In the Shadow of Evil (16 page)

George cleared his throat. "Thank you."

Margie grabbed Maddox's hands. "Again, I'm sorry for the way I burst in here. I must be losing my touch in bedside manner."

"Don't worry about it. As long as Pop's okay." Still alive, anyway.

A siren wailed just outside the door, followed by the screeching of tires.

Nodding, Margie released her hold on Maddox. "I'll let the cardiologist know you're waiting." Her shoes squeaked against the floor as she rushed to the entrance where EMTs unloaded an elderly man on a stretcher from the ambulance.

George sighed heavily into the empty waiting room. "For a minute there . . ."

"Yeah. Me too." Maddox ran a hand over his face. Every bit of energy he had drained from his body as his muscles relaxed. He leaned back in the chair. "I don't mind telling you, when that pain hit Pops . . ."

"I know, son. I know." George clapped his back, then straightened. "It was the same way at the house. I wanted to call an ambulance, but Tyson wouldn't hear of it. He didn't even want me to bring him in." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Good thing I ignored him as usual."

"It scared me, Uncle George. Bad." He couldn't admit that to anyone but George, who knew, understood, and loved him despite a weakness.

"Me too."

An elderly woman wearing a robe over a pair of pajamas was escorted in and sat before the desk. She kept glancing down the hallway where the examining rooms were. Her shoulders hunched as she sobbed silently.

"Son, this is why I keep telling you to talk to your dad." George's wrinkled face scrunched even tighter. "Rebuild your relationship."

"Rebuild? We never had a relationship. You know he was never around when I was a kid. And then . . . well, he blames me for what happened." Raw pain seared his gut. Just like it always did.

"He doesn't really blame you."

Maddox snorted.

George shook his head. "Maybe at one time he thought he did. But it's in the past. He's had time to grieve and heal. And he's going to church now. Got religion and all that."

God again. Where was He when someone broke into their house and attacked his mother? Just where was
God
when Mom lay on the floor dying in his arms?

"Tyson loves you, Maddox. Always has. But he's stubborn too. Doesn't know how to reach out to you. Let this be the bridge that brings you two together."

Maddox bent over, staring at the floor, and rested his elbows on his knees. Why did he have to be the one to make the gesture? What made Pop more excusable? Pop was his father, for pity's sakes. Shouldn't
he
be the one reaching out to Maddox?

The elderly woman shuffled into the waiting room. Her housecoat flapped as she slowly lowered herself into a chair. She rested her arthritically gnarled hands holding a tissue in her lap. Her head stayed bowed, but Maddox could see her lips moving.

George lowered his voice. "You know all too well that life's too short, son. Don't let something happen without at least trying to mend this rift. This should be a wake-up call. To both of you."

Yeah, but what about—Maddox jerked upright and stared at George. "Is there something about Pop's condition you aren't telling me?"

"No, nothing like that. At least, not that I know about. Tyson hasn't said a word to me about anything." George stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. "It's just that human life is so fragile. It can be gone in the blink of an eye. Don't let things go unsaid when you could just as easily say something. That's all I'm sayin'."

Like he didn't know about the fragility of life? He glanced at the elderly lady across the waiting room. Her lips were no longer moving, but her head was still lowered. She looked so . . . alone.

George nudged him. "Just consider what I'm telling you, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll consider it."

"That's my boy." George slapped Maddox's leg and nodded toward the coffee station in the corner of the room. "Think that's safe to drink?"

Maddox followed his glance. About two inches sat in the pot. Black sludge. "I wouldn't advise it. Probably puts a lot of people
in
the hospital."

George chuckled and hefted to his feet. "I'm going to hunt down something that won't rip up my stomach. Want a cup?"

"Sure." Not that he'd be able to drink anything, much less coffee, but he understood some people's need to do something instead of just waiting to hear what might be bad news. "Lots of sugar."

George grinned. "I know. Just like your mom drank it." He headed toward the main entrance of the hospital.

Maddox's muscles tensed involuntarily at the mention of his mother—the way she'd been alive. His memories of her had dimmed so much over the years. For a long time he could close his eyes and almost feel her around him. Catch a whiff of her distinct smell. Hear her whispering voice.

But not in a long time. It was hard for him to even conjure up her living face without looking at a photo. The image of how she looked as life left her was burned upon his memory forever.

And that scorched his heart with guilt and shame.

He stood and paced. This wasn't about his mother. This was about Pop. He glanced at the hallway. No sign of Margie or a doctor. What was taking so long? Shouldn't the cardiologist have come out and updated him by now?

The elderly lady looked up and offered him a half smile.

He smiled back.

"My husband's back there too. The nurse said she'd have a doctor come out to talk to me when he could."

"I'm waiting on the cardiologist to tell me about my dad." Why was he telling this to a perfect stranger? Must be the exhaustion and stress. He was a cop. Knew better than to offer information.

"What's your father's name?"

"Tyson." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Tyson Bishop." He sat back in his chair.

She smiled again. "I'll be praying for him."

God again.

He forced a smile for her, swallowing back his rant. Her husband was sick—she didn't need him to unload his anger on her. He balled his hands and stood again. Pacing helped keep him focused. Moving. Anything besides just waiting.

A man in scrubs and a white coat appeared from the hallway. "Mr. Bishop?"

Maddox nodded and hurried to meet him.

"I'm the cardiologist on staff."

"How's my father?"

"He's suffered a minor heart attack. EKG reflects he's probably had several small attacks."

"He never said anything." Maddox's heart tightened. How could Pop have kept this to himself?

"It's possible he wasn't aware. That's fairly common."

"Oh." Maybe he shouldn't jump to conclusions.

