by Francis Ray
“Thank you.” Madison turned toward Zachary. “This is Zachary Hol-man, a friend of Wes—s.”
Mayor Jones—s shrewd eyes narrowed behind his signature horn-rimmed glasses. “Any relation to the owner of Holman Construction doing the restoration in South Dallas?”
“One and the same.”
“I—ve heard nothing but praise from the councilwoman and constituents in that district on your work in helping to revitalize that area,” the mayor said. “Very good work.” A nurse opened the door to ICU and people surged inside. The mayor switched his attention to Wes—s parents standing a short distance away. “We—ll be going, A.J., Vanessa, call if you need us.”
“Thank you for coming by.” A.J. extended his hand for a brief handshake, then he and Vanessa turned to enter ICU as the mayor and his wife left.
Madison bit her lower lip when the heavy double doors swung shut. “Perhaps I should have warned Vanessa how he looked.”
“She—ll be all right,” Zachary said. “Vanessa may look fragile, but she—s tough.”
“You know her?” Madison asked, startled by the revelation.
His face closed. “I know of her. I—m going to get a soft drink. You want one?”
Madison knew she was being put off. “No, thanks.”
“I should be back by the time they come out.” Hands in his pockets, Zachary strolled away.
“Why don—t they come out?” Madison questioned, glancing again at the slim gold watch on her wrist. Eight-thirty. Visiting hour for ICU would be over in thirty minutes. She had tried to understand when Wes—s parents hadn—t come out the first time at five, but this was the last chance she—d get to see Wes for the night.
After visiting him the first time, Vanessa had emerged from ICU tearful and almost prostrate. Ann Crane, the hospital spokeswoman, had been there and immediately obtained a wheelchair to take Vanessa back to the conference room.
While Vanessa reclined on the couch, three of her friends arrived. Instead of helping, their presence caused Vanessa to cry more. A.J. had been totally inept at comforting his wife. Madison couldn—t help but think, if only he—d touch her, hold her, perhaps it might help. It flashed through her mind that Wes wasn—t much of a toucher himself unless they were making love. The thought made her feel guilty and on edge.
When Ms. Crane asked if she felt up to going with her for a brief news conference, Madison was more than ready. When she stepped on the elevator Zachary was by her side. He—d said he—d stay with her and he had, comforting her, helping her. “If you have trouble, focus on me,” he said.
She hadn—t thought she would need to take his advice since she made her living being in front of a camera … until the reporters began asking questions about the extent of Wes—s injuries, and Dr. London began explaining in detail about the surgery. Five minutes into it, she stood, looking blindly for an exit.
Thankfully. Ms. Crane and Zachary were there. They took her to a small enclosed garden. She sat on a stone bench beside a pool of goldfish and cried until her eyes and body ached.
Afterwards, they went back upstairs to the conference room where a chef waited to serve them. A.J. and Vanessa and their guests, who now numbered eight, were already seated around the oblong table, eating. Madison ate because she hadn—t eaten earlier when Zachary had taken her to the hospital cafeteria. She now realized she had to, and not just because Zachary kept putting small amounts of food on her plate. She assumed Wes—s father had ordered the food until the waiter presented the bill to Zachary. A.J. and Vanessa both stopped eating and pushed their plates away.
As the waiter began to clean up, Zachary said he was going to check on Manda. With an hour before the next visiting time at eight, Madison hurried after him.
In Manda—s room they found her fretful, but not crying. She finished off a bottle Madison fed her in nothing flat, then, with her tiny hand clutching Madison—s blouse as if to keep her there, she went to sleep.
“She likes you,” Zachary said.
Madison, in a rocking chair, glanced down at the peacefully sleeping infant, then looked up at him and smiled. “You—re not the only one children like.”
“I see,” he said, returning her smile.
When they arrived back at ICU five minutes before the last visiting hour was to begin, Vanessa was apologetic for taking up all the last visiting time and pleaded to go in first. After being with Manda, Madison felt sorry for Wes—s parents and allowed them go in. The last visiting hour was only forty-five minutes.
