Surrender My Love (25 page)

“Chloe, don’t you dare hang up on me!”
“Brad. Let me call you later.”

“Tell me where you are.”

Again he heard a loud cry in the background, and this time it was followed by whispered voices.

“Where are you, Chloe?”

A saturated silence followed, but he could sense she was there, listening, thinking.

“I’m with my mother.”

“Where?” he pressed. “I need an address.”

He could hear the sigh of uncertainty in her vo
ice, but she disclosed the address. He hung up and called the concierge to bring his car around, then left his apartment.

Chloe’s mother’s apartmen
t was in a small walkup on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The building was wedged between a row of dilapidated brownstones, but the complex was tidy with a sturdy lock on the outside door. Brad was greeted by a small Spanish woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform who ushered him into a cramped living room that reminded him much of Chloe’s apartment. He inquired as to Chloe’s whereabouts, but the mournful wail coming from the other room divulged her location. He tilted his head towards the room and the woman nodded silently.

Brad walked through the
bedroom door and stopped, his gaze fixed on the bed. Chloe was perched on the edge, leaning over a dark haired woman who was clutching a pillow and sobbing hysterically. The woman saw him first and her big hazel eyes latched on to him.

“Peter!” she lamented
, crying loudly and sitting up in bed. “Where Peter?”

Chloe’s eyes met his briefly, then her attention focused back on her
weeping mother. He couldn’t read her expression, but she didn’t seem upset that he’d entered their private space. She whispered to her mother, brushing her hair back with her hand, trying to calm her.

“Where Peter?” the woman
cried as he approached the bed. Her eyes were wide and expectant, latching on to him with hope.

“Mom, this is my friend, Brad.
Brad, this is Rose. Dad is not here.”

Her mother
cried out again, loud and plaintive, a sound that filled his soul with sadness.

Brad
remembered Chloe had said her father died when she was a child. Rose was obviously very confused. He couldn’t believe how much Chloe looked like her mother. The same soulful eyes looked out of a delicately beautiful face. Settling next to Rose, he took her tiny hand in his.

“I’m Brad and I know a Peter too.” He smiled, thinking of his uncle. “The Peter I know is very tall, with
a great big beard. When I was a child, I was very afraid of him.”

Chloe’s mother tilted her head and regarded him
, her eyes intent. “Peter nice. Afraid. Lost.”

“I bet he’s not scary like my u
ncle. Does he have a beard, too?”

“Friday! Friday!
Too many.”

He looked questioning
ly at Chloe and she shrugged sadly, apparently not comprehending her mother’s meaning either.

Rose’s
eyes seemed to shine with a distant memory. She lifted a finger and pointed to his face. “Blue. Blue.”

“Ah, blue eyes.
He had blue eyes?” He cast a sidelong glance at Chloe and she nodded. He smiled. “He must have been very handsome.”

Chloe’s lips tilted marginally
, and her mother’s weepy smile grew wistful.

“She keeps trying to leave the apartment to go look for
my dad and then she gets agitated and cries when she can’t find him,” Chloe whispered.

Brad absorbed
Chloe’s words, his gaze moving over her tired face. Her eyes were red and puffy like she’d been crying, her skin paler than usual, almost paper white with a tracery of tiny veins at her temples. Shadowy smudges rimmed her amber eyes and her hair was tied in a haphazard knot at the nape of her neck.

“Have you slept?”
he asked softly, worried.

She looked away from him, biting her lip. “No, not really.”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Rose chanted, her voice rising.

“Oh, that sounds like a fine idea.” He smiled at Chloe. “I’ll have some too.”

Her eyes widened and she smiled, shaking her head in exasperation. “She’s already had three bowls.”

He winked at Rose and was happy to see her smile conspiratorially
. “What’s one more?”

H
e ignored Chloe’s mock exasperation and followed her towards the small kitchen. She explained about her mother’s accident, her brain injury, and her subsequent surgeries, then left to speak to the aide. His eyes followed her slim figure. Her faded blue jeans and tee shirt were severely wrinkled and her gait slow and slumped with fatigue.

“Maria is about to leave. I
’m staying with my mother today,” she explained when she rejoined him. He’d already found some bowls and spoons in a drawer.

“We need to talk,
Chlo.” He pulled her into his arms, loving the feel of her body pressed against his. “I know you have your hands full here, but it’s important.”

She nodded and pulled away, turning to the fridge. He felt bereft setting her loose, a hollowness he couldn’t
define. She had her defenses up, that bravado that showed the world she was fine. But she wasn’t. He could tell. She’d been up all night. She’d probably spent it here attending her mother.

“Later.”
She pulled the ice cream out, but he noticed that her gaze ran from his. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Why don’t you sleep and I’ll take the ice cream in to your mom.”

Her head jerked up and she regarded him, her golden eyes surprised. “No. Mom needs to be fed or the ice cream ends up everywhere but in her mouth. Maria is leaving.”

“I think I can handle it,” he said, taking away the spoon she was scooping with. “
You know…all my years of medical training.” He grinned.

She looked at hi
m skeptically, and he chuckled. He’d hear the nurses sometimes joke about how medical school left doctors inept and poorly trained for hands-on day to day patient care. She was right. He was often awed at some of the things he saw nurses do.

“
Just call me Nurse Markson,” he quipped. “I saw a couch in the other room with a blanket. Go.”

She hesitated, giving him a
nother skeptical look. “Are you sure? She can be a handful sometimes.”

He nodded and grinned
, pulling playfully on her ponytail. He wanted to unravel it and run his fingers through her thick black hair. “We’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll be right here if I need you. Don’t worry.”

