The Lives Between Us (45 page)

Uncle Mark moved to stand by the sink. With his fingers wrapped around the counter lip, he leaned back and crossed his ankles in an all-too-casual pose. Jeff waited an eternity for him to speak. “You have something you want to tell me?”

Jeff wiped sweaty palms on his thighs, suddenly glad the counter was between them.
Wanted
to tell him? Nope. He definitely did
not
want to tell him anything. Didn’t want to make him angry or disappoint him. “Not really.”

“Okay. So. What have you
accidentally
done?”

Jeff opened his eyes wide, trying to look innocent. He thought about trying to bluff his way out, but it’d come out eventually. He might as well level with Uncle Mark. “I... Uh...”

“Skye didn’t leak the information, did she?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know for sure. She could have.”

“But you don’t think she did. Do you?”

Jeff kept a wary eye on Uncle Mark while slowly shaking his head.

Uncle Mark’s chin dropped to his chest. Wincing, he wiped his face with his hand, then looked up. He pushed away from the counter, pulled out a kitchen chair, and waved him to sit down, and straddled the other one. “Why?”

Jeff dropped into the chair. “It wasn’t on purpose, if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t do it to get Dad to feel sorry for me or anything. It was an accident. I was just trying to make friends and fit in, ya know? It’s hard starting at a new school.”

“What happened?”

“A couple of guys invited me to hang out after practice, so I went. They were all raggin’ on their parents, and we were just talking. You know? I didn’t think anything of it.” He couldn’t bring himself to repeat exactly what he said. He’d just been a kid with his friends, blowing off steam, but now it sounded so bad.

“So you said stuff a senator’s kid shouldn’t have said.”

Jeff nodded. “I knew better—but since the accident it’s been so bad and I just wanted to be normal for once.” As if his life would ever be normal again. “One guy’s dad is a sports writer. He must have told him stuff. Probably not on purpose—he’s not that kind of guy.”

“And the asshole printed it.” Uncle Mark scowled.

Jeff shrugged. He didn’t know for a fact that’s what happened.

“And you let Skye take the fall?”

Jeff’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t know you guys blamed her—not at first.”

Uncle Mark’s face wrinkled in disbelief. “You saw us fighting at the rink.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know what you were fighting about. Dad didn’t say anything to Mom or me.”

“He wouldn’t want to upset Noelle,” Uncle Mark murmured, then looked at him. “Does Skye know?”

He shrugged. “She might. She saw me with Todd at Starbucks one day, and she knew his dad.” He paused, thinking. “But if she knew, why didn’t she say anything? Especially if you broke up with her because of it?”

Uncle Mark glowered at him. “’Cause she was protecting your sorry ass. She probably figured you and your folks had enough to deal with without this.”

“But she could have told you.”

“Not without exposing you.”

Skye let Uncle Mark break up with her rather than rat him out? Wow, that was pretty cool—and stupid.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her and...” He trailed off. And what? What could he do to fix this mess? God, he was such a loser.

Uncle Mark pushed out a deep breath and slouched in his chair. “It’s not all your fault. She insisted she hadn’t done it, and I didn’t believe her.”

Jeff felt a little better not being the only screw up in this. “Now what?”

“Now I’m gonna have to find a way to make the biggest apology of my life and hope like hell she doesn’t give me what I deserve.”

“I suggest you shower first.” He winced. “Seriously, dude. You stink.”

“And you.” Uncle Mark pointed at him. “Are gonna have to tell your dad.”

Dad? Why? “So what d’you say we just keep this on the DL—just between the three of us? You, me, and Ms. Kendall.”

Uncle Mark stared at him, considering. “What d’you say... I kick your sorry ass into next week, tape your mouth shut, and send you off to military school?”

That didn’t sound all that bad.

Jeff raised hopeful eyes. “Would we still have to tell Dad?”

Skye punched the print button on her computer and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. The machine hummed and clicked as it printed out her final draft. Picking up the copy and a ballpoint pen, Skye folded her body comfortably into an overstuffed chair and spent the next hour refining her word choices until every sentence read precisely the way she’d intended. But still something pricked at her brain, annoying. What wasn’t quite right?

