Wonders Never Cease (28 page)

“And what do you consider fair—exactly?”

“I'm a reasonable man with reasonable needs. I been thinkin' it over. I don't want to make it too hard on you boys. I was thinking maybe . . . ten thousand dollars.”

Kemp looked at him in disbelief. “Ten
thousand
? Is that all you—”

Tino quickly held up a hand and silenced him. “Ten thousand dollars,” he said. “That's a lot of money.”

Emmet shrugged. “Fair is fair.”

At that moment Kemp's pager went off; he unclipped it from his belt and checked it. “It's an emergency code,” he said. “I have to get back.”

“You go on ahead,” Emmet told him. “I'm sure the four of us can wrap things up without you. You go on—they need you at the hospital. I can fill you in later.”

Kemp looked around the table and slowly got up from his chair. “I'll go with whatever you guys decide,” he said.

Tino nodded. “Yes, you will.”

Kemp quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Emmet watched until he saw the door open and close again—then he turned back to the rest of the partners. “Now down to business,” he said. “I want one million dollars—not a penny less.”

Biederman stared at him in astonishment. “A
million dollars
? What happened to ten thousand? Did I miss something?”

“I think you boys know I just said that for Mr. Kemp's sake. He never would have left without some kind of offer on the table. I figured ten thousand would be just little enough to set his mind at ease.”

“It set my mind at ease too,” Wes said. “What's this nonsense about a million dollars?”

“I want a cashier's check,” Emmet said. “Make it out to cash.”

Tino nodded admiringly. “Bobby didn't really have to go back to the hospital, did he?”

“You mean Mr. Kemp? Is that his real name?”

“That's right—Bobby Foscoe.”

“I can see why he changed it. I wouldn't do that to a dog.”

“Did you arrange the page?”

Emmet nodded once. “Thought it might give the rest of us a chance to talk business.”

“Fair enough. What's on your mind?”

“I told you—a million dollars.”

“In exchange for what?”

“The chance to keep doin' what you're doin'—that's about all, really. See, when Mr. Kemp told me your names this evening I wrote 'em all down right away—I wrote down everything I saw and what I figure each of you did. I dropped that letter in a mailbox on the way down here—addressed it to a lawyer friend of mine. I told him that if anything should happen to me, he should mail that letter to the police.”

“That was good thinking,” Tino said.

“But a million dollars is out of the question,” Wes complained. “You have to be reasonable. The book's barely out—there's no revenue yet. There's no way on earth we can—”

“When do you want it?” Tino asked Emmet.

“Saturday morning,” Emmet said calmly. “That'll give you all day tomorrow.”

“I appreciate that. Where? When?”

“The lobby of UCLA Medical Center. My shift ends around seven; I like to tidy up a bit and grab a bite in the cafeteria. Meet me about nine.”

“Done.”

Wes and Biederman sat frozen in their chairs.

“You—you just gave away a million dollars,” Wes said.

“A million dollars of
our money
,” Biederman added.

Emmet shook his head. “Mr. Kemp's money.”

“What?”

“Why should you boys be out a million dollars? This is all Mr. Kemp's fault—why shouldn't he pick up the check?”

Tino smiled.

“I think Mr. Gambatti here already had that figured out,” Emmet said. “That's why he's sittin' there grinnin' like an old tomcat. He's not out a million dollars—neither are you boys. Mr. Kemp is.”

“How do we explain that to Kemp?” Wes asked.

“We don't,” Tino said. “We just tell him: his mistake, his money. Fair is fair—isn't that right, Emmet?”

“It is in my book. We have an understanding, then?”

“We do—but there's something I want you to understand.”

“What's that?”

“I'll meet you in the lobby—I'll bring your money—but after that I don't expect to see you again. Don't come back to us in six months and tell us your ‘reasonable needs' have increased. That would make me very, very upset. Do we understand each other?”

Emmet nodded.

“You're a very smart man, Emmet. It was a pleasure doing business with you—though I doubt Bobby will feel the same. You know, I believe you're about as clever as your friend is stupid.”

“He's not my friend,” Emmet said.

“He's not mine either. You can pick your friends, but you can't always pick the people you have to do business with.”

“True enough.” Emmet rose from his chair and took a last look at each of the men. “Shame on you all,” he said again.

“Shame on all of us,” Tino replied.

Emmet squeezed between two students and vanished into the crowd.

37

N
atalie sat on the edge of Leah's bed and gently stroked the hair back from her eyes. It was almost eight in the morning; she had stopped in to check on her daughter hours ago and never left. In the half-light of the bedroom Leah's face looked pale and wan; Natalie held the back of her hand up to Leah's nose and mouth to feel the reassuring warmth of her breath.
Six years old
, she thought.
It's not fair—
no one should have to go through what she's been through when
you're only six years old. The shouting, the fighting, the stupid
and senseless divorce—and now this. It's just not fair
.

She looked at the side of Leah's head and wondered what it would look like without hair; she imagined the horseshoe-shaped scar where the plate of bone would be removed to allow the surgeon access to her brain. She wondered if Leah would need radiation; she wondered if the hair would ever grow back on that spot.
What's wrong with me? My daughter
has a tumor that could take her life, and I'm worried about
whether she'll have pretty hair
.
It's not important
, she told herself.
It just doesn't matter
.

But somehow it did.

She heard the doorknob slowly turn and heard the hinges make a shrill squeak; she turned just in time to see Kemp poke his head into the room. When he opened his mouth to speak she quickly raised one stern finger to her lips, then eased her aching body from the bed and followed Kemp into the hallway. She quietly closed the door behind her.

“I just got home,” Kemp said. “I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere.”

