“She tried, but . . .” Lauren’s skin warmed as Eli slid closer. “All that hokey pokey and backward skating with Parrish probably wore her out.”
Eli had carried his pajama-clad, sleepy daughter—half-giggling, half-yawning—over his shoulder fireman-style down the hall to her bedroom. Lauren watched their tucking-in ritual from the doorway, an ache rising as his deep voice blended with Emma’s sweet lilt in the Lord’s Prayer. It was followed by Emma’s earnest prayers for her father, Lauren, her grandparents, Uncle Drew, her mother in heaven, her best friend forever Parrish, and Shrek.
As if on cue, the big dog had given a deep, warbling sigh and fallen immediately asleep, his head resting on Emma’s Little Mermaid backpack. It would be hopelessly soggy by morning.
“Thank you.” Eli rubbed his knuckles very gently along Lauren’s cheek. His dark eyes held hers, lids drooping slightly in the exact same way as his daughter’s and brother’s. Not film-star sexy, Lauren reminded herself, but Landry genes. Simple genetics that were creating complicated havoc with her pulse. Those eyes and the way his skin smelled clean and enticing too, like soap and a whiff of fresh basil.
“You were a good sport tonight,” Eli told her. “I usually add some wine to that sauce if I’m cooking for adults. And I always drain the spaghetti before it’s as rubbery as a tourniquet. Emma knows better than to roll a meatball under the table. I have no excuse for Shrek. Except that if I were an arthritic, blind, diabetic hound, I’d probably con a little girl into food bowling too.”
Lauren laughed, grateful for a distraction from her runaway senses. “You’re giving me a flashback to Lady and the Tramp.”
“That’s me: Mr. Romance.” Eli’s frown wrinkled the edges of his beautiful eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you I’ve put dating on hold. I’d say I was out of practice, but I think it’s more honest to say I never practiced this at all.”
“You did fine. I’m touched and honored you’d share your home and your daughter with me.” She gave up on stifling her foolish heartbeat. Rain drummed on the roof, blending with soft, bass-heavy jazz from speakers . . . somewhere. “Adding wine to the pasta couldn’t make this more wonderful.”
“You deserve more,” Eli whispered, leaning close enough that Lauren could feel the warmth of his skin. “I’m going to find a way to make that hap—”
A cell phone buzzed; both of them reached for their own.
“Mine,” Eli said, an apology in his expression. “I’d let it go except it’s Mimaw’s.”
“Take it.”
He stood, walked toward the kitchen, listening. Asked questions, his voice low.
Lauren glanced toward the mantel, noticing that a candle flame had burned low enough to be barely visible. Next to it was a small collection of photos, mostly of Emma. One of the frames held that old shot of Eli and his brother, the same one Drew had beside his bed at the care home. Boys with fishing poles. A carefree summer so long ago.
Lauren peeked at her own phone, knowing it could easily have been a call from Jess that interrupted them. Which she couldn’t have ignored either. She sighed as it occurred to her that the hopeful music between Eli and her might forever be drowned by a collective melody of insistent ringtones.
- + -
“By way of apology,” Eli offered, setting a plate of brownies on the coffee table next to the steaming mugs. “Don’t worry; I didn’t bake those. Dessert Gallery—thawed.”
Lauren smiled. “I wasn’t worried. And you don’t need to apologize for the call. Is Drew okay?”
“A slight fever. Not even 100. But the cough is hanging on. Vee wanted me to know, even though—” He made himself stop; he’d wanted this evening to be free of family conflict.
“Even though what?”
“My father wants to be called first.” Eli glanced toward the hallway. He’d closed the door to Emma’s room but lowered his voice anyway. “Actually, he doesn’t want me called at all—definitely doesn’t want me to offer opinions about Drew’s care or make any decisions if he gets really sick again. He thinks . . .” The words slid out before Eli could squelch them. “He told my mother I’d be capable of holding a pillow over my brother’s face. Emma overheard it.”
“Oh, Eli . . . no.”
