The Still of Night (42 page)

“Consuela.”

She turned, one hand on his underwear drawer.

“Wait for me in the hall.”

She gripped her hands against her mouth. “Gracias, Señor.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There may be nothing I can do.”

Nodding and wringing her hands, she went out and closed the door. His first order of business was the bathroom. Then he washed his face and head at the sink and brushed his teeth. He poured the rest of the coffee down the drain.

Dressing was interesting. He had old-man legs. But he managed.

Now if he could get his head cleared. He’d need all his wits to get Juan out of this mess. He carried the empty mug to the door and handed it to Consuela. “Straight, this time. No hair of the dog.”

She nodded. “Sí, of course.” She hurried down the stairs.

He made his slow way down the hall, one hand to his pounding head.

Jill’s door opened. “What is it, Morgan? What’s wrong?”

“Juan’s in trouble.”

She stepped out wearing the robe from her closet. “I heard the phone. I thought Kelsey …”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Just a matter of car theft.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Consuela thinks I work miracles.”

Jill pressed his hand. He ought to apologize for his ugliness earlier.

But Consuela hurried up the stairs with a fresh mug of coffee, handed it over, then turned to Jill. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“That’s all right.”

“You will pray for Juan?”

Jill nodded. “Yes, I will.”

Morgan sipped the coffee. At least Consuela wasn’t pinning all her hopes on him. He released Jill’s shoulder. “You may as well go back to bed. This could take a while.”

She stretched. “I’m awake now. Do you want me to drive you?”

“Consuela’s driving.” She had pulled on a jacket. There would be no convincing her to stay behind, though a police precinct at two in the morning would not be pretty. Morgan motioned Consuela down before him, then followed stiffly.

Jill’s heart steadied as she watched them leave. The two-o’clock phone call had brought waves of fear that something had happened to Kelsey, though if there were an emergency, she and Morgan would hardly be the first called. Rational thought had come with waking, then concern and curiosity.

Juan. Consuela was brave to wake Morgan—or desperate—after how stubborn and morose he’d been when she insisted Juan get him up to his bed. Yet he seemed calm now and willing to do his best. Of course. He’d made an art of rising to the occasion. The least she could do was pray. Or maybe the most. But how could she pray for a car thief? Surely not that he’d be let off, though Consuela’s tearful face was convincing. The Lord’s will be done, then, whatever was best. Leave the knowledge of that to the Lord.

And maybe that Morgan would see God’s hand working and his heart would be opened. He must be exhausted, maybe in pain, certainly hung over, yet he went out in the night, not even waiting until morning to help Consuela’s brother. Jill’s impressions of Juan had not been positive. He seemed sullen, resentful even. Morgan had taken him in and was trying to obtain a green card for him. Yet she noticed none of Consuela’s gratitude. No wonder Morgan had been troubled at the thought of Juan’s work. He knew he couldn’t work legally without a green card. Even then, he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And here were his fears materialized. Poor Consuela. It was obvious she cared deeply what happened to her brother. But what would happen? Theft was no small matter. Jill went into her room and settled cross-legged on the bed.
Lord, comfort Consuela. Give her peace. Give Morgan wisdom. Uphold our system of justice, but be merciful
. She sank into prayer, noticing how much easier it had become once need prompted practice.

The sun was rising when they returned. Jill had dozed, jolting awake now and then at some sound or thought that penetrated. When she heard the door open and their voices, she hurried down the hall, dressed in the capris and a blue-and-white-striped top that she had put on as soon as they left. Their voices came from the kitchen, Morgan speaking low over Consuela’s tears. “It’s best all around. He didn’t want honest work. You know that.”

“Sí.” She sniffed. “But …”

“You can’t change how he is. We gave him the chance.”

That didn’t sound good. As Jill stepped into the room, Consuela looked up with tearful eyes.

Morgan turned Consuela toward the doorway. “Go get some rest. We’ll manage in here.”

Consuela smeared the tears from her eyes and nodded. She stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “Gracias, Morgan.”

“De nada.”

Jill wanted to ask what happened, but maybe it wasn’t her business.

