(Chapter 39. Olivia's house in Pennsylvania, Emily's house in Brentwood, LAPD headquarters, in the air on various cross-country flights. October 29, 2033.)
Emily yawned and stretched as she dozed in the tub. She was still stiff and sometimes sore in the mornings, and had found that a warm soak before breakfast helped limber her up. She supposed it would take a long time for those symptoms to pass off, if they ever did. She was dozing because she hadn't slept very well the night before.
Two nights ago over dinner, Ian's suggestion to call Steven and accept his proposal had set a bee buzzing in her bonnet. Then yesterday, finding out that she was, for all practical purposes, recovered, had left her stunned and excited and not quite sure what to do next. She knew she had to do something with her life, but the task of figuring out just what that something would be seemed quite daunting. She'd called the Chief just to test the waters and see what, if anything might be available to her with the LAPD, but she had carefully avoided any mention of Steven. She knew she didn't want to be alone forever, but she didn't think it was fair to drag him back into her life until she had some idea of who and what she wanted to be now that she was no longer able to be cop.
She let her hands play over her body as she thought. The gentle massage and the sweet scent of orange blossom were simultaneously calming and invigorating, allowing her to focus her mind more intensely. Unfortunately, she was only able to focus on an empty spot in her brain where some sort of plan for the future should be. As her left hand slid over her breast, her fingertips brushed the scar on her chest. It still pulled every now and then, just to remind her it was there. She followed it all the way down her front to just past where her bellybutton had been. She would never forget the shock of discovering that it had disappeared because of the surgery to save her life, and she had often wondered if Steven knew just how bad she looked under her clothes.
She worked her way up her body again, to the incision that ran across her abdomen. Sometimes she felt such a mess. Besides the two long scars running the length and breadth of her torso, she had scars on each shoulder from bullet wounds, one put there by Rossi, and the other by Leigh Ann. There were also numerous marks where drains had been inserted, and a scar on her back from the second, failed surgery to save her kidney.
Suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know Steven was waiting for her, she launched herself out of the tub and, without even bothering to dry herself, slipped into her robe and padded off to her bedroom. She sat on her bed for several minutes, phone in hand, wondering if she should call. With the time difference, it was very early for Steven. Finally, desperately needing reassurance, and deciding that quarter of six was neither too early to wake him if he was working nor too late for him to go back to sleep if he was not, she dialed and held her breath.
Steven was a remarkably sound sleeper, at least when she was in bed with him, and she would not be surprised if he never heard the phone. As she listened to it ring, she thought about the message she would leave. Frowning as she realized the ringing had continued for an unusually long time, she decided he must have turned the answering machine off. Smiling, she decided that meant he was home, and she waited for him to come answer.
"All right already," Lauren Travis shouted as Larry, the cook, kept dinging the bell to tell her an order was up. "I'll get it in a minute!" She turned back to what she was doing and realized she had no idea whatsoever what that was. The bell kept going, annoying her no end, and suddenly she realized it wasn't the order up bell, but the phone. She looked toward the phone and realized it was missing. Unable to believe her eyes, she blinked, and . . .
Woke up. Oh, I was dreaming. The phone kept ringing, and now she heard running water. Steven was in the shower. He'd woken her a little while ago, but she must have dozed off again. "The phone!" She jumped off the couch where she had fallen asleep in her clothes last night after putting Steven to bed, and started running to answer it. Then she realized she wasn't sure where the phone was in this house, stopped and listened for the sound, and turned back to the end table at the foot of the couch.
"Hello?"
She was greeted with silence.
"Hello? Are you still there?"
"Uh . . . yes . . . May I speak to Steven?"
"I'm sorry, he's in the shower. We just got up. May I take a message?"
"N-no, no thanks. Goodbye." There was a deep shuddering gasp, and then the click of the phone being hung up, followed by silence.
Olivia was sleeping in. Keith and Emily had stayed up late playing HORSE and talking about things, and the noise of the basketball striking the pavement had kept her awake. She'd tried hard not to eavesdrop, but she'd heard enough mentions of 'the Chief', 'Steven', and 'the department' to know her daughter was trying to make plans for her future. It hurt to think that Emmy wouldn't confide in her or seek her advice, but Olivia had reminded herself that Em was much more independent than she herself had ever been. As long as Emily was talking things over with someone instead of trying to solve her problems all by herself, Liv had to be satisfied. Besides, when she was small, Emmy had always called for Mama when she had a nightmare. It was only as Emily began to grow up and socialize more that Keith really began to understand her better.
It was the third ring before Liv rolled over and answered the phone by the bed.
"Mama," she heard Emily sob. The rest was just distraught gibberish, but the knowledge that her only child needed her was enough to galvanize Olivia into action.
"I'll be there in two minutes," she said. "Talk to Daddy." She shook Keith awake and thrust the phone into his hand. "There's something wrong with Emily. I'm going to the guesthouse."
She thrust her arms into her robe and placed her husband's prosthetic legs beside him, leaning them against the bed where he could easily reach them, and she was gone.
"Don't be gone long," Maribeth admonished her husband. "We need to decorate for Halloween today, and then we're taking the kids on the children's ward trick-or-treating at the hospital, right?"
"Don't worry, Mar, I didn't forget," Steve said, coming back for another kiss goodbye. "Tanis only gave me half an hour to make my proposal, and then I just need to stop by Bob's and be sure they have enough sauce to last the weekend. I'll be home by ten."
"I'll miss you 'til then," she promised. "Drive carefully."
"Will do," Steve said, climbing into his car. He tooted the horn once, and Maribeth stood and waved from the porch until he turned onto the street.
By the time Steven came staggering out from the shower, Lauren had breakfast ready for him: dry toast, black coffee, a banana, and a thick, orangeish goo in a glass. "What is this?" he inquired as he picked up the glass and swirled the glop around.
"Your granddad's secret family hangover cure," Lauren informed him, "guaranteed to work, or at least make you think long and hard before you get plastered again. That is, if it doesn't kill you first."
Steven gave a bleary, lopsided smile and asked, "If it's so secret, how come you know about it?"
Grinning, she said, "Because your granddad trusts me."