“I think I cleared that up, short of telling her I suspect alcohol has a lot to do with her grandfather’s rants. Another reason I want to be part of the decision-making process. Or at least see medical power of attorney shifted to my mother.” Eli dragged his fingers along his jaw. “Try to figure out a diplomatic and low-profile way to suggest a federal judge may not be competent to make decisions.” He met her gaze. “I’m sure I don’t have to say that was for your ears only. And I don’t blame you if you want to shove that brownie in your purse and make a run for the door.”
“I’m not running. Of course I’ll protect your privacy, Eli.” Lauren rested her hand on his arm. “I know how it feels to be caught in the middle. Trying to respect parents’ wishes, worried for your sibling, praying . . . not sure if you’re doing the right thing.”
“You’re giving me too much credit, Lauren. I don’t think I have respect for my father anymore.” Saying it aloud made Eli’s gut twist. “And God doesn’t want to hear from me. But I’m dead sure that I’m doing the right thing for my brother.” He shook his head. “It’s ironic. You can’t turn on the TV or radio without hearing that disaster slogan: ‘Get a kit. Make a plan. Be informed.’ We don’t question it. We stock up on batteries and candles. But an advance medical directive that offers mercy and dignity and peace? That’s too much planning, too uncomfortable to talk about. It smacks against almighty hope.”
“You’ll never get me to agree that God doesn’t want to hear from you,” Lauren told him. “I think this is exactly when he wants to. And hope is what keeps me going. The only thing lately. I need to believe that if I put things in God’s hands—trust enough—it will all be okay.” Her brows pinched. “I understand that for some people it feels impossible not to step in and act. Grab trouble by the throat. You’re that kind of person, Eli.” Her expression softened, warmth flooding into her blue eyes. “I see how much you love your brother. I know everything you’re doing is because of that. I think he’s blessed to have you.”
“Thank you.” Eli managed a short laugh. “I also got a text after that call from Vee. One of the other Houston Grace PAs, letting me know I probably wasn’t going to be busted for drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“That issue with the ER patient and her missing meds. Apparently the word’s leaked out that no one tested positive.” Eli pretended he didn’t see the look of relief on her face. Jessica had been tested too.
“I wasn’t worried.” Lauren’s chin lifted in a way he’d seen dozens of times. “Jess told me they wouldn’t find anything—not even cupcake frosting. I believed her.”
Eli took a slow breath. “I want to say something about that other time. Last fall, when your sister did test positive.”
“What about it?” Wariness came into Lauren’s eyes, making Eli wish he hadn’t brought it up. But she was right; he tended to take trouble by the throat.
“I did know Jessica had a legitimate prescription for Vicodin. She told me it was for an ankle sprain she got hiking Big Bend the summer before. She also told me she’d had trouble with the ankle off and on since.” He paused, making sure Lauren understood. “But the fact is, we went for a run that morning before work, the same day as the drug test. Five miles—you Barclays have gazelle blood.” His brief smile faded. “Jessica wasn’t having any problems with her ankle that morning. Wasn’t limping when she came to work a few hours later.”
“What are you saying?”
“Only that I couldn’t go on record vouching that she needed medication for an ankle injury. Even if she was a friend—maybe because she was.” He saw Lauren’s brows lift. “I’m not saying your sister took that Vicodin for any other reason. I don’t know that. I’m only telling you what I saw. And that I couldn
’t be part of the problem, condone it, if there was one. With any friend. Despite what you and your parents think, I didn’t refuse to help Jessica because I’m some kind of insensitive jerk.”
Lauren’s lips curved in a trace of a smile.
“Does that smile mean you forgive me?”
“Only if you stop there.”
“Deal.” At some point he’d say more. Now wasn’t the time.
“Good. I can’t listen to another concerned opinion about my sister today. I’m going to drink this coffee and eat enough brownies to test positive for chocolate.” She sighed. “Gayle’s thyroid problem . . . Could it have caused skewed thinking and erratic behavior before tonight? Make her say and do things she wouldn’t ordinarily? Like in her capacity as ER manager?”
