Читать книгу Control - Kayla Perrin, Kayla Perrin - Страница 13

Despite my lack of appetite for dessert, Sharon and I sat on the sofa munching on popcorn and watching a teen slasher flick that we’d picked up from a variety store—a movie that neither of us had heard of, starring no-name actors. The special effects were so pathetic and the story line so incredible that the movie wasn’t scary in the least. In fact, it was laughable.

We were watching a shower scene now, with a big-busted woman who seemed more interested in touching herself than getting clean, lathering soap over her breasts and ass in what was meant to be an erotic display.

“All right, all right, we get it,” Sharon mumbled. “Can we move on with the plot, please?”

“What plot?” I asked, laughing.

“Why are there never any naked guys in these movies?” she asked.

“Because the writers and producers are men. And they obviously don’t think that women enjoy seeing a nice male ass, too.”

Sensing a noise, the actress paused with her hands on her nipples, which she had caressed to an erect state. The music’s tempo had picked up, indicating that danger was imminent. The blonde-haired beauty asked, “Who’s there?” and then playfully, “Donnie, is that you?”

Though Sharon and I had to know what was coming, that when the woman pulled back the shower curtain she would face the masked killer, we screamed when it happened. The woman’s eyes went wide with terror, and the killer raised a large butcher knife. She started to scream, but it was too late, and a moment later blood sprayed all over the bathroom.

Or tomato juice.

The gruesome murder completed, the killer muttered, “Nice tits.”

“Right,” Sharon said in an exaggerated tone. “That’s realistic.”

I started to laugh. So did she. The movie might have been stupid, but it was just what we needed—something so far from reality that it wouldn’t remind Sharon of the loss of her husband.

The scene went from the gruesome one in the bathroom to a college campus. I picked up a handful of popcorn—extra butter as Sharon had requested—and had just begun to munch on a mouthful when the room phone rang.

“I know it’s not for me,” she said.

“I guess Robert’s calling to say good-night.”

I got up from the sofa and hurried to the phone. Sharon paused the DVD.

“Hello?” I said.

“Oh, darling.” He seemed a little breathless. “I’m glad I reached you.”

Instantly, I was alarmed. “Robert, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know…but I haven’t been feeling well for the last couple of hours.” He sounded as if it hurt to talk. “I…”

“What hurts? Your head? Is it stomach pains again?”

“My…chest.”

“Oh, my God.”

Sharon flashed me a look of concern.

“All the stress of this week…I think it’s gotten to me.”

“Oh, Robert.”

“I need you, Elsie.”

“Of course.” My heart pounded against my rib cage. “Oh, my God.” I spoke hurriedly, my own breathing ragged. “You have to hang up and call 911. Get to a hospital, Robert.”

“All…right…I will.”

Sharon got up and moved to stand beside me. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” I told him. He had to be. “You’ll be fine.”

“I need you, Elsie.”

“I’ll leave right now. Have the hospital call me when you get there, so I know which one you’ve gone to.”

“Elsie…If anything happens, I love you. I want you to know that.”

“Don’t talk like that! You’re going to be fine. But please call for an ambulance. Now.”

My hands were shaking as I replaced the receiver. I met my friend’s concerned gaze. “We have to go. Right now.” My hands began to shake. “Oh, Sharon.”

“What?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“I think Robert might be having a heart attack!”

Fear unlike any I’d ever experienced before gripped me for the entire drive home. Even if I’d taken my car to Charleston, Sharon would have had to drive back. I was far too shaky to control the wheel.

With each passing second, I grew more and more terrified. I’d called every hospital in the Cornelius area, and even within Charlotte proper, but couldn’t confirm that a Robert Kolstad had been admitted to any of them. If he wasn’t in the hospital, did that mean he was dead on the floor of our house?

“Why does no hospital have any record of him being admitted?” I asked. My voice was shrill, laced with panic.

And I was also feeling guilty. Guilty that I’d entertained, even for a minute, the idea of leaving Robert.

“Maybe it’s too soon,” Sharon said. “Or maybe there was an error when they put him in the system.”

“Or maybe he’s dead on the floor!”

“He’s not dead.” Sharon reached for my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I know he’s not. Don’t start thinking the worst.”

“I should call Olga!” I exclaimed, remembering our housekeeper. “She’s not normally in on the weekends, but—”

“Olga’s out of town for her daughter’s wedding this weekend, remember?”

“Oh, shit. That’s right.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “Shit, Sharon. He mentioned he wasn’t feeling the best. I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t blame yourself. He’s okay. I know it. And we’re almost there.”

