Second Chance Love (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Steve’s costume posed no problems; shed the mask, loosen the tie, and he looked like he was returning from an evening out. Elizabeth's getup had more persistence. She could dump the hat and wig, though they left her hair looking disheveled. The nose and makeup were not so simple. As Steve drove through light late evening traffic, Elizabeth dabbed, scrubbed, and wiped at her face with a Handi-Wipe from the small packet she kept in her purse. “Your mom doesn’t love me when I’m at my very best. I don’t think that seeing me with green makeup on my face and a fake witch nose will improve her opinion.”

Steve drew in a deep breath, puffed his cheeks out and let loose a long sigh.

Elizabeth set the Handi-Wipe aside and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sure if it was serious, they would have let you know on the phone.”

Steve nodded absently, and fell silent for a minute or so. Then he blurted, “I feel guilty. I’ve been avoiding Mother since we got back from the Philippines. I haven’t seen her; I’ve barely spoken to her.”

Elizabeth waited.

“I just haven’t been able to face her. Twenty years ago, when Dad died, I was the one she called. She’s relied on me ever since. Now I’ve totaled the company.”

“Right now she just needs her son. That’s all. I don't think business has anything to do with it.”

They pulled into a parking spot just outside the ER and hurried inside.

After a quick inquiry at the information desk, a hospital volunteer led them to a small private room. Mrs. Larson was either asleep or unconscious, hooked up to heart and blood pressure monitoring paraphernalia.

Steve drew in a quick breath. “She looks so small.”

Elizabeth held Steve’s hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. They both jumped a little when they heard a throat-clearing sound directly behind them. It was a lanky man with white hair and a white moustache, sitting in the corner. He wore boots, jeans, and a blue work shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t know anyone else was here. Are you a friend of Mother’s?”

The man stood up and reached out his hand. “Sorry, son. Didn’t mean to surprise you. Yes, I’m a friend of your mother. I’m Gordon Bishop. I was just getting ready to leave when you got here, so if you’ll excuse me—"

As the older man walked out, a very young-looking, dark-haired man in green scrubs walked in, looked at the monitors and then at the three in attendance. “I’m Dr. Narang.”

“I’m Steve, Margaret’s son. How serious is this?”

“I can’t be sure yet, but it looks like your mother has had a heart attack. We won’t know the severity until we conduct more tests. When I spoke to her, she said that earlier today she had thought she was coming down with the flu. That’s often an early warning sign in female heart attack victims. By the time she got here, she was experiencing lightheadedness and pressure in her chest. We ran an EKG, but those results were inconclusive. However, a heart attack causes proteins to leak into the bloodstream. We’ve sent a sample to the lab, and should have the results sometime tomorrow morning.”

Steve took a deep breath. “That’s a lot to take in.”

Dr. Narang nodded. “Until we learn more, all you need to take in is my assurance that we're taking good care of her. She’ll be transported over to our Cardiac ICU very soon. You’ll be able to stay with her there tonight, if you’d like.”

“Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. Narang opened the chart at the foot of the bed and made a notation. “I’ll check in when I make my rounds in the morning,” he said, and left.

Steve took his mother’s hand. Her skin felt thin, like paper, cool to the touch. The biggest reason he had not seen her in some time was no mystery. Their relationship, always a little distant, had become far more so since he had reconnected with Elizabeth. His mother had made clear she did not approve of Steve's new romance, especially since the disaster in the Philippines, and Steve hadn't wanted her opinion about his love life.

Margaret Larson had never been a gushy, kissy kind of mother. She had always had a charity event to plan, a garden show to attend, or a bridge game to win. When she had called him back from college to run Larson Industries, he had focused his energy first on learning the business, then growing it.
And she manipulated me into all of it.

She manipulated me into quitting school and leaving Lizzie. And all this time, a part of me has resented both her and her puppet mastery. And rightly so. She was a young snob then. Now you can just take out 'young.' Nothing was wrong with Lizzie; it was that she was a peasant.

Yeah, I resent the hell out of her.

I have managed this resentment the way I handle every conflict that power can't win for me. I've ignored it. I build a castle, where distance is the moat and quiet politeness is the wall. And that drawbridge never comes up.

Steve leaned down, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “I’ll be right here when you wake up, Mother. We need to talk.”

Eleven PM. An orderly in green scrubs came in, unlocked the bed's wheels and said, “I’m moving her to room 2013. Give us a few minutes to get her settled, then you can come in.”

