Freefall

by Kristen Heitzmann

  The surgeon’s pessimism would not dismay her. Hope would keep its promise. He looked at the chart without addressing her, looked at her uncle, then pulled the sheet aside and began to unwrap his leg. An odor seeped out. No denying the seriousness. But there were drugs to fight infection, to heal and restore.

  The doctor spoke without looking at her. “What happens today will determine the protocol. I’ve consulted with two colleagues on his condition.”

  “And?”

  “It’s grave.”

  Grave certainly. But Uncle Rob was in God’s hands. She would not believe, could not believe, God would want anything but the best for his servant, his son. She knew it with all her soul.

  The nurses joined them, and she had to go out while they changed the dressings. Things might be dire, but she would not flag in expectation. Lord. Show your power. Do not allow anything but your perfect will.

  She went out and found Cameron still there with Darla and her assistant, Jett. By their expressions they’d read every applicable word in the tabloids. Though Uncle Rob’s condition outweighed everything, she tried to care. In fairness to the other people involved, she’d have to face it, and fighting a battle on another front might dilute her combative feelings toward the doctor. “Which one’s the worst?”

  “Worst written or worst implications?” Jett arranged the papers into a fan on the low table.

  She appreciated his humor. “Implications.”

  “Ah.” He slid out the one where she and her lover had left her uncle to die.

  Anger snapped at her heels. Uncle Rob was not going to die.

  Cameron shook his head. “How do they come up with this junk?”

  Darla glared at him. “You gave them opportunity; they took it. You didn’t know.” She redirected her glare. “But Gentry ought to.”

  Cameron frowned. “How about we all get on the same side here.”

  He hardly knew her, yet he’d nailed it. Darla was all gushing enthusiasm talking about her, but lately she’d hinted of battery acid whenever they interfaced in person. Might be time for a different publicist. But that would make one more enemy.

  Cameron moved one seat over to make room. Gentry took the place he’d vacated, felt his warmth. Funny that he should be supporting her now, when he’d been so cynical. But then, he’d fallen for the mystique. She couldn’t hold it against him.

  She picked up the paper, read about her steamy ordeal in the jungle with the new love interest, a mystery man who had made her desert the one who’d been a second father to her. It hit her hard in the stomach. Where had they gotten that? Who outside her family knew how close she was to Uncle Rob?

  Pain welled up. Why did people feel justified betraying her? She faced Darla. “This is the worst they had to throw?”

  “So far.”

  One by one Jett handed her the papers. When she’d digested the current trash fest, she said, “Now I need whatever’s out there from before.”

  “You mean the situation with Troy?” Darla’s eyebrow arched.

  “Troy?” Gentry took the blow unprepared. “It was Troy?”

  Darla looked at Jett and back. “You don’t remember?”

  Gentry pressed a hand to her eyes. Troy Glasier. She’d had him in the troupe from the start. They’d worked so hard together. How could he …

  She drew herself up. “Show me.”

  Darla took her Pocket PC from her purse and accessed her files. Gentry read article after article, each one dragging her deeper. Though she filled her mind with information, it didn’t trigger actual memories, and that was the one grace in it all. The last thing she accessed was the transcript of her interview on Oprah.

  Tears stung as she read. She ached to be back there with the troupe, feeding them lines, drawing out their laughter and their tears, leeching away the anger like venom from their blood—and creating some wonderful vignettes in the process. But Helen had the program now.

  Fine. She’d have to make her own way. She blinked away the tears and told Darla, “They’ve offered me Eva Thorne.”

  For the second time that morning, Darla gaped. A smaller gape this time; not disbelief, but wary amazement. “Alec pulled out?”

  Of course. Only if everyone who mattered removed themselves from the project could she still be considered. “Not according to Dave.”

  Darla clicked the table with her fingernails. “Well.” She looked as though a sugar cube had just melted on her tongue. “That’s great.” She exhaled sharply. “We can use that.”

  “It could all blow up if this does.”

  Darla’s cheeks bloomed roses. “I’m in control here. This is not blowing up like the last time.”

  That would take the grace of God, not Darla, and she wasn’t as sure of God now as she should be. Gentry turned to Cameron. “Think we could find some coffee?” She allowed a flicker of desperation to show.

  He stood up. “I’m sure.”

  Darla and Jett rose as well.

  Gentry gave them her best smile. “Where are you staying?” Darla gave her their lodging information. Gentry didn’t give hers; everyone already knew it. “Okay, then. We’ll be in touch.”

  “In touch? Gentry, we need a plan. I don’t want you talking—”

  “Right. Got it.” She started out of the room.

  “You’ve got a chance here,” Darla hissed. “Don’t blow it.”

  Gentry stayed calm until the elevator doors closed, then slammed her palm to the wall and held it there, breathing hard. Cameron stayed back, sensing her need to find her own control. Or maybe after a glimpse of reality, he regretted his brush with her world. Couldn’t blame him.

  But his voice sounded warm. “Would you put her in the friend or foe category?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, a smile creeping to her lips. “To be honest, I think there’s no divider.”

  “Must feel that way.”

