The Still of Night (31 page)

“So what do you do for him?” Morgan sounded sincerely interested.

“Well, there are several schools of thought and new research all the time. We try one thing and if it brings improvement we build on that. When we started working with him, he had almost no language, though he could fixate on a computer for hours on end. Since then he’s learned two-or three-word phrases to express most of his needs.”

Morgan shook his head, no doubt thinking that didn’t represent much progress.

“Those phrases are hard won for a child who’s overwhelmed all the time by auditory and sensory stimuli. I’ve used applied behavioral analysis to give him structured ways to interact, so that if someone says, ‘Hi, Joey, how are you?’—he can do more than holler, ‘No, no, no.’”

“Wow.” Morgan breathed. “And I thought Todd was challenged.”

“Next year I want to try auditory discrimination therapy. I’ve been reading about results through that program. It uses music to teach autistic and ADD kids to differentiate phrases and notes and ascribe levels of importance to the sounds in order to filter out some of the overload.”

This was probably way more than Morgan needed to hear, but he’d opened the box. “There are also dietary connections between wheat gluten and dairy protein. I recommended Joey’s mother learn what she could about that, but it was too much trouble for them to change their eating habits. I still think it could help. Joey is nine and only conditionally potty trained.”

“Conditionally?”

“Under conditions he approves, he has marginal success. But if a broken routine or something else upsets him … well, we’re not sure yet if it’s actually a way to strike back or just stress. But I think there’s also a digestive strain that could be lessened with a change in diet.”

Talking about Joey churned emotions she hadn’t faced yet. How could she not go back and work with him? He’d been part of her life the last four years.
Lord, can that truly be your will?
Nothing was settled. She’d been elbowed out for the summer, but that didn’t affect next school year. “He’s made so much progress. I pray for him every day.”

Morgan made no response to that.

“Then there’s Angelica.” She told him about the child’s determination to learn and willingness to try, even in areas she would never succeed in, short of miraculous intervention. “I’ll have to call them when I get back. I should have done it before we left.”

Morgan nodded toward his cell phone. “Use mine.”

“It would be long distance from here. I’d need to talk to all the families.”

He reached down and handed her the phone.

She held it a moment, unsure she could make those calls now, on the road, next to Morgan, even if he could afford it.

“Or you could e-mail them tonight from my laptop.”

Jill smiled. “That would be great.” She would let them know she was out on a family medical emergency, but they could still reach her by e-mail. She had always given her kids that access as well as her phone number. She could also pick up her mail, Kelsey’s letters especially.

Morgan replaced the cell phone. “Sounds like more than a professional concern.”

She nodded. “I don’t separate professional and personal very well. With me these kids are very personal.”

He didn’t answer right away but finally said, “You must be good at what you do.”

Jill sighed. “My principal would never concede that point. He’s trying to make me quit.”

Morgan turned. “Why?”

She explained their various altercations, religious and otherwise. “He’s already hired my replacement, though he can’t actually fire me. Not even he can fabricate cause for that.”

Morgan took that in silently.

“I’m just not sure where to go with it. Does God want me out of there? Is it His hand behind it? Those kids are my life.” Her voice broke as the emotion sneaked up and caught her. She hadn’t meant to say so much, and probably shouldn’t have, judging by the clench of Morgan’s jaw. She turned away and battled down the loss. Could the Lord really take her work and her kids away? What did that leave?

They stopped for gas and used the rest rooms, which were surprisingly clean for a roadside gas station. They bought a small bag of apples, and Morgan got coffee.

The thought of so much caffeine made her head swim. But maybe he hadn’t slept well. She said, “Do you want me to drive?”

He cocked his head. “Well … no.”

“No one touches your mean machine?”

“Nothing personal.” He opened her door.

“Suit yourself. I have charge of the apples.”

His eyes dropped to the bag in her lap. “I have ways of getting what I want.”

Her breath caught sharply, and she pulled one from the bag and handed it over. He tossed it lightly, then took a bite and started around to his side.

Jill chose an apple of her own, a little mushy inside, but sweet and juicy. “Do you have any music that isn’t heart-wrenching?”

