by Nancy Warren
“The police might be able to help. Do you think he’s still in Washington State?”
“I doubt he’s still in the country. Stephen used to talk about the opportunities in Eastern Europe.” She glanced at Alice and lowered her voice. “There’s a woman in the Czech Republic.” She looked at the banker. “I only know her first name, Vladka. Oh, and that she’s twenty-two and models.”
When the kids had come home with expensive presents from their dad the last time they’d seen him, she’d been annoyed that he was buying their affection with gifts while holding back the support payments that kept them in food and clothes. It hadn’t occurred to her until recently that he was giving them goodbye presents.
“I’ve called everyone I could think of. Our mutual friends, former clients of his. His parents went back to Germany after they retired. His mother’s still alive, but she says she hasn’t heard from him, either.” She stared at the bank manager with the pain-dulled eyes. “How could anyone leave the family they were supposed to love?”
There was a strange moment when something flashed between the two of them, some pull of understanding or sympathy so powerful she felt her breath catch.
“Do you have other sources of income?” he asked brusquely, dropping his gaze to his keyboard.
“I do some landscape design, but the business is so young. It’s not enough to support the kids and me. It covers groceries.”
He nodded. “Have you thought about going back to nursing?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it. By the time I retrain and then pay for child care for two children, we’ll hardly get ahead.” She rubbed her forehead where a dull headache thrummed. “I’ve scaled back our expenses to the bone. My car’s ten years old and I rarely drive it. We don’t buy anything we don’t absolutely need.”
“You’ve built up some equity. The way house prices are rising in your area you could sell and move to a less expensive home.”
“No!” He glanced at her, obviously startled at her loud cry. She forced herself to calm down. “I have watched my children suffer enough. Do you have any idea what it’s like to see their confusion and hurt when they lose a parent?”
She saw his jaw clench once, hard, and then he nodded.
“At least they’ve got their home and their mother,” she continued. “They can go to the same school and play with the same friends. I’ll do anything to keep that much for them. Anything.”
“It’s not—”
“I’ve always paid my bills. Always. I don’t have so much as an unpaid library fine in my past. I am going to make a good life for my children. I promise you.”
Her passion must have reached him, and her determination.
“Here is the best I can offer. We can extend your mortgage to thirty years and renew you early at a lower rate than you’re at now. It’s going to cut your payments almost in half, but of course you won’t be getting very far ahead.”
“And the six thousand in back payments and fees?”
He stared at her for another moment, obviously debating. She held her breath and tried to look like exactly what she was. A woman who stood by her commitments. Who paid her dues.
At last he said, “I’ll add the fees to the mortgage principal. You’ll pay it, but over time.”
Relief made her feel dizzy. “That’s okay. That’s wonderful. When do I have to make the first payment?”
He sighed. Seemed to wrestle with himself. “Let’s say sixty days from today.”
“Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“Mrs. Theisen, I suggest—” The phone on his desk rang and he frowned at it. “Excuse me,” he mumbled and lifted the receiver. “Stella, I asked you to hold all my calls. What? Oh, put her through.”
There was a pause, during which he glanced at his watch and the frown intensified and then, “Hi, honey, is there a problem at school?”
The look of concern changed to horror. She heard hysterical babbling sounds coming from the receiver.
“What? Where are you? How much blood?”
CHAPTER THREE
SETH O’REILLY jerked to his feet, glancing at Melissa with blatant fear in his eyes. “You’re a nurse— My daughter’s throwing up blood. I can be home in ten minutes. Should they call 9-1-1?”
“How much blood?” She repeated his question.
He looked completely baffled. “Hard to say.”
She thought quickly, then shook her head. “The children are already panicked. I think it’s better if you take her to the hospital.”
He nodded once, then spoke into the receiver with a calmness at odds with the worry on his face. “Hang on, honey, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and turned to Melissa. “Would you come, too?” He didn’t bother to disguise his fear.
“It could be flu.” She stood watching him grab his coat, root for keys.
“Please?”
He’d helped her out of a tough spot, and even though it had been more than eight years since she’d nursed, her first-aid training was current.
“All right.”
She glanced down at Alice, who’d picked up the atmosphere in the room and was staring anxiously at her mother. “We’re going to help a little girl who isn’t feeling too well.”
Hauling Alice up in her arms and ignoring the crumpled mess of brochures littering the rug, Melissa scurried to keep up as Seth O’Reilly’s long legs strode at top speed ahead of her. He yelled something to the astonished Stella on his way past. He didn’t pause at the elevator but charged straight for the stairs. Melissa followed, her shoes clattering on the gray cement steps, one arm firmly around Alice, the other clinging to the handrail.
By the time she emerged from the street exit, he was a dark shape sprinting toward the parked cars. Even as she started forward, he leaped into a maroon Volvo. In seconds he was pealing out of the parking space and heading toward her. His impatience was palpable as she carefully buckled her daughter in the pull-down child’s seat in the back.
