One Week in Your Arms

by Patricia Preston

  “He would have exchanged his life for mine.” Carson had stared into space for a moment before he glanced toward her. “That’s the kind of father I want to be.”

  “I suppose you will allow the mother visitation rights,” Marla remarked, unable to contain her growing resentment.

  “She’ll have all the visiting privileges that we’ve agreed upon as long as I know the child is safe with her.”

  “Safe with her?”

  “Marla, you’re a doctor. Think of your patients. People who started out great in life and got screwed up. I had two college buddies. Terrific guys years ago. One’s a heroin addict now, living on the street. The other one had a mental breakdown and set fire to his house. People can change for the worst. I’m not taking that chance with my kids.”

  His phone beeped and he glanced at the incoming message. “Olivia’s ready.”

  He pocketed the phone and crossed the room to where she stood. “Hey, don’t look at me like I’m a sonofabitch. I know prenups are unheard of in Lafayette Falls and you’re thinking, what a bastard. But it’s not about power or authority. It’s just a safety precaution I have to take. Like the gates.”

  She said nothing, and he smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Baby, I’m not a small-town guy with nothing to lose.”

  Nausea washed over her.

  “You understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said in a soft whisper. “Yes, of course. I understand.”

  She understood she had been right all along. She understood she had made a mistake by coming here and another one by staying. She understood there were no safeguards in place for her. She would have to act and act fast.

  He leaned in for a kiss and after their lips parted, she smoothed her hand over his jaw. “Goodbye,” she told him. The finality of the word hung in her heart as he headed out the door.

  Once he was gone, she called Kayla. “I’m coming home. I can’t stay here another minute.”

  “What’s happened?”

  She filled Kayla in on what Carson had said about his prenup. “He’s demanding custody of kids who aren’t even born,” she cried. “I’ll take Sophie and run.”

  “He can’t touch Sophie. Not unless he wants to go to jail for kidnapping,” Kayla insisted. “He has no parental rights, and you know how lawyers dick around. She’ll be in high school before they ever get anything done.”

  “I’m going downstairs and see what I can find out about a flight out of here.” Her voice broke. “I have to see Sophie. I have to be with her.”

  “Tell them you have a family emergency and you have to get back to Los Angeles today.”

  “If I can just get a flight to LAX, I can make it home. I can drive if I have to.”

  “I don’t know about driving,” Kayla said. “Are you good to drive?”

  “Yes, I’m good to fly or drive or whatever.”

  “If you need anything, call me. Let me know when you think you’ll be in Nashville. I’ll meet you there,” Kayla promised.

  Downstairs, she had enlisted the help of a hotel desk clerk, who was more than happy to assist her in acquiring a flight back to the mainland. She sat behind the desk with him as he searched the websites of available airlines for seats and found nothing.

  She was almost in tears. But he told her not to worry. He called the airlines and checked for cancelations. Sure enough, he found one pricey seat in a jet heading for LAX at twelve fifty-five. Her prayers had been answered.

  She returned to the penthouse with a printout of the flight information and boarding passes. She’d arrive at LAX and have thirty minutes to board a flight to Nashville. She should be in Lafayette Falls before sunrise.

  When she entered the penthouse, she was greeted by the stillness of a vacant place. Strange how empty houses always seemed lonely. The housekeeping service had come and gone, leaving a fresh scent in their wake.

  She walked into the master suite and tried not to think about what had transpired in the bedroom. She laid her plane tickets on the bedside table and took her smartphone out of her purse. A low battery warning flashed across the screen. She withdrew the charger from her bag, plugged in the phone, and put it on top of the tickets.

  Entering the walk-in closet, she paused, looking at his clothes that hung on the rack opposite hers. She pressed the sleeve of one of his dress shirts to her nose. The expensive linen fabric was crisp and fresh.

  She ran her hand over the clothes on the hangers.

  High quality. Well-made. Tasteful.

  She could understand his need for precautions. All his possessions were valuable. Hers were not. She had nothing worth taking except her daughter.

