A Fatal Slip (12 page)

They were crossing the foyer on the way to the kitchen when the front door opened, and Sabina Roberts walked in. She was wearing an expensive-looking, full-length mink coat and brown suede boots.

Emma stopped briefly. “Good afternoon. Your husband has been looking for you. I think he’s in the library.”

“Thanks.” Sabina smiled as she pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her pockets.

Liz and Emma watched as she headed down the hall toward the library, then they continued on to the kitchen, where they helped themselves to coffee and tea.

“How is your work going?” Liz cradled her cup in her hands and leaned against the counter as Emma stirred sweetener into her mug of green tea.

“It’s going very well. It’s a thrill to see so many beautiful works of art.”

“I know what you mean. I’m drawing on the colors from this spectacular Matisse painting Jackson showed me for the web site design. You have to ask him to show it to you sometime.” Liz sighed. “I guess we’d better get back to work.” She glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. “Matt has an appointment this afternoon so I have to get Alice from ballet class at three.”

Emma smiled at the thought of Alice, her goddaughter, with her blond hair and sweet disposition. Alice’s brother, Ben, was a few years younger and adored his big sister. Emma felt a pang of jealousy. It would be nice to have her life settled . . . once and for all.

They were heading back to their respective work areas when they heard loud voices coming from the library. Emma and Liz stopped in their tracks and looked at each other. Emma gestured toward the library with her chin. Liz shot Emma a grin before following her down the hall.

They stopped well short of the door to the library. They didn’t have to go much closer—the two feminine voices were loud and agitated.

“Sounds like Joy,” Liz whispered. “But who is the other?”

“Sabina, I think.” Emma listened carefully. “Yes, I’m sure that’s Sabina.”

They could make out a few words here and there but one phrase rang out loud and clear. It was Sabina speaking. “You know nothing!” she yelled.

Emma and Liz pressed themselves back against the wall as Sabina stomped from the room, her cheeks flushed bright red with indignation, her dark eyes snapping in fury.

SWEET
Nothings was busy on Saturday morning, with one customer coming in as another was leaving. Emma kept a watch on Arabella—she didn’t want her to overdo it and get too tired. Sylvia had several bra-fitting appointments, and Emma was keeping an eye on her, too. She was even older than Arabella, and Emma didn’t want anything to happen to her. She plunged her hand into her short, dark hair and took a deep breath. Was it time for them to hire some younger help?

It was just after noon when the door jingled again, and Bitsy stuck her head around the edge.

“I’ve brought you some cupcakes.” She held out a white bakery box tied with red and white variegated string and dangled it in front of them. “I’m trying out a new flavor, and I need an opinion.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Emma said.

Bitsy put the box down on the counter, snipped the string with the scissors Emma handed her and lifted the lid. “They’re salted caramel with dulce de leche frosting.”

Emma lifted one from the box. She’d just had a small salad for lunch and was craving something sweet.

Bitsy watched intensely, her brows drawn together over her enormous blue eyes, as Emma took a bite.

Emma sighed. She could have sworn her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Are they okay?” Bitsy chewed on the edge of her thumb.

“They’re . . . they’re divine,” Emma breathed. “Heavenly and sinful at the same time if that’s possible.” She laughed.

Bitsy laughed, too. “Phew. I was afraid they were going to be a bust. I started experimenting in the kitchen, and one thing led to another.”

“I’d say you’ve got a hit on your hands.”

“You can’t be too sure,” Sylvia said, reaching into the box. “I think this calls for a second opinion.” She selected a cupcake, peeled off the wrapper and took a bite. “Emma is right. These are fabulous—sinfully rich and utterly heavenly. What a combination.” Sylvia took another bite and closed her eyes contentedly.

“Aunt Arabella?” Emma held the box toward her aunt.

Arabella smiled. “No, thanks.” She patted her stomach. “As Priscilla has pointed out, I’ve gained a few pounds since she last saw me. Time I started watching what I eat. Francis has corrupted me. We’ve tried all the new restaurants within a fifty-mile radius, and when we’re not eating out, we’re cooking wickedly fattening things together.”

“I am just so relieved you gals like them,” Bitsy said. “They’ll be tomorrow’s special.” She crossed her fingers and held them up. “Here’s hoping they’ll be a success.”

“I know they will be,” Emma reassured her.

Just then the phone on Arabella’s desk in the stockroom rang. They all jumped. That phone didn’t ring all that often. People generally went online to find the store’s address, its hours and what exactly Sweet Nothings sold.

