Читать книгу Last Of The Joeville Lovers - Anne Eames, Anne Eames - Страница 10

Three

As difficult as the flight had been to Detroit, the return was even worse. The hope Taylor had nursed five days ago had been replaced with a large empty hole, one she doubted would ever be filled, a wound so fresh and deep that she couldn’t quite comprehend the days and months ahead. Her work, and a lot of help from above, would be her salvation.

And why did this have to happen to Josh? Was this number two of three, as Grandma had warned? If it was, then what else was in store for her? She shook her head and squared her shoulders, dismissing the silly adage as she strode down the hospital corridor, nodding at familiar faces, her gait saying she had no time for idle chatter.

She stepped into the elevator and punched the button for ICU, then punched it again when it didn’t respond, as if the second prompt might speed things along. Others wandered in and she stepped aside. One young man held a large stuffed animal, and his face reflected the joy and pride of a new papa. She stared at the floor and wondered when she might feel joy again.

First Mom, now this. Josh’s dimpled smile flashed in her mind’s eye. So young, so carefree...so handsome. He had everything.

That wasn’t true, she reminded herself. He’d lost a mother, too. At least she had hers for twenty-five years, which was almost twenty years longer than Josh could say. And then another thought crossed her mind: why did people wait for a tragedy to think kindly about certain people? Why did they—she—not see the pain in their eyes before and realize that they carried baggage from the past, too? Like Josh...

The elevator stopped and Taylor excused her way to the front, wondering what she would say to Josh when she saw him. She hadn’t been very nice to him in the past, based mostly on rumors and supposition...and her own prejudice against young people with easy money.

Today would be different; she would look Josh in the eye and start again. There was a good man inside there somewhere; she was sure of it. After all, he was Max’s son. He had to be. And now, more than ever, Josh would need help to see him through.

As she neared ICU she remembered the pastor’s recent eulogy. “When you’re feeling your lowest, reach out to someone else in need...it’s impossible to feel sad when you’re making someone else smile.”

Taylor held tight to that thought and identified herself at the nurses’ station, then pressed the metal plate on the wall for the big double doors to swing open. Why it had to be Josh whom God had chosen to help occupy her days of mourning, she didn’t know. But she made a silent vow that she would do her best to bring a smile back on that handsome face of his.

She stepped into the room and suppressed a moan. Both legs were in traction; a trapeze hung over his chest. Monitors and IVs surrounded him, reminding her of her mother’s plight just days ago. With an ache in her chest, she stepped into the room. Josh’s head was facing the window and she thought he was asleep, but when her shoes squeaked on the tile floor, he looked at her, and amidst a maze of cuts and bruises a big smile washed over his pale lips.

“Hi, gorgeous.” His speech was a little slurred, his tongue sounding thick with drugs. Still, he smiled. “This is much better,” he said.

She moved slowly to his side, wanting to touch him, yet feeling shy for some odd reason. “What’s much better?” she asked, pretending not to notice the extent of his injuries.

“A beautiful nurse! In the movies, there are always young, pretty nurses. I had just about given up.”

Still full of it, she thought, then chuckled. “I’m not a nurse. I’m a—”

“Yeah, yeah. A sadistic physical therapist.”

His smile was firmly in place, a fact that amazed her. She had only to enter his room to achieve her goal. Without thinking, she returned his easy smile.

“Guess that shoulder business was just a sample of what I’m in for, huh?”

Taylor straightened his covers, needing something to do with her hands and having trouble holding his gaze. “You got that right, cowboy. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“I love it when you talk tough.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how tough you are in the months to come.”

“Months?” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Weeks. Once I get out of this place, you wait and see. I’ll be the best success story you’ve ever told.”

She glanced at his elevated legs, hoping he couldn’t read her worries about his paralysis, about the severity of the damage that may have been done. When she looked back at his sleepy face, his smile had disappeared.

“You will be my therapist, won’t you?”

“Yes. Of course. You were one of my favorite patients to abuse.” She swallowed hard and decided it was time to leave. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, and turned to go.

Josh reached out and snagged her hand, his fingers shaking. “I’m glad.” He held her gaze a few seconds too long, then, as if sensing her discomfort, he waved his free hand in the direction of his legs. “It’s temporary, you know. Traumatic something-or-other. Nothing hard work can’t cure.” He tried to move and winced. “I’ll just have to pretend it’s training camp for football. Used to have a pretty grueling schedule, you know. Two-a-days...that’s what they called them. With lots of running and weight lifting in between.” He stopped talking suddenly and studied her face. “But the coach never looked as good as you.” He shot her a roguish wink.

Taylor shook her head, seeing the fear and uncertainty behind all his bravado. “You never quit, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, eyeing her closely and still holding her hand.

The feel of his lingering touch sent her pulse racing. She wondered if he was still thinking of physical therapy; she sure wasn’t. She caught herself quickly and placed his hand on his chest with a gentle pat. She must remember her objectives: to be his physical therapist and part of his healing process as well as her own.