Morgan headed for the coffeepot and poured a mug. “Want some?”

“Just some juice if there is any.”

He walked out to the balcony, pulled oranges from the upper branches of the tree, then came back in and worked silently, cutting them in half and pressing the halves on the juicer. She’d had fresh squeezed but never right off the tree.

When Morgan handed her the glass, she felt as though it were filled with gold. “Thank you.”

He took her hand and led her out to the balcony. The sunrise was off to their left, but the water reflected its glory. The birds were already busy, flocks of tiny, pure white gulls and variegated pigeons, swallows that circled and swooped, singing their hearts out, and sea gulls with their singular cry. Jill breathed the balmy air. “What happened to Juan?”

“Juan goes back to Mexico, which is better than jail.”

Jill sipped the orange juice, a sweet burst of flavor. “How did you manage that?”

He leaned his elbows on the stucco block of the banister, cupping his mug between his hands. “There’ve been seven cars broken into in the last two days. With Consuela translating, Juan confessed that he broke in, took cameras, CD players, and the like.”

“But how can they let him go when people have lost their things?”

Morgan glanced over. “I agreed to pay for whatever couldn’t be reclaimed. Most of it he already pawned off on the beach.”

Jill watched him with the morning shadows playing on his face. “So you’re paying for his dishonesty.”

“I agreed to let him come.”

“That doesn’t make him your responsibility.”

He ducked his chin. “I owe it to Consuela.”

“You pay Consuela.”

He turned, let his eyes travel her. “I find solutions. That’s why I’m successful. That’s how my brain works.” He looked back at the sea, sipping his coffee. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t often see it this early.”

“You must be exhausted.”

He nodded.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I need to get you to the airport. Nine-fifteen flight.”

It sunk like an arrow between the ribs. She hadn’t seen it coming. A flight home in just hours. “Oh.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I wanted to—”

“Jill.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I know what you said. Let’s not rehash it.”

There was so much more she had wanted to tell him, but he had made plans for her strategic and immediate removal. He drained his cup and said, “I need a shower.”

Nodding, she watched him leave, the thread unraveling yet again, maybe for the last time. What reason would they have to reconnect? She stayed on the balcony another moment, soaking in the everlasting rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, even a school of dolphins. But she needed to pack.

She went to her room and folded her things into the bag, then zipped it shut and set it by the door. She stood a moment before the Armani gown, shoes, and clutch, then left them in the closet. That was another life. Morgan met her in the hall and reached for the suitcase.

She kept hold. “I can take it. You’re still sore.”

“You have everything?”

She nodded. Everything that was hers.

He let her into the Thunderbird and loaded her bag into the trunk. Then he drove her to the Orange County airport, where they picked up her ticket from the counter.

She refused to cry. “Thank you for letting me be here with you. If I hear anything from Kelsey, I’ll let you know.”

He took a small box from his pocket and held it out.

Her brow drew together, puzzled.

“Birthday present.”

More puzzled still. “Morgan, it’s not my birthday.”

“Belated.”

Her birthday was in four months.

“A few years late.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t …”

“Just open it. I saved you all the tape and paper part.”

She lifted the lid of the box and took out a bracelet she had admired from the shop window on one of their Beauview walks over fifteen years ago. She remembered it by the delicate silver swans connected with wave-shaped links. She’d been in her swan phase and the bracelet was the most delicately beautiful thing she’d seen.

“Morgan …”

“I’d already gotten it.” Before she left him to go stay with her aunt. “I’m terrible with receipts.”

She looked into his face. He’d kept it all these years?

He smiled. “You’d better get into the security line. It’s filling up fast.”

She swallowed the tightness in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Good-bye.”

Tears washed in, in spite of her efforts. “Good-bye, Morgan.”

He turned and walked out, with hardly any limp at all. He might not be running the next few days, but he’d be fine.

She stood in the line, waited for her bag to be scanned and her body checked for bombs and weapons, then went to the gate. It was there she realized she held a first-class ticket and was boarded ahead of the coach passengers. Taking her seat in the relative luxury of the first class section, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, then fought tears the rest of the flight. By the time she landed, she was drained.

