The Still of Night (37 page)

“Was he gone?”

“Luckily for him. By the time she came out of the hospital, I’d moved the office to my house and her things to the guesthouse. To keep her job, she signed the complaint against him and received a restraining order.”

“To keep her job?”

“I told you I don’t get it. That threat was my only means of making her see reason.”

Jill shook the sand from her sandal. “You can’t think she’d go back to him.”

“I’d be surprised if she ever wants a relationship again. But he could guilt her into it.”

“Why?”

“Because she has other issues. She’s always been extremely tightlipped, but when I saw her in the hospital, she opened the dike, talking, talking, talking. I’m not kidding. She went on for hours about stuff as far back as she could remember. It would make you sick.”

“She looks so … professional.”

“She is. She personally manages the work of a small staff, keeps the teams on track, and me, too. She’s beyond competent, and I now understand her obsessive need for control. She keeps her thumb on every detail. I drive her crazy sometimes when I go incommunicado. But believe me, I need it.” He stopped and turned her with a hand to her elbow. “Look.”

Jill had been so caught up in his story she’d lost sight of their surroundings. Now she realized the ocean was afire with golden light. Strips of cloud caught the color, tossing it across the sky, and at the horizon a scarlet flame kindled. Amidst the gilded water black dolphins leaped, then vanished, and only the sky remained. The sun would not go peacefully; its dying strength seared a memory in her mind.

Morgan took her hand and stood in silence. He’d been so good to Denise, rearranging his life for her protection. For Consuela as well, and Juan. It didn’t seem strange at all now that he would do everything for Kelsey. His profession might be to turn around flailing corporations, but his purpose was saving lives. No wonder God had chosen him.

The last of the fiery orb sank into the sea, splashing out across its surface in molten glory. It was gone, but the water would remember, and the sky, now rose and peach, then yellow fading to gray. Sand-pipers still scurried, pecked at the sand, then rushed back as the new froth chased.

Morgan turned her to him, slid his fingers along the side of her neck, and caught them in the strands of her hair. “Don’t say no.”

“Morgan …”

He lowered his face and kissed her.

Her heart hammered. Why was he doing this? Both his hands cradled her jaw as his kiss deepened. She remembered too well.
Lord!
She broke away. “I cannot do this again. I can’t.”

“It’s just a kiss.” His voice was raw.

“Not with you.”

His face tightened painfully. “Jill.”

She pulled away. “This is about Kelsey. I want to help but …”

“It’s not about Kelsey.”

She stepped back. “It is for me.” She hated the pain she saw in his face. Didn’t he see? Couldn’t he realize it was futile? The thread between them had snapped. It had been too fragile and had tangled irreparably. He had rejected God; she craved the Lord’s presence. He lived in a dream world; her world was all too real, and the thought of reintroducing Morgan too terrible to consider.

He let her go when she turned and headed back the way they’d come. Why did he churn up emotions better left dead? And then it hit her. She was the ice queen.

CHAPTER

23

N
eed crawled inside him, morphing from the passion of their kiss to a different mind-consuming desire. One night. He had to get through one night. A twelve-hour fast in case they needed to use full anesthesia. But the sweet slide to oblivion called to him with a siren song. He should have stayed inside and drunk to Jill’s health and prosperity instead of standing together with her, the sunset hues igniting her hair and tingeing her skin with gold, her lips like melted roses tempting his.

Ache and longing. How could he want her so much? Dusk stole over him. One drink. What difference did a few hours make? But in this mood one drink would lead to two and blur the line at three, and he had responsibilities. He jerked the sweatshirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. Next, the pants. In his boxers, in the dusk, he left the sand, fought through the first cold waves and dived low beneath them, then pulled hard until he passed the place where they broke.

The water was rough with seaweed until the floor fell away. He broke the surface and shook his hair back. Treading, he scanned the deepening darkness. How long could he tread? One hour? Two? He put his face down and stroked parallel to the beach. He knew this shore well, though he’d swum at night only a handful of times.

Always alone. He would not risk anyone else in dark water haunted by sea creatures who wondered at his audacity. If a shark took him tonight, it better leave enough for them to still draw marrow from his bones. Almost subconsciously, he worked in closer to shore.

