Deadly Aim (22 page)

“I hope we didn’t tire you out too much,” Angel said.

“Never.” He held her hand in his, reluctant to let go. “Angel, I told the boys, but I need to tell you too. If anything happens to me, you take care of your mother.”

“Don’t talk like that.” The words caught in her throat. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

He tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. “I didn’t think so either. But I was wrong. I have to go in for a triple bypass. Doc says it’s pretty common these days, but nothing is a sure thing.”

“Surgery? When did you find this out?”

“They’ve been doing all kinds of tests since I came in here. The doctor told me about it just before supper. I told the boys, and now I’m telling you.”

“What about Ma?”

“I haven’t told her about it; don’t want her to worry. I’ll tell her in the morning.” His voice had a rough edge to it.

“Dad...”

“Don’t argue. She’s tired. Been here day and night. I finally talked her into going home tonight. If I tell her about the surgery, she’ll insist on staying here. She’s a good woman, Angel, but she’s wearing herself out.” His features softened. “Do this for me. Bring her in first thing in the morning. That’s soon enough for her to know.”

Angel disagreed but didn’t say so. “What time is your surgery?”

“Eight.”

Angel sighed. “I don’t know.” She eased her hand out of his grasp. “It’s a cruel thing you’re doing, not telling her.”

“Why’s it cruel? I’m doing her a favor. She’ll get a good night’s sleep. She’ll be able to handle things better tomorrow.”

“Okay. It’s your call. I’ll get her here before you go in.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, wondering what other secrets her father had.
Did you try to protect me too? Were you at the warehouse, Dad? Did you shoot Billy
? She chided herself for thinking it. There was no reason to suspect him. No reason at all.

Angel left her father’s side and went to the waiting room. As the rest of the family gathered there, Anna invited everyone over to the house for ice cream and cookies. Angel, feeling overwhelmed and tired, declined. Minutes later, she and Rachael were headed for the car. Once they were buckled in, Rachael sighed heavily.

“What?” Angel gave her a sidelong glance.

“I was hoping you’d want dessert.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Are you hungry?”

“Not for food.”

Angel almost choked. “Let me guess. You have a thing for Paul?”

Rachael shrugged. “He’s so cute and sweet, and I was hoping to spend a little more time with him.”

“You could’ve gone with them. I’m sure Paul would’ve been happy to take you home.”

Rachael winced. “I didn’t want to come off as being too forward.”

“Okay, you win. We’ll go to the house. Only I’m not staying long.”

Rachael grinned. “Maybe you won’t have to. Hmm, you could ask Paul to take me home. I wouldn’t mind.”

Angel laughed and shook her head. “Ask him yourself.”

“Maybe I will.”

Angel ended up spending the night. Not because she wanted to, but because she’d fallen asleep on the sofa and no one had bothered to wake her.

She awoke the next morning to the smells and sounds of bacon sizzling. Light filtered through the lace curtains in the living room window. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings. The night before, she’d eaten the ice cream and cookies with a cup of tea. The fire in the fireplace had made her sleepy, and she’d closed her eyes, intending to rest for a minute.

Angel tossed off the quilt someone had put over her and sat up. She rubbed her eyes again and ran fingers through her mop of thick curls. Someone, probably her mother, had placed a pillow under her head and taken off her shoes.

Angel padded to the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Hi, sleepyhead.” Anna turned and pointed her fork toward the already set table. “Help yourself to some juice. I’ll have your French toast ready in a minute.”

The table seated twelve and sat in the center of the kitchen, which seemed almost empty now with just her and Anna. The kitchen had always been a family gathering place, full of warm memories. Angel loved the room with its tile floors and high ceilings, and it was her mother’s pride and joy. “The kitchen is the most important part of the house,” Anna had said when the house was built. She’d wanted an Italian kitchen like her mother’s in Italy.

Anna had a huge gas range and oven that were almost always in use. Most days savory aromas filled the kitchen and wafted into every room of the house. Two large windows faced southwest, letting in lots of light. On nice days, the sun streamed into the
room to bless the flowers and herbs that grew on the counter. A wide archway led from the kitchen to the living room. Anna had more cupboard space than could be found in most mansions, and every inch was filled with dishes, utensils, pots and pans, and equipment that allowed her to create anything she wanted.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast.” Angel felt a smidgeon of guilt, but she didn’t offer to help. The kitchen was her mother’s domain. Besides, her culinary skills were practically nonexistent.

“Of course, I did. You need to eat—we both do.”

“Why didn’t you wake me last night?” Angel rubbed the back of her neck and sat down.

“I didn’t have the heart. You were sleeping so soundly.”

“What happened to Rachael?”

“Paul took her home. Neither of them seemed to mind.” Anna wiped her hands on her apron and pulled down two melon-colored plates and covered each of them with two slices of French toast and two pieces of bacon. She smiled. “Nice girl, that Rachael. Paul could do worse.”

“Ma, they just met.” But she had to admit they did make a nice couple.

“Honey, the minute I laid eyes on your father, I knew I was going to marry him.” Anna set one plate on the place mat in front of Angel and set hers down as well. Then she sat down, folded her hands, and said the familiar table grace.

When she’d finished, Angel reached for the strawberry freezer jam and spread some on one slice of French toast; on the other she drizzled maple syrup. She sliced off a bite of the one with jam and put it in her mouth. “Mmm.” For a moment she lost herself in the delicate taste of berries and the hint of the cinnamon her mother always sprinkled into the batter. She missed her mother’s breakfasts. Her own usually consisted of cold cereal—when she had milk. Or maybe a cinnamon roll from Brainard’s bakery. But she wouldn’t tell her mother that. Knowing Ma, she’d be over every morning to cook breakfast.

