Inheritance Tax by InitialLuv

Chapter Seventeen (In which Milt explains his arrival, and is introduced to Olivia.)

Hardcastle waited for a response. McCormick stared at him wordlessly.

"Still a little out of it, huh?" Milt said. He moved his chair to the side of the bed nearest the window, then reached to turn on the light above Mark's bed.

Mark looked around the room slowly, then turned his gaze back to Hardcastle. "Judge?"

Hardcastle nodded. "Mornin'. How're you feeling?"

Mark shook his head. "How – when did you get here? How did you find me?"

"You think I couldn't track you down?" Milt asked. "For a Tonto, you should be better at not leaving a trail. And here I thought with the 'sneakers and concrete' here, you'd be in your element."

"I wasn't trying to not leave a trail. I just wanted a head start." Mark fumbled around for the bed control, unable to focus in his drowsy state. Hardcastle swatted his hand away, taking over the button. "Lemme do that." He raised the head of the bed until Mark lifted a hand in a "stop" gesture.

"Thanks."

The judge grunted something that might have been "'Welcome."

"What time is it?"

"Just after six. I've been here a little while – now that your fever's down they finally let me in here. But you weren't much company. I was ready to doze off myself."

"It can't be visiting hours this early in the morning," McCormick pointed out.

Hardcastle shrugged. "They make an exception for emergency contacts, I guess. Especially ones that fly cross-country."

Mark looked at his friend blankly. "How did they know – They got in touch with you?"

Milt leaned back in his chair. "How much do you remember about how you got here?"

McCormick sighed, lifted his left arm to rub his head, and was stopped by the IV again. He groaned, letting his arm fall back.

The drive to the White Plains emergency room had been fairly uneventful, other than Mark's steadily growing back pain, and his sudden inability to get warm. But by the time he'd been assessed by a doctor, things had abruptly gone downhill. The back pain had spread to his abdomen, he'd become nauseous, and then he'd started hyperventilating. He'd been tortured with blood and urine tests, and the damn ER doctor had practically made him scream, palpating the area near his right kidney with a bland "Tell me if this hurts." At that point Mark had turned into a rather recalcitrant patient.

Then, apparently it wasn't good enough to just decide he had a kidney infection – the urinalysis had also shown there was evidence of a probable kidney stone. That had resulted in him getting carted off to Radiology, where the technician had just about made him stand on his head in order to get a clear x-ray. But when the presence of a stone was finally confirmed, Mark had lost interest. It was at about that time when his nausea had progressed to vomiting, his fever had spiked, and things had begun to blur. He remembered Sandra being there, and that she'd been surprisingly helpful, answering questions for him when he couldn't, and offering information that he hadn't realized she'd known . . . Like about Charlie. At some point a doctor had contacted Charlie, and –

"I think I remember them calling Charlie." Mark looked to Milt for confirmation. When the man nodded, Mark continued. "Was that it? Was that how you found me?"

"Well, it helped that I was already here. But once the plane landed I was a little stuck on where to go next. I called Frank from the airport to let him know I landed, and he told me that Charlie'd been trying to reach me. Imagine my surprise to find out you were a cab ride away."

"How were you already here?" McCormick felt like he had missed something, and he wasn't sure if it was fatigue, fever, or Hardcastle just being stubbornly evasive.

"Well, I just did a little detective work," Milt bragged. After a brief pause he added, "Frank helped."

McCormick made a beckoning gesture, directing the judge to keep talking.

"I didn't know exactly when you left, but I knew you probably either called a cab or got a ride," Hardcastle went on. "Didn't think you'd take a chance with the bus. We checked the cab companies and none had been out near the estate during the time I'd guessed you took off. So that left 'got a ride.' Barely had to rack my brain to pick Teddy as the most likely suspect."

Mark made a face, but didn't speak. Milt continued.

