Fall From Grace

Anne sipped her tea for a moment, allowing its warmth to wash through her. All day she had been cold, moving through her shift in a state of shock until she’d asked to leave early. “Hank believes we should be actively involved in Jack’s recovery.”

“Of course we should. Jack has no one else.”

A rerun of the conversation she’d had with Hank. But what did she expect from her overly loyal mother? “I have my own life now. I’m not strong enough—”

“I don’t want to hear that, Elizabeth Anne. You’re stronger than you realize. And you must help Jack recover, if only for Katherine’s sake.” Her mother’s voice had risen a notch; not to shouting exactly, but pretty darned close for Delia.

Everything sounded so logical to Anne. But logic continued to evade her.

“I can help out,” Delia added. “If I need to, I can cut down on my volunteering and help you take care of Jack. We owe him that much.”

Anne’s gaze shot to Delia, who still looked calm. “Owe him? Do I, Mother? He wasn’t around when I needed him. When Katie needed him. When he finished the fellowship in California and we moved back here, he promised me he’d go into private practice. And what did he do? Sign on with the hospital as chief attending cardiothoracic surgeon, increasing his workload because of the added responsibility.”

“Yes, he has a demanding career. But accepting that is part of the sacrifice of being a doctor’s wife. You knew that when you married him.”

And still she’d chosen to ignore it, because she’d loved him that much. “I guess I just wasn’t as good at it as you were.”

Delia shifted in her chair and showed the first signs of real discomfort. “The day you served Jack with divorce papers, he came to see me.”

Anne tried to hide her shock. She wasn’t certain she wanted to hear this, but she recognized her mother would continue despite her reluctance. “And?”

“He was devastated. You blindsided him. He’d had too much to drink, so he was open about his feelings. He didn’t want the divorce, Anne.”

“Great. He never talked to me about his feelings. He never protested, never fought. He just signed on the dotted line.”

Delia leaned forward. “Did you give him the chance, Anne? Best I can recall, you refused to speak to him after you threw him out.”

“I was afraid he’d talk me out of it.” Jack had been, and would always be, Anne’s one true weakness.

“If he could do that, then you weren’t ready to divorce him.”

That brought Anne’s chin up in defiance. No one, even her mother, would tell her what was best for her. Not anymore. “Come on, Mother. He’s not the saint you make him out to be.” The same sainthood Delia had bestowed on Anne’s father, as well. Her mother had stood by her man, through countless absences and midnight calls, and she expected no less from her daughter, regardless of the consequences.

Delia sighed. “I realize he’s not a saint.”

“But you don’t know everything.”

“If you’re referring to the other woman, I know about that, too.”

Shock robbed Anne of an immediate response. She’d purposefully kept that information from her mother because it had seemed so sordid. It still did.

Before Anne could comment, Delia looked beyond her and said, “There’s my other baby girl!”

Anne glanced up from her tea to see Katie climbing into Delia’s lap. Sweet, sweet Katie, with her father’s dark pensive eyes and her grandma’s flaxen hair. The baby who had miraculously arrived after years of Anne’s trying to become pregnant.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Grandma?”

“I came to see my bestest girls,” Delia said.

Anne smiled at Katie, a shaky smile. “Did you finish your homework, sweetie?”

“Yes, ma’am. All done. Can I play my computer game now?”

Delia studied Anne over Katie’s head. Anne recognized that look, exactly what it was saying. Tell her, Anne. Now’s as good a time as any, Anne. Don’t be a coward, Anne.

Anne inched her chair a little closer. “Katie, I have something to tell you.”

After taking a drink from Delia’s cup of tea, Katie smacked her lips with satisfaction. “What?”

“Daddy’s sick.”

Katie set the cup of tea down and squirmed in Delia’s lap. “Does he have the flu? A lot kids at school have it.”

If only that were so. “No, sweetie, he’s had something they call a stroke. It’s made him pretty sick, so he’s in the hospital.”

Her daughter’s eyes widened with comprehension and fear. “His hospital?”

“Yes. He’s okay, but it’ll take a while for him to get better.”

Katie scooted out of Delia’s lap. “I want to see him.”

