Her Name Will Be Faith (19 page)

"As long as you continue to
break promises, hurt your children's
feelings, and disappoint Owen Michael in particular by your
selfishness
–
yes, I probably will." She was too hungover to care what she said at
that moment.

"You don't give a damn about the kids, you're
only thinking about yourself! Anyway, they couldn't care less what I do with my
spare time;
they're perfectly happy. But I'm
damned if I am. You'd better start
pulling
yourself together or there is going to be one big parting of the
ways.
I'm not going to put up with much more."

"You're not?" Jo exploded. "You..."

"That's correct. Now come on,
for Christ's sake. I've got to go. Let's
part
friends, okay?" He was standing in the bathroom door, waiting.

Jo sighed. She had all but said something irrevocable,
and was still
tempted. But that made no
sense… at least until she had had the time
to think. "Okay,"
she said. "Let's find the kids and we'll all say goodbye together."

Tamsin and Owen Michael appeared
from the family room and
watched as the
gear was dumped by the door.

"You going to kiss your
Daddy and wish him luck in the race?" Michael
asked his daughter.

She ran into the room and hugged
him. "I do hope
Esmeralda
wins,
Daddy.
But I will miss you. I wish the race was some other time so's you could come to
Dolphin Point with us."

"Perhaps Granpa will be able to go down there at
a different time next year," her father suggested.

No question of his not racing next year, Jo noted. She
also noted that
Owen Michael was looking
rather pale, and was unusually quiet, hanging
back in the doorway.

"You'll look after Mommy and Tamsin while I'm
away, won't you?" Michael held out his hand to the boy.

Owen Michael managed a smile.
"Sure, Dad." He shook hands. "I
hope you have good winds for the race."

"I'll settle for Force Six
there and back, nothing more than 30 knots.
But however strong the wind is, your Daddy will
cope," Michael told
him.

"Are you going to come down
to Eleuthera and join us when the race
is
over?" the boy asked.

Michael glanced at Jo and then
away again. "No. I won't be able to
do that. The fellows want to spend a week or so cruising
around Bermuda
before we come home. But
you be sure to have lots of fun down there. Come back real brown, and bring me
a tooth from the biggest shark you spear," he quipped.

"Wow! Don't know about that," Owen Michael
responded. Michael turned to Jo. "Look after yourselves." He waited.

"And you come home with that cup." She
reached up and kissed his cheek. "Goodbye. Keep in touch with Sally, so
that if we can't raise you on the radio we can get an update from her."

"That's my girl."
Michael hugged her and the children, and headed
for the elevator. He turned to wave one last time, and was gone.

Jo had a great deal to do herself. She decided to
leave the packing until after lunch, but went out straightaway to take Nana to
the kennels. Nana
actually enjoyed her own
yearly 'vacation', with people who had cared
for her since she had been a pup, and other dogs in compounds all
around
her with whom she could engage
in barking matches. But it was necessary
to tell Mrs Hellman that she had an upset stomach, and discuss her
general
health, and have a cup of coffee, and it was past 1 pm before Jo regained the
apartment, her heart slowly beginning to sing again as she realized that within
six hours she would be in Richard's arms. She was greeted by Dale.

"Hi!" she said in
surprise, presenting her cheek for a kiss. "What brings
you here?"

"I dropped by to see if I
could give you a lift to Kennedy tomorrow,"
he said. "And found Florence worried stiff."

"Florence? Worried about what?" Florence
would be departing for her own summer vacation tomorrow, as soon as the family
had left and she had locked the apartment up.

"It's Owen Michael. He's got stomach cramps so
bad he's been yelling with pain."

"Oh, my God! Where is he?" She ran towards
the family room.

"In bed."

She changed direction and rushed in to kneel beside
the boy. "Darling, what's happened?"

Owen Michael was curled up on his
side, hot, flushed and shivering.
An arm reached out for his mother, and fresh tears
streamed down his
face. "Mom. It's
so bad I can scarcely breathe," he sobbed.

Jo put a hand on his forehead and gasped. It was
burning hot. "Okay,
sweetheart, we'll
do something right away." She spoke quietly and calmly,
but she was
seething with angry fear. That idiot Glenville… she turned
to Dale. "Will you carry your nephew down to
the garage? We'll take
him straight along to the clinic." And she
intended to see Dr Knapp, no
matter where
he might be – she had no intention of wasting her time with
that
doddering old fool any more. She had no doubt at all that far from having a
nervous tummy, Owen Michael was genuinely ill.

Florence quickly put a clean pair
of pajamas and a bathrobe into a
bag, and
Dale drove the Mercedes while Jo sat beside Owen Michael in the back, holding
him across her lap. The traffic was still heavy, and she
felt very like using some of Mr Muldoon's
language as they crawled from
one traffic light to the next, while Owen
Michael whimpered with pain.

But at last Dale parked outside
the Emergency Admittance at the
Mercy Clinic and ran inside to call up a stretcher, which
quickly appeared.
Jo walked beside the
boy as he was wheeled into an examination room.
The black doctor who had answered his beeper hurried in and with a
polite nod turned Owen Michael on his back and
gently pressed the bared
abdomen.

The boy screamed, and Jo jumped in alarm. "I want
to see Dr Knapp," she said.

"He's not here right
now," the doctor said, and gave instructions. A
nurse was sent hurrying away, and reappeared seconds
later with another
doctor, and the two men
conferred in undertones as they examined the
boy together, then the
black doctor led Jo out of the door to where Dale was waiting.

