"Sorry." Will took a seat
at the table, and within seconds, Lillie Mae placed a plate of bacon and
hash browns in front of him.
Quinn helped himself to a cup of
coffee and sat down at the table across from Will. "Did you get any sleep
last night?"
"Not much," Will admitted
as he speared a bite of scrambled eggs with his fork. "I guess you
think I'm a pretty rotten kid for keeping quiet and letting my mother take
the rap for something I probably did."
"Hush up, Will," Lillie
Mae scolded. "You didn't kill Kent, so stop saying you did."
"You think I killed him, don't
you, Mr. Cortez?" Will glared at the lawyer.
Quinn took a sip of coffee, then
set the cup down in front of him. "I don't know, Will. I think it's possible
that if Kent Graham pushed you too hard, you might have snapped and beaten
him to death. But it's just as possible that you simply witnessed the murder,
and the shock of it caused your partial amnesia."
"Do you think Johnny Mack is
right about me seeing a psychiatrist?" Did seeing a psychiatrist
mean he was nuts, crazy, the way Aunt Mary Martha was?
"I think we need to do whatever
is necessary to help you remember what happened the day Kent was killed.
Your mother hasn't helped the situation by lying to the police."
"Mama did what she did to protect
me." Will lifted the egg on his fork, stared at the food for a second,
then shoved it into his mouth and followed it with half a strip of bacon.
"I understand your mother's
reasoning," Quinn said. "But now that we know the truth, the best
tiling we can do for you and for Lane is help you recall everything that
happened that day. You and your mama"-he glanced over his shoulder-"and
Lillie Mae aren't fighting this battle alone anymore."
"That's for damn sure."
Johnny Mack entered the kitchen. "We're all in this together."
Will jerked around to face his
father. A man he hadn't known before a few weeks ago. A man Kent Graham
had tried to make him hate. But he didn't hate Johnny Mack now. Begrudgingly
he was beginning to like his father, maybe even to trust him. "Want
some breakfast?" Lillie Mae asked. "Yeah, a big breakfast,"
Johnny Mack said. "The works, with a couple of your delicious biscuits."
"Where's Lane?" Quinn asked. "I imagine she's sleeping late,"
Johnny Mack replied as he exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance
with Lillie Mae. "She probably had a restless night."
"Mama doesn't usually sleep
this late." It was after seven, and as a general rule his mother
was in the kitchen by six-thirty every weekday morning. "Maybe I should
go up and check on her. Make sure she's all right."
"I'm sure she's-" Johnny
Mack said before he was interrupted.
"You do that," Lillie Mae
told Will. "You go check and make sure she's okay. And if she's still
sleeping, then don't disturb her. I can take her breakfast up on a tray later."
Will glanced around the room, noting
the expression on each adult face. Something was up. He sensed the tension
in Johnny Mack as well as Lillie Mae, not to mention the speculative look
Quinn Cortez had in his eyes.
"Yall want to talk about me,
don't you?" Will looked directly at his grandmother. "You want
to discuss what to do with me. How to handle the situation."
"You're too smart for your own
good," Lillie Mae said. "How about scooting on upstairs for a
few minutes. I'll put your breakfast in the oven to keep warm."
"Should I take Mama a cup of
coffee?"
"Why not?" Lillie Mae lifted
the glass pitcher, poured the coffee and handed the cup to Will.
As he headed upstairs, he heard
Johnny Mack say, "We're not going to do anything unless Lane agrees
to it. If it's all right with her, I'll bring in the best psychiatrist in the
country to help Will."
Lane woke slowly, languidly, and
stretched as she rose to a sitting position. The satin sheet dropped
to her waist when she lifted her arms over her head. She couldn't remember
ever feeling so wonderful, so alive, so much a woman. One passionate encounter
with Johnny Mack had done all that for her-and more.