Anne reached for her and pulled her close. “You can’t right now. They have him in a special place where they don’t let kids in. He’s still sleeping.”

Tears welled in Katie’s eyes, crushing Anne’s heart. “Is he going to die?”

Drawing her daughter into a hug, Anne whispered, “No, honey. He’s not going to die.” If only she were as sure as she sounded.

Katie pulled back, her expression suddenly stern. “Are you glad Daddy’s sick?”

Horrified, Anne tried to hug Katie again, but the girl would have none of it. She just stared hard at Anne, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “Oh, no, Katie. It makes me very sad.”

“You should be sad, even if you are divorced.” Katie said the last word with clarity, with the tone of a child who knew all too well the reality of single parents and bitter battles.

Delia rested a hand on Katie’s shoulder. “How about you go home with Grandma for the next few days, then we’ll go to the zoo on Saturday. If Daddy feels up to it, I’ll take you to see him after that.”

Katie looked back at her grandmother, then leveled her gaze on Anne. “Daddy always takes me to the zoo. I want to go to the zoo with Daddy.” Tears rolled down her cheeks in a steady, heart-wrenching stream.

Anne almost collapsed under the weight of her helplessness. What could she tell Katie? That her daddy might never get to take her to the zoo again? That he might never attend another soccer game or field day? Perhaps not even her wedding.

No, Anne couldn’t tell her daughter those things. She had to tell her something that would allow her hope. Something to make her smile again. She could think of only one thing. That one thing would entail discarding latent bitterness toward her ex-husband. But if making the sacrifice of aiding Jack with his recovery meant giving her daughter some peace, she would do it for Katie.

“How would you like it if Daddy came to live here with us until he felt better?”

Katie’s expression lit up, and so did Delia’s. “Like before?”

Not exactly, but Anne wouldn’t dare make that revelation. Not now. “Only until he gets well. He’ll have to have lots of rest.”

“Can he stay in the room next to mine? I could help take care of him.”

Anne considered the stairs, how hard it would be for Jack to scale them at first, if ever. “No, he’d have to stay downstairs.”

“In your room?”

Lord, she hadn’t even considered that. The other bedroom was upstairs with Katie’s. She supposed she could sleep in the guest room, but she would need to be nearby. She could sleep on the sofa in the living room and let Jack have the master bedroom. Or maybe she should arrange to have a hospital bed set up in the den. Already she was planning, and she realized the decision had been made for her.

“I’ll figure that out later. First, Daddy will have to say it’s okay.”

“He will,” Katie said with a child’s confidence, as though all would be right with the world if she willed it.

Katie hugged Anne, Delia smiled, and one thought gripped Anne’s heart. Jack was back in their lives—her life—if he agreed. If he lived.

CHAPTER 3

He awoke with a gasp as if surfacing from treacherous waters, held down by heavy limbs. Recollections came back to him in small frames, like some macabre B-movie with him in the starring role.

He remembered falling. Darkness. Pain. Flashes of Annie seeped into his consciousness. The dreams arrived as one patchwork journey into his past. Annie the way she looked back then. Katie as a baby. He was still running local marathons. Maybe even still in medical school. No—residency. He hadn’t known Annie in medical school.

The visions made little sense, yet he found comfort in their familiarity. He wanted to go right on sleeping, fearful of the unknown. Terrified of what he might find when he came fully awake. But sleep wouldn’t return, regardless of the fact that he kept his eyes tightly closed in an attempt to ignore the muffled voices, ignore other sounds he knew all too well. The nasal tones of an operator paging his colleagues. The hustle and bustle of the hospital halls. He recognized the sterile smells, the supercharged atmosphere. The place where he’d spent most of his waking hours in the past few years, but never like this.

He had no concept of time, no idea what day it was. Had he been asleep for minutes? Days? Weeks?

Jack searched his mind and vaguely remembered an eruption of activity after the initial confusion. Several times he’d wanted to ask what was happening to him, but he couldn’t manage to form the words with any coherency. Hank had been there; he knew that for certain. He’d recognized several of the nurses hovering over him. Most had taken orders from him at one time or another. Now they ordered him around. Asked him his name periodically. What day it was. What year. He’d answered the best he could, but his mind continued to drift off to another place. A place to escape harsh realities.

