Whispers and Lies Page 12

  But Myra was asleep when I entered her room, so after checking her IV and adjusting her blankets, I left. “I’m having dinner with your son tonight,” I said from the doorway. “Wish me luck.”

  But the only response I got was an involuntary whistle that escaped Myra’s lips as she exhaled. I closed the door and stepped into the hall, where I was almost run over by one of the orderlies. “What’s going on?” I called after him as he raced down the hall.

  “Patient in 423 came out of her coma,” he called back excitedly.

  “Sheena O’Connor?” I asked, but the young man had already disappeared around a corner. “My God, I don’t believe it.”

  I hurried to room 423, pushed open the door. The room was overflowing with doctors and assorted medical personnel, everyone moving about purposefully, their actions both condensed and exaggerated, as if the scene were being enacted in both slow motion and fast-forward simultaneously. I caught a glimpse of the pale young woman who was the calm at the center of the storm. She was sitting up in bed, still attached to a myriad of tubes, and our eyes connected for only the briefest of seconds as I was backing out of the room.

  “Wait!” Her tiny voice pierced the air.

  I froze as half a dozen bodies swiveled in my direction, half a dozen faces found my own.

  “I know you,” the girl said. “You’re the one who’s been singing to me, aren’t you?”

  “You heard me?” I approached the bed, the doctors and nurses who surrounded her clearing a path for me.

  “I heard you,” Sheena said softly, leaning back against her pillow, large, dark eyes fluttering to a close.

  “It’s a miracle,” a hushed voice whispered from a corner of the room.

  “Has anyone notified her family?” someone asked.

  “Her parents are on their way.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “They’ve already been notified.”

  “It’s a miracle,” someone else said. “A true Christmas miracle.”

  I COULDN’T WAIT TO SHARE THE NEWS of Sheena’s miraculous recovery with Alison, so I decided to stop off at the gallery where she worked. Maybe Alison could help me select a gift for Josh, something appropriate, I thought, feeling giddy and euphoric, as I pulled into a just vacated parking space right on Atlantic Avenue. Another miracle!

  I didn’t see Alison when I entered the store. Nor did I see Denise. Indeed, the gallery appeared to be deserted. How on earth did they stay in business? I wondered, looking around, noting that the painting of the woman with the wide-brimmed sun hat no longer occupied its usual place on the far wall. I felt a pang of regret. Alison had been right about it being the perfect painting for my living room. It was too bad I hadn’t taken her advice and scooped it up when I had the chance. Obviously, someone much more decisive than I had done just that.

  My life was a collection of missed opportunites, I thought glumly, deciding that was about to change.

  Starting with tonight.

  Starting with Josh.

  “Hello?” I called out. “Alison?”

  “Can I help you?”

  I turned to see an attractive woman approximately my own age walking toward me, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

  “I’m sorry. I was in my office. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Just got here.”

  The woman smiled, although the skin around her mouth was pulled so tight, it was hard to tell whether she was happy or in pain. Reflexively, I brought my hand to my cheek, pushed at the fine lines around my eyes. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone who works here. Alison Simms.”

  The woman’s smile became a tense, straight line. “Alison no longer works here,” she said curtly.

  “She doesn’t?”

  “She left last week.”

  “She left? Why?”

  “I’m afraid I had to let her go.”

  “You had to let her go?” I repeated, feeling like a parrot. “Why?”

  “Perhaps you should ask her.”

  Alison hadn’t said a word about being let go. She had told me that her boss had requested she not receive any more calls at work. Dear God, was I the reason she’d lost her job? “And this happened last week?” I heard myself ask, my mind reeling.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” Fern Lorelli was clearly anxious to move on.

  I muttered something about needing a Christmas gift for a friend and eventually purchased an attractively masculine ballpoint pen I thought Josh might like, but my heart wasn’t in it. Why had Alison been fired? More importantly, why hadn’t she told me? I made up my mind to ask her as soon as I got home.

  My phone was ringing as I pulled into the driveway. I ran into the house, the bells Alison had hung on the front door jingling as I raced into the kitchen and grabbed for the phone. I dropped the small bag containing my new purchase on the counter beside three small plastic Santas, all of whom stared at the bag with bemused curiosity. “Hello?”

  A soft male voice slithered through the phone wire like a snake. “Buy anything for me?”

  My breath froze in my lungs, even as my eyes darted nervously toward the back window. Had someone been following me? Was I being watched? Why? I wondered, my arms folding protectively across my chest, as if I were standing in my kitchen completely naked. “Who is this? What do you want?”

  My answer was a sly chuckle, followed by silence and the familiar drone of the dial tone.

  “Damn it!” I hung up and immediately pressed *69. But whoever was calling had blocked the trace. I slammed the phone into its carriage.

  It rang again almost immediately.

  “Look, I don’t know what your problem is,” I said instead of hello. “But if you don’t stop bothering me, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Terry?”

  “Josh!”

