Eyes

by Joanne Fluke

  But Neil wasn’t alone. He had her. She’d promised that she wouldn’t leave him. He had Lisa, too, and all the other women who seemed to find him so charming. Visitors would come to see him, flowers would arrive, cards and letters would pour in from his students, friends would call to wish him well.

  How could she be so alone when Neil had so many people who adored him? Was it her fault for isolating herself from those who might have cared about her? Was her personality defective? Was she unlovable? Or was she simply a loner who’d unconsciously pushed everyone away?

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and Jill wiped it away with the back of her hand. Her mother’d had a favorite saying for times like this. SPS Self-Pity Stinks. Jill knew she was indulging in a massive bout of self-pity. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t slept. She was exhausted, and the past few hours had been incredibly tense. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, when all of her sympathy should go to Neil.

  “Stop it!” Jill whispered the words, and then she got up to pace the floor again. The activity seemed to help. It made her feel more in control. If Neil’s operation wasn’t successful, they’d just have to manage. It was like Dr. Varney had said; many other people had learned to cope with the loss of their sight.

  But she was being a pessimist, and that wouldn’t do. Neil’s chance for a complete recovery was very good; corneal transplants were quite routine. She should think of this as a miracle. Her husband might be able to see again. And she should say a little prayer for the unknown person who’d been kind enough to fill out a donor card.

  Jill stopped suddenly as she remembered the older couple in the hallway. Could they be the parents of the person who’d given Neil his eyes? Was their grief lessened, knowing that their son might be giving the gift of life to others? Would it be a comfort if she told them how grateful she was?

  Before she’d quite realized what she was going to do, Jill rushed out to the nurses’ desk. There was a file open on the counter, but the desk was unmanned and the older couple was gone. Just then the doors of the operation room opened and Dr. Varney came out.

  “Jill.” Varney was smiling. “Neil’s doing very well. They’ve taken him down to the ICU.”

  Her hopes rose. “Then the operation was a success?”

  “Yes. Everything went perfectly. Of course we won’t know with any certainty until the bandages come off.”

  Jill nodded. Dr. Varney had explained that Neil’s recovery would take time. “When will you remove them?”

  “The day after tomorrow. He’ll be sedated until then. We don’t want him to make any sudden movements that might strain the stitches.”

  Jill nodded again. “Should I go down to the Intensive Care Unit and wait?”

  “I’ll take you there. You can have a quick peek, and then I want you to go home and get some sleep.”

  “But . . . shouldn’t I be there when Neil wakes up?”

  Dr. Varney shook his head. “We used a local, Jill. He was groggy from the sedative, but he was awake the entire time. What he needs now is sleep, a full eight hours, and so do you.”

  They’d been walking toward the end of the hall, and as they approached the elevator, the doors opened. They stepped in. Dr. Varney pressed the button for the third floor, and then he noticed that Jill was giggling. “What’s funny?”

  “I’ve been watching people ring for the elevator all night, and it’s always taken at least five minutes. You didn’t even ring and the doors opened the second you got there.”

  “Now you know what they mean by doctor’s privilege.” Varney wore a perfectly deadpan expression.

  Jill laughed so hard she had to hold her sides. She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “Come on. It wasn’t that funny.” Dr. Varney looked concerned as he patted her on the shoulder. “I know it’s been a rough night, but Neil’s going to be just fine.”

  The corridor that led to the ICU was brightly illuminated, and the light glaring off the white tiles made Jill’s eyes ache. Varney pressed a buzzer by the door, and a nurse opened it.

  “How’s he doing, Rina?” The doctor ushered Jill in and stopped at the desk to pick up at a chart.

  “Just fine, Doctor. Vital signs are normal, and he understands about the head restraint.”

  Neil was in a small room right next to the charge nurse’s desk. He was flat on his back with his head nestled into something that looked like a huge, hard pillow. There was a padded strap across his forehead, and it was attached to the pillow on both sides with Velcro fasteners.

  “Neil? I’m here.” Jill was surprised to find that she was whispering. Hospitals seemed to do that to a person. She cleared her throat and took her husband’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

  His voice was groggy, but he still managed to sound angry. “How do you think I’m feeling? I can’t see a damn thing!”

  “Neil? It’s Dr. Varney. We’ll take the bandages off on Sunday for a quick look; then they’ll have to go on again. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wear them for at least a week.”

  “Hi, Doc.” Jill noticed that Neil’s voice was much warmer. It was clear he hadn’t realized the doctor was in the room. “That’s okay. I understand. It’s just frustrating . . . you know?”

  Varney nodded. “I can imagine. Try to be patient. This’ll take time to heal.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best, Doc.”

  “Good.” Dr. Varney smiled at Jill. “You need to sleep, so I’m going to send Jill home. Is there anything you want to tell her before she goes?”

  “No. I can’t think of . . . Oh, yeah. Call the department and tell them I’m here. And call Lisa at home. She should know.”

  The color rose in Jill’s cheeks and she immediately dropped Neil’s hand. “You want me to call Lisa?”

  “Somebody’s got to. She’s still scheduled as my TA.”

