In a Heartbeat (11 page)

26

Brotski was on duty again, prowling the gray corridor outside Ed’s room, looking, Mel thought, too young to be a cop, with his ginger-spice cowlick and peach-fuzz cheeks. He also looked bored to death, and she guessed this wasn’t exactly what he had expected of police work. Still, his presence calmed her fears that the worst might have happened while she was in the deli. Brotski being there meant that he still had a man to protect. Ed was still alive.

“You look like a guy in need of some fresh air and a cup of coffee,” she said, smiling. “Tell you what, why don’t you take time out and I’ll guard the fort.”

Brotski’s baby blues narrowed and his jaw firmed right up. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m on duty here,” he said stiffly.

“Oh . . . right. I’m sorry.” All of a sudden Mel had the feeling that she was the suspect again, and she hurried past him. Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt him behind her, then his hand was on hers, preventing her from opening the door. Surprised, she turned and looked at him.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Brotski said again, “but Mr. Vincent already has a visitor. He particularly asked that they not be disturbed.”

A frown creased Mel’s brow, followed by a foreboding shiver. “You mean you let somebody go in there—
alone
with him?” Her voice was squeaky with fear. It might be
him
—the killer. Somebody who wanted to harm him.

“It’s Mr. Vincent’s business partner, ma’am,” Brotski said patiently, but his hand was still over hers on the doorknob and she knew he wasn’t about to take it away until she stepped back. “Mr. Estevez is on Detective Camelia’s list of permitted visitors.”

Mel flung away impatiently. “Well, I sure hope Mr. Estevez had a photo ID,” she said, still uneasy.

“Yes, ma’am, he did.” Brotski was so straight-faced and earnest, Mel almost wanted to laugh, except this was serious.

She eyed the door longingly. “Why does he need to be alone with Ed? It’s not as though they could have a private conversation.”

“That’s Mr. Estevez’s business, ma’am.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, call me Mel,” she said with a deep sigh that seemed to come all the way up from her boots. “Mind if I borrow your chair for a minute or two?” Despite the caffeine, exhaustion was claiming her and she could have fallen asleep in a second, even on the hard chair, if it were not that a Mr. Estevez was alone with Ed. And
she
was outside, the guardian at the gate, praying he wasn’t the killer. Then she remembered that Camelia had said Estevez was persona grata, so he must be okay.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips as she thought about Detective Marco Camelia. He was like a character in a movie, the dark-haired, smooth, tough detective, complete with the heart of gold. But he was also a tender man, a man who loved his wife and adored his kids.
A man who was
attracted to her.

The door opened and a tall, silver-haired, distinguished-looking man stepped out into the hallway. She was on her feet in seconds and he turned, surprised. Their eyes met for a long moment, then he said, “Miss Merrydew, of course,” and held out his hand.

“Mr. Estevez,” she said, taking it. His hand was cold, as though he had been in the presence of death, and again that foreboding shiver trembled up her spine. She had to stop herself from running into that dim, monitored room with its flickering, humming machines, just to check that this man hadn’t killed him. “How is he?”

“He is just the same. Unresponsive. I talked to him, about business, about the restaurant he likes, about people we know”—he shook his head—“but nothing.” His glance was sharp. “Perhaps you will be able to do better, Miss Merrydew.”

“I hope so.”

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, they sized each other up. Estevez was wondering what Ed saw in her. And Mel knew he was wondering exactly that.

“Might I ask where you are staying, Miss Merrydew?” he said at last.

“Staying?” Mel looked blankly at him. “Oh. Right here.”

His brows rose. “You mean the hospital gave you a room?”

“No. I mean I stay right here. With Ed.”

That accounted for the circles under her eyes, as purple as van Gogh’s irises, Estevez thought, astonished. He found himself unexpectedly touched. “Then you have had no sleep. It’s not good for you, Miss Merrydew. You need rest. I can arrange a hotel room. The hospital can call you if you are needed.”

She shook her head. “I know Ed’s not going to die as long as I am here with him,” she said stubbornly. “I won’t let him,” she added fiercely.

Estevez sighed. He understood that feeling— that as long as you were there, giving Ed your life force, surely he could not die. “I only wish that were true,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, my dear, we are all, in the end, in the hands of our medical scientists. The doctors, the nurses, the machines, the drugs—they are the ones keeping him alive.”

“His body, you mean. But I am here for his soul.”

Mel felt her eyes brimming. Great waves of exhaustion washed over her, her legs buckled, and she slumped into the chair again. Officer Brotski took one glance and hurried to fetch her some water.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Merrydew.” Estevez crouched beside her, holding the paper cup to her pale lips. “This is terrible for you, but I want you to know that I and my family are grieving also. It would be our pleasure to invite you to stay with us while you are here in New York.”

