Coast Road (12 page)

Maybe he was burning out. There had to be an explanation for the revulsion he felt.

Then again, the revulsion could be from fatigue. Or worry. Any normal person would feel shell-shocked given the recent turn of events. Any normal person would feel the need to decide what was most urgent and focus solely on that.

Rachel called it prioritizing. This time, at least, she was right.

Pocketing a pile of telephone messages, he returned to the front desk and told Tina to cancel Austin.

Then he headed south to Monterey.

FOR A PETITE woman, Rachel had incredibly elegant arms and legs. Jack had always attributed that elegance to a grace of movement, but he saw it now even as she lay inert. He rubbed lotion over her hand �flexing it from fingertip to knuckle to wrist as he had seen the nurses do�then smoothed it along her forearm to her elbow. Her upper arms had no fat, just the gentle muscle of an active woman. He had always admired that in her. She wasn't one to play the weaker sex, was as quick to lift what needed to be carried as to ask for help.

Admirable. Humbling. Hard to be the stronger sex when she just took it upon herself to do things. He remembered being furious with her, way back in Tucson, when they had moved in together. They had been dating for three months, had decided that paying two rents was foolish, and had chosen his place over hers for its size and its sun. On the appointed day, he had raced to her apartment straight from school to start moving, only to find ninetenths of the furniture already gone.

And there she was in his place, sweaty, dirty, grinning from ear to ear as she pointed out where everything was and how well it fit. His fury didn't last long. She was too excited, too proud, to eager to make life easier for him. Lord, he had loved her for that strength.

Strength. Independence. Self-reliance. Stubbornness.

"Hi." Katherine's voice brought him back. She was another strong one, here to see her friend even when her friend's husband�ex-husband�kept taking his frustrations out on her.

"Hi, " he said, determined to be kind. "How's it going? " "It'd be better if Rachel woke up. Still sleeping? " "Still sleeping. I bore her." Katherine actually smiled. "She said you weren't always boring.

She said you were fun at the beginning." The smile faded.

"She looks the same. Isn't there any change medically? " "None. I was hoping she'd be awake by now." That was one major source of worry.

He sought Katherine's thoughts on another. "Think I should call her mother? " The sudden caution on Katherine's face said she knew something about Victoria Keats.

"What do you say, Rachel? " Jack asked dryly. "Should I call your mom? " He half expected Rachel to jump up and cry, No! no! no! The fact that she didn't do so much as blink said a lot about the depth of her sleep.

She and her mother didn't get along. As far as Rachel was concerned, Victoria combined the worst of new wealth and of corporate America.

She was more materially than personally involved with life, even when it came to her only child. He doubted Rachel would want the woman near her�unless, perhaps, she was dying.

"I'll wait a little longer, " he told Katherine. "She's bound to wake up soon. My man from San Francisco examined her and agreed with Bauer's plan. So we all wait." He grunted. "This isn't how I like to operate." Katherine took a hairbrush from the bed stand. "No, I don't guess that it is. Men like action. This brush is hers. Did you bring it? " "Yes, and you're only part right. Men like progress.

They don't care how it's achieved, as long as it is. So maybe it's happening." He studied Rachel's face, studied the pale lashes lying in a perfect crescent beneath her eyes, a whisper of freckles, scrapes and an ugly bruise, a slack mouth.

Katherine began brushing Rachel's hair. Her fingernails flashed as she worked. "Are the girls in school? " Jack could have sworn those fingernails had been brown the day before.

Today they were red.

"Yup. In school." Moving the sheet aside, he warmed lotion in his hands and began rubbing it onto Rachel's uncasted leg. "I didn't think Rachel would want them missing another day. Besides, I had to drive to the city and didn't want them here alone the whole time. I'll pick them up in an hour. They'll see her then." He eyed the monitor.

"This is hard for them." Katherine slipped an arm under Rachel's head, gently raised it, and began brushing the hair in back. "I have a hunch this is only part of it." He paused. Carefully, he flexed Rachel's knee. "What do you mean? " "I have a hunch that your being here raises other issues."

"The divorce? Uh, I don't think so.

They're worried about their mother.

They're worried about a school picnic and a prom. They're worried about who's cooking dinner tonight. They're not thinking about the divorce.

The divorce is old news."

"They're thinking about it, " Katherine insisted, all pretense of hunches gone. "I'd wager Samantha's obsessed with it. She's resenting authority anyway. Most teenagers do. It's the age. She's been pushing her limits with Rachel, and now suddenly you're in the picture, taking over after being out of her daily life for so long. She's probably thinking that you don't have the right to tell her what to do."

"Did she say that? " "No. But I'd guess she's wondering why you're here." She raised her brows and said in a mild singsong, "I've wondered it myself." She gently returned Rachel's head to the pillow and began brushing the hair in front.

Jack stared at her for an astounded minute, looked down at Rachel, then back. "My wife is in a coma. Where else would I be? " "She's your ex-wife. You keep forgetting that. Is it an unconscious slip? " "Rachel and I share more than a decade together and two children. It's only natural that I'm here. Don't make more of it than it is."

"It is more, if you still love her." He did not. "We've been divorced for six years. I barely know who she is now and what she's done all that time. How can I love a woman I don't know? " "Men cling to memories, sometimes. You wouldn't be the first."

"You're amazing." He didn't mean it as a compliment.

She stopped her brushing and smiled. "Is this another fight? I love fighting my friends' battles when they can't do it for themselves, and Rachel can't, that's for sure." The smile waned as she looked at Rachel.

"At least if she's listening, she'll like knowing we discuss the girls.

They've always been her first priority."

"Yup, and right now they're mine."

"Do you know about the cat? " "How not to? We had to cart the damn thing up to Duncan's this morning.

Hope wouldn't hear of leaving it alone all day long."

