The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel (5 page)

BOOK: The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel
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An alarm?

What’s the problem with that child?

The noise continued.

Somebody check that alarm!

Ringing…

Where’s the nurse?

He knocked his phone to the floor and started groping for it.

“Hello?” he gurgled.

“Wes, it’s Cay.”

“Who’s okay?” He was barely conscious.

“It’s Caroline.”

“Cay?”

Her voice was dreamy. Was she lying next to him?

“Yes, it’s me! You’re sleeping, aren’t you?”

“Um…no…yes.” His mental marbles were still rolling around searching for the correct slots. “What day…is it?”

“Tuesday. Almost six.”

He’d been asleep just three hours.

“I heard it on the radio!” she said. “Are they doing all right?”

“I think…so.” At least no one had called him to tell him otherwise. “Where…are you?” he asked.

“In Roanoke, at the airport…waiting for my father. Wes, I’m so excited for you!”

“Thanks.” Recall of the last two days was coming back. “It was a real marathon.”

“They’re okay?”

“Troopers. So were the parents. Everybody was great.” The phone clicked. “Cay?”

She came back. “Daddy’s here. I need to go.”

“Umm…”

“Wes?”

“Yeah?” He yawned, still not thinking clearly.

“Please get some sleep,” she said sweetly. “Call me tomorrow.”

“When?”

“Whenever you want to.” Caroline added, “Please don’t forget.”

FOUR

Thanksgiving

M
organ ran along the lakefront to the north end of Chicago and back. No surprise other joggers and cyclists were out too. The morning was clear, the air crisp.

“Twelve miles! That’s good!” Barely winded, he applauded himself while walking the last yards home.

Morgan had run the same distance many times before and made every effort to work out as regularly as possible, even training for marathons in the past—but he’d never actually run one.

If he were to compete, he’d want to win, and to win he’d have to do nothing but train. His growing workload now demanded so much of his time he often felt that he had to manage every minute. Still, despite those demands, he was able to schedule fairly regular exercise, and his life felt balanced—that was, until last Saturday night.

Feeling his muscles tighten, he paused to stretch and thought about Caroline again. “God, that woman’s beautiful!” he said, alternating each leg in deep lunges. They had talked by phone the evening before, until Morgan heard her dozing off.

“So your little transplant patients are okay?”
Caroline asked more than once.

“They’re just rolling along.”
Her interest pleased him to no end.
“Probably out of the ICU tomorrow.”

“Doing anything for Thanksgiving?”
The question was followed with a yawn and apology.

“Seeing my mother,”
but he wanted to say,
“Wish you were here.”

Cay yawned again.

“Tired?”
he asked.

“Yeah…Goethe missed me, so Daddy and I…rode a long time…today…”
The cadence of her words slowed more.
“We’re going again…in the…morning…before dinner…even though my back’s…pretty sore…”

“Did you take anything for it?”

“Daddy gave me…”
Her voice faded.
“A snifter of thirty-one-year-old Macallan.”

“That must have been tasty.”

“You know, it’s as old as I…”

“Ah! Scotch reveals a secret.”

She was three years younger than Morgan.

“Please…don’t tell anyone,”
she giggled.

“I don’t know ‘bout that…unless there’s a bribe in it.
” Time to say goodnight.
“I better let you go.”
He didn’t want to. “
I’ll call tomorrow after my run.”

Morgan closed his front door. Kicking off his running shoes, he got some water and looked at the time. She was probably already riding, but he’d try anyway. He wanted to check on her sore back.

“Lamest reason I ever came up with,” he laughed
while punching in her number.

“Hi. This is Caroline Pruitt. I am unavailable. Please leave a message.”

“Um…hi…it’s Wes. Back from my run…going to get cleaned up and go make rounds…then drive out and have dinner…with my mother. Try you again later.”

By noon Morgan had left the hospital and was heading to La Grange where his mother lived in a skilled nursing facility. Her Alzheimer’s had grown worse over the last few years and in the spring she tripped and broke her right hip. After surgery, rehab healed her body but the last of her fleeting memory had vanished.

Whenever Morgan visited he’d roll her wheelchair near a window where they would sit together looking at the broad expanse of gardens. While his mother sat silently, he would talk about his work or whatever else was new in his life. Today he would tell her about the heart transplants he’d done—and Caroline.

“Lizzie…you won’t even know I came,” he said sadly as he drove to one more never-ending goodbye.

She didn’t remember anything now. Morgan wondered if she even knew she had a son.

When traffic slowed, he called Caroline again. She answered late into the rings.

“How’s the back?” he asked cheerfully.

“It’s okay.” Caroline’s melancholy sliced through him. “We’ll talk later,” she said.

“Cay…what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just don’t…want to talk to you now.”

Unlike last night’s drowsy patter, she sounded disconnected and far away. The call ended.

“Aw, come on!” Morgan shouted at the windshield. “What the hell did I do?”

Cutting another piece of turkey, Morgan put the small forkful in his mother’s mouth. He looked around the spacious dining room with its stylishly painted walls and crown molding. Most of the residents had families with them, and that was good. Some came to share Thanksgiving dinner, others just to visit. Over the holidays an occasional bored child would race away from a table with the mother following quickly. That never bothered Morgan. If they were running or getting into mischief, they were healthy—a very different reality from the hospital, where he often thought the entire world had only sick children.

“Chew, Mom,” he said gently. “It’s good.”

She swallowed it. Morgan wiped a bit of cranberry relish from her chin.