Thank God they were in the safest car known to man, she thought, as they roared out of the parking lot. She buckled her own seat belt and turned a watchful eye on Seth O’Reilly. His face was set in a grim mask, all the emotions locked down, hands steady on the wheel. Only the speed at which they were traveling gave away his distress. She had a strong feeling he wasn’t a habitual speeder.
“You won’t help your daughters if you get in an accident,” she warned him.
He didn’t answer. Nor did he ease off on the accelerator. He removed one hand from the wheel, dug out a cell phone and pushed a button. The phone was shoved her way. “It’s Jessica and Laura.”
“Where are the girls?”
“My house.”
“It’s ringing…. Alone?” She couldn’t help it if she sounded critical. They were too young to be alone.
“They’re supposed to be at school.”
“Where’s their mother?” She couldn’t imagine her kids approaching Stephen with a problem; it was always to her that they’d come.
“Their mother’s dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” A click sounded in her ear and then a recorded message. “There’s no answer,” she informed the man next to her.
She clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming as they careened round a corner, narrowly missing a milk delivery truck. O’Reilly ignored the shouted obscenities and accompanying hand gestures from the outraged driver.
They shot into a tree-lined boulevard not far from her own neighborhood. The homes that flashed by were a blur of well-kept Colonials and Tudors.
She was thrown against the passenger door by the g-force as he swung from one crescent onto another.
“Whee!” squealed Alice.
Moments later they jerked to a halt. He was out of the car and running up the path that bisected the only ragged lawn on the crescent. Quickly, Melissa helped Alice out of the backseat.
“Where we going?”
“We’re going to visit a little girl who’s sick. Ca
n you be very good while Mommy’s busy?”
Alice nodded solemnly, and Melissa couldn’t help hugging her as she hauled her up into her arms once again and hurried up the walk mentally reviewing what she knew of internal bleeding.
The front door was wide open, and as she approached it she could hear the crying—in stereo.
Melissa sucked in a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
After locking the front door behind her, she secured Alice in the cluttered living room to the right of the front door. A quick survey told her there wasn’t any clear danger to Alice, so she sat her on the floor near a pile of Barbie paraphernalia, with instructions to stay put.
Melissa followed the sounds of crying up the stairs and along a hall, where her nose was able to help pinpoint the twins’ location. The air was toxic with the scent of vomit.
“Daddy, I can’t stop throwing—” The tearful voice was cut off by a bout of retching.
Melissa poked her head around the open door to find one curly redhead bending over the toilet, heaving. An identical head was bent over the sink, similarly occupied.
Relief struck her immediately. If they were both vomiting then it was either flu or something they’d eaten. She could put away the sketchy knowledge of ruptured blood vessels and cancer.
“Do everything together, do they?” she said, stepping into the crowded bathroom.
Seth O’Reilly stood poised in the middle of the floor in his business suit—arms stretched to their limit so he could rub both heaving backs simultaneously.
He shot her a helpless-parent look that took her back to her days on the emergency ward. “Do something. They’re bleeding their guts out.”
“If they’re both sick, it’s a good sign,” she said soothingly, keeping her voice calm but positive. How easily she slipped back into the nurse role.
Stepping behind him, she managed a good survey of the sink. “Which one started vomiting first?”
The one at the sink pointed to the one bent over the toilet.
“Still think it’s flu?” Seth O’Reilly asked her.
“Could be.” She did a rapid check for fever by putting her forearm on the back of each bent neck. “They’re a little warm, but that could be from exertion.”
She gently lifted the wrist of the girl closest to her and found the pulse rapid, but nice and strong. “What did you girls eat last?”
The one over the sink groaned and started heaving. The one at the toilet stopped crying long enough to gasp, “Brownies. We made them ourselves.”
Melissa glanced at their father, who appeared horrified at the news. “Hang on, I’ll check the kitchen,” she said.
She ran down to the kitchen and sure enough there was a large cake pan, empty but for a couple of remaining lumps of tar-like substance.
Pigging out on a whole pan of brownies was enough to make anyone sick, in Melissa’s opinion, but not so violently. Puzzled, she studied the perfectly ordinary brownie recipe staring at her from an open book on the counter.
Everything the girls had used seemed to be on display, from baking chocolate to an oozing jar of corn syrup, to sugar and vanilla. There was nothing unusual, except that the flour canister in the far corner looked undisturbed.
In the interests of medical research, Melissa pinched off a lump of the brown stuff in the pan. It smelled like chocolate. She bit off a tiny piece and chewed. Careful not to swallow, she rinsed her mouth with water. Along with the strong chocolate taste, she noted a peculiar flavor.
She sorted more carefully through the ingredients strewn all over the counter. The only thing she didn’t instantly recognize was an unmarked white plastic container with white powder inside. Beside it, a Pyrex measuring cup had powder residue almost up to the two-cup mark.
Using the tip of her tongue, Melissa tasted the powder and wrinkled her nose: baking soda. The girls had obviously mistaken it for flour. No wonder the little stinkers were heaving their guts out.
And in the midst of the kitchen counter was a pitcher of bright-red cranberry cocktail and two nearly empty glasses of the red stuff. So much for the “blood.”