  “I know I broke our lunch date, but do you really think the police are necessary?”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve been getting these crank calls.… It’s nothing.” I sighed, shook thoughts of other voices out of my head.

  “Rough day?”

  “Actually, no,” I said, regrouping, refocusing. “It was a great day.” I wondered briefly why he was calling. Surely it wasn’t to talk about my day. “You remember Sheena O’Connor? She came out of her coma this afternoon,” I prattled on, almost afraid to let him speak. “It was incredible. Everyone’s calling it a Christmas miracle.”

  “It must have been very exciting.”

  “It was amazing. And the best part was that she’d heard me singing to her while she was comatose. Isn’t that incredible?” I asked, sounding just like Alison, aware I’d used superlatives three times in as many seconds. “Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

  An awful silence followed. For the second time that day, my heart sank, my happiness crashing to the floor with such force I felt the room shake beneath my feet.

  “I feel like such a jerk,” Josh was saying.

  “Is there a problem?” I opened the nearest drawer and stuffed the gift bag from Lorelli Gallery inside it. Clearly, I wasn’t going to be seeing Josh Wylie anytime soon.

  “It’s Jillian,” he said, referring to his daughter. “She came home from school and said she wasn’t feeling very well.”

  “Does she have a fever?”

  “I don’t think so, but I just wouldn’t feel comfortable about leaving her. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I’m doing this to you twice in one day. Maybe you should call the police.”

  “Some days are like that,” I said gamely, slamming the cupboard drawer shut, watching the three Santas collapse against each other, like dominoes.

  “I feel really terrible about this.”

  “You’ll make it up to me,” I ventured bravely.

  “Absolutely. As soon as I get back from California.”

  “You’re going away?”

 
; “Just for a couple of weeks. The kids have cousins in San Francisco. We leave the day after tomorrow, get back January third.”

  So much for New Year’s Eve, I thought.

  “I hope you don’t hate me.”

  “These things happen.”

  “I will make it up to you.”

  “Have a wonderful trip,” I said. “And tell Jillian I hope she feels better soon.”

  “I will.”

  “See you next year,” I said cheerily, then hung up the phone before I burst into tears. “Damn it!” I swore. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!”

  There was a knock on the kitchen door. I gasped, budding tears coating my eyes, leaving a filmy residue.

  “I’m sorry,” Alison apologized over the sound of jingling bells as I opened the door to let her in. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I caught a glimpse of strawberry curls, white shorts, and long, tanned legs, before turning away.

  “Terry, what’s wrong?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you lost your job?” I demanded, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand, refusing to look at her.

  I could almost feel the color drain from Alison’s face. “What?”

  “I dropped into the gallery this afternoon. I spoke to Fern Lorelli.”

  “Oh.”

  “She said she had to let you go.”

  Silence. Then: “What else did she say?”

  “Not much.”

  “She didn’t say why?”

  Wiping the last errant tears from my eyes, I pivoted around to face her. Alison’s gaze immediately dropped to the floor. “She said I should ask you.”

  Alison nodded, still unable to look me in the eye. “I was going to tell you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I thought I’d wait until I found another job. I didn’t want you worrying about the rent. I didn’t want to ruin Christmas.”

  “Why were you let go?”

  Slowly Alison lifted her gaze to mine. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” her voice implored. “Apparently there was some money missing. Certain figures didn’t add up.… I swear it wasn’t me.”

  “It was just easier for her to fire you than confront her own niece,” I offered after a pause, biting down on my tongue to keep from adding, I told you so.

  “You don’t have to worry about anything. Honestly. I have enough money.”

  “I’m not worried about the money.”

  “Then what is it? Are you worried about me? Don’t be,” she said before I could respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I won’t lie to you ever again. I promise. Please don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded, realizing it was true, that if I was angry with anyone, it was with myself. For being such a damn fool.

  “I have a great idea,” Alison suddenly announced, running from the room.

  Seconds later, I heard her foraging around under the Christmas tree, and seconds after that she was back, a brightly, if somewhat sloppily, wrapped gift in her hands. She extended it toward me. “Since we’re opening the presents early anyway, it won’t hurt to open this one now. Ignore the wrapping. I actually took a course in gift-wrapping once, would you believe? Go on. Open it. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  I tore the wrapping off the brown cardboard box, opened it. Large dark eyes stared up at me from under a shroud of translucent bubble wrap. Slowly, carefully, I lifted the head vase into the air. The china lady sported an elaborate blond coif, a large blue bow at her throat, and mock diamond studs in her ears. “She’s beautiful. Where did you find her?”

  “At the flea market over by Woolbright. Isn’t she great? I mean, I know you think they’re junk and everything, but I couldn’t resist. I saw her, and I thought it was kind of like a sign or something.”

  “A sign?”

  “Like I was meant to find her, and you were meant to have her. Fate,” she said with an embarrassed roll of her eyes. “I mean, the other heads were more your mother’s. This one’s, well … she’s all yours. Your firstborn, so to speak. Do you like her?”

