The Still of Night

by Kristen Heitzmann

  He squeezed Shelly’s hand with a smile. “Hi.” He could sense Jill’s nerves like a leftover odor filling the kitchen. Had she run for her friend before he’d cleared the lot? He reached for his coffee and slurped it softly. Man, he needed that. The half he’d downed driving back was only now clearing the fog.

  “Well, I guess I’ll …” Shelly headed toward the patio door.

  Morgan raised his cup. “You don’t have to go on my account.” Especially if Jill needed the buffer.

  Shelly caught the door handle. “You two probably want to talk.”

  He glanced at Jill. Did she? What would they have to say? But Shelly closed the door behind her with a wave, then started across the yard. Morgan watched her go into the opposite patio door, then turned back. Jill’s hair was drying into that careless mop that was surprisingly alluring, saucy, and vulnerable at once.

  She smelled faintly of apples, and he guessed her shampoo. No other fragrance covered it. It seemed an appropriate Iowa girl scent.

  Jill took out a Ziploc bag of scones from the refrigerator. “I’ll just warm them.” She took down two salmon-colored plates and put the scones into the microwave. Soon their aroma covered hers. He was not much on breakfast, especially this early, but without sleep something in his stomach would be good.

  He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Seems I’ll have to guess.”

  She turned to him. “Guess?”

  “The one giving orders was Shelly’s husband. The other one …”

  He watched her color rise. He’d guessed correctly. “You should have told me your boyfriend might shoot.”

  “He’s not. Anymore.”

  Morgan took a swig of espresso. “Ah, another pawn sacrificed.”

  She opened the door and checked the scones, then set them to heat again. “My neighbor has an overactive thyroid, and way too much time on his hands. He calls Brett over any disturbance and imagines threats in every shadow.”

  Threat, disturbance. Telling words. Morgan eyed her. He wanted access to his daughter, and Jill was the key to that. He’d have to play nice.

  She pulled open the microwave and handed him a scone on a plate. “Butter?”

  “This is fine.” He doubted he would even taste it.

  She took her plate to one end of the counter and sat down. He took a bite. The scone sent a burst of sweet lemon into his mouth, a pleasant surprise.

  “They seemed to take this call seriously.” He caught a crumb from the corner of his mouth, picturing her muscle-bound cop, another jilted suitor. She’d made it an art. But it didn’t matter. Morgan swallowed the bite. She’d sent him a “Dear John” no imbecile could ignore, and he wasn’t there about her. Kelsey was the part of his life he wanted reattached. Not permanently, certainly nothing detrimental to the girl, just the certainty that she actually existed, hadn’t lost her life as he’d imagined too clearly.

  The match in their haplotypes was proof enough, but it wasn’t tangible. He needed to lay the ghost to rest before he could move on. And only seeing his flesh-and-blood daughter would accomplish that. But it was complicated if they had already moved her to Yale for conditioning. He knew what that entailed and doubted they would admit him—assuming it was true that she was there at all.

  He only had Jill’s word for it. He knew better than to believe her without checking it out for himself. So the best thing was to continue with his plan. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m tutoring.”

  “Find someone to cover you.”

  “What?” She set down her untouched scone.

  “We’re going to Des Moines. To see Kelsey.”

  Jill pressed fingers to her temple. “Morgan, she isn’t there.”

  “We’ll see.” He did not want to be ugly, but the tightness of his stomach betrayed how much he needed her to agree.

  She stared down at her scone, one edge of the glaze melted to a sheen. She had to know he couldn’t trust her, had not driven all that way simply to give up on her word alone. He would see his daughter, one way or another.

  Jill spread her hands. “Okay. I’ll call the Bensons and see—”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’d rather talk to them in person.”

  “They won’t be there.”

  He sipped the espresso. “Ready?”

  Jill let out a breath. “Don’t you need to sleep first? It’s over an hour’s drive.”

