Love Is Elected (17 page)

"But it is. Your uncle has been sick for a long time, Kara," he said softly.

She stared at him in shock. "What do you mean?"

"He's had a severe heart condition for seven years and he's had to be very careful," Matt explained. "These last two years have been especially rough for him because his condition has grown worse."

"I had no idea," Kara gasped, tears beginning to well up. "Oh poor Uncle James!" Matt pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes and then looked up at his firm profile.

"But how did you find out about all of this," she asked, "when I had no idea he was even ill?"

"I only learned about it on our wedding night. Monica called to ask for my help. James had had a mild attack and fallen on the floor. She couldn't get him into bed and he refused to allow her to call the hospital."

Before she could stop herself she blurted, "Isn't it a good thing he always has a girlfriend around recently."

Matt picked up her meaning immediately. "It is a good thing, Kara, despite what you're thinking. But there was nothing accidental about it. Monica is a special duty nurse just like the other women he's been seen with. He's been hiring them to take care of him since his condition worsened two years ago."

Kara flushed with chagrin. "I'm sorry. I had no idea," she murmured contritely, staring down at her folded hands. "I always thought those girls were…"

"I know what you thought," Matt interrupted. "I did, too, before Monica's phone call, but that was what your uncle wanted people to think. He was too proud to let anyone know he was seriously ill, even you."

Kara sank into the seat and stared miserably out the window. They had finally gotten through the worst of Preakness traffic and were heading down Northern Parkway to Cathedral. A half hour later they pulled up in front of the red brick Victorian facade of one of Baltimore's largest medical complexes.

"Why don't you go in and check on your uncle while I park the car," Matt suggested. "I'll meet you up there." She nodded, pulled open the door and climbed out.

She walked into the hospital with a sense of unreality. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It all seemed like a bad dream from which she would soon awaken. Passing a hand quickly over her eyes, she squared her shoulders and went to the main desk, where she inquired about her uncle.

The receptionist checked a register. "Mr. Barnett's still in intensive care. But the ICU will have more information on his condition. Take the elevator through those doors to the fourth floor and look for the signs."

Following the woman's instructions, Kara soon found herself in a brightly lit corridor on the fourth floor. Nurses and hospital staff in white uniforms floated by her. An antiseptic smell greeted her nostrils, and as she walked her high heels tapped eerily on the tile floor. The hall seemed unending as she passed doorway after doorway. But finally she reached the intensive care unit. There a nurse in a small reception area stopped her.

"I'm here to see my uncle, James Barnett," Kara said in a shaky voice. "I'm Kara Barnett."

The nurse looked down at a sheet of paper. "The only people who have permission to see Mr. Barnett," she told Kara officiously, are a Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Jordan."

"Oh, I'm Mrs. Jordan; Barnett is my maiden name," Kara explained in embarrassment. The nurse looked at her doubtfully and then asked her to wait.

A few minutes later a tall, freckled man in a white coat came out and introduced himself as Dr. Shepherd. He reached in a friendly fashion to take Kara's cold hand, wrapping his big, warm mitts around hers.

"Your uncle has been asking for you," he told her sympathetically. "You can go in and take a peek at him. But don't disturb him. He's sleeping now and he's not strong enough to carry on a conversation. You should be able to talk to him in a day or two." He opened the door and let her through, warning, "Remember, only a minute now."

Kara thanked him and stepped inside. She stopped short. What she saw confused her at first. Machinery cluttered the room. Even the bed in the center was not spared. A large plastic tent covered her uncle's sleeping form and lines from an IV unit were attached to his arm. She moved closer while a nurse hovered at his side.

When Kara peered down through the plastic she was shocked at her uncle's haggard, gray appearance. She hardly recognized him. The man in the oxygen tent seemed at least twenty years older. She could feel the tears well up once again. He was her only blood relative and now it looked as if she might lose him. Why had she done so little to communicate with him over the past few years? she wondered remorsefully.

Suddenly Matt was at her side, holding her hand.

