by Tamie Dearen
“That couch folds out into a bed,” the nurse commented. “I can show you how it works.”
“Now you tell me,” said Laurie, rubbing the sore muscle on the side of her neck.
“You can go home, Cole. My fever’s gone.” With Finn’s last word, a coughing fit hit him, deep and scary-sounding.
“I’m already here, so I’m staying.” Cole dropped his bag and sat down beside Laurie, locking his fingers behind his head and stretching out his long legs.
By the time the nurse had collected his numbers and left the room, Branson was on his feet, white cane in hand, headed toward the door. “Have a good night, Finn. Are you ready, Laurie? I’ll give you a ride.”
Frustrated, Laurie stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. She had no excuse to stay with Finn, and the dark expression on his face said he didn’t want her there.
“Bye, Finn,” she said glibly. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”
Her gaze connected with his, the intensity of his glare shooting a charged bolt through her chest. Whatever emotion lay behind that murderous look had destroyed any progress they’d made in their relationship. He must see her as one more interfering woman in his life.
At least he’s alive—I don’t care what he thinks about me.
She tried hard to believe it.
Chapter 11
As she feared, Laurie didn’t hear from Finn for the rest of the week, though Bran kept her up to date on his condition. Determined to carry her share of the load, Laurie tried her best to work without bothering Branson or Cole. Fortunately, a phone call to Dara had resulted in a wealth of information. Stuck at home on bed-rest, she said she was going “stir crazy” and happily answered every question Laurie could think of. She made Laurie promise to contact her if she got stuck again, but Laurie didn’t want to take advantage of her when she was supposed to be on leave.
At noon on Friday, while working through lunch to complete a to-do list about ten miles long, she got a phone call from her mother. She answered the phone, though she didn’t feel up to the inevitable argument.
“Hi, Mom. I’m pretty busy, so I can’t talk long.”
“You’re not taking a lunch break?”
She stayed calm, knowing her mother didn’t realize how judgmental she sounded.
“I’ll grab something to eat. But it’s not like I couldn’t afford to skip one meal.”
“Laurie Tyra Shields! You know that’s not healthy.”
“Why did you call, Mom?” she asked, impatience creeping into her tone.
“I wanted to tell you my news.”
“What’s that?”
Please don’t let her tell me she’s marrying Tyrone.
“I’m engaged!”
Ughh! She struggled to control her ragged emotions. She had to put her mother’s feelings first.
“Mom, if this is really what you want, I’m happy for you.”
“And I want you to be my maid of honor.”
Dread swirled in her gut. “Don’t you think your sister should be your maid of honor? She deserves it after all she’s done for us.”
Laurie and her mother had lived with Aunt Micaela and Uncle Carlos for as long as Laurie could remember.
“I want my daughter.”
Laurie stifled a groan. “I’ll consider being in the wedding. But only if you have a small private ceremony… a secret one, with no publicity.”
Carmen’s response was a loud sniff.
“Tyrone wants me to have the wedding of my dreams. Why shouldn’t I get a fancy wedding with a white dress and everything? You don’t think I deserve it?”
“Mom, my decision has nothing to do with you. I’ve worked hard to keep my own identity. So you can have the celebrity life, but I don’t want to be known as Tyrone Shields’ daughter—I just want to be plain-old Laurie F—” She stopped herself before she blurted out her new last name. “Laurie, from Miami.”
“Tyrone’s not really a celebrity, anymore,” her mother argued. “He retired from football years ago.”
“The media still follow him around. Especially since Jerome’s in the NFL now.” Laurie referred to her half-brother.
“I almost forgot… Jerome’s going to be Tyrone’s best man. So you have to be my maid of honor.”
“I can’t process this right now.” A throb started at the base of her neck and extended to her forehead. “We can talk about it later. I’ll call you this weekend.”
“Are you coming for Christina’s quinceañera on Saturday?”
“I wish I could,” she answered truthfully, knowing her cousin’s fifteenth birthday celebration was a big deal. “I’m too busy with work right now, but I mailed my present two weeks ago.”
Carmen launched into a lengthy description of the party preparations as Laurie stared out the window at the gathering storm clouds.
Stephanie’s incoming phone call saved her from her mother’s endless chatter.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Boss is calling me. Talk to you later.” She connected with Stephanie. “Hey, Boss.”
“You don’t work for me anymore.” Stephanie chuckled. “You sound distraught. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Kind of. Got some bad news from my mom.”
“Are she and Tyrone getting married?”
“Yep.” She popped the p. “Just like I predicted. But that’s not all. She wants me to be her maid of honor. And guess who’s going to be the best man… Jerome.”
“Your half-brother? That might be kind of fun, right? You told me you guys got along really well in college.”
“True. He’s nothing like our father. He complained all the time that he couldn’t tell people I was his sister.”
“He seemed super nice that time I met him.”
“I’d love to see him again. We still keep in touch, but I left out all the big stuff about my life. He doesn’t know where I am or that I changed my name or anything like that.
“I’m glad he’ll be there. Shows a lot of guts, don’t you think? His mother can’t be very excited about this wedding, even though she’s the one who left your father.”