The creaking of a cart somewhere in the distance caused him to open his eyes. He slowly scanned the functional room. Purple drapes, mauve-and-navy chairs. A TV perched on the stand mounted near the ceiling. He knew the territory like he knew every instrument he used in surgery. Like the back of his hand.

His hand. He worked his left hand into a fist, flexing it open and closed. Yet when he tried to move his right hand, it lay flaccid against his side. His right foot tingled, but he felt nothing above it.

He gulped more air into his constricted chest, trying hard to push away the panic that threatened to consume him. He lowered his eyes to the needle in his arm, then followed the line as it trailed over the metal sidebars and up to where it attached to an IV pump. The equipment surrounding him was all too familiar. He just hadn’t been on this side of the bed before.

As a physician, he should know the names of the medications they kept pumping into him, but he couldn’t remember. Normally, he would be looking down on this scene—the narrow bed, the starched white sheets, the figure lying among leads and lines to sustain or relieve whatever malady had befallen him or her. But this time, he was the one lying helpless, surrounded by the miracle of modern technology. Half his body as dead as driftwood. Only half a man.

The door swung open and in walked Hank, a grim expression on his bearded face. Jack had seen that look before. He’d worn it several times himself, right before telling a patient’s family that nothing more could be done.

Hank strode to the side of the bed and faked a smile. “Hey, bud, you’re finally awake.” He leaned over and checked the pump. “Do you know your name?”

Shit, Hank was treating him like one of his patients. “Morgan. M-m-miracle worker.” It didn’t come out quite right; his brain seemed short-circuited.

Hank chuckled. “Hell, the stroke didn’t affect your industrial-size ego.”

Jack tensed over the word stroke. His worst fears had been confirmed; yet he’d known all along that he’d suffered some sort of cerebral accident. A fried brain. The end of his career.

“What…d-day is it?” His throat was as dry as dead leaves in the winter, and it had taken him great effort to form the words. As if it really mattered what day it was. What was the use in knowing? He had no surgical cases to worry about. No strength. No will.

Hank set the metal chart on the rolling table and perched on the edge of the bed. “It’s Saturday, Jack. You fell out around midnight on Sunday, after your transplant case. Do you remember any of it?”

“Some.” He remembered the pain, the helplessness. That no one had been there to comfort him.

After clearing his scratchy throat, he pointed at the white pitcher on the table. “Water.”

Hank poured a plastic cup full and handed it to him. After Jack took one sip, he asked the question nagging at him. “How bad?”

“An aneurysm. Nan Travers ordered you a nice buzz cut and fixed it. And if you don’t have any more problems, you’ll be good as new.”

Jack sensed his blood pressure rising. Right now he didn’t give a damn about anything. “Good as new, huh? What about the h-hand. The leg, Hank?”

Hank laid a palm on his shoulder. “Easy, bud. We’ll take it one day at a time. Occupational therapy and physical therapy will work with you, get that hand and leg back up to speed. But you’ll have to work with them, while you’re here on the rehab unit and after you go home.”

Home. Jack hadn’t considered the apartment home. He had no idea how the hell he was going to get through this. He’d been alone for two years and he’d managed. He’d manage again, even if it meant wasting away by himself. Then no one would see his suffering, or witness his despair.

“Anne’s here.”

Jack stopped the cup halfway to his lips, then slowly brought it back down to rest against his chest. He no longer wanted water. He wanted whiskey. “Why?”

“She asked to see how you’re doing. Talk to you.”

Jack took another sip of water, which partially rolled from the corner of his mouth, before he turned away from Hank’s scrutiny. “No.”

Hank pushed off the bed and stood. “Be reasonable, Jack. She’s worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”

White-hot anger bubbled up from Jack’s gut. He sure as hell didn’t want her to see him this way, all the proof she needed that he was too obsessed. Too driven. She’d find some way to blame the stroke on his work. She might not say “I told you so,” but he would be able to spot it in her face.

He brought his gaze back to Hank. “Tell her…come back later.”

“Can’t do that, bud. She’s on her morning break and she’s damn determined. You know what Anne’s like when she’s determined.”

