Beneath the Surface (33 page)

“So, where did you two meet?” Emilia asked.

“Actually, Evelyn introduced us. She referred Eric to my personal shopping business.”

“Aah.”

“I’ll bet Angela was in on that,” Donna said.

“Why do you say that?” Evelyn arched a brow.

“I know how you two operate.” Donna leaned close to Tabitha as she handed her one of the last pieces of Tupperware to dry. “You stay around us long enough, you’ll learn that Angela is the family’s official self-appointed Cupid.”

“Really?” Tabitha didn’t know what else to say to that, hoped the sisters didn’t start revealing any deep dark secrets that Eric didn’t want revealed or that she wasn’t yet ready to hear. She was sure they were all quite capable of spilling any number of beans, especially the non-designated drivers who had downed generous amounts of alcohol throughout the night.

“And what does that make me then?” Evelyn asked.

“Her accomplice,” Emilia said and she and Donna broke out into girlish giggles.

“All right, enough jabbering and more cleaning up so we can all hit the road and leave the two lovebirds alone,” Angela said as she came into the kitchen and clapped her hands.

“All done,” Donna said, handing Tabitha the last casserole pan.

Tabitha dried it and stacked it in one of the cabinets below the sink.

“How is EJ?” Emilia asked. “He looked a little run down towards the end of the party.”

If she only knew, Tabitha thought. Her brother had been a trooper all day, run down long before the end of the party. “He hit the sack a little early.”

189

Gracie C. McKeever

“C’mon you guys. Carpool leaves in exactly five minutes,” Angela said.

“We’d better go.” Donna took off her apron and gave Tabitha a hug and a kiss.

“Good to meet you, Tabitha. Hope to see you again real soon.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ll make it to our parents’ anniversary party,” Emilia put in as she gave Tabitha a hug, too.

“Maybe,” Tabitha said.

“We’ll meet you out at the van,” Evelyn said to Angela. “Talk to you later, Tabitha.”

Angela sighed once her three sisters left and turned to Tabitha. “Goddess, I thought they’d never leave.”

Tabitha smiled, almost afraid of what was coming. “You threw a great party.”

“You helped a great deal.” Angela searched her face for a long moment, finally said, “I knew you were the one for him when I first met you.”

“At the sidewalk café?”

Angela nodded.

“That had to be more than a year ago.”

“Almost two.”

And she’d sat on her knowledge that long before finally deciding to push her brother and Tabitha together? The woman had the patience of a saint.

“The time wasn’t right,” Angela said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Two years ago the time wasn’t right for you two. You weren’t ready for each other.”

And we’re ready for each other now?

Tabitha wondered, remembering all the little quarrels and confrontations that she and Eric had had since they’d met, remembering all the tender moments and torrid sex…

“Comes with the territory. Breaking up to make up. I like the make-up sex, too.”

Tabitha felt herself blushing at Angela’s conspiratorial tone. She was really going to have to start getting used to the woman’s uncanny ability to so easily read her.

Angela smiled and caught Tabitha in a firm hug. “Take care of him. I’ll call in periodically to see how he’s doing.”

Just like that she assumed that Tabitha was going to be here playing wet nurse.

Who was she kidding? She knew she would be here as well as Angela knew.

Tabitha walked Angela to the door, accepted another hug and kiss before seeing her out, finally locked the door and leaned back against it for a long moment before going to the bedroom to check on Eric.

190

Beneath the Surface

She came up short on the threshold, just stood and watched him, heart melting at the sight that greeted her.

He was curled into a semi-fetal position, shoes off, clothes still on, and looking boyish and vulnerable with his hands folded as if in prayer and tucked beneath a cheek, his long curly lashes just brushing his high cheeks.

Tabitha’s heart thudded so hard her entire body vibrated with the rhythm and an emotion she immediately recognized but feared putting a name to.

She loved him, plain and not so simple, and she had no idea what she was going to do about it except keep it to herself for now and hope that her knowledge didn’t drastically affect the way she acted around him.

She wouldn’t tell him, couldn’t, not yet when she didn’t know how to deal with it herself.

