“Great,” she grumbled, gathering her things. “Just what we need. Security poking around our department again. Crazy Gayle pointing fingers.” She shoved the pecan brittle into her purse. “Those narcotics are probably still in that old woman’s medicine cabinet. Or maybe she threw them out years ago and forgot. She could hardly speak she was so sedated.”
“You talked with her?”
“I registered her when she arrived. And then . . .” The look returned, nervousness tinged with anger. Exactly like the Barclays’ shih tzu before she growled and snapped. “Gayle called me away from my dinner to go talk with Mrs. Humphries again. About her insurance. Gayle made a huge deal about how it had to be me. The patient didn’t want anyone else. Then after all that, she barges in and—” Jessica stopped short. “Never mind. I need to get back.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Fletcher offered, trying to quiet his investigative curiosity. What had the nurse manager done that Jessica decided not to reveal?
- + -
“Parrish thinks I look even better than Elizabeth Swann,” Emma gushed, checking to be sure the water splashes hadn’t damaged the temporary tattoos on her forearm. Waning light cast a rosy sheen over the glittering pink skull and a glow-in-the-dark rainbow. She grinned at Lauren, her eyes almost as bright as her gold hoop earring. “And she thinks it’s way beyond cool that you and Dad got dressed up.”
“Yes, well . . .” Lauren peered sideways at Eli. “Way beyond sneaky, too, since these costumes were a complete surprise to me.” She glanced down at the frilly peasant blouse, making her plumed hat tip forward.
“Good thing you and Grams are almost the same size.”
Lauren heard Eli’s low chuckle. It was also a good thing that Anita Landry—obviously a great sport—had modest taste. No corset vest, plunging neckline, or side-slit skirt with thigh-high boots. It could have been much, much worse. She bit back a laugh; Eli couldn’t say the same. His costume was labeled “pirate scalawag,” and the laced shirtfront gaped dangerously over his broad chest. That he’d acquiesced to the earring, bandanna, and Lauren’s generously penciled mustache was proof positive of how much he loved his little daughter.
“Anyway,” Emma concluded, reaching down to adjust Shrek’s eye patch, “Parrish says you’re probably the best mother in the world.”
Lauren’s heart tugged. “Tell her thank you, but I’m not a mom. I’ve had practice, though. With my sister. Jess liked to dress up as a princess,” she clarified, certain Eli was thinking that she was guilty of mothering her sister still. “So I’d help her with her crown and the play makeup. All that.” She smiled at Emma. “I liked helping you today.”
There was a chorus of childish pirate whoops from a picnic table a few yards away, followed by a crescendo of yo hos from distant speakers blasting a continuous loop of Disney’s “A Pirate’s Life for Me.” Someone shouted Emma’s name. Shrek whined and nudged his big head against his mistress’s hip.
“Daddy? Please,” she begged, pressing her palms together. “Mrs. Donnelly’s taking videos, and Parrish wants to film Shrek doing that cute trick. He could be the star. And I’ll sing my Annie song. And then maybe we’ll go viral on YouTube, and—”
“No YouTube.” Eli touched the tip of his plastic sword to Emma’s sleeve. “And it’s getting dark, so stay right there at the Donnellys’ table, where I can see you, pirate girl.” His smile stretched his penciled mustache. “Back here in twenty minutes. Or you and that fuzzy varmint will be walkin’ the plank—argh!”
“You’re crazy, Daddy,” she giggled, giving him a quick hug. “Thanks!”
They watched her trot away with the loyal Newfoundland close behind. Eli swept off his bandanna and earring, sighed. “Kids—impossible to keep up. She’s making an old man of me.”
Lauren smiled, thinking nothing could be further from the truth. Eli had never looked so . . . She shook her head, nearly laughing aloud as her grandmother’s corny word came to mind. Dashing. It was the costume, probably. The pirate shirt over faded jeans, hair tousled from the bandanna, a healthy glow from rowing that boat, and those sleepy eyes.
“Bottle of rum?” He lifted a dripping can of Dr Pepper from the cooler as they settled into beach chairs.
“No thanks.” Her skin prickled as he rocked his chair and scooted it closer until they were scant inches apart. “I should be careful with that stuff. Have to be able to drive myself home.”