"Wonder why," Steven commented and lifted the glass to his lips for a taste. As he did so, Lauren stepped forward and grabbed his wrist with one hand while placing her other hand against the back of his head. Steven was so taken aback by this, that he found he had no choice but to drink the disgusting stuff.
"Bleah! Ugh! What is that slop?" Steven sputtered as he slammed the glass to the table. He shuddered and shivered and gasped for air, then drank his coffee all in one go to wash away the taste of it.
"Oh, relax, you big baby, it won't hurt you, and it really does replace a lot of the nutrients alcohol depletes. Your granddad explained it all to me."
"Yeah, and did he teach you that forced feeding technique, too?"
Lauren grinned. "Nah. I learned that when I was living in the dormitory on campus. I got tired of listening to my roommate whine, so I introduced her to the cure."
"And she didn't have you charged with assault?"
"Ha ha." Lauren did not sound amused. "Remember you said that in an hour, when you are feeling much better."
Looking at what remained of his breakfast, Steven decided Lauren wouldn't poison him after all, and he began to nibble at his toast. Lauren watched him for a few minutes, and then decided to bring up the reason she had spent the night on his, or, more to the point, Emily's couch.
"Steven, why don't you just call her?"
Steven put the toast down and started peeling his banana. As he worked intently at peeling the little strings off it, he said without looking up, "She made it very clear when she left that I was to leave her alone. She said, and I quote, 'Don't call me. I don't want to talk to you.'"
Lauren sighed like a teacher patiently dealing with a confused student. "Steven, sometimes women say that just because they want to see if you will call."
"Not Em."
"Nonsense!" Lauren argued. "We all need to know that you can't live without us."
"That's beside the point. Anyway, I don't have her number back East."
Lauren frowned thoughtfully and said, "Actually, I think you do." She got up and went over to the caller ID box beside the kitchen phone. The display read, CALLER: UNKNOWN. LOCATION: PITSBRG, PA.
"Move over," Steven ordered, and he picked up the receiver and began to dial the number on the screen.
By the time Liv and Keith had worked out the cause for their daughter's distress, Emily had gone from devastated to outraged and had packed a bag and called the Clearfield County airport to schedule a flight to LA in her mother's private plane. She was determined to find out why another woman was answering the phone in her own house at six in the morning when the only person who had any business waking up there was Steven.
"Emily, why don't you just call him first? There's no sense in taking off in a red hot rage when you don't really know the whole story."
"There will be time enough to get the whole story once I'm there, Mama," Emily insisted. "And it better be a damned good one, too, or I'm going to kick his sorry tail all the way from Brentwood back to Malibu before I have him and his little hussy arrested for trespassing. He never asked my permission to stay in that house."
"But you gave him a key, Em."
"I DON"T CARE! Especially now that he has someone there to keep him company and God only knows what else."
"Emmy, sweetie, will you just listen to reason?"
"NO! Mama, I have to go. I have to confront him face to face."
"All right then," Liv said in the sternest voice she could manage, "you go ahead and fly to LA, but you take your father with you."
"What!" Keith and Emily chorused.
"Keith, you're going," Liv snapped in the tone of someone used to giving orders when the situation demanded. "Em, if you're right about Steven, he's going to want a piece of that boy's hide, too, and if you're wrong, well, he'll keep you from doing something you might regret."
"Mama, he doesn't need to go. I'll be all right on my own."
"He goes, Em, or I call and cancel the plane," Olivia insisted. "It is mine after all."
"I'll drive to Pittsburgh and get a commercial flight," Emily threatened.
"That's two hours in the car, two to three more in the airport, and another hour on the runway, followed by a couple of hours going through security at LAX," Liv countered calmly. "I don't think you want an eight hour delay, do you?"
There was a long, pregnant pause in which the two highly agitated women stared each other down, Emily with eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips, Liv with her arms folded, wearing the impenetrable gaze that had made her a legendary poker player among her friends. Finally, without sparing so much as a glance in Keith's direction, Emily said, "Get in the jeep, Dad."
"But Em, I need to pack a bag."
"I'll buy you some clothes when we get there. Get in the jeep, Dad."
Shrugging and muttering and knowing this was one of those times when nothing he could say would make any difference, Keith did exactly as he was told. When her husband was out of the room, Olivia softened her expression, and said compassionately, "I hope you're wrong about him, Emmy."
Emily let a little of her furious façade slip then, and said, "So do I, Mama, because I don't know what I'll do if I'm right."
"After you kick his sorry tail all the way from Brentwood back to Malibu, you mean." Olivia allowed herself an impish smile then hoping it was the right thing to say.
Apparently it was, because Emily smiled back and even gave a small slightly embarrassed laugh. "A bit melodramatic, wasn't I?"
Liv nodded, "Just a tad."
"I really do need to go see him, Mama."
"I know, sweetie," Liv said as she reached out and straightened her daughter's collar and brushed her wild red curls away from her face. "I'm sending your father just in case you are right. I don't want you to have to face that alone, and . . . I know having me along would just drive you up the wall."
"I'm sorry, Mama," Emily said, and she looked as if she was about to cry again.
"Shh," Liv hushed her and wrapped her in a hug. "It's a mother's job to fret and worry and play the martyr, and I take my job very seriously. You just go find that young man of yours and see what he's been up to." Pulling back from the hug, she added, "and if you or you father do assault him, don't call me to post bail."
Olivia stood in the driveway and waved to her daughter and husband until the ancient pink jeep rattled out of sight and earshot. Then she went back into the guesthouse and cut the power to everything but the refrigerator. As she walked back to the main house, Olivia decided she needed to talk to her accountant today. She and Keith had been talking about retiring to LA to be closer to Em. When they did, the house and grounds would be turned into an assisted living facility for victims of the BioGen virus. Liv had the sneaking suspicion that Em wouldn't be coming back from this trip, so now was the time to put their plans in motion.
Lauren watched with growing distress as Steven dialed the phone repeatedly. Snatches of her half-sleeping conversation with Em were coming back to her, and she didn't feel very good about what she had said. She hadn't meant to create problems, but she just wasn't fully coherent when she'd answered the phone.