Tabitha took several steps across the floor until she reached the bed and noticed the bottle of Thera-flu on the nightstand and a handwritten note beneath it.

She picked up the note, and expectedly saw Angela’s bold and precise penmanship.

Tabitha, I gave him a dose at eleven-thirty. He should need another at five-thirty.

There’s plenty of homemade chicken soup in the freezer with a cold compress and the
thermometer is in the bathroom cabinet. Call me if there’s anything I didn’t think of. Talk
to you soon, Love, A.

She smiled as she finished reading, folded the note and put it back under the bottle as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She reached out and smoothed a lock of hair from his face and just looked at him for a few minutes, still coming down off of a wonderful, hectic, happy, crazy and frightening day.

Eric tossed and frowned in his sleep, mumbling as he turned from his side onto his back.

Tabitha caught something about Sinclair and bent her head closer to hear.

“…why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you let me help you?”

She wasn’t exactly angry, refused to be jealous of a dead woman, after all, and it wasn’t as if he had called Ms. Secret’s name.

She knew from her read of
Reaching Out
and his presentation in Colorado who Sinclair was, and how important she had been to Eric before and after she had taken her own life. Obviously, the young woman had made an immeasurable impression on him that more than a decade later he’d dedicated his book to her and was talking to her in his sleep.

She hoped it was his sleep, and not that he was nearing a white light.

Stop being so melodramatic!

Just to be safe, Tabitha went to the kitchen to retrieve the compress and the bathroom to get the thermometer.

191

Gracie C. McKeever

She went back to Eric and undressed him as quickly as she could. The chinos came off easily, but the turtleneck gave her a little problem.

He shivered as soon as he was down to his shorts and Tabitha covered him with the comforter, and turned up the thermostat a notch.

“Tabitha?” He looked directly at her, his eyes sharp and clear.

“Yep, it’s me, and you officially have the flu, Mister.”

“I know, and I’m probably contagious.” He moaned, closed his eyes. “God, I hope I didn’t give this to anyone.”

“We’re worrying about you right now.”

“I know, but I really wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“I know, you want to die right?”

“You mean I’m not there already?”

She chuckled, palmed a warm cheek.

He caught her wrist and stared up at her. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m contagious,” he repeated.

“Tell me about it. I’ve fallen ill with the Eric Vega bug a long time ago,” she admitted, and stuck the thermometer under his tongue, then put the cold compress on his forehead.

Eric pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to catch this.” He coughed spasmodically, the mucus in his chest clearly audible now.

“I don’t plan on catching your nasty germs,” she teased. “I’ve had my flu shot.”

“That doesn’t make you indestructible.”

“No, but it makes me less susceptible than some people I know.” She cut her eyes at him. “You didn’t get a shot, did you?”

“I never do, and with the shortage we had this year…” He shrugged. “I never caught it before, never had a problem.”

“You’ve been lucky, but you’ve got it now, big time.” She put the thermometer back in his mouth, got up and went to the kitchen to defrost some of the soup in the microwave.

When she was done, she measured a serving into a bowl, put the bowl on a tray, headed out of the kitchen and froze on the living room threshold when she saw Eric sitting at the computer with the thermometer still in his mouth.

Tabitha put the tray on the kitchen counter and marched to Eric at the computer.

“
What
are you doing out of bed?”

He spoke around the thermometer and she caught something about getting chapters done. “Chapters smapters. Get back in bed.” She bent and slid an arm around his waist to help him to his feet.

192

Beneath the Surface

He got up willingly enough, but fussed as she led him to the bedroom. “But Tab—”

“But nothing!” She brandished her cell. “Do you want me to call your sister?” She didn’t need to say which one, they both knew she meant Angela.

“No,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t think so.” She walked him the rest of the way to his bed, helped him settle back under the covers. “Now stay put,” she said before she retrieved the tray from the kitchen and made her way back.

She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, took the thermometer out of his mouth and read it with alarm. She remembered hearing that a child could sustain a higher temperature than an adult could and suffer less damage. Unless said child was an infant and had seizures? What was the standard here?