“Possibly.” Eli lifted his coffee, blew on its surface. “But I think the progression was slow enough that people around her accepted it, blamed it on all those extra hours she was working. I know I did. I thought Gayle seemed jumpy, a little scattered. I figured all that, including her weight loss, was from stress.”
“Vee and I were going to fix it all by taking her out for lunch and a pedicure. I believed Gayle last week when she said those bruises on her face were from a minor car accident. Her husband was probably abusing her then and I didn’t see it. I feel awful about that.”
“I do too. I wish we’d talked Gayle into an exam yesterday. We could have stopped all of this from happening. My best guess is that she defended herself from a beating. Probably more violently than she intended because the fever and thyroid condition impaired her thinking. It may end up being her legal defense.”
“She asked me to pray for her.”
Eli set his coffee down. “I’d say she chose exactly the right person.”
He watched as Lauren lifted the brownie at last and took a bite. Her expression said he’d made a good choice as well.
“Mmm. This is heaven,” she murmured. She set it down, reaching for her napkin. “Truly perfect.”
“I’m glad.” He reached out to trace a fingertip along one of the loose, wavy strands framing her face. “I’m afraid my good intentions didn’t pan out, even after the meatball bowling. I didn’t want family issues or medical shoptalk to be part of our evening. Then I talked your ear off on both counts.” Eli swept her hair back, touched her ear. “No, it’s still there. And completely beautiful.”
Her smile encouraged him.
“I should have said less about all those other things,” Eli continued, “and a lot more about how special I think you are.”
“You said I was the music in your day.” Lauren’s eyes met his. “No one has ever told me anything as wonderful. In my whole life.”
Eli took her face in both of his hands. “Well then, be prepared. I have a plan to do that sort of thing a lot more. Starting right now . . .”
He bent low, watched her eyes flutter to a close, and kissed her lips very lightly. Then he kissed her forehead, her cheek, her eyelid, and the tip of her nose—before claiming her mouth a second time, tasting berries and chocolate.
Lauren wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair as their kiss deepened and—
The brash ringtone made them both pull back, breathless.
“What is that?” Lauren asked, staring at his phone on the table next to the brownies.
“Emergency alert,” Eli groaned, hating technology like never before. “My weather app.” He snatched the phone from the table. Jabbed the text, frowned as he read.
“What?” she asked, trying to see.
“Glorietta’s been upgraded to a category-1 hurricane. And she’s headed this way.”
“PARRISH SAID NOT TO WORRY; she didn’t invite Glorietta to her birthday party.”
“Well then . . .” Eli smiled, watching his daughter add yet another rainbow sticker to her homemade card. She’d stuck an entire sheet of them on Shrek’s collar. “I’m certainly relieved to hear that.”
“They’re planning all inside games because of the rain. Maybe even a treasure hunt.” Emma’s dark eyes met his. “If things get real bad, the Donnellys are going to the San Antonio grandma’s. You know, in case their house gets lifted up and dropped down in Oz.”
“Hey . . .” Eli set his coffee down. “We’re fine, Em. No one’s going to Oz. Parrish’s parents are just making a plan. That’s smart. Our house is a lot newer than the Donnellys’, and we’re not in the floodplain.”
“So we stay here, even if it gets bad?”
“It won’t. I’m watching the reports. And I don’t think we’ll need to, but we can always go stay in River Oaks.”
“With Yonner and Grams?”
“Yes.” He forced a smile. His mother had called last night after Lauren left. Her sister and husband had boarded up their Gulf Shore home and were expected at the house soon. Eli finally promised if there was any doubt of safety, he and Emma would come to stay there as well. His mother didn’t mention what the judge thought of that idea. Fortunately it was a very big house. “I don’t think it’s going to be necessary. And right now you’re going to a birthday—”
“Shrek and me.”
“Shrek and I.”
“Oh, Daddy . . .” Emma rolled her eyes. “You’re not invited. Girls only.”
He laughed, touched the tip of her nose. “Right. I’ll be at a hospital meeting. And then I’ll pick you up from the party and we’ll order Hawaiian pizza and watch movies.”
“Lauren too?”
Eli’s chest warmed. “I don’t know.”
“She probably already has a Glorietta plan.”