  “I didn’t intend for you to get snarled up in it.”

  “Doesn’t take much, does it?”

  She shook her head. “Not even the truth.”

  The doors dinged open, and they exited. Cameron directed her outside. No fans hung around that early, and the press had seemingly had their fill. Only a few were left to cover any new developments.

  “Gentry, how’s your uncle?”

  “He’s going to be fine.” She telegraphed hope, no matter what that doctor said.

  “Turn this way, please.” A flash.

  “Now over here, Gentry.”

  She turned the other way. Cameron would be in these pictures, too, unless they digitally removed him, but he was keeping his distance. The gossip rags would look for more provocative shots, and she and Cameron provided none as they reached the truck. He had learned from last night, but she still felt the need to warn him again.

  “The press isn’t done with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’ll follow you, talk to everyone you know, look for anything scandalous.” Her brow pinched. “They’ll twist everything.”

  “Nothing to twist.” Cameron entered the highway, traveling the opposite direction from Hanalei. She didn’t push it, though if he knew how little it took, he might not be so sure. She sat back as the tropical countryside passed and tried to release the morning’s strain. Closing her eyes, she bargained with God: help Uncle Rob and she’d deal with her own problems.

  Yet she knew it wasn’t so simple. Her situation was serious. Darla might be obnoxious, but she was working hard to clean up the mess. Things could get out of hand for Cameron and Nica. She wished her mind was devious enough to guess what next week’s rags might hold. They’d be digging everywhere. If Cameron or his sister had secrets … She sighed.

  Cameron slid her a glance but said nothing. Amazing how they could be together without having to fill the silence. It had started out as ignoring each other. Now it was something rare and sweet. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d met someone who didn’t pump her for details about her life. Who did s
he know; what was it like; how did she get so lucky? As though they could rub her like a charm for good fortune to come their way.

  She stared out the window. To her right, tufts of gray clouds crawled down the more distant mountains. Sunshine warmed the grass and trees along the road. They passed through the quaint town of Kalaheo. The land flattened and the trees thinned. Fields of something like a cross between corn and palms stretched out, then more fields with rows of small, bushlike trees.

  Amidst these, Cameron pulled into a parking lot, and she read the sign on the building that looked like an old house. The sign said Kauai Coffee Plantation.

  “You wanted coffee.”

  So he’d taken her to the plantation?

  At her surprised look, he added, “Best-quality beans are only available at the source. It was either this or hop to the Big Island for Kona, my personal favorite.” He looked as though he’d have done it.

  “I didn’t expect this.” She shook her head. “I just had to get out of there.”

  He draped his wrist on the steering wheel. “You don’t want coffee?”

  “I do.”

  “Then let’s go.” He climbed out of the truck.

  He’d been accused of sordid conduct and malicious negligence by a tabloid read and believed by too many people. He thought he could handle it, but he didn’t know how personal they could get—or how cruel. Most of the poison had been spent on her, but that was because they hadn’t had time to dig up his dirt. Unless something bigger drew their attention, that would come next.

  The morning was warm, tempered by the ever-present breeze, and as they walked up the boardwalk, she breathed the aroma of coffee so fresh it had come from the fields around her. They entered the gift shop and passed through to a covered patio area where a video was describing the process of growing, harvesting, and roasting the beans. With the surprisingly few people there, she lowered her guard. She and Cameron could be two tourists, or even locals, or a local showing a friend the island; each scenario better than the reality.

  They ordered and she paid. Her own credit card with her name. The woman inside didn’t even read it. Her heart soared until someone seated near the window approached. “Excuse me, aren’t you Gentry Fox?”

  Cameron reached between them for the cups and smiled at the curious gal. “She gets that all the time.” He nudged her toward the outer courtyard, and they sat down with their backs to the shop.

  Had the woman read the tabloids, she’d have recognized Cameron as well. Gentry shot him a glance. “That was so smooth, I’d think you were used to this.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” He sipped. “You probably have people approach you like that everywhere.”

  “It’s just that you slipped into diversion so seamlessly. I could use you in the improv troupe.”

  “I read and react to situations all the time. Amazing what scammers’ll spill when they think you’re in.” He dabbed a drop of coffee from his freshly trimmed mustache with his thumb.

  She studied him. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why the beard?”

  He stroked the line he had reestablished that morning. “You don’t like it?”

  “I like it. I just wondered what …”

  “Intimidation.”

  Her brows raised. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not built like TJ. It gives me an edge.”

  “I thought I was imagining the effect.”

  His eyes crinkled. “That’s why you wouldn’t get into my truck?”

  “The intimidation came through loud and clear.”

  He leaned back and cradled his cup. “Still intimidated?”

  “I wouldn’t want you after me.”

  “After you?”

  She flushed. “I mean professionally.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is that blush real?” She pressed a hand to her face.

  “Come on … You’ve been in front of a camera for an audience of thousands, and you can still blush?”

  “A camera doesn’t look at me like that.”

  “Take your hand down.” His voice was soft and thick.

  She slid her fingers off her eyes.

  “All the way. Let me see you.”