Finally, the door opened and Wes—s parents came out ten minutes before visiting hour would be over. Vanessa was crying softly. Madison rushed by them. A.J. was finally touching and hovering, as were Vanessa—s friends who had followed her to the waiting area.
Aware of Zachary beside her, Madison walked to the bed and stared down at Wes. His bruises appeared more pronounced. Her finger gently stroked his cold hand. “Everything will be all right. Don—t worry. Manda is all right, too. You have to get well so you can see her.”
His eyelashes fluttered, then lifted. Her finger stilled. “Wes. I—m here. Everything is going to be okay.”
His tongue came out to moisten his dry lips. His mouth worked for several seconds before words emerged, hushed and raspy. “P-promise me.”
Madison—s heart leaped with joy. He was going to be all right. “I promise. We—ll go to Chicago. I—ll get a job there and itlil be the way it used to be. You—ll see.”
With an effort be shook his head. “Something … e-else.”
Fearing that he would become agitated she rushed to reassure him. “Anything.”
“K-keep Manda.”
She blinked. She hadn—t expected that, but having him talk to her was a good sign he was getting better. She—d promise him anything to get him well. “I promise. Just rest. Don—t worry.” She blinked back tears.
“Z-Zach?” Wes rasped.
“I—m here.” Zaehary leaned his face closer to Wes—s. “Just rest. Save your strength.”
Wes struggled to speak. His gaze clung to Zachary—s. “R-remember… you promised.”
“I remember. Don—t worry,” Zaehary assured, his voice thick, his hand clamped around the bed rail.
Wes seemed to relax, his eyes closing, then suddenly his eyelids shot upward. The alarm sounded on the heart monitor. He gasped, then gasped again. He didn—t seem to be able to catch his breath.
“Wes!” Madison cried.
“Nurse!” Zaehary yelled, but they were already running into the room.
“What—s happening? Please tell me what—s happening!*— Madison begged.
One nurse began adjusting the bed rail. Another listened to his chest with a stethoscope. “Please leave.”
“No, I—m not leaving.” She wanted to go to Wes, but Zaehary held her back. “I—m not leaving him. Wes!”
He gasped, struggled to speak.
Wrenching away from Zaehary, Madison rushed back to the bed. “Wes, what is it?”
“Mine. M-Manda … my child.”
Madison jerked upward. “Wh-what?”
“M-Manda—s mine.”
Dr. London came barreling though the door. “Get them out of here!”
The beeping went into a long, eerie wails. “Code blue!”
Someone pushed them outside. People ran past them. The curtains were jerked closed. Madison was unable to make her legs move any farther. Surely she had misunderstood him. He hadn—t said what she thought he had. As soon as he was all right, he—d explain.
Zachary kept his eyes on the door of the room. Through the thin partition of glass he could hear Dr. London shouting orders. Zachary—s clenched his fists. “Fight, Wes, you can beat this. There—s never been anything you couldn—t do when you set your mind to it.”
He kept that thought for what seemed like an eternity until the door opened and Dr. London came out. Shoulders slumped, his face tired, he approached Madison. “Mrs. Reed, I—m sorry. We did everything we could. We—re goi
ng to have to call it.”
“What?” She blinked, finally drawing her fixed gaze away from the door to Wes—s room. “Call what?”
“He—s gone,” Dr. London said.
“Gone? He can—t be gone! We were just talking,” she said, as tears slid down her cheeks. “He was trying to tell me something and he got it all mixed up.”
“We—ve done everything we could. His heart is just not responding. There—s nothing on the monitor.”
Madison wildly shook her head. “No! You have to go back in there and keep trying.”
“Perhaps you—d like to lie down,” Dr. London suggested, reaching toward her arm.
Madison drew her arm out of his reach and stepped back on wobbly legs. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. “I don—t want to lie down! I want to talk to my husband! Why can—t you understand that?”
Zachary heard the hysteria rising in her voice, and clamped down on his own grief. “Dr. London, his parents are outside. Would you please tell them? I—ll stay with Madison.”
