Coast Road by Barbara Delinsky

by onyx squares, powerfill in their own right on ivory lobes, a foil for black hair knotted stylishly in back. So, she wanted to be taken seriously? He could give her that chance.
    "Shouldn't Rachel be reacting to something by now? " he demanded.
    "It's been a day and a half." Kara stuck a thumb over her shoulder.
    "It's been a month and a half for the family in there. These things take time, Mr. McGill. Your wife isn't getting worse. Her stats are stable. There's been no drop in oxygen saturation, no rise in arterial pressure. We have to assume that something's working the right way in there."
    "Easy for you to say."
    "No, " she said crisply. "Not easy at all. I want to do, not to wait.
    This isn't easy for any of us."
    "I have a neurologist coming from the city. He said he'd be by today."
    She reached behind the desk and produced a business card. "He was already here. He suggests that you call him midafternoon."
    "Did he see her file?
    "Her file, her, everything. He says he agrees with our diagnosis. He doesn't feel that anything else should be done right now." Jack ran a hand through his hair. Another hope thwarted. "If you were to make a guess as to when she'll wake up�" "I can't do that." If she wanted to play in the majors, she had to do better. "Try." She simply shook her head. "I'd like to give you hope, but I just� don't�know. Head injuries are like that. The best I can do is to say that Rachel is a good candidate for recovery." That was only part of what Jack wanted to hear.
    HE SHOULD have felt better driving north toward San Francisco. This was his city, his turf. It was where his home was, where his business was.
    He had seen remarkable success here, had felt the headiness of landing plum jobs and the satisfaction of seeing his designs built. He was known here, respected here. He had a potential significant other here.
    But his middle grew tighter the closer he got and was joined by an odd grogginess. It was like his mind was a leg that had fallen asleep.
    Tingly. Dense.
    He stopped at his house first, hoping to get his bearings there, but the place felt cold. Frequent traveler that he was, he tossed a duffel on the bed, quickly filled it with clothes, packed up razor, shaving cream, hairbrush�seeing little of it, barely thinking. In the studio, he stuffed a briefcase with papers from the fax, a portfolio with plans in varying stages of completion. He didn't bother to look out at the courtyard. Nothing to see�it was foggy again. He spent a total of ten seconds flipping through yesterday's mail before tossing it aside, then started out the door, stopped short, and returned. Standing in the front hall, whose walls had been rag-painted a charcoal gray that he had thought handsome at the time, he called Jill.
    "How'd it go? " he asked as soon as she said hello.
    "Jack! Where are you? " The enthusiasm in the simple question invited more.
    "My place, but not for long. A quick stop at the office, then I'm eaded back. I told the girls I'd pick them up at school. Rachel is still comatose. How was last night? " "It was fine. Successful. " "I knew it would be. You do things like that so well." She was a warm, generous hostess, whether entertaining at home, at a restaurant, or in a ballroom. They had met as fellow guests at someone else's party two years before, and he had been immediately impressed. She was poised and intelligent, knew how to ask questions, could discuss politics with the best of them, but�important, here�knew when not to.
    "How much did you raise? " "We're still tallying the last of the raffle receipts, but it looks like we topped a quarter of a million. " "That's great, Jill. Good for you. You must be thrilled." He was pleased for her, even if his voice didn't show the inflection. She had worked hard. She deserved good results.
    "I missed you, " she said.
    I missed you, too, he should have been able to say. But he was too preoccupied with Rachel's condition to have thought much about