Wouldn’t be such a bad thing
. She missed the food and the conversation. Meals at the Delaney house had always been pretty rowdy, but in a good way.

Angel stuffed a bite of the syrupy French toast into her mouth.
You’re a grown woman
, she reminded herself again.
You’re living on your own. You don’t need your mother to cook for you
.

Her father’s words leaped into her mind.
“If anything happens to me, take care of your mother
.” Her fork clattered to the table.

“Goodness, Angel, what’s wrong?”

“What time is it?” Her gaze shot to the clock on the stove.

“Six.”

“Oh.” Angel picked up her fork and took several long breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just—I need to be somewhere by 7:00, that’s all.”

“So do I.”

“You do? Where?” Angel frowned. She had to get her mother to the hospital.

“Your father is having surgery. I want to get there before they take him in.”

Angel coughed. “You knew?”

“Of course.” She leaned over and placed a hand on Angel’s arm. “How could you think I wouldn’t know something that important? I talk to the doctors and the nurses.” She drew her hand back. “Susan gave me the details.”

“So you’ve known all along?”

“I knew before your father did.”

“You two are something else. Dad didn’t think you knew. He didn’t want to worry you.”

“Like he could stop me.”

Angel finished the last bite of French toast and drank the rest of her juice. She took her dishes to the sink and refilled her coffee cup, then brought the carafe to the table, refilling her mother’s as well.

“I should shower.” Angel sipped at her coffee.

“Go ahead.”

She carried her cup with her as she made her way through the living room and down the hall to what used to be her room. It was just as she’d left it, only cleaner. Having limited closet space in her apartment, Angel had stored clothes here that she seldom wore. When she opened the closet she noticed that her things had been moved to the far side to make room for shelves that stored plastic containers of blankets, pillows, and winter clothes. She sorted through the hangers and pulled out a pair of gray slacks and a white blouse. Anna had given them to her for Christmas last year. She had worn them once. Mostly, she wore jeans, rarely dressing up except for those few times she needed to. Those times were rare, since jeans were acceptable almost anytime, anywhere in the Northwest. She found some extra underwear in the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

Within twenty minutes she was ready to go. When she emerged from the bathroom, her mother was in the bedroom, setting a picture of herself and Frank on the dresser. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand.

“Ma?” Angel glanced around the room, grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table, and handed it to her mother.

“I...” Anna stopped to blow her nose. “I feel so foolish. I didn’t want to cry.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Dad having a heart attack is pretty scary stuff.”

Angel sat on the bed and pulled her mother into her arms. She had never in all her twenty-six years seen her mother cry. Oh, maybe at weddings, but not like this. She hadn’t even cried when Tim had his accident, unless she’d done it alone.

“Oh, Angel!” Anna tightened her grip on Angel’s shoulders. “What if he doesn’t make it? What am I going to do without my Frank?”

A
nna Delaney was a strong woman; somehow Angel had always known that. But she hadn’t really considered just how strong her mother was until she saw her that morning in pre-op. The earlier tears had dried, and she showed no signs of her former distress. But Angel knew how she must have felt inside; her own stomach felt as though vines had grown up overnight, curling and twisting her insides into a painful mass.

Anna leaned over Frank, holding his hand, reassuring him that he was healthy and strong and would make it through just fine.

Their former pastor, Dan Carmichael, who’d served at St. Matthew’s until his retirement two years ago, came into the room. Anna stepped into his embrace. “Reverend Carmichael, thank you for coming.”

“I’m happy to, Anna.” He hugged her, then Angel, then shook Frank’s hand. “I understand you’re having a bypass. I came not only to pray with you but to offer hope. Had the same thing done two years ago, and I’m still going strong.”

“Did you now?” Frank smiled broadly. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m much healthier these days. Eating the right foods and exercising. I’ve even taken to working out at the gym. In fact, I run nearly every day. When you’re ready to get back into your normal routine, you give me a call. We’ll do some things together.”

Frank nodded. “You really think I’ll be able to run?”

“Oh, for certain. It’ll take some time, mind you, but you’ll be up and around before you know it.”

“I hope so.” Her father wove his thick fingers together and rested them on his stomach.

“See, honey.” Anna squeezed his hand. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Angel wished she could be half as confident.

“They’ll take good care of you here,” Reverend Carmichael said. The pastor then offered to pray, so Angel bowed her head and listened. While he spoke, she hoped with all her heart that God was listening.

Tim arrived as Rev. Carmichael was getting ready to leave. The two priests greeted each other as old friends. Rev. Carmichael had been instrumental in helping Tim with his decision to become a pastor and getting him appointed to the church he was vacating.

When the doctor came in, the reverend said his good-byes. Tim walked out with him and came back a few minutes later. From there on things moved quickly. A woman in scrubs came in to administer some medication through Frank’s IV that would relax him. Several minutes later, he was wheeled out.

Angel, Tim, and Anna went to the waiting room. Time seemed to stand still while they waited. Anna, far calmer than Angel thought she should be, picked up her bag and pulled out a fluffy pink bundle of yarn resembling cotton candy and began knitting. Probably something for one of Tim’s girls. Tim left several times to visit other hospitalized parishioners.

Angel thumbed through old magazines. And paced, went to the cafeteria for a latte, came back, read some more, and paced.

“Sit with me for a few minutes, Angel.” Her mother patted the chair beside her. “Tell me how things are going between you and Brandon.”