The Door Into Summer
Chapter 32"How much farther?" Gloria Ames asked her husband.
"Not much," her husband Jerry replied. "According to the map, we're getting close."
"I can't wait to see her. Do you suppose she's changed much?"
Jerry was the realist, Gloria the dreamer. "Yes, I think she's changed a lot. I don't expect her to be the person she was, not with everything she's been through."
"What about Don? Surely he wasn't responsible for all of this," Gloria put forward.
"No, I don't imagine he was. She's not the sweet, innocent child we thought she was, and it's not all his fault. How could we have raised such a . . . a . . . I don't know what to call her."
"Just call her Rachel. I still love her, Jerry, no matter what she's been involved with. She's my child."
"I love her, too, Gloria, but I intend to keep my eyes wide open. Look, here's the turnoff for the hospital."
They drove the next few minutes in silence. The Beach Presbyterian Hospital loomed on their right, and Jerry made the turn into the parking lot. "Are we ready for this?" he asked no one in particular.
"Yes," Gloria answered him, and they held hands as they went inside. Their first stop was the ICU floor. Jerry particularly wanted to see the man that almost lost his life to protect 'their little girl.' They found the waiting room full of Bailey and Spencer personnel – Stu Bailey, the receptionist, and another young man Jerry didn't know.
"Mr. Bailey . . . I don't know what to say to you. I'm sorry for everything that Rachel caused. Especially what happened to Mr. Spencer," Jerry said as he offered his hand to Stu. "How's he doing?"
"Better," Stu answered, looking relieved to see the Ames family, finally. "I won't lie to you – his heart stopped several times, but he got through that, and he's awake and talking now. Still in a lot of pain, but the doctors are hopeful, at this point. One of the first things he asked me about was Rachel. He was glad to hear she was going to be fine."
"Can I see him, Mr. Bailey?"
"Certainly, Mr. Ames. He's in room 349. Just don't stay too long."
"Gloria, can you stay here? I need to do this before we go to Rachel."
"Go, Jerry, I'll be fine."
"Mrs. Ames, can I get you anything?" Kookie asked.
"A cup of coffee would be wonderful, Mr. Kookson. Cream and one sugar, please. And then I want to hear all about you and Rachel."
Jerry Ames walked down the hall to room 349. He knocked on the door and heard a faint, "Come in."
When he got over to the bed, all he could see for a minute were tubes and bandages. Until Jeff's smiling face became visible. "Mr. Spencer, I'm Jerry Ames. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but I'll be forever grateful for your rescue of our Rachel."
"I'm glad she's safe, Mr. Ames. Have you seen her yet?"
Jerry Ames was astounded. Lying in bed was a man that must be in unbelievable pain; he had a hole in his chest and three other bullets in him. And he could put aside that pain and ask about Jerry's daughter.
Ames shook his head. "No, I wanted to come and talk to you first. I can't begin to tell you what this means to her mother and me."
Jeff gave him that cockeyed smile that had reassured so many clients . . . and had helped hold his partner together on many occasions. "I'd like to meet Mrs. Ames – after you've spent time with Rachel." Jeff wanted to try and dissuade the couple from insisting on the prosecution of Don Waverly. But that could wait.
"Thank you again, Mr. Spencer. We'll never be able to repay you for this."
"Just love your daughter. That's all you need to do."
Jerry Ames left the room and went back to get his wife. They went up two floors to room 543 and stood outside the door for a moment. "Are you ready for this, Gloria?"
"I don't know, Jerry," Gloria told her husband. "But we have to try."
With those words Jerry Ames pushed open the door to their daughter's room.
Rachel looked up from the book she was reading and a smile spread across her face. "Mom! Dad! I'm so glad you're here."
Jerry and Gloria looked at each other cautiously. Could this smiling teenager be their daughter, the girl that had run away from them all those many weeks ago? There was no guile, no distrust, no evasiveness. Just a pleasant young woman, and her mother and father hoped fervently that the attitude would remain. "Oh, honey! My darling girl! Are you in pain?" Gloria questioned as she attempted to wrap her arms around her daughter.
"It's not bad, mom, really. I get pain meds when I need them, but it's getting better every day. Daddy, aren't you glad to see me?"
Jerry had hung back and let his wife greet their daughter first, but now he moved forward to the other side of the bed and took her hand. "You have no idea how glad I am that you're alive. When Mr. Bailey called and told me you were here in the hospital, I dropped the phone. The police had already called to inform us you were dead. I've never been so happy in my whole life . . . " He had to stop; he wasn't about to cry in front of his daughter.
Rachel cleared her throat. She had a lot to say. "I hope . . . I hope we can have a better relationship than we had before, Dad. I think we're both gonna have to work on it. You can't treat me like a child, and I can't pretend to be a grown-up yet, either. Maybe if I'd known that before . . . but I didn't. I've learned a lot, but I'm sure you'd tell me I still have a lot to learn. I guess I just took it for granted that my parents loved me. I forgot that I loved my parents."
"That's my girl," her father told her, and squeezed her hand. The reunion wasn't perfect, but Rachel had said a lot of things that made sense. Now they needed for her to get well.
Downstairs two floors Stuart and Suzanne found themselves alone in the waiting room while Kookie was off talking a walk. He'd begun making noises about going home, and Stu wanted a chance to talk to Suzanne before he sent the two of them back to Hollywood. "Suzanne, there's something I'd like to ask you about . . . and I'm not sure how to put it."
