The Still of Night (29 page)

Jill checked her mail, trying not to hope for a note from Kelsey, but when it came up, a little thrill passed through her.

Hi, Jill. My roommate, Rachel, had brain surgery and is in intensive care. I’m so glad my cancer is not in my brain. Her brother Josh is really nice. He doesn’t care that I have no hair. He’s used to bald girls. Says he prefers it. He has so many freckles it makes me laugh and he’s a terrible cheat at Scrabble. I know I’m too young, but he’s the kind of person I would like to date someday, if Dad ever let me. Which I’m not sure he would, since no one will ever be good enough for his little girl. He already told me that. Of course he was joking
.

Jill smiled.

But if I did like boys, which of course I secretly admit to you because we’re telling the truth, I MIGHT like Josh just a little more than anyone else. Now you have to tell me a secret. Can it be about Morgan? Write soon. Kelsey

Kelsey’s entire tone was upbeat and chatty compared to the last letter. She would match that tone in her reply.

Dear Kelsey, I’m glad you had fun with Josh. He sounds very nice
.

Not many boys would handle a sensitive subject like baldness so well. His sister’s illness must have tempered him. That was always how it was. Experience, hardship, suffering broadened and developed people so much more than prosperity.

He might be just the kind to convince your dad to rethink his position
.

As Morgan had won over her own father until they crossed the line and ruined it all. Somehow she doubted Kelsey would make those mistakes, but then, Jill sighed, she’d been awfully naïve herself.

I’m trying to think of a secret you would enjoy. Maybe I’ll start at the beginning
.

It would be hard not to think and write about Morgan, with his presence today still haunting the very air she breathed.

I knew Morgan through cheerleading at his football games, running track, and student council. We actually campaigned against each other for class president one year. (I won, but only because Morgan told everyone I’d do a better job.) Even before that, I had a serious, though secret, crush. All the girls in the school were crazy about him because he wasn’t stuck-up or mean like many of the good-looking guys. He had a way of looking at you that made you feel beautiful
.

Jill closed her eyes, remembering. She had thought other guys were cute, but Morgan was different.

I was not beautiful. First, I had been accelerated a year, so I was younger than anyone in my class. As a freshman I was dubbed “Sprite.” I was tall and nicely streamlined for athletics, but, ahem, the other girls had figures
.

A rueful reality throughout her entire adolescence. But Morgan had noticed her anyway. He did call her Sprite like everyone else, but he almost made it endearing.

For some reason, Morgan considered me a challenge. We vied for top grades, sports records, and volunteer projects. For one talent show he dared me to sing with him the duet, “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better.” And I think he meant every word
.

She smiled now to think of it.

Morgan enjoyed competition, wanted to be challenged. He would not give up. But if he did lose, he never made excuses. When I scored higher on the PSAT, he said, “Way to go, Sprite. I knew there were brains in there.” He was a natural encourager
.

Maybe that’s what she missed most in the man he had become. Jill bit her lip. Don’t get morose. Keep it light. This is Kelsey, not a diary.

In our senior year we were nominated king and queen for the homecoming dance. You can imagine my excitement when he asked me to be his date, but there was a glitch. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was seventeen. Since I had been accelerated, I wouldn’t turn seventeen until November, two months past the homecoming dance. My begging accomplished nothing until Morgan himself asked my father’s permission. He did it so respectfully, impressively, my Dad agreed not only to the dance but other events as well
.

To this day Dad held up that instance of acquiescence as an example of giving the enemy a foothold.

“Go against what you know is right, give in just a little, and reap the consequences.”

He blamed himself for putting her at risk. That was why he’d been so ugly to Morgan and his dad. She sighed.

I guess the best thing about Morgan was that he cared about what you thought and believed. He liked to talk, really talk, unlike most guys his age. He wanted to know what was inside. And if something was wrong, he wanted to fix it
.

Jill pressed her fingers to her eyes. As he was doing now. As he must have wanted so badly to do from the first. She fought the tears.

That’s why he wants so much to help you
.