  Jill was too embarrassed to meet Dr. Varney’s eyes. Had he guessed that Lisa was much more than Neil’s teaching assistant?

  “Jill?” Neil’s voice was softer, more intimate. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he seemed to sense that he’d upset her. “You don’t have to call Lisa. Just ask someone at the department to get in touch with her. I want her to know I won’t be back for next semester so she can start making other arrangements.”

  “All right.” Jill’s voice was shaking slightly. Was it possible that this was purely business, that Neil had actually broken off with Lisa?

  “Thanks for being here, Jill.” Neil reached out for her, and she gave him her hand again. He squeezed it once; then he smiled. “You’ve been a tower of strength. I really couldn’t have gone through all this without you.”

  As she headed for the door, Jill began to frown. Neil had thanked her, and he’d called her a tower of strength. That was nice, but one crucial thing was missing. Not once, during this long, lonely night, had her husband told her that he loved her.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was Saturday morning and Connie was all dressed and ready to go. They’d told her she could leave the hospital at eleven, so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Dr. Peters to sign her release papers.

  “Okay, Connie. You’re all set.” Dr. Peters handed her a small paper bag with the name of the hospital pharmacy imprinted on the front. “When you get home, I want you to go straight to bed. Take one of the white pills three times a day, and if you have trouble sleeping tonight, take one of the small, blue pills.”

  Connie nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Doctor. May I leave now?”

  “Just wait for the wheelchair. They’ll bring it up in a minute.”

  “Wheelchair?” Connie was puzzled. “But I can walk.”

  “It’s against hospital regulations. You’re still under our care until you’re officially released at the front desk. Just ask the orderly to call you a cab, and he’ll wheel you right out to the curb.”

  Connie opened her mouth to protest. She felt just fine, she certainly didn’t need
a wheelchair. But the doctor seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because he shook his head.

  “Sorry. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the way we have to do things. Once you’ve been admitted, you have to be wheeled out. Just enjoy the ride—and call me if you have any problems.”

  Connie sighed and then nodded. “Okay. Thank you for everything, Doctor.”

  Peters started to leave, but he turned back at the door. “You’ve had a terrible shock, Connie. You really shouldn’t be alone. I want you to call someone who can stay with you for a few days.”

  “All right. I’ll do that.” Connie couldn’t quite meet his eyes. If he found out she had no one to call, he might not release her. It was kind of him to worry about her, but there was really no need. Once she got back to the condo and surrounded herself with Alan’s things, she’d be perfectly fine.

  * * *

  Jill was at her desk in the Criminal Courts Building, going over a brief. There really hadn’t been any reason to come in on a Saturday, but after she’d stopped to see Neil at the hospital, she hadn’t felt like going back to the house. There was always work she could do at the office. Her caseload was heavy and that was exactly the way she liked it. Work kept her from thinking about Neil and what her life would be like if the transplant failed.

  A familiar voice floated in from the hallway, and Jill began to smile. She recognized the trace of a Texas drawl that had never been completely erased by twelve years in Minnesota.

  “Doug? Doug Lake?” Jill got up from the desk and poked her head out the door. And then she saw him, her favorite cop on the Minneapolis force.

  “Hey, Jill!” Doug grinned from ear to ear. He was a tall, lanky man with sandy hair that always looked tousled, more at home in blue jeans and a checkered shirt than in the business suit he was wearing. “Long time no see. How’s it going Mrs. Assistant District Attorney?”

  “Just fine, Mr. Lead Sergeant Detective.” Jill grinned back. She’d met Doug when she’d first come to work at the district attorney’s office. He’d been a rookie working crowd control, part of the small equestrian unit, and she’d been the youngest lawyer in the office, at the very bottom of the pecking order. Jill’s boss had assigned Doug’s case to her. A drunk had thrown a bottle at his horse. The drunk had gotten a fine and a considerable amount of jail time; Doug and Jill had been friends ever since.

  “They told me about your husband.” Doug’s grin disappeared, and he looked very sympathetic. “I’m really sorry, Jill.”

  Jill nodded. “Me, too. I just hope the transplant works.”

  “When will they know?”

  “At two o’clock tomorrow.” Jill clasped her hands behind her back. They were starting to tremble. “The doctor’s taking off the bandages to check.”

  “Do you have someone to go to the hospital with you?” Doug still looked concerned. “I can switch my schedule if you need me.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be just fine.” Jill was surprised by the offer. She knew how difficult it was for him to switch schedules. He would have to call in a favor to get someone to cover his shift.

  “Here.” Doug scribbled a number on a card and handed it to her. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. That’s my home number. Call me if you need to talk.”

  Jill tucked the card into her pocket and nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no problem. What are friends for? Let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “I’ll do that.” Jill nodded, and just then the receptionist motioned to Doug.

  “Gotta go. I’ve got an appointment with Hayes, and it’s not smart to keep the big man waiting.” Doug grinned at her. “I get off at eight. Call me anytime after that.”

