by Gina Wilkins
Probably Laurel and Tyler ate out there on nice summer evenings, since Tyler usually had his dinner before Jackson got home from work. Jackson was lucky on most days to get home in time to play with the boy for a half or so before bedtime.
He had to pay for this nice home he provided for his family, he thought with a touch of the defensiveness that so often accompanied thoughts of his work. Laurel had told him that she would be satisfied with a more modest house, but he’d wanted his kids to grow up in a good neighborhood. And even though it meant working long, hard hours, he was perfectly able to provide for his family.
He had pictured Laurel staying home to enjoy this nice house with their son and maybe another child or two. That had been before Laurel had changed so drastically, drawing away from him and going back to her social work. He hadn’t expected her to return so soon to her job finding homes for other kids, leaving their young son in the care of an expensive nanny.
They’d never gotten around to discussing more children.
Shaking his head impatiently, he glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand. Laurel had sent him another list of things she needed him to take back to her. The hospital provided showers for parents of hospitalized children, so she would be able to freshen up there. Reading the list, he entered her bedroom and opened the closet door.
Her bedroom. He scowled as he glanced around the impeccably neat room decorated in light woods and cool pastels. It had been over a year since Laurel had moved into what they had originally intended for use as a guest room. Tyler had been going through a spell of having nightmares, and since the master bedroom was downstairs, Laurel had slept up here to be closer to Tyler’s room.
Once the nightmares had ended, her excuse for staying in this room had become that Jackson’s frequent late hours were disturbing her sleep. It wasn’t at all uncommon for him to be in meetings until after ten. He would often arrive home to a dark and quiet house. Much like it was now, he thought with a scowl.
Despite having separate bedrooms, he and Laurel hadn’t maintained a strictly platonic relationship. The physical attraction between them had always been strong. Sometimes when he held her after making love with her, he could almost pretend they were happy.
Because they were in for a long day of sitting and waiting at the hospital tomorrow, she had asked him to bring one of the knit jogging-style outfits she liked so much when she wasn’t dressed for work. The fitted T-shirts, elastic-waist pants and zippered jackets were comfortable for her and flattering to her slender figure. He chose one in navy with baby-blue piping and a matching baby-blue T-shirt. He’d always liked that color on her. It brought out her clear blue eyes.
Did he tell her often enough that he noticed what she wore? That she always looked beautiful to him? Flowery speech and fulsome compliments didn’t come naturally to him, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to her during their courtship, when they had never seemed to lack for anything to say. It was only much later that he had realized that in all their carefree chatter, she had shared very little of her deepest thoughts.
He supposed he had shared no more of his own. He had always tried to display his feelings through his actions, not his words. He would say that lack of communication was a definite problem in his marriage.
But that was something they could try to solve later. As he stuffed her clothes into an overnight bag, he told himself they had more urgent matters to worry about now. Once their son was well, there was no reason why he and Laurel shouldn’t be able to work out the rest of their problems.
He refused to accept the possibility that either situation might not have a happy ending.
Laurel felt as though she could easily jump right out of her skin. She wanted to pace the hospital room, but she was afraid she would disturb Tyler, who had dropped off rather fretfully only a couple of hours earlier.
With the help of a pediatric social worker, she and Jackson had tried to prepare Tyler for what to expect tomorrow, but Laurel knew the child was still confused and somewhat frightened. As for herself, she was terrified. And no amount of calm, patient counseling from experts could change that.
The door opened and she looked around from her chair, expecting to see one of the nurses popping in for a routine check. Instead, it was Jackson who tiptoed in, his gaze going first to the child in the bed, and then to her. “Can’t sleep?”
“No. You, either?”
“No.”
“I knew you couldn’t sleep out there in those uncomfortable recliners.”
He knelt beside her chair. “The recliners are comfortable enough. A couple of other guys are out there snoring away. I just can’t close my eyes without thinking about the surgery tomorrow.”
She sighed and nodded. “I know that feeling.”
“Laurel—” His voice was hardly loud enough for her to hear, certainly not loud enough to carry to Tyler, even if he were awake. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? How do we know the diagnosis we’ve been given is even right? Maybe there’s nothing wrong with Tyler’s heart, after all. Maybe Rutledge misread the tests. Maybe we should take him to a few more doctors before we do something as risky as major surgery.”
“The doctors didn’t misread the tests. Dr. Rutledge is one of the best in the business. He wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not this time. The whole staff agrees with him.”
“Still, how do we know that surgery is the best option at this time? Maybe we should—”
She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, feeling the tension that seemed to vibrate through him. “I understand your panic. Don’t you think I’m feeling the same way? But the longer we put this off, the more risk there is to Tyler.”
“Just listen, okay? I was talking to Chandra at work today and she told me about this doctor in Seattle—”
“We already have a doctor I trust and respect,” Laurel cut in, pulling her hand back into her lap. “I’m not interested in hearing about some doctor in Seattle.”
Jackson sighed gustily. “Look, she was just trying to be helpful.”