Something about the ring set Emma’s teeth on edge although she couldn’t say what—it sounded just as it always did. She picked it up on the fourth ring, and answered a little breathlessly. “Hello, Sweet Nothings. How may I help you?”

“Emma?” Liz’s voice came over the line. It was half question, half sob.

Emma felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Liz? What is it?”

A groan that turned into a sob was the only answer to her question.

Emma gripped the phone tightly. “Liz! You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong.” All sorts of scenarios ran through her head. Was it Matt? Alice or Ben? Emma didn’t know how Liz would bear it if anything happened to them.

“It’s . . . it’s Brian.” Liz’s words ended on another sob.

Emma felt herself go very still. Everything around her faded into a swirling mist that appeared out of nowhere. All her senses were heightened. She heard each tick of the clock on the wall over Arabella’s desk; felt the slickness of the plastic telephone receiver in her hand; tasted the brown sugar in her mouth from Bitsy’s cupcakes. “Brian?”

Liz groaned again, and Emma heard her take a deep breath to steady herself. “There’s been an accident,” she said bluntly, as if all the emotion had suddenly been leached out of her. “Brian . . . Brian fell off a ladder. They’ve called an ambulance, and the EMTs are there now. At best it’s a broken leg. At worst it’s . . .” Liz gave another sob, unable to go on.

“What? What is it, Liz?” Emma gripped the telephone receiver so tightly pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder.

“He was wearing his hard hat. He always does, and he makes sure his crew does the same,” Liz said all in a rush. “But something happened. The strap broke . . . I don’t know how or why. But it slipped off as he fell, and oh, Emma, it’s terrible. He’s unconscious, and they have no idea when . . . or even if . . . he’ll ever come out of it.”

Emma ended the call and looked up to see Arabella and Sylvia standing in the doorway. Arabella’s face was pale, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Arabella asked, her face mirroring her concern. “It sounded bad.”

Emma vowed she wouldn’t cry. She would be brave and strong and stoic. She had to do it for Liz. But it was so terribly hard. “It’s Brian,” she managed to get out.

Arabella and Sylvia turned even whiter. “What’s happened? Please tell us.” Arabella took Emma’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “Poor dear, you’re freezing.”

“According to Liz, there’s been an accident.” Emma took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She had to be brave. “Brian fell off a ladder. He’s broken his leg, and there’s some concern that he may have a concussion.”

Arabella’s shoulder’s relaxed a tiny bit. “That’s terrible, but he can overcome a broken leg, and concussions are a dime a dozen these days.”

Emma looked away, not wanting to meet her aunt’s gaze.

“You need to get to the hospital right away,” Sylvia declared decisively. “I’ll drive you. You’re obviously in no state to go by yourself.”

“Will you be okay?” Emma looked at Arabella.

“Oh, don’t fuss about me. I’ll be fine. But call me the minute you know anything, okay?”

Emma promised. She allowed herself to be led out to Sylvia’s ancient Cadillac and belted into the passenger seat. Arabella tucked Emma’s purse in alongside her and shut the door. Emma could see Arabella in the side-view mirror standing at the back door of Sweet Nothings, her arms folded across her chest, as they pulled out of the Sweet Nothings parking lot.

• • •

IT
didn’t take them long to get to the Henry County Medical Center. Emma was so numb she was nearly oblivious to the horns blaring behind Sylvia as they made their way down Tyson Avenue, but she was still relieved when they pulled into the lot. Sylvia maneuvered the Cadillac into a space in the emergency parking area.

“I can get a ride back with Liz, so there’s no need for you to stay. Arabella will need you at the shop.” Emma jumped out of the car, nearly forgetting her purse in her distress.

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

“I’ll be fine. But I don’t want Arabella to be alone for too long.”

Sylvia nodded, put the Caddy in gear, and slowly backed out of the space, narrowly missing a light stanchion, a parked police car and a large stone planter. Emma could hear Sylvia’s brakes squealing in the distance as she pushed open the door to the emergency room.

Two nurses in blue scrubs sat behind the registration desk.

One looked up from putting papers into a folder. “Can I help you?”

“Brian is here,” Emma said somewhat incoherently. “I need to see him.”

The nurse gave her a practiced smile. “If you could just give me his last name?” Her fingers hovered over the keys of her computer.

“O’Connell,” Emma managed. She looked around, praying to spot Liz, but she must have gone through already. “Brian O’Connell.”

The nurse tapped a number of keys then looked up at Emma and frowned. “Are you a relative?”