Yeah, he knew what she was like. He’d lived with her long enough to know that when she had her mind set on something, she fought like a champion welterweight to get what she wanted. Okay, so he’d let her come in. Let her get her grins seeing him lying here like a limp fish. Then he’d tell her thanks for stopping by, now leave.

“Okay.” He sounded like a damn bullfrog, a drunk one, but this thing hadn’t completely robbed him of his speech. At least he had that much left.

Hank slipped the chart off the table and tapped it twice on the bed rail. “Okay. I’ll get her. I’ll drop by later when I’m making my evening rounds.”

“G-great.” Just great.

Hank strode out of the room, leaving Jack alone to face his past. And when she walked in the door, he realized he couldn’t run from the inevitable. She was dressed in her standard floral blue scrubs, a stethoscope draped around her neck. She’d cut her hair to her shoulders. He liked it better longer, not that his opinion mattered anymore.

Annie moved to the end of his bed and tried to smile. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions, and right now he could tell she was distressed. Hell, he must look worse than he thought.

She brushed back her gold-brown hair with one hand and said, “Hi.”

He focused on her face. Her wary blue eyes held a cast of some unnamed emotion. Probably pity. He didn’t like pity. “Nice weather…we’re having, huh?”

She moved a bit closer and gave him a once-over. “You look better than the last time I saw you. So how are you feeling?”

“Like c-crap.”

She raised a hand to her throat. “Well, that’s to be expected for a while.”

Enough of the small talk. He preferred to go back to sleep. Escape. Forget this nightmare. “Wh-what do you want?”

She looked surprised, maybe hurt. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. See if you’re up for visitors.”

“You’re here. You’ve seen me. You can…g-go.”

“I meant Katie.”

God, he didn’t want Katie coming here, seeing him helpless and wasted. “I don’t w-want…” He tried to calm down, but he almost welcomed the feeling of animosity. At least it kept him from thinking about his situation. “No. Not a good idea. For her to be here.”

“She’s scared, Jack. I had to tell her something. I think if she sees you’re okay, then she’ll be less worried.”

“I’m n-not okay.” Damn his stammering.

Anne stepped to the side of the bed. and laid a hand on his dead appendage. He couldn’t even yank it back, away from her charity. All he could do was stare at their joined hands and hope she took the hint. Finally she pulled away.

She started pacing, her favorite pastime when her nerves got the best of her. “Look, Jack, we have a few things to discuss.”

When she faced him again, he noticed the worry in her expression and chose to ignore it. “Support check’s in the m-mail.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I don’t care about your stupid money. I’m talking about your future. What you’re going to do when you get out of here.”

“Maybe I’ll…take up gardening.”

She fisted her hands at her sides. Annie was about to blow, and he couldn’t even get out of her path. “This isn’t a joke, Jack. You’ve got to consider your health. Your recuperation.” She strolled around to the other side of the bed, appearing unsure. Very un-Annelike.

“What d-do you suggest, Annie?”

“I want you to consider coming to live with me and Katie during your recovery.”

If that didn’t bring on another stroke, then maybe he was out of the woods after all. At least for the time being. “What the…hell for?”

“Because you’re going to need help. And we can help you. You don’t have to decide now. I just want you to think about it for the next few days.”

He didn’t understand her motivation, why she was making such a crazy offer. He suspected Hank had had something to do with this. Maybe even Delia. “I don’t need…any help. I wouldn’t want you to p-put yourself out on my account, Anne.”

“Quit being so damn stubborn!”

Annie had cursed at him. She was pissed, and he liked her that way. He liked her as pissed as he was over this whole mess. “You really want a vegetable…on your nice leather c-couch, Annie?”

In a matter of minutes, she recovered, erecting the emotional wall that had separated them for several years. She hadn’t changed her attitude about him one whit, but what could he expect? “You’ll get better.”

“Just ’cause you say it’s so…d-don’t make it so. Thanks for the…offer. But no…thanks.”

She shrugged and raised her hands all in one smooth move. “Okay, forget I asked. You hire someone to take care of you. And when you decide to stop feeling sorry for yourself, then maybe you’ll be ready to see your daughter again.”

