Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (29 page)

Slamming a palm against the table, Craig left the hospital.

He needed a drink.

*     *     *

Bad things always came in threes
, Craig thought, sitting at the end of the long bar in Schooner’s Saloon and that was precisely why he was gulping his third double shot of whiskey. Medicine had taught him to be superstitious, and one of his first lessons had been that things always came in threes, three deaths, three broken bones, three appendicitis; sometimes things even came in double threes. Craig hailed the bartender.
May as well have four drinks just for good measure. It might break the cycle of three
.

This particular crossroad in his life was no exception to the rule of threes and he sat dourly contemplating the three disasters which befallen him within the last day. Marissa was a suspected traitor to the south; Kirsten Jamison was claiming he’d fathered her bastard child, which was totally absurd, but hardly refutable at this point; and then of course there was the fact that his wife was very likely insane. Though if she was not insane all of the vicious rumors about her were probably true!

Was that three or four disasters or only two? Craig was too drunk to count, but as far as he was concerned this was the perfect example of the rule of threes.

*     *     *

Marissa paced restlessly about the house half the night and all day. Cleaning, straightening, scrubbing, folding laundry, rearrang
ing furniture, anything to prevent
two consecutive thoughts from running together.

Craig hadn’t come home that morning, and escape from this hell was impossible because he’d actually posted guards
—
guards
—
around their house. She’d thought to seek Genie’s advice and, after managing to have a note sent
—
through much coercion and much duress of her uniformed guards
—
her friend had not been at Carolyn’s home.

That’s when the cleaning had begun. She was so frantically beyond rational thought or emotion she couldn’t stop moving. She smashed the fourth finger of her right hand four times in three hours and it was
throbbing
.
But if she stilled her hands for more than a moment or two her mind took over, spinning and swirling until she actually had motion sickness, felt physically nauseated.

The servants had wisely indulged her every whim, but now that every article of furniture had been arranged until the interior was unrecognizable and every surface of the house clean enough to eat from, there was nothing more to plug the dam of her emotions and keep the chilling pain at bay. Marissa knew she was compartmentalizing. Knew that eventually Craig would come home and she’d have to deal with the bitter truth of the situation.

Couples in her time got divorced for less than this.

Divorce.

Did she want a divorce? Did she want to leave Craig? If he’d fathered another woman’s child she most certainly did, or at least should. And why had she thought telling him the truth of her existence would help anything? Lost, Marissa wandered across the wide hall into Craig’s study, collapsing into the large leather armchair behind his desk, succumbing to
anguished
tears.

*     *     *

Marissa could see Craig was in a foul mood when he finally arrived home that evening and her disposition was no better. She’d drifted to sleep in the overstuffed chair and been assailed by dreams of her husband in the arms of the winsome Kirsten Jamison, and the beautiful
raven
haired children they would no doubt have together. Roused by the heavy slam of the front door, she slipped quietly from the room and eyed him warily, terrified to speak for fear the bitter tears would burst forth should she even consider opening her mouth.

“Why are you still up?” Craig asked, gripping the back of a chair as he slung his gray jacket over the back and stumbled toward the stairs. He reeked of booze and the mantel clock read the hour well past midnight.

“You’re drunk,” Marissa accused.

“You are very astute, my dear.” He leered at her from half way up the stairs and, leaning heavily on the banister, stomped the rest of the way to their bedchamber. “I’m exhausted,
I haven’t slept in two days,
and I’m going to bed.”

Uncertain, Marissa waited a few minutes before following him. Silently she entered the bedroom to find her husband sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the far wall. She lingered tentatively by the doorway. “Are you still angry about yesterday?”

Craig turned his drunken gaze upon her. “Of course I’m angry about yesterday! Are you not angry? I for one am very angry. I am furious and I don’t know wh
at to believe about any of this
affair. At work today, if I wasn’t contending with rumors that my wife is a Yankee spy, then it was rumors of what a
scoundrel the good Dr. Langston is.
” He stood, voice dripping with sarcasm, and began to undress. “So forgive me if I am in a foul temper this evening, madam.”

Marissa started at th
e forceful tone of his voice, tears welling
in her eyes for what
seemed
the hundredth time that day, “I--I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are sorry.” He staggered a few steps toward her, his face contorted as though he wanted to say more
. At the last minute he swerved toward
the door. “I am going to sleep in my study.” He slammed the bedroom with such force a painting on the wall shuddered.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard her crying.

And now he felt like a total ass, knew he was behaving like a total ass. The agonizing sobs followed him down the stairs and it wasn’t until he slammed the door to his study and collapsed onto his chair that he could no longer hear.

