by Rebekah Lyn
Stepping off the elevator, he took a moment to orient himself, assailed by the smell of antiseptic, latex, and bleach. Memories of days spent at Camylle’s bedside came flooding back, paralyzing him.
“Can I help you, sir?” a nurse asked. Jeffrey turned his head to look at her.
“Sir?” she asked again reaching out to touch his arm. Her touch was light yet it seemed to sear his skin.
“My father,” he managed to say through his constricted throat.
“Is he a patient?”
Jeffrey nodded.
“What’s his name? I can help you find him.”
“Edward Robbins.”
The nurse nodded in recognition and led him through the security doors. He followed her past half a dozen rooms.
“He’s right in here.”
Jeffrey took a few steps, wobbling like a toddler. His mother sat by the bed with her back to the door. He peered around her to see his father, who had always been larger than life, lying there shriveled and pale. His face was only a shade or two darker than the sheet pulled up to his chin. His eyes were sunken hollows. A monitor beeped, measuring his heartbeat.
Jeffrey stopped behind his mother’s chair and settled a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her haggard face brightening when she saw him. She reached for his hand and clasped it. Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “Now’s not the time. How’s he doing?”
“The doctor says the next twenty-four hours will be critical. They have him sedated right now.”
Jeffrey sat in a vinyl recliner on the other side of the bed. His father’s hand dangled over the edge, angry bruising visible around an I-V needle.
The room was a neutral beige color with a beach scene hanging on the wall across from the bed. A plastic water pitcher with a yellow lid, a box of cheap tissues, and flimsy phone sat on a rolling table. He noticed the heavy silence and thought of how different it had been when sitting with Camylle on the cancer ward, where he could hear the groans of other patients, the quick footsteps of nurses and orderlies. Here in the ICU, silence was revered, protected. Jeffrey found himself wanting to scream, simply to see what would happen. Would he be tackled and carried out with a gag in his mouth? Would they sedate him and put him in restraints? He sucked in a deep breath preparing to scream.
His chest deflated a moment later when a doctor entered the room, chart in hand. The doctor looked up from the documents and Jeffrey tried to make eye contact with him, seeking out unspoken answers.
“Dr. Woodard, this is my son, Jeffrey.” Jacquelyn motioned across the bed.
He nodded, his gaze directed to a monitor where a line bounced in a series of erratic spikes and dips. Jeffrey noticed the corners of his mouth turn down as he analyzed the rhythm.
“I want to keep your husband sedated for another day,” the doctor addressed Jacquelyn. “His chances of recovery are improved by allowing his body to receive ample rest before we bring him back around.”
“Can he hear us?” Jeffrey asked.
“It’s hard to say. Some patients have reported being able to hear and understand their families talking to them while they are in this semi-comatose state, but the science is not definitive.” As he spoke, he made notes on the chart before snapping it shut and exited the room before Jeffrey could ask anything more.
“What a pleasant bedside manner,” Jeffrey snarled. He stood and paced at the end of the bed.
“I’ve heard he’s an excellent doctor and that’s what matters.”
Jeffrey started to place his hands on the foot of the bed, but stopped at the memory of Camylle’s pain each time the bed had moved. He searched his father’s face for any sign of recognition that they were in the room, but found only peaceful sleep. He blew out a loud breath and shook his head.
“He doesn’t want me here anyway.”
“Your father loves you very much.” Jacquelyn reached for her son’s hands.
“I’m just a disappointment to him.”
“Oh, Jeffrey, no. That isn’t true at all. Yes, your father was disappointed when you left the company, but he is proud of how well you have done in such a short time. We both are.”
“I heard him when I was at the house. He thinks I abandoned my obligations.”
“You have to understand, your father, he’s never been very emotional. He buries himself in work when emotional issues arise and thinks that is the answer for everyone. Don’t you remember when his mother died? He practically moved into his office and I was left to deal with the funeral arrangements.”
Jeffrey nodded. He remembered his father disappearing for several weeks around the time of his grandmother’s death, his parents arguing late one night when Edward had finally returned home.
“He realizes he made a mistake when he tried to send you to Texas.” Jacquelyn paused, taking a deep breath, tears glistening in her eyes. “He got it in his head it would be better for everyone if you went away for awhile and I didn’t try to talk him out of it. I hope one day you can forgive us for that.”
The family business had always been in Florida, so when his dad sent him to Texas to evaluate a property he was considering purchasing he grew suspicious. Camylle had just been diagnosed with the cancer and told she had only a few months left. He refused to leave with Camylle so sick. She pressured him to do as his father asked, assuring him she would be fine for the week it would take him to do the evaluation. Reluctantly he agreed.
When he’d returned she was in the hospital. The cancer had been aggressive and attacked her organs. At first, she wouldn’t allow him to see her, but she relented after he argued that he had gone to Texas for her.