"His heart has sustained some damage. We won't know the extent until we run some more tests. I'm admitting him now, mainly for observation."

"Okay." Damage. Tests. Admitting.

"As soon as we get him transferred, a nurse will notify you."

"Can I see him?"

"Once he's in his room you can." The doctor offered his hand. "A nurse will come for you."

"Thank you."

The doctor left as quickly and quietly as he had appeared.

Maddox ambled toward the main entrance. He needed to find George and tell him what the doctor said.

Damage. Tests. Admitting.

His body began to shake.

FOR ONCE, LUCK WAS on her side. Unbelievable, especially for a Wednesday. Layla found a parking space just outside the hospital's emergency room entrance. She grabbed her scarf and wound it around her neck before securing her truck and heading into the automatic glass double doors. Early morning wind pushed against her, blowing her bangs into her eyes. Maybe she should've taken the time to pull her hair up.

She paused inside the entryway. Where would Ms. Betty be? Back in the room with Mr. James? Would they let Layla go back there?

A nurse behind a desk glanced at her. "May I help you?"

Layla approached. "I'm looking for a lady whose husband was brought in by ambulance. Last name of Page."

The nurse typed the name into her computer. "Mr. Page is still being evaluated. Anyone with him should be in the waiting room around the corner." She pointed to her left.

"Thank you." Layla shivered against the chill of the room and turned the corner. She immediately spied Ms. Betty alone in the stark white waiting room. The poor thing was in her pajamas and robe.

Layla quickly crossed the space and sat beside the elderly lady. "Hey, Ms. Betty. How're you holding up?"

"Oh, Layla. You're such a dear to come." Her face lit up like the morning's dawn after a weeklong storm.

"I came as soon as Alana called me. Have you heard anything about Mr. James?"

"Not yet. They haven't been out to talk to me yet." She smiled again. "I've just been praying."

"I have too." Layla shucked out of her coat and wrapped it around Ms. Betty's shoulders. She glanced over the room. Why didn't they put blankets out here for people during the winter? Or at least turn up the heat?

"Thank you, dear." She snuggled into the warm folds of the soft cashmere.

"Alana said he was having trouble breathing?"

Ms. Betty nodded. "He was fine last evening. Went by the church to look at the pipes for Pastor. James got home around four. We had supper at five, just like we always do, then watched the telly. We turned in just after the news. Same as always."

Layla patted her hands. The woman's hands were like ice. Layla unwound her scarf and laid it over Ms. Betty's lap.

"Thank you." She bunched the scarf around her palms before continuing. "His wheezing woke me up. I couldn't get him to talk to me. To open his eyes. And then I noticed the blood on his face."

"Blood?"

"His nose was bleeding." Ms. Betty pressed a shredded tissue against her nose. "I went and got him a handkerchief, and he finally woke up. But he couldn't talk. Couldn't catch his breath."

The poor woman must have been frightened out of her mind. Layla ached for both of them.

"We couldn't get his nose to stop bleeding either. We tried toilet paper. Rags. Pinching. It wouldn't stop, and his wheezing got worse. He couldn't breathe sitting on the side of the bed. So I called 911."

She wrapped an arm around the still-shivering woman.

"The medics said they didn't know what was wrong with him. Kept asking me if he was on breathing medicine. Asked if he had asthma. I told them James didn't have any of the like. He's healthy as a horse." She sniffed. "At least he was."

Sudden onset of symptoms just like Ms. Ethel's. Ice ran through Layla's veins. There was no way this was a coincidence. Something was happening to the people of Eternal Springs, and it wasn't good.

"They put him on oxygen at the house and loaded him up. I had to follow in my car because they said they didn't have room for me."

Someone's shoes squeaked on the floor in an adjacent hallway. The sound skidded down Layla's spine like a malfunctioning power drill. She shivered.

"I filled out all their paperwork, and now I wait."

Men's whispered voices were muffled around the corner.

"I'll stay with you." Layla's eyes filled with tears as she squeezed Ms. Betty's shoulders. "Would you like me to pray with you?"

Shoes screeched right in front of her.

"What are you doing here?"

FIFTEEN

"All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better."

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

LAYLA LOOKED UP AT his question. Her breath caught.

She removed her arm from around Ms. Betty and stood. "Maddox." She barely breathed his name. "I'm sitting with my friend while her husband is being checked out. What're you doing here?"

"My father." His voice cracked.

Her stomach tightened, remembering what it felt like to sit in the emergency room waiting area anticipating news of her father. She laid a hand on his arm. The touch sent her stomach into a downward spiral. "What's wrong with your father?"

"His heart."

Just like her father. Tears welled in her eyes at the memory. "I'm sorry. How is he?"

"They're admitting him."

"I've been praying for him," Ms. Betty announced.

Layla smiled at her friend, then looked back at him. "I'll pray for him as well."

She remembered the feelings she had when she'd been waiting—fear, pain, grief. Her heart went out to Maddox. "Do they think it's a heart attack?"

He nodded.

She tightened her grip on his arm, willing comfort to seep into him. "I'm so sorry, Maddox." She hated not to be able to say anything other than offer apologies. They'd always felt weak when people said they were sorry about her father.

An older man appeared at his shoulder. "Maddox?"

Maddox cleared his throat. "Layla Taylor, this is George Vella. Uncle George, Layla Taylor."

She removed her hand from his arm to shake hands with George. Maddox had called him uncle. Were they related? She couldn't detect a resemblance, but the man's smile was heartfelt.

"This is my dear friend Betty Page." She gestured to Ms. Betty.

Maddox bent to shake her hand, then George did.

George straightened and shot Maddox a look with tons of questions in his eyes. "How do you know Ms. Taylor?"