Forever Spring (12 page)

She had a pounding headache from the increasing pressure of the tension at the back of her neck. Her eyes were gritty from incipient tears and the lack of sleep the night before. And her mind felt abused from fighting the memories of why she hadn’t slept the night before. In comparison, the need to maneuver the crazy-quilt mess of one-way traffic in the historic city was a piece of cake.

“Are we going to Grandma’s first?” Mark asked.

Karen stole a glance from the street to offer her son a smile. “No, honey. I think both Grandma and Grandpa will be at the hospital.”

“Are we soon there?”

Karen frowned at his grammar. “Just a little while longer, honey,” she replied, striving to hang on to her control.

“I’m hungry,” he whimpered.

“You’re always hungry,” his brother taunted from the back.

“As a matter of fact, I’m hungry, too,” Karen said brightly, giving her oldest a quelling look via the rearview mirror. “We can get something to eat in the hospital coffee shop as soon as we find out how your dad’s doing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mark agreed.

“Now take a break,” came the hard-voiced order from the back seat.

Karen’s eyes shot to the mirror to catch his reflection with a “this is your mother speaking and I’m not kidding” look. Rand lowered his eyes.

For a few moments, relative peace and quiet prevailed—at least inside the car. Outside it was a different story. A motorist running a yellow light missed her car by a breath. As she attempted to push the brake pedal through the floor of the car with her foot, Karen flung her right arm out in front of Mark to back up his seat belt.

Mark decided that was the perfect time to begin wailing. “I hate this! I hate this whole day!” he sobbed. “We’re all gonna die.”

“Mark, please!” Karen eased the car back into the flow of traffic and her temper back into submission. “It was close,” she said soothingly, silently cursing the ancestry of the other driver. “But we’re fine, and no one is going to die.” Brave words, she jeered at herself.

“Boy, are you really thirteen?” Rand asked sarcastically.

Karen prayed for enlightened motorists and spared another warning glare for her back-seat agitator.

Mark then made the mistake of wriggling in his seat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You always hafta go to the bathroom. All you ever do is eat and go to the bathroom,” Rand gibed.

Karen’s patience gave up the battle. “Rand, I’ve had enough of your snide remarks. What in the world is the matter with you?” Her eyes shifted back and forth between the street and the mirror; she saw her firstborn drop his head abjectly. Her heart clenched as she heard his whispered cry.

“Oh, Mom. I’m so scared.”

Chapter Seven

iVaren ached to bring the car to a dead stop right there in the middle of the nightmarish traffic and bawl with her two offspring, both of whom were sobbing now. Gritting her teeth and murmuring garbled words of comfort, she wove the car in and around the vehicular maze leading to the hospital.

After finally securing a place to park, she rushed the boys into the hospital, past the information desk and straight into the first visitors’ lounge she came to. Breathing a sigh of relief at finding the room empty, Karen dropped her purse onto the nearest chair and swept Rand and Mark into her arms.

“Okay, now cry it out,” she coaxed softly. “It’ll help.”

Neither of the boys held back. The dam of fear and anxiety burst, and Karen tightened her arms, absorbing her sons’ shudders into her body. The moment was bittersweet for Karen. It had been some time since either of the boys had sought succor in her embrace, and an especially long time for Rand. At odd moments, catching herself gazing wistfully at an infant or toddler and consumed with a longing to cradle the child to her breast, she wondered if she was suffering the empty-nest syndrome. Usually the sensation of emptiness was fleeting and she went back to the reality of the present convinced that she was content with her life. Now, fiercely clasping their slim bodies to her heart, Karen wondered again.

Ignoring the tears stinging her eyes, she closed them and brushed one damp cheek over Rand’s tangled hair and the other over Mark’s tousled curls.

For this tiny, isolated moment, the boys were hers again, her beautiful babies. Soon, too soon, they would collect themselves, she knew. Very likely, Rand would be first. Then, together, they would go face the news about their father. But until then, Karen would savor the sweet feeling of being needed by her babies, even if the feeling was transient and contained equal amounts of pleasure and pain. As she had suspected, Rand was the first to withdraw.

“I forgot a hankie,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes by swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. '

“There are tissues in my purse.” She indicated the bag with a movement of her hand. “Give some to your brother, please.” She was unable to keep her hand from creeping to the back of Mark’s head, and her fingers stroked his fine curly hair. With a final snorting gulp, Mark stepped back.