Was he doing it for her? Mel wondered. Or for Ed? She knew nothing of this man or his family. Only that he was Ed’s business associate and that Camelia approved of him. She was half tempted: It would be so easy to sink into a soft bed, to be looked after, to be pampered with hot tea and a cool shower; so nice to be with people who loved Ed too. . . . But then she remembered.

“Thank you, Mr. Estevez, that’s a very kind offer, but I’m okay. And when I really can’t take it anymore, I’ll just go to Ed’s place, lie down there for a while. I’ll feel closer to him, in his home.”

Estevez’s brows rose. “Ed’s penthouse? You have a key?”

“Ed gave me one.” She smiled, remembering. “And I gave him the key to my house in Santa Monica. Kind of a trade-off, though I guess he got the worst of the deal.”

Estevez was remembering the lavish share transfer, and now the key to the penthouse. This odd young woman was either a masterful schemer—or she meant much more to Ed than he had thought.

“As you wish.” He nodded gravely, then shook her hand and, with great courtesy, said good-bye.

A gentleman,
Mel thought, watching him walk briskly away.
A handsome gentleman at that.
Her southern-belle mother would have approved of him.

Meanwhile, she was feeling like death herself— but it was Ed who was still lying there, still attached to those machines and catheters. She opened the door and peeked inside.

Ed looked just the same: pale, gaunt, propped by pillows, eyes firmly closed. The ventilator still breathed for him, and they had shaved his chest where the electrodes were attached. Shaved his jaw too, where the stubble was growing in. Odd, she thought, how the small things of life went on, when life itself seemed to be ebbing away. Quietly, she took a seat beside the bed, took his cold hand in hers. She rubbed it gently in an effort to get the circulation moving.

Ed tossed restlessly and Mel got out of the way as the nurse came hurrying, checking the machines and tubes that were Ed’s lifeline. Mel wished she were the one looking after him. She wanted desperately to do everything for him. Wash him, feed him, hold him. She would treat him as tenderly as a babe.

“He’s restless,” the nurse said, stating the obvious.

Mel caught her disapproving glance and looked away. She wasn’t going to let the nurse throw her out of there. No way. She was there for the duration, holding his hand, keeping him alive. If she took that hand away for more than a few minutes, he might die on her.

“He really should be alone, get some proper rest,” the nurse said meaningfully, but Dr. Jacobs had given the woman permission to stay and there was nothing she could do about it.

She’s staying with me,
Ed thought.
God bless
her. But what about Riley? She must be missing
her mother, I don’t have the right to keep her
here. . . .
The sheet felt like it weighed a ton on his legs and he shuffled impatiently.
Riley,
he thought.
You could have been my little girl, my
own child. Maybe even had a little sister and
brother to keep you company. If only I had
asked your mother to marry me. . . .

Why didn’t I? I love everything about her, her
looks, her laugh, her child, her dog. . . . I would
ask her right now if I didn’t have this tube in my
throat and could open my darn-fool mouth. Tell
her right now—Zelda Merrydew, I love you and
I want you to be my wife. . . .

But first he would have to explain a thing or
two about himself. So she knew exactly who he
was. What she was getting. The reality behind
the facade of the Manhattan entrepreneur. . . .

He had come close to dying twice before. The
first had been planned, though not by him. The
second had seemed inevitable. He had beaten
both, but he didn’t know if he could beat this.

27

It seemed a long time before Ed stopped thrashing around, and each second dragged like hours . . . days . . . weeks.

“I have to ask you to leave for a while,” the nurse said frostily to Mel. “There are things we need to do and the doctor is due for his visit.”

Mel knew the nurse was right, she shouldn’t be there to see the indignity of what they had to do for Ed: change catheters, run tests, sponge down his body . . . the body that had loved her so wildly and so well.

Overwhelmed, she drifted out into the hallway, hardly noticing the new young uniform on duty, though he noticed her, all right. Pulling herself together, she headed for the pay phone and dialed her home number.

“Hello?” Riley’s voice was breathless with unspoken questions.

Whatever happened, however bad she felt, the sound of her daughter’s voice always flooded Mel with a particular happiness that nothing could touch. That was the beauty of being a parent, she thought gratefully. There was always Riley.

“Hi, baby, it’s Mom.”

“Oh, Mommy, we’ve been waiting for you to call.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I’ve just been so caught up, I forgot. . . . I mean I didn’t forget
you
, it’s just that . . .”

“I know, Mom, it’s okay, really it is. Is Ed all right?”

She sounded so understanding, so grown-up, Mel could have wept. But she didn’t want what had happened to Ed to force Riley to grow up, to face things she should not have to face. Not yet. She was only seven.