  No starstruck gaze. He appraised her as he had on their trek; curious, skeptical, amused. “Sort of miss the mud and soggy leaves.”

  She laughed, then clutched her cup. “Cameron, I don’t want you hurt if this gets ugly.”

  “Let me worry about me.”

  She fought back tears. “You don’t know how bad it can get.”

  “Yeah, Gentry, I do.” The way he said it sank in. “You’re not the only one who’s been dragged through stuff unjustly.”

  She wanted him to say more, but he looked away and drank his coffee in silence.

  SEVENTEEN

  In the hospital room, Nica rested her palm on Hanah’s head. “How are you, Auntie Hanah?”

  The old woman gave her a slow blink and the flicker of a smile.

  TJ said, “They wen give her mo pain stuff.”

  Nica turned to TJ’s mother wedged into a chair beside the bed. “Have you had any sleep, Auntie Malia?”

  She shook her head. “Doze some, nevah sleep. Dis chair da kine tight.”

  “Why don’t you let TJ take you home? I’ll sit with Auntie.”

  “You so nice.” Malia looked from her to her son. “Why you nevah speak up? You nevah see da kine good girl?”

  TJ’s complexion deepened.

  She hefted herself up. “I go home now. You bettah make some kine use of dis time.”

  TJ bent to give her a hand. “Drive careful. Go slow.”

  “Go slow? You da kine slow.” She waved her hands at him, then turned back to her. “He tink you break.” She looked her up and down. “Maybe he right.” She waddled from the room.

  TJ stood by the wall trying to disappear inside himself like a sea turtle. He mumbled, “Sorry,” then pulled the chair his mother had vacated over to her. “Sit?”

  Nica looked into his face without sitting. “What did she mean break?” Or need she ask. People thought she’d been on the verge of a nervous breakdown her whole life. Yes, she gave sensitive new meaning. Why God had made her feel others’ pain so acutely, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t going to break. “TJ?”

  He spread his hands, then dropped them at his sides. He rubbed his palm across his forehead.

  “How am I going to break, TJ?”

  He extended his hand. “You so small.” His face had reddened to a fierce mahogany. “Mama want grandkids. I tink no room for da kine baby… .” He swallowed. “My kine baby.” A drop of sweat rose at his hairline and slid down his temple.

  Her jaw fell slack. “You and your mother talked about me having your babies?”

  He tried to shrink into the wall.

  “You’ve been following me around thirteen years without saying how you feel, but you talked to Auntie Malia about having babies with me?”

  His forehead streamed.

  She moved the chair back to the corner by the bed and sat down. Hanah had fallen asleep. With her gaze fixed on the old woman’s face, she said, “I’m no smaller than my mother, who bore two babies eleven months apart with no problem.”

  TJ pulled a wad of tissues from the box on the shelf and swabbed his face, then stuffed it into his pocket and puffed out his chest. “I wen weigh twelve pound. You tink you could manage dat?”

  She looked up. “Not much chance, since you’ve never so much as kissed my hand.”

  Having spent half the night in the hospital in his uniform, he was rumpled and soggy, but he stepped over and took her hand. Instead of bending to kiss it, he pulled her up from the chair, circled her back with his muscular arm, and kissed her with the softest mouth she could have imagined.

  Cameron cleared his throat. The last thing he’d expected to find back at the hospital was TJ finally making a move on his sister. The big guy let go so fast, she tumbled
back into the chair. Her face pinked, but TJ’s was downright scary.

  “What’re you doing, brah? Can’t you see this is private?”

  What he saw was that TJ was more than a little worked up. If he decided to put his muscle where his mouth was, Cameron would feel it for weeks. But then it was Nica he’d dropped. “You better work on your technique, bruddah.”

  Nica crossed her knees, and they shared a smile. “Where’s Gentry?”

  “With her uncle. Thought I’d scoot in and see how Auntie Hanah’s doing.” He glanced at TJ’s grandmother. “Some chaperone.”

  The storm brewed in TJ’s face. Had to be the most emotion he’d seen there in years. Hospitals did that. So did love. He’d pretty much decided that neither of them would cross the barrier they’d maintained since he and TJ had turned seventeen, the year TJ decided Nica was the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Cameron wasn’t sure he’d actually laid eyes on her again for the next decade. Instead he’d had some sort of homing device that pulled him around to wherever Nica was but rendered him dumb and mute.

  She said, “I looked for you when I first got here. A woman said you and Gentry had left.”

  “Gentry needed coffee.”

  “You flew her to Kona Le‘a?”

  He smiled. “The local plantation was the best I could do on short notice.” He turned to TJ. “How’s Auntie Hanah?”

  “It’s only a hairline. The dog is so fat, he cushioned her fall.”

  The same could be said for Hanah. “How’s the dog?”

  “Indestructible. It’s the poi.”

  TJ without the pidgin wasn’t entirely new. He dropped it when dealing with tourists, especially when giving out tickets. But a whole conversation in front of Nica? He must be chest-puffing proud of himself. A pang worked its way through Cameron. He hoped—no, prayed—they wouldn’t get burned.

  TJ moved toward the door. “I gotta make a call.”