Suzanne looked at this man carefully . . . her boss, but more than that. Her friend, her dear, dear friend. What could he possibly be at a loss for words about? "Yes, Stuart? What is it?"
"Quite frankly, it's Jeff. And your attitude towards him."
Suzanne stiffened. Obviously she hadn't done a good enough job of hiding her feelings for Jeff, because Stu had picked up on those feelings and was asking her questions. "My attitude? What, exactly, is my attitude?"
"When you first got to the hospital you were . . . a lot of things. Worried, scared, frantic. The only thing on your mind was how much you wanted him to live. Once he was awake and out of the woods, you changed. You were distant . . . cold, almost. I've noticed it. Jeff has, too. What is it, Suzanne? Why the change? And don't tell me I've imagined it. You work for two detectives, in case you've forgotten. You can't fool us, as least not for very long. Did I say something? Did Jeff say something? I need to know, Suzanne, and I need it to be the truth."
She sank into the nearest seat. She should have known, should have guessed that she couldn't fool Stuart – at least not for any length of time. What now? Would he – could he – understand how important religion was to her upbringing? Suzanne was raised in the Catholic Church; your word to God was sacred. How could she explain the bargain she'd made – Jeff's life for her silence, never to tell him how she felt about him.
"I . . . I have my reasons. You didn't do anything wrong; neither did Jeff. I'd just . . . rather not say."
Stu thought about Suzanne's answer. . . or lack of answer, and wondered what she was trying to hide. And why she had to hide it. It made him uncomfortable; he'd been put into the middle of all this, whatever it was, but it was her life and her secret to keep, and he'd pushed as hard as he intended. "Alright, I won't pry any further. I guess everyone has their secrets to keep, and you're certainly entitled. As long as you're sure we haven't done anything to cause your attitude."
Was that it? Was he actually going to back off and not push her until she caved? Suzanne breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sure, Stuart."
Kookie picked a good time to reappear. "You still ready to go home?" Stuart asked him.
"Yeah, dad, there's not much else I can do here. You ready to go?"
Stu shook his head. "Not just yet. Take my car and drive Suzanne home, then somebody can come out and get me later. Tomorrow, probably. Jeff seems to have passed the worst of it, and he'll understand why I have to go back to the office. Alright with you, Suzanne?"
The receptionist nodded. "I want to see him once more before I leave. Don't go without me, Kookie." Suzanne left the waiting room and headed down the hall. She had to see Jeff . . . at least to let him know he hadn't done anything wrong.
When she got to his room she slipped in and waited to see if she got an acknowledgment of any kind, but there was no sound from the form lying in the bed. Suzanne felt the fear grip her insides like a steel trap, terrified to walk one step closer and find Jeff gone forever. It didn't last long, this cold grip that terror had on her, and she forced herself forward until she could see the gentle movement of his chest – up and down, up and down. Only then did she allow herself to exhale, a breath of relief and joy in the same moment. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly ajar, yet he made no sound save that of air being forced in and out of that mouth. She smiled and touched his cheek, gently stroking it while he slept.
"Sleep, Jeff. Sleep and get well. I'll be back to see you soon." She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the forehead, then the cheek, before straightening. "Au revoir, mon amore." She stood at the bedside another few minutes watching the man she loved and almost lost, long enough for an unseen Stu Bailey to scurry back down the hall before he could be caught observing her. He understood more now; he assumed Suzanne had bargained for Jeff's life with the entity that controlled their destinies. Somehow, someway he would free her from that bargain. For now, knowing the sacrifice she'd been willing to make told him enough.
XXXXXXXX
Daggett spent the next three days drinking as much beer as he could hold. He wasn't sure when it was day or night, and the only reason he quit drinking was the appalling lack of the beverage in the refrigerator. Once it became apparent he needed to buy more beer, he finally went to sleep. Or passed out, he wasn't sure which. When he woke it was dark and he was still slightly drunk. He gathered himself up off the floor, peeled off every inch of clothing he had on and went to take a shower.
By the time he was finished he was closer to sober. He dried off and put on clean clothes, returning to the living room and sitting in front of the radio. He turned it on and waited for the news. When it finally came a few minutes later there was nothing about Spencer, and that meant either the P.I. had improved or died. Finally he decided to get a paper, which required leaving the apartment. He made sure his clothes were on straight and went out the door, a man in search of a newspaper. He had to walk to the liquor store to find what he was after, a Los Angeles newspaper. He bought the rag and hesitated a moment, considered buying more beer, then decided he'd had enough. Daggett walked briskly back to the apartment, where he once again took up residence on his 'patio.' Slowly and carefully he scanned the paper, looking for any mention of Spencer or the girl. And he got all the way to page 15 before he found an item of interest.
Jeff Spencer, Los Angeles Private Investigator, taken off critical list. Jeff Spencer, partner in the private investigative firm of Bailey and Spencer in Hollywood, was officially removed from the critical list last night at Beach Presbyterian Hospital. Spencer was shot four times when he attempted to rescue a female hostage held by Tony Daggett, a convicted felon. Daggett's whereabouts are unknown at this time.
Damn, just what he was afraid of. He was back to square one, having inflicted pain but no permanent damage. He'd have to start all over again.