Life Support (19 page)

Several minutes later they were still waiting.

Jeffrey looked at his watch. “Business must go on,” he said. “That's why he told me to stay in California yesterday. We're about to close a big deal with a developer in San Diego who wants to expand to the East Coast. I'm going to look outside for him. Where would he go to smoke?”

“Probably near the hospital entrance.”

“Okay. Wait here.”

Ten minutes later Jeffrey returned.

“I couldn't find him and called his cell phone. He left the hospital and returned to the hotel to review some documents that were being faxed about the deal I worked on in California. He won't be back for several hours.”

Rena sank down in the chair. “I'm beat.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“No. I haven't been very hungry,” she answered forlornly.

“Let's get something. You need to take care of yourself.”

Rena perked up a little bit. “Okay, there's a cafeteria in the basement. I ate a salad there the first day Baxter was here.”

“No, somewhere nicer. You need a break from this hospital.”

Rena hesitated. She wanted Jeffrey as an ally but didn't fully trust him. Things were going nicely, but there was a lot of Ezra in him.

“I don't want to go too far.”

“You know Greenville, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“You choose.”

It was beginning to rain when they exited the building. They walked under a causeway to the parking deck, and Rena led the way to the black SUV.

“We'll take Baxter's, uh, my car,” Rena said. “You drive.”

“Okay. Tell me where to go.”

Rena gave directions. It was about ten minutes to the café she had in mind. As they drove, she glanced sideways at Jeffrey. Four years older than Baxter, he resembled his brother but was better looking with a well-defined nose and a chin that jutted out in a masculine line. His eyes made up in intensity what they lacked in softness. According to Baxter, Jeffrey always had a girlfriend but never took the step into commitment. His current companion was a gorgeous redhead about the same age as Rena. She had arrived on the scene about the same time as Rena's wedding to Baxter and based on past history was approaching the end of her shelf life.

“Did Baxter get his eyes from your mother?” Rena asked when they stopped at a red light.

“Uh, I guess so. I've never thought much about it. Ever since we were little boys, people have said we look alike. I can't see it myself.”

“Anyone could pick you from a crowd and put you in the same family.”

Rena turned her attention back to the street scenes. The clouds overhead were thick and black, and the rain made everything outside blur together. When she turned her head toward Jeffrey, he wasn't there.

Baxter was behind the wheel. He was peering forward, focused on driving in the rain.

Rena gasped, and Jeffrey quickly looked in her direction.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

The sound of Jeffrey's voice was enough to break the spell; however, Rena took a deep breath before answering.

“I don't know. Seeing you healthy and Baxter at death's door is a shock. I guess talking about the similarities in your appearance brought that home to me.”

They pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant. The rain poured down in sheets, so he drove as close to the door as possible.

“Do you have an umbrella?” Jeffrey asked.

Rena looked in the backseat. “Only one. You use it. I'll run for the door.”

Jeffrey reached into the backseat and handed the umbrella to Rena. “Take it. A little water won't hurt me.”

Rena walked the few steps to the door. Without the umbrella, she would have been soaked. When Jeffrey appeared, his head was dripping wet.

“Get a table while I go to the restroom and dry off,” he said.

When Jeffrey appeared, Rena noticed that he had parted his hair on the same side as the comatose Baxter. Perhaps that, together with the discussion of the brothers' common physical traits, had triggered the disturbing reappearance of her husband in the SUV. Rena had decided Baxter's appearance on the trail when she was walking back to the parking lot was a product of the stress of the moment, not a recurring phenomenon. Jeffrey's cell phone chirped, and he answered it.

“Yes, I saw Baxter, and I'm taking Rena to get a bite to eat.”

He listened for a few moments.

“That's right. Twenty-two million and not a dime more. Our cut is 15 percent as a developer's fee. If the contract says anything else, don't sign it. I'll see you at the hotel. Bye.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. He's at the hotel. One of us has to go back to Santee in the morning.”