She read the title out loud, wrote down several alternatives, and then settled back on the original. The title worked for her. Draining her Riesling, Skye went to her computer and sat down. Within minutes, she’d made the few scribbled corrections and read it again. Done.

Skye doubted that she could write the story without exploiting the Hastingses, but with a little guidance from Jenny, she pulled it off. When considering pain and loss, Skye had to admit that Edward was no stranger—not since he’d been twelve. Then as an adult, he’d been hurt by repeated miscarriages, and now Noelle’s accident certainly was taking its toll.

Jenny helped her discover their commonality. She and Edward met as polar opposites, but then Skye looked beyond the surface to see that Edward, the man, had loved deeply, as deeply as she’d loved Niki, and he knew the agony of recurrent loss.

He, too, struggled with the constant gut-deep ache of grief. He struggled to hide his sorrow from the world as she did. Once Skye realized that they weren’t that different after all, she’d written a sensitive piece detailing Noelle’s accident and Edward’s struggle with all of it—and how their choices had been complicated by morals and campaign promises.

Edward and Mark might not understand or agree, but Skye strongly believed that the public should know the hardships and sacrifices Edward made on their behalf. The trick had been in writing an informative, emotional piece that respected Edward and Noelle’s love and pride instead of leaving them raw, exposed, or ashamed.

The public should be aware of the Hastingses’ brave struggle. Being public figures had made their lives so much more difficult, but through this article, Skye was giving Americans the opportunity to understand and show their support of the couple in ways other than prayer vigils, flowers, and notes. She wanted the voters to give them freedom, respect, and privacy.

The freedom to make medical choices unencumbered by anything other than what was best for Noelle, giving them the same respect and privacy granted to ordinary, everyday citizens. Not to be utterly free from censure, but not to be judged and not to have their privacy invaded any more than the average citizen.

When Edward took his oath of office, he did not rescind his right to privacy. It might be too much to expect, but if one never asked, one rarely received. Public figures—celebrities, politicians, sports figures—anybody famous enough to help sell media was held to a different privacy standard—and it wasn’t fair. Especially to their children.

Edward was right. As a U.S. Senator, it was only his duty to live up to his campaign promises. He was obligated to vote the Republican Party line. In his private life—especially with regards to his family’s health, he should be free to do whatever they deemed necessary and right—as long as it was legal—without having to live under a microscope and worry about the world judging them and holding them accountable.

As the Earl Spencer, brother to Princess Diana, had requested that the paparazzi show some common decency and leave Diana’s sons alone after the princess’s death, Skye made an emotional appeal to Americans to leave the Hastingses alone. To not judge them.

Skye connected to the Internet and opened her email account. She selected Karen’s address and attached the story. Sighing, she slouched in her chair and stared at the computer screen. She’d done her best. It was a good, solid piece. But would Mark and Edward think so?

They already hated her, so Skye really had nothing to lose. They were dealing with so much; she didn’t want to bring them more pain. This shouldn’t hurt either of them. It was good. Karen had been impressed with the rough draft, requesting very few changes. She’d considered it powerful and moving. So what kept Skye’s finger hovering over the send button?

Mark. Deep down, a little part of her held out hope that one day Mark would discover she hadn’t leaked information about Noelle’s accident. Skye dreamed Mark would come back on bended knee begging her forgiveness. She’d fantasized about the various ways he’d apologize, from dozens of roses delivered daily until she forgave him, to being whisked away on an extravagant trip to Paris, held hostage until she forgave him.

But as soon as Skye hit that send button, she’d have betrayed Edward for real. She would have violated his confidences and neither man would care why.

Skye bit her lower lip and stared at the computer until the words all blended. She quickly reached out and punched ENTER. The screen blinked and flipped to the message sent line, her future sealed. Her heart pounded. Oh, God. No going back now. What had she done?

Skye lifted the hardcopy. Holding it in her hands, she stared at the paper. It was just a collection of words. Words, sentences, and paragraphs. Paragraphs that made her heart pound and her stomach jump nervously. Words that permanently chased away the only man she’d ever loved.