Her throat tightened painfully.

I’m praying for sweet dreams for you tonight
.

No pain or illness. How she wanted Kelsey to be past it all.

Oh, here’s a secret for you. When Morgan has his marrow drawn, I’ll be with him. He knew how much I wanted to do it for you myself. God bless you, Kelsey. Jill

By the daylight, Morgan guessed he’d woken early; then he remembered he was in the Midwest and it could be later than it seemed. He rolled to his side and read the clock. 5:41. He yawned and stretched. Not the time of morning he usually rolled out, but the sooner they had it over with, the better.

He took a quick shower and brushed his teeth, packed his overnight bag, and checked out. Then he drove back to Jill’s. Not much chance she was still in bed if the running shoes he’d noticed yesterday were any indication. Six-thirty had been her running time. Well, he’d brought gear of his own and had dressed in that just in case.

Sure enough, she was on the stoop in a sport tank and shorts, ankle socks and powder blue Nikes when he pulled up. “I was just going to run.”

He climbed out and set the car alarm. Though he worked with a personal trainer, he had not since high school considered punishing his body this early in the day. Yet he raised his foot in his Adidas running shoe. “I’ll go with you.”

She looked up from stretching her left Achilles tendon. “You will?”

“Yeah. We’ll run to Starbucks.” He gave a cursory stretch to his own calves.

She smiled. “Think you can handle that distance?”

“Think you can touch my speed?”

She bit her lower lip, smiling. “We’ll see, won’t we?” She pushed her headband slightly higher, then took off.

Morgan settled beside her at a comfortable pace. She was only warming up. But she was obviously a morning person. He remembered that.

It had been a long time since he’d jogged beside Jill Runyan, but he knew her stride. They left the complex behind and ran along the neighborhood street, block after block of quiet, well-tended homes. People were stirring, but no one else was running. A few dog walkers, one pair of cyclists. They reached the first stoplight and ran in place until it changed, then took off across the street together. The strip mall came in sight, but it was still half a mile away. Total distance couldn’t be much more than two, two and a half miles.

Jill picked up her pace. Morgan matched it. Distance was not his long suit, but he’d kept in good enough shape over the years to do this, even at an ungodly hour, without throwing up. He hoped.

The air was thick, too. He’d grown used to the coastal air, not exactly the thin, arid air of the Rocky Mountains, but nowhere near the wet blanket now filling his lungs. At the next light he was tempted to bend low and suck wind, but he kept his legs moving and his chest high. They crossed, and her nose smelled the finish line. She always finished strong, but he was sure he had a sprint left in him.

They reached the block of the strip mall, and he leaned into his speed. She almost kept pace but fell back as he neared the Starbucks door. Reaching it, he did bend and grip his knees. Why had he crawled out of bed? She reached him, slowing and walking the last few paces. He pressed his back to the outside wall and waited for his chest to recover.

She smiled. “You all right?”

“No.”

“Shall I call an ambulance?”

He winked. “Just perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” She didn’t have to look that startled. “It was a joke, Jill.” He pressed his hand against his side.

She pulled open the door. “I hope they have something cold.”

“I hope they have something strong.” He ordered his usual morning blend. She had a mocha Frappuccino. They sat together by the window. Her eyes were too clear to be called stormy but definitely on the gray side of blue. He was glad she didn’t babble this time. He started his mornings slow. It wasn’t exactly an amiable silence, more a lack of anything to say. But he did like to drink his coffee in peace.

Halfway through her Frappuccino, she pushed it away. “I forgot to mention why I don’t drink coffee.”

He cocked his head. “Feeling it?”

“On an empty stomach, I am definitely getting the shakes.” She stood up and paced as he took his last swallow.

He was feeling it, too, but it was resurrection. “You don’t intend to run back, do you?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I planned on it.”

He stood up and tossed his cup. “What if I beg?”

She dropped her chin and eyed him. “Fast walk?”

“That I can handle.” He held the door for her. She was definitely caffeinated, rising to her toes and jogging in place at the corner of the parking lot while they waited for the light. She took off her headband and shook her hair, then replaced the band and struck out the moment the light went green. Maybe he ought to let her run it out. He could recover later.