“Can you stay and let him go?” Rena pleaded. “It has been so stressful being around him.”

Jeffrey looked down at her with a curious look in his eyes. “Maybe.”

They were seated at a small, round table for two. The restaurant was as authentically French as anything Greenville, South Carolina, could boast. They sat in ornately designed wrought-iron chairs painted white. The owner was an Algerian who had lived many years in Paris before coming to the United States. The waiter brought them water with a twist of lime in wineglasses.

“This is what I needed.” Rena sighed after she took a sip. “I haven't been able to think about myself since the accident.”

“Are you hungry?” Jeffrey asked.

Rena looked at the menu. There were four different quiches, an assortment of delicately seasoned pastas, three soups, and a variety of meat pastries with flaky crusts.

“I am now,” she said.

Rena selected a quiche and soup. Jeffrey opted for a meat pastry. He quickly scanned the wine list and ordered a bottle.

“Baxter would have done that differently,” Rena said. “He'd have found out if the wine steward was here and called him over for a long conversation before making a selection.”

“He's the expert. I think the differences are exaggerated.”

Rena took another sip of water. “You know, Baxter drank almost a whole bottle before he fell. We were sitting on some rocks near the waterfall, and he was wobbly when he stood up. I told him to be careful. If only—” She stopped.

Jeffrey shook his head. “Even a whole bottle shouldn't have made him drunk. Baxter can drink four glasses and still walk a straight line.”

“Maybe it was drinking after hiking for a couple of hours that caused the alcohol to have a greater effect on him.”

Jeffrey nodded. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“He wasn't used to much exercise.”

“Yeah, he resents it when we can't drive the golf cart directly to the ball and have to walk from the cart to the middle of the fairway.”

The waiter brought the wine, held the bottle so Jeffrey could inspect the label, and then poured a small amount into a glass. Jeffrey sampled it and nodded.

“The hike was my fault,” Rena continued sadly. “He wanted to see a waterfall I'd told him about. It's a beautiful place. I've been there many times since I was a little girl.”

“Has anything bad happened there before?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Rena asked sharply.

“Have other people fallen and injured themselves?”

Rena relaxed. “Yes, but there weren't any signs warning people to stay away from the edge.”

Jeffrey shrugged. “That shouldn't be necessary. Anyone should know to stay away from the edge of a cliff. Did he slip on some wet rocks?”

“I think so. After he finished the bottle of wine, he stepped too close to the edge and lost his footing. I tried to save him, but it was too late.” Rena held out her left arm and pointed to the deep scratch marks. “I tried to grab his hand, but it slipped down my arm. He was there one second and gone the next. It all happened so fast, there was nothing I could do.”

Rena's eyes were dry, but she thought it would add pathos to the story if she touched her right eye with her napkin. Telling the story to Jeffrey had been her best performance thus far.

Jeffrey saw her and asked, “Do you have something in your eye?”

Rena's voice cracked when she answered. “The beginning of a tear. The shock of the accident is beginning to wear off, and I'm beginning to grieve. I think watching Baxter continue to suffer is worse torture than dealing with his death.”

Jeffrey reached out and touched her hand. “I'm sorry. For all of us.”

Rena looked into his eyes with gratitude for a moment and then lowered her gaze.

Jeffrey withdrew his hand and spoke more sternly. “But I'm also upset with Baxter. I can't believe he was so reckless. When I saw him today, I felt pity for him, but I'm also angry that he wasn't more careful.”

Rena put her napkin back in her lap. “I've gone through the same thing. Look at my situation. I've not been married a year, and my husband is paralyzed in a coma because of one foolish step. It doesn't seem fair.”