“Remember when you made this at home?” Cornbread followed. “You cooked every Thanksgiving dinner…and you let me help.”

His mother coughed slightly and for a moment seemed to recognize him.

“Dad…” she said.

Morgan gave her another bite.

“Dad’s gone, Mom.”

Lizzie Morgan was a good mother, forcing him in grade school to read more and write better than his classmates. She also spanked him when he misbehaved. That ended the day when Mary, his six year old baby sister, died. As a child Morgan never understood how it could happen, and then years later his father succumbed to a massive heart attack in his bank office, leaving just Morgan and Lizzie. With the payout from life insurance, Morgan went to college and medical school at Northwestern completing both in six years.

“I want to be a surgeon,”
he said to his mother while he was in medical school,
“a pediatric heart surgeon. They take care of babies and children like Mary.”

By the time he succeeded, Lizzie was already failing and rarely remembered him. With the remaining insurance money, Morgan found her a place where she’d be cared for and safe. Once he went into practice, any additional costs were no issue.

He kissed his mother’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. “Mom, I met a girl. She’s an architect, and…she’s really nice…and pretty. You’ll like her. She’s different from the others.”

He had hoped to tell her that Caroline was maybe a serious prospect for marriage, but her recent abruptness on the phone pushed him into unfamiliar territory. Women had never made him feel insecure before. Perhaps the theater of the last few days was only to advance her position in the firm, or—“
Sorry…it was fun, but…oops…I forgot to mention…

Returning home Morgan accomplished little more than shuffling papers and pretending to read journal abstracts while the holiday football game created background noise. It was hopeless. All he could think about was Caroline. Her power over him was overwhelming. He was in a place he had never been before.

What had he done wrong?

He’d make it right—if he could.

Caroline called that evening.

“Hi,” he said and took a long pull from a bottle of beer, waiting for the inevitable.

“How was dinner with your mom?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“It’s good of you to go see her,” Caroline said. She sounded sincere.

“Mom’s got Alzheimer’s bad. At one time I thought, after my residency, she could live with me. I was going to hire help…but by then…that wasn’t going to work. She needed assisted living…memory support. I got her in a place that’s perfect.”

Why was he going on like this? Was he afraid if he stopped talking, she’d hang up again?

“Sorry,” Caroline said. “That’s tough. Listen…I was very rude earlier.”

“I figured I just caught you at a bad time,” he lied.

“Wes…” she said, “You did, and I’m sorry. I’ve changed my flight. I’m coming back tomorrow.”

“You said you were staying—”

“I need to see you,” she replied. “Can you do dinner tomorrow night?”

He thought the request sounded like an invitation to attend a medical staff conference.

“The ORs are quiet tomorrow. I’ll be off by early afternoon.”

“So dinner?” she asked again.

“Where?” Morgan suspected the reservations had already been made.

“How about Leonardo’s? Seven o’clock?”

“On Halsted?” Hoping to sound enthusiastic but not too eager he asked, “Would you like me to get you at the airport?”

“I’m coming in through O’Hare. That’s a long way for you.”

“Don’t mind at all.” Morgan had to try.

“No…but thank you.”
Not negotiable
is what she didn’t say
.
“I’ll cab it.”

Paranoia set in. While it wouldn’t be his first brush-off, it
would
be the first time he cared. He felt sick.

“Can I at least drive us to dinner?” Instinct told him he wouldn’t be drinking much alcohol.

“I’d like that. I’ll be in the lobby at half past.” She was sounding brighter. “Looking forward to seeing you.”

Those few words helped, but Morgan still didn’t sleep well that night.

Merrimac knew his friend was upset. Morgan’s uncharacteristic detachment was apparent the moment they met outside a patient’s room.

“Share it, brother,” Ross said.

“Rounds first,” replied Morgan, looking at the gathering crowd of medical students and residents. “Get it over with. We’ll do coffee later.”

Merrimac waved the growing assembly of physicians-in-training closer. “Let’s get started,” he said. “We’ve had an exciting week. Our now-famous Dr. Morgan will lead off the discussion about post-transplant surgical care.”

Morgan smiled meekly then rambled on for several minutes. Obvious to all, the usually good-humored attending physician was fretting. Ross stepped forward to help. In silence, Morgan drifted to the back of the group.

Merrimac finally said, “I’m going to let the chief resident finish rounds. Dr. Morgan and I have a matter to take care of.” His hand ushered the path down the corridor. “Wes…”

The friends walked to Merrimac’s office, got coffee, and sat down.

“I’m lost, man,” said Morgan.

“Let me guess her name,” Ross replied with a grin.

Morgan told him about yesterday’s phone call.

“You really got bit there, bro…and after only one less-than-intimate dinner?” Merrimac couldn’t stop laughing. “So my friend’s realizing there’s more to life than just sex?”

Morgan mentioned his additional time at Lake Point Tower.

“You and women!” said Merrimac. “Don’t blame this on me! Thought I was doing you a favor following that Bonwitt woman’s suggestion. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Can you believe she’s still bugging me about redecorating? Why don’t you just call
her
and ask what’s going on?”

“Call Janie? Suicide would be better.”

“You got that right!” Ross laughed, stretching his arms back and forth before scratching his head. “Look. Wes. You—of all people—ought to know how enigmatic females are. Me? I’ve been married for years and still can’t figure the Queen out. All I know is not to cross her. Wicked temper, know what I mean, brother?”

BOOK: The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel
13.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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