The cold Pacific had taken the sting from his mood, and as his feet touched bottom, he hurled himself forward past the breakers to the shore. He walked out drenched and chilled, scooped up his clothes, and climbed toward the house. Something skittered in front of him and took refuge in the rhododendrons.

He went into the bathroom in his lower level, took a towel from the cupboard, and wrapped himself in it. Then he went upstairs. The house was quiet, and he could almost pretend it was a night like any other. But it wasn’t.

He approached Jill’s room, considered knocking, then passed by. She’d made it clear why she was there. He went into his bedroom and refused to think of the decanter table in the corner. Not tonight. If he couldn’t get through one night without a drink, he had a problem.

He went into the bathroom and realized his toiletries were not there. Still in the car? He stripped off his wet boxers and put on a spare robe from the hook on the door, then went down and took the keys from his desk in the office. Either Juan had not come home from his job, or he’d not been instructed to unload the car.

Morgan went out and took the bags from the trunk, including Jill’s. What had she planned to sleep in? He hauled them upstairs, left Jill’s outside her door, and gave it one quick rap. Then he took his own things to his room, unpacked, and showered. He pulled on a pair of shorts and wrapped again in the navy velour robe.

The night stretched before him. He should ask Jill to join him for a drink—no, a chat, to clear the air. But then he didn’t want to discuss what had happened earlier. He’d lost his head to the magic of the sunset, crossed a line neither one of them could face.

He turned on his stereo and tuned it to the classical station. No lyrics to taunt or tempt. He paced his room as a lion its den. He should ask Consuela about Juan. He glanced at the clock. Nine-forty. Early. But she always retired early. He clicked the TV remote, flipped through several channels, and turned it off again. Then he walked down the hall and tapped Jill’s door, noticing the bag was no longer outside it. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she was asleep. But it opened a crack and she peeked through.

“Will you sit with me? I promise to behave.”

Surprise and concern filled her eyes. “I’m dressed for bed.”

“There’s a robe in your closet.”

She stood so long without answering, he was sure she’d refuse. But she agreed and appeared a minute later, wrapped and tied tightly, the sleeves bunched up. He led her out to the balcony. The night was chilly, even though he was mostly dry except for his head, which was still a little damp. The sound of the breakers formed an immutable rhythm as he lit the candle in the glass globe on the table.

He seated her and pulled a chair from the other side of the table for himself, drawing the peace of the night inside him. A snifter of brandy would be the perfect complement, but he fought the urge.

Jill looked out over the water. “What are those lights?”

“Oil rig.
Swift of Ipswich
.”

“It’s actually pretty.”

“They call them crystal ships.” But that wasn’t what he wanted to discuss. “Tell me about Kelsey.”

Jill crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s beautiful, Morgan. You saw that much in her pictures.” Her voice tightened. “Even though her hair is gone. She has such sweet expressions and a smile you can’t resist.”

He leaned back in his chair and let the breakers center his mind. “You said she was smart.”

“She came from us.”

He nodded. Intelligence did seem to have some genetic connection.

“She’s very spiritual.” Jill smiled. “She loves the Lord. Such a pure faith.”

Morgan studied the stars over the water. His daughter loved the God he actively eluded. A smile brushed his lips. Touché.

“She designed her own Web page, calls it Kelsey’s Hope Page. She answers questions from other kids with cancer and shares her faith, the love of Jesus. It’s a wonderful page.”

Kelsey’s Hope Page. Maybe that was the place to start knowing his daughter. A cold, impersonal knowing, yet he could contact her, ask her if—no, that would put her in a hard position. Still, the site would give him something of her. “Has she written you tonight?”

“I don’t know. Your laptop …”

“It’s in the office. I’ll get it.” She looked as though she might stop him but didn’t. He paused at the door. “Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Help yourself in the kitchen.” He had meant to offer it earlier, but the sunset beach had distracted him. Just because he had to fast didn’t mean she did. He went down and brought the laptop up, using his wireless LAN to open the Internet.

