“I can see it would solve the problem, but it’s just not possible,” Vanessa reiterated. “Now, what other avenues are open to us?”
“I keep thinking of our mission statement, the one you gave me when I first took this job,” Gordon said. “Doesn’t it state that our task is to provide comprehensive palliative services to the client to the best of our ability, while honoring patient wishes, needs and values? Patients in palliative care often have their pets with them, the things they love around them, the things that comfort them close at hand. I can’t see the difference here, except that with Cedric it’s a packing box instead of a dog.”
Portia wanted to applaud. If she wasn’t in love with Nelson, she could certainly fall for this big, stubborn nurse. Vanessa couldn’t deny her own mission statement, could she?
“I myself will move Cedric in,” Gordon added. “I’ll do it with the least possible disruption to the unit. And I’m his primary caregiver, so if there’s a problem with any of the nursing procedures, I’ll deal with it.” He gave Vanessa a steady look. “It’s not for long, anyway,” he reminded her softly, matter-of-factly.
Portia could see Vanessa trying to reconcile her rigid ideas of what was acceptable with her dedication as a caregiver. At last, she grudgingly gave in. “Gordon, I’m holding you responsible for making certain you don’t infest the entire unit with vermin,” she snapped. “I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when the nurses see that packing box, so I’d better go prepare them.” She stalked out.
“Yes!” Portia crowed, shoving an arm in the air in a salute. “Gordon, that was inspired. Congratulations.”
He smiled his calm smile. “Now the tough part begins,” he said. “Persuading Cedric to move into the Palliative Care Unit might be even harder than convincing Vanessa to have him there.”
“Do you want me to come with you to talk to him?” Maybe she could get an intern to cover for her for another hour or so.
Gordon shook his head. “He doesn’t mind me knowing where and how he lives, but he’d be embarrassed to have you see it. I’ll tell you how it goes.”
Portia went back to work, thinking how well Gordon had handled the crisis with Vanessa Thorpe. He’d been explicit in what he wanted, and he’d simply used the basic facts, without becoming distracted by inconsequential details. It was a lesson for her, in how to deal with her mother over Juliet.
The ER was busy all day, but things had slowed down by the time Joanne arrived to begin the evening shift.
“Got a minute?” She pulled Portia into an examining room and closed the door so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I went to a seminar a couple months ago that was held by the doctor from Victoria who wrote that book you loaned me a year ago called Unconditional Healing.”
“Derek Davis. I remember. He and several other doctors operate the Victoria Pain Clinic.” Portia had been intensely interested in the clinic because it was run by medical doctors making use of many alternative treatments, including hypnosis, imagery, massage and spiritual healing.
“Well, I remembered he said at the seminar that he was considering starting a similar clinic here in Vancouver. So I gave him a call this morning, and the clinic’s a go. He’s now looking for doctors interested in alternative care.” Joanne took a card from her pocket and handed it to Portia. “Here’s his number. I think he’d be really interested in talking to you. At the seminar he talked about medical intuitives, people who diagnose without even being near the patient, and you came to mind immediately.”
Portia studied the card. “It’d be different from working in the ER, that’s for sure.”
“Change isn’t always a bad thing.”
“It’s sure scary, though.” Portia grinned at her friend and stuck the card in the pocket of her trousers. “I’d miss the adrenaline transfusion I get here daily. I’d miss you.”
“I don’t live here. We could still do lunch. And there’re other methods of getting your daily adrenaline rush.” Joanne’s eyes twinkled. “I’m told sex has a similar effect.”
“More fun, too, I’ve heard.” They grinned at each other.
There was a tap at the door, and a nurse stuck her head in. “I have a sixty-year-old female with acute lower abdominal pain in room five. Could one of you have a look?”
“I’ll take it, Portia. You go home.”
Portia did, and that evening, she phoned her mother. She’d written out her own mission statement before she dialed, and she clutched the paper like a talisman.
