Devious (11 page)

The
automatic doors at the brightly-lit main entrance led me straight to the
information desk.  A plump, elderly lady smiled at me in greeting, asking if I
needed assistance.

“Could
you tell me which room Yvonne Golding is in?”

Her
chubby fingers slowly pecked at the keys, and I cursed my lack of patience as
my fingers twitched to snatch the keyboard away from her and enter the data
myself.  She finally looked up from the screen.  “I do have permission to share
that information; however, Yvonne Golding checked out almost three weeks ago.”

“Three
weeks ago?” I asked, baffled.  I knew the lady at the bed and breakfast
indicated that she had talked to Ms. Golding in the last couple of days. 
Wouldn’t the woman have known if she had checked out of the hospital that long
ago?

Frustrated,
I blew my breath out between clenched teeth.  I was back at square one.  “Can
you give me her address?”

The
woman pecked at the keyboard again.  “I can’t give out that information.”

“Great,”
I mumbled to myself.  If she’d been about forty years younger, I might have
been tempted to try to get her to break the rules, but somehow, I thought any
charm I might be able to conjure would be about as useless to her as her
computer skills were to me.  “Well, thanks anyway.”  I turned to leave.

“Sir,”
the woman called.

I
stopped in my tracks and turned to look at her.  Surely, she wasn’t going to
give up Ms. Golding’s address that easily.

“Yes?”

“There
is another Golding admitted into the hospital.  I’m not sure if they’re
related, and I really can’t give you any further information, but you might
check the waiting rooms.”

Another
Golding?

I
flashed her a smile.  “Thank you.”

It
could be coincidence, or I might’ve just stumbled upon a bonus.  If there were
two Goldings admitted at the same time, then there must’ve been some kind of an
accident.  Maybe a car wreck?  But if the other Golding had been in the
hospital for the last three weeks, then it must’ve been serious.  And if they
were related, then who was the other one? 

Dara’s
mother had told her that she didn’t talk to her parents.  Did they live in
Oakley?  Is that why Dara’s mother wound up here?  And who was the Golding that
was still a patient?  Could it be Dara’s grandmother?

I
walked down the absurdly white hall, following the arrows to one of the waiting
rooms.  When I reached it, I scanned the room through the glass windows,
searching for anyone who might look familiar to me.  A few people watched the
wall-mounted televisions, snoozed in their chairs, or played on their phones,
but no one remotely resembled Yvonne Golding.  I’d only met her once, but she
looked enough like Dara that I felt sure that I’d recognize her if I saw her
again.

I
continued down the corridor and took a left into the next wing of the
hospital.  I passed a cart filled with dinner trays, and a scrubs-clad employee
grabbed a tray and delivered it into a patient’s room.  When I finally made my
way to the end of the hall, I encountered another waiting room.  This one was
much smaller than the first, and I opened the door and entered the room, so
that I could see the faces of the two women who occupied it.

One
woman wasn’t much older than me, and I quickly dismissed her, turning my
attention to the remaining woman.  My hope diminished when I noticed that the
second woman didn’t look like Yvonne Golding in the least. 

I
turned back toward the door when I noticed a third woman who was huddled in the
corner, sleeping.  Her hair was the same shade of dark blond as Dara’s mother,
but with her face partially hidden beneath a curtain of gold-streaked locks, it
was difficult to tell whether it might be her. 

I
didn’t know how long I stood there, trying to discern whether it might be Ms.
Golding or not.  Realizing that a stranger might think that I looked like some
kind of stalker, I took a seat nearby, where I could easily watch the woman.

Nearly
half an hour later, she finally stirred, her small frame stretching like a cat that’d
been curled up in a windowsill. 

When
her eyes scanned the room and landed on me for the briefest of seconds, I knew
it was her.  She gazed at me with the same emerald green eyes as Dara.  Then,
she looked away.

Now
that I’d found her, I wondered what I should do. 

I
cleared my throat.  “Ms. Golding?”

The
woman’s eyes drifted back to my face, and she watched me as if she were trying
to determine whether I’d spoken.