"It just rings and rings and rings," he said. "No answering machine, nothing."
"Uh, she might not want to talk to you after all," Lauren said.
Steven looked up sharply. "Why not?"
"Well . . . " Lauren began reluctantly, "I fell back asleep after you woke me, and I sort of mentioned that we had just woken up when I answered the phone."
Steven stared at her confused for a moment. "So?"
Lauren sighed dramatically. "Men are so dense. Steven, I didn't tell her that I spent the night on the couch."
"So?"
She just stared at him until he got it.
"Ohhh." Then he really got it. "Oh, God, Lauren! You didn't! What am I supposed to do now?"
Making the kind of snap decision that made her ideally suited for a job in the fast paced restaurant business, she said, "You pack a bag and go explain in person."
"What! Lauren, I have patients. I can't just leave."
"Yes, you can. Somebody will cover for you," she insisted, guiding him gently out of his seat and to the bedroom so he could pack a bag. "Now, who should I call?"
As he began mechanically putting things in his suitcase, Steven said, "Try CJ first, and then Alicia, she has admitting privileges now. Then Alex, I guess, and then your dad."
As Lauren headed off to do his bidding, Steven finished dressing and packing. When he returned to the kitchen, Lauren said, "Ok, you're booked on the eight-fifteen direct to Pittsburgh, so you'll need to hurry." She stuck a sheet of paper in his pocket and said, "There will be a car waiting for you at the Budget rental office, and the directions to Liv's house will be programmed into the GPS computer."
"Lauren, thank you," he said as he headed for the door. "I'll pay you back when I come home."
"Puh-leeze," she said. "I used Daddy's credit card. You owe him, not me."
"I might have known," Steven grinned as he climbed into the car. Then he suddenly went bug-eyed. "My patients. Who's covering my patients?"
"Daddy and Alex are splitting your shift, and I'll keep an eye on the house for you. Now go!"
Steven reached out with one long arm and pulled Lauren to him for a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. "Lauren, you're a lifesaver. Thank you." Then he shut the door and drove off.
Steve waited nervously as Tanis and Cheryl read his proposal. He was only back at headquarters for this brief meeting, and then he had to run by Bob's and then back home to help Maribeth decorate for Halloween. After lunch, they were going to the hospital for trick-or-treating with the pediatric patients. Emily had called him last night, with the good news that she was officially 'better.' They had talked for a while, and then she had finally confided in him that she really didn't know what to do with herself now. She was adamant that she would not undergo any experimental treatments or procedures to replace her missing kidney so that she could be a cop again, but she couldn't think of anything else she would want to do with her life. She was wondering if there might still be a place in the LAPD for her anyway.
He'd promised her he would see what he could do, but didn't mention that he already had something in mind. Without ever telling anybody, shortly after he retired, Steve had spent several days working out this proposal, just on the chance that Emily might want to come back once she had recovered. He owed her his life, and he was hoping that this gesture would be a small start on paying back that debt.
"So, do you think the police commissioners will go for it?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't know, Steve," Tanis said. "To rehire her in a brand new position like this, it could raise a lot of questions. Especially if she isn't well."
"Tanis, she's fine," Steve assured his former supervisor. "She just doesn't meet all the requirements for going out on the streets, and you wouldn't be rehiring her because she hasn't actually quit the force yet. She's still on medical leave. It would be an internal transfer."
"To a new position we have created just for her?" Cheryl said reluctantly. "It smacks of nepotism."
"Cheryl, she's just thirty-one years old" Steve said earnestly. "She risked her life to save mine. I don't care if people think I'm doing her special favors. Whatever we can do for her, she's earned it. Besides, even if you interviewed other applicants for this position, no one would be as well qualified as Emily."
"I agree, Steve," Cheryl answered, "but only because it was designed with her in mind. You know how hard we have worked since the mob scandals to clean up our image and regain the public's trust. Now, we have to avoid even the appearance of impropriety."
"What the hell is so improper about using the resources available to you!" Steve shouted in frustration.
"If you're going to yell, you can leave now," Tanis said, pointing to the door.
Steve took several deep breaths to calm himself, and then said somewhat more quietly, "I'm sorry for yelling, but there has to be a way we can work this out. She has skills and knowledge that the LAPD could really use, and I am certain she would like to remain with the department if she could."
"I know that, Steve," Tanis said soothingly, "and I'm really sorry, but even if she has recovered as well as you say, she doesn't meet the physical requirements to be a cop any more. The commissioners would never approve because our insurers would never cover her. Cheryl, can you back me up on this?"
When they looked to Cheryl, both of them were surprised to see her grinning slyly. "What if she weren't a cop?
Steve ran his hands through his hair and sighed in frustration. "Hello? Cheryl?" he called somewhat sarcastically as he waved a hand in front of her face. "The whole reason I'm here is to try to find a way to help her stay with the department, remember?"
"Yeah, I know, but maybe . . . "
"Maybe what, Cheryl?" Tanis asked.
Turning to Steve, she asked, "How would Emily feel if she weren't a cop, but she was able to stay with the department in another capacity?"
"She is not cut out to be a secretary, Cheryl."
"I know that, but what if she were a consultant working with cops undercover and on electronic surveillance and investigation? She would still have an office and be working cases, but, no badge, no gun, and not on the street. Kind of like what your dad used to do."
Steve grinned. "He still does. You should talk to Dion sometime."
Tanis had to smile, too. "You know, I'm not surprised," she told Steve then said, "Cheryl, your idea just might work. Why don't you and Steve get started on a proposal I can present to the commissioners? I'll look at my budget and see if I can find the money for a salary. Just remember, she will have to be privately insured."
Steve checked his watch. "Uhh, actually, ladies, I have plans with my wife today, at least until dinner time. I can probably work on it this week, have it back by say Monday, if you like. It's not like she's going to just show up on my doorstep unannounced. If it can wait a week or so, I can save Cheryl the trouble."
Cheryl and Tanis looked at each other and nodded, and so it was decided that if the police commissioners accepted the proposal, Emily would have a job waiting for her when she returned to LA.
"You know, Daddy, you could have just taken the jeep and left once we got to the airport," Emily said somewhere over the Midwest. "You didn't have to fly to LA with me."
