Never Again Good-Bye (15 page)

But Wes knew that she didn’t believe it. To her, God’s house probably seemed to be populated with a bunch of holier-than-thous who knew nothing of the sacrifices Laney had made to be a part of his family.

As they took their place in the pew, Wes sat between Laney and Amy. Reaching over, he took Laney’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry about that,” he whispered. “About all of them. They’re usually very nice people.”

“It’s OK,” Laney said. Tears were in her eyes as she looked at him, and she tried valiantly to keep them back. “They all knew and loved Patrice. And they love you and Amy. They have every right to be suspicious of me. I’m the one who’s made your life miserable for the last several months.”

He sighed and squeezed her hand tighter. “They’ll come around, Laney. I know they will. This isn’t a rejection of you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I really do know that.”

As the sermon began, Wes kept holding her hand, a small reassurance that he, at least, was on her side.

Even though Wes aligned himself with Laney against the friends who had known him for years, it didn’t make things easier for Laney and him. It was odd, how hard it was for him to show her any affection at all when Amy wasn’t around. It was as though he had to pretend she didn’t move him at all when they were alone. It wasn’t until Amy was around that he felt he could relax and really enjoy Laney’s presence. It should have been the other way around. He was supposed to be acting when they were
with
Amy. He found the paradox confusing.

The following Tuesday, Laney called him at work.

“They called from school,” she said in a rush. “Amy’s sick. She’s got a fever!”

“Just calm down,” he said. “Do you know where the school is?”

“Of course I know where the school is!” she blurted. “I’ve already picked her up. She’s burning up. I have to get her to the doctor!”

He leaned over his desk and tried to stay calm. “Have you taken her temperature?”

“Her temperature? Oh, I didn’t even think … Where do you keep the thermometer?”

“It’s in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Laney—”

The phone went dead, and Wes stared at it. Quickly he dialed his home number.

After several rings Laney picked it up. “Hello?” she shouted.

“Laney, why did you hang up?”

“I had to get the thermometer!”

Wes stood up and began shoving things in his desk drawer. “Is it in her mouth?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.

“Yes, it’s in her mouth. Was I supposed to do it under her arm?”

Her panic began to register in him, and it was contagious. “No, her mouth is good. There’s nothing you can do for at least three minutes, so I want you to calm down.”

He heard her taking deep breaths. “OK,” she said. “I’m calm.”

“It’s probably just the flu,” he said. “It’s been going around her school, but it wouldn’t hurt to get her checked. The name of her pediatrician and the number are beside the phone. Do you see it?”

“Yes, I see it.” Why did she sound like someone who’d been thrust into the pilot’s seat of a descending airplane? “I’ll make an appointment as soon as I see what her temperature is.”

“I think it’s time now,” he reminded her.

He waited while she read the thermometer. She gasped. “Oh, no!”

His stomach flip-flopped.“What is it?”

“It’s 101.”

Wes rolled relieved eyes to the ceiling. “It’s OK,” he said. From the sound of Laney’s voice, he’d expected at least 106. “She’s had higher. She’ll be fine. Just give her some Tylenol and take her in.”

“Tylenol. Of course.” She swallowed. “Wes, I’m sorry to bother you with this at work. It’s just that I didn’t—”

“I’ll come home if you think—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I can handle it. I’m fine. Thanks. I have to go now.”

Wes listened as she cut them off again. Slamming down the phone, he reached for his car keys and started for the door. Laney was not equipped to deal with a sick child, and he wasn’t equipped to trust her to. “I’m going home,” he told Sherry. “Amy’s sick. She has to go to the doctor.”

“I heard.” Springing to her feet, she followed him to the door. “Wes, let Laney handle it,” she said. “Give her a chance.”

“I don’t take chances with my daughter.”

“Wes, I heard you tell her the flu was going around. What good will it do for you to rush home like a crazy person?”

“What harm will it do?” he flung back at her.

“Plenty. It’ll tell Laney that you don’t trust her, it will tell Amy that you’re overly concerned, and it’ll make you late getting this bid in that could pay both our electric bills for the next ten years if the amusement park contract doesn’t come through. Laney’s money may have bailed us out, but it won’t keep us in business. This bid will. Need more reasons?”

Wes looked into his sister’s bright eyes and wondered where she got all the wisdom she’d been raining on him for the past few months. It seemed like only yesterday that he was climbing a tree to rescue her when she got her hair tangled on a limb. With a defeated sigh, he dropped his keys back into his pocket. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Everything will be fine.”

Wes went back to his office, jingling his keys nervously in his pocket. Sherry was right. Laney could take care of Amy. He sat down and tried to concentrate on all the areas where she’d proven competent so far. Already she had made his life easier. Her meals filled the house with a homey scent that made him look forward to going home. Her sweet way of caring for Amy had given him a peace he hadn’t known since Patrice died. Her shy smiles touched him and made his senses come alive.

He looked back down at the blueprint on his drafting table and picked up his pencil. He had nothing to worry about. But he would call every half hour until she got back just to make sure.

W
hen Laney seemed distracted on the phone after the visit to the doctor and reluctant to talk to him because she wanted to get back to Amy, Wes decided to go home early after all. He found Laney in Amy’s room, sitting on the bed next to the sleeping child, washing her forehead with a damp washcloth.

“How is she?” he asked in a whisper.

Laney looked up. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and her skin looked paler than Amy’s. “She’s got the flu. The doctor gave her a shot, but he said it would have to run its course.”

He sat down gently on the bed next to her. His fresh, masculine scent softened the air that had grown stale in the sick child’s room, and the way Laney’s senses responded made her angry.

“Does she still have a fever?” he asked quietly.