And for the first time since
Kent's death, she truly believed that there was a solution to her problems,
that there was a way to save both herself and Will. In her desire to protect
Will, she had disregarded common sense and charged forward with a flawed
plan to keep him safe. She should have realized that Will's conscience
would plague him, that deep inside he longed to know the truth about
what happened: the day Kent died, even if that truth turned out to be unbearably
horrible.
Johnny Mack was right about their
trying to help Will remember. And she knew now that no matter what, she and
Will could count on him to stand by them and see them through the bad times
ahead.
Kicking back the sheet, Lane swung
her legs off the side of the bed and slid her feet into her yellow terry
cloth slippers. After a shower, she would dress in something feminine
before she left her room to find Johnny Mack. Glancing at the clock, she
wondered if everyone else was up. If so, she wouldn't have a chance to
see Johnny Mack alone. They really needed to talk about what had happened
between them. When they had returned to the house earlier this morning,
they had both still been in a fog of sexual satiation and in a hurry to
return to the house and their separate bedrooms before anyone discovered
them together.
Lane got up, hugged herself
tightly and twirled about the room. So, this was what it felt like to have
been loved by Johnny Mack Cahill. Indescribable. Gloriously, marvelously
indescribable. She sighed as she came to a halt in front of her cheval
mirror. Did she look different now? Did what she had done with Johnny Mack
show on her face? On her body? Surely she had changed outwardly as much as
she had inwardly.
"Mama, are you all right?"
Lane whirled about to find her son
standing in the doorway, a china cup and saucer in his hand. "Will,
sweetie, what are you-"
"I brought you some coffee,"
he said. "It's past seven and I wanted to make sure you were all
right"
"I'm fine." She motioned
for him to come to her. "Bring me that coffee. I can sure use it. I'm a
real sleepyhead this morning, aren't I?"
Will grinned, then met her halfway
in the middle of the room. She took the coffee from him, then kissed his
cheek. Suddenly the telephone rang. Once. Twice. Then silence.
"Lillie Mae probably got
it," Lane said. "So, tell me how you're feeling this morning?"
"I'm okay."
"Do you want to talk?" she
asked. "All you wanted to do last night was be left alone."
"Yeah, I know. I needed time
to think. Time to make a decision about what I should do."
"And have you made a decision?"
"Yeah. I want Johnny Mack to
bring in a psychiatrist. I want to remember what happened the day Kent died.
If I killed him-"
"You didn't," Lane reassured
him.
"I hope I didn't, but if I
did, then you and I and Johnny Mack… and Lillie Mae, we'll deal with it together,
won't we?"
Lane bit down on her bottom lip in
an effort to stem the tears lodged in her throat. "You bet we
will."
Lane started to set her coffee on
the nightstand; then in her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse
of movement in the hallway. Glancing over Will's shoulder, she took a
better look and saw Johnny Mack and Lillie Mae walking down the hall toward
her room. A nerve-wracking sense of foreboding overwhelmed her.
"What's wrong, Mama?"
Will asked. "You've got an odd look in your eyes."
Johnny Mack entered her bedroom,
standing only a couple of feet behind Will. Lillie Mae hovered in the
doorway, a stricken expression on her face.
Will whirled around when he realized
Lane was staring at someone behind him. "What is it?" he asked.
"What's happened?"
"That phone call was from Miss
Edith's housekeeper," Johnny Mack said. "There's no easy way to
say this-"
"Just say it, dammit!" Lane
set her cup on the nightstand and grabbed Will's trembling hands.
"Jackie Cummings is dead. The
police… that is, Buddy Lawler is saying it looks like suicide."
"Aunt Mary Martha!" Will
cried.
"She's in the hospital."
Johnny Mack walked over to Will and Lane, stood behind them and wrapped
his arms around their shoulders. "Somehow Mary Martha got hold of
her sleeping pills and took an overdose. They aren't sure what happened.
Maybe she woke, saw Jackie's body and panicked. They don't know."
"How is she?" Lane asked.
