The Scent of Rain (31 page)

She nodded. “I understand.” Daphne wished she could go back to bed and start the day over. The dark side was alive and thriving in Dayton.

Jesse faced her and took both of her hands. “I'm not covering for him if he's done something wrong. You understand that? I'm only trying to protect his wife until she's ready. She'll get bad enough news as it is.”

“It might be perfectly innocent,” she said. “Don't jump to conclusions.” But though she hated to admit it, she had already jumped. She squeezed his hands to offer encouragement. “I'll call you as soon as I know anything.”

He nodded and peered at her with saddened eyes. “We're going to make this home spray line a success. We owe it to Dave.”

Daphne didn't think he owed anything to Dave, but she admired the loyalty within him that made him want to pay tribute.

Chapter 22

D
aphne hated the sour smell of hospitals. All those foul odors rubbing together: alcohol, ammonia, urine, and stale cafeteria food combined to make a murky soup of stench. For once she was glad she couldn't smell. She was happy for the errand, though not of course for the circumstances, because it kept her from thinking about Mark's call.

An older woman in a candy striper uniform sat behind the information desk, fully focused on wrapping a gift.

“Excuse me,” Daphne said. She cleared her throat loudly.

The older woman finally looked up. “Sorry, dear, didn't see you there. Can I help you?”

“You're a good gift wrapper,” she said.

“Oh yes, I have to be. I spend a lot of time doing it. Did you need information?”

“I'm looking for Kensie Whitman's room.”

“Well now, just a minute.” The woman jiggled the computer mouse, stared at the screen, then held up four puffy fingers, curved from age and yet perfectly manicured. “She's still in intensive care. Are you a family member?”

“Um, no. I'm a coworker. Her family isn't from around here, and the accident happened during work hours.”

“Well, check in at the nurses' station before you go in to make sure it's all right. It's on the fourth floor.”

The woman went back to her wrapping, and Daphne slowed her steps. She had no idea what she'd say to Kensie when she got into the room—if she was even conscious. Did she know that Dave was dead? Daphne was hardly the person to tell her.

She didn't want to know why the two of them had been together in the middle of the workday, and she wouldn't ask. She wasn't going to pry into anyone's business that wasn't hers. And she wanted to get in and out quickly, in case Dave's wife showed up. Daphne didn't know what she looked like, other than a distraught widow—but Daphne was the last person on earth who would cover for a man's betrayal. She was still reeling from her own.

The nurses' station was bustling with activity, but as Daphne approached, no one looked at her or offered her the slightest bit of help. The rectangular station was surrounded by rooms behind glass, and she walked around and tried to get someone's attention.

“Excuse me,” she said, but the nurse walked to the other side of their containment area.

“Excuse me,” she said again to another nurse, who looked at her but offered no answer. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought herself invisible.

The third time she asked, to no avail, she gave an audible sigh and headed toward the bank of intensive care rooms and read the names listed. Finding Kensie's name, she glanced behind her. When no one tried to stop her, she entered the room.

Kensie looked like a soap opera star lying asleep with her head raised and her makeup still perfect.
Why didn't you just come to work today?
Daphne wanted to ask.

Kensie was wrapped tightly and looked to be strapped to the bed from the waist down. The upper part of her looked undisturbed. Her silky dark hair was draped in front of her shoulders as if a stylist had placed it there.

Daphne put her hand on Kensie's and prayed for total healing, and for God's hand to touch the young woman and give her what she was missing. When she opened her eyes, Kensie's deep blue eyes were staring back at her.

“Kensie, you're awake! Do you need anything? Can I call someone for you?”

Kensie groaned, shifted, and groaned again.

“Can I get you something?” she asked again.

“Where's Dave?”

Daphne swallowed and looked away. She didn't know what to say. Why couldn't she just formulate fabric softener? Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“He's not here,” she said honestly.

“A truck hit us,” Kensie said, almost as a question.

“Yes.”

“It's all over now,” Kensie said, staring down at her hips, which were lodged in some kind of inflatable balloon pants.

“It's over. Now you can concentrate on healing.”

“I can feel your judgment. You Christian folks always think you're a cut above the rest of us.”

Daphne shook her head. “No. Jesse sent me to make sure you have everything you need. Is there family I can call?” But she couldn't let Kensie's comment pass. “You're wrong, Kensie. I don't judge you. Though you haven't been exactly nice to me since I arrived.”

“So you're here, why? Because of guilt? Or because you want to show me the light?” Kensie's voice was weak, but the underlying anger was still apparent. Pain often spoke for people, and Daphne tried to drum up her compassion and see the part of Kensie who hurt, not the part who lashed out so easily. After all, she barely knew Dave, but Kensie was in for a deeper blow when she understood he was gone.

“If this happened to me, I'd be alone in here. I didn't want you to wake up alone.” She remembered how Jesse had told her the same thing.

Ohio felt very different from home, where time was scheduled so tightly. It dawned on her that maybe that's what had made Europe so wonderful for her. It wasn't that everything was slower; it was that people weren't so rushed. They made time for one another. Who would have thought Ohio and Paris had something in common?

“But this wouldn't happen to you, would it?” Kensie stared down at her legs, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Because you live a charmed life. Your college was all paid for and you just go to work for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

“Kensie, what exactly is charmed about my life? I'm the one who was left standing at the altar in my Monique Lhuillier dress, remember? I took a job that I didn't actually want, and I live in a giant money pit that almost killed me the day I moved in. Does that sound charmed to you?”