"Where would I go, kiddo? Your mom would have my hide if I didn't go with you."
Emily frowned, nodded, and conceded, "You do have a point."
"Yeah, and besides, I mean to take that young man out to the woodshed if you're right about what he's done."
It was just past eight when Lauren came flying into BBQ Bob's to help attend to the breakfast crowd. Steve had stopped by on his way home from his early morning meeting with Tanis and Cheryl, and, after making a fresh batch of the secret sauce, had called his wife to tell her he was sticking around until his goddaughter showed up to manage the place. Making a great show of checking his watch as she scurried into the kitchen, he inquired loudly, "Running a little late, are we?"
Unperturbed by her godfather's posturing as an angry employer, Lauren put her apron on and crossed the kitchen to give Steve a kiss on the cheek. "You wouldn't believe the morning I've had, Uncle Steve," she said breezily. "It started about eleven o'clock last night, and it's all your son's fault."
Lauren smiled slyly as Steve raised one inquisitive eyebrow. Her diversion tactic was a success. As she launched into a detailed, but decidedly vague description of Steven's escapades the previous night and the rather interesting morning she'd spent with him, she knew she wouldn't be hearing anything more about arriving over an hour late for her shift at the restaurant.
"Don't you think you ought to knock?" Keith asked.
"It's my house, Dad," Emily said dourly as she put the key in the lock.
"I know that, Em, but you're not expected."
"He shouldn't be doing anything in my house that he wouldn't want me to just walk in on."
Em and Keith had arrived in LA at about noon local time, which was around three in the afternoon by their biological clocks. There had not been time to stock the plane's galley, and Keith was famished when the plane touched down, but he knew there was no way he would be able to divert his hard-headed daughter from her chosen mission. So, after they had driven the jeep out of the cargo hold, he just went along for the ride to Brentwood, hoping that the sooner Emily satisfied herself about Steven's activities, the sooner he would get some lunch.
"Honey, I'm home," Emily called out sarcastically as she entered the house. When there was no answer, she called, "Steven?"
"Looks like nobody's here," Keith said, trying to hustle Emily back out the door. "What do you say we go get some lunch and come back after he gets home from work?"
Emily shook loose from his grasp on her arm. "No way, Daddy. I want to investigate first, see who this chickie is who has been staying in my house. Why don't you start in the guestroom while I take the master bedroom?"
Steve and Maribeth were just finishing up their lunch when Lauren approached them wearing the sad-eyed puppy look that she had perfected from a lifetime of watching her daddy. Maribeth winked at Steve, knowing one pout from Lauren could turn him to mush said, "I'll handle this." Steve smiled and nodded, for he knew as well as his wife just how tightly the diminutive young woman had him wrapped around her finger.
As Lauren arrived at their table, she asked, "Uncle Steve, Aunty M., how was your lunch?"
Maribeth wiped the corners of her mouth daintily and replied, "Delicious as always, dear, thank you for asking. What do you want?"
Taken aback, Lauren gasped, "Aunty M! What makes you think I want something?"
In a tone that was somehow simultaneously stern and amused, Maribeth said, "Lauren Travis, I have known you since the day you were born, and I love you like my own, but I can read you like a book. If you need something, just ask us, dear. Don't try to manipulate us."
"Yes, Ma'am," Lauren said somewhat dejectedly, and stuck out her lower lip. When Steve gave her a sympathetic look, Maribeth kicked him under the table. They had plans to take the kids in the children's ward trick-or-treating this afternoon, and she had no intention of being roped in to helping at the restaurant instead.
"Lauren, what do you need?" Maribeth coaxed.
After a deep breath and a sigh, the young woman began rambling as if she could gain their assistance through sheer verbiage. "Well, after Emily called and I booked Steven on a flight to Pittsburgh, he was worried about her house, so, I promised him I'd look after it; but I don't really understand the security system, so all I could do was lock the doors when I left, and I'm afraid I might set it off when I go back tonight if it automatically arms itself, and I was hoping Uncle Steve could come take a look at it for me and show me how it works so I don't have the police coming out every time I turn the doorknob."
Maribeth wrinkled her nose in confusion and said, "You lost me at Pittsburgh."
"It's in Western Pennsylvania," Lauren supplied with a grin. "Take the I-80 west until you hit the Pacific Ocean, turn left, and you'll get to your house in no time."
Steve laughed, and Maribeth kicked him again. "Not funny," she told the young woman.
"I'm sorry Aunty M. It was just a joke," Lauren said sadly.
While Steve's heart turned to goo at the thought of his goddaughter being sad, Maribeth stood firm. "I know that, Lauren," she said, "but if you really want our help, I suggest you try explaining again."
Steve, who had heard the whole saga terminating in Steven's trip to Pennsylvania that morning while he made the sauce, rubbed his bruised shin with one hand and waved his goddaughter away with the other. "Go back to work, Lauren," he said cheerfully. "I'll explain, and yes, your shift ends at four, so we'll come by around then and go out to Brentwood with you."
Lauren grinned brightly and moved off to greet some customers. When she was gone, Maribeth glowered at her husband and said, "She plays you like a cheap violin."
Steve shrugged the criticism off carelessly and said, "I know, but she's a good kid, and she isn't selfish. I don't mind. Now, do you want to know what our son is up to or not?"
"Well, I didn't find anything in the guest room," Keith said entering the kitchen to speak to Em. After checking out the master bedroom, she had gone to investigate elsewhere in the house.
"Mmm. I didn't find anything in the main bedroom, either, but look at this." She indicated the sink.
"I see dirty dishes," Keith said, becoming increasingly puzzled by his daughter's suspicions. There could be a number of reasons why a woman had answered the phone while Steven was in the shower. He couldn't think of any very good ones right now, but reason dictated that there should be several.
"I see breakfast for two," she said, "one coffee black, one light and sweet."
Keith had to agree. He could still see the undissolved crystals in the bottom of one cup. "Maybe he had someone over for breakfast, that doesn't mean he's been unfaithful, Em," he told her.
"I know, but I checked the bathroom, too." Her features clouded, and Keith knew she wasn't pleased.