  “I like her very much.”

  Alison squealed with delight. “She’s in mint condition. Check the eyelashes.”

  “She’s perfect.” I turned the china head over in my hands. “Thank you.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Much.”

  “Where are you going to put her?” Alison glanced toward the five shelves of ladies’ heads.

  “This one’s pretty special. I think I’ll keep her in my room.”

  Alison beamed, as if I’d just paid her the highest of compliments. “So, I guess I’ll see you later?”

  “Later,” I agreed, hearing the bells jingle as the kitchen door closed behind her. I wandered into the dining area, smiling at the sprigs of holly and pine that lay across the top of the cabinet, at the apple-cheeked Santa Claus who stood in the middle of the dining room table, at the papier-mâché reindeer that leaned against the wall.

  The living room was more of the same: more Santas, more reindeer, at least a dozen elves. If there was a space, something Christmassy was in it. And then there was the tree itself—tall and full and smelling of the forest, its branches swathed in pink bows and small white lights, presents swelling from beneath its base. Just looking at it buoyed my spirits. And it was all Alison’s doing, I recognized, cradling the china head vase in my hands as if it were indeed my firstborn child.

  Alison was the true Christmas miracle, I decided.

  What was I doing moping around the house because some guy had stood me up? Just think of all the things I had to be grateful for.

  Name three, I heard Alison urge.

  “My health,” I said reflexively, then groaned. “Sheena O’Connor’s amazing recovery.” My God, she’d actually heard me sing to her! “Alison,” I whispered, then again, louder, more forcefully: “Alison.”

  I looked down at the china head in my hands, my heart full of remorse. I was no better than Fern Lorelli, I thought with disgust. I’d used Alison as a scapegoat, transferred my anger and disappointment with someone else to her.

  How could I have let her leave without giving her something in return? I reached under the tree and selected a small parcel wrapped in silver foil. Then I carried it back into the kitchen, leaving the china head on the kitchen table, next to the Santa Claus salt-and-pepper shakers Alison had picked up at Target. The sound of jingle bells followed me across the small patch of yard to the cottage door.

  I heard the voices as I was about to knock.

  “I told you to let me handle this,” Alison was saying, her voice an angry hiss, intense enough to be heard from outside.

  “I’m just here to help.”

  “I don’t need your help. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Since when?”

  I turned to leave, my shoulder accidentally brushing against the bells hanging from the bronze knocker, setting them jangling. Almost immediately, the door opened, and Alison stood before me with questioning eyes. “Terry!”

  Instinctively, I thrust the gift toward her. “I wanted you to have this.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet.” She glanced toward the interior of the cottage. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know, but I thought …” What did I think? “Is someone here?” I ventured meekly.

  There was a moment’s strained silence as a handsome young man materialized behind Alison, as if waved there by a magic wand. He was several inches taller than Alison, with fair skin, curly, dark hair, and the disturbingly blue eyes of a Siamese cat. Well-defined biceps bulged from beneath the short sleeves of a black T-shirt that stretched tightly across his chest.

  “That would be me,” the young man said, smiling. He reached around Alison and extended his hand.

  “Terry,” Alison said, her gaze drifting toward the grass, the second time this afternoon
she’d been too embarrassed to look me in the eyes, “I’d like you to meet Lance Palmay. My brother.”

  TWELVE

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Lance said, his handshake surprisingly gentle.

  “I called him after Thanksgiving. Remember?” Alison asked.

  I nodded, recalling the one-sided conversation I’d overheard the morning I was so desperately sick.

  Everything is going exactly as planned. You’re just going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing.

  “Lance decided he needed to fly down and see for himself how I’m making out.”

  “Looks like she’s managing just fine,” Lance pronounced.

  “That’s why I came over before, to tell you about Lance,” Alison explained, inviting me inside the cottage with a sweep of her hand. “We got kind of sidetracked.…”

  I’m not sure what I expected to see when I stepped inside—a tinsel-covered wonderland, a veritable army of toys, a re-creation of the North Pole? But surprisingly, the cottage bore only a few traces of Christmas—a large red candle, surrounded by a few careless sprigs of holly, on the glass coffee table in front of the deep purple love seat, a lonely Santa Claus doll lying facedown on the bentwood rocker. That was it.

  “Do you want a cold drink?” Alison offered.

  I shook my head, watched as Lance flopped down on the large floral-print chair. He looks way too comfortable, I thought, masking the unkind thought with a clearing of my throat. “When did you get in?”

  “Plane got into Fort Lauderdale around twelve-thirty.” He smiled at Alison. “I rented a car at the airport. White Lincoln Town Car, no less. It’s parked across the street. You must have seen it. Surprised old sleepyhead here as she was getting out of bed.”

  Alison’s eyes narrowed as her shoulders tensed.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  The two exchanged wary glances.

  “We were just talking about that,” Alison began.

  “I thought I could stay here for a few days,” Lance said as if the decision had already been made.