One Week in Your Arms (18 page)

She folded one of the tops she had bought at the market. She couldn't talk to him. Not now. She just needed to go. She needed some time and some space. She had to figure out how she was going to survive this.

The phone jingled again. Another message from him.

She went into the bathroom and collected her cosmetics and the toiletries that would be allowed through airport security. She left behind the complimentary samples from the salon and the cologne he loved.

Another message lit up the telephone screen.

Do not leave the hotel
.
Call me.

She made no response. What could she say? That she was sorry it couldn't end well between them like it had the last time. Hadn't that always been the case?

The phone lit up and after the ringtone had ended, he left a voice mail. She couldn't listen to it. She couldn't even think at the moment. All she wanted was to go home and hold her little girl. She shoved her cosmetics in her purse.

Her phone jingled and she glanced at his furious text.

She was well aware of the consequences. Actually, she had been aware of the consequences all along, and she shouldn't have ignored them the way she had. She reached for the phone and sent a simple reply. One he would understand perfectly.

M
arla plugged the charger back in the phone and laid the phone on the bedside table. As she retrieved a pair of shoes from the closet, the doorbell rang and her heart gave a lurch. It couldn't be Carson. He was still in Honolulu.

When she answered the door, she was surprised to find Julia and Truman waiting in the vestibule.

“Marla,” Julia twisted her hands together. “Would you take a look at Truman?”

“This is ridiculous,” Truman protested. “I'm fine.”

Marla took one look at Truman and she knew he was in trouble. His skin had a bluish tone and his respirations were uneven.

Dr. Hughes had always said she had “the gift.”

“We need to go to the infirmary.” She rushed across the vestibule and punched the elevator button. The doors slid open. “Now!”

Truman grumbled as he boarded the elevator. “I'm fine. I've just got a touch of bronchitis this morning. That's all.”

“Are you having any pain anywhere?”

“No.” He patted his upper chest area. “It's just bronchitis. I've had it before.”

“It might be more than that. We don't want to take any chances.” She was certain it was more than bronchitis. “I want to go ahead and send for an ambulance.”

“Here.” Julia handed Marla her phone, and Marla talked to a 911 operator as they got off the elevator.

“This is Doctor Grant. I'm at the Kingsford Resort and I need a medevac chopper.” She kept her voice low as Julia and Truman walked ahead of her. “Patient with a possible pending MI. We'll be in the infirmary.”

She ended the call and ordered a hotel employee to get a wheelchair.

“Marla, I can walk,” Truman protested.

“Not fast enough,” Marla replied as she took the wheelchair from the employee. “Sit.”

He fussed as Marla charged toward the infirmary, practically running with the wheelchair. Julia struggled to keep up with them.

“Get the door, Julia.” Marla swung the wheelchair around to back it inside the clinic. “What medications do you take?”

“A pill for my blood pressure.”

Julia gave her a worried look. “He's always been healthy. Robust. I can barely get him to go to the doctor once a year.”

“Any drug allergies?”

“No.”

Two men stood by the reception desk both in golf clothes. They both greeted Truman, who was still fussing about being in a wheelchair. Kevin stood on the other side of the counter with some antibiotic samples for one of the golfers.

“Kevin,” Marla yelled at him. “Code Blue.”

One of the golfers wheeled around. “I'm an anesthesiologist.” He introduced himself as Dr. Harry Flynn.

“I'm going to need your help.”

Truman shook his head. “What? Harry, there's nothing wrong with me,” he told Dr. Flynn. “Just some bronchitis. What is Code Blue?”

“I'm just taking some precautions,” Marla said as she wheeled Truman toward the first exam room. Kevin rushed across the hallway pushing the crash cart.

“Kevin, get off his shirt.” Marla grabbed a pair of gloves. “We're going to hook you up to the monitor. Put some oxygen on you. That'll help the shortness of breath and I'm going to start an IV.”

“Damn, you act like I'm dying.”

“Truman, she's just trying to help you. Don't be rude,” Julia said as Dr. Flynn pulled on a pair of gloves.

Relieved that another doctor was present, Marla gave Flynn a nod. “Thank you.”