"You found something."
"No make up, no perfume, not even an extra toothbrush."
"Then why so grim?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Daddy, there was long, blond hair in his brush. What if it was a one-night stand? What if I waited too long to come home?" Standing in the middle of the room, she began to sob, and all Keith could do was take her in his arms and hold her.
"Mrs. Stevens," Ben Goldstein said as they wandered through the garden beside the house, "are you sure you really want to do this? I know it's a good tax write-off and all, but it's also your home."
Olivia sighed. Ben had been her accountant ever since his father, Meyer, had passed away, and while he was quite good with ledgers, portfolios, and tax-forms, he had never understood the tremendous spiritual profit gained by giving something you have to people who need it more than you.
"My home is near my daughter, Ben, and she doesn't live here any more."
"You could sell this place and use the cash to buy a new home in California."
She smiled indulgently and paused to pick a few of the hardy, late-blooming marigolds. "I could buy a new home in California out of petty cash, Ben, and I probably will. This home was given to me, I will not profit by it. The people of this community need a hospice where victims of the BioGen virus can come to be cared for while their caregivers get a much-needed break, or to be cared for long-term, or to die in a place where professionals can help manage their pain in the final days.
"This house is almost ready made for that," Olivia explained and started pointing at the different features of the house with her bouquet of bright orange flowers. "The master bedroom will go to a resident physician and his or her spouse. The guesthouse is a nice place for extended family to stay, relatives who live too far to commute for a visit. The upstairs apartments will be an assisted living facility for ambulatory patients, and the rooms on the upstairs hall will be for patients in more serious condition. There's a gym and a pool, for physical therapy, and the dining, living, and recreation rooms will be nice meeting places for support groups to help families of victims learn to cope. We just need to install an elevator and proper electricity for a medical facility."
"You've thought this out very carefully, haven't you?" Ben asked and fell into step beside Olivia as she started walking again.
"Of course I have. I think it will work beautifully."
"And I'll bet you'd like the staff to be hired from the pool of people you have helped attend college, medical, and nursing schools."
"Naturally. At least as much as possible."
"What does your husband think about this, Mrs. Stevens?"
Olivia stopped in mid-stride and turned to face the young man, giving him a look that made him wish he hadn't asked. "By now, Ben, you should know that I am going to do what I want to do, regardless of what he thinks."
"Yes, Ma'am, I know that," Ben tried to say diplomatically, "but his life has been in this house for the past thirty years."
"And there is just one name on the deed to it. Mine."
"I know that, too, Mrs. Stevens, but . . ."
Olivia smiled, and said, "But just for your information, Keith and I have been talking about this for a while, and he thinks it's a good idea, too, and before you ask, Emily's life is in California now."
Ben heaved a sigh of relief, delighted that he wouldn't have to find a way to get her to put it off until she talked it over with her husband. "You know, you might have told me that ten minutes ago!"
"I know, but I wanted to tease you. Keith and I will remove our personal effects by Thanksgiving. Do you think you could have the place up and running by New Years?"
"I'll do my best," Ben promised, "but if you think you could live with the contractors for the month before you move out, it might be nice to get it started by December. The holidays are a stressful time for a lot of people and it might make it easier to celebrate if folks could have their loved ones stay here for a few days while they make preparations. I gathered you want this to be a short-term care facility, not a nursing home."
"Exactly," Olivia said. "The kind of place where a young couple caring for an ill grandfather can bring him and know he's getting kind, loving care while they take their first vacation in three years."
"Ok, I'll get to work on it this afternoon," Ben said. "I have a couple of contacts at similar facilities who can help me figure out what we need in the line of staffing and equipment. I'll call the lawyers to get to work on licensing and insurance, and I'll start looking into locating interested staffers. Is it supposed to be exclusively for BioGen victims?"
"No, but they should be given preference."
"All right. I'll remember that for the legal paperwork."
"Very good, and Ben . . . "
"I know, I know. It's not for profit. I'll set up a foundation and let you know how much money it needs. You think up a name for it."
Olivia laughed, and said, "I'll do that, Ben, and thank you. You have a good day."
"You, too, ma'am, and thank you." Ben headed down the garden path toward his car, but before he had gone very far, he stopped and turned. "I wish you would let me turn a profit, Mrs. Stevens, because that is what I was trained to do, but I have to tell you, I think this is a very good thing you are doing."
Olivia chuckled. The young man might have learned something from her after all. "Thank you, Ben. I'm glad to hear you say that."
Somewhere in the air over Kansas or Nebraska, or some damned place, Steven sighed. He'd been on the plane for almost three hours, flying for over two, and he had finally found the nerve to face what he had done last night. By the time he had realized what was happening, he'd been too drunk to drive, too embarrassed to face his friends, and much too scared to face his parents. Somehow, he'd ended up pouring himself in a cab and directing the driver to BBQ Bob's. When he got there, he'd realized that his dad might be inside, and he sent the cabbie in to ask for Lauren. He was just lucky that she was there and his dad was not.
After paying the cabbie from the till and writing an IOU, she'd had a couple of waiters help him stagger to the office where they had dumped him on the couch. At first, Lauren had been too busy with the restaurant to come sit with him, and he had been alone with his misery. By the time she had a break and could come back and see him, he was desolate.
"Steven? Steven what's the matter with you? How much did you have to drink?"
"Don' know. Toommmmuch."
"Why? What happened? What have you been doing?"
"PleasssseLarn, ssslow downnnnn! Too many quessshunns, cannnn't think."
Lauren had stopped talking for a few minutes and just rubbed Stephen's back. At first, she had been shocked at his condition when she had gone out to the cab to see him. Then, she was annoyed that he would come disturb her at the restaurant in his condition, knowing how busy she was likely to be. By the time she got back to the office, she had been downright angry at him for coming in half blind with liquor when he knew full well that Bob's was a family restaurant and there were always likely to be any number of small children there. Now that she saw how distraught he was, she could only feel sorry for him.
"Ok," she finally said, "first things first. Have you been hurt?"
"No, no, jusss . . . Jusssskunked sall."