Emma was about to say
no
when she thought better of it. What if they wouldn’t let her go back to see Brian? “I’m his wife,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back in the childish gesture they used to make when they were younger.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Connell.” The nurse’s eyes strayed to the computer again. “Mr. O’Connell’s sister is with him now.” She pulled a name badge toward her and reached for a marker from the jar on her desk. “First name, please?” Her hand hovered over the sticker.

“Emma. Emma O’Connell.”

The nurse wrote the name down in careful block letters then wrote
Room 15
underneath. She handed it to Emma.

Emma peeled off the backing and waited while the nurse buzzed open the emergency room door.

“Take a left at the end of the hall. Room fifteen is on the right.”

Emma took a deep breath and walked through the door. She wasn’t squeamish, but she was terrified of what she would find. How would Brian look? Would he be bruised? Bandaged? Would she even recognize him?

Emma got to the end of the hall and hesitated. Had the nurse said to go right or left? She thought left so she headed in that direction. She found room number 15 easily enough and pushed aside the curtain slightly, peering around the edge. Liz was seated in an orange, molded plastic chair beside the bed, her shoulders drooping, chin in her hands.

Brian was on the gurney, eyes closed, his right leg in a splint. He was hooked up to an IV along with various other tubes and wires. Machines beeped and lights flashed dizzyingly. For one moment Emma thought she would faint, but she forced herself to take deep breaths. She needed to be strong for Liz’s sake.

Liz must have sensed her standing there. She whirled around. “Emma!” She jumped from her seat and threw her arms around Emma, burying her face in her friend’s neck. Emma felt tears pricking the backs of her eyelids and reminded herself she had to stay strong for Liz.

Liz pulled away slightly and fished a tissue from the pocket of her pants. She blew her nose and laughed. “I’ve already used up the whole box that was in here.” She gestured toward an empty tissue box sitting on the bedside tray. She gave Emma another quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Matt is with the kids. One of the guys from the crew was here earlier, but I sent him home.” She wrinkled her nose. “He smelled like dirt and concrete.”

Emma gave a laugh that turned into a hiccup. She grabbed Liz’s arm. “How . . . how is he?” She glanced at Brian lying so still and pale on the bed.

Liz shook her head. “They’ve done a CT scan, and we’re waiting for the results. Apparently he seemed fine at first—apart from the broken leg—but then he lost consciousness. It’s possible they will have to operate. The doctor thinks there’s some swelling of the brain.” Liz gave a sob and buried her face in her hands. “It’s all so hard to understand.”

Emma felt just as lost. “But he will wake up . . . right?”

“I think so. Once they do the operation to relieve the pressure. The doctor should be back any minute now.”

“Can I get you some water or coffee . . . ?”

Liz shook her head. “I’m fine. The nurse brought me some water. I’m afraid caffeine would make me even more jumpy than I already am.” She glanced at Emma and gave her a smile. “Hey,” she said suddenly, “what’s that?” She pointed at the name tag on Emma’s shirt.

Emma felt her face turn red. “I was afraid they wouldn’t let me in if I wasn’t related so I . . . lied.”

“Good for you! What did you say? You’re his sister?”

Emma ducked her head. “No,” she said more to the floor than to Liz. “I said I was his wife.”

“Oh, I wish!” Liz cried, jumping to her feet and hugging Emma again. “Brian adores you . . . it’s only a matter of time.”

Emma felt a deep warmth spread throughout her. She knew what she wanted—a life with Brian, no matter what that entailed. She looked at his silent form and sent up a fervent prayer.

Suddenly the curtain to Brian’s room was pulled aside, the rings clattering against the metal rod, and a woman stepped in. She had on a white coat with a stethoscope protruding from her pocket and a clipboard in her hand. She looked at Emma quizzically.

“This is Brian’s wife,” Liz explained.

The woman consulted her chart briefly. “I thought . . . the forms said . . .” She shrugged as if it wasn’t important and stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Mitchell.”

Both Emma and Liz looked at her expectantly.

“We’ve done a CT scan on Mr. O’Connell, and we did find some swelling of the brain. That’s normal in cases where there has been a sharp impact to the head. The good news is that we will be able to treat it.” She consulted her notes again. “It’s a minor procedure that involves draining fluid from the space around the brain.” She pointed to her head. “It’s generally quite successful.”

“What about his leg?” Liz knitted her hands together.

Dr. Mitchell smiled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to the orthopedic surgeon about his leg.” She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “Transport will be along shortly to take him into the operating room. I’ll be able to fix the swelling in his brain, and Dr. Harrison—she’s a brilliant orthopedic surgeon—will attend to his leg.” She looked at the clock over the gurney where Brian lay, oblivious to everything going on. “I’d suggest you think about going home and getting some rest so you can be here when he wakes up.”