“Ms.
Golding?”

“Yes?” 
Her dainty eyebrows lifted as she watched my face, waiting for me to speak.

I
rose from my chair and moved closer to her, leaving a vacant chair between the
two of us.  Her eyes expressed confusion and exhaustion but not recognition.

“I’m
Stone Hamilton.  Dara’s boyfriend?”   Okay, so maybe I wasn’t technically
Dara’s boyfriend, but that was how she would know me.

“Stone? 
What’re you doing here?”

That’s
when I knew that I’d finally found her.  Now, I had to figure out whether finding
her would help me or hurt me where Dara was concerned.  If her mother had no desire
to see Dara, then it would remain our secret because I wouldn’t, couldn’t be
the one to cause Dara pain again.

Chapter
10

Stone

I
had replayed what I would say over and over in my head when I found Dara’s mother,
and quite frankly, it would’ve probably burned a sailor’s ears.  But that was
when I thought she just didn’t bother driving to Quail Mountain for her
daughter’s birthday party.  Considering that I found her huddled in the corner
of a hospital waiting room with bags under her eyes, I decided that it might be
prudent to find out what’d been going on before I passed judgment.

Dara’s
mother stared at me, her hair and clothing unkempt, and I realized that she was
still awaiting an explanation.

“I
was looking for you.”

“Why?”
she asked as she clutched a crumpled tissue in her hand.

It
seemed like a silly question, but in my attempt to remain patient, I responded,
“You didn’t come to Dara’s birthday party.”

“Oh.”

“She’s
devastated.  You know that, right?” I asked, annoyed.

Ms.
Golding took a deep, ragged breath, and the tears began to fall.

Something
shattered inside my heart when I saw Dara cry, and I always went through a
multitude of emotions, depending on the situation.  But that was Dara.  No
other girl’s tears had ever bothered me, except for my own mother’s when Luke
died, and I found that Ms. Golding fit in the same category as the majority of
females.

I
realized that she may have a very good reason for not showing up at Dara’s
party, but I had yet to hear it.

“I
wanted to be there.”  She looked at me, her lips quivering into a frown as she
searched my face for understanding.  I had no intention of offering her a
shoulder.  I stared at her, still waiting to hear her excuse.

“My
life is just so screwed up,” she whined, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue.

“Couldn’t
you have at least called her to let her know you wouldn’t be coming?  Is that
too much to ask?  And why haven’t you been taking her calls?  She deserves
better than that.”

“I
know.  I know,” she whispered.  “But I dropped my phone in a puddle when I was
trying to open my umbrella, and now it won’t work.   I didn’t have her number
written down anywhere, and I didn’t have it memorized, and I couldn’t afford a
new phone.”

“Then
you should’ve driven to Quail Mountain,” I said between clenched teeth, my
anger rising.

“I
couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t? 
Or wouldn’t?” I asked, rubbing my palms across my jean-clad thighs.

“I
couldn’t.”

“Why
not?”  At this point, I was pretty sure that if she’d had a good reason, she
would’ve spit it out by now.

***

Dara

As
I helped Granny clear the supper dishes from the table, I realized that I
hadn’t helped her as much lately as I used to, mostly because Stone and I had
been inseparable the last few months.  I loaded the dishwasher while she wiped
off the table and counters. 

Mr.
Milton wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the fridge.  “What else can I
help you with, Helen?” he asked Granny.

“We’ve
got it.  Why don’t you go out on the porch, and we’ll join you in a minute?”

Porch
sitting had always been one of Granny’s favorite pastimes, and she and Mr.
Milton did it every evening after they ate.

I
heard the front door close behind Mr. Milton as Granny and I wrapped up the
last bit of cleaning.  I added the dishwasher detergent and closed the door.

“Are
you ready?” I asked Granny as I pressed the start button.  When she didn’t
answer, I turned around.

She
leaned against the counter, the dishrag clutched tightly in one hand.  Her
other hand stretched across her forehead, as if she had a terrible headache.