When she spun on her crepe soles and headed for the door, a sudden fear gripped Jack. Irrational fear, yet too strong to ignore. He hated being at the mercy of everyone’s idea of what was best for him, but if he let her leave, he might lose his port in the storm. Again. Although there was a lot of garbage between Anne and him, he knew he could rely on her if he had to. She was the connection to his daughter, and he couldn’t survive without Katie in his life. He’d already given up too much.

“Annie, wait.”

When she turned, her eyes looked red-rimmed and moist. Surely she wasn’t going to cry over him. He wasn’t worth it. She was willing to make a sacrifice, and he’d gone and hurt her. The way he’d hurt her so many times already. But what the hell was he going to do? He gave her the only response that made any sense.

“I’m s-sorry. Bring Katie. Tonight.”

Now Anne stared at him, openly stunned. A long time had passed since he’d apologized to her for his shortcomings, and he had plenty. So many she’d never been able to forgive him, and most likely never would. “This probably wasn’t a great time to discuss this, Jack. It’s just that Katie cares about what happens to you.”

“What a-b-bout you, Annie?” An unfair question, yet he had to know.

“Of course I care, Jack. I still consider you a friend, and you are Katie’s father.”

But not her husband, or her lover, and despite what she said, not her friend.

Not anymore.

1984

Anne had never believed for a second she would become friends with a doctor, much less go out with one. Twice.

For the past hour she’d tried to find something about Jack Morgan that she didn’t like. Some hidden imperfection. Even the tiniest thing to discourage her. So far, she’d had little success. Of course, she could paint his persistence as a character flaw, and persistent he’d been since their NewYear’s Eve golf game, calling several times over the past week until he’d finally worn her down. But in all fairness, she couldn’t fault him for a trait that she also possessed.

She’d unfortunately discovered they had a lot in common, including a love of nature, which was precisely how she’d ended up sitting in a small outdoor café on her day off, taking a break from the myriad tourists who had flocked to the zoo on a sunny January afternoon following a few days of freezing temperatures.

“Exactly how did you manage this little excursion, Doctor?” she asked.

“Easy. I bought tickets at the gate.”

Considering his talent for teasing, she should have known not to expect a straight answer. “I meant, how did you manage to take the day off to entertain me?”

“I called in sick.”

She looked up from her purple plastic souvenir cup to find that his grin alone indicated he was lying. “You did not.”

“It’s my scheduled day off. Do you really think I’d call in sick when I run the risk of having to explain that to your dad, Annie?”

She bit back the urge to panic. “My father knows you’re out with me?”

“Not unless you told him.”

No, she hadn’t told him, or her mother. “I decided not to say anything, just in case. I was afraid it might create complications for you.” And for her. “I also don’t want people believing there’s more between us than friendship.”

Jack frowned. “Are you worried some of my fellow residents might cry favoritism if they knew I was fraternizing with the chief’s daughter?”

“Yes. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not unless it bothers you.”

“You say that now, but I doubt you’d be so cavalier about it if word got out.”

“I’ll deal with it if I have to.” He pushed his own cup aside. “Want to go check out the gorillas now?”

“The gorillas can wait. First, I want to talk awhile longer.” They’d been too engrossed in competition during the golf game for Anne to garner any intimate details, and he’d been in too big of a hurry during their previous phone conversations.

Jack leaned back in his chair and stacked his hands behind his neck. “Okay. Talk.”

“You’ve never told me about your family.”

His expression turned serious and hinted at sadness. “I have a brother who’s a banker. He’s married and lives in Boston. My mother died two years ago from breast cancer. When I was eleven, my dad died from restrictive cardiomyopathy.”

Like so many doctors she’d known, he’d been driven into medicine by personal experience, when she’d secretly hoped he’d been motivated by the money, prestige, power—all valid reasons for her to cling to the last of her resistance. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

“So am I.” He straightened, his hands clasped tightly before him on the table. “Back then, all I could do was watch him die. If I can prevent that from happening to someone else’s family member, then the hell I go through to become a transplant surgeon will be worth it.”

A transplant surgeon. No wonder her father held Jack in such high esteem. “Sounds like you have a long road ahead of you, educationally speaking.”