Love Gently Falling (3 page)

“Meaning her personal life isn't?”

“I didn't say that, did I?”

“No, of course not.” Rita wondered how well Johnny really knew Marley. “It's just that, well, the reason Marley and I parted ways was because I was opposed to her marriage.”

“Really?” he glanced at her. “You mean because they were so young? Just one year out of high school?”

“No. Well, I suppose that was part of it. But I actually spoke out against Rex. And subsequently I was uninvited from the wedding.”

“Seriously? You dissed her fiancé?”

“I know…I know. I thought I was so smart back then.” Rita shook her head to remember how she'd stuck her size eleven foot in her mouth. “It's embarrassing to admit now. Especially since Marley and Rex have been happily married for ten years.”

“Happily?”

She turned to peer at him. “Aren't they?”

He shrugged, but she could tell by his expression that he knew something. “Sorry. Me and my big mouth again. Just pretend I didn't say that. Okay?”

“Okay…”

“Now if you're worried that I'll tell someone about your impressive Beverly Hills clientele list, you can just threaten to blackmail me over that little slip of the tongue.”

“Well, you've certainly gotten me curious now. If Marley and I were speaking to each other, I'd just pay her a visit and ask what's up. As it is, she'd probably slam the door in my face.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Marley's a very savvy businesswoman. I don't think she'd slam the door on anyone who walked into Secondhand Rose. At least not while customers were around.”

Rita considered this. That actually wasn't such a bad idea. “You say her shop's at Millersburg Mall? Where exactly is it located?”

“On the top level. A few doors down from Martindale's Department Store. In fact, Marley's shop is right next door to someone else you might remember.”

“Who's that?”

“Zinnia.”

“Zinnia Williams?”

“That's right.” He nodded. “She just opened it last year.”

Rita cringed to remember the uppity young woman who had worked as a receptionist for Rita's mom. Although only a couple years older than Rita, Zinnia had always treated Rita like a child. Even after Rita had landed her rather impressive job in Beverly Hills and come back home to celebrate, Zinnia had acted unimpressed and superior. “So…Zinnia has a shop…right next to Marley's?” she said quietly.

“Sure. And Zinnia and Marley are pretty good friends too.”

“Seriously?”

He laughed. “I know what you're thinking. I heard Zinnia used to have a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. Fortunately, some people change.”

“You're saying Zinnia has changed?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Rita thought about this. “I guess it was quite a few years ago. Back when she worked for my mom. What kind of shop does Zinnia have?”

“A hair salon.”

“My mom told me about a new hair salon at the mall. But she didn't mention it was Zinnia's. Mom was mostly concerned because she thought it was in breach of her lease contract—you know, that there could only be one hair salon in the mall. Apparently it wasn't.”

“I think the salons have to be located a certain distance apart.” He pointed ahead. “And speaking of distance, here we are. Jackson Park Hospital at your service. How about if I deliver you to the front door?”

“Thanks! That would be lovely.” Rita braced herself for the cold again.

“And I'd be happy to drop your bags at your house, if you'd like. It's not far out of my way and—”

“No, that's okay,” she said as she opened the door, letting a frosty blast of air inside. “I'll ask Ricky to stash them in his car.” She hurried around to the back of the Jolly Janitor van, waiting as Johnny extracted her baggage. But instead of handing them over to her, he ran them up to the door and inside the foyer.

“Tell Donna that she's in my prayers,” Johnny said as he slid the strap of her carry-on onto her shoulder. “You all are.”

“Thank you,” she told him. “For everything.”

“I know it's not terribly elegant riding around in the Jolly Janitor van.” He grinned. “But it was the best I could do on short notice.”

She smiled. “It was just fine, Johnny. And it was warm. And the company couldn't have been better.”

He made a mock bow. “Thank you very much.”

With a parting wave, she wheeled her bag through the lobby. She knew her focus should be on locating her mother, but for some reason her mind seemed stuck on Johnny.

As Rita sat in the
semidark hospital room, she replayed the moment when her mom had opened her eyes a couple of hours ago. Donna's expression had been so happy and bright that for a moment Rita forgot that she'd suffered a serious stroke. Of course, the lopsided smile was reminder enough. Combined with the fact that her mother was unable to form actual words. Donna had moved her lips and made some sounds that may have made sense to her, but sounded like baby talk to Rita. Even so, Rita had clasped Donna's hand, assuring her that things were going to get better.

“I hear that you've already made good progress,” Rita had told her. “I'm so proud of you.” Then she'd leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. “I love you, Mom. We're going to get you well.” After that she'd simply chattered at her mom, talking about the warm weather in California and her uneventful flight and how the Jolly Janitor had picked her up at O'Hare. The flickering in Donna's clear blue eyes made Rita believe she understood. And that gave her hope.