“Right.” His eyes held hers for a long moment, and Lauren was certain he was thinking what she was. In any other scenario—with any other woman—Eli would insist upon providing that ride home. Except that this wasn’t a date. Even if everything seemed to be conspiring to make it look that way. Maybe even feel that way . . .
“It’s beautiful here.” Lauren shifted her gaze toward the tree-lined bayou shore and the glittering Houston skyline beyond. She took a slow breath, inhaling the earthy scents of slow-moving water, tree moss, native grasses and flowers, blending with the tangy-sweet and smoky aroma of someone’s barbecue. A trio of fireflies blinked, disappearing and reappearing magically along the shoreline, the original model for Disney’s electronic twinkles in their Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Here and there on the darkening expanse of lawn, children in layered glow necklaces competed boisterously with the courting insects. “Emma had so much fun. I’m glad I came along.”
“I am too.” Eli stayed silent for a few seconds. “Was being with me uncomfortable for you?”
“No.”
“Then I’m glad about that, too.” He was quiet again, new fireflies choreographing the beats of silence. “I wish I could change it all.”
She turned to look at him, shadowed now in dimming light. The yo ho chorus and childish squeals blended in the distance. “Change what?”
“The way things happened. With your sister . . . you and me.”
“You can’t.” He couldn’t change that any more than he could change what happened with Emma’s mother. Or his brother. “But I wish it was possible too.”
“Because of your sister running away. The effect it had on your family.”
“Yes, that.” Lauren’s heart thudded in her ears. Truth beating a merciless drum. “And because I wish all of that didn’t make things so complicated now. Between us.”
“Wait . . . hold on.” Eli shifted in his chair, his knee brushing hers. He leaned forward, searched her face. “There’s an ‘us’?”
Lauren managed a chuckle despite her anxious sense of free fall. “You sound like I did when I saw this ridiculous costume.” She saw the question repeated in his expression. “Yes, I guess so,” she heard herself say. “Even if it feels as scary as walking that plank, I think there is an ‘us.’ Like it or not.”
“Ah . . . okay then.” Eli feigned a grimace. “But don’t worry; even after that huge show of interest, I’m not going to ask where we go from here. Not this time.” His tone sobered. “Promise.”
“Good. I don’t have an answer.” Her heart stalled as he gently took hold of her hand.
“That’s okay. We’ll figure something out. Take it really slow. We both have things, other people, to consider.” His thumb brushed over her fingers. “But you’re important to me, Lauren. Too important for me to mess it up this time. Please believe me.”
“I’ll try.”
“No pressure. Like right now. I’m not going to try to kiss you. Even though I want to—a lot.”
Her eyes widened.
“Only being honest.” He smiled. “So, deal?”
“Deal.”
“Great.” Eli raised her hand, touched his warm lips to her palm.
“Hey,” she protested despite a dizzying rush. “That was a kiss. You said you weren’t going to do that. You totally cheated.”
Eli shrugged, a Jack Sparrow smirk on his face. “Pirate.”
LAUREN CHECKED HER CLOCK in the pale morning light, not sure what had awakened her so early. Probably the rain pelting her bedroom window or Hannah snoring from the s
pot she’d commandeered at the foot of the twin bed. Or maybe . . . Lauren reached up to stifle a yawn, then stopped, staring in confusion at a black smudge in the center of her palm. What—?
Oh yes. That artfully penciled pirate mustache and . . . Eli’s kiss.
A bit of the smudge had survived her hand washing; the memory was just as indelible.
She scooted up in bed, felt Hannah stir, and saw one sleepy eye open in the tousle of black-and-white fur. The dog’s chin rested on the light comforter well within toe-nipping range, and she generally woke up cranky. Lauren might as well be sleeping in a minefield. But right now she didn’t really care. She just wanted to remember last night. All of it: the exuberant crowd of kids in the park, Shrek with his eye patch, Emma’s delighted giggles, and that sun on Eli’s shoulders as he rowed their boat down the bayou. Lauren’s pulse quickened as a collage of memories continued: distant music, lazy looping fireflies in the deepening dusk, and then the hopeful timbre of Eli’s voice.