"I can see that," she wrinkled her nose and, because she didn't want to leave him alone even for a moment, picked up the phone and called out the kitchen for a pot of coffee. "Have you gotten in trouble, hurt anyone, wrecked your car, anything like that?"
"No . . . snuthin' like that."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Lauren asked, "Then can you tell me what has happened that has you so upset?"
With a trembling hand, Steven pushed the hair out of his eyes. There was a knock at the door, and Lauren got up and opened it. When she closed it, she was balancing a tray holding a pot full of black coffee, two cups, sugar, and cream. She poured a cup of it black for Steven, and then fixed her own with cream and sugar.
"Now, what's the matter, Steven?"
He was silent for several moments as he collected his thoughts and drank about half his coffee, then, slowly, his words somewhat slurred by alcohol, he began to tell his story.
At five o'clock local time, Keith and Emily were fixing themselves a light dinner as they waited for Steven to come home. Em had carefully set the breakfast dishes out of the way so she would 'still have the evidence' when she confronted him 'about his philandering ways'. Keith just shook his head, knowing it would take more than an unusual phone call to rattle his normally very self-possessed daughter, and wondering what had really set her off. On the one hand, he thought he ought to talk to her about her odd behavior, but on the other hand, he decided to wait and see how she handled herself when she saw Steven before he did anything.
As they were slicing tomatoes for the salad, they heard the distinctive click and creak of the front door opening. Before Keith could say a word, Emily had left the kitchen. He arrived in the living room just in time to see the fireworks start.
"Em?" Lauren said in shock. "What are you doing here?"
"It's my house," Emily replied icily. "What are you doing here? More to the point, what were you doing here when I called at six o'clock in the morning?"
"Steven needed me, so I spent the night."
"Oh, did you?" Emily asked sarcastically, not caring that Steve and Maribeth were there. Lauren shrank back, suddenly realizing this was much more than a casual, 'Hi! How are you? Nice to see you,' conversation.
Keith had been watching for the signs, and when he saw the left fist clenching and unclenching and the muscle in the jaw twitching, he knew disaster was imminent. So, before Em could say another word, he asked in a commanding tone, "Emily, could I have a word with you in the garden?"
Ignoring her father, Emily opened her mouth to make another sharp comment to Lauren, but again, before she could speak, her father intervened. "Emily Morgan Stephanie Theodora Stevens, I said out in the garden now!" he roared.
Emily closed her mouth without a sound, and stood for several moments, embarrassed by having been yelled at by her father, furious with Steven and Lauren, frustrated that she was being prevented from dealing with the problem, and confused that her father wasn't taking her side. Finally, she lowered her gaze, turned, and walked out of the room.
"Guys, I'm sorry," Keith said to Lauren, Steve, and Maribeth when he heard the patio door slide open and then shut again. "Lauren, she was very upset when she called this morning and had a woman tell her Steven was still in the shower."
"I can imagine," Lauren said.
"I don't think you can," Keith replied. "There's more going on, but I'm not sure what. I can understand if you don't want to stick around, but I would consider it a personal favor if you could wait until I've spoken with her so we can get to the bottom of things. We were making dinner, and there should be enough for everyone if you want to finish preparing it while I'm with Em."
After a moment of silence, Steve said, "I'll call Dad and let him know not to wait on us."
Maribeth nodded and added, "Lauren and I will finish cooking. Steve, after you've called Dad, set the table."
Steve nodded, and Keith smiled gratefully. "Thanks, guys. Thank you very much."
When he went out into the garden to speak with his child, Keith decided to pull no punches. "Em, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"You heard her, Daddy!" Emily shouted. "She slept with him!"
"She didn't say that, Em, and don't you raise your voice to me."
Emily pressed her lips together in a thin, angry line. She was tired of being treated like an unruly child, but she wasn't sure what her father would do if she lashed out again. To her surprise, he moved closer and wrapped her in a hug.
"Come on, Em," he said soothingly as he stepped slightly away, took her by the hand and led her to the weeping cherry where the low-hanging branches would given them the privacy they needed to really talk.
"Don't you think your old dad can tell when something's got you down?" he asked, and when Emily tried to protest that she was just fine, he cut her off to explain the reasoning behind his question.
"Last night when we were playing HORSE, you wanted to tell me something," he said as he guided her to the little bench that sat beneath the tree. "You tried three or four times, but you just couldn't make it come out. Then, after one weird little phone call, you have a fit, fly all the way out here, and search the house looking for 'evidence'. That's not you. You're not that insecure. Something happened to make you edgy, and when you called and Lauren answered, it drove you off the deep end. So, what's up?"
Emily stared at the grass at her feet for a while. It was very fine from lack of light, being shaded as it was by the weeping cherry, but it was thick and soft and long. She could part it with her toes, and if she had wanted, she could have bent over and braided it, as if the earth were a young girl and she were its mother, doing its hair. She smiled, almost remembering when her own mother had struggled with her to hold still 'for just five minutes so your braids will look nice.' The earth had much more patience than a young girl, and far more sense than a young woman who had been made old before her time by her own hell-raising wildness.
"You'll think I'm silly," she finally told her father.
"Perhaps I will," Keith agreed, "but whatever's bothering you, I will help you work it out, and I will try very hard not to laugh."
Emily heard the gentle teasing in his tone, and she smiled crookedly at him. "Ian's getting married," she said simply.
"I know that," Keith replied. "I've met his fiancée. She's a nice girl."
"I didn't know until he and I had dinner the other night. I didn't even know he had been seeing anyone." Emily sat picking lint off her jeans for the longest time without saying anything. It seemed the world could crumble to dust around them, and her father would still be waiting for her to speak her fears. Finally, she took a deep breath and confessed, "For some reason, I never pictured him with anyone else. I never consciously pictured him pining away for me. I just figured there would always be a me-shaped hole there beside him. I thought he would wait for me to come back."
"But now you know he didn't," Keith said.
"Yeah, and that shook my view of the world a little," Em reluctantly admitted. "Then the next day was my last visit to Slava. She released me, just like that, out of her care. 'You can drop in at your local hospital for a stress test in six months, but our business here is concluded.' She didn't actually say that, but that's what it felt like."