"Teddy wasn't too cooperative at first. Does he even know my name's Hardcastle?" the judge griped. "Anyway, once I told him you were sick he started blabbing about what airline gate he dropped you off at, what time your flight was, the whole story. I couldn't get him to shut up."

McCormick was looking at Hardcastle sternly. "That was a lousy thing to do to Ted. Using him like that."

"Whaddaya call what you did to him, sport? Only telling him half of the story so you could get him to help you sneak out?"

Mark turned away with a dejected sigh. "I know. You're right." He closed his eyes; he felt emotionally and physically drained. Hardcastle adjusted himself on the chair, and quietly waited to see if the kid was going to fall back to sleep.

Milt's head was starting to nod again when McCormick spoke.

"When did you get here?"

Hardcastle roused himself, then looked at his watch and frowned. "Forgot to turn this ahead." He raised his eyes to the ceiling and calculated. "Must've been close to eleven, last night. And then it took almost an hour before I could find someone to tell me anything. I was ready to pull rank." He studied the man in the bed. "You still haven't told me how you're feeling."

"Yeah." McCormick pushed at his right ear again. "Better, I guess. Not so much pain right now. I'm still pretty tired. And my damn ears won't stop ringing."

"What's that?" Hardcastle questioned. "What about your ears?"

"It started at Marty's. I thought I was hearing cicadas at first, but then the sound was everywhere, all the time. I think the doctor was concentrating more on the kidney stone and the infection and didn't really know what I was talking about, or he just ignored me. I wasn't being very respectful." Hardcastle snorted, and a sheepish look crossed Mark's face. "I was actually thankful Sandra was here – she was the one who made sure someone finally listened to me. Anyway, they said it's from the aspirin. Sali-something poisoning."

Milt stared at him in silence for a few moments. "How in the hell do you get aspirin poisoning? How much were you taking?"

"Three at a time, sometimes four. But that was only the last couple days," McCormick defended quickly.

"How often?"

Mark sighed again. "The last day or so it was every two or three hours. I really didn't realize how much I was taking until Sandra asked me about it. I guess they gave me something in the IV to help flush it out of my system." He jiggled the arm with the IV port. "When you add in the antibiotics and the pain meds, it's like a whole cocktail in here."

Hardcastle didn't respond. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face set in a grim expression. McCormick, noticing the silence, looked at the older man apprehensively.

"Judge?"

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "Why did you go and do this, McCormick?"

"I didn't do it on purpose. I told you, I didn't know how much – "

"I'm not talking about the aspirin." The judge scowled. "I mean flying out here alone – after I told you not to – and getting everyone worried about you. I had to call Charlie and let him know you took off, I had to ask Frank to help me find you – Charlie was still in his office after seven last night, hoping I'd call when my plane landed, so he could tell me you were in the damn hospital."

It was McCormick's turn to be silent. He turned his gaze away from Hardcastle and looked out the window at the rapidly lightening sky. Even from his viewpoint, he could see the brilliant blue, dotted with a few fluffy white clouds. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day outside.

"Do you know how old my mom was when she died?"

Milt sat up a little straighter, slightly alarmed by the non-sequitur. "Ah, I don't –"

"Thirty-four," Mark supplied, not even seeming to hear Hardcastle's flustered words. He looked back at the judge with a weary resignation.

"I knew if I went to that appointment, and got a definite diagnosis, then nothing would ever be the same," McCormick explained. "I'd have to have more tests, and I might end up on more – or different – medication, and I'd have to change everything, and then it still might not be enough. It might never be enough. And I knew if that happened, that I'd never get out here. I'd never meet my kid. At least, not on my terms. And that wasn't acceptable.

"I didn't mean to cause so much trouble, Judge. I'm sorry I cut out. But you can understand why I did it, can't you?"

"And you didn't think you could tell me this? You had to take off and leave me guessing?"