“Well, it isn’t helpful.” Nor did she appreciate the fact that he had left the hospital today and spent the time he was gone listening to medical advice from his boss’s attractive and predatory secretary.
Laurel had known for some time that the brunette and buxom Chandra had her eye on Jackson, and while she didn’t think there was anything going on between the two of them, she resented knowing he had been talking about Tyler with the other woman. Of course, she had talked to several of her co-workers today, too, but that was different, she assured herself. None of her associates was trying to seduce her away from her spouse.
It wasn’t that she was jealous, she told herself. It was just that she hated being talked about behind her back. Having her parental decisions questioned and examined played on her deepest insecurities.
Jackson rose to his feet, irritation mirrored in his movements. “We were just talking. Something you and I don’t seem to do much of these days,” he added in a mutter.
“And when would we talk?” she retorted. “Since you’re at work more than you’re home, Chandra and your crews are the only ones who have a chance to talk with you.”
His nostrils flared. “Surely we aren’t going to have this argument again now.”
She pushed both hands through her limp hair. “You’re right,” she said wearily. “This is absolutely not the time to argue. About anything. We’ve said that before, but I seem to keep doing it. I’m sorry.”
“You’re worried,” he said, his manner stiff enough to let her know he was still annoyed. “I understand that, but there’s no need to take it out on me.”
“I’ve already acknowledged that,” she replied, the words clipped.
He started to say something else, but the door opening interrupted him. A young aide slipped into the room, carrying a clipboard. She nodded politely when she saw them at the side of the room.
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br /> “Just making my rounds,” she said in the hushed voice the staff tended to use during the night shift. “You two better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to start awfully early. Is there anything I can do to make either of you more comfortable?”
“No, thank you, Tara.” Laurel made an effort to smile at the young woman. “We’re fine. Just worried about tomorrow.”
“That’s understandable. But Dr. Rutledge is the best. He saved my sister’s baby who was born with a defective heart two years ago.”
“That’s encouraging to hear,” Jackson replied. “Your sister’s child recovered completely?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s a little pistol now. Right in the middle of the terrible twos.” Pausing by the bed, Tara smiled down at Tyler. “Your little boy is precious. All the staff have commented about how sweet and well behaved he is. I know you’re both very proud of him.”
Laurel and Jackson shared a glance then, reminded of their purpose for being in that place at that time. For Laurel, at least, their argument seemed suddenly trivial and inappropriate. Nothing else really mattered now except getting Tyler well.
Tara moved on to the next room, leaving a taut silence behind her. And then Jackson rested a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “We do have a great kid.”
“He looks so much like you,” she murmured, looking at the little face on the pillow.
“He has your nose.”
“Tilt at the end and all.”
Jackson ran a fingertip lightly down the bridge of her nose. “I’ve always liked that little tilt. On both of you.”
The tiny shiver that ran through her was entirely involuntary. Achingly familiar. Whatever their differences, she had always responded quite strongly to Jackson’s touch.
His arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, as if he sensed her response to him. In that area, at least, he knew her quite well. “We don’t have to be at odds during this, Laurel. We’re a team, with one goal. Our son’s recovery.”
Her throat tight, she nodded.
“I want to be here for you if you need me,” he added.
She felt her stomach clench. It was just the sort of comment that always made her edgy. Maybe if Jackson had said that they needed each other… But he would never admit that sort of vulnerability.
“We’re both strong people,” she said carefully. “We’ll get through this.”
She was aware that her answer didn’t completely satisfy him. “Laurel, if you—”
“Mommy?”
She stepped immediately toward the bed, feeling Jackson’s arm fall from her shoulders to his side. “I’m here, sweetie.”
Reassured, Tyler snuggled back into the pillow, curling himself around Angus and closing his eyes again.
Jackson waited until it was apparent Tyler was asleep again before he spoke quietly. “We aren’t very good at it, are we?”
Laurel turned with raised eyebrows. “At what?”
“At being a team.”
“No, I guess we’re not,” she whispered. She could almost feel the weight of blame lying heavily on her shoulders. She should have known she wouldn’t be any good at this. What in her dysfunctional family history had made her believe she could succeed at being a model wife and mother?
Jackson drew a deep breath, his own expression grim with guilt. Knowing his overdeveloped sense of responsibility, she imagined he was accepting the fault as his own. She watched as his jaw hardened with resolve. “I’m not giving up. We’ll keep working at it until we get it right.”
No, he wouldn’t give up, she thought with a touch of sadness. Admitting defeat wouldn’t suit his self-image of the strong and capable head of their household. But shouldn’t there be more to a marriage than staying together because they didn’t want to admit they had made a mistake?
Had she been allowed, Laurel would have stayed at Tyler’s side during the entire operation. Instead, she sat in the surgery waiting room, every nerve ending in her body on anxious alert. A closed Bible sat like a talisman in her lap. Donna had brought it to her that morning, saying the time would pass more quickly for Laurel if she sought comfort in the verses.