Again, they lapsed into silence. There was a crack in the bench, and it had some sort of deep green algae or fungi growing in it. Like a scar, or an incision. Emily traced over the imperfection again and again with her finger, and her father waited. The man has the patience of Job, though I suppose, between Mama and me, it's been sorely tested.
"Then this morning," a pause. I realized how ugly I was, inside with sadness and willfulness, and outside, too. A swallow. "I wondered if Steven was still waiting for me, or if I had made the same mistake again."
"And when you called, and a woman answered, that's all she wrote, huh?"
Emily smiled and nodded. "I guess I did overreact a little."
"Em, screaming insults down the phone line before you got the whole story would have been a little. You went off the deep end."
"I suppose I did."
"When your mother and I split up, after I had lost my legs," Keith never mentioned the fact that Ian's late Uncle Ted had been the cause for it, "I drove her away. When she left, I told her she didn't ever have to come home again on my account. That if I ever wanted to see her again, I would come for her."
As he spoke, Keith studied his daughter carefully. He'd never told his daughter this story, and he could tell from the surprised expression on her face that her mother had never mentioned it either. Just like Olivia to overlook something that would cast me in an unfavorable light to my daughter. I wish I had been so generous.
"Well, I never came for her," he said, "but one day she came home to me."
"And she had the Chief with her," Emily said. She knew this part of the story.
"I hated him on sight," Keith confessed. "He was taller than I had been before I lost my legs, he had a great tan, perfect teeth, and all of his hair. And worst of all, he had your mother. I had always thought, when she came back, she would be alone."
For a long time, they both sat quietly, neither of them needing to say more. Finally, Emily stood up and said, "I guess I should start with an apology, huh?"
"I think so," Keith agreed, "and then listen, instead of looking for trouble."
Together, they headed into the house, where Emily began by apologizing to Lauren, Maribeth, and the Chief for the chilly reception they had initially received.
"Now, why don't you tell me what happened, from the beginning," Olivia suggested gently as she and Steven settled down to coffee and cherry pie in the living room. The poor young man had arrived out of the blue about an hour ago, tired, frustrated, hungry, and when he found out Emily had headed for LA to confront him about his supposed infidelity, distraught. Olivia had showed him to a bathroom to freshen up, fixed him dinner, and made him feel at home. Only now that he was finally shedding the stress of a rather difficult day, would she let him get into the hairy business of trying to explain his early morning female visitor.
Steven took a deep breath, and for the second time in as many days explained how he became roaring drunk and betrayed Emily.
"There is a doctor at the hospital named Vanessa. She's very pretty and seems very nice, and though I didn't realize it at the time, she'd been paying special attention to me lately. Last night she asked me, 'A few of us are going out for drinks. Would you like to come along?'
"Olivia, I swear she said 'a few of us.' I wouldn't have gone if I had known it was just her and a friend. It's not that I didn't think she was a nice person. I just don't find her all that interesting. I was missing Emily, and I was bored, and I thought it would be nice to get out for an evening with a group of my colleagues, so I went along."
Olivia had been listening all this time without interrupting, just nodding from time to time to indicate that she was following along. Now she broke in gently to say, "A word of advice, Steven, when you tell Emily about this, do not mention how pretty and nice Vanessa is."
Steven blushed slightly, and said, "No, ma'am. I'll remember." He took a bite of his cherry pie and a swallow of coffee, and continued. "'A few of us' turned out to be Vanessa, Dr. Jackie Holmes, whom I am sure would not have come if her husband's reserve unit was not out on maneuvers for two weeks, and me.
"Well, I probably shouldn't have . . . " At Liv's raised eyebrow, he amended, "I definitely shouldn't have done it, but I started with a double scotch, neat, and waited for the rest of the group to show up, because I really was still expecting more people. Vanessa was talking about how terrible she thought the whole business with Em and Moretti was, how much the reporters and the 'constant parade of police' had disrupted the hospital routine, and how it was probably for the best that Emily had gone home, because, as she understood it, 'her parents are retired and can look after her.'
"I am sure now, that Vanessa was trying to make me glad that she was gone, but she kept talking, and I kept drinking, and I just missed Em more and more. Then Jackie left to get her kids from the sitter, and it was just Vanessa and me. I had probably had four doubles by then, and I started to get really depressed. I guess I may have started crying, because the next thing I knew, Vanessa was sitting awfully close and wiping my tears with a napkin. In a twisted way, that made me angry."
Steven had grown gradually more upset as he told the story, and again, the tears had come without his even realizing it. Olivia silently handed him a tissue, and waited for him to continue. He ate some more of his pie, and drank some more coffee, and when, after several minutes, he had not started talking again, Olivia finally asked, "Why were you angry?"
"I was miserable," he said. "I was in a room full of people, and I was full of liquor, and I was still so terribly lonely. All I needed to feel better was Emily, and she didn't even give me her phone number when she left."
Steven stopped talking again, and took several deep breaths, preparing himself for the most difficult part of the story. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and opened them again, staring at the ceiling so he would not have to face Olivia.
"Vanessa kissed me," he said. "And I kissed her back, and it felt . . . nice. Then she kissed me again, and . . . I knew I didn't want to spend the night alone. The third time she kissed me, I knew it was wrong. I didn't want to screw up what I had with Em for a one-night stand with . . . with a scheming . . . I don't even know what to call her! But I know what she was trying to do, and I wasn't going to let it happen."
He faced Liv again. "I paid my tab and got the bouncer to call a cab for me. I still didn't want to spend the night alone, so I went to BBQ Bob's to find Lauren . . .
". . . and so I brought him home," Lauren concluded. They had gone into the guest bedroom to talk, because Lauren knew Steven was embarrassed by his 'drunken aberration' as she called it, and wouldn't want anybody to hear about it unless they needed to know.
"He was so upset, Em, and ashamed, and lonely," Lauren said, the tears at the corner of her eyes showing how distraught she still was on Steven's behalf.
"I didn't think he was in any danger of harming himself, aside from a few bumps and bruises from being stumbling drunk, but when he pleaded with me to stay the night, I agreed. I sat on the edge of the bed and talked to him until he fell asleep." The warmth in her voice showed how much she cared for him, but it was also clearly the affection one felt for a dear friend, and nothing more.
