The Still of Night (16 page)

“Come on, Morgan. Let’s talk it out.”

“Noelle needs to go to bed.” And this was getting blown out of proportion. He knew what he had to do, and he’d do it. If God had any kind of mercy, he’d match better than Jill and be what his daughter needed. There was no reason for Rick and Noelle to get involved.

Noelle leaned on Rick, obviously achy and weak. Whatever germ had her was no cakewalk, and it had to be worse pregnant.

Morgan softened. “Go to bed, Noelle.”

“I will if you come in with Rick. I won’t rest otherwise. I’ll worry.”

Morgan shot her a smile. “Heart of steel, remember? I can handle it.” But he followed when Rick motioned him back inside. So he’d put off the stupor awhile. He surrendered the bottle, and Rick put it away.

“I’ll be right back,” Rick shot over his shoulder as he led Noelle through the kitchen.

Morgan heard them on the stairs. He sat down and rested his head in his palm. Where had the sense of control gone? His laptop sat in the other room, but none of that meant anything. Marlina Aster and her daddy’s company could drop off the face of the globe for all he cared. Every one of the corporations could belly-up and he would not lose one night’s sleep. Jill had wiped out the last fifteen years, and he shook like a scared kid again.

Rick tucked Noelle into their bed, saw the questions in her eyes. He pulled the sheet over her. “That was Jill Runyan, Morgan’s—”

“Former girlfriend, I know. Why did she come?”

Rick smoothed the sheet about her neck. “I guess she never aborted the baby. She gave her up for adoption.”

Noelle searched his face. “And she came to tell Morgan?”

“That, and their daughter has leukemia. She wants him to donate marrow.”

“Oh no.” It came out a pained sigh. “Did he agree?”

Rick sat down on the side of the bed. “I haven’t gotten the whole story, but do you think he wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I should go down. He’ll need to talk.”

Rick stroked her hair. “Noelle, I know you care for Morgan …”

She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “You know where my heart is.”

Rick smiled. “That’s not what I meant.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “He’s confused and hurt and God knows what else. He turned to you before, to get past Jill.”

“He knows I love you. He made me see it.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s stopped loving you.” Rick knew only too well how impossible that was. Jill had torn Morgan’s heart out, and Noelle was the only one who came close to repairing it. She might think her solicitation was helpful, but would it keep Morgan from what he really needed?

“Maybe this is the fall, Noelle. The thing that will turn him back to God.”

She wheezed and coughed, then dropped her hand. “Okay.” She looked weary enough to give in to anything. Was the pneumonia coming back? “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, we’ll see Dr. Bennington.”

She smiled. “My hero.”

“Him or me?”

She laughed and it made her cough. It reminded him of the day he’d found her too ill to know her heat and power had been turned off. He’d taken her home and discovered his heart was hers. Things had not been easy even so. And they wouldn’t be easy for Morgan, but Rick sensed God’s hand. This all had to be part of the burden he’d been taking to prayer these last weeks. He stroked Noelle’s cheek. “Pray, will you?”

She nodded, her eyes closing already. “He loves her, Rick.”

“I know. He’s tried to replace her in all the wrong ways. But she’s the only woman he’s loved. And maybe you.”

“Poor Morgan.”

Morgan looked up from the kitchen table when Rick returned “She’s all tucked in?”

“Yeah.” Rick frowned. “I’m worried. After that last pneumonia …”

“Don’t take any chances.” But loving anyone was a chance. Morgan studied the grain on the table. Were love and pain always linked? He’d hoped at least for Rick that wasn’t so.

Rick went to the refrigerator and took out two small oranges. He set one before Morgan and sat down across the table. “Ready for my brotherly advice?”

Morgan quirked his mouth sideways. “No offense, Rick. But there’s nothing you can say that I don’t already know.”

“So what’s the deal? What do you have to do?”

“Get a blood test.”

Rick dug his thumb into the end of his orange and tore up an edge of peel. “Probably not a bad idea anyway.”

“I’m healthy, Rick. They’re not going to find anything that keeps me from helping my daughter.” Now his life had a purpose—to save the baby he’d thought he lost.