“All right,” Dr. London said; his voice sounded as tired as he looked. “I—m sorry. I—m going back inside to call the code as over, then I—ll go speak to his parents.” He went back into the room, then came back out moments later and walked toward the waiting room. A man pushing a big metal cart with multiple compartments came out directly behind him. So did two other people.
“What are they doing?” Madison cried. “They have to go back in there and help Wes!”
Zachary placed his hand gently on her arm, Felt the shivers that raced over her slim body. “Come on, Madison. Let—s get out of here.”
“No, I—m not leaving.” She stared up at him with dazed eyes. “I have to talk with Wes.”
His other hand closed around her other forearm. “Wes is gone, Madison. You can—t talk with him,” he told her, speaking the most difficult words in his life.
She shook her head from side to side. “You—re wrong! He has to tell me the truth.”
“He already has, Madison. Wes was Manda—s father.”
SIX
MADISON RECOILED, ZACHARY—S WORDS were like a punch to the gut. She wanted to deny Wes—s confession, but couldn—t. No man so gravely injured would claim a child that wasn—t his. Her eyes shut tightly. The extent of Wes—s betrayal clawed its way through the disbelief and grief. While they were married, Wes had slept with another woman and had a child.
“Madison.”
Her eyes snapped open. They blazed with anger. “Let me go!”
Zachary gazed down into her features ravaged with shock and anguish, then slowly uncurled his fingers from around her arms. As soon as she was free, she turned to walk away.
‘‘What about Manda?”
Madison flinched, but kept walking, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. She took another step, then swayed as a piercing cry came from beyond the door to the waiting area. Vanessa.
Madison shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out the grief pouring from Wes—s mother. Shut out Wes—s last words to her.
“Manda—s mine.”
When she opened her eyes, Zachary stood in front of her.
“What about Manda?” he repeated.
She tried to go around him, but he stepped in her path. Rage ripped though her grief. “How can you ask me that?”
“Manda lost, too. She lost a mother and a father.”
The reminder almost caused Madison—s trembling knees to buckle. “She—s not my responsibility.”
“What about your promise?” he pushed.
Her hands clenched. “Wes promised something, too,” she said referring to their marriage vows. “Now, please let me pass.”
Zachary hated that he had to push her, but he didn—t have a choice. Somehow he had to get through to her. “I know you—re hurting and angry, but you heard the nurse. If you don—t take her, she—ll go into foster care: You—re not that heartless.”
His words pricked her, but not in the way he—d intended. “Yes. Good old Madison. She—ll take anything.” How could Wes have done this to her?
“Mad—”
“No!” she shouted, cutting him off, unaware that the nurses and visitors who had given them privacy were all watching and listening. “I don—t want anything to do with her. She—s not my responsibility and nothing you can say will change my mind.”
She was near the breaking point, Zachary noted. She was hanging by her fingernails. If he pushed any further, she—d crack. “Come on, I—ll take you home.”
“I—m just driving you home,” he assured her calmly. “You don—t have your car, remember?”
She remembered. Too much. She was tired. So tired.
Gently, his arm curved around her shoulder, drawing her closer to him as he led her out of the room, aware that he was leaving Wes. His throat ached. He wasn—t ashamed to cry. There would be time enough for tears later. Now, Madison and Manda needed him. He had made a promise, too.
Zachary located his truck exactly where the security guard, Ronald Jones, had said he parked it. After learning the situation, Ronald had parked the Dakota in the next available parking spot, then brought Zachary the keys and the change of clothes he always kept in the truck. Ronald had waited patiently while Zachary cleaned up, then took the soiled clothes back to the truck. He—d politely refused Zachary—s offer of money.
Keeping one hand on Madison—s arm, Zachary opened the door with the other. Head down, as it had been since they left 1CU, Madison stepped onto the running board but didn—t seem to have the strength to pull herself up.