Though she was rather touched by the gesture, Laurel had been unable to concentrate long enough even to open the book. Her eyes kept turning to the clock on the opposite wall, watching the hands move so slowly that she constantly fought the urge to check if it was still operational.
Unusually subdued, Donna sat nearby, while Carl and Jackson paced. Other people were grouped in the large area, attended to by a couple of smiling, gray-haired volunteers in bright blue jackets. The volunteers kept the coffee pot refilled, and the aroma of steadily dripping coffee almost, but not quite, masked the antiseptic smell of hospital cleaners.
It was a bit quieter in this surgery waiting room than it had been in the larger waiting room, whether because of the gravity of the procedures underway or because it was still so early in the morning, Laurel couldn’t have said.
“Everything okay here, Mrs. Reiss?” one of the sweet-faced volunteers asked as she stopped by Laurel’s chair. “Can I get you any more coffee?”
Glancing at the woman’s plastic nametag, Laurel shook her head. “No, thank you, Irma.”
“Anyone else?” Irma looked at Jackson and his parents as she made the offer. When they, too, declined her assistance, she nodded and moved away, after assuring them that Kathleen O’Hara, their surgery team liaison, would be by soon to give them an update from the operating room.
“Laurel?”
Hearing her name, she turned her head, then rose. “Hello, Morgan.”
The tall, dark-haired director of the Children’s Connection smiled as he took her hands. Always a pleasant, congenial man, his recent marriage to his beloved Emma had added a new glow of happiness to his striking blue eyes that no one who knew him well could miss. Because she knew and liked them both, Laurel was pleased that Morgan and Emma had found each other. They seemed to be a strong, united team—something she couldn’t help envying a bit.
But his expression now was one of concern for Laurel. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m doing okay,” she said, though she knew it was usually a waste of time to try to put on a falsely brave front for this man who was so adept at reading people.
“Any news yet?”
“No. The operation just started about twenty minutes ago. The surgeon said it could take a couple of hours.”
“Is there anything I can do for you? Get for you?”
Attempting a shaky smile, Laurel shook her head. “But thank you for offering.”
He squeezed her hands a bit more tightly, encouragingly. From Morgan, the gesture was almost effusive. His marriage to the outgoing and demonstrative Emma was loosening him up a bit, Laurel thought with a brief ripple of amusement.
“You know where to find me if you need me,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank you, Morgan.”
Something made her glance toward her husband, who was watching them with a frown. Morgan, too, looked that way, then released Laurel’s hands and stepped toward Jackson. The two men had met on several occasions, of course, but the most generous term that could be used to describe their relationship was cordial. Barely.
And that, Laurel thought, was definitely Jackson’s fault. He hadn’t wanted her to return to work in the first place, and he had always blamed Morgan for luring her back, even though she had told him Morgan had nothing to do with her decision.
Whatever Morgan sensed about Jackson’s opinion of him, he had always been unfailingly polite, as he was now. Extending his hand, he said, “Hello, Jackson. I just told Laurel to be sure and let me know if there’s anything I can do for either of you today.”
Jackson nodded. “Thanks. We’re doing okay.”
“You know that everyone at the Children’s Connection has Tyler in their thoughts and prayers today.”
“We appreciate that.” Jackson moved closer to Laurel as he spoke, not so subtly positioning himself
between his wife and her director.
Morgan spoke briefly with Donna and Carl after Laurel introduced them. He left a few minutes later with the promise that he would check in again to see if they needed anything.
“Your boss seems like a very nice man,” Donna said to Laurel a few moments after Morgan left.
“Yes, he is.” Laurel took her seat again and locked her hands in her lap. Now that her momentary distraction was over, her concentration returned to the distant operating room.
It was like flipping a switch, Jackson thought with an irritably bemused shake of his head as he studied his wife from across the surgery waiting room.
Nearly an hour after Morgan Davis had stopped by, Laurel was visiting with another of her professional associates, philanthropist Leslie Logan. And, just as she had earlier with Morgan, Laurel had gone from being tense and silent and withdrawn to animated and talkative. Still visibly anxious about the surgery, but more willing to share what she was thinking and feeling. She even allowed Leslie to hug her and give her the maternal sort of comfort she wouldn’t have accepted so willingly from her mother-in-law.
The wife of a wealthy and wildly successful entrepreneur, Leslie Logan dedicated many hours—and dollars—to the Children’s Connection adoption foundation she had supported almost from its inception. Jackson figured she had to be around sixty, but she was an attractive woman with her slender build, reddish-gold hair and lively brown eyes.
He knew Laurel had always admired Leslie, to the point that he’d once accused her of hero-worshipping the older woman. Sure, Leslie had worked tirelessly on behalf of the foundation in addition to raising a houseful of kids, both biological and adopted. And she had carried on bravely after losing her first child to a kidnapper several decades ago, even though she still had to be haunted by the memory of that loss.
Jackson could understand why Laurel admired the woman. But if Laurel was so impressed with that sort of wealth and influence, why had she married a construction foreman who would probably never move in those circles?
