The Still of Night

by Kristen Heitzmann

  They checked in to a Marriott in Denver, which was not as far as she had thought they would get. But it was eight o’clock at night and it felt good to stop. She waited beside Morgan, credit card ready, but he told the clerk to put both rooms on his.

  “Morgan, I’m—”

  He slid her card back at her and winked for the desk clerk to do as he said. When he turned from the counter and handed over her key, she said, “I don’t expect you to pay my way.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He stooped to lift both of their bags, no bellhop required.

  “I mean it, Morgan.”

  “Consider it wages, then.”

  “Wages?” She stalked behind him to the elevator.

  “Know any nurses who work for free?” He pushed the button.

  Jill expelled her breath and followed him into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. “I’m not your nurse. I’m doing this to …” She caught the rail as the elevator started up.

  “To?” He fixed her in his indigo gaze.

  “It’s for myself as much as anything. To be part of it. You shouldn’t pay for that.”

  He just pulled a slow smile. “Well, regarding finances, I have you beat.”

  She raised her chin. “I didn’t pursue teaching to get rich.”

  “And aren’t you smugly self-satisfied? Shallow Morgan Spencer flashing his money.”

  She flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I knew you’d be successful. I think it’s great. I just—”

  “You’re above all that, I know.” The doors opened and he stooped again for their bags, checking the room numbers as he stepped out.

  “I’m not above it, Morgan. It’s just not what defines me.”

  The corners of his mouth deepened.

  She stammered, “I don’t mean it defines you. I don’t know what defines you. I …” She swallowed the irritation driving her mouth down the rabbit trail. If she could think straight, she’d say what she meant.

  He stopped outside her door and reached for her key. She mutely produced it.

  “We’ll just tuck the bags inside and catch the restaurant before they close.”

  “Dinner’s on me.”

  “Wanna bet?” His smile was as smugly self-satisfied as any attitude he’d accused her of. What was he trying to prove? Better yet—she applied her assessment skills—what was his motivation for this particular behavior?

  In the restaurant, he seated her with the brush of his hand across her shoulder. Torture, perhaps? She had broiled salmon with glazed carrots and garlic mashed potatoes. That should ensure nothing untoward happened between them, although Morgan’s words were a better indication. “I’m long past need, Jill.” Was he trying to show her what she’d missed?

  But when they had finished and were taking the elevator up, he asked, “Want to catch a movie?” He held up his card key, and she realized he meant to watch it in the room. The elevator stopped, and he took her elbow and walked her out.

  She shook her head. “I guess not, Morgan.”

  A shadow of some emotion she couldn’t place passed through his eyes. “Just a movie, Jill, to unwind. You can have one bed, I’ll have the other.”

  She could not even imagine putting herself in that position. She sighed. “No thanks.” Did he honestly think she would? No doubt his intentions were innocent, but he would have no idea how critically she avoided any semblance of impropriety, how conscious she was of what people might have guessed or suspected of her past. Feeling like a fool, she started for her own door as Morgan let himself into his room.

  She opened her door, stalked to the bed, and unzipped her bag, pulled out the pajama shorts and spaghetti-strap top she slept in, her toothbrush, and facial cleanser. Once ready for bed, there would be no second thoughts. And she would sleep just fine without unwinding, thank you.

  Arms full, she headed for the bathroom when the knock came on her door. Which part of no did he not understand? She jockeyed her load and pulled the door open.

  Morgan held out the laptop. “You wanted to do your mail.”

  She looked from his face to the computer he offered. She would have remembered that the minute she sat down to pray, would have kicked herself for not asking to use it while she had the hotel phone lines for the modem. “Thank you.” She had no hand free to take it.

  Morgan stepped in and set it on the luggage holder under the wooden hangers. “You’re welcome.” He let himself out while she still stood, arms full, looking after him.

  They definitely needed to find some middle ground where they could operate without triggering old thoughts and feelings. And his polite veneer only went so deep. She washed and changed, then went online and accessed her account.