With a muttered prayer of gratitude that they’d ingested nothing worse than bicarb of soda, she went back upstairs, sticking her head in the living room on the way by to see Alice happily trying to wrestle Ken into one of Barbie’s evening gowns.
Back in the bathroom, the crying had started up again. “My stomach hurts,” wailed one little girl, doubled over. The other one was now sitting on the toilet seat as though she knew she’d never get far.
Seth O’Reilly had his arms wrapped round the girl with the cramps. “I’m taking them straight to the hospital.”
“Seems they made a pan of brownies using bicarb of soda in place of flour, and drank it down with cranberry juice.”
“And you think that’s funny?”
“That’s what was turning their vomit red. Not blood.”
As her words sank in, he slumped against the vanity, panic ebbing out of his face. But the concern was still there. “Thank God. But they’re really sick. What should I do?”
“It won’t do them any permanent damage. If they were my kids I’d put them to bed.” She shrugged. “But the hospital can give them a shot to stop the vomiting. It’s up to you.”
He pulled the second girl into his embrace and hugged both children to him fiercely. “Right, come on girls. We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”
“Who’s she?” asked one.
“This is Mrs. Theisen. She’s a nurse and she’s here to help you.” O’Reilly glanced over at Melissa as if wondering how to proceed next.
“Why don’t I get the girls’ coats and maybe a couple of buckets.”
“Coats are on the hooks by the back door. There should be some buckets in the garage.”
She found the jackets on the floor in the living room. There might have been buckets in the garage, but Melissa figured she’d end up in the hospital herself if she tried to wade through all the junk in there. Back in the house, she emptied a couple of overflowing waste-paper bins to serve the purpose.
“Alice and I live near here. Maybe you could drop us off?” she asked once everybody was buckled into the car.
“Aren’t you coming with us?”
“I can’t. I have to be home when my son gets out of school at three o’clock. It’s after two now.”
He glanced at her and she could almost read his mind. He was going to suggest she call a taxi, but knew she couldn’t afford one.
“Please, it’s on your way,” she said, and quickly gave him directions.
When they reached her house, he barely waited till she had Alice out of the car before speeding away, leaving Melissa saying “I hope you feel better,” to the empty road.
“HI, MOM, I’M HOME.” Matthew’s voice bounced high with excitement. At eight, he still thought she was the greatest being in the universe, and he held a special place in her heart as the only male who’d ever really loved her.
“Hi, darling, how was your day?” Melissa gasped as he squeezed her in a bear hug.
“Hi, Maffew.” Alice ran up to get her turn at a bear hug, then laughed as her big brother lifted her feet clear off the floor.
“Guess what?” With all the importance due the only member of the family whose daily activities took him outside the home, Matthew plunked down at the kitchen table for his regular recitation of the day’s events.
“What?”
“We’re going on a field trip to see a play about space. It’s gonna be so cool. I’m thinking about being an astronaut when I grow up, so it’ll be real good to go.”
At the words field trip, Melissa’s heart sank. Field trips cost money. “I thought you were going to be a doctor?”
“Nah. Myron Oberfeller’s dad’s a doctor and all he does is look up people’s noses. I tried it a few times at school. It was awesome when Ryan Doran had a bad cold, but mostly it’s pretty boring.”
Stifling a smile, she said, �
��I think Dr. Oberfeller is an ear, nose and throat specialist. Other doctors do more interesting things.”
“That’s okay. I’ve pretty much decided on being an astronaut.” Now that he had his career settled, Matthew glanced around the kitchen hopefully.
Melissa prided herself on the wholesome home baking she served her family, but today she hadn’t had a lot of time for baking. She sliced carrot sticks and dug out a dozen chocolate chip cookies from her emergency stash in the freezer. She had a packet of brownies in there, too. She shuddered and pulled out the cookies, which for some odd reason her kids preferred frozen, then poured the milk.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Matthew bolted out of his chair.
“Wait till I see who it is,” Melissa reminded him.
“It’s Josh,” he said with the intense frustration of an eight-year-old who wants to play with his buddy now. Melissa was fairly certain he was right, but she still checked the window above her son’s head to be sure. And broke into a smile.
Josh wasn’t alone. His mother and little brother, who was only a few months younger than Alice, were also there.
“Hi,” she said to them all. “Come in.” As the boys ran by her, Melissa greeted Pam Bryant, her neighbor and friend. “Coffee?”
Pam grinned. “I brought my own Sweet’n Low.”
The kids made short work of the cookies and carrots and then asked to go downstairs to the basement playroom. The moms helped the three-year-olds with the stairs after the older boys bounded down. Once they were ensconced down there, the two women could relax knowing everybody was safe.
Melissa brewed coffee and offered to warm up more cookies.
“No,” Pam groaned. “Don’t tempt me. I need to lose ten pounds before we go to the Caribbean.”
“You’re going to the Caribbean?” Melissa turned around to stare. “Oh, how wonderful. White sand beaches, turquoise water—”
“Two-piece bathing suit.”
She laughed. “What’s the occasion?”
Pam paused for a tiny second. “Our tenth anniversary.”