Jeffrey felt the fist that had been clenched around his heart for the past four years relax ever so slightly. “You’re my parents and you should have been there to support me, instead I felt completely alone.” He stopped to reflect on what his mother had just said. “But I guess I also should have thought about the loss you were feeling. I know how much you loved Camylle.”
Jacquelyn stood and pulled Jeffrey into her arms. “I wanted to help you through Camylle’s illness, but you shut us out after the whole Texas thing.”
He leaned into his mother and squeezed. He had forgotten how comforting her embrace could be, how she always smelled like vanilla, how she had always made the world seem less frightening.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Ian rested on his haunches, the end of his crowbar under the lip of another plank, but his attention was on the doorway where he could see Lizzie moving around in the next room. He watched her, relieved that the tension between them seemed to have dissipated. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Jeffrey. He tried to imagine Lizzie and Jeffrey as a couple. The few times he’d seen them together he’d recognized an easy comfort between them, a familiarity that belied their short association.
Lizzie turned and caught him looking at her. He dropped his gaze and worked his crowbar, prying up another wet board. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pull fresh towels from a plastic bag. She dragged one of the chairs closer to him and plopped down with a tired sigh. He noticed dark circles under her eyes.
“You look exhausted.”
“Gee thanks, that’s what every girl loves to hear.” She gave a half-hearted laugh.
“Did you get any sleep last night?”
Lizzie shrugged. “I dozed off at some point.”
“Why don’t you go home, get some rest? There’s not much left to do here.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Ian nodded and handed her a piece of wood to dry. They fell into a rhythm with Lizzie finishing each piece as he freed the next. They worked for ten minutes without speaking.
“I talked to Jeffrey,” she said, breaking the silence. Ian fumbled with the crowbar.
“About what?” he tried to sound casual.
“Grief, letting go, mov
ing on, you know the things you wanted me to tell him because he wouldn’t listen to you.” She stood and straightened the stack of dried wood.
“How did he respond?”
“Defensive at first, but he seemed to consider what I said.”
“Thank you.” Hope swelled within Ian.
In an instant he was on his feet pulling Lizzie into his arms. He felt her body tense for a moment before her arms wrapped around him and her head settled on his chest. Despite all the strength she displayed she now seemed vulnerable. He inhaled, memorizing the scent of lavender coming from her hair. Lizzie broke the embrace first, stepping back, her gaze downcast. Ian noticed her stifling a yawn. It was only six o’clock but her eyelids drooped as if it were midnight.
“Go home,” he said. “You need to rest. I can lock up for you.”
“How much longer is this going to take?”
“Not more than thirty minutes.” Ian scanned the corner of the room still needing attention; he counted about twenty more lengths of wood.
“I can make it that long,” She reached for the last free board and started rubbing it down. Ian sank back to the floor and worked the crowbar with a renewed energy, anxious to finish the job so she could rest.
Half an hour later, they stood together surveying their work. The living room, which had looked so perfect two days before, now stood exposed. Ian waited outside the front door watching Lizzie drape the last damp towel over the sink. Her back was slumped, several small leaves were tangled in her blond curls, her bare feet were dusty, yet she still exuded a quiet beauty he hadn’t seen in other women. She turned toward the door and caught his gaze. Their eyes locked and he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place, was it sadness, anxiety, fear? He felt a desire to protect her from whatever it was. She crossed the living room, picked up her still wet tennis shoes, and joined him outside.
“Do you think we will know tomorrow how much of the flooring I can reuse?” she asked as she fumbled with her keys.
“I would give it a couple of days to make sure the wood is completely dry. I have another commitment Monday night, but I can come over Tuesday to see where we stand.”
Lizzie nodded. “I’m so sorry this happened, you must have better things to do with your free time. I’ll find a way to pay you for all the extra work.”
They ambled down the walkway to her car. She tossed her shoes through the open window into the passenger seat. Ian reached for her arm and turned her to face him.
“Working with my hands is the gift God gave me, and I’m happy to use it to help you. Besides, you may have helped one of my best friends.” Again, he saw that flicker in her eyes.
“He still has some big decisions to make,” she said.
“I know, but if he listened to you that’s more progress than I ever made.” He paused remembering the call he’d received from Jacquelyn. “Do you remember what day you talked to him?”
“Sometime last week.”
His lips turned up in a slow smile as the pieces came together in his mind. “His mom called me a few days ago, and said Jeffrey had been to the house. She was worried because he seemed disoriented. What if he drove over there after you talked to him?”
“I guess it’s possible.” A yawn swallowed her final word.
“I’m sorry, here I am yammering on when you can barely keep your eyes open. Are you okay to drive?”
“I’ll be fine.” She opened the door and dropped into the seat. Ian held the door a moment before pressing it closed.