Rick’s expression revealed his doubt, but Morgan doubted booze was an issue in bone marrow donation. Then again, what did he know? He swallowed the dryness in his throat, stood, and filled a glass with water. He chugged it at the sink, set the glass there, and sat back down.

“If I have to stay sober, I can do it.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

“It’s not an issue for me. I enjoy a drink or two.”

Rick held his gaze. “A drink or two doesn’t leave you in a stupor.”

Morgan didn’t answer that. Instead he said, “She told Mom.” He still quaked at that thought, wanted to wring Jill’s neck, but if he touched her, he would kiss the breath from her instead. Where had this rage come from? And how could it still be connected to so much want?

Rick chewed a section of orange and sat back. “You ought to call her.”

That was not going to happen. Did his sisters know? His dad? Were they worried for him all over again? Why was he thinking about that? Somewhere out there his daughter was fighting for her life, the life she almost lost before she came into the world. Had Jill intended to kill her and changed her mind? Or had she intended all along to lie? Did it matter?

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “It’s better to leave it alone.”

He tore the peel of his orange in a spiral around the top.

“Did she tell you the girl’s name?”

“
The girl
is Kelsey.” Morgan continued the spiral around the sides and down. He shook his head, pausing his peeling. “She’s been out there all these years.” He looked at his brother, trying not to show the bleakness of that thought.

“At least it wasn’t what we thought. At least Jill gave her life.”

Morgan focused back on his peel, tore around the bottom, and pulled it free. “She didn’t give her us.”

“She was a kid, Morgan. So were you.”

Morgan tore the sections apart, separated one, and held it. “Rick, you can’t begin to understand.”

“I know.”

Morgan bit the section in half, chewed slowly, then added the other half. He was actually glad Rick had stopped him from running off with the bourbon. It hadn’t destroyed him yet, but too many more years of it would. And he wanted alcohol-free blood for the test.

He pulled out the card Jill had given him. It was someone from the Yale Cancer Center, but Jill’s number was written on the back. He had noticed she gave no phone number in the reunion information.

Must keep it unlisted. Probably tired of being hit on.

“What’s that?” Rick swallowed his last section of orange.

Morgan softly huffed. “My link to the woman I owe it all to.”

Rick took the card, read both sides, and handed it back. “A lot of men would have let this go, Morgan. Most would have been relieved and grateful their girlfriend took care of the problem. It says a lot that it didn’t leave you unchanged.”

Morgan looked at him. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“There’s good inside you that couldn’t stand what you thought Jill did. And there was good in her that couldn’t do it. God had His hand over both of you.”

God’s hand? Morgan tensed as a surge of pain shot through him. Was it good for her to let him believe their child had died? Good to disappear and never try to contact him, to explain? To leave him aching for what they had and would never find again? Sure, it had changed him. And not for the better. “Forgive me if I don’t see it that way. It’s kind of pathetic to think my little girl’s out there praying for a miracle, and I’m all she’s got.” He stood abruptly.

Rick looked up. “Where are you going?”

“Boulder.”

“Why?”

“To have blood drawn.”

Rick stood also. “Do you want me to come?”

Morgan grinned. “I think I can handle it. But thanks for the offer.”

“Are you coming back?”

Morgan sighed. “You’re worse than Mom.”

“You won’t be any good to your daughter if you smash yourself up on the road.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Morgan picked up the rest of the orange.

“I do manage to live without you most of the year.”

Rick gave a slow nod, unconvinced. But what did it matter?

“Kiss Noelle for me.”

Rick said nothing. Well, he had been pushing a button there.

“All right, kiss her for yourself.” He picked up the card and folded the instruction sheet into his pocket, in case the hospital in Boulder would need to contact them. He went out, pushed the keyless remote and disarmed the alarm, then reached for the car door.

“Morgan!”

He expelled a hard breath. Todd he did not need.

“Where you goin’?”

“Boulder.” Morgan pulled open the door.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

His tone must have communicated more than he meant to because Todd kicked dirt at him and walked away.

Morgan didn’t stop him. He owed the kid nothing. His daughter needed his focus and attention. But he closed his eyes and turned.

“Todd.”

Todd kept walking.

