Conflicts of the Heart (29 page)

The board members shifted in their seats while mumbling to each other. If she lost her job, so be it. She’d never won anything without taking a risk.

“We'll think about it,” Sorenson said. “The press is in the Emergency Department conference room. You need to express our desire to get back to the table and talk. Tell them that as far as you're concerned, the talks haven’t broken down. This picketing is all a big surprise to us.”

Dana eased out of her chair. “Gil, are you coming with me?”

“You handle it. We'll be watching you in here on closed circuit.”

E
xiting the room, she heard Sal say, “Sharp girl. We should listen to her.”

She had an ally, the new kid on the block, but would they listen to him?

The press conference had gone more smoothly than she anticipated. Back in the quiet of her office, she waited to hear from Patrick. After lunch, she heard his voice over the din in the outer office. He came to talk to her. Maybe the nurses were ready to go back to mediation.

He strode in and sat in front of her. Their eyes met. An unspoken moment of regret passed between them.
Her breath quickened and her cheeks warmed.

In a soft tone he said, “I had no choice. You said it was your last, best, and final offer. The nurses were so angry they insisted we march. They want you to know they mean business. We can't go back to the table unless you're prepared to make a better offer.”

“I'm trying. I'm presenting a new package to the board in a few minutes.”

“Call me. If you get something, we can meet tonight.” At the door he paused, then left. They were like strangers.

Maria buzzed through. “Mr. Claiborne is on line one.”

“Yes, Joel,” she snapped.

“Would you come over and pick up Michael tonight?”

Had Patrick been right about Michael being too much for Joel to handle? “I'm in the middle of a crisis. I don't know if I can get away. I might be going back into mediation tonight.”

“Make time. I have to go to D.C. immediately. I can't take Michael with me. The sitter won't be alone with him. He's behaved badly.”

“Why? You said he was doing fine.” Now what? Her schedule
be damned. Michael was her number one priority.

The board gave her the go-ahead that afternoon. No strike for them. They bought Dana's plan.

The mediator wasn’t available until Thursday. She had two days to put everything together. Maybe her luck had changed.

At five, she gathered her purse and coat and headed out on the open road to Casa de
Fruta, alone. To drown out thoughts of her last trip over and back with Patrick, she turned on a country music station, full volume.

At Casa de
Fruta, she felt a rush when she saw Joel's car parked right across from hers. He arrived early for a change. He and Michael stood outside the restaurant and ate ice cream cones, both somewhat somber. To avoid a confrontation, she decided not to park but drove up next to them, reached over and opened the passenger door. “Come on, Michael.” His eyes lit up. He dropped his cone on the ground and ran to the opened door. Inside, he lunged into her outstretched arms.

“Mommy, Mommy.” He hugged her with all his might.

Leaning into her opened window, Joel growled, “You came alone. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. You taught me that.”

He shrugged. “I'll call you as soon as I get back. I may want him next weekend.”

“We'll see. I can't be trotting over here every other day. I'm in the middle of contract talks. I got lucky today.”

“You wouldn't want to prevent me from seeing my son, would you? Might look bad in court.”

“I don’t know of anything ordering me to bring Michael over here every weekend. If, and that's a big if, those papers change, I'll do what I have to.”

She gunned the engine. “It's late. Michael looks tired, and I need to get back.”

“I'll call.” He waved to Michael. “See you, boy.”

Michael cringed, turned away, wrapped his arms around his chest, and curled into himself.

Dana pulled out onto the highway.

“Are you all right, honey?” She reached over and stroked his arm, so small and helpless, sitting all alone in his world, staring out the window. Making a quick decision, she pulled onto the shoulder and brought the car to a stop. “Come here, Michael.”

He turned to her, his gaze blank, and dove into her arms, sobbing. “I wish you could tell me why you're feeling like this.” She stroked his head and back. She rocked him gently as cars whizzed by
in the gathering dusk. “Have you eaten?” He nodded. “Okay, let’s go home.”

Michael sat back, his face less tense, his shoulders relaxed. She reached into the glove compartment and brought out his Rubik’s Cube.
He played. She drove

Thursday morning before Dana left the apartment, Joel called. He returned from Washington and wanted Michael to come over Friday after work

“I can't do it. We're on the verge of a strike. I can't miss mediation.
Sorry, sweetie.” She meant her syrupy tone to be sarcastic.

“Let me talk to him,” he demanded.

Michael lay on the couch watching TV. She placed her hand over the receiver. “Daddy wants to talk to you.”

He let out a wail, scooted off the couch, and ran to his room.

“What the hell was that?”

“Your son's response when I asked him to talk to you. I guess that answers your question.”

“I want him here. I've made plans.”

“I can't do it. Michael's not been himself since he's been home.
What happened between you

two?”

“Nothing.

“He's not coming. If you don't like it, call your attorney. It's time we get this thing settled, once and for all.”

“I can guarantee you, if we go to court, you'll be seeing me at Casa de
Fruta every Friday night, or you'll move your butt back over here where you belong.”

He slammed the phone down.

She called his bluff and she had no idea what he’d do next. On the way to the day care center, Michael refused to talk.

“I wish you could tell me what happened in Palo Alto with your father. It's very hard for me to be fair with him if I don't know what's going on. He wants to spend more time with you.”

In front of Ruta Morse's, she walked Michael in.

Ruta hid her excess weight under a cool floral shirt. Her frizzy red hair framed her cherubic face. Inside, leading to the back of the house, strung under the archway between the living room and dining room was a colorful HAPPY BIRTHDAY cutout.