A maid answered, and it was a long wait before Lydia finally came on the line, her voice rich and sensual. “Portia, it’s almost midnight here. I was having a bath. Malcolm says hello. He wants to know when you’re coming down for a holiday. He says he’d like to get better acquainted with you.”
“Tell him, me, too.” Determined not to get sidetracked, Portia blurted out, “Mom, Juliet’s pregnant, and she’s planning on keeping her baby.”
Silence.
“Mom? I think you should come here so we can make plans. She won’t be able to stay in Harmony House once the baby comes. And she’s gonna need close supervision after the baby’s born—certainly at first, maybe indefinitely.”
“There must be someone we can hire. The father is that Stuart person?”
“Stuart Mays, but Juliet’s on her own. He’s living in Seattle now, and as far as I’m aware, he’s staying there.”
“Honestly.” Lydia blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t just rearrange my life and come to Vancouver right this minute, Portia. Malcolm and I can’t get away just now. He’s involved in the regatta. And I’d hate to come without him. Besides, I’m working with the police in Amsterdam on a murder case. I’ll send a check so you can hire someone—”
Portia reread her mission statement: My task is to provide support to those I love, but not at the expense of my own happiness, my own life.
“No, Mother.” She remembered how calm Gordon had sounded, and did her best to mimic his tone. “That’s what you’ve always done with Juliet. You send money and expect me to handle the details. But I’m not going to. She’s your daughter. It’s time you took responsibility for her. She needs you right now.”
“Portia, that’s cruel and unfair.” Lydia sounded hurt and bewildered. “I’ve always taken responsibility for all my children, especially for Juliet. Why, she’s always had the very best of care. Money’s never been an issue, and it isn’t now. We simply have to hunt down a good, reliable nanny when the baby comes, and find Juliet a suitable apartment. It’s too bad about the group home. I really thought she was settled there permanently.”
“And someone has to take time to do those things,” she reminded her mother. Portia shut her eyes and shook her head. This was tough. “Besides, those are physical things, Mom. Juliet needs so much more. She loves Stuart, and he’s abandoned her. She needs emotional reassurance. She needs to know that you support her in every way, not just financially. She needs you here right now, Mom.”
Silence. Then, in a grudging tone, Lydia said, “Well, I’ll have to see how I can rearrange my schedule. I’ll discuss it with Malcolm and call you back.”
Portia was sweating when she hung up, but she was also pleased with herself. She’d never before been so honest with her mother. Whether Lydia came or not, at least Portia had clearly conveyed what she wanted.
When the phone rang ten minutes later, she snatched it up, wondering what Lydia had decided to do.
“Hi… Mom?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.” It was Nelson. “I was thinking of you, so I decided to call.”
Hearing his voice, she realized how much she missed him. “How are you, Nelson?” He sounded tense. “How’s your mother?”
“I’m at the hospital. Mom’s in Intensive Care. I go in to see her for ten minutes out of each hour.”
“What do the docs say?”
“They’re cautiously optimistic. They feel there’s a good chance she’ll make a full recovery if she g
ets through this next twenty-four hours.” The tension in his voice increased. “Just sitting around here, not being able to do anything but wait, is damn hard.”
“Your mom’s aware you’re there. That’s really important.” Knowing what to say was difficult. “Talk to her, Nelson. She’ll hear you.”
“I do. How’re things with you, Portia?”
“Fine. Good, even.” She told him about Gordon’s campaign to get Cedric’s packing box into a room in the Palliative Care Unit. “I dropped by on my way home, and sure enough, Gordon was moving Cedric and all his worldly goods into a room right next to the door. I didn’t go in. A couple of Cedric’s friends were there helping, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll see him in the morning. He’s got a respiratory infection and the interns are keeping a close eye on him for me.”
“Tell him hi from me. Tell him I’ll be by to see him as soon as I get back.”
“Any idea when that’ll be?” She tried her best to keep the question casual.