  He ought to, but that might give her the chance to back out. He tapped the paper cup. “This’ll do the trick.”

  “It’ll take me a minute to arrange things.”

  “Fine.” He nibbled at his scone while she made her phone call and gave instructions. She sounded professional and concerned, but not overly tense. That probably meant she was telling the truth, but he was not ready to concede.

  “I’ve had a situation come up that I have to see to,” was all she told the substitute. Cool. Very cool. She’d learned to hide well.

  Jill hung up and cleared their scones, then accepted the inevitable. She slipped on a pair of white leather sandals, the sort that went between the first two toes with slender straps to the sides, and caught Morgan’s look. He’d always said she had great feet, the toes aligned in a sloping arch, neither blunt nor overlong. She’d been amazed he would even notice her feet when the other guys were absorbed only with other anatomy.

  She slipped her purse over her shoulder and locked the doorbehind them. What was she doing? Proving her honesty? They would drive to Des Moines and see that she had told him the truth. It was a waste of time, gas, and energy, and she was letting her kids down to do it. Why? Because Morgan cocked his finger? That rankled.

  She stopped at the door. “Do you want me to drive?” Since he was tired …

  A quick smile. “No.” He led her to the Thunderbird retro convertible that looked no more than a few hours old. It was a great car, though hardly the macho machine most thirty-something men would choose. But then, Morgan wasn’t most men. He’d always had an eclectic bent, much broader in his tastes than other guys. Even in high school he had appreciated museums and art galleries and theaters.

  “Do you like it?” He held the door for her to climb in.

  She got in and ran her hand over the red leather seat. “It’s really nice.”

  He got in and made sure she was buckled, then gripped the red enamel stick shift and put it into reverse. The moment he set the car in motion, she knew why he’d chosen it. Its ride was amazing, and Morgan liked comfort. That was another thing she remembered, and she laughed at the thought.

  He turned. “What?”

  She hadn’t meant to share it, but she told him anyway. “I was just remembering the first time I went to your parents’ ranch. Hank was teaching Rick to break that colt.”

  Morgan drew his brows together, searching for the memory and probably wondering what it had to do with anything.

  “I asked if you were going to take a turn, and you said you were the only man in the family with nerve endings.”

  Morgan glanced sidelong. “It’s true. Rick still spends half his life getting tossed to the dirt. And he hasn’t the sense to stay there.” He returned his gaze to the road. “Me, I’ll take a hot tub and a flute of champagne.”

  She smiled. Yet he’d played a terrific wide receiver and taken the tackles without complaint. His speed had protected him, but he never had the size to take it past high school, or so she assumed. His physique now did not display laxity, yet neither was there brawny bulk. He might work at fitness, but she guessed not with the fervor Dan employed. And mostly it was genetics anyway. Both his parents had been slender, as were hers, which gave Kelsey her willowy frame.

  Jill fixed her mind on the image of her daughter and realized Morgan had no image of his own. Her throat tightened. That didn’t seem right. Why would the Bensons let her in but not Morgan? Maybe it was just the timing. Or the fact that they’d never met him in the first place. Their only contact had been with her, however brief. Morgan was never
in the picture at all.

  But he was now. And he wanted to see Kelsey. Why? He could anonymously donate his marrow and go on with his life. Why was he making this a crusade? Her tension notched up higher. What would happen after he saw that Kelsey was not in Des Moines? Did he expect to find her in New Haven?

  A turtle on the side of the road recalled to her the scene she’d witnessed, was it only weeks ago? She told Morgan about it.

  “Had it rained a lot?”

  She nodded. “It was really wet for a couple weeks.”

  “They were probably seeking higher ground. The road would be a haven from the flooded field.”

  She hadn’t even thought of that, but it was so obvious. Her ideas of exodus and crossings seemed silly next to his pragmatic explanation. It also meant the creatures probably turned around and climbed back up after their rescuers left the scene. She sighed. What an image of fallen creation.