He started to jog, then run, not quite the pace they’d kept before, but close. This time he was not sprinting to the finish. Jill could reach the townhouse first; he just needed to make it without a heart attack. She kept the pace even all the way to her door.

“Mind if I use your shower?” He definitely needed to wash the sweat and midwestern film from his skin again.

She hesitated, then, “Go ahead. I’ll take Rascal over to Shelly’s.”

He took his bag from the trunk and went inside. Maybe it was presumptuous to use her shower, but his options were limited. He hadn’t meant to drive her out of the house, though. He soaped off quickly with her apple-scented body wash, the only soap he could find, rinsed, and shut off the water. He toweled dry and dressed in khaki shorts and a navy Polo T-shirt, ran a comb through his hair, and stepped out of the bathroom.

He didn’t have to wonder if Jill was back, for she stood in the hall, hand extended, his cell phone in her grasp. “It was ringing in your bag, so I answered.”

He took it. “Yeah?”

“Morgan?”

“Hey, Todd. How’s it goin’?” He mouthed, “I’ll take it outside.”

Todd’s response was mildly encouraging as Morgan walked out to the front stoop to give Jill some privacy. He told him he was getting to watch TV and grudgingly added that he was also using the reading program.

“Glad to hear it.” And he was. He needed some good news.

“And guess what?” Todd went on. “Rick’s gonna show me how to train the foals.”

“Yeah? That’s great. Just don’t let him make you break ’em. Too much pain.”

Todd laughed. “I’m not getting on any horse.”

Morgan said, “You might like it.”

“No way.”

“Aw, c’mon. If Stan can do it …”

Todd snorted. “I
could
do it if I wanted.”

Morgan smiled. “I bet you’ll be riding barrels by summer’s end.”

Todd laughed again. It sent a pang to Morgan’s heart. “You eating well?”

“Better than before. I’m glad you got Marta.”

“I thought you’d be.”

“Are you with your daughter?” That question sent another pang. Obviously vulnerable this morning.

“No. She’s in a treatment center in Connecticut. I’m in lovely Iowa, with the cows and the corn, but I’m heading home today.”

“Through here?”

Morgan half smiled. “No, Todd. Sorry.” The silence drew out. “But maybe sometime you could come see me on the coast.”

“Really?”

“It’s up to Stan.” Morgan smiled again. Had he inadvertently given Todd a reason to toe the line with his foster dad? “It can’t be for a while.” Not while he was donating bone marrow and figuring out his life. “But if you and Stan get along, I’ll bet we can work it out sometime.”

“Excellent!”

Morgan laughed. “Who’s paying your phone bill?”

“I’m working it off.”

“Then I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. Bye, Morgan.”

“Bye, kid.” He turned off the phone and found Jill lingering in her doorway, toweling her hair.

“Who’s Todd?”

“A foster kid who’s staying at Rick’s ranch this summer. Having a hard time.”

Her eyes searched his face, then, “I’ll just get some things packed up.”

He followed her in, zipped closed his caramel-colored leather bag, and carried it to his trunk. While he rearranged things to make room for Jill’s luggage, a police cruiser pulled into the lot and parked. Jill’s bodyguard, Dan, climbed out, muscles flexing inside the stiff uniform. He took the few steps between them. “Leaving?”

Morgan pressed the trunk closed. “In a little while.”

Dan inspected the car with a mixture of appreciation and irritation. Love the machine; hate its driver.

Morgan understood.

Dan rested his substantial palm on the Thunderbird’s windshield. “Is Jill inside?”

“She’s packing.”

Dan’s hand on the windshield clenched, but he showed no surprise. “Haven’t you messed her up enough?”

Morgan’s throat tightened. Yeah, he probably had. But things weren’t finished between them.

Dan pushed off from the windshield and went to Jill’s door. He opened it with familiarity and confidence and went inside. Morgan got into his car and drove up to the strip mall for gas.