“No idea just yet. I’ll let you know as soon as—” A woman said something and he answered.
“Sorry, Portia, gotta go. Elaine says Mom’s awake and asking for me. I’ll call again when I have a minute.”
“I’ll be sending you and your mom good thoughts.”
“Thanks, darlin’. Bye.”
He ended the connection abruptly, but Portia hung up more slowly. Wasn’t Elaine his first wife’s name? Nelson had told her that his mother and his former wife had stayed good friends, and Pennsylvania wasn’t that far from Florida. Of course Elaine would be there now.
It took Portia a moment to realize that the emotion she was feeling was jealousy. She was stunned. She had no reason, and no right, to be jealous. Nelson had never given her the slightest indication that there was anything but friendship between Elaine and him now.
Just as he’d never given Portia any indication there was more than body hunger between Portia and him. But knowing all that didn’t alter the way she felt.
She wanted to be the one with Nelson right now. She wanted to be the one he turned to when he left the hospital. She wanted to be beside him in his hotel bed, to talk with him, comfort him, hold him and be held by him. The longing was intense and visceral, and scary as hell.
You’re in way over your head, Bailey. Get a grip.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NELSON CLASPED HIS MOTHER’S hand, rubbing a thumb tenderly over the age spots and protruding veins. After five harrowing days, Madeleine was out of Intensive Care. She’d made an amazing recovery, and now that she felt better, she was desperate to go home. She was being discharged that afternoon; Nelson had arranged for home-nursing care around the clock for as long as her doctor thought it necessary. Nelson understood that Madeleine would relax and improve more quickly in the comfort of her own condo.
He’d be flying home himself in a few more days, as soon as he was certain Madeleine was settled. He was about to tell his mother so, when she turned to him with a sad little smile and said, “Hospitals remind me of your father.”
Nelson nodded and a shudder ran down his spine. “Me, too. Hellish memories.”
“Some,” Madeleine agreed. “But the good far outweigh the bad,” she declared. “I’m such a lucky woman to have had the life I had with William.” Her blue eyes, faded replicas of Nelson’s own, glowed with an inner light. “We had a wonderful marriage, he and I.”
“How can you say that?” The words rushed out of him. “All those years you spent caring for Dad when he wasn’t much more than a vegetable, the agony of watching him die a little each day. God, if you’d known about the Huntington’s, really known what it would do to him, and to you, you wouldn’t have ever—” He stopped, ashamed of his outburst.
“Ever married William?” The blue eyes were searching his face now, and Nelson couldn’t meet her steady gaze, but he nodded, and old resentments roiled in his gut.
“You’re wrong, son. I understood the chances. Your father never lied to me, not once. He told me all about the disease when we first met,” she said. “He even took me to meet his uncle Seth, who already had Huntington’s, so I’d see firsthand what it was like. We both realized it was a possibility for William. We spoke of it sometimes, but we vowed to live every moment of every day and take joy in that.” She laughed a little. “We did, too. But only after we were married, of course. I used to tease your father about how I’d had to practically use a shotgun to get him to marry me in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” Nelson had never asked questions, never talked to his mother this way, thinking it would upset her. Instead of being upset, she looked almost like a young girl as she recounted how she and William had met at a church social, how she’d pursued him, rather than the other way around.
“He was the most reluctant suitor. He had this idea he couldn’t ever marry.” Madeleine shook her head. “So of course I had no choice.” She met Nelson’s eyes and grinned roguishly. “I seduced him. I made sure I got pregnant with you, and that was that. He had to marry me then. It would have been a scandal in those days not to get married. And it was a scandal, anyway. My mother and father were mortified, and furious with both of us. But I knew William was the only man for me, and there was no other way to change his mind.”
“You—you got pregnant deliberately?” Nelson was shocked. “Even—even knowing about the Huntington’s?” He felt a surge of unreasonable anger at his mother. How could she have done such an irresponsible thing, trapping his father into doing what he’d sworn never to do? Damning her own child with a horrible genetic legacy?