"Then I made up a bed for myself on the couch. I wasn't sure how much he'd remember when he woke, and if he came out into the living room and saw me there, if he was worried about what he'd done, he could ask me. It really was perfectly innocent," Lauren promised. "He's like a brother . . . to me . . . Em . . . Oh, jeeze, I'm sorry." Just like her father, Lauren tailed off and cringed slightly when she realized she had said the wrong thing. Great job, Lauren, after all the rumors how could you even say, 'he's like a brother'.
Emily smiled, seeing the pure panic in the younger woman's eyes. "It's ok, Lauren. I understand what you mean, and I believe you."
"It sounds like Lauren is a good friend," Olivia said as Steven finished his story, his pie, and his coffee all within a minute of each other.
He nodded. "She really is, Liv, and she is just a friend." There was a long silence, and then he asked, "So is Em very mad at me?"
"Mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks," Olivia said with an incongruously bright smile, "but don't worry about that. Her father knows how to handle her. Now, it's getting late, at least for me, though I suppose it's only about eight o'clock to you."
Steve checked his watch and said, "Nine, actually."
Olivia smiled. "Ok, either way, it's midnight here, and I am tired. My plane will be home in the morning, and after breakfast, we can get you back to LA and Emily."
Steven nodded. "Yes, ma'am, and thank you for listening."
"Any time, Steven, any time at all. Stay up and watch television if you like," she offered, "or get on the computer in the library. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Whatever you want. There's only a shower in the bathroom attached to your room, but if you'd rather a bath, there's one at the end of the hall."
Steven nodded. "Ok, Liv, and thanks."
Steven took a shower and relaxed in front of the television for a while. Then he went out into the kitchen and fixed himself some hot cocoa. Emily had grown up in this house, he realized, and she had probably been an absolute terror. Curious about something she had once told him, he went into the pantry, and began to fiddle about with the shelves, and soon they swung smoothly open. Sure enough, there was a secret passageway.
He did not follow it. Somehow, it was enough just to know it was there, a secret escape route almost two hundred years old. It had been used as a stop on the Underground Railroad to hide runaway slaves who had found sanctuary in the home of a wealthy white abolitionist. Many years later it became a secret playground for a lonely little girl who had know far too much of the world to ever share it with her peers. Emily had described it to him in great detail, and he could picture her, creeping quietly through the damp tunnels to climb out of the wall of the well in the garden and up to the sunlight, or running up to the barn to emerge surrounded by the golden walls of the full-to-bursting hayloft. She doubted her parents had ever known it was there.
It was only nine thirty in the evening in LA, but Emily lay comfortably ensconced in her bed, which still held Steven's scent in the pillows and comforter. Realizing that with the time difference, she and her father felt it was somewhat later, the Sloans and Lauren Travis had left around eight o'clock. The walls were not thin, but if she listened carefully, she could hear the quiet sounds of her father, settling in for the night. She smiled and snuggled deeper, breathing her lungs full of her lover's smell, knowing that when she saw him again, all would be right with her world.
When the phone rang, it did not disturb her peace. Somehow, she knew who would be calling.
"Hello."
"Em . . . I-it's Steven."
"Hi. Lauren told me what happened. I can't wait for you to come home. I miss you." She heard a huge sigh of relief.
"I miss you, too," he said, "and I'll be there tomorrow. I found the secret tunnel."
"Is that cool or what?" she said with enthusiasm. "Mama doesn't know it, but while I was recovering, some days, when I had just about enough of her trying to check on me from the garden by peering through the curtains of the guesthouse, I would slip into the passageway and walk in the cool quiet, back and forth, back and forth. It's a good thing nothing ever happened to me down there. I'd have become just another missing person who was never found."
"I'd have told them to look for you," Steven promised.
"But that would have spoiled our secret."
"I'll give you another one. Go to my dresser and open the top right-hand drawer."
Emily followed his instructions. "Ok. Now what?"
"There's a pair of socks in the back. Nubby old gray woolen ones, like men wear when they go hunting on a cold day."
She reached in the back, and felt the scratchy cloth. Pulling it out, she found a lump folded up inside them.
"Steven? What's this?" she asked though she was sure she knew the answer.
"Well, take it out and see," he said teasingly.
She pulled out a small black velvet box, which she opened. "Oh, Steven, it's exquisite," she breathed.
"It was my Grandma Kathryn Sloan's. Dad had one specially made for Mom, so Granddad was able to pass this one on to me," Steven explained, "for you. Do you really like it?"
"Oh, yes." The ring was white gold or platinum filigree. Delicate, flowering vines formed a low wide arch supported by two peacocks. In the top of the arch was set a round, brilliant cut diamond, neither large nor small, but perfectly sized. Hearts, accented with rubies adorned the sides. The whole thing was a tiny sculpture less than an inch wide.
"Does it fit?"
Her hands were trembling so badly she dropped it when she tried to slide it on her finger. Impatient, Steven had to fill the pause as she got down on the floor to find it. "Em? Does it fit?"
"I don't know. My hands were shaking, and I dropped . . . here it is." She sat on the floor, her back against the dresser and the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, secure in the crook of her neck. She slid the ring carefully on the third finger of her left hand. "Oh, Steven," she gasped, "it's beautiful."
"Does it fit?"
"Oh, yes."
"Will you marry me?"
"Oh, yes!"
Emily climbed up on the bed and snuggled under the covers, and they talked about what their future might hold until the sun rose on the East Coast. As Steven heard his future mother-in-law moving down the hallway in the early hours of the morning, he said, "Remember, it's our secret."
"Then you shouldn't have asked me now."
"I couldn't wait, Em. I've been without you too long," he confessed. "Please, put it back now. I want to ask you properly some day, once I get home. I want to surprise you and get down on one knee unexpectedly, and ask you. Please, let me do that."
With a beleaguered sigh, Emily consented like a spoiled teenager. "Okayyyyy, but don't make me wait too long, or I might ask you first."
"I promise to make it worth the wait," he said.
They spoke in hushed tones a while longer, and then Steven hung up so he could pretend to be asleep when Olivia came to wake him.