  Nothing else to say came easily to mind, so she watched out the window in silence. Morgan drained the last of his coffee and replaced the empty cup in the holder, then draped his wrist over the steering wheel. She wanted to ask what he’d done all these years, how he’d done so well. Would he find it awkward to answer? To talk about his life?

  “What is it you tutor?” Morgan’s question caught her thoughts up short.

  So it was her life they’d discuss. “It’s actually an extended school year program, for kids who need a continuum. I teach special ed.”

  “You always wanted to.”

  “Well, first I wanted to be an arctic explorer. The polar bears looked so cuddly.”

  Morgan slanted her a look.

  “But you’re right, by high school I was pretty settled on working with learning-challenged kids.” She bit her lip. “I hope they’ll be okay with Pam.”

  “I’m sure you can take a day off now and then.”

  She shook her head. “Even though it’s basically playgroup in the summer, maintaining skills and interaction, any disruption in routine throws the kids off.”

  “Does Kelsey know about me? That I’m her donor?” He slid it in so smoothly it had to have been planned. Get her loosened up and talking, then hit her with the real questions.

  Jill licked her lips, the air rushing past, stealing the moisture from her tongue. At least she could give him that answer. “They didn’t tell her, but she guessed. She knows her stuff, all about the protocols for this type of transplant. She knew they wouldn’t use a single haplotype unrelated donor. She had already guessed my relationship, so that meant the new donor must be you.”

  “So it won’t be any surprise for her to see me at her door.”

  Oh, it would be a surprise, and not one Cinda or Roger would appreciate. That they weren’t home was the only reason Jill had agreed. “She isn’t there, Morgan.” How many times would she have to say it?

  “How’s Kenny?” Did he mean to keep her jumping from subject to subject? Now it was her brother. What next?

  “He’s in Pensacola, pastoring a church. No one calls him Kenny anymore. Actually, I haven’t spoken to him in a couple years.”

  “Why not?”

  Because he’s ashamed of me. She had embarrassed him at the time he was developing his theology. “We don’t have much in common. I send birthday cards to his kids.” She pulled a windblown strand of hair from her eye and groped for a change of subject. “I guess you see a lot of Rick.”

  “I make it out there a few times a year.”

  “From California?”

  He nodded.

  “How did you end up out there?”

  “Silicon Valley.”

  “You’re in computers?” She could not see him as a geek.

  He shook his head. “I graduated Wharton, put in some years as a corporate finance officer for a few tiny companies, then decided that was limiting and went into turnaround management. The first companies I worked with were in Silicon Valley. One had super potential and poor vision. They were about to crash before ever getting off the ground with a great idea. I saw what was needed, accepted stock as payment, then propelled it to greatness, reaping my share of fortune and fame.”

  He’d said it tongue in cheek, but it had to be fairly accurate by the other clues she’d already seen of his success. That potential had been recognized early by the National Honor Society and plenty of scholarship programs. She was glad he’d actualized it. Then it hit her that he couldn’t have if she’d been there like a ball and chain with a new-born daughter in tow. Her disappearance was the best thing to happen to him. She looked out the side at the farms they passed.

  As they entered Des Moines, she directed him to Kelsey’s house, and he parked in the driveway, no doubt leery of leaving his car on the street with the more well-used vehicles. He got out and came around for her. How long had it been since she waited for someone to let her out of a car? Yet she’d instinctively remembered Morgan’s training.

  He had explained to her on their first date that it had nothing to do with her inability to open the door for herself, but that anyone with class wouldn’t expect her to. She got out now and led the way to the door while he alarmed the car. He needn’t have bothered. In two minutes they’d be climbing back inside.

  Jill knocked at Kelsey’s door, expecting a lull, then a second knock, proof to Morgan that the Bensons were not in Des Moines. She startled when the door was opened by a young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, with thin brown hair and a triangular mouth that lengthened its base when she smiled. “Hi. Stuff for the fund-raiser?”