  Kelsey wondered a moment if it was disloyal to write to Jill without Mom’s knowing. On the one hand, she shouldn’t do anything that she knew would hurt someone, especially the person she loved so much. But Mom had introduced them and allowed her to guess the truth and address it. If she asked, Mom would say she could write, but just now she didn’t want to add any more grief or concern. The strain already showed in Mom’s face, though she tried to seem so positive.

  Hi, Jill, Kelsey’s fingers flew on the keyboard. I’ve been so sick today I thought I would sleep like a rock, but I’m wide awake. If I close my eyes it feels like I’m in a rowboat in a storm. Everything I eat tastes like dirt. I know I shouldn’t complain because the treatment is helping my army, but the angels don’t have to eat. I can’t even blame the hospital food. Dad brings me whatever sounds good, but when I put it in my mouth it doesn’t taste anything like it’s supposed to. Gripe, gripe, gripe.

  A wave of nausea brought a hand hard to her mouth. Kelsey grabbed for the plastic kidney-shaped dish and knocked it off the tray. Hold it down. Fight. Don’t lose the little food you actually got into your stomach. Her instructions battled down the wave and she returned to her keyboard.

  I’m giving my angels serious orders to mount an attack in my stomach. But could you pray, too? I’m sooo tired of feeling like throwing up, almost as much as actually throwing up. I know that’s gross to talk about, but I try really hard not to complain to anyone else. Lucky you, huh?

  Do you know what I find really comforting right now? That banquet waiting in heaven. Please don’t think that’s depressing, Jill. I think about heaven a lot. More than most kids, I guess. I imagine what it’ll be like and sometimes I look forward to it.

  She paused, almost deleted that whole last part, then refused. She’d promised herself to be honest here, to say whatever she wanted. She might never see Jill again. She wasn’t stupid. Rachel was dying, and she might, too.

  Rachel’s brother Josh came to see me today even though she is still in the ICU. The doctors aren’t hopeful for her. I’m praying for a miracle, and so is Josh. We didn’t do much laughing. In fact, we cried. Do you think it’s okay that I hugged him? And now came the really risky part. I guess what I really want to ask is, was it wrong to want to kiss him? Please answer. Kelsey

  In the middle of writing the letter to Joey’s mom, the message came up saying she had mail. She clicked it immediately, trying not to hope too much. She’d already been disappointed not to find anything from Kelsey when she opened her account. But this was Kelsey, and she must have just sent it. Jill’s heart fluttered. Three days in a row now.Thank you, Lord.

  Then she started to read, feeling Kelsey’s nausea in her own stomach. Why did it have to be so hard? Couldn’t the Lord take the sickness away? Please, Jesus. And then she read Kelsey’s thoughts about heaven. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears and pressed her fingers to the keys of Morgan’s laptop.

  Dearest Kelsey, You can look forward to heaven, but not anytime soon! This is going to work! I know you’re miserable and ill, but in a few days, less than a week, they will give you Morgan’s bone marrow. You wanted fresh angels. Well, that will be a whole army, and they will not be coming to carry you to heaven.

  Maybe it was a risk to speak that way to her daughter. But sh
e would not consider the alternative. She read the next part of Kelsey’s note and stopped cold on the last line. Then she reread the paragraph and pictured Kelsey typing it. She wanted to kiss him? And she was fourteen?

  Jill bit her lip, admitting she’d thought about it herself at that age, though never once been in a situation to actually consider it. Did Roger and Cinda know? By Kelsey’s tone, she doubted it. For some reason, her daughter had chosen her as the one to whom she could ask or say anything. And hadn’t she given her that permission herself?

  She considered carefully, then wrote,

  Kelsey, I’m glad you were there for Josh. It must be devastating to face losing his sister. I’m sure your hug was a great comfort. To answer your question, I have to say I’m not a very good one to ask. My heart led me into kisses that were not in the Lord’s plan, and I made poor choices because of it. Your faith is very strong. Trust what you know, not what you feel.