“I’ll see you in a few days then. Drive safe.” He watched her back out and wave as she shifted into drive. When her brake lights disappeared around the corner, he hefted his toolbox into his trunk.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The hotel was crowded with tourists who had altered their plans when Hurricane Charley first threatened Florida, and the next three weeks passed in a blur. Lizzie volunteered for additional shifts, happy for the opportunity to make some extra money. Now a new storm was churning in the Atlantic.
“The Harris-Singh wedding is scheduled for this weekend,” wailed Tammy, the convention manager.
“Maybe this new storm won’t affect us. I mean really, what are the chances of us being hit by two storms in one year?” Lizzie said with a confident smile.
“We’re still reeling from Charley. I’ve been trying to get a contractor out to the house for weeks but they are all booked.”
“I know what you mean. Ian was able to patch my roof, but I don’t know if it will survive another storm. I can manage the wedding if you need to take care of other things.”
“That would be wonderful. I have several reports to do and need to prepare banquet event orders for the medical group arriving in two weeks. I could arrange a meeting with the couple this afternoon to introduce you.”
“Sure, just let me know what time.” Lizzie gave Tammy’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Back at her own desk, Lizzie pulled up the National Weather Service website for more information on the new storm. The center of Hurricane Frances was north of the Turks and Caicos Islands and moving toward the Bahamas. The local news stations showed the Florida Governor calling for residents on the east coast to evacuate in advance of the storm. She slumped in her seat, chewing on the inside of her lip, anxiety filling the pit of her stomach.
“Lizzie, would you be interested in working through the weekend if the storm comes this way?” Jonathan called from his office. She swiveled her chair to see him.
“What would you need me to do?”
“Man the front desk, be here to answer questions, provide information, stuff like that. I don’t know how many people will still be in-house, but we need staff on hand to deal with any guests we do have.” Jonathan sounded tired and she noticed his clothes were wrinkled. “You’ll be on the clock the entire time you’re here,” he added.
“Will there be anyone with me?”
“You can choose one of the front desk agents to assist if you want.”
“I’ll ask Stephen,” she said as she turned back to her computer. She typed an instant message to Stephen and smiled when he replied he would be happy to help.
“We’re both in,” Lizzie called to Jonathan.
“Thanks, we should know for sure what the storm is doing by the end of the day. I’ll touch base with you then.”
Lizzie spent the rest of the morning preparing for the storm. She printed manifests of all the guests scheduled to arrive over the next four days and checked it hourly for cancellations. At one o’clock, she set off for the convention office to meet with Stella Harris and Naveen Singh to discuss their wedding.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Lizzie greeted the couple as she shook their hands. “I’m so sorry we aren’t having the best weather for you, but I can assure you we’ll do everything we can to make this weekend memorable.”
Stella gave a nervous laugh. “I guess not many people can say they were married during a hurricane.”
“This is true.” Lizzie was heartened to see the couple remaining positive despite this wrinkle in their plans.
“My parents came from India,” Naveen said with a faint accent. “I don’t think they would be able to make the trip again if we rescheduled the wedding, so we will make the best of what we have.” He wrapped an arm around his fiancée and gave her a squeeze.
Lizzie was introduced to their parents before they all took seats to discuss the wedding. Arrangements were made to have the conference rooms opened up and decorated overnight in the event Hurricane Frances changed course and impacted Orlando more than anticipated; the dinner menu was modified to items that could be managed by a reduced staff, and party favors were replaced with mini hurricane survival kits.
At seven o’clock Lizzie shut down her computer and traded her high heels for sneakers. Outside golden rays from the sinking sun reflected off the glass high rises. The sidewalks were already crowded with couples and friends heading to dinner. The smells of barbeque and fries
made her stomach growl and she realized she had missed lunch.
She stopped in her tracks when she approached her house, surprised to see a black car in the driveway. A large man who was more than six feet tall and close to three hundred pounds, with thick black hair and a beaklike nose stood on the porch. Lizzie hesitated, unsure if she should keep walking or approach this man. The man caught sight of her and called out.
“Hello there! Do you happen to know the occupants of this house?” His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for a man of his size.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie noticed Mae sitting on her porch, she hesitated a moment then crossed the street. The man called out again and started down the stairs toward her.
“Do you know that man?” Mae asked as Lizzie joined her. Lizzie shook her head.
“Excuse me ladies, I’m looking for the residents of that home.” The man pointed across the street as he approached Mae’s front steps but refrained from joining them on the porch.
“And who, may I ask, are you?” Mae said, a steely edge to her voice Lizzie hadn’t heard before.
“Ralph Anderson, my stepfather owns the house and has been renting it out. I’m in town on business and he asked me to stop by to check on things.”
“Does the property manager know you are here? Maybe you should contact him to make an appointment to meet the renter,” Mae replied.
“Unfortunately I only have a few hours before my flight. Perhaps you can tell me about the occupant. My father received a letter from the management company saying the house sustained extensive damage during the hurricane a few weeks ago.” The man looked back at the house. “Doesn’t appear to be very damaged from out here.”
