Conflicts of the Heart (17 page)

She got up from her chair and went to the kitchen to refill her coffee. The cake box still sat on the table, and the
Jenga game lay piled in the corner. The emptiness in her chest she wrestled with all night overtook her once again. How could he have used her? He'd pay. Big time! They were adversaries, then and now, and she must never forget it.

Rising, she smoothed her red linen dress down over her hips and turned for a last-minute check. Satisfied with how she appeared, she snapped off the light and called for Michael.

On her way to the day care center, Michael stared out the window. A light rain began to fall. The baking hot sun retreated and winter would be approaching.

Facing her, Michael asked, “Man come over?”

“You mean Patrick?”

“Pat--”

“Say it, honey. Pat…rick!”

Michael tilted his head, thinned his lips, and stuttered, “Pa…trick.”

“You said it. You're doing so well. Mom’s proud of you.” She didn't have the heart to tell him Patrick might never be coming over again. “He’s very busy with work right now.” She just wanted Michael to understand enough to buy her some time.

He returned his bewildered gaze to the sunbaked rolling hills. She held her breath, waiting for a negative response.

None came.

How much of an impact would Patrick's absence have on Michael? Would he continue using as many words as he had when Patrick came by, or would he flip back into his shell like when she and Joel separated? She took a chance when she encouraged Patrick to visit.

At the old mansion, Michael slid out, shut the door, and shuffled up the sidewalk by himself. Dana remained in the car with the motor running until she saw him safely inside.

Forty minutes later at the door to the main negotiating room, her heart slammed against her chest. What would she feel when she looked into Patrick's eyes? Would she panic, or would she be able to pretend nothing happened between them and act professional? Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she flung open the door. Patrick sat alone in his usual seat reading Newsweek, his chair tilted back. “Where is everybody?”

“I sent my folks back to work. Yours are next door waiting for you.”

“What's going on?”

“You haven't budged for the past two weeks. I can’t find a reason to keep people off their jobs if we aren't going to negotiate.”

His eyes were cool, calculating. She could see him at the Peppermill, sitting around with his cronies, laughing and bragging how he’d laid the chief negotiator from Templeton. That and after a few more good turns in bed, voila, a contract in his hot hands.

“Look, lady. We have a job to do here. If we can't get a contract together, I suggest we get a mediator to do it.”

She hated his tone. “Fine. Have anyone in mind?” Had Teal been right?

“I thought we could go over the list together and see who's available. Maybe then we can put this puppy to bed and I can move on to New York.”

If he wanted to play hardball, so be it. “You pick him.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Don't you want to discuss where to meet?”

“You decide. Just make it soon.” She turned to him. “You do remember I have a court date?”

“Of course.
Just as I have a New York date.”

Her hands shook. No mediator could get him a contract with any more than she had already offered. If he thought a mediator was his ticket to New York, he’d rot in Ashton.
Serves him right.

“Why don't we change turf and meet at the Ramada Inn.” His voice softened. “It's closer for you to pick up Michael.”

“Fine.”

“When is your court da--?”

Before he finished his sentence, she left the room. Next door, she dismissed her team. What an exasperating man. She made her way down to her car in the underground garage. Why did he ask about her court date? As if he cared. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel and turned the key. The engine roared to life.

Patrick strolled up to her car and signaled her to roll down the window. In a low and husky voice he said, “I care for you and Michael. I have the same feelings for you as you do for me.” He touched her arm. “It's in your eyes.” He blew air through his tightened lips. “There's just too much at stake.”

What made this insufferable man tick? She knew from the beginning she made a mistake getting involved with him. She revved the engine and backed away before she started crying and made a fool of herself.

On the way back to the hospital, she felt as crushed as she had the day Joel issued his ultimatum ending their marriage. Like then, she knew she must take control of her life. The most important thing she had to do; get a contract for Templeton.

Raindrops the size of dimes slid down the windshield. Not only had she lost someone extremely influential in her life, but now she also faced mediation. Someone from the outside had to come in and close a contract for her, which meant she hadn’t done her job. Gil and the board had probably already lost faith in her ability to close the deal.

Mediation meant long nights, sitting in a room with the mediator running back and forth trying to persuade each of them to give enough to settle the issues. She ran a red light, cursed herself, and pushed ahead. Mediation meant Michael staying long hours with Ruta Morse, even overnight when Dana worked too late--or was too dog-tired to pick him up. A strike meant relocating patients to other hospitals, and emergency services at Templeton shut down. Critical care units would operate at minimum occupancy. The entire medical community stood by to help until they resolved this dispute. The impact could be devastating. It wouldn’t surprise her if Patrick and his team went to the media and turned this into a three-ring circus. When the county hospital went on strike, it had been disastrous.

Gil stood behind his desk with his arms folded across his chest when she arrived. “Mediation?” It was as if he were expecting it.

She nodded and sat in front of his desk. “Unless we give something, they're going to walk.”

“They can strike then. We're not moving an inch.”

“I need some coffee.” She rose from her seat.

“You look like you need a drink. Sit.” Gil buzzed his secretary and asked for two black coffees. “Are we ready for a strike?”

“I'd better start reworking the strike plan. It looked good when I reviewed it last. I'll arrange for traveling nurses and temp staff to cover for the sympathizers.”

