The Christmas Vigil (12 page)

Her brothers shared another look and Josie’s dread increased. Now she
really
didn’t know if she wanted to hear what they had to say. “What? What is it? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Josie,” Clayton said, “the police found some…things.”

She frowned. “What kind of things?”

Riley blew out his breath on a heavy sigh. Color tinged his cheeks. “Candles, massage oils, champagne glasses…lingerie.”

Josie gasped, her own cheeks burning, in both embarrassment and disbelief. “L-lingerie? You’re kidding me, right?”

Brandon shook his head and avoided her gaze. “I’m afraid not, sis.”

Josie pushed away from the table, her mind full of confusion. Her mother had glossed over the conclusions the police had drawn and Josie had done much the same. She’d been more focused on the frightening news that her father was now in a coma.

He’d been the stalwart being of her childhood: tall, strong and dependable. There was nothing he couldn’t do and there was nothing he couldn’t fix. As she grew older, knowing he was the first aboriginal District Court Judge in New South Wales had been an immense source of pride and inspiration. She’d grown into adulthood knowing she had his support in whatever career path she chose and she also knew she had his unconditional love.

And there it was: The overriding feeling that permeated every memory from her childhood and even later, was love. The love between her father and mother was almost palpable; everyone knew about it; no one questioned it. It just
was.

Now she had to face the possibility that it had all been a façade. Her father had been found in a hotel room with sex paraphernalia. Candles, oils, champagne, lingerie…

Josie’s heart rebelled at the thought of her father being unfaithful, but her head forced her to give it some consideration. The police who had attended the scene had drawn that conclusion. They’d been trained to observe and make calculated, logical assumptions on the evidence presented to them.
Could it be true?
Could her father have been leading some kind of double life?

She shuddered at the thought and tried not to think about the numerous stories she’d read and heard about in trashy magazines and even trashier TV programs. Okay, it had happened before. Some people deceived their family like that, but not her father.
Surely, not her father?

Josie’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her thoughts. She glanced over at her brothers and her heart tugged at the almost identical expressions of fear and concern on their faces. Clayton had always been the more pragmatic of them: weighing up the facts and then arriving at a decision. Brandon tended to react more from the heart. He was much more like Riley that way.

She compressed her lips and blew out her breath, wishing the issue would simply go away.
How could you, Dad?
The thought was almost immediately followed with a denial.
He couldn’t have.

“I’m going up to visit Dad,” she said, suddenly needing to see him. “I-I’ll catch up with you a little later.” She pushed away from the table and collected her handbag. Brandon stood with her and gave her a quick, hard hug.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Emotion burned behind her eyes and she blinked hard to keep the tears at bay. “Yes. I-I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that. We probably shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I assume everyone else knows?”

“I’m not sure about Chanel, but yes, the rest of us do.”

Josie bit her lip and averted her gaze. She knew without being told how agonizing the news was to all of her siblings, including the brothers that watched her now with concern and kindness in their eyes.

“Have you seen him today?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brandon responded. “We all have.”

“How is he?”

Brandon’s lips tightened. “He’s okay. No change, but that’s a good thing, according to the nurses.” He paused and then asked, “How are you getting home?”

She grimaced. “The same way I came in, I guess, with Tom and Declan.”

“You can always get a ride with us. We’re happy to wait for you, aren’t we Clay?”

Clayton nodded. “Of course. They won’t let you stay too long with Dad, anyway. They’re still restricting visits to less than ten minutes.”

“I’d better get moving, then. Thanks for the offer. Who knows whether Tom and Declan have calmed down enough yet to be civil toward one another? If you don’t mind waiting, I think I’d prefer to ride home with you.”

Brandon smiled. “No trouble at all, little sis. We’re happy to be of service.”

* * *

The quiet
swoosh
of the respirators and the beeps and hums of the other equipment surrounding the patients in the ICU was a little unnerving and Josie forced herself forward with more than a little trepidation. Despite her career as a child psychologist, she’d always had a fear of hospitals. Knowing her father was lying gravely ill in a bed in the ICU was almost enough to bring on a panic attack.

A moment later, the nurse nodded toward the patient in the next bed and Josie’s thoughts scattered like dandelions on the breeze. She bit back a sob.

He was so pale, she wondered for a second whether he’d died. Then, his chest rose imperceptibly and lowered just as much and the breath she’d been holding came out in a rush. With dread weighing down her feet, she closed the distance between them and immediately reached for his hand.

“Oh, Dad! You poor, poor thing! It’s Josie. I’ve come to say hello. What in heaven’s name have you been doing to yourself?” Her gaze skittered away from the bandages that were wrapped around his head. Lifting his gnarled, old hand, she pressed it against her cheek. The warmth of his skin reassured her, but his lack of response both alarmed and saddened her. She couldn’t bear to think about the possibility that he might never wake up; that he could remain in this state of…nothingness for the rest of his life. Or worse, that he could die.

Refusing to contemplate either possibility, she tugged the nearby chair close to the bed. Taking a seat, she tightened her fingers around her father’s hand and tried to think of something else to say. She’d read in a medical journal that it was possible for people in a coma to still be cognizant of their surroundings. It was important she think of something positive to tell him; something for him to focus on; something to lift his spirits.

“I hate my job, Dad. I want to quit.” The words fell out of her mouth.
So much for trying to cheer him up; so much for something positive. What the hell am I thinking?