  Her fingers poised above the keyboard, then she signed it, Love, Jill.

  She sent the mail and returned to the letter she was composing, but her mind would not switch subjects. A moment later the mail message flashed again. She clicked.

  Dear Jill, I do know what you mean. But are you sure those kisses weren’t God’s will? Except for that, I wouldn’t be here.

  Jill jolted. She hadn’t meant to give Kelsey that message. Well, since her daughter was obviously online …

  Kelsey, you were the great good that came from my wrong choices. God takes even our mistakes and turns them to good. I would never wish one single kiss away, now, if it meant you would not be alive.

  She sent it and this time waited for the reply.

  I know you mean that, because I saw how much you wanted to help me. But if I hadn’t come out of it, would you still wish you hadn’t kissed Morgan?

  Jill’s heart lurched again. The child was certainly direct. She did not want to give her daughter the wrong message, and she did not want to think about kissing Morgan. She pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows. Lord, what do I say? The truth. She had promised Kelsey the truth.

  Kelsey, I loved Morgan very much, too much. I thought about kissing him long before we ever did. The trouble was, I didn’t know where to stop. No, the truth is I didn’t want to. Honey, some doors are not meant to be opened too early. Be patient.

  Again she sent it and waited.

  The answer that came broke her heart.

  What if I don’t have time?

  CHAPTER

  20

  Jill woke, got dressed, went down, and found what passed for the exercise room. She ran on the treadmill for an hour, then hung the towel over her neck and went back up to her room. When she had showered, she applied enough makeup to hide her lack of sleep and the tears Kelsey’s question had brought. She dressed in white capris and a slate blue shirt, slipped on her sandals and finger combed her hair.

  She wasn’t hungry, but she needed some juice to boost her blood sugar after the workout, so she went down to the restaurant. The waiter brought her a menu, but she said, “Just some orange juice, please. Do you have fresh squeezed?”

  “No, ma’am. Just regular.”

  She drank it gratefully anyway, then sat alone with her thoughts. Her reply to Kelsey had been nowhere near adequate. A blind assurance that the Lord’s plan for her life was perfect. What messed things up was turning away from His love, His directions. Jesus knows the desires of your heart, she’d said. Trust Him to fulfill them.

  Jill went back up to her room. She hadn’t remembered to bring her Bible, so she checked the drawer and took out the one placed by the Gideons. She sought the gospel account of the Lord’s own words. She read the parable of the sower and pictured a tall, lanky figure in rough, gauzy robes walking his land, one hand reaching to the bag, then tossing seed.

  Maybe she was shallow ground, allowing fear for Kelsey to gain a stronghold. The Lord couldn’t take root because her stones and poor soil wouldn’t hold the surety that Kelsey would live to kiss a young man, to harbor the dreams that were only now beginning to take form.

  Then again, maybe the fear and doubt were weeds and thorns choking out the confidence she had in Christ’s love. I want to believe, Lord. But Shelly’s words came back to haunt her. “Well, from my point of view, those of you who believe are not in any better position than those of us who don’t.”

  That couldn’t be true. Faith was deeper than outward appearances.

  It was what went on inside the heart in spite of sickness … and death? She trembled as the birds came and plucked away her assurance yet again. Jesus, make my heart fertile. Then she turned her prayers to Kelsey’s needs and the roommate who might already be with Jesus and the brother, Josh, who had come to mean something to Kelsey. So fragile, all of them.

  She clasped her hands and rested her lips on the knuckles. “And bless Morgan for disrupting his life to save the child he’s never seen.” The magnitude of his gift was immeasurable. She replaced the Bible in the drawer beside the bed and looked at the clock. 8:10. How long would Morgan sleep?