“It's Jane's birthday today and Michael's next week. We're having a party this morning.”

In all the confusion, Dana had forgotten Michael would be six years old next week. “Ruta, this looks so nice.” Michael clung to Dana's skirt.

“What's wrong?” Ruta cooed to the boy. She went to him, crouched down, and took his hand. “Are you all right, baby?”

He didn't respond.

Her eyes filled with concern.

“He's been with his father. He's not been the same since he came home.”

Ruta took him from her, reached in her pocket, and brought out a Tootsie Roll sucker. “Don't worry. Give him a little time and he'll adjust.”

Michael held the sucker, as if afraid to open it. “It's okay, honey,” Dana said. “You can have it.”

“You go to work, dear. Michael can help me finish getting the place ready.”

A wave of relief swept over Dana when Michael let go of her skirt, unwrapped the sucker, and went to Ruta's side. Thank God, this wonderful woman, who understood her son so well, stood by her during this trying time.

“Michael?” Dana waved, torn because of leaving him when he was so despondent. “You have a good day, honey.”

“Go.” Ruta held Michael's hand. “He'll be all right.”

“I'll call you later this morning to see how he's doing. If I go back into mediation today, I'll be at the Ramada Inn, otherwise in my office.”

Dana found two messages on her desk. One from Patrick, one from the mediator, both saying, mediation was on. A smile crossed her lips for the first time that day. Patrick wanted to settle the contract before the election.

Before they resumed talks, Dana, the mediator and Patrick met in the coffee shop at the Ramada to discuss a strategy before the actual mediation began.

A server approached the table. “Are you Mrs. Claiborne?”

“Yes, I am.” Dana glanced up at the well-fed server.

“I have a call for you.”

Dana glanced at Patrick, then Gordon, the mediator. “Excuse me.” A few moments later, she returned to the table. She could literally feel the blood draining from her face. “You'll have to excuse me,” she murmured with controlled panic. “Michael has disappeared. I have to go.”

Twenty

Patrick sprang from his seat. “I'm going with you.” He turned to Gordon Lester, the mediator. “Call everything off with both teams until you hear from me.”

“Gotcha.”
Gordon reached out for Dana's hand, his eyes filled with compassion. “Don't worry about anything here. I'll excuse both teams. I'll call Hargrove at the hospital and tell him what's happening.”

When the initial shock of the news wore off, she felt the full impact of what might lie ahead. She hurried to the parking lot.

“Wait,” Patrick called after her. “I'm driving.” Now at her side, he clutched her arm and pulled her close to his side. “You're in no condition to drive. Leave your car here.”

Dana's knees buckled as Patrick guided her to his car. She stopped, yanking Patrick to a halt. “Maybe somebody kidnapped him.” Black fright swept through her. “Joel! It was Joel.” Her
eyes filled with horror. Patrick tugged on Dana's arm to keep her moving. “He'd blow his whole case open doing something so stupid.”

“We'll find out.” Patrick unlocked the door, eased her into the front seat. Moments later they were gridlocked in
a traffic jam on the 41 Freeway.

With her voice hoarse and filled with frustration she said, “Let's
get off at Herndon and take surface streets.”

“Tell me exactly what Ruta told you.”

“While the kids poked at a piñata this afternoon, Ruta lost sight of Michael. He'd pulled back from the commotion as he normally would, so she thought nothing of it. When the prizes were all on the floor and the kids settled down, she went to find him. He was gone.” Dana's eyes glistened with tears.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone,” she shouted. A tear spilled down her cheek. “They all searched. He wasn’t in the house, on the grounds, in the sheds…anywhere. Ruta called nine-one-one, then me.” Dana covered her eyes with her hands and shook her head in disbelief. “This can't be happening. I should never have sent him to his father’s. If anything happens to Michael, I don't know what I'll do.”

Patrick reached over and laid a hand on her knee. “We'll find him. I promise. If he wandered off, he can't have gone far.”

“I'm so afraid for him. He's never been alone before. Oh, Patrick, I feel so helpless.”

Finally reaching the Herndon off ramp, Patrick gunned the engine, pushed his Fiat into overdrive, and knifed through traffic. “Once we’re on the scene, you’ll feel better. You’ll know everyone involved will be helping.”

Leaning back, she watched the parched hills gradually rising from the valley floor. The Fiat bounced down the potholed road to the day care center. Her heart thrummed. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t control the hysteria racing through her. She scanned what appeared to be a sea of people in front of the old mansion.

“Don't let the size of the search party upset you. The more people, the sooner we find him.”

He nosed into an open spot next to the house. “Ready?” He took her hand.

She nodded, then got out of the car and they made their way to the sheriff.

Ruta Morse elbowed her way through the crowd to Dana. “I'm so sorry.”

Perspiration pasted strands of curly red hair to her wide forehead. Her cheeks streaked with tears. She grabbed Dana and held her.

“I didn't take my eyes off him for more than ten minutes. We've looked everywhere.” Ruta glanced around. “I couldn't believe it when all these people started showing up. Those with horses live around here and came over to help when I put the word out,” she said breathlessly. “The sheriff wants to talk to you.”

Seeing Ruta so distressed, Dana realized she had to get a hold of herself. “Where is he?”

Ruta maneuvered Dana and Patrick up to a tall, overweight man in his early fifties. He had straight, dark hair and a snuggly-fitted beige uniform. The man Dana had seen many times on the news and in the paper. Little did she know one day she'd be facing him with a problem of her own.