“It could be a good thing to see Jerome again, except for one tiny little detail… the media coverage.”
“Good gracious, I forgot he’s in the NFL now! The sports reporters will be all over this.” Stephanie sounded more panicky than Laurie. “If you’re in that wedding, your cover is blown for sure. You could’ve changed your last name to Frankenstein, and they’d still figure out who you are.”
“What am I going to do?”
A knock sounded, and Branson leaned in the doorway. “Hey, Laurie. Got a minute?”
“I’m on the phone with your wife. Do you have a message for her?”
“Not one you could repeat out loud,” said Bran, with a broad grin, coming closer.
“Tell him I’ll be waiting for him at home in my special outfit.” Steph’s voice carried through the air, and Bran laughed.
“Too much information, guys.” Laurie complained. “Virginal ears, remember?”
“Bye, girl. Talk to you later.” Stephanie was giggling as she disconnected the call.
“Glad you stopped by. I hope you’re here to make some follow-up phone calls for me. I’m trying to confirm the final arrangements with each donor who’s giving us a physical item for auction.” Laurie blinked her bloodshot eyes and yawned—three nights in a row with hardly any sleep, plus a pounding headache. She hoped she could make it to the end of the day.
“Afraid I don’t have time to help today. But I do have good news.” His grin was so wide she could see every tooth. “Jarrett isn’t going to have chemo.”
“None at all?”
“That’s right.” Branson moved unerringly to the chair in front of her desk and sat down. As always, she was amazed he could remember the furniture placement so well. He released a long breath like he’d been holding it for a year. “It turns out he only had one area of recurrent cancer in his lung, and they think they got it
all. The doctors say there’s no real benefit to chemotherapy in this case. Jarrett’s ecstatic. He told me the chemo they use for osteosarcoma is really nasty stuff, and he was dreading it.”
“That’s great! How long before he’s back?” Laurie wanted to dance around the room. All her problems were almost over. Jarrett would come back and she wouldn’t have to deal with Finn anymore. They could go back to their former antagonistic relationship, as if nothing had ever happened.
That’s because nothing did happen. That little spark you felt was completely one-sided.
Branson hesitated. “It’ll be several more weeks before he can work again. They broke his chest open to do that lung surgery, and the recovery takes a while.”
Her throat fell into her stomach, but she pretended to be fine with the news.
“That’s okay. I really don’t need help since I talked to Dara. She talked to me for hours and even made a few phone calls. Luckily, she had the advertisements scheduled before she left. None of you guys mentioned advertising,” she accused.
“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t know. Dara’s been handling the details since we started this fundraiser six years ago. We’re lost without her,” Bran said. “I wish she could’ve been here to train you, like we originally planned.”
“For now, I think I’ve got it under control. Dara’s been a lifesaver. Will Jarrett be back in time to attend the fundraiser in LA?” she asked, hoping three weeks was enough time for him.
“I’m afraid the current plan is for him to work from his Denver office so he can stay close to his doctors. They have to monitor for any other signs of recurrent cancer.”
“Got it.”
I’m stuck with Finn, and he hates me again. What other good news awaits?
Bran cleared his throat. “Finn’s supposed to go home from the hospital tomorrow. He could be back here by the end of next week.”
“Good.” She managed a cheery tone. “Glad he’s feeling better.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t call today and let you know.”
She shrugged. “No.”
“Has he called you since Wednesday?”
“I could’ve missed his call,” she suggested.
Bran’s jaw muscles bulged. “I’m sorry, Laurie. He ought to know better. Don’t worry, though… I’ll talk to him.”
“No!” She raised her voice more than she intended. “He doesn’t need his friends telling him what to do. He already gets that from his mom and sisters.”
“I don’t understand why he’s acting like this.” Bran flung an arm in the air. “I’ve tried to keep my nose out of it. But when it starts affecting our work here, I figure it’s my business.”
He stood with a determined expression, as if he might be headed to see Finn right that moment. In a panic, Laurie whipped around her desk and grasped his arm before he could leave.
“Please, Branson. Don’t say anything to him. I’m making good progress on the fundraiser, thanks to Dara. Finn’s struggling to get well, right now. He’s not at his best.”
“Being sick is no excuse for being rude.”
“It’s my own fault, really.” She sagged, sitting on the edge of her desk. “I’ve been thinking about this since Wednesday night. I knew Finn didn’t allow any women to get close to him. He was finally starting to trust me, when I blew it. I should’ve let you or Cole stay with him at the hospital, like you suggested.”
“Honestly, neither of us could’ve afforded to miss another day of work.” Branson idly tapped his cane on the floor. “I was so grateful when you volunteered, I jumped on it, even though I knew Finn would’ve preferred one of us. I guess it was my fault as much as yours.”
“Then you won’t say anything to him, right?”
“I won’t, for now.” Branson pursed his lips. “But sometimes, a true friend has to be frank, even if it hurts.”