"We'd better go now," he told her gently. Putting an arm around her, he led her out into the waiting room. Distractedly she listened to him talking to Dr. Shepherd, asking him to keep them informed.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze for Kara. Torn by conflicting emotions of fear, guilt, and loss, she went immediately to her room after Matt took them home.

Later in the evening Matt tapped on her door and asked, "Kara, are you okay?"

"Yes, I am." she said through the closed door. "But I'd like to be alone tonight, Matt."

"Can't I get you something to eat?" he persisted.

"No thanks. I just need some sleep." He paused for a moment and then said "All right" in a low voice. Then she heard his footsteps crossing the hall.

The next three days Kara spent sitting by her uncle's side or in the small, impersonal waiting room at the hospital. Matt was busy during the day, but he joined her in the evening and led her down to the cafeteria to eat. Food had no taste, but she dutifully forced herself to eat a little at Matt's urging.

On Tuesday, when Matt came to take Kara home from the hospital, he frowned at her pale face and lackluster eyes.

"Stop punishing yourself," he told her sternly. "None of this is your fault."

Kara's eyes fell away from his. "I know you're right," she murmured. "But it's so hard to be rational at a time like this. I'm doing more feeling than thinking. All those years Uncle James did the best he could for me. I thought he was insensitive…" She let her voice trail off.

Matt put a strong arm around her shoulder and drew her to his side. Too weary to resist, she let herself rest her head against the muscular wall of his chest. At this moment he seemed like a rock she could cling to in the storm of emotions she was feeling.

"You need a change of scene and a good meal. Let's go down to the Inner Harbor," he suggested.

"Oh, I'm not in the mood for anything like that," Kara started to protest. But Matt would not take no for an answer. Before she knew it she found herself settled in the bucket seat of his Porsche as he threaded his way through traffic toward Baltimore's newly restored waterfront.

In less than fifteen minutes the striking glass and steel pavilions of Harborplace swung into view. And as Kara caught a glimpse of the street corner musicians and crowds of strollers taking in the harbor's red brick promenades, she felt her mood lighten. They joined the throngs of sightseers, stopping to admire the tall masts of the sailboats moored at the finger piers.

As Kara breathed in, she was astonished to catch the spicy scent of warm cinnamon on the light breeze ruffling the flags of the sailboats. "What's that delicious aroma?" she asked in surprise.

Matt grinned. "One of Baltimore's chief delights," he supplied, gesturing toward the creamy stucco building across the road. "The McCormick Spice Company is obviously grinding cinnamon today."

Delighted, Kara laughed for the first time in days as she took in another heady whiff of the marvelous scent. Matt smiled warmly down at her, squeezing her shoulder gently before he began to lead her toward the Light Street Pavilion, where he had made reservations at an Italian restaurant.

A few minutes later a maitre d' seated Kara and Matt next to a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the harbor. The elegant dining room had a striking decor of white tile accented with touches of black and chrome. On each table there was a red carnation in a cut glass bud vase. Kara looked around appreciatively and then smiled shyly. Matt was right; she had been too caught up in her uncle's illness. This break was just what she needed, and she felt grateful to Matt for his thoughtfulness in suggesting it. But when she told him so, he only smiled and then changed the subject to food.

After they had ordered, they began talking about his campaign; she realized with a start that the primary was only a week away.

"How did you ever find the time to get away like this?" she questioned, realizing how hectic his schedule must be. He took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm learning how to make time for things that are really important," he told her with a meaningful smile. But before she could react, the waiter appeared with their dinners.

While they ate and sipped their wine, they watched the sunset. By the time they had finished their coffee, it was night and the harbor's lights were sending out glittering reflections over the rippled surface of the dark water.

When they left the restaurant, Matt took her hand and continued to hold it while they strolled once more along the promenade. On a whimsical impulse he stopped to buy her a shiny, heart-shaped balloon, giving it to her with a wry grin and laughing as she let it bob along behind her shoulder while they made their way back to the parking lot.