Jill returned with an apple and a handful of whole-grain crackers. She went to the railing and looked out over the moonlit sea, obviously in no rush to check her mail, even though he’d booted up the computer. She couldn’t be that fascinated with the lighted ships, but he gave her space.

Gazing on the water, she said, “It looks cold.”

“It is. I just got out.”

She half turned. “You went swimming?”

“Needed something to cool me down.”

She turned away.

“So tell me more.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Morgan. It’s not as though I’ve known her all these years. They never sent pictures or letters or anything like that. It was pretty much a closed adoption, except we knew each other’s names. The first contact I had was the letter telling me she had leukemia.”

“That wasn’t the first contact.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“You carried her to term. You birthed her.”

Jill dropped her chin with a wounded look. Was she surprised he would resent her having had that much? “I held her for half an hour when she was born, memorized each finger, each wisp of hair. Her eyes were your color even then. She was so tiny, so incredible. But that was all I had.”

Morgan sensed her loss. “Why didn’t you keep her?”

“I could never have brought her home.”

He pictured her father, firm, upright, narrow. An illegitimate grandchild would not go over well. “I’m sorry.” And he was. She’d lived all those years knowing her child was out there, wondering, imagining …

He stood up and joined her. She didn’t pull away from his hand on her back. Maybe she sensed it was no more than comfort, what little he had to give.

The door opened behind them. “
Perdóneme
. Señorita Jill, you have a phone call.” Dressed in a floor-length house gown and robe, Consuela handed her the cordless phone.

“Thank you.” Jill took the phone. “Hello? Hi … Kelsey.” Her eyes darted to him.

Morgan tensed. His daughter was on the phone.

Jill shifted away from his hand. “How are you?”

He checked his watch. Almost one in the morning on the East Coast. Why was she calling? Had they changed protocol? Kelsey wouldn’t be the one to tell them. Certainly not in the middle of the night. And how did she have his number? Jill must have given it.

Jill’s voice continued. “No, I haven’t. Actually I was just going to check my mail now. The computer’s booted up, but I hadn’t gotten in. I didn’t think about the time change or I would have done it sooner. I should have.”

She sounded nervous. Did she want him to leave?

“Yes. How did you know?” She listened for a moment, then, “Oh.”

It was frustrating hearing only her awkward answers. He wanted to grab the phone and say,
Talk to me, Kelsey. Let me hear your voice
.

“Yes. At least I’ll be at the hospital and drive him home.” She moistened her lips.

Him? They were discussing him.

Jill met his eyes. “Honey, I don’t know. You need to decide that.”

His breath paused. What was Kelsey deciding? Something to do with him?

“Okay.” She held the phone out.

His heart made a slow flip.

“She only has permission to call me, but she wants to talk to you, and—” Jill smiled—“she’s adolescent enough to stretch it.”

Morgan took the phone, brought it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The voice on the other end was impossibly sweet. “I know this is weird.” She paused just long enough for him to grasp that it was his daughter’s voice. “But I wanted to thank you beforehand. You won’t be feeling good tomorrow, so I thought it might help to know I appreciate it.”

She was worried how he’d feel? “I’m glad to help, Kelsey.” His throat was raw.

“You’ll be less glad tomorrow.”

He swallowed. “You’re wrong. Even more so tomorrow, and the next day, and especially when it starts to work.”

She drew a slow, labored breath. “Can I ask you another favor?”

“Of course.”

“Will you send me a picture for my room?”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “A picture of what?”

“Of you.”

His throat closed painfully. “Sure. If you want it.”

“Thanks. Mom thought it would be hard for me to talk to you. But I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.”

“And I’m glad Jill’s there, that you’re together.”

Morgan glanced at Jill, who was watching him pensively. “Me too.”

“Bye.”

“Good-bye, Kelsey.” He closed his eyes and turned off the phone.

Jill’s arms came around his waist, and he slowly wrapped her shoulders, laid his jaw against her head, playing back Kelsey’s voice, her words.
“I thought it might help to know I appreciate it.”
Jill must feel the crazy beat of his heart with her head resting against his chest. He had no idea it would affect him like this to connect with Kelsey. There was so much he’d wanted to say, but none of it had come to his mind while he had her on the phone.