  She packed her things and set the bag beside the door, then turned on a morning TV show and waited for him. An hour passed. Shouldn’t they be on the road? It was another eleven hundred miles to the coast. She clicked the button on the remote and turned off the TV. Then she went to Morgan’s room and knocked. She was turning away when he opened.

  “Mmm.” He rubbed his face.

  She’d woken him. “I’m sorry, but I thought we should get going.”

  He stood in athletic shorts and nothing else. His torso was tanned and lean.

  She averted her eyes. “It’s nine-thirty and we have so far to go still. I’ve already exercised and—”

  He winced. “I get the picture.” His breath had an acrid tang, and he did not appear to have slept well.

  “If you need some time, I’ll be in my room.”

  He nodded and closed the door. Not exactly Mr. Cheerful in the morning. Maybe he hadn’t slept at all. Maybe he was sick. She shouldn’t have knocked, should have simply waited. She went back to her room and noticed his laptop still on the desk. She booted up and went into her e-mail account. May as well finish the letters she’d been too upset to complete last night.

  Nearly an hour later, Morgan knocked. This time he smelled of coffee, but his eyes were still hollow and hooded. “Let’s go.” His bag was on his shoulder.

  “Give me just a second to shut down the computer.” She did so as she spoke, then packed it up and carried it, since he had shouldered her bag with his. Morgan leaned on the wall of the elevator, eyes closed. He must have had a miserable night.

  “Do you want breakfast?”

  “No.” He left the elevator and started for the desk.

  “Are you all right?” She rested her hand on his arm.

  “Mostly.”

  “Morgan, are you sick?”

  He slid his key onto the counter and reached for hers. “I’m fine, Jill.”

  When they went outside she was sure something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter? Does your head hurt?”

  “You could say that.” He squinted in the brightness. “Here.” He handed her the car keys.

  “You’re letting me drive?” Now she was really concerned.

  “Just the first leg. 70 west.” He stuffed the bags into the trunk, then settled into the passenger seat and covered his eyes with his hand.

  “Did you take some aspirin?”

  “I don’t need nursing yet, Florence. Just drive.”

  She turned the key in the engine. She had never driven a car like this, but something in her reveled. “Music?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like the top down?”

  “No.”

  She took I-25 a short distance to I-70 through the western side of the city, toward the mountains that had been visible from their hotel. It was the road she had taken to Rick’s ranch, cutting directly up into the mountains. Morgan’s car handled the gr
ade and curves with ease, far better than the rental she’d driven the last time. She could get used to this.

  After a little more than an hour, he stirred, took his hand from his eyes, and watched her. “How do you like it?”

  “It’s great. Like driving a cloud. Very posh.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Now that his eyes were mostly open, he kept them that way, mainly trained on her.

  She sent her glance up the canyon walls as often as she could look up from the road. “This is so beautiful.”

  “Mm-hmm.” But he didn’t look out. “Not many women can wear a short haircut like that.”

  She shot him a glance. “I meant the—”

  “Did you cut it for the reunion?”

  “No.”

  “Just before, though.”

  How could he know that? “I wanted a change. And how did you know that anyway?”

  “Your pictures.”

  She screwed up her brow.

  He shifted higher in his seat, seemingly waking up. “You had a package of photos on your counter. And they were dated.”

  He was right. She had picked them up the day before he came. The police department picnic. “You looked at my pictures?”

  “Some great shots of Dan.”

  She cast him a glance. “They were good, weren’t they?”

  “And your pool pose. Nice swimsuit.”

  “Thank you.” She refused to blush.

  “Could have seen it better without Dan hanging all over.”

  “Does this have a point?” She couldn’t help frowning.

  He laughed softly, then rubbed his temple.

  “Is it a migraine?”

  “No, Jill. Just the usual Crown Royal variety.”

  Crown Royal. He had a hangover? Morgan? “Oh. I’m … so you …”

  “Did it to myself?” He snapped his fingers. “There go all the sympathy points.”

  She had no idea where to go from there, so she said nothing.