When I See You (46 page)

I finger the white lace duvet on the king-size bed and let my thoughts drift back to the present. The Paperwhites give off an amazing sweet scent. They're welcoming and exhibit that newlywed feel, just as my mother-in-law surely planned. I smile to myself, knowing Janie's ecstatic to have us here and her son home for good.

"For good?" I say to the empty space.
What am I committing myself to?
Haven't I done that already?

I take a quick shower and slip on the dress that Ashleigh's loaned me, since the one she originally picked out would not fit over my burgeoning waistline. This one's a black velvet mini dress. I gaze at myself in the mirror, dismayed at the skirt length, but I am out of options. I slip on a pair of only-in-L.A. black velvet pumps that Ashleigh insisted I borrow as well. I've left my hair down in its natural waves, and decide, I'm passable. I add a touch of dark red lipstick and turn to go.

Brock stands in the door frame, surveying me, wearing this amazing black Armani suit with a grey shirt and black silk tie.

"Hello, Mrs. Wainwright," he says softly.

"Don't. I've had the grand inquisition from Ashleigh, and I almost told her at least a half dozen times." My head pounds, but I hide it from him.

"Secrets are hard to keep," Brock says. "You look beautiful." He gets this weird look. "I don't tell you that enough." He shakes his head and looks uncertain.

"You tell me plenty. What's going on?"

"I want to give you something, but I'm not going to give it to you in the bathroom." He pushes away from the door frame and walks out.

Curious about his odd behavior, I follow him out to the bedroom. He stands there with his feet planted a foot apart with his hands behind his back. I pause to admire his fine looks.

"You're a very handsome man, Lieutenant Wainwright."

"Not Henry Cavill, I'm afraid," he says with a laugh.

"Better. Much better."

"Come here," he says.

I affect a sexy walk and saunter over to him, but get more nervous with each step I take. "What are you up to?" I ask.

"Turn around."

He touches the back of my neck for a second and, in the next, pushes my hair to one side. He connects some kind of clasp, kisses my neck, and rearranges my hair. In the next instant, he lets loose of a stone that dangles at first and then rests at my throat. It's cold and heavy.

"What is this?" I ask, turning back toward him.

"Go take a look," he says, pointing to a tall mirror on the opposite wall.

I walk toward the mirror and nervously clasp at the stone and the thin chain holding it. I raise my eyes to the mirror as I get closer.

"It's my mother's," I whisper. "How did you find it? When? I don't understand. I thought Ethan sold this?" Tears well up. "Brock, this must have cost a fortune."

"I told you I'd get it back," he says with a shrug. "I made you a promise. I intend to keep it."

"Brock, it's too much. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. I
know
this."

"I got a good deal." He puts his arms around me and kisses my neck. "The oil business has picked up exponentially for WHM Oil and my dad's company, too. We're doing all right even if I'm running it all from L.A. But, most of all, Jordan, it's yours. It was your mother's. It was worth paying any price to get it back." He gets this secret smile. "So. I had to come up with something. Something else that would tell the world that you're mine and that you have my promise that I'll never leave you as long as I breathe. I'll be right here next to you."

I'm getting more unsteady. It's hard to stand, to even breathe. The headache worsens, but I don't say anything. I just lean further into him and he holds me tighter.

"So," he says.

I pull away from him and turn back around. He gets down on one knee.

"When you tell the world we're married, they'll know I've made good on that promise."

He slips a ring on my left hand. I glance down at the platinum setting. It's a marquis-cut diamond that matches my mother's necklace.

"This is hard to find," I say.

"Yes."

"It's exquisite."

"Like you."

"Don't make me cry, Lieutenant." I dab at my eyes, trying not to mess up my mascara. "This is so over the top." I put my arms around his neck and pull him close. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." I kiss him.

"I love you, Jordan. For always," he says. "I'll always be here. That's my promise."

"That's a good promise," I say.

≈ ≈

Ashleigh left out one minor detail. The rehearsal dinner is taking place at
Laissez Faire
.

Yes. Every fine detail for the restaurant I listed off to Brock, months before, has been fulfilled. It's finished.
Laissez Faire.

I stare in amazement at the intimate setting. The crème-colored walls and the Impressionist artwork hung throughout round out the ambiance. There's even a six-foot replica of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss that takes center stage near the front entrance. Lit votive candles glow from every table and shelf, completing the intimate feeling of the space. The place is staffed and ready to serve. I'm overwhelmed. I just stare at it. It feels like a dream come true. It feels like too much. I feel unsettled and my headache worsens.

Brock comes up behind me and holds me close. "Did I get it right?"

"Yes. Everything's perfect," I say softly, attempting to hide my sudden angst. I don't feel right for some reason.

"Am I selling it all too hard?"

I turn in his arms. "You don't have to sell me. You had me in Le Reve's parking lot when you first said hello two months ago."

"That seems like a long time ago."

"Sometimes," I say. "But, it's the first time I slept so well. In years." I force myself to smile as this jagged pain cuts across my forehead.

He fingers my hair, tucking tendrils behind my ear. Then, he glances past me, his hand drops to his side, and he moves away. "Show time. One more day, right?" he says with a sigh, looking frustrated, and then he smiles. "Save me a dance?" His lips part as if he has something more to say.

"I'm all yours," I say as I watch him go.

He makes his way over to Ashleigh and Tate. I can't help feeling disappointed that I didn't get to hear what he wanted to say.

My head pounds with this inexplicable pain again. In a haze, I watch Ashleigh dance her way over to me.