“Ed’s doing okay, honey, he’s holding on. You know what a big strong guy he is.”

“I know, Mommy. But on the TV news, they said he was still in a coma. Does that mean he can’t speak to you?”

Mel’s sigh was dredged from her guts. “I’m afraid it does.”

“But, Mom, d’you think Ed can hear you? Hear what you’re saying? Because I want you to tell him something from me. That I love him. That when he’s better he can come on our private Sundays anytime he wants.
Anytime,
Mom. Will you be sure to tell him that?”

Mel could see her daughter as though she were there: phone clamped anxiously to her ear, a finger twisting a strand of copper hair into a ragged curl, brown eyes wide and earnest. Riley had said she loved Ed, that she would share her precious private Sundays with him. It was an important moment, something Mel would treasure forever, something she would be sure to tell Ed, perhaps it would even make him smile. . . . Maybe Riley could do what she couldn’t.

She choked up as she promised Riley she would be sure to tell Ed in just a few minutes, when she went back into his room.

“I’m right here, at the hospital, honey,” she said, “and I wanted to tell you how much I’m missing you. I hate being away from you, baby.”

“I hate it too.” Riley’s voice was small and Mel thought she detected a faint sob.

Oh, God, she thought despairingly, I don’t have the right to do this, I should be home with my child. But how can I leave Ed? I can’t, I can’t. . . . And yet I can’t bring Riley here, to sit vigil at a dying man’s bedside.

“School okay, honey?” she asked, trying to bring the conversation back to an even keel.

“Okay. Except Jason Mason drives me nuts, always tagging along after me, sending me silly notes in class. He even tries to sit next to me at lunch,” Riley added indignantly, making Mel laugh.

“It must be love, honey. He just can’t resist those sparkling brown eyes and glorious red curls.”

“I hate my glorious red curls. I’m gonna iron my hair straight and bleach it blonde. Then I’ll look like a real California babe.”

“Oh, sure. Like on
Baywatch
. Just what every mother wants her daughter to be. Thanks a lot, pal.”

Riley giggled and Mel heaved another sigh, of relief this time. “You take care, my daughter, you hear me,” she said, smiling. “I miss you and I love you and I’ll see you soon. Now, is Harriet there?”

“Thanks, Mom, and I love you too. Yes, she’s here, hanging on to every word.” Riley giggled again; then, suddenly serious, she added, “You won’t forget the message, to Ed?”

“I won’t forget, honey. And when he hears it, nor will he.”

“Love you, Mom,” Riley yelled, and then Harriet was on the line.

“So?” she asked cryptically.

“A woman of few words, I see,” Mel retorted.

“You want me to ask in full? When y’know exactly what I mean? This is family shorthand, so quit being wise and give me the answer. And better make it a good one.”

“He’s still alive. That’s about it.” There was a silence, and Mel rushed to fill it in, bringing Harriet up to date.

“Not good” was Harriet’s verdict, and, in her heart, Mel agreed with her. “You want me to come out there, give moral support?” Harriet asked.

“Thanks, but one wrecked woman is probably all Ed could stand right now. And believe me, I am a wreck. I don’t think I’ve slept since I got here.”

“Then you’d better get to bed right now.” Harriet’s voice was sharp with anxiety. “You’re not doing Ed, or yourself, a favor, driving yourself into the ground.”

Weariness suddenly enveloped Mel like a fog, and she knew that what Harriet had said, what Estevez had said, what Camelia had said, was right. She could not go on. She slid to the ground, propped against the wall, the phone still clutched in her shaky hand. Sleep and oblivion were claiming her.

“Take care of Riley for me, Harr.”

“You know I’ll always do that. And you take all the time you need. We love you, Mel.”

Mel replaced the receiver. She was too tired even to cry. Somehow, she got to her feet and trudged back down the long, empty, silent gray corridor. She didn’t even see the cop at the door, or the nurse, hovering. She went directly to Ed’s bedside, took his cold hand in hers, leaned close.

“Riley sent you a message, Ed. She said to be sure to tell you that she loves you. And, Ed, she wants you to know, especially, that you can share her Sundays anytime you want. Isn’t that great, honey? Riley loves you. And so do I.”

She stared down at him. Not a muscle moved, not a flicker of acknowledgment that he had even heard.

Her heart was back in her boots—where it seemed she kept a supply of sighs these days—as she trudged wearily from the hospital room to the elevator and took a cab to Vincent Fifth.

Ed’s penthouse had the forlorn air of an abandoned home. No roses, no music, no magical evening lay ahead of her. Instead, she lay down on his bed. Sleep didn’t even describe the sensation overtaking her. She was sinking into it, wheeling downward, into oblivion. This must be what Ed feels like, where he is, she thought. And then she was out.