But then he could smell her.

The scent of her rosewater seemed to have embedded itself in every fiber of his chair and the aroma wafted through the air, flooding his senses. He loved her and she infected every fiber and pore of his being. Without her life would be empty. Had she used him? Craig could not believe it, could not bear it. But then was she mad? He could not bring himself to believe such a fate as insanity either.

All that was left was the truth.

Could she possibly be telling the truth?
Hell, no!

Pulling a crystal decanter from his desk drawer Craig didn’t bother pouring the dark liquid into a tumbler. Gulping the fiery liquor, he relished the burn as it traced a flaming trail down his gullet. He staggered up and fell full length onto an uncomfortable leather couch. Tomorrow he would deal with his problems; right now he just wanted to sleep. And forget.

*     *     *

“Go away,” Craig grumbled, swatting at whoever sought to disturb his sleep.

“Dr. Langston,” the unrelenting voice continued, “I fear you will be late for your duties, sir.”

With gargantuan effort Craig drew himself up
,
squinting against the painfully bright rays of the sun. What had happened last night? It felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer to his head. Looking up, forcing his eyes open, he saw his butler standing before him. “What are you doing here so early, Hodges?”

“It is nine o’clock in the morning, sir,” Hodges said in his ever efficient voice.

“Damn.” He should have been at the hospital by seven. Dragging himself to a standing position, Craig realized he was still mostly dressed right down to his boots. He staggered miserably from his study. Passing out on that couch had not been conducive to rest and every muscle screamed in protest as he started to move. Pressing one hand to his head, which he was fairly certain was about to explode he turned to the butler. “Is my wife up yet?”

“I do not believe so, Dr. Langston.”

“Good,” Craig muttered grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and staggering through the door. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation with Marissa.

*     *     *

As Craig dragged himself through the front door of the hospital at quarter after nine that morning, he caught an expression of surprise on James Rowe’s face. “Christ, Langston, this is the first time I’ve ever known you to be late.
” James stepped closer. “Are you drunk?”

“Of course not. I’m fine,
”
Craig barked in return. Instantly, a white hot needle of pain pierced his skull and he regretted raising his voice.

James looked at him long and hard then pressed a little further.” Do you want to maybe lie down for a while?” He cleared his throat. “I’ll cover rounds for you.”

Craig started to shake his head but the movement brought a new wave of pain shooting through his head and nausea gripping his stomach. “Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea.”

“How much did you have to drink last night?” James inquired falling into stride beside him.

“I lost track after about six doubles.”

“Double shots of what? Scotch whiskey?”

“And bourbon.”

“What the hell happened?”

The men had reached a back room on the second floor, where the physicians on night duty could rest. Craig collapsed face down on the cot. “If you haven’t already
heard
, Kirsten Jamison is pregnant
and telling the world it’s mine.” As soon as the words were spoken, Craig succumbed to the black oblivion of sleep.

A little after noon Craig woke feeling sufficiently revived. Shucking the rumpled gray jacket and undershirt from the day before, he pulled a fresh shirt over his head and stuffed it into his pants. Spying a mirror he cringed at his own reflection. He did look like hell. After rinsing his face in a wash basin and running wet fingers through his hair, he brushed a hand over his prickly jaw. A shave could wait.

Stepping from the sleep room he immediately sought out his friend James Rowe. “Thanks for covering for me this morning.”

“That’s no problem.” James’s eyes sort of drifted away. We... we all have rough days and I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.” For a moment, Craig thought James might say something more, but they were interrupted by an approaching orderly.

“Captain Langston.” The boy swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. “You have a visitor, sir.”

With a groan Craig rolled his head back on his shoulders. “And who would this visitor be?”

The orderly swallowed again, his sharp Adam’s apple bouncing. “A Miss Jamison, sir.”

“Then I’m not available to receive visitors,” Craig said dismissively. He would not give the gossips more fat to chew by entertaining her visits at work. That woman had caused him enough trouble.

“Sir,” the boy toyed nervously with his hat. “She said it was urgent and that she had to see
you
.”

“No,” Craig bit out. “Go dismiss her. And that is an order.”

“But she was cryin’
,
Captain,” the boy blurted. “She looked mighty upset. I can’t just leave her out there cryin’!”

“Crying,” the word
fell flat from
Craig’s tongue. “Look, son, I hate to see a woman cry as much as any man, but if she isn’t bleeding then I couldn’t care less what she is doing out there. Even if she were bleeding I would
send you for
one of the other doctors first!”