"Mrs. Russell said that Mary Martha
was still alive when the ambulance took her away."
"I want to go to the hospital."
Will broke free, heading for the door.
Lillie Mae blocked his path.
"You aren't going by yourself. You'll wait for Lane and Johnny Mack.
They'll take you to the hospital to see about Miss Mary Martha."
Lane's gaze met Lillie Mae's, and
they exchanged a knowing glance. What would it do to Will if, when he
went to the hospital, he found out that the aunt he adored had died?
Chapter 19
Johnny Mack hated the smell of a
hospital, the medicinal and antiseptic odors that mixed with the
stench of human waste and sickness. He disliked the clamoring nurses
and technicians who went about their jobs like robots, some thinking
less about the patients than about what they would eat for lunch The sight
of the old, the infirm and the helpless their doors often open for the
world to view the1 plight, created tension in his gut. And the sad, forlorn
faces, the silent tears and the mournful cries of love ones waiting
for death to claim a husband, wife, child or parent unnerved him.
He had been in this hospital twice
before. He'd been just a kid when Faith Cahill died, after being stabbed
by her latest lover's jealous wife. Wiley had brought him to the emergency
room, and they had stood by Faith's bed. She had opened her eyes, stared
up at him and said, "Screw 'em before they can screw you, baby
boy." Those had been her last words. He hadn't shed a tear at her funeral
or afterward. He had learned long before Faith died that tears didn't
help.
When Wiley Peters succumbed to
years of alcoholic binges and emphysema caused by his chain-smoking
habit, Johnny Mack had been sitting with him all night. He supposed he had
loved Wiley as much as he'd ever loved anyone up to that point in his life.
In an odd sort of way he had seen Wiley as a substitute father. God
knew, the old drunk had been the only permanent male fixture in his life.
He'd been eighteen when Wiley died. The government had taken care of
the funeral, since Wiley had been a decorated Vietnam veteran. Johnny
Mack had taken the hundred bucks he had saved up and bought flowers for
the grave. The big spray of red roses had been the only floral arrangement
at the funeral. Nobody else had given a damn that Noble's Crossing's war
hero had been put to rest unappreciated and unmourned, except for the
town bad boy.
The elevator doors opened, bringing
Johnny Mack back to the present He hurried along behind Lane, who rushed
to keep up with Will. His son had been distraught on the ride to the hospital,
so afraid that when he arrived he would find that his aunt had died.
Will didn't hesitate when they reached
Room 310. He flung open the door and marched into the dimly lit interior.
The window blinds were closed, and only the light over the bed shined
softly, enough to illuminate all the bells and whistles that could summon
help if necessary. An intravenous bag hung from a stand, like a silent
sentinel, protecting the patient's body. Sitting beside the bed, Miss
Edith held Mary Martha's limp hand. Buddy Lawler stood behind her, his fingers
curled over her shoulder. James Ware leaned against the wall, his arms
crisscrossing his chest.
"How's Aunt Mary Martha? Is
she going to be all right?" Will asked.
Edith glanced at Will, then lifted
her free hand to him. "Come here, dear." Tears flooded Edith's
eyes.
She appeared haggard, her eyes
red from tears. But her appearance was immaculate. Not a hair out of
place and her makeup perfect. Not knowing, at the time, whether her daughter
was going to live or die, had she actually taken time to apply lipstick
before leaving the house this morning?
Johnny Mack surmised that Edith
Graham Ware was capable of almost anything, including love for her
only remaining child. But would the selfish, self-centered woman ever be
able to put anyone else's needs above her own?
He glanced from mother to daughter.
Mary Martha looked pale and fragile, her face void of color and her
light strawberry blond hair tangled about her shoulders. Lying there
so quietly, unmoving except for the barely noticeable undulation
of her chest as she breathed, she still maintained that unique Mary Martha
aura of delicate innocence.
Will walked over and knelt down beside
Edith, who immediately leaned her head over and kissed his forehead.