Together Again: Spirit Travel Novel - Book #4 (Romance & Humor - The Vicarage Bench Series) (8 page)

“For some strange reason, Dr. Andrews is pretty sure that by Saturday Dani will become conscious again and will be fine after that. He’s asked us to put Mrs. Howard off until then. How can we say no?”

“Perish the thought. I’d no more go against hisself’s wishes than dance naked in Piccadilly Circus.”

The picture her words made brought a smile to the face of Nurse Joye. Seconds later a giggle followed, and then a look of surprise. She didn’t laugh very often.

“I doubt there’ll be any reason to go that far, Mrs. Dorn.”

“Yer right, but there’s one thing I do know for sure. There’ll be the mother of all rows if she ever finds out he’s been fibbing her.”

“I have no doubt the doctor knows what he’s about, Mrs. Dorn. We’re merely here to support him and to look after Dani.”

“Yes, miss. By the way, the test results have arrived from hospital, and he told me I should pass them on to you as soon as ever they came.”

A large brown envelope, previously propped up on the side of the table, changed hands.

Nurse Joye slipped out the pile of forms and looked them over as she walked towards the room housing her patient.

With a sudden muffled exclamation, her slender form stopped dead.

Flipping the pages back to the beginning to check the name on the envelope, she squeaked, coughed to cover it up, then much more slowly continued on her way.

Chapter Eleven

The local establishment pulsed that night, brimful of customers mingling, drinking, and carousing. Situated at the back of the room, the bar area, bordered on one side by stools full of half-sodden adults, was reflected in the mirrored wall behind. It looked to be very busy.

Upon his arrival, Troy spotted a man clumsily packing away his cigarettes and sweeping his money from the counter to his pocket in preparation to leave. Troy wasted no time in weaving his way through the packed tables to grab the empty chair.

Beatles music started up and blasted the eardrums; its discordant sounds intermingled with those of the noisy patrons. A jolt of pleasure struck his midsection, and the homesickness he’d battled since his arrival in Bury faded. When the initial smell of beer gave over to the stench of cigarette smoke, Troy relaxed, comfortable and at peace with the world.

His finger flicked, pointing at the glass in front of the bloke next to him, sufficient information for the blonde working the taps. She nodded, poured him a mug, and passed it over with a naughty wink. The first sip fulfilled his expectation. He groaned from pure pleasure.

“So this is what the inside of the pub looks like. I’ve wondered.”

“Why would you care?”

“Being it’s a sanctified adult area, all kids want to know what goes on here. Some of my mates got phony cards and tried to get in, but they were I.D.ed and thrown out.”

“And so they should be. It’s no place for youngsters.”

“I’m a youngster. I’m here.”

“Yeah! But you’re with me, and if there’s any nonsense going on you shouldn’t see, I’ll close my eyes.”

Erupting giggles tickled him. He lowered his head and stared at the beer-foamed glass in his hand so no one could see the silly grin fighting to appear on his face.

Dani, the bane of his existence, made him laugh more than anyone else he’d ever known. And she was only sixteen years old.

“I’m not a child, you know. And I’m almost seventeen.”

“So tell me, Miss Methuselah, how did you get inside me? Are you ever going to explain? I’m thinking to take out a long-term lease if you’re planning to homestead.”

She teased right back. “You’ll have to co-sign for me, ‘cause I’m underage.”

“Whoa! I’ve never met anyone who can play the age game better than you. You’re an adult when it suits you. On the other hand, reverting back to childhood when you feel the need doesn’t bother you at all.”

He loved hearing her cheeky laughter, but not nearly as much as he liked the warmth flooding over his internal self. Exuberance filled him, and he had to admit to getting hooked on the high.

“You are so easy, Troy. I’m gonna hate to leave you. But I guess I’ll have to, since tomorrow’s Saturday, and that’s the day we’ll be able to undo the switch. Right. Here goes—and don’t interrupt, no matter how silly it seems. The fact is—well, it really is the rose bush.”

“You’re still trying to feed me that baloney. The rose bush! I thought we settled that subject. Next you’ll be saying it’s magical.”

“It is
.” Her voice
strongly emphasised the last word.

He filtered through his senses systematically. And was forced to accept one thing. She was telling the truth. A magic rose bush?
“Holy cow!”

