedding night. Monica called to ask for my help. James had had a mild attack and fallen on the floor. She couldn't get him into bed and he refused to allow her to call the hospital."

  Before she could stop herself she blurted, "Isn't it a good thing he always has a girlfriend around recently."

  Matt picked up her meaning immediately. "It is a good thing, Kara, despite what you're thinking. But there was nothing accidental about it. Monica is a special duty nurse just like the other women he's been seen with. He's been hiring them to take care of him since his condition worsened two years ago."

  Kara flushed with chagrin. "I'm sorry. I had no idea," she murmured contritely, staring down at her folded hands. "I always thought those girls were…"

  "I know what you thought," Matt interrupted. "I did, too, before Monica's phone call, but that was what your uncle wanted people to think. He was too proud to let anyone know he was seriously ill, even you."

  Kara sank into the seat and stared miserably out the window. They had finally gotten through the worst of Preakness traffic and were heading down Northern Parkway to Cathedral. A half hour later they pulled up in front of the red brick Victorian facade of one of Baltimore's largest medical complexes.

  "Why don't you go in and check on your uncle while I park the car," Matt suggested. "I'll meet you up there." She nodded, pulled open the door and climbed out.

  She walked into the hospital with a sense of unreality. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It all seemed like a bad dream from which she would soon awaken. Passing a hand quickly over her eyes, she squared her shoulders and went to the main desk, where she inquired about her uncle.

  The receptionist checked a register. "Mr. Barnett's still in intensive care. But the ICU will have more information on his condition. Take the elevator through those doors to the fourth floor and look for the signs."

  Following the woman's instructions, Kara soon found herself in a brightly lit corridor on the fourth floor. Nurses and hospital staff in white uniforms floated by her. An antiseptic smell greeted her nostrils, and as she walked her high heels tapped eerily on the tile floor. The hall seemed unending as she passed doorway after doorway. But finally she reached the intensive care unit. There a nurse in a small reception area stopped her.

  "I'm here to see my uncle, James Barnett," Kara said in a shaky voice. "I'm Kara Barnett."

  The nurse looked down at a sheet of paper. "The only people who have permission to see Mr. Barnett," she told Kara officiously, are a Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Jordan."

  "Oh, I'm Mrs. Jordan; Barnett is my maiden name," Kara explained in embarrassment. The nurse looked at her doubtfully and then asked her to wait.

  A few minutes later a tall, freckled man in a white coat came out and introduced himself as Dr. Shepherd. He reached in a friendly fashion to take Kara's cold hand, wrapping his big, warm mitts around hers.

  "Your uncle has been asking for you," he told her sympathetically. "You can go in and take a peek at him. But don't disturb him. He's sleeping now and he's not strong enough to carry on a conversation. You should be able to talk to him in a day or two." He opened the door and let her through, warning, "Remember, only a minute now."

  Kara thanked him and stepped inside. She stopped short. What she saw confused her at first. Machinery cluttered the room. Even the bed in the center was not spared. A large plastic tent covered her uncle's sleeping form and
lines from an IV unit were attached to his arm. She moved closer while a nurse hovered at his side.

  When Kara peered down through the plastic she was shocked at her uncle's haggard, gray appearance. She hardly recognized him. The man in the oxygen tent seemed at least twenty years older. She could feel the tears well up once again. He was her only blood relative and now it looked as if she might lose him. Why had she done so little to communicate with him over the past few years? she wondered remorsefully.

  Suddenly Matt was at her side, holding her hand.

  "We'd better go now," he told her gently. Putting an arm around her, he led her out into the waiting room. Distractedly she listened to him talking to Dr. Shepherd, asking him to keep them informed.

  The rest of the evening passed in a haze for Kara. Torn by conflicting emotions of fear, guilt, and loss, she went immediately to her room after Matt took them home.

  Later in the evening Matt tapped on her door and asked, "Kara, are you okay?"

  "Yes, I am." she said through the closed door. "But I'd like to be alone tonight, Matt."

  "Can't I get you something to eat?" he persisted.

  "No thanks. I just need some sleep." He paused for a moment and then said "All right" in a low voice. Then she heard his footsteps crossing the hall.

  The next three days Kara spent sitting by her uncle's side or in the small, impersonal waiting room at the hospital. Matt was busy during the day, but he joined her in the evening and led her down to the cafeteria to eat. Food had no taste, but she dutifully forced herself to eat a little at Matt's urging.

  On Tuesday, when Matt came to take Kara home from the hospital, he frowned at her pale face and lackluster eyes.

  "Stop punishing yourself," he told her sternly. "None of this is your fault."

  Kara's eyes fell away from his. "I know you're right," she murmured. "But it's so hard to be rational at a time like this. I'm doing more feeling than thinking. All those years Uncle James did the best he could for me. I thought he was insensitive…" She let her voice trail off.

  Matt put a strong arm around her shoulder and drew her to his side. Too weary to resist, she let herself rest her head against the muscular wall of his chest. At this moment he seemed like a rock she could cling to in the storm of emotions she was feeling.