The waiter brought their meal. It was delicious. Rena particularly savored the soup, a creamy spinach concoction that felt smooth in her mouth and caressed her taste buds. Since meeting Baxter, she'd become accustomed to the benefits of wealth, and she was determined never to return to the generic canned soups of her childhood. While nibbling the fluffy quiche, she glanced at Jeffrey. It felt odd sitting across the table from her brother-in-law without Baxter present. The brothers occasionally spent time together in social settings; however, Rena's impressions of Jeffrey were formed more by Baxter's comments than her own observations. Seeing Jeffrey now, she had to admit that he had a strength Baxter lacked and a decisiveness that communicated security. A stray thought crossed her mind that she had married the wrong one of Ezra Richardson's sons.

“Have you thought any about the future?” Jeffrey asked softly.

Rena was surprised that Jeffrey had picked up her thought. A widow isn't propositioned at her husband's funeral. And Baxter wasn't even dead, yet. She leaned forward.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Jeffrey spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “If Baxter survives, where will he go for ongoing medical help? I know there are good facilities in Atlanta, and there might be something suitable in Charleston. I guess a lot depends on his mental condition if he comes out of the coma. If he can think and talk normally, he can tell us what he wants to do.”

Rena swallowed nervously and shook off her misunderstanding of Jeffrey's intentions toward her. The specter of Baxter in a rehabilitation facility—alert and talking to Detective Giles Porter was her greatest fear. The pleasant sensation the luncheon had evoked evaporated like cotton candy in a child's mouth. Her stomach felt suddenly queasy.

“Oh, I haven't given it much thought,” she answered. “I've been focused on the immediate situation and haven't considered the future.”

Jeffrey poured another glass of wine for both of them. “Yeah, I guess talking about wine stewards and playing golf made me think Baxter may come out of this, but I know we have to be realistic.”

“And find a doctor we can trust. The ones I've met are giving us the runaround,” Rena reiterated.

Jeffrey leaned back and folded his arms. “I have a fraternity brother in Richmond who is doing a residency in neurosurgery. I could contact him. He'd give us a straight answer.” Jeffrey stared past Rena's shoulder. “Of course, there's the chance Baxter won't wake up. Lying in a hospital room with tubes everywhere is not living.”

Rena pressed forward. “You're right, and every time I see him I'm more convinced that it's wrong to sustain his life artificially. You know, it's weird, but we'd prepared for this very situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Several months ago, Baxter and I had an appointment with a lawyer in Santee and signed a declaration of desire for a natural death, making it clear we didn't want to be kept on life support in case of a serious injury. Baxter also gave me a health care power of attorney so that I could decide the treatment to approve in situations like this one.”

Jeffrey nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn't want anyone to have that kind of control over my life. Of course, it's different with you and Baxter. You're committed to one another.”

“For as long as we both shall live, until death do us part,” Rena responded piously. “But there is a problem with your father. When Baxter was eighteen, he signed power of attorney—”

“Giving my father control of everything,” Jeffrey interrupted.

Surprised, Rena asked, “Did Baxter talk to you about it?”

“No, but my father mentioned it last night on the phone. I had to sign one when I was eighteen,” Jeffrey said. “A couple of years later, I went to a lawyer in Charleston and revoked it.”

“What did your father do?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “He doesn't know. He probably thinks it's still valid, but my attorney in Charleston knows what to do if it ever comes up.”

“I wish Baxter had thought ahead,” Rena said bitterly.

“How do you know he didn't? I told him what I'd done a few months before you were married.”

Rena sat up straight. “What did he say?”

“That he would look into it. Whether he did or not, I don't know.”

“Did you give him that name of your lawyer in Charleston?”

“Yeah, he knows him. We've gone sailing together several times.”

“Could I call him and find out if he talked to Baxter?”

“Sure. His name is Rufus Grange, but he goes by Rafe. He's a trial lawyer, but he helped me out because he'd been with us on the boat. Do you want his phone number?”

“Yes. I also need to talk with the woman attorney from Santee who flew up and met with us. I liked her a lot.”

“Who is it?”

“Alexia Lindale.”

“Does she work for Leggitt & Freeman?” Jeffrey asked.