“According to my uncle’s notes, if I understood them correctly, and I think I did, I read them twice and—”

“Dani…”

“Right! He’ll have my body near his rose bush—the one I pricked my finger on, at precisely twelve noon each Saturday until the changeover occurs to get me back there. He’ll prick my finger in hopes that you will also prick yours at the same time. He knows I’m aware of the magic and how it works, because he’ll know I read all his notes about a similar case he investigated last year. I accidentally knocked them off his table, the notes that is, and probably didn’t get them back in their correct order. It’s what started this whole thing.”

“And you’re sure it’ll happen?”

“No. But it’s what I gathered from going through his papers, and it worked for two other women who had the same experience.”

“Great! Tomorrow! We’ll be there early.”

****

He had hurt her feelings.

She shut herself off, hiding away so he couldn’t feel the devastating ache that clutched at her and made her gasp. Tears, a physical reaction to release overwhelming pain, weren’t available to her. Emotions too advanced for a young girl tore away rose-coloured glasses, wounding, maturing. Her almost seventeen-year-old psyche had started connecting to him in a way that confused her. Every moment she’d shared his life, little bits of her soul had shifted to him until there wasn’t much left he didn’t own.

She’d seen the flirty invitations in the eyes of other women, the smiles in response to his winking. Awareness of his good-looking exterior satisfied her superficial shallowness. The triviality of that upset her, but only a little.

His loving nature, the person inside, had watered the seeds of affection she’d begun to feel. And his gentleness had nurtured those sentiments into a full-blown infatuation.

The fact that their time together was limited and becoming shorter with every passing moment obviously bothered him not at all.

It was a blow to realize that. While she suffered at the thought of leaving him, her imminent vacating of the premises pleased him—the simple-minded jerk. For her, the looming separation tore at her heartstrings, leaving it wide open, exposing a ghastly emptiness that terrified.

His chuckle caught her attention.

The blonde bartender, in her too-tight, too-low, peasant-styled blouse, had leaned over the counter, providing an eyeful to anyone who watched. Jiggles of flesh accompanied each movement, dragging the eyes exactly where she intended for them to go. Fluttering her overly made-up, gooey-blues at Troy and studiously wiping the wet surface, she pointed her red-tipped finger at the empty mug in front of him. Troy, no different from every other male in the vicinity, tore his gaze from the public display of her bosoms, lifted it to her face, then grinned and nodded.

“You fancy her?”
The words poured from Dani before she could close off the spout.

“What’s wrong with her? She’s very attractive.”

“Don’t be daft! She’s a mite too sluttish for my liking, she is.”

“What’s with the strong accent all of a sudden?”

“You caught me unaware. I wasn’t paying attention for a few minutes, and you go and get into…oh, never mind.”

“I go and get into what?”

“Mischief! That’s what! Does every woman you meet give you the green light, encourage you, fawn over you?”

“Pretty much. I like women. Nothing wrong with that. You’re a woman. Don’t you think I should respond positively to the overtures of friendship these ladies dispense so flatteringly?”

For a short time his using the term “woman” in describing her stopped her tirade, but not for long.
“Flatter-… They bloody drool over you. It’s sickening, is what it is. You should be ashamed.”

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m only teasing you. Look, I’m a friendly kinda guy. Nothing wrong with that, is there? But I’m pretty choosey when it comes to whom I date and when.”

A sickening sensation hit her all at once. “Is there someone in your life now, at home, in Chicago?”

“Nope, just me hanging with a lot of good buddies. I’ve been more than friends with a few great gals, but with me being away so often, they get bored and find someone who sticks around. Lately, I’ve been spending most of my time with the newspaper crowd in Chicago. I guess it’s why I want a desk job in the industry. I’ve been freelancing for too many years.”

“Are you an investigative reporter?”

“Uh-huh! After a couple years in college, I couldn’t stop the restlessness from taking over and decided to get my learning on the streets. I pick a topic of interest involving a specific crime, or ongoing political corruption, or even a possible scandal, and I write an exposé that can take months to work on. I’ve been in so many different countries I’ve had to add a back page in my passport. Hiding, being undercover, seeing the meanness and dishonesty in the world has all but left me burnt out. It’s time I settled down in one place to build my career.”