  As Jill watched him stride down the hall, she felt much better. She’d shared an occasional lunch with Doug, and they’d worked together on several cases, but she hadn’t realized that he thought of her as a friend. She knew very little about his personal life, only a few things about his professional one. He’d left Texas when he’d finished college, and he’d graduated from the Minneapolis Police Academy with honors. He’d risen rapidly in the ranks, everyone including his supervisors liked him, and he’d passed his detective’s exam the first time he’d taken it. Jill didn’t know whether Doug was married or whether he had a girlfriend, or even where he lived. The only personal thing she knew about him was that he liked his coffee strong, with three sugars and two creams.

  When Jill turned around to go back to her desk, she was smiling. Doug Lake was a mystery, and she liked mysteries. Perhaps he was married to a wonderful woman. If so, she could invite them for dinner one night. But would that work? Neil liked to choose his own friends, and he wasn’t interested in meeting any of hers.

  After her marriage, Jill had stopped inviting coworkers to her home. She never knew when Neil would be sarcastic. At times he’d actually been rude to her friends. There was no way Jill could anticipate, with any degree of certainty, how Neil would treat their guests.

  She sat down in her chair and switched on the light. As she picked up her brief and started to read it again, she found herself hoping that Doug wasn’t married. It was a lot safer that way. If Neil was in one of his moods, he might try to hit on Doug’s wife. Doug would react as the other husbands had, and then she’d lose him as a friend. No, it would be much better if Doug weren’t married. And, to be perfectly honest with herself, it would be better if she weren’t married.

  * * *

  Connie smiled as she walked down the corridor and approached the door to three eighty-one. She was home and she could hardly wait to take a shower and crawl into the bed she’d shared with Alan. Of course she’d be lonely; she knew that. But she could slip on one of Alan’s shirts, smell the aftershave he’d always worn, and for a few hours at least, she could pretend that he was still alive.

  There was something wrong with the lock. Her key didn’t seem to fit. Connie wiggled it around and tried to force it into the slot, but she couldn’t get the door to open. Now she’d have to go down to the office and call for a locksmith.

  As she rang for the elevator, Connie glanced at her watch. It was almost one o’clock. She hoped the office hadn’t closed for lunch. She could never remember the schedule. Did they take their lunch hour from twelve to one . . . or from one to two? And was it different on Saturdays? The elevator doors opened and Connie stepped in, thankful that it was empty. She didn’t want to accept the condolences of the neighbors yet. If anyone said a kind word to her, she was sure she’d break down in tears.

  The office manager had just closed up for lunch, but when he saw Connie he unlocked the door. He looked worried, almost nervous at seeing her, and at first Connie was puzzled. In the past he’d always been very friendly. Perhaps he was just one of those people who didn’t know what to say when tragedy struck.

  “Hello, Harry.” Connie stepped into the office and waited for him to speak. Surely he’d offer some sympathetic word, tell her how sorry he was about Alan. But Harry didn’t say anything at all. He just sat there silently, avoiding her eyes.

  “There’s something wrong with my lock.” Connie held out her key. “This doesn’t go in all the way, and it won’t turn at all.”

  Harry nodded, but he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming back today, or I would have put a note on your door.”

  “A note? But why?”

  “I’ve got some bad news.” Harry pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down. “Please take a seat. This isn’t going to be easy, Miss Wilson.”

  Connie seated herself, and this time Harry met her eyes. He looked very upset, he was frowning. “You’d think they’d have the guts to tell you themselves, but they left it to me!”

  “Tell me what, Harry?” Connie’s hands started to tremble. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Stanfords. They sent in a moving crew this morning. There’s a whole pile of boxes that belong to you at the back of the office.” />
  “I . . . I don’t understand!” Connie was so shocked, she hardly knew what to say. “I know Alan made the mortgage payment this month. How could they do that?”

  “That’s what I asked them. They said the condo was in Alan’s name. Now that he’s gone, and he didn’t leave a will, it goes to them.”

  Connie took a deep breath and tried to think. “I guess they’re right. I just don’t know. I never thought about Alan . . . dying.”

  “It’s a dirty shame, but I checked with the lawyer that lives in three seventeen, and he told me there’s nothing you can do. They own the property. You can’t even get in.”

  Connie nodded. It was so much to take in, all at once. “But they left me my things?”

  “That’s just it. They only left your things. I went up there while they were packing. Everything that belonged to Alan went in one set of boxes. They had those hauled to a storage place. Your things went in another set of boxes, and they brought them down here.”

  “They took the furniture?”

  Harry nodded. “I asked the movers if they’d leave your bed and the sofa and one of the chairs. But they said they had their orders from the Stanfords—everything had to go.”

  “Everything?” Hot tears stung Connie’s eyelids.

  “They said Alan had paid for everything and now it all belonged to his parents. Even that picture of him on your dresser, and the photo albums and everything in the cupboards. They left you your clothes and some personal things, but that’s about it.”

  “So they took everything away and changed the locks?”

  “That’s right.” Harry nodded. “I’m really sorry, Miss Wilson. I tried to save something for you, but they wouldn’t let me come in any farther than the front entry way.”

  Connie’s mind was reeling. She didn’t know what to do. She’d lost Alan, their baby, and the home they’d shared in less than twenty-four hours. “Do you think I could use your phone to call the Stanfords? Maybe there’s some kind of mistake.”