Kevin attached the monitor leads to Truman's chest. The monitor lit up and erratic blips flowed across the screen. Dr. Flynn stepped forward. He reached for the oxygen equipment hanging on the side of the cart.

Suddenly, wide loops moved across the monitor screen.

“Am I having a heart attack?” Truman gasped.

“You're going to be fine.” Hurriedly, Marla found a good vein in Truman's left hand. She ripped open supplies. Tape, needle, catheter. Flung the packaging aside. Within seconds, she had an IV catheter in place in his vein. She grabbed prefilled syringes of lidocaine and epinephrine and opened the packaging. Next, she flipped the switches on the defibrillator. Where was that chopper?

“I'm going to give you some medicine. Stay with me.”

She popped the cap off the needle and injected the lidocaine into Truman's IV. She watched the monitor, and her shoulders sagged when she saw no change in his erratic heart rhythm.

“Get ready, guys. He's going to crash.” Her own heart raced, an adrenalin surge hitting her. Truman's head rocked to the side and the monitor's alarm sounded. Lines danced wildly across the screen as Truman's heart started fluttering instead of pumping.

“V-fib?” Kevin, the student, asked. Both doctors nodded.

“Start CPR now. Kevin, chest compressions. Dr. Flynn, bag him.”

The room grew small as Marla focused entirely on saving her patient. Everything else in her mind disappeared as she managed the Code Blue.

“Hands clear,” she ordered. She stuck the defibrillator paddles to Truman's chest and delivered the first shock of two hundred joules. She glanced at the monitor. No change.

Kevin and Dr. Flynn continued CPR. From outside, the loud pulse of the helicopters rotors over the hotel meant the cavalry was on its way. She ripped open another syringe of epinephrine and gave it to Truman via IV. She reached for the defibrillator paddles.

“Doc!” Kevin shouted. “Doc! Look!”

She jerked her head up to see a blip on the screen. Followed by another one and another one. Truman's heart had a normal sinus rhythm again.

The breath she'd been holding escaped her lungs and she stripped off her gloves.

Sometimes, miracles happen.

* * *

Carson barged off the elevator to find the door of the penthouse ajar.
What the hell?
He stormed inside and stopped in the middle of the spacious living area. The bouquet of roses he'd bought her were still on the coffee table. Their freshness was beginning to fade. He grabbed the vase and dumped it in the kitchen trashcan.

He got a cold bottle of beer out of the fridge. In the living room, he threw his jacket, followed by his tie, across the sofa.

“What a day.” He turned up the beer. Nothing had gone as he had planned.

He and Olivia had run into a shit storm at the airport. Paparazzi had gotten wind of her presence on the island and accosted them when they got out of their vehicle. Thankfully, they had a couple of bodyguards from the hotel with them. With the help of airport security, the photographers and yelling fans were held at bay.

Yet the danger of the sudden situation had changed his mind about taking pregnant Olivia with him to Honolulu. A shove by an eager photographer or fan might cost her the baby, and there would be plenty of time to talk to her before she got married in September. She had returned to the hotel, and he had made the trip to Honolulu alone.

He had no business meeting planned. That was just an excuse he used for making the trip to Honolulu to shop for an engagement ring. During the helicopter flight to Hawaii's largest city, he tried to come up with an idea for the perfect marriage proposal. He wanted to propose to Marla on the beach tonight. Then the seashell idea had hit him.

Marla was always looking for seashells and she had been disappointed in the lack of shells on the beach. So tonight, he planned to present her with a beautiful seashell. He bought a queen conch shell at a shop in Honolulu. The large spiral shell was the kind you could put to your ear and supposedly hear the ocean roar. It had a creamy beige exterior and a pale pink interior. Perfect for hiding a diamond ring.

He was going to tell her to make sure there wasn't anything inside it. Surprise! He could imagine her jaw dropping when an engagement ring fell into her hand.

The sales manager working at the jewelry store was an older lady and most encouraging. She told him it was a brilliant idea and not the least bit stupid. Women loved romantic gestures like that.

“It's a proposal she'll never forget,” the lady had assured him while he looked at a dozen elite rings.

“I want something that she'll be comfortable wearing every day.” He could afford to put a huge rock on her finger, but he didn't think she'd like that. “Not too flashy.”