“Let me help you.” Placing both hands around her slim waist, he lifted her into the seat, then scooted her legs around. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she was all right, then he realized what a stupid question that was. “I—ll call Gordon. He—ll know how to contact your family.”
Her eyes shut tightly, she leaned over farther in the seat. He felt helpless in the face of her grief. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he pressed it into her loosely clasped hands and closed the door. As long as he could remember, his mother had always insisted he have a handkerchief in his pocket. A gentleman, in her opinion, should always carry one. He might be thirty-five, but he hadn—t gotten out of the habit.
Unhooking the cell phone from his belt, he activated it, then using the bright lights from the overhead security lights in the emergency room parking area, he read Gordon—s number, then keyed it in. It was picked up on the second ring.
“Yes.”
Zachary didn—t have to ask if this was Gordon. He recognized his voice, but he was struggling with his own.
“Madison, is that you?” Gordon asked, his tone rising in anxiety.
Zachary sucked in a gulp of air and leaned against the back end of the truck. “It—s Zach. Wes … Wes didn—t make it.”
“Oh, God. How—s Madi—Never mind. Where is she?”
From the cadence of Gordon—s voice Zachary could tell he was moving. “With me in the emergency-room parking lot. I—m taking her home.”
“I—ll be waiting for you when you get there.”
Zachary rubbed his hands across his face. “Do you know how to reach her family?”
“I—ll take care of it.” The sound of a motor came through the phone. “You just take care of Madison.”
“See you.” Zachary answered, then flipped the phone closed. He wished he could promise to do that, but if it came down to Madison—s well-being or Manda—s, there would be no contest. Manda was not going into foster care.
Driving up to the manned guardhouse of the Legacy Estates in far North Dallas, Zachary identified himself, then drove through the ten-foot black iron gates past the splashing thirty-foot waterfall, then followed the curving two-lane road through the exclusive estate where homes ranged in price from a half a million to over five million. There were only twenty-one homes in the development and all were sold. Wes and Madison—s sprawling, single-story house sat on a o
ne-third—acre lot in a cul-de-sac.
Zachary saw Gordon pacing by his car the moment he turned into the long driveway lit by four antique gas yard lights Wes had had shipped from England. Zachary—s hands clamped on the steering wheel. He could recall it all as if it were yesterday—Wes dragging him out here and telling Zachary his plans to build a showplace. Zachary was to be the builder. He wanted it to be single-story because he had lived in a two-story home growing up and damned if he was going to spend his time running up and down stairs again.
The Legacy Home Association had strict rules and regulations about the houses built there, but Wes had every confidence Zachary would meet and surpass their demands and expectations. He had and they—d celebrated with a beer. Two years. Two lousy years ago.
By the time he braked in front of the house, Gordon was there, opening the door. “Madison. Madison. It—s Gordon.” Finally she looked at him, then tumbled into his arms. “It—s all right. It—s all right.”
Zachary felt helplessness wash over him again. He reached out to touch her as he had done with Manda, then jerked his hand back. What a mess.
One of the massive, recessed double doors opened and a diminutive woman came rushing out. Zachary remembered her as Gretchen, the housekeeper.
“I got her bed all ready, Mr. Armstrong. You bring her on in.”
Picking up Madison—s purse, Zachary followed. The entryway was filled with African art and bronzes Wes had collected in his travels. Knowing the location of the master bedroom suite, Zachary was surprised when Gretchen entered the bedroom next to it. There was no door that connected them.
One look inside the room and he had his answer. Wes liked bold colors, and heavy furniture. The room, light and airy, was completely feminine: a luxurious mix of fabrics and accessories. A canopy bed was outfitted with an array of fluffy pillows, duvet, and adjustable reading lights on either side of the padded headboard. At the foot of the bed was a padded bench in the same fabric as the headboard.
Colors from the deepest rose to the lightest mauve with just a hint of the palest green were repeated throughout the room. The wallpaper was a rose silk he—d put up himself. At the time he—d thought it was to be a guest room. Placing the purse on the small table just inside the door, he went back to the living room to wait.