Midnight. Room 2013 was quiet, the lights dimmed. Steve alternated pacing the length of the room with sitting and staring at the inky nothingness outside the window. Elizabeth watched him, occasionally reaching out to touch his hand as he walked by.

Two AM. Steve asked the night nurse how long his mother had been asleep, and if this were a good or bad thing. The nurse smiled. “Sleep is the best thing for her. All our medicines and machines can’t compete with what our own bodies can do to fix themselves.”

Four AM. Elizabeth had fought the good fight, but her eyes wouldn't stay open. She curled up in the recliner and fell asleep.

Seven AM. Filtered sunlight broke through the blinds. Steve was still awake. Elizabeth stretched, opened her eyes, then rubbed them with the back of her hand. It came away with a greenish smear. She looked a question at Steve, but he shook his head. Nothing new.

“Honey,” Elizabeth whispered in a voice reserved for hospital rooms and church pews, “I’m going to go to the restroom down the hall and see if I can make myself a little more presentable.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“I love you, Lizzie.”

“You know I love you, too, Honey. I’ll be right back.”

When the slight light of pre-dawn had replaced night, Steve had noticed an immense red maple tree outside the window. He watched it, because it was something that was not medical equipment or a motionless mother. A breeze stirred, blowing burnt red leaves around the parking lot. When he glanced back at the bed, his mother's eyes were open. She lay very still, but her eyes were alert.

Steve felt a sudden urge to rush to the bedside, but something held him in his chair. For thirty seconds, mother and son stared at each other without a word.

Finally, with difficulty, Margaret Larson swallowed. “You really do love that girl, don’t you, Steven?”

Steve didn’t like the shaky weakness in her voice. His mother had been many things, but never weak.

He nodded. “I always have. Since we were kids.”

“She thinks I don’t like her.”

“You've made it clear that you don't, Mother.”

Margaret inhaled a long breath, held it for a moment, then looked away and exhaled. “What did the doctor say?”

“He thinks you had a heart attack. They did some blood work. We’ll know more when we get the results back in a few hours.”

“Did they give you the usual happy nonsense about how they're sure I’ll be just fine?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I either will be or I won’t be. I get so tired of people telling me what they think I want to hear.”

“That’s because you don’t respond well to what you don’t want to hear.”

“Then people should stop damned well worrying about how I respond,” she said, with a hint of her old vinegar.

Elizabeth reached the door, green paint removed and hair put right. Neither mother nor son saw her. She stood and listened, then backed away without a sound.

Steve sat up straight, craning his neck until it cracked. "All right. You’re right. Let's start now: I’m going to ask Elizabeth to marry me.”

Margaret nodded. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“The fact that I gambled a fortune in Eden’s Bay and lost. I have no idea how I’ll take care of her. I feel like I’ve lost the right to ask her.”

Margaret's eyes flashed disdain. “Elizabeth has always seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. What makes you think she needs your caretaking?”

Steve turned over three replies in his mind, then decided not to offer any of them. “Honestly, Mother, why
have
you always been so cold to her? She’s been nothing but kind and respectful toward you.”

It was her turn not to reply. “Was there anyone here with me when you got to the hospital last night?”

And that's how she does it. That falcon gaze, then changing the subject with a new question. Damn her
. “There was a man in your room when we got here, said his name was Gordon. I assumed he was a friend of yours from church or one of your charity events.”

Margaret nodded, barely. “He is an old friend, but not from church. I’ve known him for a long time. Before I knew your father.”

Steve had not survived the shark-infested world of commercial real estate for many years by being slow in the uptake. Even so, the news rocked him back in his chair a few inches. He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing shocking, Steven. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Maybe, but you didn't tell me. You didn't give me a chance to disapprove of your 'old friend' the way you did mine, did you, Mother?

“Gordon and I went out when I was still in high school. He was my first boyfriend. In 1952, that meant something different than it does today. Times were more innocent. I certainly was. Still, he was a very sweet boy, always polite and thoughtful. On our graduation night, he gave me his class pin and told me that he loved me. I loved him too, and I told him so.

"When I graduated, I went to college. Gordon stayed home and went to work on his family's little dairy farm. They had no money for college, which really wasn't Gordon's inclination anyway, and his family needed all the help they could get.”

“You met Dad your freshman year in college, right?”

Margaret nodded. “I loved your father, too. I was lucky to have two good men fall in love with me, but they were very different. Gordon was a simple man. Your father wasn’t. You remember your grandparents on your father’s side; they were old money. That made quite an impression on me.”