Mark shook his head firmly. "I knew it wouldn't matter to you. You'd make sure I kept that ultrasound appointment. And that was just too much of an unknown for me. But don't worry – you got your way," he added with a touch of bitterness. "They've got me scheduled for an ultrasound today, so it's only a day late." He lifted his left arm again to check his watch, finally able to maneuver it without excessively pulling on the IV. What he saw was a hospital bracelet, and a tan line where his watch should've been. Mark stared at his wrist for a beat, and then his right hand flew up to touch his neck. It was also bare.

"Where's my stuff, Judge? Where's my watch and my medal?"

"I don't know, kiddo – I came a little late to the party, here. Who brought you in? Martina's mother?"

McCormick nodded, but still looked distressed. "And my wallet, too. Is any of my stuff in here? My clothes?"

Milt rose and began to check the drawers and closet. "Yeah, your clothes are here," he called over his shoulder from the closet. As he came back to the bed he added, "Nothing else, though. I can check with the desk, see if they've got the other stuff secured somewhere."

Mark nodded again, this time with a deep frown, and Milt could see the distress was now sliding into panic. He was ready to offer a calming word when he saw the kid's face was pale, and that he was suddenly breathing harder. Damn it, now what?

"You all right, McCormick? What's wrong?"

Mark swallowed, closing his eyes. "Uh, I think the pain medication's wearing off. Or the stone's moving. Oh, this is not good," he moaned.

Hardcastle reached to grab the call button off the bed rail, pressing it with the speed of a game show contestant. He glanced quickly at the doorway before looking back at McCormick. "We'll get someone in here. They'll take care of you. Just relax, okay?"

"Olivia, slow down! They won't let you go in the room without me, anyway!"

Olivia turned back to her mother with a grin. "Wanna bet? They know me here."

Martina caught up to her daughter, who was waiting impatiently at the hospital entrance. "They know you in Pediatrics. Mark's on a different floor. Not to mention it isn't visiting hours yet."

"You already told me that. I don't care. I just want to be here." Olivia pushed through the revolving door, resisted the urge to do a second revolution just for fun, and then headed for the elevators.

Mother and daughter were in the elevator when Olivia spoke again. "And I'm still mad that you wouldn't let me come with Grandma yesterday," she complained.

Martina lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "And we already talked about that, too. We wouldn't have been any help, and the shape Mark was in he probably wouldn't have even known we were here. Be mad if you want, but I was right to have you stay home with me."

Olivia grumbled something unintelligible. Martina shot her a glare. "Stop pouting. We can go back home."

"No!" The girl looked up with beseeching eyes. "I'll be good, I promise!"

The elevator had reached the fourth floor, and Martina exited, heading for the nurses' desk. As she passed a small waiting room, a slightly familiar voice called her name, making her pause.

"Ju – Milt?"

Olivia, suddenly aware that her mother had stopped, exhaled in agitation. "Mo-oo-m!"

Milt Hardcastle had been greeting Martina, and was ready to deliver a condensed version of how he had come to be there, when the whining call hit his ears. The familiarity was uncanny. It was like a parroting of how McCormick could turn "Judge" into a three-syllable word.

Noticing the look of amazement on the judge's face, Martina smiled, then summoned her daughter. "Olivia, come back here. I want you to meet someone."

Olivia started stomping back, saw her mother's warning look, and then immediately changed her pace to a subdued walk. She approached the two adults, staring up at the man with the bright blue eyes and the white hair under the New York Yankees baseball cap.

"Hello," the girl said pleasantly, enunciating carefully, "I'm Olivia Rivera." She held out a hand. "And you are?"

Milt couldn't help it. He laughed. Olivia's face contorted into a look of annoyance – McCormick's look of annoyance – and that just set him off more. He thought if she were to mutter "Donkey!" under her breath, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

Hardcastle wiped a hand over his face, covering his mouth briefly as he tried to rein in his grin. "I'm sorry," he said, "It's just that she looks so much like . . ." he trailed off, suddenly not sure if all of the facts were out in the open. Although if the girl was in the hospital, presumably to visit McCormick, then she had to know that he was –

". . . my father?" Olivia finished Hardcastle's sentence. The judge nodded briefly, then looked meaningfully at Martina. She seemed to understand the gaze. "He got to our house yesterday afternoon, and this one," she laid a hand on Olivia's shoulder, "surprised both of us by actually knowing who he was. Apparently she has for several years, but was under the impression that he was dead." Martina shook her head crossly. "When all the dust has settled here and we're sure that Mark's on the mend, I still have to talk to my mother about that."