My phone was sweaty in my hands. “I’m going to try the hospitals again.”

Calls to all area hospitals produced no results. I would make the rounds of every one if I had to, but first I needed to go home and see if Robert was there.

If he was…

No, he’s not. He can’t be.

As Sharon pulled into my driveway, I drew in a gaspy breath and wiped away tears. I wasn’t sure how she’d been so strong after the death of her husband, but I was already an emotional wreck, anticipating finding Robert’s lifeless body in the house.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t fall apart yet.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Sharon.” I reached for the car door. “Thank you.”

“You think you’re going inside without me? Not a chance.”

I pulled on the handle a couple of times, wondering why it wouldn’t open.

“It’s locked, sweetie,” Sharon said. “Give me a second.”

Of course.

I let go of the handle, and she hit the button to release the locks. I all but fell out of the car when I opened the door.

Sharon had to unlock the front door to my house because I was too jittery to do it. She stepped inside first. I took a deep breath and went in after her.

The great room was empty, but I had expected that. If Robert was anywhere, it was going to be our bedroom.

I rushed for the staircase. Darted upstairs. At the top I turned left and ran down the long hallway.

The double doors were slightly ajar, and I pushed them open. The light on Robert’s night table was on, illuminating his still form on the bed.

I gasped. Started to cry.

“Robert!” I ran toward him.

And that’s when something amazing happened. He lifted his head and looked at me.

Utterly surprised, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was as if I had so expected the worst that my brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

“Elsie…”

The sound of Robert’s voice broke the spell. Happiness bubbled out of me in a relieved breath.

“Thank God!” I quickly looked at Sharon. She clasped her hands together, clearly overjoyed. Then I made my way to the bed, where I sat beside Robert and took his hand in mine.

“You’re here.” He sounded weak.

“Oh, baby. I was so worried.” I pressed his hand against my cheek. “What happened?”

“I’m fine now. That’s all the matters.”

“You went to the hospital?”

Robert’s eyes flicked in Sharon’s direction. I got his meaning. He didn’t want to discuss the situation with her here.

I eased off the bed and crossed the room to the door, where Sharon was standing, respectfully keeping her distance.

“Well, he’s not dead,” I said, stating the obvious. I heaved a weary sigh. “Thank you so much for getting me here safe and sound. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

She waved away my comment. “There’s no need to thank me.”

“I’m sorry we had to cut our weekend short,” I told her.

“Gimme a break. There’s no need to apologize for that.”

I nodded, then gave her a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Update you on Robert’s progress.”

“Go take care of your husband.”

“Let me see you out.”

I walked downstairs with Sharon, saw her to her car, then went back inside. Before rejoining Robert, I went to the kitchen and put on the kettle to make some tea for him.

The kettle on, I headed upstairs. Robert was still lying in bed.

I climbed onto the bed beside him and gently stroked his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good now.” He reached for my hand. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I called every hospital. No one could tell me if you were admitted. I was going out of my mind with worry. I thought I’d come here and find…and find…”

“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

“Where did you go? University Hospital?”

“I went to Lake Norman.”

“Weird,” I said. I’d phoned Lake Norman Regional Medical Center first. “I called there. A few times. They said they didn’t have you in their system.”

“Perhaps because I was in Emergency.”

“Perhaps,” I acknowledged. After a beat, I went on. “Obviously, you didn’t have a heart attack.”

“I didn’t.” Robert chuckled softly. “You’ll think this is silly. It was gas pains.”

Three years ago, I’d rushed Robert to the hospital when he’d been having chest pains. We’d feared a heart attack, but we’d learned that he actually had a gas bubble in his chest that was causing the pain.

“Like the last time,” I said.

“Yes.” Again, Robert chuckled. “Just like the last time.”

“Well.” I planted a kiss on my husband’s soft cheek. “Thank God it wasn’t a heart attack. I really freaked out, Robert. All the way driving here, I was…”

“I’m sorry about your weekend.”

“Don’t apologize. Of course I had to come home.” I gazed down at him, once again feeling guilty for thinking that he and I might be headed for divorce. Biting back that thought, I said, “Look, I’ve got the kettle on. Would you like some peppermint tea?”

“Oh, that would be nice.”

“All right. I’ll be back up soon.”

Downstairs, I prepared tea for both of us, and arranged the cups on a silver tray, along with two spoons and a jar of honey.

“Here you go,” I said, setting the tray on the large night table closest to Robert. We had a four-poster bed, with oversize nightstands and dressers. I’d thought the tables too large when I’d first seen them, but the marble surface did come in handy when extra space was needed.

Robert eased himself up and reached for a cup. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t put any honey in it.”