"What is it?" Jo asked anxiously.

"We both think he's probably got a perforated
appendix. He will need immediate surgery."

"Perforated?"

"Yes. The indications are that
it may have abscessed and burst,
spreading
septicemia throughout the abdomen. If that is so, he is very seriously ill, and
should be operated on immediately."

Jo and Dale both saw the concern in the kind black
face, and were frightened.

"Is he in danger?" Dale asked.

"His situation is critical," the doctor said
carefully. "But if we get him
on the
table right now, we should be able to pull him through." He looked
at
Jo, awaiting the necessary permission. "It has to be immediately, Mrs
Donnelly."

Jo took a long breath, and nodded.

Big Mike Donnelly ran along the hospital corridor,
gasping for breath. Babs followed more slowly, only because her legs were
shorter. "Jo!" Mike gasped, catching sight of his daughter-in-law in
the waiting room. "Where is he?"

"In theatre," Jo said miserably.

"Is he...?"

"They're operating now."

Babs arrived, panting. "Where's Tamsin?"

"I called Florence," Jo
told her. "She's stayed at the apartment with
her."

"Michael..." Big Mike began.

Jo's shoulders heaved. "The hospital is still
trying to reach him. We contacted the yacht, but he wasn't there, gone off to
lunch with some
friends or something. I..."
She turned as a white-uniformed nurse
appeared in the doorway. "Mrs
Donnelly? We have your husband on the line. You can take it in the
office."

"Thank God for that,"
Big Mike said, and he and Babs crowded into
the
small room behind Jo.

"Michael?" she asked. "Michael, is that
you?… Yes, I know the race
starts at dawn
tomorrow… yes, I know you have a lot to do, but Michael… oh, for God's sake
will you listen to me? Owen Michael is ill… yes,
very ill. He has acute
appendicitis… yes, I'm talking from the hospital.
Michael… yes, they think he's going to be all right..." She
listened
for a few moments, then exploded. "For God's sake, he's
your son! He
needs you… The hell with the
goddamned race… I told you, they
think he's going to be all right. They
think. But he needs you here. Your
son needs
you, Michael. We need you, here..." Another long pause as a deep flush
crept up from her neck to suffuse her angry face. "You are
a
shit!" she screamed into the phone. "Do you hear me? A lousy shit. Go
play with your plastic toy."

She slammed the phone down, and
gazed at the nurse, who gazed back,
silently.

"Oh, Christ!" Big Mike muttered.

"He wouldn't come?" Babs asked,
disbelievingly.

"He asked me twice if the
doctors thought Owen Michael was going
to
be all right. Then said there would be no need for him to come." Jo's
voice was toneless. "He couldn't let the guys
down, he said. The guys..."
She looked at her father-in-law.

Who sighed. "Yeah… well..."

Another of the phones on the desk
buzzed. Jo spun round, but the
nurse had
already picked it up. "Yes," she said. "Oh, right away."
She smiled at Jo. "Dr Matthey is waiting to see you, Mrs Donnelly."

"Oh," Jo said, suddenly
as breathless as her in-laws. "Is he… I
mean..."

"I think you'll find Dr Matthey has some good
news for you, Mrs Donnelly," the sister said.

Big Mike and Babs waited for her
to return. "I just don't know what's
gotten
into Michael," Babs said. "I mean, refusing to come back..."

"Well," Big Mike argued,
"He was right. I mean, if Owen Michael
really is out of danger, and with the race starting
tomorrow… I mean,
do
you have any idea how much time and money those guys spend on
that boat? Christ, they devote their entire spare time
to it..."

"Then Jo is right, and none of them should be
married," Babs said.

"Now really, sweetheart, because a guy has an
all-consuming hobby doesn't mean..."

"You were a sailing nut when we got
together," Babs reminded him. "And you gave most of it up, because I
got seasick."

"Yeah. Well, maybe I wasn't quite as keen as
Michael."

"You were just as keen," Babs pointed out.
"What you mean is, maybe you weren't as big a shit as Michael."

"He's your son too, dammit."

She nodded. "Maybe the truth
is that I wouldn't let you be like that.
Here
she is."

Jo almost looked happy, but for
the lines of exhaustion and despair
that
streaked away from her eyes. "He's going to be okay."

"Did they...?"

She nodded. "The appendix was perforated, as they
thought. His whole
stomach was in a terrible
mess, but Dr Matthey says they cleaned him
up just in time. Now, it's
only a matter of recuperation."

"Have you seen him?"

"Through the screen. He's
still out, of course. But he looked so peaceful… and his temperature and pulse
are under control, Dr Matthey says. He
also says I can see him again tomorrow morning. God, I
feel like a drink."

"And you shall have
one," Big Mike promised. And grinned. "I feel
like one myself."

They found a bar just round the corner from the
hospital. “Jees, what a foul-up," Big Mike muttered, and gazed at his
wife.

She knew exactly what he was thinking; it was now
nearly five in the
afternoon and they were
due to leave for Eleuthera in not much over
twelve hours time.
"We'll cancel our holiday, of course," she said.

"Of course you won't,"
Jo protested. "You can't. What about Belle
and Lawson? And Dale?"

"Yes, but we can't leave you..."

"I'll be all right. The doc says that if all goes
well, Owen Michael may be able to leave the hospital by next Friday, and then,
if he just rests up for a few days, he should be as right as rain. Look, you're
planning on spending at least three weeks down there, aren't you?"