Gil's plump and serious young secretary hustled into the office with two mugs of steaming coffee, then left.

“You know the salaries we pay are about one percent below the average.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his index fingers tented under his chin. “We're higher than some and lower than others. I don't care about averages.”

“A strike will cost more than a small raise.”

Gil sprang up. “What are you saying? Give in to them? I told you that we weren't giving any more. We're holding our ground.” He paced his office. “You already gave a lot with that flex-shift program of yours. The board wasn't thrilled with that one. I know firsthand the other hospitals in the area aren’t giving raises. This is a tough economy.”

“Where’s the give and take here? I understood closed shop was the most important issue.”

“I thought you Bay Area kids knew how to handle the Patrick Mitchells of the world.”

“We do. You can't go in and expect the employees to accept nothing when we have a hospital bursting at the seams with patients. They don't buy into our budget problems, or the new wing.”

Gil returned to his desk. “You sound like Benson.” He averted his gaze. “I'll approve which mediator we use.”

Her heart sank.
“Fine.” He had censured her, and he talked to her like a stranger. One would never guess they’d been friends for over fifteen years. Her job status in Ashton began to crumble.

In stunned silence, she sipped her coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in and give her a much-needed boost. Then she rose, picking up her purse and briefcase. “Of course, you know the mediators in this area better than I.” She made her way to the door, stopped, white-knuckled the knob and spoke without facing him. “I'll review everything and see if I've overlooked something that might pull us out of this.”

That evening she called Teal. “If your offer is still good for the weekend, Michael and I would love to go to Cayucos with you.”

Twelve

From the bay window, Dana watched the Pacific Ocean, a never-ending sheet of silvery silk, flickering with tremulous light. Not a cloud darkened the azure sky, nor a ripple of wind marred the serenity of this sanctuary she had chosen to retreat from her turbulent life. How glad she was she came to Cayucos with Teal this weekend. No negotiating. No Patrick Mitchell. No depressing apartment. Instead, fresh, clean salt air, cool, grainy sand and sleeping to the crashing waves.

Michael tugged at her skirt. “Beach, Mom.”

She glanced down and ruffl
ed his hair. “Wanna play ball?”

“Ball.”

Dana picked up the orange-and-white-checked plastic ball from the floor and tossed it to Michael, striking him lightly in the stomach. He fell backwards, laughing until tears sprang up in his eyes. He hadn’t laughed like that since Patrick had played Jenga with him on her living room floor. Mixed emotions tumbled through her.

The afternoon sped by. As the sun descended, Dana felt at peace with herself. By Monday, she’d be ready to take on Patrick, Gil and at long last, her mother, who returned home from her cruise and anyone else who got in her way. She’d even demand a few days off to take
care of her business in the San Jose courts with Joel. A break in negotiations might be beneficial for everyone.

Following a barbecue out on the patio, she went inside. The evening air had cooled. She slid the glass door shut and built a fire while Teal straightened up the kitchen. Michael went to bed, exhausted after a full day of playing on the beach. She could kick back and enjoy a relaxing evening with an old friend.

With the fire roaring, she sat on the thick shag carpeting and listened to the waves slamming against the rocks farther down the beach. The fire warmed the chilled room. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and breathed deeply.

Teal startled her. “God, you look comfortable.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I'll put some music on the radio.” A few spins of the dial and she stopped on a Bay Area station playing
Adele. “I'll be finished in ten minutes and join you.”

Dana felt more relaxed at that moment than she had in months. Then, out of the blue, her mind swirled with thoughts of her mother, Patrick and Joel. All the negatives in her life came rushing back like a flash flood on the desert floor after a torrential downpour. Would her mother accept the fact Dana decided to keep Michael and support her in her decision? As
anxious as she was to see her mother, she equally feared the moment soon to be upon her. Not to mention she’d see Joel again after all these months. She feared his reaction when she stuck it to him.

Even with her disappointment in Patrick, she still couldn't shake her warm feelings for him. It reminded her of her teen years when she got a crush on some boy and walked around with her head in the clouds. Those days were over.

The gentle, caring expression on Patrick's face when he leaned into her car last Wednesday, telling her that he felt the same as she did, but they both had too much at stake to become involved, still rankled her. Guess he figured he didn't need her after all to get his stupid contract. She should have stuck to her guns when it came to getting involved with a man. Served her right.

* * *

“What a hangdog look on your face.” Teal dropped down on the floor beside Dana. “Hand me that bottle of wine. Time to get serious about the better things, like beach, life, and friends.”

Dana filled Teal's glass, smiled, then filled one for herself, held up hers, signaling a toast.
“To friends. So what are you thinking as you gaze so intently into the fire?”

“How easy I thought everything was going to be when I moved back to Ashton and how hard it is.”

“I'm sorry I told you about Patrick. Guess I should have minded my own business.”

“No, I'm glad you told me. What are friends for if they can't help cover your back?”

Dana leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Oh, God, how I hate this feeling. I thought I had control of my life, but each day it gets harder.” With misty eyes, she turned toward Teal. “I feel like such a fool. You'd think I'd know better. It slipped up on me. Every man who's ever meant anything to me had deserted me when I needed him most. You'd think after all this time…”

“Joel's the only one I know of. Honey, they used to crawl at your feet. Hell, you're better looking now. My guess is you don't have to worry. You just need to give yourself a little time.”