“You're not going to ask why I was with Dave this morning?”

“I figure if you want to tell me, you will.”

“Because you assume the worst of me. People don't assume the worst of you, but they always assume the worst of me.”

“Maybe there's a reason for that.” Daphne shrugged. “I mean, I did watch you throw Jesse under the bus in that meeting, and—”

Kensie put up her palm, and a tear spilled down her cheek. “No more. I know what I did. Dave can be very persuasive, and I saw a way out of my debt. I was desperate.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dave and his wife needed a surrogate.”

“A surrogate what?”

“Someone to carry their baby,” Kensie said, annoyed. “I know, people like you don't do that, but I grew up in the wrong part of town, and I am not going back. No matter what.”

“Oh. Oh!” Daphne felt struck by the information. She choked on her words, unable to form any that made sense past her initial shock.

“We had a doctor's appointment this morning. That's where we were going and why I couldn't go to the wedding show with you. I'm not what you thought I was—a girl who worked her way up. I was a girl desperate to secure my future any way I could. Dave didn't want to say anything to Kathy until he knew I had a clean bill of health from the doctor. She's gotten her hopes up before only to have them dashed.”

It was true: Kensie wasn't what Daphne had thought. And with those words, Daphne felt remorse. It amazed her what drove people. How their backgrounds came back to haunt them and put desires inside of them even they couldn't comprehend. People did things for a reason. Reasons that didn't make any sense to others unless they understood where the actions came from.

“Are you pregnant?”

Kensie shook her head. “No. No. I was just being tested to see if it was possible. Now look at me. It might never be possible. I may have screwed up my entire future for the chance to feel safe.”

“Well, thank God. Kensie, you've been given a second chance at life. God understands if you want to be secure and even wealthy—there's nothing wrong with those desires. But how does your heart feel in all this?”

Kensie's eyes filled. “It doesn't feel good. I felt ashamed even being in the car with Dave alone. I was nice to him, but he took liberties he shouldn't have.” Her eyes flashed. “Nothing too bad, but past my comfort zone.”

Daphne put her hand on a nonbandaged part of Kensie's arm. “You know, I didn't listen to my gut once, and I ended up in front of hundreds of my closest friends and family in a wedding dress with no groom.” She smiled. “Dang, I looked great, though. I mean, really, that's the best kind of humiliation, when you're dressed in your finest, with your hair and makeup done.” She shrugged. “Some people get hauled off to jail in handcuffs and shown on TV in their mug shot. My experience beat that.”

Kensie started to laugh. “Oh. It hurts,” she said. “Was your gown really Monique Lhuillier?”

“You better believe it. And Christian Louboutin shoes with rhinestones encrusted on them. My parents spared no expense to get rid of me.”

“I'm sure it wasn't that.”

“Oh, trust me, it was. I was fashion perfection,” Daphne said. “But something still didn't feel right. Mark was a little too affectionate at the rehearsal dinner.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to remember that we never see people's worst side. We see the image they portray out in the world.”

“But what will I do now? I don't know if my insurance will cover all this, and I just can't afford to take on more loans. That was my one shot to get
out
of debt.”

“That was not your one shot, I assure you. I thought Mark was my one shot. I was wrong. I learned a good lesson. Maybe being an old maid, like my dad called me, is better than being married to a tool.”

In Kensie's desperation, Daphne saw her own anew. Mark didn't love her. No amount of waiting around or pathetic posturing would make him love her.

“The body is an amazing healing machine. God made it that way. You'll be fine, Kensie. It's your heart I'm worried about.”

Kensie scoffed. “Don't preach at me.”

“I'm not in any position to preach.” Daphne looked down at her lap, suddenly grateful for all she had in life. “Maybe it sounds like preaching, but that's just the way I talk. I'm not preaching at you. I'm seeing how much I have in common with you.”

Kensie forced a laugh, and her hard exterior seemed to return. “I'm tired. Can you go now? You've done your Christian duty. You can tell everyone at the office that I'm all right, that I got what I deserved for being with a married man rather than at work.”

“I'd never do that, Kensie. People may give us what we deserve, but God never does. He loves us no matter what. He loves
you
no matter what.”

Kensie scowled. “We're not alike. Do you know how hard I had to work to even get my simple marketing certificate from the local community college? I've been on my own since I was fifteen. I finally found a place where I thrived. Then you come in, and in one day I become obsolete. Everyone listens to you like you're some kind of psychic. Do you really think you've done nothing to me? In one day you made me irrelevant.”

Daphne shook her head. “Only if you are your job, and you're not. Kensie, you have everything going for you: beauty, brains, a good job. I'd give anything to have your natural grace. Your awareness. Do you think you would have ever fallen for a smooth talker like Mark?”

“Only when he came bearing cash from his wife.”

“So your weakness is money. Mine is smooth words, even if they aren't real. We all have our temptations.” She looked straight into Kensie's eyes. “I'm no better than you, and I believe that fully. In fact, I might trade my temptations for yours if I could have your body—which I'd never give up for someone else's baby.” She laughed. “My own, maybe. Or maybe I'd just cast myself in marble and put it in the foyer so I could grow old with my memories.”

She felt Kensie squeeze her hand.

“If I could have a perfect, perky nose like yours and still smell like you can, I'd take that as a gift that might earn me money,” Kensie said.