His final choice had been a flawless three-carat emerald-cut center diamond with one carat side stones mounted on sparkling platinum.

The lady had nodded and smiled. “Not flashy at all.”

He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a black ring box. He still had the ring. The shell he had dropped on Waikiki Beach. Maybe some kid would find it and be excited about it.

He opened the ring box and looked at the glittering diamonds.

Delete my number
.

What had happened? Things had been good when they got off the yacht this morning. Maybe it was the disagreement they'd had about a prenup. He'd tried to explain he had to have safeguards in place. There was no way around that for him. It was a matter of peace of mind for him. Not distrust. She had said she understood.

He should have known that meant the opposite. When did a woman ever say what she actually meant?

As he snapped the ring box shut, he heard the distant sound of rock music coming from the master bedroom. With a frown, he headed in that direction. The classic hit, “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas, was playing on Marla's phone as he walked into the bedroom. His breath hitched when he saw her purse and an open suitcase on the bed.

He dropped the ring box on the dresser and went to look in the suitcase. It was only half-packed. One side filled with stuff she'd bought at the market to take home to her friends and family. The other side contained a few articles of her clothes including the cocktail dresses he'd bought her. He ran his hand over the black dress.

She hadn't left.
He attempted to process that. Would it have killed her to let him know she had changed her mind?

On the bedside table, her unanswered phone went dark. He picked up the printed forms from Askana Airways. She had missed her flight. He let out a relieved breath that felt as if it had been trapped inside him forever.

Her phone lit up again, and Kansas started singing “Carry On Wayward Son” again. He glanced at the phone. The name, Hot Rod, was displayed on the screen.

Carson frowned.
Hot Rod?
It had to be a guy's nickname.

The phone went dark again. It was good she had reconsidered and stayed. Maybe that meant she was going to be reasonable and tell him what was wrong. Like, explain it to him. He was a guy. He needed it explained in detail. Then he doubted he would understand.

I can't read your mind, babe
.

The ringtone started up again. “Leave a message,” he muttered.

The ringtone ended finally. Maybe after four calls, Hot Rod would realize she wasn't going to answer. Carson leaned against the footboard and slid off his shoes.

Her phone lit up. “Not again.” Carson rounded the bed and snatched up the phone. “Hey, you ever heard of leaving a message?”

“Where's Mommy?”

S
hit, he'd yelled at a little kid with the wrong number. He cleared his throat and softened his tone. “I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number.”

“It's the right number,” she replied. “Hot Rod fixed his phone for me. He said to push three to call Mommy. I know my numbers. I know three.”

“I'm sure you do.” He tapped the side of Marla's suitcase, his gaze glued to the black dress he'd ripped off her. “Maybe you need to get an adult to call the number for you.”

“Okay,” she said. “I have to talk to Mommy and tell her not to forget the Aloha doll. It says aloha. Mommy said that means
hello
in Hawaii. Aloha.”

Carson moved his lips, but he couldn't speak. He reached for the doll in Marla's suitcase. The doll was packaged in clear plastic and cardboard. She was fastened to a tropical background. If you pressed the doll's arm, it would say aloha.

Finally, he found his voice. “What's your mother's name, sweetie?”

“My mommy's name is Doctor Marla Caroline Grant, and my daddy's name is Doctor Benjamin Michael Archer, and my name is Sophie Elizabeth Archer.”

“Dear Jesus.”

“Are you gonna say the bedtime prayer?”

“What?” He was beyond thinking.

“Dear Jesus. As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen,” she concluded. “That's what you say at bedtime.”

“Yeah. That's what you say.” He'd have to watch his mouth. He paced across the room and back again. Marla had a kid. One she'd never mentioned. How was that possible?

“Can I speak to Mommy?”

“She's, um, not here right now.” He wandered aimlessly as Sophie Elizabeth Archer chatted away.

“Is she fixing sick people? If you're sick at your stomach, she can make you better. Daddy fixes broke bones. If you break your leg, he'll put it back together. And Hot Rod can fix your heart if something happens to it. What do you fix?”

Carson stumbled into the adjoining sitting area and dropped on the sofa. “I don't think I can fix anything.”