“What is it?”

“Uh, it’s pretty high.”

He frowned. “How high? Give me numbers.”

“What are you? An accountant?” She quipped. “It’s high enough for you to stay in bed and get some rest is how high.”

“It’s not a hundred-and-eleven is it?”

“What!” She peered at him, saw the dimples-showcasing grin through his peaked look and smiled back when she registered his joke. “No, Ralph Kramden, it’s not a hundred-and-a-eleven. It’s actually a-hundred-and-two. Satisfied?”

“Whoa, that’s kind of high.”

“I told you. Now will you stay put and get some rest?”

He nodded at the tray she’d placed atop the bedside table. “That for me?”

“It’s not for me.”

“You going to feed it to me?”

“No, smarty, you’re going to feed yourself.”

“What if I’m too weak? I am a sick man after all.”

Tabitha smiled as he sat up in bed and she fluffed and propped up the stack of pillows behind his head. She picked up the tray and settled it over his lap before stuffing a napkin down the front of the T-shirt he had put on, and sticking the soupspoon in his right hand. “Now eat.”

“Okay, Nurse Ratchet.”

She chuckled and silently smoothed back that stubborn lock of hair as he ate.

He sipped down a few spoonfuls before he pushed the tray to the side and snuggled under the covers.

“You barely ate anything.”

193

Gracie C. McKeever

“I’m not really hungry. I’ll try and eat some later.” His eyes drifted shut. “I ache so bad.”

“I know you do, baby.” She forked a hand through his hair, preparing to dig in for a long night of nurturing and vigilance.

194

Beneath the Surface

EJ opened his eyes to see daylight outside and Tabitha sleeping in the recliner beside his bed with a blanket thrown over her lap.

Damn, how long had he slept this time?

He glanced at the bedside clock and winced. Nine-thirty? He’d slept what, ten hours? That wasn’t too bad was it?

“Hey you.” Tabitha stretched, flung the blanket off her lap, stood and draped it over the recliner back before coming to sit beside him on the bed. She reached out to feel his forehead. “I think your fever’s broke.”

Fever? Oh, God, had he been delirious? Spoken out of his head?

The last thing he remembered was sipping soup. Tabitha forcing some sweet and tangy medicine down his throat. Tabitha walking him to the bathroom. Tabitha forcing more soup down his throat. Tabitha forcing more medicine into him…the hours and doses vaguely blended into each other until the perennial image of Tabitha at his side with a spoon in her hand embedded itself on his consciousness, obliterating all other impressions.

EJ had a feeling he’d been asleep more than just overnight. “How long have I been asleep?” he blurted.

“Oh, not that long.”

“I mean altogether.”

“Hmm, about two days.”

“Two days!”

“Off and on. You woke up for brief periods to take some medicine and have some soup and water. I didn’t want you to get dehydrated or malnourished. Not that you took enough in as far as I’m concerned.”

195

Gracie C. McKeever

“You’ve been here the entire time?”

“Where else would I be?” She smoothed back a stubborn lock of his hair before sticking the thermometer under his tongue.

He pulled it out. “What about work?”

“What about work?”

“Your job, workaholic?”

“Oh, that. I’m self-employed like you. I can take time off at my discretion.”

Self-employed. That’s right. He’d been asleep on the job while she’d taken time off to take care of him.

What had he missed? “Did I get any calls?”

“Oh, plenty.”

“Aw shi—”

“Not to worry. I took care of most of them.”

“How?”

“I told your agent and your editor that you were down with the flu and you’d get back to them as soon as possible. The other calls I asked Jodie to handle.”

“Jodie called?”

Tabitha nodded. “She was very understanding and concerned, but said to hurry up and get better, she’s got some more appearances and interviews set up for you. You probably should give her a call when you can.”

“I will.”

“And of course Angela and your mother called. They’ll want to hear from you soon.”

“You’ve been a busy little beaver, huh?”

She shrugged. “We try.”

He peered at her for a long moment, throat tight as he tried to form the right words. “Was I a good patient?”