Skye looked at the clock on her stove. The neon blue numbers glowed five minutes after nine. She powered down her computer and closed the lid. In her bathroom, Skye twisted her thick hair into a bun. Then she applied twice as much lipstick, eye shadow, and mascara as she normally wore. She changed into a long skirt and sneakers. How else could she change her appearance?

Skye wrapped a scarf high around her neck and put on her long wool dress coat. Snatching up her laptop, she headed for her car. Outside Fisher Rehab, Skye turned off the car. Once she donned the reading glasses, she checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked like a studious teacher. Well, that’s as good as she was going to get. Taking a deep breath, she hurried inside before she lost her nerve.

The receptionist looked up from his small TV as she signed in the guest book. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Visiting hours are over.”

Skye smiled at the older man, relieved that she didn’t know this gentleman. She hurried to the safety of the stairs, saying, “It’s okay; I’m not staying. Senator Hastings just asked me to drop this off for his wife.” She hefted her computer.

“Oh, okay, then.”

One hurdle passed, she still had to circumvent the security guard and private nurse, and she had absolutely no idea how to accomplish that. She opened the second floor door and peeked around the corner. With visiting hours over, the nurses had dimmed the hall lights, and the floor seemed almost eerily quiet. The security guard sat fifteen feet away from Noelle’s room at the end of the hallway, reading a magazine.

Skye pulled back into the stairwell and with the door cracked, she looked at the wall clock. Nine forty-five. Noelle’s nurse should be through with her nightly prep. Wiping sweaty palms on her coat, Skye stood tall and took a few measured breaths before yanking open the door and heading for Noelle’s room.

She glanced at the guard, smiled, and hurried past.

“Excuse me, miss,” the guard called out.

Darn. Skye sprinted into Noelle’s room and ran right into her nurse. The older lady gasped and grabbed her arm to regain her balance. Skye tore out of the woman’s grasp and rushed the last ten feet to Noelle’s bedside.

Luckily Noelle lay on her side facing the door. Face freshly scrubbed, she wore modified pajamas. Her eyes flew open at the commotion, and she looked at Skye, with a blank look.

“You can’t be in here,” the nurse protested.

The guard swept past the nurse. “Come on, lady. Out.”

Skye turned to Noelle. “Noelle, please. I need to talk to you for just a few minutes.”

The guard stood only a few inches taller than Skye’s own five feet six, but he manacled her upper arm and practically lifted her off her feet, propelling her toward the door. “Out, lady.”

One-handed, Skye whipped the reading glasses off and plucked the bobby pins from her head allowing her curly hair to spring free. “I need to show Noelle something.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Hastings,” the guard said as he shoved her along in front of him.

Skye grabbed the door jam as he attempted to thrust her through the doorway. “Noelle, Please.” The guard tugged harder on her arm.

“Leave her.”
Hiss.

“Mrs. Hastings, the senator—”

“Leave her.”
Hiss
. Noelle said louder and followed up with a scowl.

Knowing Edward’s orders, Skye almost felt sorry for the poor guy, but when he dropped her arm and the blood flooded it with painful needle pricks, her empathy deserted her. Shoot, she’d have a bruise there for sure. Skye hurried to Noelle’s bedside, as if she could physically protect her.

The guard slowly backed out of the room. “All right, but just a few minutes.”

Aware she didn’t have much time, Skye powered up her computer. After the guard left, the private nurse checked Noelle’s vent connections, and then settled across the room, glaring at her.

She smiled at Noelle and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”
Hiss
. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I—” She didn’t know what to say. Edward hadn’t told Noelle about the article about Jeff, so how could she explain her absence? “I—”

“Thanks for.”
Hiss
. “
Modern Family
.”

“You’re welcome. I knew you’d like it.” Skye smiled and brought up her article on the computer screen.

“What’s the big.”
Hiss
. “Problem?”

Skye dragged a chair close to her bed. “I had this assignment to write a really tough article.” She stared at the side of the airbed searching for the right words. “I... I so want to touch people with this piece. It’s really important to me, and I’m sooo nervous.”