“You need your rest,” she said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Promise?”

She forced a lazy smile. “Promise.”

“Today?”

“If you’d like.”

“I’d like.”

Taylor left the unit, rounded the corner and then stopped, pressing her back to the cold concrete wall and breathing deeply through her mouth. She’d always prided herself in being able to control her emotions. Yes, she had cried over her mother’s death and she surely would again, but she knew Mom was in a better place now and that Dad and Michael would take care of each other.

But who would take care of her? She longed for a hug and a shoulder to lean on. That must be why Josh’s gentle touch had shaken her so.

She pushed off the wall and headed for Max’s office.

Vulnerable. It was only natural that she would feel vulnerable for a while. She would be wise to remember that whenever she was with Josh. He needed her help; she needed to keep busy.

That’s all there was to it.

Josh stared out the window, wishing he was on the other side, feeling the sunshine on his face. And more importantly—the ground beneath his feet. He tried focusing on a list of calls that had to be made, chores that had to be delegated. His first crop of wheat needed attention.

Yet the farm was a hazy image eclipsed by a beautiful face, one surrounded by waves of hair fairer than his precious wheat, framing eyes bluer than his beloved Montana sky.

He bent an arm behind his head and pictured her fragile smile, and suddenly guilt prickled in his chest. Damn. He’d been so glad to see her, he hadn’t even mentioned her mother’s death. What an insensitive oaf she must think he is. A self-absorbed oaf. Who better than he knew how it felt to lose a mother? Next time...when she returned....

He closed his eyes and his head grew fuzzy, the drugs numbing more than his pain. His thoughts were again a jumble and it was hard to concentrate. Wheat fields blurred with blond hair, and yellow combines turned into oak caskets. Then, mercifully, images of mothers and deaths were overtaken by the fluids dripping into the back of his hand and everything went blank again.

Max rose to greet Taylor, stepping quickly from behind his cluttered desk. He gave her a gentle embrace and then sat back on the edge of his desk. “How are you holding up?”

Taylor bit her top lip and nodded, not meeting his dark eyes.

“I wish I could have been there. I’m so sorry—”

She held up a hand, stopping him. This was the worst—hearing someone say they were sorry and seeing the sadness in their eyes. Sometimes she wished everyone would pretend nothing had happened, that they would give her a few days, even hours, to mend.

She was being unkind, she thought, and expelled a long breath.

When the silence became uncomfortable she changed topics. “I just came from Josh’s room. His spirits seem good.”

Max nodded and looked at the floor.

“How bad is it? Can you tell me?”

Max exhaled loudly. “Too soon to say, but we’re optimistic.”

“Spinal cord?”

“Not severed.”

Taylor dropped into the chair behind her, only now realizing how much she had dreaded another answer. Max took the seat next to her, tugged at a leg of his scrubs and crossed an ankle over one knee. “I keep reminding myself how much worse it could have been. If Shane hadn’t been on his way over to the farm when the plane went down—”

“You mean he actually saw the crash?” Bile rose in her throat just thinking about it.

Max shook his head. “Hannah and Jenny had done a lot of baking that morning, and Shane volunteered to drive some things over to the farm. Thank God he was in his Explorer and had his cell phone.” Max rubbed his temples and Taylor saw the fatigue and worry on his face. “Josh tipped his wings when he spotted Shane on the road below... the way he likes to do whenever he sees one of us...or at least that’s what Shane thought he was doing. Then the plane cleared the trees and—” Max sucked in air and finished “—we all heard the impact. The ground shook and I knew...”

Taylor reached out a hand and touched his arm. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“No. It’s okay.” He patted the back of her hand. “Shane called 911 and got to the site soon after. But all he could see was fire and smoke. Then he said he thought he was seeing a mirage. Heat waves rose from the ground and he saw Josh’s jacket. He drove as close as he could and dragged Josh far enough away before the explosion.”

“And Shane?”

“Just scrapes and bruises when he hit the ground.” He uncrossed his legs and braced his elbows on his knees. “And an unwarranted dose of guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“He can’t get it out of his head that he might have done the damage to Josh’s legs when he dragged him.”

“But, Max, the alternative—”

Max slapped his knees and stood. “I know. I’ve told him that. But until Josh walks again, Shane won’t listen to reason.”

Taylor pushed out of her chair and faced Max, feeling the effects of the worst week of her life. “Then we’ll just have to make sure Josh walks again, won’t we?” She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth wouldn’t move.

Max smiled for her. “If anyone can do it, Taylor, it’s you...but it will mean a lot of extra hours. I know the timing couldn’t be worse—”

“The timing couldn’t be better. I need to work right now.”

He held her gaze and looked as if he wanted to say more. There was so much pain on his tanned face, the gray at his temples more pronounced than she remembered.

“I have a patient in postop. Will you be around a while?”

She nodded. “Either in PT or with Josh.”