"Hey," she says, glowing in her sexy red dress. "How are you holding up? Whoa. Where did you get that necklace?"

She's staring at my neck. I look down and finger the diamond there, while the pain in my head suddenly worsens.

"That's your mother's. He found it?"

"How did you know?" I gasp for breath and feel more light-headed, now. I stagger over to a table and land in one of the chairs. "Can you get me a glass of water?" I ask her.

Ashleigh gets this weird look and then rushes over to one of the waiters. As she makes her way back to me, she sloshes over half the glass, as she returns with it.

Brock turns away from talking to Tate and gives me a quizzical look. I try to smile, but the effort is too great, now. I try to wave my hand in his general direction, but it's getting hard to even move.

"What is going on with you?" Ashleigh asks looking more anxious.

I start to shake as I try to drink down some of the water, but I can barely hold the glass. She takes it from me.

"You're scaring me. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," I say dully. "I feel weird. Really weird."

"What the hell? Where did the rock come from?' She lifts up my left hand and I stare at it as if it's the first time I've seen it. "Did Brock give you this?"

"I think so. Ash? I don't feel well. Something's wrong with me."

The sounds go first, and then my vision dims. All I can really see are the flickering candles and the shadowy faces that suddenly hover over me.

I try and say, "I don't feel right," to anyone who will listen now.

Then, Brock's there. He's holding me, giving orders, breathing into me, and pounding on my chest.

"Don't break the necklace," I mumble. "Don't leave me.
Promise
."

Promise.

I think I hear him say it.

*≈*≈*

Chapter 30. Keep breathing

Brock

Adrian Saines, the official attorney among us, had it right. "Get your stuff in order. Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best," he'd said at our wedding when he and Liz stood up for us. My father used to say that, too. So, we did. We got everything in order. Name changes. Insurance. Wills. Finances. Checking accounts. Loans. Safe deposit boxes. Health directives. We just didn't tell anybody.

I scrutinize the wallpaper that covers the hospital waiting room walls and note the finer details of the blue fibrous weave that some designer has chosen. Blue is calming. I read that somewhere. Once. All it seems to give off to me is this sense of
false hope.

Ashleigh's crying reaches for me. Tate comforts her in the opposite corner from mine, while Diana and my mother occupy the east end and Adrian and Liz take the west. I sit alone, waiting for some kind of word, some kind of sign that my life isn't over.

In the indeterminable silence, I resort to silent prayer. To God. He's let me down a number of times. I'm sure I've done the same.

Are we even now?

I wonder.

A guy in blue surgical scrubs approaches. The Déjà vu begins, as if, on cue.

"I'm looking for Jordan Wainwright's husband." Then, he studies his chart. "Brock. Brock Wainwright?"

"I'm Jordan's husband," I manage to say. "Brock Wainwright."

I stand up and vaguely watch Ashleigh lift her tear-streaked face from Tate's shoulder as she begins to comprehend what I've just said.

"You guys got
married
? Why didn't anyone
tell
me?"

Liz comes over, hugs her for a moment, and whispers something. Then, she comes to stand next to me. We're a united front for Jordan, all at once.

"I'm Dr. Sam Forrest. Head of emergency services," the doctor says.

We briefly shake hands, and I search for the right words.
Is she okay? When can I see her?
The questions constrict my throat. I'm too afraid to ask, too afraid of his answers. He has this grim, guarded look.

"I'm Jordan's OB/GYN, out of L.A., Dr. Elizabeth Cantor. Can you tell us what's going on here?" Liz asks.

"There's a swelling on her brain. We've brought in one of our best neurosurgeons for consult. He's looking at the MRI, now." Dr. Forrest pauses for a moment. "I believe he's going to recommend surgery tonight. We can't wait much longer. She's in trouble." He looks at me with this strange modicum of sympathy. "How old is she?" Forrest asks.

"Twenty-eight," Liz says, impatient. "As I told your staff earlier, she's twenty-seven weeks pregnant."

The doctor fumbles with his hands. "Complicated," he says with a heavy sigh. "Mr. Wainwright, you'd better come with me. I want to introduce you to Dr. Stephen Anders. He can explain what they're going to do."

"The surgery," I say, and then, swallow hard. "Is it necessary?"

He looks mildly surprised. "She'll die without it."

I turn to Liz, and fail to hide the sudden terror that takes a firm hold.

"Can you come with me? Maybe, explain the stuff to me in layman's terms."

She nods and links my arm with hers.

We follow the good doctor down the hallway, moving at a fast clip that reminds me of the missions we used to take in Afghanistan. From this faraway place, I remind myself to prepare for battle. 'Take aim and fire' Ethan used to say.

≈ ≈

Heartbreak is doled out in increments. The surgery takes twice as long as the four hours they initially foretold. I retreat further into this private hell with every opening and closing of the waiting rooms doors, awaiting word of some kind. After eight hours, the word comes down from on high. She's alive.

And, the waiting begins. Again. The clock restarts.

I learn to appreciate the merits of lukewarm coffee and Styrofoam cups all over again. Tate and Ashleigh's wedding day comes and go. They postpone the whole thing, including their honeymoon.

There's internal bleeding. It is some unknown source for a few hours where everyone scrambles around and says things like, "we hope for the best," without any of us really believing it.

I retreat further.

≈ ≈

Like I said, heartbreak is doled out in increments.

She almost loses the baby on day three. "If I have to make a choice, I choose Jordan," I tell the medical team.

A thousand times, I wonder how she'll deal with that loss, if it comes to that. A thousand times, I beg God to give her back to me. I say a little prayer for our baby girl, too, but God already knows who I would choose.