“You’re a truth bloodhound.”

“I’ve never heard it put quite like that before, but I guess it’s better than being called a nosy pri-, er, jerk. After I got shot during my last sojourn in a country not my home, writing about a story that wasn’t based on my own people, I took it as a sign—time to go stateside and stay there. Since then I’ve been hanging around the city, until this story about Ellie Ward broke. I knew it could be the one to put me behind a desk at the Chicago Sun-Times. I had to get it at all costs, even if it meant travelling again.”

“You were shot? Where?”

“In Thailand…”

“Not that where—where in your body? It must’ve hurt something wicked.”

“In my shoulder, and yes—it did hurt something wicked. But I got a great story, so I’m not complaining about a little scratch.”

“You love the business, don’t you? I can feel that radiating throughout your system every time anything to do with journalism comes into our conversation.”

Before he could answer, a man sitting at a table just behind them cussed at the fellow next to him. Fists swung and glasses flew everywhere.

“Oh, oh! Time to get you outta here.” He started to rise.

“Don’t hurry on my account. I’m sure they’ll sort things out. Remember, an author needs to experience every aspect of life if she wants to be able to write convincingly.”

“Not sixteen-year-old authors.”

“Almost seventeen!”

Wavering on the stool next to him, an old drunk grabbed Troy’s arm. “Aye, there, hang on, mate, what’s yer hurry? They’ll settle down.”

Troy released the gripping fingers by lowering his shoulder and leaning back on his stool. The spittle from his neighbour, now out of range, sprayed the bar instead.

“Hey, pal, time for me to call it a night. It’s been a long day.” Troy made as if to rise again but hesitated, knowing his answering grin gave the fellow a green light to carry on.

“Cor! You’re a Yank. I need ta buy you a pint. Me brother’s a dockworker in America, and he’s always blithering on about his cushy job and his mates. Says they’re a fine bunch of lads, he does.”

“Where is your brother living?”

“In the United States.”

“There are fifty of them, which one does he live in?”

“Fifty what?”

“States. Is he in the eastern part of the country or in the west?”

Grinning slyly, the balding man slapped his hand down hard on the wooden surface in front of him. “He’s in the state of Baltimore.”

Beginning to enjoy himself, Troy settled back down and nodded when the blonde bartender’s eyebrow rose. “Baltimore is a city. It’s in the state of Maryland. Your brother’s lucky—it’s a beautiful city.”

“Who’s in Maryland? What’s a beautiful city? I don’t know is on third.” The chap even looked a bit like Abbott—or was it Costello?

Troy laughed, lifted his mug at the twinkle-eyed sot next to him, and settled in for a visit.

An hour later Troy made his way to his room, knowing his four-legged friend would be expecting a walk and a treat to nibble, if preceding evenings were any indication of their nightly routine.

It was during the walk that Dani finally spoke up.

“You stayed to talk with that inebriated old boozer. Why? He was obnoxious.”

“No! Not obnoxious, honey, just lonely. He needed to talk.”

Oh, God! She was going to miss him!

Chapter Twelve

Nurse Joye followed Dr. Andrews into their young patient’s room. “Did you get the results from the second set of tests yet, Doctor?” She eyed him, noting the shattered look on his face when reminded of the first test’s results. With hands clasped tightly, she waited.

“No, my dear. Nothing so far. I’m sure there’s an error in the earlier ones we received, a mix-up of names, or some such nonsense.” He moved closer to Dani. Unaware of the turmoil those around her suffered, she lay solitary, uncaring—comatose.

Flattened curls diminished the size of her face, leaving her features starkly pronounced. The few tiny freckles sprinkled across her straight nose had become more noticeable, enhanced by the paleness of her skin. Even her cheeks, translucent in the dim light from the small blue bedside lamp, looked overwhelmed by the long auburn lashes. The whiteness of the pillowcase, a crude frame, reminded all who saw her that she lay in her sickbed.

Doctor Andrews gently lifted the hand not attached to the intravenous tubing and smoothed her skin before he took her pulse. To give him privacy, Nurse Joye walked to the window overlooking the garden. She opened it, letting in the fresh air to billow the sheer ivory lace curtains.