“What’s
wrong, Granny?” I asked, alarmed.

“I
just feel a little dizzy.”

“Do
you want me to get Mr. Milton?”

“No,
honey.  Just pull out a chair and let me sit down and catch my breath.  I’ll be
all right in a minute.”

I
lunged forward, grabbing a chair that had been neatly tucked under the table
and pulling it out, so that Granny could sit down.  She eased into the chair,
still holding her head. 

“Granny?” 
Her behavior scared me.

“I
think I’m gonna be sick.  Would you mind grabbing the bucket on the back
porch?”

I
raced out the back door and located the black, plastic bucket.  I rushed around
the table to bring it to Granny, wondering if it was something that she had
eaten.

As
she leaned over the bucket, I rushed to the sink to wet a dishtowel for her.  I
heard the thump before I saw her.  I turned to find her lying in the floor.

My
heart pounded.

“Mr.
Milton!” I screamed, rushing to her side.  “Mr. Milton!”

“Granny! 
Can you hear me, Granny?”

I
didn’t hear Mr. Milton enter the house, and I didn’t see him until he was
crouched beside me.

“Call
9-1-1,” he instructed calmly.

My
hands shook as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed.

“9-1-1. 
What’s your emergency?”

“My
grandmother collapsed.”

“Is
she breathing?”

“I
don’t know.”

I
gave the dispatcher our address, and she promised me that an ambulance was on
the way.  Mr. Milton began CPR, and I remained on the phone while the
dispatcher calmly gave instructions.

My
heart slammed against my ribcage.  Fear churned through my body like a swarm of
killer bees.  I closed my eyes.  I wanted to wake up and find that this was
nothing but a dream.  When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Mr. Milton breathing
into her mouth.  I heard the sirens and fled to the front door, opening it wide
as paramedics grabbed their gear and headed inside.  I told the dispatcher that
they had arrived and hung up the phone.

Time
stopped.  It was like I was watching a movie with the mute button pressed. 
Paramedics hovered over her.  Mr. Milton held her hand.  I was frozen, staring
in horror as the last person who really, truly loved me lay unconscious.

I
wanted to run to her and shake her and make her promise me that she wasn’t
leaving.  But I couldn’t.  She was surrounded.  And I was frozen.

It
seemed like they worked on her forever before they finally stabilized her and
carried her out on a gurney. 

Mr.
Milton rode with her in the ambulance, and I followed them in my car.

The
wait in the emergency room was excruciating.  Mr. Milton sat quietly beside me,
leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his palms.

Silent
tears slid down my face, but I didn’t care.  I didn’t bother to wipe them
away.  As far as I was concerned, each tear was filled with love for Granny.  I
wondered when was the last time that I had told her that I loved her.  She
always made me feel loved.  Did I make her feel the same way?  I closed my
eyes, desperately hoping so and promising myself that I would tell her that I
loved her more often.

I
could hear Mr. Milton sobbing softly, and I realized that without Granny, the
two of us would be drifting like a couple of dandelion seeds in a strong wind. 
Granny was the one person who anchored us to this world, the one person that
each of us could count on.  She had to be okay.

Finally,
we were called into a small room.  When the doctor came in to speak to us in
his hospital blue scrubs, I could see it on his face.

“I’m
sorry,” he said softly.

Mr.
Milton’s cries of sorrow echoed off the walls, and I tried to console him, but
I, too, was overwhelmed with grief and uncertainty.  Granny couldn’t be gone. 
I needed her.

I
didn’t know how long we sat in that little room drowning in our own misery. 
Once we were somewhat composed, we shuffled back into the main waiting room. 
It seemed strange that there was nothing for us to do but go home.  How could
we leave without Granny?  It was a notion so foreign to me that I had
difficulty getting my feet to take the steps necessary to exit through the
automatic doors.

