The Still of Night (32 page)
Dear Jill, I do know what you mean. But are you sure those kisses weren’t God’s will? Except for that, I wouldn’t be here
.
Jill jolted. She hadn’t meant to give Kelsey that message. Well, since her daughter was obviously online …
Kelsey, you were the great good that came from my wrong choices. God takes even our mistakes and turns them to good. I would never wish one single kiss away, now, if it meant you would not be alive
.
She sent it and this time waited for the reply.
I know you mean that, because I saw how much you wanted to help me. But if I hadn’t come out of it, would you still wish you hadn’t kissed Morgan?
Jill’s heart lurched again. The child was certainly direct. She did not want to give her daughter the wrong message, and she did not want to think about kissing Morgan. She pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows.
Lord, what do I say?
The truth. She had promised Kelsey the truth.
Kelsey, I loved Morgan very much, too much. I thought about kissing him long before we ever did. The trouble was, I didn’t know where to stop. No, the truth is I didn’t want to. Honey, some doors are not meant to be opened too early. Be patient
.
Again she sent it and waited.
The answer that came broke her heart.
What if I don’t have time?
J
ill woke, got dressed, went down, and found what passed for the exercise room. She ran on the treadmill for an hour, then hung the towel over her neck and went back up to her room. When she had showered, she applied enough makeup to hide her lack of sleep and the tears Kelsey’s question had brought. She dressed in white capris and a slate blue shirt, slipped on her sandals and finger combed her hair.
She wasn’t hungry, but she needed some juice to boost her blood sugar after the workout, so she went down to the restaurant. The waiter brought her a menu, but she said, “Just some orange juice, please. Do you have fresh squeezed?”
“No, ma’am. Just regular.”
She drank it gratefully anyway, then sat alone with her thoughts. Her reply to Kelsey had been nowhere near adequate. A blind assurance that the Lord’s plan for her life was perfect. What messed things up was turning away from His love, His directions.
Jesus knows the
desires of your heart,
she’d said.
Trust Him to fulfill them
.
Jill went back up to her room. She hadn’t remembered to bring her Bible, so she checked the drawer and took out the one placed by the Gideons. She sought the gospel account of the Lord’s own words. She read the parable of the sower and pictured a tall, lanky figure in rough, gauzy robes walking his land, one hand reaching to the bag, then tossing seed.
Maybe she was shallow ground, allowing fear for Kelsey to gain a stronghold. The Lord couldn’t take root because her stones and poor soil wouldn’t hold the surety that Kelsey would live to kiss a young man, to harbor the dreams that were only now beginning to take form.
Then again, maybe the fear and doubt were weeds and thorns choking out the confidence she had in Christ’s love.
I want to believe, Lord
. But Shelly’s words came back to haunt her.
“Well, from my point
of view, those of you who believe are not in any better position than those
of us who don’t.”
That couldn’t be true. Faith was deeper than outward appearances.
It was what went on inside the heart in spite of sickness … and death? She trembled as the birds came and plucked away her assurance yet again.
Jesus, make my heart fertile
. Then she turned her prayers to Kelsey’s needs and the roommate who might already be with Jesus and the brother, Josh, who had come to mean something to Kelsey. So fragile, all of them.
She clasped her hands and rested her lips on the knuckles. “And bless Morgan for disrupting his life to save the child he’s never seen.” The magnitude of his gift was immeasurable. She replaced the Bible in the drawer beside the bed and looked at the clock. 8:10. How long would Morgan sleep?
She packed her things and set the bag beside the door, then turned on a morning TV show and waited for him. An hour passed. Shouldn’t they be on the road? It was another eleven hundred miles to the coast. She clicked the button on the remote and turned off the TV. Then she went to Morgan’s room and knocked. She was turning away when he opened.
“Mmm.” He rubbed his face.
She’d woken him. “I’m sorry, but I thought we should get going.”
He stood in athletic shorts and nothing else. His torso was tanned and lean.