  Retrieving her suitcase, she laid it on the bed and unzipped it. Half of it was filled with the gifts she was taking home to her family and friends. Tropical scarves, shell necklaces, Hawaiian shirts, artificial leis, and Sophie’s Aloha doll.

  She started adding her clothes. Folding, rolling and tucking them in the suitcase.

  She came to the pretty dresses he’d bought her. She put them in the suitcase and decided she would always keep them. She pictured herself many years in the future.

  A little old lady like Rose in the movie, Titanic. She imagined a dusty attic and this suitcase in the corner. After she had knocked away the cobwebs, she would drag the suitcase out and wipe the dust from it, and then open it. She would admire the silky dresses and with her eyes closed, she would remember this week.

  She would remember him.

  Every life had its moment.

  Her phone played a jingle. She stopped to look at her phone that was on the charger. She had a text message from Carson.

  Finished up here. I should be there in about an hour and twenty minutes. You want to meet Truman and Julia for a late lunch?

  Marla rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t just disappear without saying anything.

  I won’t be here. Something has come up and I’ve booked a flight home. I’ll be in touch.

  She had no more sent the message than the phone lit up and started playing “What’s Love Got To Do With It.” He was calling this time.

  She folded one of the tops she had bought at the market. She couldn’t talk to him. Not now. She just needed to go. She needed some time and some space. She had to figure out how she was going to survive this.

  The phone jingled again. Another message from him.

  Answer the phone. I want to talk to you.

  She went into the bathroom and collected her cosmetics and the toiletries that would be allowed through airport security. She left behind the complimentary samples from the salon and the cologne he loved.

  Another message lit up the telephone screen.

  Do not leave the hotel. Call me.

  She made no response. What could she say? That she was sorry it couldn’t end well between them like it had the last time. Hadn’t that always been the case?

  The phone lit up and after the ringtone had ended, he left a voice mail. She couldn’t listen to it. She couldn’t even think at the moment. All she wanted was to go home and hold her little girl. She shoved her cosmetics in her purse.

  Her phone jingled and she glanced at his furious text.

  You leave the hotel and it is over between us.

  She was well aware of the consequences. Actually, she had been aware of the consequences all along, and she shouldn’t have ignored them the way she had. She reached for the phone and sent a simple reply. One he would understand perfectly.

  Delete my number.

  Chapter 19

  Marla plugged the charger back in the phone and laid the phone on the bedside table. As she retrieved a pair of shoes from the closet, the doorbell rang and her heart gave a lurch. It couldn’t be Carson. He was still in Honolulu.

  When she answered the door, she was surprised to find Julia and Truman waiting in the vestibule.

  “Marla,” Julia twisted her hands together. “Would you take a look at Truman?”

  “This is ridiculous,”
Truman protested. “I’m fine.”

  Marla took one look at Truman and she knew he was in trouble. His skin had a bluish tone and his respirations were uneven.

  Dr. Hughes had always said she had “the gift.”

  Not all doctors have the gift. Only the lucky ones. You’ll see what others miss. It’s a combination of instinct and intellect. Always trust your gift.

  “We need to go to the infirmary.” She rushed across the vestibule and punched the elevator button. The doors slid open. “Now!”

  Truman grumbled as he boarded the elevator. “I’m fine. I’ve just got a touch of bronchitis this morning. That’s all.”

  “Are you having any pain anywhere?”

  “No.” He patted his upper chest area. “It’s just bronchitis. I’ve had it before.”

  “It might be more than that. We don’t want to take any chances.” She was certain it was more than bronchitis. “I want to go ahead and send for an ambulance.”

  “Here.” Julia handed Marla her phone, and Marla talked to a 911 operator as they got off the elevator.

  “This is Doctor Grant. I’m at the Kingsford Resort and I need a medevac chopper.” She kept her voice low as Julia and Truman walked ahead of her. “Patient with a possible pending MI. We’ll be in the infirmary.”

  She ended the call and ordered a hotel employee to get a wheelchair.