Morgan got into the car and brought the engine to life, then put the window down. In his rearview he saw Todd look. He put the car in reverse and zoomed back across the apron to where he stood. “I can’t take you this time.”

Todd just glared.

“Next time.” Morgan pulled away. If that wasn’t good enough, fine. He spun gravel, left the ranch and reached the highway, cranking up the strains of Fate’s voice in the
Beethoven’s Last Night
CD. If he could just get a grip on the situation. Why wouldn’t it make sense? It should. Jill had been a good girl. She would have wanted to do the right thing It had never fit that she would abort the child. Morgan knew that now. So why the lies?

To be rid of him. But now she needed him. No, be very careful there. Jill did not need him. Kelsey did. That was his focus.

In spite of the traffic, he reached the Boulder Community Hospital soon enough and explained that he needed to give blood for bone marrow typing.

“Do you have a doctor’s order for this?”

He showed the man the business card from Kelsey’s oncologist and the instruction sheet and chafed while the man read over it all. “Let me call over to the lab.”

From the end of the conversation he heard, Morgan guessed there was a problem. Why did they always have to make it difficult? To maintain an aura of importance, mystery even?
Just take the blood!

But the man hung up and said, “We don’t do this draw. You’ll have to arrange it with the University Hospital in Denver. Cal? them in the morning.”

Morgan took back the business card and instruction sheet. Had Jill gone through all this? She must have hoped she’d match. Must have wanted to be the one to help their girl. Must have wanted to avoid his involvement. He felt a flicker of empathy as he imagined her realizing she had to go to him with it. He’d never been nasty to her until the reunion—hadn’t had the opportunity—but that night had set the tone. No wonder she’d been shaking.

He walked outside. The afternoon was fresh, no wind. Either it had passed or only haunted the upper elevations. Plenty of bikers and walkers along Boulder’s streets. He drove to Pearl Street and parked at the western end of the outdoor mall, set his alarm, and walked along the brick-paved street mall.

A rangy man with a ponytail held a long pipe that reached almost to his knees and played an endless combination of three notes. He had a stiff upturned turban before him on the ground, but Morgan didn’t think the music worth much. He passed a man on a crate. “Attention, everyone. I am going to perform an illegal act.” That drew the crowd “I am”—he shook out a cigarette—“going to light this cigarette in public. That’s right. In a public place, in sight of everyone, I will light and smoke this cigarette.” He flicked his Bic, held it to the cigarette, and inhaled.

Morgan passed on. He noticed the gaze of two women sitting on a planter in the second block of the mall. They smiled encouragingly. He kept walking. A little dog came and yapped around his legs and the woman at the end of the leash tried to hush it. “She has a thing for hotties. What can I say?” She pushed the plum-colored hair back behind her ear.

Obvious. Too obvious. Morgan left her to her dog. He was hungry. He’d had nothing but coffee that morning and the small orange he’d eaten on the drive down. He took a table in a street-side café. A waiter brought his menu and asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

Morgan’s throat tightened. “Coke.” He looked down at the menu. “And a burger.”

“Which one?” The waiter indicated the column of burgers, everything from whiskey sauce to Cajun blackened. “Just a burger. Fries.” Morgan hadn’t had anything so mundane in years. As his man waltzed away, he looked back out to the mall. The two women strolled past and caught his eye again. Two of them, looking with open invitation, and he wasn’t the least bit interested. He frowned into the Coke, which arrived by another hand, then sipped the too sweet fizz.

Why hadn’t she told him the truth? Why had she carried the baby, given it away, and never told him the truth? A jazz sax started somewhere and kindled his melancholy. By the time his burger arrived he was sufficiently gloomy to order a Manhattan. When it came he gazed at it in its cone-shaped glass with two cherries on a plastic sword.

He lifted the sword and looked at the shockingly red cherries. A drip of bourbon dribbled down his fingers. He laid aside the sword and sucked the drip, then took up his burger. After the first bite he realized he wasn’t hungry after all. He left a twenty on the table and walked out into the mall.

On a sudden thought, he took out his cell and touched a speeddial number—not Bern Gershwin’s office, but his home. Their relationship had surpassed professional and had moved to racquetball every second Tuesday and the occasional barbeque with Bern’s family.