“Wait . . . hold on. . . . There’s an ‘us’?”
Us. Her stomach quivered.
She’d told him yes. And he’d said they’d take it all slowly, because “. . . you’re important to me.”
Lauren stared at the brow pencil on her palm. Proof that she’d finally accepted that Eli Landry was important to her too. Despite her confusion, after running to Austin to avoid it, she could no longer deny her feelings. Feelings she still didn’t fully understand, but that included respect for his work at the hospital and for his beautiful devotion to Drew and Emma. And maybe even for Eli’s stubborn, opinionated courage. Courage that too often pitted him against others. Coworkers, his parents, certainly hers, many times against Lauren herself . . . and God, too?
She glanced at her well-worn study Bible on the bedside stand. She knew very little about Eli’s faith, other than his doubts about God’s mercy when it came to his brother’s tragic life. But for Lauren, absolutely, the us in any serious relationship would have to include God. She had no idea how that might play out with Eli. A huge reason for taking it slow.
She brushed her thumb across the smudge on her palm. Eli had admitted it too, that there were other things to consider. And people. Like—
Hannah lifted her head and stared at the doorway. Lauren leaned forward. Then she heard it, even over the drumming rain. It was coming from down the hallway and was probably what had awakened her in the first place: the unmistakable sound of crying.
Jess.
Hannah’s indignant growl did nothing to deter Lauren as she kicked off the covers and padded down the hall to her sister’s room, worry crowding in. What could have happened?
“Jess?” Lauren pulled her hand from the doorknob, made herself knock first. “Are you okay in there?”
“Go away.”
“It sounds like you’re crying.”
“It sounds like you’re butting in.”
Touché. Lauren reached for the knob again; she’d learned to find hope in her sister’s hostility. It was pathetic, but tears and dark silence scared Lauren far more. She tested the knob. Not locked. “I’m coming in, Jess.”
“Suit yourself.”
A welcome mat in sisterspeak.
But there was raw misery in Jess’s eyes.
“Stupid roof.” She inspected the ceiling, her glare seeming to include far more than the growing water stain, then hugged her arms around herself. “Stupid storm.”
Lauren settled on the edge of the bed, reminding herself that taking it slowly was just as important here, too. “Guess it rained all night.”
“I don’t think it’s ever going to stop.” Jess’s red-rimmed eyes connected with Lauren’s. “There comes a time when you run out of Tupperware.”
“Bad shift at work?”
“Maybe I’m just tired of it, you know? All of it.”
Please, God . . . Lauren pushed down an all-too-familiar fear. Jess wasn’t being doomsday. Everyone got tired of work.
“Security’s on that witch hunt again,” Jess explained with a frown. “Pretty soon we’ll have to use the buddy system to go to the bathroom so no one gets accused of thievery.”
Lauren welcomed a wave of relief; this she could handle. “Was there another complaint—valuables missing?”
“Um . . .” Jess glanced down, picked at a thread on her comforter. “Not sure. But no doubt Gayle will sniff around like a bloodhound this morning.” She yanked the thread, hard. “And we all know who her favorite target is.”
“Jess, I know you think that, but—”
“Don’t! You’ll never sell me that load of—” She drew a deep breath. “You don’t get it. How could you possibly?”
“I want to. Let me try.” Lauren took hold of her sister’s hand. “Please.”
“Sometimes . . .” Tears brimmed in Jess’s eyes. “It feels like I’m outside. Not really part of anything. Not at work. Or even—” She stopped, swiped at her eyes. “Never mind.”
“Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do.”
“To fix it—fix me?”
Eli’s words whispered in her head. “We want to jump in, do everything we can to fix it when we see someone hurting. . . .”
“Thanks, but I’m not a roof leak.” Jess gave Lauren’s fingers a squeeze, her shoulders relaxing with a sigh. “You’re like Fletcher. Too serious. It was just a bad shift. I’ll get over it.”
“You’re sure? Nothing I can do?”
“Nope. Except keep Gayle out of my hair. And maybe wash your hands.” She pointed at Lauren’s palm. “Yuck. Is that mascara?”
“Uh . . . brow pencil.”