She had supposed she would have to take a taxi from Des Moines, but Shelly was waiting at the exit. “Shelly, how …?”

Shelly grabbed her into a hug. “Morgan called this morning. Dan wanted to come, but he was on shift.”

Thank God. She was not ready for an hour alone with him, not when the tears insisted on rising to the surface with each thought. Now, for instance, at the realization Morgan had covered even this detail.

“I would have fought him to come anyway. I know I won’t get the bald truth once you have time to think. So no matter how tired you are, you have to tell me everything.”

Jill settled into the seat of Shelly’s Miata. After Morgan’s cars, it didn’t seem so special.

Shelly tapped her hand on the steering wheel. “So what happened?”

Jill looked out at the highway flanked by cornfields, and all she could think of were glittering waves and soaring gulls. “The transplant went fine. Morgan is healing well, and Kelsey will, too.”

“I did not drive an hour and a half up here to settle for that. Details, sweetie.”

“I don’t know what to say.” But she described Morgan’s house and told about Denise and Consuela and Juan, recounting each one’s story as she knew it.

“He’s a nice guy.”

Jill nodded, fingering her bracelet. “Too nice. People take advantage of him.”

Shelly glanced over. “I like the swans. A little something to go with the Armani dress?”

Jill didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t keep the dress.”

Shelly waved a hand. “Yeah, who wants Armani?”

Jill dropped her chin, smiling.

“When are you going to see him again?”

Jill fought back the insistent tears. “I don’t think I will.”

“I’m making Hungarian goulash for dinner. You can have Rascal back after that.”

Jill leaned her head back, smiling again. Hungarian goulash was Shelly’s comfort food for every woe. “Sounds great.”

Goulash and, of course, corn on the cob boiling in the pot, the midwestern side dish for anything. But there was nothing so good as farm-fresh corn. Unless it was California strawberries and avocados and orange juice squeezed from the tree. She forced the thought away as she snuggled Rascal under her chin and let his purr rumble in her own throat, then looked up as Dan came through the front door with a bottle of wine.

“Welcome back.” His T-shirt was taut over his shoulders and chest, a slight dampness around the collar. His bike shorts were snug on his narrow hips and muscled thighs. He must have ridden over.

“Hey, hey.” Brett waved his tongs and continued pulling corn from the pot.

Shelly hadn’t mentioned that Dan was coming, an innocent oversight, of course. He placed the wine on the counter and turned. “No suntan? I thought you’d come back bronzed like a California girl.”

No, she was, after all, an Iowa farm girl. “I hardly had time for that.”

“But you’re back.” He smiled again as though he had no control over it. “That’s a good thing.”

With time she might see it that way. She let Rascal down, and he scooted under the table.

Dan uncorked the wine and set it to breathe. “How was your trip?”

Mr. Talkative, wasn’t he? “It was fine. The marrow harvest went without a hitch.” She glanced at Shelly. “Kelsey called Morgan the night before to thank him.” She tried not to visualize Morgan overwhelmed by his daughter’s voice and the comfort she’d offered. That had been such a tender and hopeful night. She trapped a sigh and said, “Now we can only pray.”

Dan actually nodded.

Brett carried the bowl of goulash to the table. “Pull up a chair and prepare to gustate.”

“I don’t think that’s a verb.” Shelly set the bowl of corn beside the goulash.

“Gustation, the act of tasting. If you can taste, you can gustate.” Brett untied his apron and tossed it over the counter. “Don’t argue with the man, wench.”

“I’ll wench you.” Shelly bumped him with a hip.

“Where are my handcuffs when I need them? Got yours, Dan?” Dan clicked his fingers.

Shelly glared. “You wouldn’t dare. Sit down, Jill, before my he-man beats his chest.”

Jill laughed. Brett was a man’s man but certainly never beat his chest. Since Dan didn’t think of it, she pulled out her own chair and sat down, trying not to miss the feel of Morgan’s hand across her shoulders. So many things to miss. But she would not think of that now. These were her friends, welcoming her home. She had kept it light on the drive with Shelly, in spite of her friend’s contention that exhaustion would gain her the bald truth. She could do the same now.