  “Marla, I can walk,” Truman protested.

  “Not fast enough,” Marla replied as she took the wheelchair from the employee. “Sit.”

  He fussed as Marla charged toward the infirmary, practically running with the wheelchair. Julia struggled to keep up with them.

  “Get the door, Julia.” Marla swung the wheelchair around to back it inside the clinic. “What medications do you take?”

  “A pill for my blood pressure.”

  Julia gave her a worried look. “He’s always been healthy. Robust. I can barely get him to go to the doctor once a year.”

  “Any drug allergies?”

  “No.”

  Two men stood by the reception desk both in golf clothes. They both greeted Truman, who was still fussing about being in a wheelchair. Kevin stood on the other side of the counter with some antibiotic samples for one of the golfers.

  “Kevin,” Marla yelled at him. “Code Blue.”

  One of the golfers wheeled around. “I’m an anesthesiologist.” He introduced himself as Dr. Harry Flynn.

  “I’m going to need your help.”

  Truman shook his head. “What? Harry, there’s nothing wrong with me,” he told Dr. Flynn. “Just some bronchitis. What is Code Blue?”

  “I’m just taking some precautions,” Marla said as she wheeled Truman toward the first exam room. Kevin rushed across the hallway pushing the crash cart.

  “Kevin, get off his shirt.” Marla grabbed a pair of gloves. “We’re going to hook you up to the monitor. Put some oxygen on you. That’ll help the shortness of breath and I’m going to start an IV.”

  “Damn, you act like I’m dying.”

  “Truman, she’s just trying to help you. Don’t be rude,” Julia said as Dr. Flynn pulled on a pair of gloves.

  Relieved that another doctor was present, Marla gave Flynn a nod. “Thank you.”

  Kevin attached the monitor leads to Truman’s chest. The monitor lit up and erratic blips flowed across the screen. Dr. Flynn stepped forward. He reached for the oxygen equipment hanging on the side of the cart.

  Suddenly, wide loops moved across the monitor screen.

  “Am I having a heart attack?” Truman gasped.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Hurriedly, Marla found a good vein in Truman’s left hand. She ripped open supplies. Tape, needle, catheter. Flung the packaging aside. Within seconds, she had an IV catheter in place in his vein. She grabbed prefilled syringes of lidocaine and epinephrine and opened the packaging. Next, she flipped the switches on the defibrillator. Where was that chopper?

  “I’m going to give you some medicine. Stay with me.”

  She popped the cap off the needle and injected the lidocaine into Truman’s IV. She watched the monitor, and her shoulders sagged when she saw no change in his erratic heart rhythm.

  “Get ready, guys. He’s going to crash.” Her own heart raced, an adrenalin surge hitting her. Truman’s head rocked to the side and the monitor’s alarm sounded. Lines danced wildly across the screen as Truman’s heart started fluttering instead of pumping.

  “V-fib?” Kevin, the student, asked. Both doctors nodded.

  “Start CPR now. Kevin, chest compressions. Dr. Flynn, bag him.”

  The room grew small as Marla focused entirely on saving her patient. Everything else in her mind disappeared as she managed the Code Blue.

  “Hands clear,” she ordered. She stuck the defibrillator paddles to Truman’s chest and delivered the first shock of two hundred joules. She glanced at the monitor. No change.

  Kevin and Dr. Flynn continued CPR. From outside, the loud pulse of the helicopters rotors over the hotel meant the cavalry was on its way. She ripped open another syringe of epinephrine and gave it to Truman via IV. She reached for the defibrillator paddles.

  “Doc!” Kevin shouted. “Doc! Look!”

  She jerked her head up to see a blip on the screen. Followed by another one and another one. Truman’s heart had a normal sinus rhythm again.

  The breath she’d been holding escaped her lungs and she stripped off her gloves.

  Sometimes, miracles happen.

  * * *

  Carson barged off the elevator to find the door of the penthouse ajar. What the hell? He stormed inside and stopped in the middle of the spacious living area. The bouquet of roses he’d bought her were still on the coffee table. Their freshness was beginning to fade. He grabbed the vase and dumped it in the kitchen trashcan.