Finn stood at the sink, brushing his teeth, his feet ensconced in a pair of blue hospital socks… the kind with sticky rubber nubs on the bottom to keep patients from slipping. He hated the way the rubber bumps felt inside the socks, but he didn’t have any of his own.
One more night, and I’m out of here.
He rinsed his mouth and checked his teeth in the mirror. Finding them satisfactory, his gaze moved up to lock with a pair of accusing eyes… his own.
“What?” He frowned at his reflection, the accusing gaze more menacing with the dark circles under his eyes. “There’s a reason I haven’t called her yet—I haven’t had time. I’ve been doing therapy almost every minute I was awake, since Wednesday.”
The face in the mirror appeared unconvinced.
“I’m going to call her.”
An eyebrow lifted in unspoken question.
“Soon. Maybe tomorrow, when I get home from the hospital.”
The lips turned down, disapproving.
“I can’t call now. It’s Friday—she’s at work.”
The eyes aimed at the ceiling.
“Okay, I guess I could call while she’s working, since I’m technically her boss. But I still don’t know what to say. There’s no good choice. If I thank her for spending all day on Wednesday taking care of me, she’ll read more into it than she should. If I complain that she broke my trust coming up to the hospital when I specifically asked her not to, it might hurt her feelings.”
The mirror-image refused to offer any advice.
“Maybe I’ll just ignore it altogether… act like Wednesday never happened. No need to admit how sick I was. I won’t even bring it up. I’ll talk about anything… the weather, even.”
The lips curved up at the corners. Approval, at last.
“Yes! That’s it! I’ll be nice, but avoid any interaction, other than what’s absolutely necessary to carry out the fundraiser.”
He padded across the floor to sit in the chair beside his bed, snatching his phone from the table and drumming up the nerve to make the call.
He pressed send, silently praying her voicemail would answer. No such luck.
“Hello, Finn.” Her tentative tone made him feel even more guilty.
“Hi. It’s me… Finn. You know that. I just… uhm…” Very smooth. This from the guy who gives an impromptu television interview without missing a beat.
“Branson told me you’re going home tomorrow. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you.” Think. Think. Say something nice.
“I… uhm…”
“Is there a reason you called?”
The wheels in his head cranked at high speed.
“Yes. I called because…” What could he say? “Because I thought you might enjoy playing the piano.”
“The Steinway? Gracious! Yes, I’d love to hear it. Do you really mean it?”
Pride swelled quickly at the joy in her voice. He leaned back and crossed his feet, as the tension ebbed from his shoulders. It was a simple thing that gave her such pleasure.
“You could go over tonight,” he said, “and play as long as you like.”
“Oh… Good idea.” Her words were stiff, all the warmth gone.
Uh-oh. She suspects you’re avoiding her.
“I thought you’d prefer to play without an audience. You’d have the place to yourself—Cole moved over to Branson’s.”
“Sure. I’ll have to check my schedule.” Her former exuberance had vanished like dust in the wind.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to play the Steinway?”
“I do. But since I found out you almost went to Julliard as a piano major, I mostly want to hear you play.”
“Oh.”
“What if I come tomorrow night?” she suggested. “Just for a bit? Could you play Chopin? And Bach?”
Now what? Better make an excuse.
“I’ll probably be too weak to do much of anything.”
Finn reached to his right toes, ripped off the annoying sock and tossed it across the room. The other sock followed suit. He refused to think of how many germs were crawling
onto his bare feet.
“What was I thinking?” she exclaimed. “Of course you won’t feel like playing the night you come home from the hospital. You’re still sick.”
“Yes, I’m pretty sick.” It was only a small white lie. In fact, he was much improved, though still on heavy antibiotics.
“I know… I’ll cook something for you!”
A small white lie that blew up in my face. “You don’t need to do that.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, even though the room was cold.
“No, I want to. Honestly, I’m so relieved you’re not mad at me. When you didn’t call for two days, I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Me? Avoiding you?” He forced a laugh.
The phone got quiet. “You are avoiding me, aren’t you?”
“I promise, I’m not avoiding you,” he answered, truthfully.
I tried, but the universe is conspiring against me…
Chapter 12
If Laurie’s bed had lungs, it would’ve smothered to death. Every article of clothing she owned had been thrown onto the reject pile, the new function of her queen-sized mattress.
“It doesn’t matter what I wear,” she mumbled for the umpteenth time as she stared into her closet, empty but for a rack of shoes and dozens of desolate hangers. She and Finn were only friends. Or they were friends, before she invaded his privacy. Now he was pushing her away—perfectly polite, but buttoned up from bottom to top—exactly the way he acted around his mother and sister.
How should she dress for a casual, attempting-to-be-friends evening? If she dressed up, would he think she was trying to impress him? If she wore something frumpy, he might think she was a slob. She didn’t dare wear something tight because he would think she was trying to be sexy. But a loose blouse would make her look like she weighed 300 pounds.
All this worry about her appearance, and he probably wouldn’t even notice her clothes. A true friend wouldn’t care.
On the other hand, if he was the least bit interested in being more than friends, she wouldn’t be offended. Once or twice, she’d thought he was attracted to her, but it must’ve been wishful thinking.