“It's a two-bedroom house,” Natalie said. “How hard did you have to look?”

“Sounds like somebody had a bad night.”

Natalie glared at him. “Leah had her MRI yesterday—or don't you remember?”

“Yeah, sorry I couldn't make it. I was about to, but something came up last minute. How'd it go?”

“Fine. Thank you for your interest.”

“C'mon, it was just an MRI. No big deal.”

“Not to you, maybe. We work in a hospital, Kemp; we're immune to all this stuff—all the needles and drugs and equipment. Leah is six years old—can you even remember that far back? She was afraid of the machine; they had to place an IV to sedate her a little. The nurse couldn't find the vein in the back of her hand—it took her three tries. Leah was in tears.”

“You're a nurse—you could have done better than that. Why didn't you do it yourself?”

“Because I don't like to cause my daughter pain. Does that make any sense to you at all?”

“Not much. If you could do it on the first try, that's less pain for Leah.”

“I didn't expect you to understand. I never expect you to understand anymore.”

“Pardon me for making a practical suggestion.”

“I don't want practical suggestions—I wanted you to be there. I wanted you to sit beside me and hold my hand and tell me everything would be all right.”

“What good would that do?”

“If you don't know the answer to that, you'll never understand anything.”

“Look, I didn't know this was so important to you. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I shouldn't have to tell you. You should have known.”

“I don't read minds, Natalie.”

“Is that what I'm asking you to do—read my mind? Do you have to be a mind reader just to notice when I'm worried or anxious or afraid?”

“Okay, okay.”

“Why didn't you come yesterday?”

“I told you, something came up last minute—I've got a lot going on right now.”

“Your ‘business deal.'”

“
Our
business deal.”

“The one that's going to save us from all our problems.”

“Wait and see.”

“You know, Kemp, I'm trying to believe you. I'm desperately trying to believe that all these extra hours and time away from me and Leah are because you're trying to provide for our family—and not just because you're a selfish, heartless jerk.”

“Now wait just a—”

“She has a tumor.”

“What?”

“Leah has a brain tumor. Her MRI showed a grape-sized tumor in the hippocampus of her brain. It's putting pressure on the medial temporal lobe—they think it's creating a condition called temporal lobe epilepsy.”

“Epilepsy? But she's never had a seizure.”

“Maybe she has. They call them simple partial seizures—they don't affect consciousness. The neurologist thinks that might be why Leah's been seeing angels; people with temporal lobe epilepsy sometimes experience paranormal sensations. They sometimes see bright lights or hear voices; it's possible they could even see angels.”

“So what's the prognosis?”

“I talked to a neurosurgeon right after the MRI—he says the tumor's operable, but it needs to come out right away. He can't tell if it's malignant until he removes it and they do a biopsy.”

“Wow, that's tough. Babe, I'm so sorry.” Kemp wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close.

Natalie rested her hands lightly on his hips. “Her surgery is Saturday.”

Kemp pulled away and looked at her. “Tomorrow? What time tomorrow?”

Natalie gave him a smoldering look. “Why?”

“I've got this thing. It's part of that deal.”

“Change it. Reschedule. Cancel.”

“I can't. It's important.”

“It's
important
,” Natalie repeated slowly.

“Look, you have to understand—”

“No—I
don't
have to understand. I spent the whole afternoon imagining what you might say when I told you this news, and there's only one thing I wanted to hear: ‘Of course I'll be there, sweetheart—nothing on earth could keep me away.'
That's what I wanted to hear from you, Kemp. That's the only acceptable response—nothing else even comes close.”

“What time is her surgery tomorrow? Maybe I can squeeze it in.”

“Forget it. I don't want to be ‘squeezed in' to your precious schedule. Just once I was hoping to hear that Leah and I would come first—that you'd drop everything else to be there for us. I should have known better. Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out—right now. Take everything you can cram into that ridiculous car of yours, then come back and get the rest. I want you and everything you own out of this house by the end of the day.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Where have you been sleeping? Start packing—right now. If I come back from that surgery tomorrow and find anything of yours left in this house, I swear I'll take it out in the front yard, soak it with gasoline, and set it on fire.”

“Calm down, babe. Let's not get crazy here.”

“I'm way past crazy, Kemp—I'm fed up and I'm terrified. My daughter could die, and she's the only thing I have in this world. I sure don't have you; I must have been out of my mind to ever think I did.”

“This is nuts! You're letting your emotions get the best of you. Tomorrow is the kickoff of this whole deal—it's like opening day for a new business. I can't miss that—there's no way. I can't help it if both things happen to take place on the same day. I didn't schedule Leah's surgery, you did—if you'd bothered to check with me first we might have avoided this whole thing.”

“Are you going to start packing or do I start throwing stuff out onto the sidewalk?”

“You're out of your mind! You're out of your freaking mind!” Kemp stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Natalie placed two fingers on her left carotid and felt; it was pulsing like a fire hose. She opened Leah's door a crack to look in on her; somehow the poor thing had managed to sleep through the entire argument—or at least pretended to.
No more
, Natalie swore to herself.
No more shouting matches
in front of my daughter. No more men who love money more
than family—no more men who love themselves more than they
love us. No more, Natalie. Never again
.

She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator; she found a half-empty bottle of cranberry juice cocktail and took it out. She checked the pantry, hoping to find something stronger to add to it, but found nothing. She poured herself a cup of coffee instead and sat down at the table; she lifted the cup with trembling hands.

A few minutes later Kemp walked quietly into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I'm sorry,” he said.

She shook her head. “Too late.”

“I know that. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll move out, like you said. I just wanted to tell you something.”