“I didn’t wanna act like a baby.” Mark shot a fearful look at his brother, the infamous tormentor.

“Who did?” Rand muttered, absolving Mark of guilt, while shoving a wad of tissues into his hand. “Neither one of you have..Karen began.

“Only little kids cry,” Mark sniffled.

“Sez who?” Rand demanded, mopping the moisture from his lean cheeks.

“Dad,” Mark said, following his idol’s example and applying damp tissue to his even damper face. “He said real men never cry.”

Sounds exactly like something your dad would say, Karen thought, shaking her head. “Men are human, Mark, and all humans experience a need to relieve fear and pain at times,” she said softly.

“Dad don’t ever cry,” Mark insisted.

“No,” Rand agreed in a surprisingly adult tone. “Dad swears.”

“Yeah, he does!” Mark blinked, startled. “He swears a lot!”

“Yeah.” Rand’s tone aged with a hint of cynicism. “Dad swears an awful lot.”

In Karen’s opinion, Charles’s penchant for the more colorful expletives left a lot to be desired. She also thought that this particular vein of conversation had run out. “Well, given a choice,” she observed, “I prefer tears to cursing as an outlet for easing stress.” She ran an appraising glance over their faces as she picked up her purse. “You guys ready?”

Mark’s face pinched. Karen noted the boy’s frozen expression at the same instant Rand did. Rand moved faster. Stepping to his brother, Rand slung a thin arm around Mark’s drooping shoulders.

“C’mon, punk,” he said roughly. “Whaddaya wanna bet Dad’s gonna be all right?”

“D’ya think?” The hopeful, trusting look on Mark’s face was enough to break a mother’s heart.

Somehow, from some hidden wellspring of maturing strength, Rand found a grin. “Sure,” he said with a confidence Karen was certain he didn’t feel. “I’d put my allowance on it.”

Strong words indeed. Karen smiled mistily, her chest expanding with pride for her boy, who was almost a man. Fighting back a resurgence of tears, she walked briskly to the door. “Come on, Mark,” she said, extending her hand to him. “We’d better go, before your brother discovers he’s wagered all of his junk-food money and goes into pizza withdrawal.”

They found Judith Mitchell pacing the visitors’ lounge outside the closed doors of the coronary unit. Tears flooded the slender, attractive woman’s eyes at the sight of her grandsons.

“Oh, my poor darlings!” Judith rushed to embrace the boys.

Alarm flared inside Karen as Judith enfolded the boys protectively in her arms. “Is Charles worse?” she asked in a voice hoarse with strain.

“Worse?” Judith glanced up and blinked. “Oh! Oh, no.” She shook her head distractedly and tightened her hold on the now-squirming boys. “In fact, he’s much improved.”

The boys made good their escape; Karen’s relieved breath escaped. Suddenly she wanted to hug Judith— dear, sweet,
vague
Judith. Giving in to the urge, she stepped into the older woman’s deserted arms.

“I’m so glad,” she murmured, hugging the woman tightly before stepping back. “Tell us everything, please.”

Judith’s hand fluttered, the absent, helpless motion a clear reflection of the woman herself. Karen had' always loved her former mother-in-law; it was impossible not to love the endearing woman. But Judith was just a trifle airy.

“Well, I don’t know too much myself,” Judith began, fortunately not noticing Rand’s “tell us about it” expression.

Karen was back to shooting quelling glances at her not-yet-a-man son. “Then tell us what you do know,” she said, gently prompting the frowning woman.

“When we arrived this morning,” Judith replied at once, “the nurse told us simply that Charles was much improved.” She glanced wistfully at the coronary unit’s closed doors. “The specialist is in with Charles now, and so is Randolf.” Her gaze drifted back to Karen. “They’ve been in there a long time, since right after lunchtime.”

“I see.” Karen gnawed on her lower lip, trying to decide whether the lengthy consultation boded good or bad. The fact that Charles’s father, Randolf J. Mitchell, had been allowed to be present during the doctor’s visit was unsurprising; Randolf was a member of the hospital’s board of directors. She was beginning to get fidgety when she noticed Mark squirming in the chair he’d dropped into. Karen expelled a sigh and looked at Judith.

“Are there public rest rooms nearby?” A maternal smile curved her lips. “Your youngest grandson is in dire need.”