She sighed and stared up at him, her forehead pleating thoughtfully
. He could see she was trying to formulate an excuse. “Don’t you have things you need to do?” she asked. “I know you’re a busy man. Really, you don’t need to do this.”

“I’m
where I want to be, Chlo.” He bent and skimmed his lips against hers, then forced himself to pull away.

W
ith a flourish he scooped a heaping serving of vanilla ice cream into a bowl, almost causing the small container to tip over and spurring her to laugh out loud. It struck him how much he loved that sound. She was always so serious, so weighted with worry.

“You
gonna eat all that?” Her eyes rounded in amazement.

He grinned and nodded. “There’s only one problem.”

“What, Nurse Markson?”

“I like mine
topped with whipped cream.”

Chloe slept like the earth was
teetering like a see-saw beneath her. He watched her toss and turn on the couch, and at one point worried she might roll onto the floor. Repositioning her for about the fifth time, he let his gaze absorb her natural beauty. A line of worry marred her brow, breaking through the façade she erected when awake. He used a finger to trace it away, then bent and kissed the spot, wishing he could just as easily smooth the wrinkles in her life.

He and R
ose got along well, especially since they both shared an avid love of ice cream. Swearing her to secrecy, they’d each had another bowl. He wasn’t sure she understood the whole secrecy, cross-my-heart-hope-to-die-needle-in-the-eye thing, and even as he said it he winced at the gruesome visual.
Do kids even still say that? God, I’m gonna give Rose nightmares!

But her
face lit with joy when he produced the ice cream, so it was all good. At one point she’d become severely agitated and started to scream, trying to climb off the bed to look for Peter. Afraid she’d wake Chloe and wanting to chase away that desperate longing in her eyes, he’d sat with her by the window. She was truly a sweet lady, with the brightest smile when she was happy and radiant eyes that reminded him so much of Chloe.

She seemed to calm
by the window with the sun on her face, especially when they commenced a broken, nonsensical conversation about Peter. He supposed in the dead-end streets and cul-de-sacs of her spotty memory, these conversations made sense. He wondered about Chloe’s parents, wondered about the affection they must have had for each other. What kind of love could withstand decades, survive struggles, and breach the yawning void that brain injury made in the memory? He’d never been a believer in love, always been the first to laugh at the fools who professed it. The proof was in front of him and now
he
felt like the fool.

Chl
oe awoke after only a few hours and, despite his haranguing would not go back to sleep. She made lunch for them and fed her mother. Rose stubbornly refused to eat her vegetables. Chloe explained that if she promised to eat them all she could get more ice cream. Brad stood behind Chloe and looked on, wondering vaguely if there was any more ice cream left, considering the quantity he and Rose had already consumed. When Rose said she’d eat her veggies but would die from a needle stuck in her eye, all he could do was raise his brows and shrug innocently when Chloe turned and sent him a questioning glance. Rose shot him a big grin, and he couldn’t help but wink secretly, concealing his smile.

He
cleaned up after lunch while Chloe attended Rose, who’d had an accident in bed. He helped change the bed linens, thinking he’d had no idea what Chloe’s life was like. He’d gotten a glimpse today, and he’d also gotten a glimpse of the remarkable human being living inside her. His realizations only made him rage further at the hospital and their absurd investigation.

Rose fell asleep late afternoon
, and Brad decided he’d be put off no longer. Sitting with Chloe on the couch, he told her about the meeting planned with the administrators for Monday. He was surprised by her lack of enthusiasm, but continued.

“I’m on your side, Chloe. I’ll at least encourage them to consider other possibilities for the deaths.”

She stared dispassionately back at him, her golden eyes like dull bulbs that had lost their spark. “I appreciate it, but it won’t sway them. They’ve already made up their minds.”

He
delved deep into her expressionless stare, wondering if she knew there was more to the story. He was loath to tell her about his conversation with Mr. Accardo.

“Chloe, the hospital went through your locker and apparently found something. The police are investigating.”

Again, the dull stoicism. She didn’t seem surprised. He took hold of her hand, encasing it in his.

“Do you understand what’s going
on, Chloe, that this is very serious?” he intoned slowly. He didn’t want to scare her, but maybe now she’d agree to speak to a lawyer. He’d already made the phone call.

She paused for a heartbeat
, then looked away. “I know about the syringe, Brad.”

A terrible t
ightness started in his chest, and he was afraid to hear the answer to his next question.

“How did you find out?”

Her slender throat worked down a swallow. “The police came to my apartment yesterday and took me in for questioning. They had a warrant to search my apartment.”

“
What?”
he exploded. He felt as if every molecule of his body flew apart. “
When were you going to fucking tell me this, Chloe?”

Her gaze flew to the bedroom door
, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and lower his voice. “What happened?”

Her face remained placid, but a tremor vibrated through th
e hand he held in his palm. “A Detective Sullivan came to my apartment, said he needed to ask me some questions about the investigation at WMH. He made me go down to the police station for questioning.” The tremor infected her voice.

“Why didn’t you call me, Chloe?” he whispered,
imagining how terrified she must have been.

She averted her gaze
, and he knew the reason was something ridiculous like she didn’t want to bother him, or thought he had more important things to do, or some shit like that! When was she going to realize how much he cared?

“
It was horrible,” she confessed, interrupting his thoughts, and he saw a clear mist coat her frightened eyes. “I don’t keep syringes in my locker. It’s against the rules. I can’t imagine what they’re talking about.”