Laney shook her head with frustration. It was all so useless. Motherhood, marriage … she was hopelessly inept. “It’s gone up,” she said. “I don’t know how to get it down.”

Wes touched his daughter’s forehead with gentle hands. “How high?”

“A hundred and two.”

“Well,” he said, taking the washcloth from her and setting it on Amy’s neck. “It looks to me like you’re doing all you can for now. Has she had anything to drink?”

Laney shook her head. “I can’t make her drink. All she wants to do is sleep.”

“That’s OK, too,” he assured her. “Why don’t you let me take over for a while? Calm down. It’s OK.”

The tenderness in his voice made her want to scream. It was as if he realized how inept she was and was trying not to point it out. “Wes, would you please stop telling me to calm down?” she whispered. “I
am
calm! I’m just worried!”

“But it’s just the flu.”

Laney straightened her backbone indignantly. “My daughter is sick. She’s miserable, and there’s nothing I can do about it! You even rushed home to make sure I had the sense to take care of her. How do you expect me to act?”

“That isn’t why I rushed home,” he lied. “I just thought you might need help.”

“You thought I was falling apart,” she told him. “You thought I’d be a basket case!”

“Well, you have to admit you sounded a little panicky.”

“I
was
panicky!” She wasn’t making any sense, and she knew it. Sighing wearily, she gave him a weak smile. “You’re right. I
am
a basket case.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “I didn’t say that,” he reminded her. “You did. I told you you’re doing fine.”

Laney stood up. “I’m not doing fine. I’m not doing anything.” She sniffed and took a deep breath. “Maybe you should take over for a while.”

“OK,” he whispered. Wasn’t that what he’d just said?

“I’ll be in the den.” Before he could answer, she bolted from the room.

Wes looked down at his sleeping daughter. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, but she was sleeping soundly. The temperature wasn’t high enough to be considered dangerous, and there was nothing more he or Laney could do for a while.

He reached over and dropped a kiss on her warm little face. She smelled like Laney, fresh and sweet, though her hair was mussed with sleep. Warmth surged through him, a warmth caused by the apricot scent he had come to associate with Laney and those infantile features that made his daughter a miniature version of her mother. Amy would break his heart someday when she found some punk to marry who would never be good enough for her. He wondered if Laney would break his heart too. Quietly he slipped out of the bedroom and went to the den, expecting to find Laney in a better state than she had been moments earlier.

Instead, he found her hunched in a ball on one end of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest. Her shoulders shook with the force of her tears.

Quietly Wes went to the couch and sat down next to her. “Laney, what is it?”

She shook her head, unable to answer.

He put his hand on the back of her head, letting his fingers run through her silky hair. Why was it so easy for him to reach out to her when she was broken? “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Please.”

Something in his tone forced her to look up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen, proof that the tears came from something far deeper than frustration over a sick child.

“Laney, why are you crying?”

She stretched out her palm. “She needs me. She finally needs me, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s so obvious.”

He sighed and tucked her under his arm, pulling her head against his chest. It felt so good to hold her. Why did he have to wait until he had a reason? He closed his eyes and set his chin on her head. She seemed to relax a little in his arms.

“But you’ve done a lot. You picked her up from school, you took her to the doctor, you put her to bed, and you’ve been trying to get her fever down. I wouldn’t have done things any differently.”

“You wouldn’t have fallen apart, either,” Laney said. “You’re not broken in yet,” he told her with a smile.

“You’re entitled to fall apart now and then. I did it all the time when she was a baby.”

Laney wiped her face and brought her dark, liquid eyes back to his. “Really?”

“Of course.” He met her eyes and realized how close they were. It felt right, holding her, wiping the tears from her eyes, coaxing the misery out of her. His voice had a lulling quality that was both seduction and security at the same time. “I remember the time her pacifier fell on the floor and my sister put it right back in her mouth. I actually called the doctor in a panic with visions of lethal germs getting into her mouth. He thought I was crazy, I’m sure, but he didn’t laugh.”

Laney’s eyes stole across the room to the family portrait on the wall, to the picture of the baby cradled in her mother’s arms. She sniffed. “Amy used a pacifier? I always wondered about that.”

“Yes. And she had a favorite blanket that she dragged everywhere. She left it one year in Gulf Shores, Alabama, when we were vacationing. She was about three.”

“What kind of blanket was it?”

Wes tilted his head and looked at her, baffled. “Why?”

“I just … I’ve tried to picture her so many times. I lost so much. I know I can’t fill it all back in, but it helps to know as much as I can.”

His soft eyes swept over her face, and affection danced through them. “It was crocheted. Pink.” He watched her absorb the detail, almost as if she were picturing it, as her gaze drifted back to the portrait. “What else do you want to know?”

The tears were beginning to subside, and her eyes brightened with curiosity. “How old was she when she took her first steps? When did she start talking? What were her first words?”

He smiled. “Well, I’d have to look up the first steps. Patrice kept a baby book with all that stuff. But I remember her first word. It was ‘uh-oh.’ What else?”

“Her first tooth?”

Wes chuckled. “We’ll have to look that one up, too. I’m not sure.”

Laney sat up, anxious eyes searching his expression. “You have it all written down?”

His eyes held a sweet understanding, and his voice was placating. “Of course. Patrice recorded everything. And we have about ten photo albums. Do you want to see them?”

“Yes,” she whispered, feeling as if she’d just been offered her dream with a bow tied around it.

Wes was back in an instant with a stack of albums. He watched as she studied each picture, poignant sadness mingled with tender joy on her face. He answered her questions, told her stories about different snapshots, relayed accidents and events that had colored Amy’s young life. Every few minutes Laney would stop to go and check on Amy, and then she was back at his side, laughing with him, misting up now and then, as he helped her learn about her daughter.