“Hot Rod can fix old cars, too. Him and Papaw are fixing a car. The garage is stinky so I came inside. Papaw said to be good and not get into nothing. Are you good?”

“I try to be,” he answered.

“Me, too,” she said. “I got in trouble today with Nana.”

“Do you live with your grandparents?”

“Oh, no. I live with Mommy on Elmwood Circle. That's the best place in the whole world because Anna Grace lives across the street. She's my BFF. That means best friends forever,” she explained. “That's me and Anna Grace. Do you have a BFF?”

He grinned slightly. “I don't think guys have BFFs.”

“Are you Mommy's friend?”

“Kinda.” He slumped against the back of the sofa. “My name is Carson.”

“I talked to my daddy today. Daddy lives far away. Like so far you can't go in a car.”

Carson frowned. “Does he come to see you?”

“Yeah. He brings me toys for Christmas and my birthday.”

Ben Archer. The occasional father.
What had Marla been thinking when she married that douche bag?

He heard a male voice in the background, and Sophie said, “Papaw says it's time to go.”

“I'll tell your mom you called and she won't forget the doll. She's packed it already.” He pushed up from the sofa. “Your mother will be home tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye, Carson.”

He managed to make it back into the living room where he picked up the beer he had left on the coffee table.
Could this day get any worse?

He sat on the lanai for a while. Ferns fluttered in the breeze as a sheet of misty rain passed over the hotel. Any other day, he might have enjoyed the tranquility of watching the surf rise and fall. But, at the moment, there was nothing he would enjoy.

He didn't know Marla. He didn't know the real Marla Grant at all.

No more than he had known Angela all those years ago.

The woman he thought he could love and trust forever was just a figment of his imagination. Had she told the truth about anything? How many more secrets did she have?

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and saw that he had a message from Truman's cell phone. He sat up straight as he read the text.

Carson was on his feet instantly, his fatigue gone. What was left of his heart shattered as he thought of losing Truman.

He responded.

I'm on my way
.

The day had definitely just gotten worse.

* * *

Marla sat beside Truman's bedside in the small ICU room. Distraught, Julia had insisted she be allowed to stay with Truman as his personal physician, and the hospital CEO had agreed. After all, Truman Crawford was not just anyone.

“I know if you are with him, he'll be all right. You saved him.” Julia had held her hands. “He'll be all right if you are there. I won't have to worry.”

Actually, Marla had done all she could for Truman. But she had stayed because Julia needed that reassurance, and she was worried about Julia. By the time they reached the hospital, Julia had looked as if she had aged twenty years. Her features had a frail appearance like the fade had started. Marla had seen that occur in couples who had been together for decades. When one went, the other started to fade, as if the light of love they carried inside for so long was leaving them.

“He's going to be fine,” Marla assured her. “He'll just have to eat less bacon and steak, which I'm sure he'll fuss about.”

That had brought some color back to Julia's face along with a smile.

Marla leaned back in the folding chair and folded her arms. She wore hospital-issue green scrubs and a long-sleeve surgical scrub jacket. The intensive care unit was cold, and she'd been thankful when a nurse had brought her the scrubs, which were a bit warmer than her shorts and tank top.

The familiar soft swishes and clicks of the machines lulled her into a restful state. She was exhausted, hungry, and she'd missed her flight home.

Carson was just outside the intensive care unit, sitting with Julia in the ICU waiting area. He had sent a text to Truman's phone when he reached the hospital. She was glad he was with Julia, who did need someone with her until her sons arrived.

Marla closed her eyes. Time blurred as she saw Carson standing beside one of Royal Oak's massive white columns. Tall and muscular. His white linen shirt draped over his wide shoulders, sleeves rolled up, exposing muscular, tanned arms. His smoldering gaze had burned right through her, and the spell was cast once he kissed her.

The carriage house at Royal Oaks had become an enchanted place where reality faded amid the shade of ancient oaks, the scent of gardenias, the sound of mockingbirds, and the soft fog that sometimes shrouded the grounds in the evening. One night they'd shared champagne at midnight in the rose garden and made love by the light of the moon. No inhibitions. No reservations. No denying their passion.

She opened her eyes and the memory disappeared. Reality wasn't that rose garden.