He realized he didn’t know that, either. He only knew, now more than ever, that he wanted Lauren’s plans to include him. “I’ll have to ask her about that.”
“Good.” Worry pinched Emma’s expression. “When you see Uncle Drew, be sure they have a good plan there, too.”
- + -
“I don’t like this number. Let’s try it one more time, hon.”
Florine rolled the thermometer over Drew’s forehead; it felt as cool as the water she kept asking him to drink. She’d added a lot of extra pillows to help him sit up high, but the water still made him choke. Coughing made his chest hurt. He tried to smile as Vee waved at him from the doorway.
“How is it this time?” she asked Florine. She’d crossed her arms and her face looked worried.
“It’s been forty-five minutes since that Tylenol, and I’m still getting 101.4.” Florine brushed his hair off his forehead. Her hand was as cool as water too. “And I’m hearing some crackles in the bases of his lungs now.” She pinched Drew’s chin gently, smiled at him. The flower in her hair was yellow today. “None of those things would really bother me if you’d chowed down on those pancakes, Mr. Drew.”
He’d tried. Hard. He wanted to make her proud. But the pancakes didn’t taste right today, even with blueberry syrup. It was hard to chew and still breathe.
“I’m glad the courier was able to pick up blood and sputum samples—and get back out.” Vee looked toward the window. “This rain’s not letting up. Cyril’s sandbags won’t do anything to keep the roads open.”
“No. And if the doctor sees those lab results and orders an ambulance transfer to the hospital for X-rays . . .”
Vee nodded. “Are you going to call—” she smiled at Drew—“our concerned physician assistant?”
“He’s planning to come visit. But I thought you might want to call him to report these vital signs. Let him know we’ve sent labs and tell him pretty much everything on that latest order sheet.”
Vee smiling knowingly. “I should be the one to call . . . because it was made explicitly clear that nurses shouldn’t be doing that. And I’m not a nurse.”
“Yes.” Florine’s cool fingers brushed Drew’s cheek. “And because that particular PA cares to his very soul about this special man. A beautiful kind of caring that has gone both ways for a long, long time. And my soul isn’t about to let me interfere with that.”
“Well . . .” Florine pulled the sheet over Drew’s chest, then reached for his pod and earphones. “It’s like I was telling that nice officer when I was getting him a second helping of biscuits and gravy. Auntie Odette always said you’ve got to have your priorities straight. People come first, after God. But legal papers are way down the list. I’ll get to that envelope. But right now . . .” Florine set the music pod on Drew’s chest, straightened the cords on the earphones. He could almost hear his music already. “Right now I’m busy connecting a person with God. On that list of priorities, I’d say this is a glorious twofer.”
- + -
“Of course I know where it is, Mom.”
Lauren set her fork next to the remains of her scrambled eggs, then stretched the ancient pink phone cord taut as she walked into the pantry. The phone call had come only minutes after she’d closed her Bible, finishing her early morning quiet time. It interrupted a skin-tingling reverie about Eli. Their dinner. The candles. Those amazing kisses. And how completely special he’d made her feel. Music . . . she was his music. Lauren wanted to relive it, moment by moment. Savor it. She needed to let herself believe, even for a short while, that what she and Eli felt couldn’t be affected by the problems of the real world.
“Inside the door, darling.”
“I know.” Lauren sighed. “It’s been there for as long as I can remember.”
She tugged the light string, blinking against the bulb that illuminated a sixty-inch, laminated disaster-preparedness checklist stapled to the pantry door. Two neatly penned columns: Hurricanes and Tornadoes. Lauren bit back a smile. Some years back, Jess had scrawled her own column of emergency preparations: Twinkies, Dr Pepper, and Mom Repellint—a misspelled and pubescent snit forever immortalized in permanent marker. “I’m reviewing your disaster instructions right now.”
“Good.” Pamela Barclay’s anxious sigh wafted through the receiver. “Glorietta’s expected to make landfall near Victoria late tonight. I’ve been frantic to get us a flight home, but the airline expects cancellations to all destinations in south Texas.”
Life Support Page 23