“Oh, it’s fine like this.”

“By the way, how did you get home?” I asked.

“Pardon me?”

“From the hospital. You called for an ambulance, right?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, yes I did.”

“So how did you get home?”

“I…I took a taxi.”

“You could have waited for me at the hospital. I would have picked you up.”

“It was no bother.”

I glanced at the bedside clock. “You made it through the E.R. in very good time.” It was a little after 2:00 a.m., and Robert had called me just before ten. Sharon and I had wasted no time in checking out, but it still took us about three and a half hours to get home.

“A man my age who goes to Emergency with chest pains…The doctors don’t want to take any chances.”

“Of course not. And I’m glad. I just wish I’d been here for you.”

Robert sipped more of his tea. He finished about half of it before putting the cup back on the tray. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m very tired. I’d like to get some sleep.”

“It’s very late. We both need to get some sleep.” I gave my husband a lingering kiss on the lips. I collected the tray and cups and took them down to the kitchen.

By the time I came back upstairs, Robert was asleep, his lips parted as he snored quietly.

I went to the master bathroom. Seeing my reflection in the mirror, I groaned. I looked awful. The worry had had its effect on me, but that was to be expected. Thank God the crisis had passed.

The last time Robert had gone to the hospital for chest pains and learned it was gas, the E.R. doctor had given him a prescription for lactulose—a thick, sugary liquid that he’d complained about taking, though it had worked wonders.

I didn’t see a bottle of lactulose on the bathroom counter, or any other prescription bottle. I searched the medicine cabinet, but once again saw nothing other than the regular medicines Robert was already taking.

Something made me head downstairs to the kitchen again. I couldn’t remember if the prescription Robert had been given last time was supposed to be stored in the fridge. But there was no lactulose in our refrigerator, either.

Was Robert lying?

“No,” I replied aloud to my silent question. “Robert wouldn’t have lied about something so serious.”

But he was in and out of Emergency so quickly.

The time we had gone to the hospital for the same issue, it had taken more than four hours, what with the myriad tests he’d gone through. They’d given him an EKG, X-ray, blood tests. Breathing tests.

Even if I could understand him getting through Emergency in under three hours, I found myself wondering about his current physical condition.

When he’d had the heart attack scare the first time, there had been shortness of breath and intense pain every time he inhaled. The agony had lasted for hours before the medicine kicked in. But this time, Robert wasn’t exhibiting any of those symptoms.

What if this whole incident was an elaborate scheme to get me to come home?

I’d been wary of broaching the subject of going away. Robert didn’t like me to leave him, and definitely not for a few days. In fact, I’d been a little surprised that he’d been so agreeable to the idea of me and Sharon taking off for the weekend.

But then there had been the constant phone calls. Him paying our bill at the restaurant. I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that that was Robert’s way to check and see if I was actually there…

Maybe I was overreacting.

“Or maybe I’m not,” I whispered. It wasn’t the first time he had done something to subtly—or not so subtly—convince me to change my mind about something.

Like the time a year ago when my father had invited me to Texas for a visit. After my mother took me away when I was fourteen, I didn’t see my dad for four years. There were no cell phones back then, so no easy way for me to sneak a call to him without my mother finding out. But I’d called my father collect from a payphone on my first day at my new school. I’d been relieved to reach him, and quickly told him where I was so that he could come and get me. I’d been stunned to learn that he already knew where I was. My mother had called him days after we’d arrived in Philadelphia. I didn’t understand why he hadn’t come for me, but he explained that he’d wanted to do exactly that, that he’d contacted the authorities to try and find me. But my mother had convinced him that she was in a better position to take care of me. My father worked long hours as a janitor at two different office buildings and didn’t make a ton of money. Who would see me off to school in the morning, or make dinner for me when he worked late? He also explained that while his desire was to fight for custody of me, he knew that the courts favored the mothers the majority of the time. Besides, going to court would cost money—money he didn’t have. He promised we would stay in touch via phone calls and hopefully visits when the opportunity arose.

I’d had to accept what he’d told me—I didn’t have any other choice. But I secretly believed that he hadn’t pushed the issue of custody because he didn’t want to fall out of favor with my mother. That after everything she had done to hurt him, he still hoped she would come back to him one day.

Their relationship may have been dysfunctional, but he’d loved her.

True to his word, my father and I did stay in touch. We talked on the phone about once a week in the beginning, then tapered off to about once a month. When I was eighteen and legally an adult, I borrowed money from a friend to go see my dad. I thought maybe I could live with him. But a week into the visit, I knew it wasn’t going to work out.