“I’ve always been an optimist, Nelson. There was as much a chance your father wouldn’t inherit the disease as there was that he would. I took that chance.” A frown came and went. “Some would say I lost, but not me. I had twenty-four marvelous years, filled with laughter and the absolute love of a man I adored. And I have you, my dear boy.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I know your father’s illness has had a profound effect on your life, and I’m sorry for that. Maybe we made a mistake not telling you about Huntington’s from the very beginning. It was such a shock for you when William began to develop the symptoms. And I realize you must worry about developing it. I wish that didn’t have to be, and my heart aches for you. But we all have choices, Nelson. We can either live fully each day that we have, or waste our time worrying about dying. We all die eventually, anyway. I pray every day that you’re enjoying your life to the fullest and not agonizing about something that may never happen. Are you doing that?”
Her question caught him by surprise. “I guess I’m doing my best,” he said after a moment.
“I hope so, dear. Remember that your best today isn’t your best tomorrow. We’re here to grow. As for doing anything differently myself?” She shook her head. “The thought never crosses my mind.”
ON THE PLANE BACK to Vancouver two days later, his mother’s words kept echoing in Nelson’s head. They’d talked again, and looked at old albums, which had reminded him of the happy times they’d all shared when he was a child, times he’d forgotten when his father’s illness had taken precedence.
He could understand Madeleine’s point of view now, even if he couldn’t completely share it. And he’d renewed a bond with her that he’d done his best to break. He’d call her when he got home. It was good to have his mother back in his life.
He glanced at his watch, impatient for the long plane ride to be over. He’d already phoned Portia; she was meeting him at the Vancouver terminal.
He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms, hear her voice, her laughter. He couldn’t wait to make love to her. He’d done a great deal of thinking, and at some point during the past forty-eight hours, he’d admitted that he’d fallen in love with Portia. It had taken a huge amount of courage to admit, even to himself, that he wanted to marry her.
He didn’t just want it—he longed for it. He fantasized how it would be, he and Portia, committed to each other, living under the same roo
f, making the concessions that married people make. Anxiety ate at his guts, though, each time he tried to figure out how she felt about him.
She enjoyed their lovemaking; he had no doubts in that quarter. She enjoyed talking with him; they never ran out of things to say. They’d been together through some tough times—his injuries, Juliet’s pregnancy. Getting through bad times together should mean that good times would be a snap.
But did she love him? The only way to find out was to ask her. He’d get a ring, he decided. He’d do the whole thing right.
He didn’t have his mother’s fatalistic courage, however.
Before he could ask the woman he loved to be his partner, he would have to find out once and for all whether he had Huntington’s.
Within the next couple of days, he’d call the genetics laboratory at the University of British Columbia and ask for the test.
And when the answer came, then he’d know what to say to Portia.
“YOU LOOK SO GOOD,” he told her. “Damn, you are one good-looking woman, Dr. Bailey.”
She laughed. She’d been standing at the front of the crowd, just outside the door he came through when he cleared Customs, and hers was the first and only face he saw.
He’d thought he remembered exactly how she looked, but he’d forgotten how the dramatic angularity of her jaw contrasted with the soft vulnerability of her mouth. He’d forgotten how her gray eyes reflected the smile on her lips. He’d forgotten how those lips tasted when he kissed her, how his hand fit in the small of her back and her slender body tilted against him, pliable and willing, when he drew her close.
“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was harsh, and he wished he didn’t have the damn crutches so he could have wrapped one arm around her neck and looped his raincoat over the other to hide the erection that wouldn’t subside as they walked through the terminal, out to the parking garage.
He shoved his luggage in the trunk of the Datsun, and before she could get in the car, he leaned the crutches against the door and took her in his arms again, as hungry for her as if she were oxygen.
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