  Momentarily confused, Jill shook her head. “No.”

  Morgan came up close behind her.

  The girl flashed a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve had people coming all day to bring stuff for the yard sale. It was in the newspaper.”

  Jill glanced behind the young woman into the house. Were the Bensons there after all? “Is the sale for Kelsey?”

  She nodded. “To help with medical costs.” There it was again, the financial reality that the fight was not in Kelsey’s body alone. Jill wished she had brought something for the sale.

  “It’s this weekend, if you want to come.”

  “I live in Beauview. I, we”—she motioned to Morgan—“came to see Kelsey.”

  “She’s not here. They transferred her to Yale New Haven.”

  Jill glanced at Morgan. Now would he believe her?

  The young woman turned to him. “I’m Rebecca. I’m house-sitting while they’re gone and collecting the stuff for the youth group fund raiser.”

  “Can you tell us about it?” His voice was low and tight.

  “Sure. Would you like to come in? I made sun tea this morning.”

  There was no point if Kelsey wasn’t there. But Morgan returned Rebecca’s smile and said, “Tea sounds good.”

  Did he think he could search the house if he just got inside? Jill followed Rebecca inside with Morgan behind her. Maybe he hoped to grill this girl about his daughter. But he stopped at the photo wall in the living room and looked at the portraits. Kelsey’s was not updated. She had hair, light blond hair. The other two showed her even younger with Cinda and Roger. Jill watched his face. What was he thinking?

  Rebecca came back with two glasses of tea. “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here for nothing. Would you like to sit?” She offered two chairs in the living room.

  Jill glanced at Morgan. It wasn’t for nothing. Now he knew she had told him the truth. They took the chairs and she held out her hand. “I’m Jill, by the way. Jill Runyan.”

  Rebecca smiled. “I guessed that, when you said you’d come up from Beauview.”

  She had?

  “Cinda is my mentor. We’re pretty close. She mentioned you, and you look a lot like Kelsey.”

  Jill drank the icy tea and glanced at Morgan. Would Rebecca notice his eyes were Kelsey’s? He could introduce himself if he wanted to, though she hoped word wouldn’t get back to the Bensons that he’d been there.

  He said, “Is t
he yard sale the only thing going for medical costs?”

  “Right now.” Rebecca pulled out a card and handed it over. “This is Kelsey’s emergency fund account. We’ve had donations, but not nearly enough. We’re trying everything we can think of to reach the goal: garage sales, bake sales, even boxes with Kelsey’s photo in the grocery stores.”

  Cinda’s financial concerns were real. For the first time in her life, Jill wished she were rich. What could she do? Take a summer job in addition to tutoring? But that would take too long, even if she found extra employment. Sell her townhouse? With the financing she’d found, she spent less on it than she would renting, and she had to live somewhere.

  Rebecca sighed. “It’s just incredible how much her treatment costs, especially the transplant. It’s cutting-edge medicine, the only chance she has. But there’s less than a week until it’s scheduled and … well, we’re praying for a miracle.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “The treatment has to be paid for by the time of service. Roger has tried to find loans, but they already have a second on their house and debts from the previous treatments. So far they haven’t found a lender.” She spread her hands.

  Jill opened her mouth to confirm the awful understanding that was forming in her mind: Kelsey wouldn’t get the transplant? The thought was so staggering she couldn’t make a sound. She would sell her town house, her car, anything.

  “What does he do?” Morgan asked softly.

  “Contracting. Drywall. He works hard. It’s just when you’re selfemployed, you don’t get, like, the greatest insurance.”

  Jill sensed Morgan’s tension. Please don’t make a scene. The Bensons were obviously doing the best they could.

  He pocketed the card Rebecca had handed him. “Thanks.”

  Jill moistened her lips. “How is Kelsey?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I haven’t heard for the last couple days, but she has so much spirit. Nothing has mobilized our youth group like her sickness. Everyone wants to help Kelsey. It’s just hard to do enough.”