Now that she’d blurted her thoughts aloud, she realized how true they were and how long they’d been pushing to be heard. She did hate her job. It was nothing like she’d thought it would be. After all the years of study, she couldn’t believe how disappointed and uninspired she was with the reality of working as a child psychologist.

“It’s not the work itself,” she added, turning to her father. “It’s the patients, or more specifically, their parents. “I’m working in a private practice in an incredibly nice part of town. My office is spacious and has a view of the river. I’m earning a decent income and my work colleagues are pleasant and friendly, but the parents are driving me
nuts!
They’re all the same; too much money and not enough common sense.”

She dragged in a breath and took heart from the silent encouragement offered by the man in the bed. As if a dam wall had been breached, she continued. “They think if they pay a fortune in therapy, it’s going to make up for the years of parental neglect, the years when they were too busy earning another million or three to even take notice of their kids. The kids have every material possession most kids want and need. What they
really
want, what they really
need
is for their parents to acknowledge they exist. They want parents who are there for them after school or when they’re going to bed. They want parents who remember it’s their dance recital and who care enough to attend; they want parents who won’t just give them money, but who will give them a slice of their time.”

She shook her head. “These people don’t seem to get it. They ask me in confused desperation what could possibly be wrong with their little girl and why their child is behaving like this or like that, when the answer’s staring them in the face. When I try to explain the problem and—heaven forbid—offer the simple solution, they don’t want to know. They don’t want to have to confront the possibility that their lifestyle has to change, that their priorities need to be reassessed, that they have to find time for their offspring.”

Her breath came faster. The more her anger rose, the tighter she squeezed her father’s fingers. With a startled gasp, she realized what she was doing and immediately loosened her hold. Gently now, she let his hand fall back to the sheet and was horrified to notice his fingers were white from the pressure.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she murmured, her voice more on an even keel. “I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. I guess I had some vision in my head of how wonderful it would be when I graduated and was able to have contact with real live patients and help them overcome the obstacles in their lives. All I’ve managed is to upset most of them and I’ve completely alienated their parents. My boss isn’t happy and I don’t know what to do. It’s not what I signed up for, Dad.”

She looked across at his silent form and tears suddenly crowded her eyes. All her life, he’d been there for her, offering her a shoulder to cry on, listening to her tale of woes, offering heartfelt, sensible advice. She wasn’t ready to let that go; she wasn’t ready to let
him
go.

And she’d only known him for twenty-eight years. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it felt for her mother.

* * *

Duncan grimaced at the tourniquet that threatened to cut off the blood flow to his hand and tried to focus on the words that fell from his oldest daughter’s lips. The anger, the pain, the disillusionment that weighed down her conversation pulled at his heart. He wanted to be able to tell her everything was all right, that nothing was ever so bad it couldn’t be fixed, but once again, his brain refused to cooperate.

Frustration surged through him and he groaned beneath his breath. He was through with this inability to communicate, with the struggle of being heard. He wanted to shout and scream and yell. He wanted people to take notice.

Josie was speaking again and her voice was clouded with tears. He hated that she was hurting; he hated even more that he couldn’t offer her comfort. There was nothing he could do.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tom

Grafton Base Hospital

Tom watched Declan storm off through the hospital car park, the same way Josie had done earlier, but instead of heading toward the hospital entrance, he strode off in the opposite direction. Tom bit down on a sigh. They’d been arguing since they left home about whether or not their father was an adulterer. Only now, with his brother’s abrupt departure, the argument had come to a halt.

Tom refused to believe his father had been unfaithful, no matter what Riley’s detective mates said.
They had it wrong.
His father might have been found in what could be construed as a compromising situation, but Tom simply refused to believe it was true.

At thirty-eight years old and the eldest Munro sibling, he’d known his father for longer than any of the others. Okay, so Declan was only two years younger, but those two years counted for a lot. Anyone could tell you that. Besides, his mother didn’t believe it, either. She’d said as much to them the night before.

Declan had argued in the car that of course she was standing by him, he wouldn’t expect anything else, but Tom was having none of it. His mother was fiercely loyal to her husband, but not to the point of stupidity. If she truly believed he was guilty, she wouldn’t have been so determined to convince them of his innocence. Besides, she’d been married to the man for forty years. No one knew him better than she did.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Tom headed toward the hospital entrance and stepped inside the foyer. He was met with a rush of cool air and welcomed the feel of it after the stifling heat from outside. It was nearing midday and the summer sun had made its presence felt.

An enormous Christmas tree decorated with golden fairy lights and blue and silver themed baubles filled one corner of the entryway and reminded him that Christmas was getting closer. His thoughts went to Lily and the kids and then circled back to his father. He could only hope he would recover and be home with them by then. No one loved Christmas more than his dad. Who knew? He might even be waking up now?

Keeping the positive thought at the forefront of his mind, he strode past the café on his way toward the elevators.

“Tom!”

Swinging around, he spied three of his brothers and Josie seated at a table, mugs of coffee and plates of sandwiches laid out in front of them.

“Hey, guys. How are you all? I was just on my way to see Dad.”

“You’re nearly too late,” Clayton said. “Visiting hours finish at twelve.”

Tom glanced at his watch, but knew it was almost midday. He’d been too wrapped up in his argument with Declan to give the visiting hours a moment’s thought. He cursed under his breath.

Josie threw him a pointed look. “Where’s Declan?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.