“Of course!” Judith literally leaped at the excuse to be doing something. “Come along, darling.” She held her hand out to Mark as if to a toddler. “I’ll take you.”

For a flickering instant, sheer horror was reflected in the boy’s eyes. Rand hid a burst of laughter behind a cough. Then, realizing his grandmother wouldn’t dream of actually going into the room with him, Mark sprang from the chair. As the two exited the room, Karen heard her baby go to work on his doting grandparent.

“Is there someplace we could get something to eat in here?” Mark was heard to ask plaintively. “We didn’t stop all the way down here, and I’m hungry, Grandma.”

Though her reply was unintelligible, Judith’s tone conveyed anxious concern for her darling. Karen smiled, and Rand shook his head.

“What a little con artist,” he said, grinning his respect for his brother’s talent. “Boy, he can always hook Grandma with one soulful look from his big brown eyes.” His grin faded, and he was quiet for a moment. “I guess,” he finally continued, a smile that was too wise and too full of acceptance curving his lips, “it’s because he looks so much like Dad.”

Karen wanted to deny his assertion, but in all honesty, she could not. Mark was a smaller image of his father. It was an unalterable fact. Karen could even understand why Judith had favored Mark from the instant she had looked into his face. Judith had seen her only child all over again in the infant. In all fairness, Karen acknowledged how very hard Judith had worked at being impartial. Staring into her son’s eyes,

Karen also acknowledged the near-impossibility of deceiving a bright child. An intelligent, sensitive child saw through the adult games with laser sharpness. At odd, weak moments, Karen had wondered exactly who was leading whom along the path labeled life—the adult or the child?

In possession of far more questions than answers, Karen merely stared at her son in aching despair.

Rand’s smile forgave his grandmother, exonerated his brother and complimented Karen. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said, shrugging off her concern. “I don’t mind looking more like you.” His smile grew into a grin, revealing the man yet to come. His voice lowered dramatically. “You look like a sizzling sex poodle.”

It was altogether improper. It was the wrong time and most assuredly the wrong place, but Karen couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.

“A sizzling sex poodle?” She fought to compose herself. “Randolf Charles Mitchell, where in the world did you pick up that expression?”

“Around.” Rand smirked.

Karen shook her head. Around. Around whom? She couldn’t help but wonder, yet she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Nevertheless, she was on the verge of launching into the time-honored parental third degree when two men pushed through the heavy doors leading to the coronary unit. Their appearance wiped her mind of all but thoughts of Charles. Springing from the chair she’d perched on, Karen reached out to grasp Rand’s hand. Her eyes darted from one man to the other before settling on Charles’s father.

“Randolf?” Her voice held a strained mixture of hope and fear. “How is—”

“Better,” Randolf answered before she could finish the question. “The attack wasn’t as severe as originally feared.” With a smile relieving the taut lines of worry on his face, he crossed the tiled floor to gather Karen and Rand into his arms.

“Grandpa?” The budding man had once again deserted the boy; Rand’s tone pleaded for further reassurance. “He’s not gonna—” he gulped audibly “— Dad’s not gonna die, is he?”

“No, son, your father is not going to die.” The authoritative answer came from the man beside Randolf. “I expressly told him I would not permit it.” The doctor’s compassionate smile contrasted with his stern tone. “It’s bad for my image, you know.”

Confusion flickered in Rand’s brown eyes. The confusion gave way to understanding, which surrendered to appreciation. Rand’s grin was back in place, accompanied by a suspicious brightness in his eyes. “Can we see him now?” he asked.

“Yes, you may—”

“Mom?” Mark’s squeaked call interrupted the doctor. “Mom?” Sheer thirteen-year-old terror whispered through his lips.

“He’s all right, honey.” Stepping away from Randolf, Karen extended her hand, silently urging him to release his death grip on his grandmother’s hand and join them. “The doctor has just told us your dad is better.”

Mark’s face crumpled, and he began to sob. Karen moved, but as he had earlier, Rand moved faster.

“Hey, Weepin’ Willie, did ya hear that?” Much like his grandfather moments before, Rand gathered his brother into his arms. “Dad’s gonna be okay.” While stroking Mark’s arm with one hand, Rand used his free hand to deliver a gentle punch to his brother’s other arm. “Will you lighten up? Mom’s nearly out of tissues.”