"She loves that cat, " Katherine said, sad now as she studied Rachel.

"The thought of it dying before was bad enough. Now it's even worse.

She's apt to be feeling abandoned by everyone and everything she loves.

" Her eyes met his. "So there's another way in which the divorce comes into play. She felt abandoned by you. She won't abandon'that cat.

That's one of the reasons she absolutely refused to let the vet put the poor thing to sleep."

"Because of the divorce? " He thought that was pushing it a little.

"Know what I think? " He couldn't wait to hear.

"I think you're here to make up for all you didn't do back then. " "I'm here because the girls need me."

"And Rachel? " "Old times' sake." Katherine smiled. "It's guilt."

"Guilt? Fear of abandonment? Christ, you have us all figured out.

What are you? A shrink? " "Close." She set the brush on the bed stand. "I'm a hairdresser." Of all the things he thought she might have said, that wasn't one.

"You're kidding."

"Why would I kid you? " "You don't look like a hairdresser." She laughed. "Like I didn't look like a friend of Rachel's? " "A hairdresser." He couldn't believe it. "The last time my wife stepped foot in a hair salon was on the day of our wedding.

She swore she'd never do it again." Katherine gave him a tiny shrug.

"Apparently, she saw the error of her ways." chapter six.

JACK McGILL reminded Katherine of her ex-husband. Roy had the same arrogance, the same myopia. To this day he thought the divorce was about her being unable to fill his needs, which was a joke. The guy's needs had been basic�food, clothes, sex. Any fool would have sufficed.

Unable to fill his needs? Not quite. Unwilling was more like it. He had refused to acknowledge her needs, which had been just fine for years.

She had a career. She had friends. She found loyalty, sensitivity, intellectual stimulation elsewhere. But the one time she had needed him, he hadn't been there for her. After that, being his personal maid had grown old fast.

She had been his first wife. He was currently divorcing his third in five years. She found a certain validation in that. He was a slick one, Roy was. Slick, shallow, self-centered.

Don'tjudge a book by its cover. She had learned that the hard way, with Roy. She had been snowed by the package, hadn't seen the mettle�or lack thereof�beneath. Roy. Then Byron. Different men, same pain.

Arms folded, eyes down, she tried to put it aside as she took the elevator to the coffee shop, but the setting didn't help. She didn't like hospitals in general and this one in particular. But she did know her way around. Heading straight for the tea bags, she grabbed an Earl Grey, filled a Styrofoam cup with hot water and paid, took a seat at one of the small tables, and wondered how long Jack McGill would hang around if Rachel's coma went on.

She was dunking the tea bag with more vehemence than was truly necessary when a voice said, "Excuse me? Haven't we met before? " She looked up. The man regarding her with curiosity wore a blazer, shirt and tie, and jeans. His hair looked damp. It was more pepper than salt, thick, and well cut. Katherine noticed things like that. It went with her line of work. She also noticed that he was good looking.

But then, so was she. And he'd just handed her the oldest line in the book.

Her expression said as much.

He was unfazed. "I think it was yesterday morning. Early, early morning." He extended a hand. "Steve Bauer." Ah. Now she saw it.

Rachel's neurologist. On her own, she never would have recognized him out of scrubs and cleaned up.

It was still the oldest line in the book, but she offered her hand.

"Katherine Evans. I'm Rachel Keats's friend. Have you seen her today?

" "Early. I've been in surgery ever since." He glanced at the coffee machine. "I need caffeine." Holding up a finger, he left.

Katherine didn't like being told to stay put. Roy used to do that� to point out his instructions, like she couldn't understand without a diagram�and while Steve Bauer hadn't exactly pointed, his finger had spoken.

Her first instinct was to get up and leave. For Rachel's sake, she didn't.

"Better, " he said between sips from a steaming cup when he returned and slid into a seat. "Have you been with Rachel? " "Yes. She seems the same. Isn't there anything more that can be done? " "Not yet.

The fact is she's not getting worse. That's good." Katherine felt a stab of annoyance. She was growing impatient, worrying about Rachel.

"You people all say that, but I have to tell you, it doesn't do anything for me. A coma seems one step removed from death. I don't want her taking that final step."

"I know." He sat back in the chair.

She waited for him to reassure her, but he didn't. So she waited for him to tell her how frustrating his job was, how difficult, how heart-wrenching. When he didn't do that either, she said, "How do you stand it? " "Stand what? The waiting? It's standard protocol for head injuries. Do you live nearby? " "Not terribly, " she said, realizing where his mind was.

"You look familiar."

"You saw me yesterday."

"You looked familiar then, too." He seemed genuinely puzzled. "Maybe I'm wrong.

Sometimes when you see a face that sticks in your mind, you start thinking you remember it from further back. You've never worked here?

" "No." To show him how far off he was�maybe even shock him, the way she had shocked Jack McGill�she said, "I'm a hairdresser." The ploy backfired. He looked intrigued. "Are you now? In Monterey? " She shook her head.

"You have spectacular hair." She shot a beseeching glance skyward.

"I'm serious, " he said.

"That's what worries me. I'm sitting here upset because my best friend is in your hospital in a coma and there's nothing you or your staff can do to help her, and you're noticing my hair? " Smile fading, he backed off. "It was an innocent comment."

"It was inappropriate."

"No.

What would be inappropriate is if I discussed the medical details of your friend's case with you or, worse, made empty promises about her recovery. In lieu of that, I made an observation. You do have spectacular hair. Nice nails, too. How do you keep them like that if you're washing people's hair all day long? " She stared at him.

"Rubber gloves."

"Is it your own shop? " It was, but she wasn't saying so. She didn't know why doctors felt they could ask all the questions. It was one step removed from their wanting to be called "Doctor, " while calling their patients by first name.