She averted her eyes. “It’s nine-thirty and we have so far to go still. I’ve already exercised and—”
He winced. “I get the picture.” His breath had an acrid tang, and he did not appear to have slept well.
“If you need some time, I’ll be in my room.”
He nodded and closed the door. Not exactly Mr. Cheerful in the morning. Maybe he hadn’t slept at all. Maybe he was sick. She shouldn’t have knocked, should have simply waited. She went back to her room and noticed his laptop still on the desk. She booted up and went into her e-mail account. May as well finish the letters she’d been too upset to complete last night.
Nearly an hour later, Morgan knocked. This time he smelled of coffee, but his eyes were still hollow and hooded. “Let’s go.” His bag was on his shoulder.
“Give me just a second to shut down the computer.” She did so as she spoke, then packed it up and carried it, since he had shouldered her bag with his. Morgan leaned on the wall of the elevator, eyes closed. He must have had a miserable night.
“Do you want breakfast?”
“No.” He left the elevator and started for the desk.
“Are you all right?” She rested her hand on his arm.
“Mostly.”
“Morgan, are you sick?”
He slid his key onto the counter and reached for hers. “I’m fine, Jill.”
When they went outside she was sure something was wrong.
“What’s the matter? Does your head hurt?”
“You could say that.” He squinted in the brightness. “Here.” He handed her the car keys.
“You’re letting me drive?” Now she was really concerned.
“Just the first leg. 70 west.” He stuffed the bags into the trunk, then settled into the passenger seat and covered his eyes with his hand.
“Did you take some aspirin?”
“I don’t need nursing yet, Florence. Just drive.”
She turned the key in the engine. She had never driven a car like this, but something in her reveled. “Music?”
“No.”
“Would you like the top down?”
“No.”
She took I-25 a short distance to I-70 through the western side of the city, toward the mountains that had been visible from their hotel. It was the road she had taken to Rick’s ranch, cutting directly up into the mountains. Morgan’s car handled the grade and curves with ease, far better than the rental she’d driven the last time. She could get used to this.
After a little more than an hour, he stirred, took his hand from his eyes, and watched her. “How do you like it?”
“It’s great. Like driving a cloud. Very posh.”
“Mm-hmm.” Now that his eyes were mostly open, he kept them that way, mainly trained on her.
She sent her glance up the canyon walls as often as she could look up from the road. “This is so beautiful.”
“Mm-hmm.” But he didn’t look out. “Not many women can wear a short haircut like that.”
She shot him a glance. “I meant the—”
“Did you cut it for the reunion?”
“No.”
“Just before, though.”
How could he know that? “I wanted a change. And how did you know that anyway?”
“Your pictures.”
She screwed up her brow.
He shifted higher in his seat, seemingly waking up. “You had a package of photos on your counter. And they were dated.”
He was right. She had picked them up the day before he came. The police department picnic. “You looked at my pictures?”
“Some great shots of Dan.”
She cast him a glance. “They were good, weren’t they?”
“And your pool pose. Nice swimsuit.”
“Thank you.” She refused to blush.
“Could have seen it better without Dan hanging all over.”
“Does this have a point?” She couldn’t help frowning.
He laughed softly, then rubbed his temple.
“Is it a migraine?”
“No, Jill. Just the usual Crown Royal variety.”
Crown Royal. He had a hangover? Morgan? “Oh. I’m … so you …”
“Did it to myself?” He snapped his fingers. “There go all the sympathy points.”
She had no idea where to go from there, so she said nothing.
After a while he said, “Pull over at the next turnout. I’ll take over.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes trailed her slowly. “Yes, you are. But I’d like to drive.”
This time there was no stopping the flush up her neck. What had gotten into him anyway? “Morgan, I think it would be better … it makes me uncomfortable …”
When my mouth and my brain disconnect?
She could give a flawless PowerPoint presentation for the entire school and never miss a word.
“Here’s one on the right.” He pointed.
She slowed into the turnout and brought the car to a stop. They both got out and Morgan waited at her door until she slid in. Then he closed the door and walked around.