She was in a mellow mood as they pulled up to the white stucco town house, and so was Matt. The moment the front door was closed behind them, he took her in his arms.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his breath warm in her ear. And then, very carefully, he released the balloon's string from her fingers and let it float slowly to the ceiling.

As Matt's warm lips descended on hers, Kara too felt that she was floating. His lips slid from her mouth to her neck, tracking a path of fire along her throat as his hands massaged the small of her back and then pressed her even closer to the hard contours of his lean body. Earlier that afternoon she had told Matt that she was capable only of feeling, not thinking. And that was certainly true now. All rational thought submerged as she responded to the persuasion of Matt's sensitive caresses and skillful hands. She didn't even realize that he had unbuttoned her silky shirtwaist dress until she felt his warm fingers on her bared midriff. One hand moved possessively around her breast, stroking her nipple through the lacy material of her bra. As if from far away, she heard herself moaning with pleasure as she felt his touch.

He opened her lips to his probing tongue and then whispered in her ear, "We'll be more comfortable in
my
bed this time."

But far from the effect Matt had planned, the words jolted Kara back to reality. Last time, she reminded herself, after she had given herself to Matt, she heard him laughing about her the next morning with his campaign manager. Their lovemaking had meant nothing to him. He had made a fool of her then, but he wasn't going to do it again.

She stiffened, and Matt, feeling her change of mood, looked down into her set face, frowning. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

Kara looked away, casting around for an excuse to get out of this situation. "I'm sorry Matt. I keep thinking about my uncle, and I'm just not in the mood."

Matt's frown deepened and his arms fell away. She watched as for a moment he visibly struggled with his emotions. When he had pulled himself together, a rueful smile crossed his face.

"All right, I understand. But I think I'd better go take a cold shower," he said with an attempt at lightness. Turning, he moved toward the stairs. But then he paused and looked at Kara over his shoulder. "Care to join me?" he asked hopefully. Kara smiled despite herself and then firmly shook her head.

When Kara awoke the next morning Matt had already left for campaign headquarters. But there was a note on the kitchen table signed with his slanting scrawl. "Meet you at the hospital this afternoon," it said.

After a hasty breakfast of toast and coffee, she donned the pale cream designer suit that she and Mrs. Jordan had bought at White Flint. Tying the bow on her delicately flowered blouse, she inspected herself in the mirror.

Even with the fancy designer label in her clothing, she definitely didn't look her best. The tension of the last few days and the worry over Uncle James had taken their toll. But when she arrived at the hospital she found her uncle's condition had improved enough so that he had been transferred to a private room. It was there that she had her first real conversation with him. Though he was still hooked up to IV's and had a special duty nurse, he was now free of the oxygen tent.

Later that morning, as Kara sat next to him, he opened his eyes and looked directly at her.

"Kara," he whispered, smiling and asking her to move closer. "Public relations is the wrong calling for you. You should have been a nurse."

Kara blushed and smiled shyly back at him. "I've been so worried about you," she volunteered.

"I've been worried about me, too," he said good naturedly, "but I'm feeling better now. I think I'm going to make it. But I want you to know that's partly your doing. Having you here like this has made a big difference. You're truly a fine person, and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry I haven't seen more of you."

Kara looked away in acute discomfort. Was he apologizing now for the past?

"I know we weren't close when you were a teen-ager," James went on. "I deeply regret that. When your parents died, I tried to be a substitute, but I had no real experience with children. And then this old heart of mine started to act up, so I didn't try to stop you from moving out."

"Oh, I wish you had told me," Kara exclaimed, "it would have made such a difference if I had known." She smiled at him through wet eyes. He had cared about her. She glowed with the thought. But as she beamed at him, she noticed that he was knitting his brow, looking at her with an expression of concern on his drawn, colorless face.

"Kara, there's something that's been bothering me deeply for the past few weeks. I can't tell you how guilty I feel about that marriage I forced you into," the old man said, squeezing her hand. "You must tell me how you really feel about it. If you're truly unhappy, I'll do all I can to find a way out of it for you."