"Dead?" Milt asked, confused. He looked between the two, not exactly sure who would be best to answer his question.

Olivia's annoyance had changed to contempt. "My grandma's way of letting me know I had a dad, but still not letting him have any contact with me. And no one will tell me why!"

Martina squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "Olivia. Keep your voice down. We're in a hospital." The woman turned to Hardcastle. "Have you been able to talk to Mark about any of this yet? How long have you been here?"

Milt shook his head. "No, no specifics. I've been here a while but he was asleep for most of it. I finally got to talk to him about an hour ago, but he needed another dose of pain meds and that put him out again." He gestured back at the elevators. "I was just gonna head down to the cafeteria – there's coffee in the waiting room, but I need some food to go with it."

Martina nodded. "Do you want some company?" When Olivia started to say something, her mother spoke over her protests. "Mark's asleep, Olivia. We'll get something to eat and chat with Milt, and maybe by then he'll be awake again."

"I'm not hungry. I ate before we came," Olivia responded obstinately.

"A piece of toast is not enough. You need something more substantial, you know that. Some fruit or yogurt." Martina looked closely at her daughter. "With all of this excitement and stress, I don't need you to get sick on me, too. We're going to the cafeteria to eat something, sit quietly, and calm down."

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "How can we chat with him and sit quietly?"

Milt started to chuckle again. "Definitely McCormick's kid. No doubt about it."

ooOoo

As her mother spoke to the man who had identified himself as Milt Hardcastle, a "good friend" of her father's, Olivia sat in the corner of the booth and listened quietly. She had found that making herself unobtrusive was the best way to learn certain things – if she seemed otherwise distracted, either by the television or a book or some project, sometimes her mother and grandmother would talk about things in front of her that they normally wouldn't. She thought that this visit to the cafeteria might be a similar situation. So she kept her head down, dipped her apple slices in her yogurt, and absorbed what she could.

Unfortunately, some of the information was a little difficult to grasp. She understood when the man said he was a retired judge, and figured he was probably around the same age as her grandmother, who had retired two years ago. But then he said something about how her father had been a "two-time loser" and a "rehabilitation project," and then made some allusion to Batman and Robin. Her mother responded in astonishment. Olivia thought maybe her mother was thinking the same as her: who was supposed to be who in that comic book equation? The man in the booth was old enough that he would be better cast as the butler, Alfred.

Then there was the way the man kept referring to her father as "McCormick," but hardly ever by his first name. There were even a few times when she thought he might have been talking about her, because he'd used the word "kid," but when she'd glanced up from her yogurt, neither adult had been looking at her.

Finally the little bit of information she'd been waiting for was revealed.

"Do you know where McCormick's watch and medallion ended up?" the man asked her mother. "I found out the hospital has his wallet locked up safe, but they didn't have the other things. He'd be pretty upset if he lost the medal."

Before her mother could answer, Olivia interrupted. "Mom, I have to go to the bathroom. Let me out." She squeezed past her mother to exit the booth, in the process knocking her mother's purse to the floor. "Olivia," he mother sighed, "Slow down."

"Sorry." Olivia bent to pick up the purse, pushing the loose items back inside. She shoved it back at her mother, and then quickly walked in the direction of the bathrooms. As soon as she was out of sight of the adults in the booth, she changed course and headed for the elevators.

When the doors closed and Olivia was alone in the elevator, ascending to the fourth floor, she opened her closed fist and held up the item she'd taken out of her mother's purse: a St. Jude medal on a silver chain.