On
the drive home, I was numb.  It was painful going back to our house, seeing the
spot where Granny had lain.  The bucket and dishtowel were strewn on the
floor.  The chair was pulled out in disarray when any other time, it would have
been neatly tucked into place.  Knowing that Granny wouldn’t want her house to
be left in a mess, I cleaned everything until it would meet with her approval. 
Mr. Milton excused himself to his room, and I went outside and sat in Granny’s rocker,
staring blindly at the view bathed in moonlight.

My
thoughts toggled between Granny and Stone.  I needed someone.  I didn’t want to
be alone.  I thought about Granny’s words when she and I discussed the
situation between Stone and me. 

There
will come a moment when everything will click, and you’ll know what you should
do.

None
of us were guaranteed tomorrow.  Stone may not be perfect, but I truly believed
that he loved me.  Could I forgive him?

It
was close to midnight.  Desperately needing to talk to someone, I pulled out my
phone.  Crimson and Scarlet would still be up, and I pushed Crimson’s contact
listing and pulled her phone number on the screen.  My index finger stopped
just short of the call button, and without any real conscious thought, I dialed
Stone’s number instead.

It
rang and rang, but he never answered.  Maybe that was a sign.

I
couldn’t stop the tears that rushed down my face in rivulets as the magnitude
of what I was facing hit me.  Where was Stone?  I needed him.  I thought of my
mother, but I knew it was pointless to call her.  The fact that I had no one
settled in the pit of my stomach.  That wasn’t totally true.  I did have
friends, and Mr. Milton would always be there for me.  But I needed the kind of
person that I could tell my darkest secrets to and know that they would still
love me, and up till now, that included Granny and Stone.

My
phone rang, and I jumped at the sound.  I answered the call, but I couldn’t get
my voice to cooperate.

“Dara?”

I
heard his voice, and I sobbed even harder.  I tried to speak, but I couldn’t
catch my breath.  My words were nothing more than choked sobs.

“Dara! 
What’s wrong?”

“St…Stone.” 
I thought of Granny, and my heart ached with such an intense pain that I closed
my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the rocker.

“Dara,
you’re scaring the hell out of me.  Where are you?”

I
breathed in deeply and managed to choke out, “Home.  I’m at home.”

“I’ll
be right there.”

He
didn’t wait for me to reply.  I hung up my phone and waited for him.

In
a matter of minutes, I heard his motorcycle racing down the street.  Shortly
after that, I could see the single headlight beaming into the darkness as he
approached the house and pulled into the driveway.

He
pulled off his helmet and rushed up the sidewalk, his long legs covering the distance
quickly.  I watched him in the moonlight, and when he reached the top of the
porch, I was unable to wait any longer.  I raced into his arms, desperately
needing to feel the security that I could only get from his embrace.

He
pulled me tightly against him as he smoothed my hair and whispered soothing
words to me.  His chest muffled my cries as I clung to his torso.

“What
is it, baby?” he asked, his fingertips skimming the edge of my face.

I
couldn’t answer right away, and he didn’t press me.  He just held me until I
had calmed enough to speak.

“Granny’s
gone,” I whispered into the night, wishing the breeze would carry my words away
and make them untrue.

“What
do you mean she’s gone?”

Hot
tears stung my eyes, and I swiped them away.  “She had a heart attack or
something, and she didn’t make it.  She’s dead.”  To hear the truth in my own
words made reality settle in.  Granny was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

Now
I knew the same pain that Stone felt when he thought about Luke.

“When
did it happen?”

“Tonight. 
We just got back from the hospital a little while ago.”

“I’m
so sorry, Dara,” he whispered, rubbing tiny circles at the small of my back. 
He kissed my temple and pressed his cheek against the top of my head, and I
realized that I didn’t want him to ever let go.  I wanted to be in his arms
forever.

I
breathed in the heady scent of his cologne and reveled in the strength that I
found in his embrace.  He was familiar and safe in a world filled with nothing
but uncertainty.

He
sat in the rocker and pulled me into his lap, stroking the length of my back
with his fingertips.  I cried until there were no tears left, and I let the
rhythmic beat of his heart and the gentle rocking motion comfort me.