Carson had summed himself up perfectly.

Truman let out a moan and she stood. His intubation tube had been removed an hour ago and the sedative he'd been given was wearing off. He gave her a dazed stare as she patted his hand.

“Hey,” she said. “You're back with us. How are you feeling?”

He made a nod. “Okay,” he whispered, giving her a fearful whisper. “Hospital?”

“Yes,” she answered and explained exactly what had happened to him. “Your sons should be here soon. And in the morning, the cardiologist will meet with you and your family about your treatment and follow-up at a heart center.”

“Julia?”

“She's here. She's out in the waiting area along with Carson,” Marla answered. “I'll bring them back here to see you for a couple of minutes.”

Truman nodded and she gave his hand a squeeze.

Marla stopped by the nurses' station and told Truman's nurse she was going to bring his wife back to see him. The doors of the unit slid open and she stepped out in the hallway. At the entrance of the waiting area, she saw Julia sitting in a green armchair, flipping through a magazine. Sitting on a small sofa beside her, Carson was still in the same shirt and pants that he'd had on earlier in the morning, sans the tie and jacket. Steam wafted from the cup of coffee he drank.

Julia closed the magazine when she saw Marla, and Carson set aside the cup of coffee.

Marla walked into the waiting room. “Truman's awake.”

As tears formed in Julia's eyes, Carson gripped Julia's hand and smiled at her. “I told you he'd be okay. He's gonna outlast both of us.”

Marla said, “I'm going to take you back to see him. Just for a couple of minutes and he's not fully conscious. He won't say much, but he'll know you.”

Carson provided Julia with a supportive arm as they followed Marla into ICU. Marla stood outside the room as they went inside. Through the glass wall, she saw Julia give Truman a kiss and she smoothed his hair while Carson bent to talk to him.

Marla gazed at Carson. His shirt was rumpled and his dark hair in disarray. He had not shaved since yesterday. Dense stubble covered the lower half of his face, and fatigue had settled around his blue eyes. It had been a long day for everyone, and it had not ended yet.

The nurse at the desk motioned to her and she nodded. She stepped inside Truman's room. “I'm sorry, but you have to go now,” she told Julia and Carson. “You can see him again in a few hours.”

Carson turned to her and spoke in a flat tone. “I'd like a word with you. Privately.”

“All right,” she agreed. Might as well tackle the inevitable sooner than later.

She escorted them out of the unit. Smiling, Julia settled in the waiting room again, and Marla ushered Carson across the hall and through a door marked Private. They stepped into a small room painted in soft tones of blue and mint green. Damask armchairs stood on either side of the room. A pier table held a bouquet of artificial lilies-of-the-valley, and silver boxes dispensed tissues. Comforting verses from the Book of Psalms hung on the wall.

This was the kind of room often called a prayer room by hospital employees. There had been many times when she had escorted a family to such a room after, or sometimes before delivering the sad news of a loved one's death.

“You missed your flight,” Carson said, his voice remaining emotionless.

She stuck her hands in the pockets of the scrub jacket. “Yeah.”

“There will be a jet waiting for you at nine in the morning. One of the drivers from the hotel will pick you up here and take you to the airport. Your luggage will be in the vehicle. There's no need for you to return to the hotel.”

“All right.” She had no choice but to be agreeable. This was what she wanted. Yet it was ending poorly between them. Perhaps that was for the best. But it didn't stop the pain that ricocheted through her heart. She tried to remain noble. “Thank you.”

He blinked and his composure slipped. “I deleted your number.”

She met his furious gaze. “I know.” There was no anger inside her. Only grief as she stood in a room where a million tears had been shed as life and love came to a close. “There have been a lot of farewells said in this room.”

“Don't,” he warned. The tension rolled off him and crashed against her like the stormy waves she'd seen hit the cliffs.

Stillness was the key to diffusing anger. Keeping calm and rational. She'd employed that technique several times as a doctor. Once a berserk patient had threatened her at knifepoint until she had soothed him into putting the knife down.

Carson stepped closer to her. He withdrew her phone from his pants pocket. “Here.”

Surprised, she took her phone from him. “Thanks.”

He angled his head slightly and looked her squarely in the eye.

“I talked to Sophie.”