“Good. There’s something we need to talk about.” He looked guilty suddenly, and she couldn’t imagine what was on his mind. “I—I know this is a terrible imposition, but I was hoping you might move out to the ranch when Josh goes home. He’ll need a lot of one-on-one time, and I doubt he’d work as well with me.” Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but Max stopped her. “Just think about it. No need to decide now.”

Taylor stood rooted in place and watched Max amble down the hall toward Recovery.

Move out to the ranch? The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Yet the idea of too much time alone in her small apartment had worried her. The move could help her as well as Josh.

Then why was she experiencing this shortness of breath? What was she afraid of? She knew and liked the family, and there was plenty of room for her in that big sprawling home.

Finally she puffed out her cheeks, burst out a long breath and headed for the Physical Therapy Unit. It was best not to think about the future right now.

Hard work. Lots of it. That’s what she needed.

Time would clear the cobwebs.

The patient load was lighter than usual, giving Taylor too much time to think. Each moment there was a break in the schedule, she thought of Josh upstairs, and confusion swirled in her head. Less than a week ago she didn’t even like the man. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to avoid him the few days a week she’d worked at the ranch clinic. Now she couldn’t get him out of her thoughts.

He was hurt. He needed her help. Staying at the ranch during his therapy made sense. Logic, logic, logic. It wasn’t working this time.

The last patient left and she strode toward Josh’s room, drawn there with a force she was too weary to analyze. When she arrived at his bedside, he opened his eyes and smiled his easy smile again.

“You’re back.”

“I said I would.”

“A woman of her word.” He patted the edge of his bed and she sat gingerly. “Hear any good jokes lately?”

She laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. “Afraid not.”

His expression grew serious. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish again.” He turned off the TV with the remote on his bed railing, then met Taylor’s eyes. “I meant to say something before about your mother—”

Taylor averted her gaze, bracing herself for another “I’m sorry about your loss.” But Josh surprised her.

“I know how you feel.” He took her hand as he had before and the reaction in her limbs was the same. “Anytime you want to talk...maybe reminisce...you know where to find me.” His stroke on the back of her hand felt good. Sincere. “I don’t have as many memories as you do,” he added, “but I’ll tell you a few of mine if you’ll tell me some of yours... when you’re ready.”

Taylor’s gaze drifted lazily over the length of his battered body and then returned to his drooping eyelids. In spite of all that had happened to him, his concerns were for her. This didn’t quite mesh with her earlier impression of this man. Had he always been this sensitive and she’d missed it? Or was it that her guard was down?

Whichever, she was glad when he closed his eyes, glad that he didn’t see the moisture brimming in her own.

She tiptoed from the room and stopped at the front desk, where she’d left her two bags from the airport. They were light, and the distance to her apartment was short, so she decided to walk. The cool evening breeze revived her, and she thought that sometime soon she should make arrangements to get her car from the ranch. Yet in her grief even this little detail seemed to overwhelm her.

She entered her quiet second-floor apartment and just stood in the middle of the warm dusky room, bags still in hand, not knowing what to do next. Time passed, she wasn’t sure how much, before she remembered something important. She walked to her bedroom, opened one bag and found what she was looking for. Gently she lifted the two calico-covered journals and pressed them to her chest.

At last the tears spilled freely. She dropped on the bed and let them come. There was no one watching; she no longer needed to be brave. And when the tears had run their course, she opened her nightstand, slipped the books inside and gently closed the drawer, knowing it would be some time before she was ready to face such personal pages. Someday she would read them. Every word. Then she would know her mother’s fears.

A chill trailed through her as she crawled into her cold bed and closed her eyes. The old love seat in the Ann Arbor attic, with its loose floorboards beneath, were her last waking thoughts.

John Phillips traipsed up the attic stairs and braced his weight on one arm of the old love seat. A hand-crocheted throw lay folded neatly over the opposite arm. He remembered the hours of contentment on his wife’s face as she’d pulled each stitch of it while patiently awaiting the birth of Taylor.

Memories. There were so many good ones.

Yet there were bad times, too—one nightmare that cut so deep he had been certain at the time that the pain would never leave him, but with the help of God their marriage had more than survived. It had found peace and love again.

Weary to the bone, he lifted the end of the love seat and hunkered down to remove the loose planks. His fingers paused over the cracks in the wood, remembering the time years ago when he’d discovered the journals and the days after when he’d decided not to tell Angela.

Finally he would destroy the only remaining evidence of that dreaded time in their lives. He lifted the boards and stared at the empty space below. Stunned, he sat down with a thump. It had been years since he’d looked here. Perhaps Angela had destroyed them long ago. He rubbed his chest as if it would slow the pounding of his heart. Surely the children hadn’t found the journals. Had they?

No. It was unthinkable. If they had, they would have said something. He would have seen the questions in their eyes, a change of some sort.

When his pulse slowed, he returned the boards and love seat to their original place, picked up the handmade throw and took it with him down the stairs, clutching the treasure to him and reassuring himself that the secret was safe at long last.