He opened his CD case. “Take your pick.” Then he swung the car out and around, and they resumed their journey.

They checked in to a Marriott in Denver, which was not as far as she had thought they would get. But it was eight o’clock at night and it felt good to stop. She waited beside Morgan, credit card ready, but he told the clerk to put both rooms on his.

“Morgan, I’m—”

He slid her card back at her and winked for the desk clerk to do as he said. When he turned from the counter and handed over her key, she said, “I don’t expect you to pay my way.”

“Mm-hmm.” He stooped to lift both of their bags, no bellhop required.

“I mean it, Morgan.”

“Consider it wages, then.”

“Wages?” She stalked behind him to the elevator.

“Know any nurses who work for free?” He pushed the button.

Jill expelled her breath and followed him into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. “I’m not your nurse. I’m doing this to …” She caught the rail as the elevator started up.

“To?” He fixed her in his indigo gaze.

“It’s for myself as much as anything. To be part of it. You shouldn’t pay for that.”

He just pulled a slow smile. “Well, regarding finances, I have you beat.”

She raised her chin. “I didn’t pursue teaching to get rich.”

“And aren’t you smugly self-satisfied? Shallow Morgan Spencer flashing his money.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I knew you’d be successful. I think it’s great. I just—”

“You’re above all that, I know.” The doors opened and he stooped again for their bags, checking the room numbers as he stepped out.

“I’m not above it, Morgan. It’s just not what defines me.”

The corners of his mouth deepened.

She stammered, “I don’t mean it defines you. I don’t know what defines you. I …” She swallowed the irritation driving her mouth down the rabbit trail. If she could think straight, she’d say what she meant.

He stopped outside her door and reached for her key. She mutely produced it.

“We’ll just tuck the bags inside and catch the restaurant before they close.”

“Dinner’s on me.”

“Wanna bet?” His smile was as smugly self-satisfied as any attitude he’d accused her of. What was he trying to prove? Better yet—she applied her assessment skills—what was his motivation for this particular behavior?

In the restaurant, he seated her with the brush of his hand across her shoulder. Torture, perhaps? She had broiled salmon with glazed carrots and garlic mashed potatoes. That should ensure nothing untoward happened between them, although Morgan’s words were a better indication.
“I’m long past need, Jill.”
Was he trying to show her what she’d missed?

But when they had finished and were taking the elevator up, he asked, “Want to catch a movie?” He held up his card key, and she realized he meant to watch it in the room. The elevator stopped, and he took her elbow and walked her out.

She shook her head. “I guess not, Morgan.”

A shadow of some emotion she couldn’t place passed through his eyes. “Just a movie, Jill, to unwind. You can have one bed, I’ll have the other.”

She could not even imagine putting herself in that position. She sighed. “No thanks.” Did he honestly think she would? No doubt his intentions were innocent, but he would have no idea how critically she avoided any semblance of impropriety, how conscious she was of what people might have guessed or suspected of her past. Feeling like a fool, she started for her own door as Morgan let himself into his room.

She opened her door, stalked to the bed, and unzipped her bag, pulled out the pajama shorts and spaghetti-strap top she slept in, her toothbrush, and facial cleanser. Once ready for bed, there would be no second thoughts. And she would sleep just fine without unwinding, thank you.

Arms full, she headed for the bathroom when the knock came on her door. Which part of no did he not understand? She jockeyed her load and pulled the door open.

Morgan held out the laptop. “You wanted to do your mail.”

She looked from his face to the computer he offered. She would have remembered that the minute she sat down to pray, would have kicked herself for not asking to use it while she had the hotel phone lines for the modem. “Thank you.” She had no hand free to take it.

Morgan stepped in and set it on the luggage holder under the wooden hangers. “You’re welcome.” He let himself out while she still stood, arms full, looking after him.

They definitely needed to find some middle ground where they could operate without triggering old thoughts and feelings. And his polite veneer only went so deep. She washed and changed, then went online and accessed her account.