  He got a cold bottle of beer out of the fridge. In the living room, he threw his jacket, followed by his tie, across the sofa.

  “What a day.” He turned up the beer. Nothing had gone as he had planned.

  He and Olivia had run into a shit storm at the airport. Paparazzi had gotten wind of her presence on the island and accosted them when they got out of their vehicle. Thankfully, they had a couple of bodyguards from the hotel with them. With the help of airport security, the photographers and yelling fans were held at bay.

  Yet the danger of the sudden situation had changed his mind about taking pregnant Olivia with him to Honolulu. A shove by an eager photographer or fan might cost her the baby, and there would be plenty of time to talk to her before she got married in September. She had returned to the hotel, and he had made the trip to Honolulu alone.

  He had no business meeting planned. That was just an excuse he used for making the trip to Honolulu to shop for an engagement ring. During the helicopter flight to Hawaii’s largest city, he tried to come up with an idea for the perfect marriage proposal. He wanted to propose to Marla on the beach tonight. Then the seashell idea had hit him.

  Marla was always looking for seashells and she had been disappointed in the lack of shells on the beach. So tonight, he planned to present her with a beautiful seashell. He bought a queen conch shell at a shop in Honolulu. The large spiral shell was the kind you could put to your ear and supposedly hear the ocean roar. It had a creamy beige exterior and a pale pink interior. Perfect for hiding a diamond ring.

  He was going to tell her to make sure there wasn’t anything inside it. Surprise! He could imagine her jaw dropping when an engagement ring fell into her hand.

  The sales manager working at the jewelry store was an older lady and most encouraging. She told him it was a brilliant idea and not the least bit stupid. Women loved romantic gestures like that.

  “It’s a proposal she’ll never forget,” the lady had assured him while he looked at a dozen elite rings.

  “I want something that she’ll be comfortable wearing every day.” He could afford to put a huge rock on her finger, but he didn’t think she’d like that. “Not to
o flashy.”

  His final choice had been a flawless three-carat emerald-cut center diamond with one carat side stones mounted on sparkling platinum.

  The lady had nodded and smiled. “Not flashy at all.”

  He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a black ring box. He still had the ring. The shell he had dropped on Waikiki Beach. Maybe some kid would find it and be excited about it.

  He opened the ring box and looked at the glittering diamonds.

  Delete my number.

  What had happened? Things had been good when they got off the yacht this morning. Maybe it was the disagreement they’d had about a prenup. He’d tried to explain he had to have safeguards in place. There was no way around that for him. It was a matter of peace of mind for him. Not distrust. She had said she understood.

  He should have known that meant the opposite. When did a woman ever say what she actually meant?

  As he snapped the ring box shut, he heard the distant sound of rock music coming from the master bedroom. With a frown, he headed in that direction. The classic hit, “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas, was playing on Marla’s phone as he walked into the bedroom. His breath hitched when he saw her purse and an open suitcase on the bed.

  He dropped the ring box on the dresser and went to look in the suitcase. It was only half-packed. One side filled with stuff she’d bought at the market to take home to her friends and family. The other side contained a few articles of her clothes including the cocktail dresses he’d bought her. He ran his hand over the black dress.

  She hadn’t left. He attempted to process that. Would it have killed her to let him know she had changed her mind?

  On the bedside table, her unanswered phone went dark. He picked up the printed forms from Askana Airways. She had missed her flight. He let out a relieved breath that felt as if it had been trapped inside him forever.

  Her phone lit up again, and Kansas started singing “Carry On Wayward Son” again. He glanced at the phone. The name, Hot Rod, was displayed on the screen.

  Carson frowned. Hot Rod? It had to be a guy’s nickname.

  The phone went dark again. It was good she had reconsidered and stayed. Maybe that meant she was going to be reasonable and tell him what was wrong. Like, explain it to him. He was a guy. He needed it explained in detail. Then he doubted he would understand.