“Seriously?” Jess examined Lauren’s warming face. “I’d say that’s the last thing you need.”
- + -
“Parrish thinks she’s pretty.”
Eli hid his smile as he dropped Emma’s French toast onto the flower-doodled plastic plate she’d made in kindergarten. Shrek’s tail thumped against his knee. Two years on insulin and the old boy still begged for syrup-laden scraps. Now there was proof of hope.
“Do you?” Emma continued.
Eli threw a dish towel over his shoulder and reached for the jar of applesauce before heading to the table. “Do I what?”
“Oh, puh-leeeeze,” his daughter groaned, inspecting the pirate tattoos she’d managed to keep in place despite her bath. “Lauren. Do you think she’s pretty?” Her smile was decidedly impish. “You don’t have to say it out loud, Daddy. You could just do a thumbs-up or thumbs-down like on Facebook.”
He halted, plate in one hand and jar in the other. “Excuse me?”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I don’t have a Facebook account. I only heard about that thumbs thing. But do you like her?”
Eli blamed sudden warmth on the heated plate in his hand. “Sure. She’s nice. And you are going to be nice and hungry if you don’t stop asking questions and start eating. Grab this applesauce, would ya?” He set the plate of cinnamon-scented triangles in front of her, slid the butter dish closer. Then let curiosity get the best of him. “How ’bout you? Do you like Lauren?”
Emma raised a thumb. Then grinned and raised the other. “The other one’s for Shrek. He likes her too.”
“Okay,” Eli said, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “That’s settled. Now let’s—”
He stopped short as his cell phone buzzed against the tabletop. An incoming call from Mimaw’s Nest.
“Elijah Landry,” he answered, motioning for Emma to get started with her breakfast.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early,” Florine apologized. “I believe things will be fine, but we’re treating Drew for an asthma flare-up. I know you asked to be notified. I suspect the change in weather may have triggered it; rain’s really coming down out here. And that wind’s kicking up.”
“He’s getting the usual dose in his nebulizer?” Eli saw Emma’s fork droop.
“Yes, sir. And we have the steroid mix if we need it; I’ll let you know on that. I took a good
listen to his chest. Only wheezes.”
“No fever?” He tried to reassure Emma with a look, but she left her chair and skittered to his side.
“Temp’s normal. And . . .” There was a small chuckle of amusement. “Your brother’s already reaching for his breakfast tray—pancakes.”
“Good.” Eli’s breath escaped in relief. “That’s a positive sign. Tell him I’ll stop in before work.” He smiled as Emma tugged at his shirt. “And tell him his favorite niece sends a kiss—her dog, too.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Landry. Please check those road reports. We’re getting a bit of standing water. That means some of the low-water crossings could be a problem.”
“Will do. Thanks for the reminder.” Eli said good-bye, then reached down to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “Don’t worry. Drew’s okay. Sometimes the weather stirs up his asthma. You know the drill: nebulizer treatment, get him all propped up on pillows.” He feigned a frown. “When they can find his pillows, that is. Someone seems to be stealing them away and hiding them. Do you have any idea who that might be?”
“Um . . .” Emma glanced down.
“Hey.” He tucked a finger under her chin, raising her face. “You’re not in trouble. I’m only teas—” Eli stopped, concerned as her expression became even more pained. “What’s wrong, punkin?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Only it’s better if there aren’t pillows. I heard that. It’s safer.”
“Safer?” he asked, trying to understand. “You’ve seen what we do. Use the pillows to help Drew sit up straighter. Keep him from leaning to his paralyzed side when he’s having breathing trouble. You’ve seen that hundreds of times.” A thought occurred to him: Parrish had a new baby brother. “Are you thinking about babies? That it’s not safe for babies to sleep with pillows?”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
“What?” Eli sat down and pulled her close to his chair, dismayed to see she’d begun to tremble. “What is it, honey?”
“I don’t want Uncle Drew to die. He’s not too old . . . he still eats, and—” a tear slid down her face—“he’s not suffering, Daddy. I don’t want it to be like with Parrish’s dog. I don’t want anyone to do that to him.” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing. “Please . . .”
Life Support Page 16
