to each other.
Back in the bedroom she looked for her cell phone to check voice mail, discovering it lodged under the bed where she must have kicked it during her mad dash from the bathroom. But there had been no calls or updates. Feeling even more unsettled and weary, Claire drifted around the house tilting artwork a few degrees up or down to levelness, sorting through unopened mail, rearranging magazine stacks. Stay home a bit longer, or go back to the hospital and let Michael’s smoldering anger bloat around them—the choices were equally disheartening. Finding herself on the stairway landing, she got down on her knees to comb the fringe on the Persian rug with her fingers, and just stayed there.
When she woke up, her head felt heavy and dense. She rolled onto her back, scanning the balcony windows, wondering how long she’d been on the floor. Her cheek, she could feel, bore the indentation of fringe. She checked her watch, incredulous that she’d been asleep for six hours, and called Jackie.
“Hell-o.”
Startled to hear Michael’s voice, Claire immediately felt her body tense up. “Oh, you’re still there.”
“I just got back about an hour ago. Jackie is talking to one of the nurses.”
“Has there been any change?”
“Don’t you think we’d have called?”
“So, nothing?”
“No, Claire, there’s been no miracle yet. Do you want your sister?”
“That’s all right. I’m on my way.”
Claire took her own car and returned to the hospital. Michael left when she arrived. Separate shifts, the new order.
C HAPTER 9
A round 10:00 the next morning, as Claire was discussing Nicholas’s feeding tube with Dr. Sheldon, a nurse interrupted to tell her that there was someone to see her. “I explained to the gentleman several times,” the nurse said, “that we only admit family members to the ICU. But he was insistent. A Mr. Bricker?”
Somehow, Claire managed to smile pleasantly and tell the nurse to let him know she’d be out shortly. She finished with the doctor and filed the notes she had taken into a loose-leaf binder with a trembling hand, alongside the bits information she’d started to gather about Nick’s condition and treatment. Then she walked through the ICU door hearing her shallow breath echo in her ears.
Andrew Bricker stood behind a gray chair, leaning the weight of his body over its back and clutching the armrests. Claire watched him lift his head as the doors shut behind her. She had the sensation of sinking.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, walking past him out of view of the ICU window, looking over her shoulder.
He followed her down a long corridor. “I called you.”
She stopped short in front a stained glass wall that listed major donors to the hospital. Michael’s corporation headed the Silver Benefactor list above their heads. “You what?”
“You seemed shaken up after I left. I called for two days. I knew Michael was gone. Finally I got your housekeeper.”
“You called my house? You talked to Maria?”
He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t have your cell. I told her I was an old friend, and she said you were at the hospital with Nicholas. Something about a diabetic coma?”
Around the corner, elevator bells rang, people filed out. More doors opened and closed. Claire thought she heard someone call her name, and she looked over her shoulder only to see Michael’s $50,000 corporate gift acknowledgement confronting her from the stained glass wall. She stepped in closer to Andrew, trying to shut out the commotion round them. “So you just show up here? How would you explain this to Michael?”
“Relax. I made sure he wasn’t here before I asked for you.”
She stared into his eyes, which looked not exactly predatory, as she feared they might in the unsparing glare of the hospital, but no longer beautiful either. “Nicholas is not in a diabetic coma. Nick overdosed on your little stash of cocaine.” She stabbed her
Back in the bedroom she looked for her cell phone to check voice mail, discovering it lodged under the bed where she must have kicked it during her mad dash from the bathroom. But there had been no calls or updates. Feeling even more unsettled and weary, Claire drifted around the house tilting artwork a few degrees up or down to levelness, sorting through unopened mail, rearranging magazine stacks. Stay home a bit longer, or go back to the hospital and let Michael’s smoldering anger bloat around them—the choices were equally disheartening. Finding herself on the stairway landing, she got down on her knees to comb the fringe on the Persian rug with her fingers, and just stayed there.
When she woke up, her head felt heavy and dense. She rolled onto her back, scanning the balcony windows, wondering how long she’d been on the floor. Her cheek, she could feel, bore the indentation of fringe. She checked her watch, incredulous that she’d been asleep for six hours, and called Jackie.
“Hell-o.”
Startled to hear Michael’s voice, Claire immediately felt her body tense up. “Oh, you’re still there.”
“I just got back about an hour ago. Jackie is talking to one of the nurses.”
“Has there been any change?”
“Don’t you think we’d have called?”
“So, nothing?”
“No, Claire, there’s been no miracle yet. Do you want your sister?”
“That’s all right. I’m on my way.”
Claire took her own car and returned to the hospital. Michael left when she arrived. Separate shifts, the new order.
C HAPTER 9
A round 10:00 the next morning, as Claire was discussing Nicholas’s feeding tube with Dr. Sheldon, a nurse interrupted to tell her that there was someone to see her. “I explained to the gentleman several times,” the nurse said, “that we only admit family members to the ICU. But he was insistent. A Mr. Bricker?”
Somehow, Claire managed to smile pleasantly and tell the nurse to let him know she’d be out shortly. She finished with the doctor and filed the notes she had taken into a loose-leaf binder with a trembling hand, alongside the bits information she’d started to gather about Nick’s condition and treatment. Then she walked through the ICU door hearing her shallow breath echo in her ears.
Andrew Bricker stood behind a gray chair, leaning the weight of his body over its back and clutching the armrests. Claire watched him lift his head as the doors shut behind her. She had the sensation of sinking.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, walking past him out of view of the ICU window, looking over her shoulder.
He followed her down a long corridor. “I called you.”
She stopped short in front a stained glass wall that listed major donors to the hospital. Michael’s corporation headed the Silver Benefactor list above their heads. “You what?”
“You seemed shaken up after I left. I called for two days. I knew Michael was gone. Finally I got your housekeeper.”
“You called my house? You talked to Maria?”
He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t have your cell. I told her I was an old friend, and she said you were at the hospital with Nicholas. Something about a diabetic coma?”
Around the corner, elevator bells rang, people filed out. More doors opened and closed. Claire thought she heard someone call her name, and she looked over her shoulder only to see Michael’s $50,000 corporate gift acknowledgement confronting her from the stained glass wall. She stepped in closer to Andrew, trying to shut out the commotion round them. “So you just show up here? How would you explain this to Michael?”
“Relax. I made sure he wasn’t here before I asked for you.”
She stared into his eyes, which looked not exactly predatory, as she feared they might in the unsparing glare of the hospital, but no longer beautiful either. “Nicholas is not in a diabetic coma. Nick overdosed on your little stash of cocaine.” She stabbed her
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