“I’ll be glad to drive again.”
He slid into his seat. “That’s already more than anyone else has done.”
“Don’t I feel special.” Then when he didn’t answer, she stammered, “For getting to drive the car, for being the only one who …” She clamped her lips shut.
Wrist draped over the wheel, he turned to her, indigo eyes like the night sky over Antarctica. “It didn’t mean anything.”
Of course it didn’t. If there were a hole handy she’d climb right in. Maybe the drop-off would do. But she nodded mutely, her throat squeezing, then focused on the scenery as he pulled out much faster than she would have dared.
He knew exactly what she had intended to say. Don’t do or say anything that might suggest there was something between them.
“It makes me uncomfortable …”
The throbbing in his head had dulled to a nagging burn—nothing he couldn’t deal with. What he couldn’t deal with were her flippant remarks.
“Don’t I feel special?”
He shoved his breath out through his teeth, then wove out and around a slower car plugging along the divided mountain grade, letting the silence of the road take the edge from his mood. How much time would he give Ascon, Inc. to respond? Another month, possibly. After that Marlina Aster could find another turnaround specialist. He had more pressing concerns at the moment anyway.
Last night’s call to Bern Gershwin had set things in motion financially.
“Are you crazy? You’re liquidating that kind of money to gift a foundation without—”
“I want it ready, Bern. The procedure is on Thursday. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to start with. The funds have to be there.”
“Paternity is not legally established. You’re throwing in the only card you might hold in order to force an interview.”
Those words had sunk in.
“I can’t worry about that now.”
He could sue later if it came to it, show that they had accepted his gift.
“Well, here’s what you
can
worry about. If you sell those tech stocks
now when they’re in the basement, that’s a hit you will not recover from. Your portfolio is less than half its worth already.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re not thinking this through, Morgan. Get with me at the first
chance. I’ll make room. Someone needs to be objective.”
“That’s a luxury I don’t have.”
But he promised to play racquetball when he got back in town.
No, he was not objective at the moment. His daughter needed more than his marrow, and the funds had to be transferred for Kelsey’s care to go forward. Try to handle that objectively. Jill had placed her in a family that scratched by, had mortgaged everything already for her care, and couldn’t even find decent insurance.
Drywall
.
He darted out around a van huffing along in the left lane and noticed Jill’s knuckles pale on the edge of her seat. There
was
quite a drop-off to the right. He slid back over smoothly. He had no intention of putting them over the edge. Not before his marrow was safely inside his daughter.
Of course, there was still the agreement to be available for several more years if further draws were necessary, and more immediately for plasma and the like. The fewer different blood factors she had to deal with the better. And all of that took money, and most of his money was accounted for in nonliquid assets, such as his mortgaged four-million-dollar home, and growth stocks that had flattened for the moment. He had seen the tech-market crash coming and held only the ones he thought would rebound. They hadn’t yet, and this was not a good time to liquidate.
But no one had consulted him. He eased up on the gas and sensed Jill’s relief. He hadn’t been that far over the top, but then she probably had little experience with the Rocky Mountain curves and plunges.
He put in an Eagles CD and cranked up “Hotel California.” He was almost ready to eat, and Jill had to be, too. He glanced at her again. That fierce control was worse than her insouciant remarks. He reached over and touched her hand. “Are you hungry?”
“I guess.”
“Fast food, or do you want to go in somewhere?”
She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Something besides hunger twisted his stomach, something like guilt. Oh, there was always guilt connected with Jill. But he had been harsher than he intended. She was only trying to get along. As the needle of his speedometer reached ninety, he eased off the gas again and put the Thunderbird on cruise. He settled back in his seat and realized there would not be many food opportunities for a while. Well, she hadn’t sounded famished, only hurt.
He sighed. This madcap idea was proving harder than he’d thought. At least she stayed focused on the scenery, which gradually changed from forested mountain slopes to stark red mesa canyons through Glenwood Springs and beyond. In Grand Junction, he exited and found a Taco Bell drive-up.