Kelsey wondered a moment if it was disloyal to write to Jill without Mom’s knowing. On the one hand, she shouldn’t do anything that she knew would hurt someone, especially the person she loved so much. But Mom had introduced them and allowed her to guess the truth and address it. If she asked, Mom would say she could write, but just now she didn’t want to add any more grief or concern. The strain already showed in Mom’s face, though she tried to seem so positive.

Hi, Jill, Kelsey’s fingers flew on the keyboard. I’ve been so sick today I thought I would sleep like a rock, but I’m wide awake. If I close my eyes it feels like I’m in a rowboat in a storm. Everything I eat tastes like dirt. I know I shouldn’t complain because the treatment is helping my army, but the angels don’t have to eat. I can’t even blame the hospital food. Dad brings me whatever sounds good, but when I put it in my mouth it doesn’t taste anything like it’s supposed to. Gripe, gripe, gripe
.

A wave of nausea brought a hand hard to her mouth. Kelsey grabbed for the plastic kidney-shaped dish and knocked it off the tray.
Hold it down. Fight. Don’t lose the little food you actually got into your stomach
. Her instructions battled down the wave and she returned to her keyboard.

I’m giving my angels serious orders to mount an attack in my stomach. But could you pray, too? I’m sooo tired of feeling like throwing up, almost as much as actually throwing up. I know that’s gross to talk about, but I try really hard not to complain to anyone else. Lucky you, huh?

Do you know what I find really comforting right now? That banquet waiting in heaven. Please don’t think that’s depressing, Jill. I think about heaven a lot. More than most kids, I guess. I imagine what it’ll be like and sometimes I look forward to it
.

She paused, almost deleted that whole last part, then refused. She’d promised herself to be honest here, to say whatever she wanted. She might never see Jill again. She wasn’t stupid. Rachel was dying, and she might, too.

Rachel’s brother Josh came to see me today even though she is still in the ICU. The doctors aren’t hopeful for her. I’m praying for a miracle, and so is Josh. We didn’t do much laughing. In fact, we cried. Do you think it’s okay that I hugged him?
And now came the really risky part.
I guess what I really want to ask is, was it wrong to want to kiss him? Please answer. Kelsey

In the middle of writing the letter to Joey’s mom, the message came up saying she had mail. She clicked it immediately, trying not to hope too much. She’d already been disappointed not to find anything from Kelsey when she opened her account. But this was Kelsey, and she must have just sent it. Jill’s heart fluttered. Three days in a row now.
Thank you, Lord
.

Then she started to read, feeling Kelsey’s nausea in her own stomach. Why did it have to be so hard? Couldn’t the Lord take the sickness away?
Please, Jesus
. And then she read Kelsey’s thoughts about heaven. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears and pressed her fingers to the keys of Morgan’s laptop.

Dearest Kelsey, You can look forward to heaven, but not anytime soon! This is going to work! I know you’re miserable and ill, but in a few days, less than a week, they will give you Morgan’s bone marrow. You wanted fresh angels. Well, that will be a whole army, and they will not be coming to carry you to heaven
.

Maybe it was a risk to speak that way to her daughter. But she would not consider the alternative. She read the next part of Kelsey’s note and stopped cold on the last line. Then she reread the paragraph and pictured Kelsey typing it. She wanted to kiss him? And she was fourteen?

Jill bit her lip, admitting she’d thought about it herself at that age, though never once been in a situation to actually consider it. Did Roger and Cinda know? By Kelsey’s tone, she doubted it. For some reason, her daughter had chosen her as the one to whom she could ask or say anything. And hadn’t she given her that permission herself?

She considered carefully, then wrote,

Kelsey, I’m glad you were there for Josh. It must be devastating to face losing his sister. I’m sure your hug was a great comfort. To answer your question, I have to say I’m not a very good one to ask. My heart led me into kisses that were not in the Lord’s plan, and I made poor choices because of it. Your faith is very strong. Trust what you know, not what you feel
.

Her fingers poised above the keyboard, then she signed it,
Love, Jill
.

She sent the mail and returned to the letter she was composing, but her mind would not switch subjects. A moment later the mail message flashed again. She clicked.