But watching her mother now was rather unsettling. Seeing her lying there so pale and helpless and motionless…with something still inside of her…something unknown and menacing that had brought on this stroke…well, it was quite disturbing. Rita knew from talking to the young intern on duty that nothing certain had been revealed in any of her tests yet.

“We feel relatively sure it was a hemorrhagic stroke,” he'd explained. “Especially since she has no history of high blood pressure, high cholesterol, or heart disease. She's not obese, and she's never been a smoker.”

“So that's good?” Rita had asked hopefully.

“It's good in predicting it wasn't an ischemic stroke. And if we're right and it was a hemorrhagic stroke, the likelihood of recurrence is reduced.”

“So it could recur?”

“That's always a possibility. Something we can't ignore, even if it is hemorrhagic stroke, because it could've been caused by a blood clot. So far the scans haven't revealed this. And we've ruled out aneurysm. But she's scheduled for another MRI tomorrow morning. That may reveal something.” He shared a bit more information (perhaps too much information, because it started to get a bit murky in her mind), but the friendly intern seemed to enjoy showing off his expertise.

As she thanked him for his help, she was curious about his age. Her guess was that he was younger than her, and, although she was wearing flats, he was shorter, too.

“If you have any questions or concerns, please, feel free to call. The nurses know how to reach me.” He pointed to his nametag. “Some people are always looking for
Mister
Right. Well, you just remember, I'm
Doctor
Wright.” He laughed like this was funnier than it was, and she suspected it was a line he'd used before.

Just the same, she thanked him, assuring him she wouldn't forget his name.

“And I'll hunt down some of the most current information about hemorrhagic stroke for you,” he promised. “I can tell you're one of those people who like to be properly informed.”

“Yes,” she'd told him. “I believe that knowledge is like power.” But as she sat here with her mother, she felt powerless. Besides praying and waiting, there seemed to be little that could be done. But at least she'd convinced her dad and brother, after an hour or more of a bittersweet reunion, to go home and get some rest. It had been nearly midnight by the time they finally left, and her dad had looked so worn out that she'd felt concerned for his health. “Make sure he goes to bed,” she'd whispered to Ricky. “Even if he has to take one of Mom's over-the-counter sleeping pills.”

Rita checked her watch. It was almost three a.m. Even on California time, she would've been asleep for an hour or two by now. She put the recliner chair back as far as it would go, willing herself to get a little shut-eye, but her mind was still racing with what-ifs. What if her mom didn't recover? What if she died? What if her dad's health went downhill as a result of all this stress? What if Ricky, who'd already been battling depression, got worse? What if? What if? What if? Finally, she knew her only recourse was to pray…and hope for sleep.

When Rita awoke, it took her a moment to figure out where she was. But seeing a nurse with a hypodermic needle in hand quickly brought her to her senses. The nurse was injecting something into her mother's IV tube. Probably meds to keep more blood clots from forming. Dr. Wright had mentioned something about that. Next the nurse checked her temperature and blood pressure and a couple of other things.

“How's she doing?” Rita whispered as she extracted herself from the chair.

“Her vitals are normal.” The nurse checked something on the IV unit, then gathered her things to leave.

Rita peered down at her mother, wishing she'd open her eyes and smile again, but instead she just slept peacefully. And perhaps that was good. Maybe she needed the rest. Assured that her mother was okay, Rita decided to pay the restroom down the hall a visit. And while there, she would brush her teeth.

The hospital corridor was eerily quiet, and most of the patients' rooms were darkened, as if everyone was still sleeping. Passing by the nurses' station, she was relieved to see that at least the nurses were awake and chatting happily among themselves. The whole office area was decorated with glossy red and pink hearts and crepe paper and rosy-cheeked cupids—reminding Rita that Valentine's Day was only three weeks away. And that reminded her of how the week before Valentine's Day was always a busy time at Roberto's. It seemed that half of Los Angeles was ready for a makeover by mid February. Rita knew this was partly due to the Oscars—which usually happened about a week or two after Valentine's Day. Anyway, it was a fun time to be a hairdresser in Beverly Hills.

Taking her time in the restroom, Rita stood in front of the mirror, assessing the damaging effects of a four-hour flight and a mostly sleepless night. As someone in the beauty business, she was well aware of the toll these inconveniences could take on one's appearance. And the unforgiving fluorescent light was not helping. Fortunately, she'd had the good sense to keep her carry-on bag in the hospital with her. Ricky had taken the larger one. But everything she needed for beauty first-aid would be in here. Some might think her shallow for caring about appearances, but she knew that her mother would appreciate it as much as she would.

First she brushed the fuzzy sweaters off of her teeth. Next she ran a brush through her tangled shoulder-length hair and even rubbed some macadamia oil conditioner into the dry ends. She put eyedrops into her bloodshot eyes, then decided to take full advantage of the unoccupied restroom by giving her face a good invigorating scrub over the sink. She patted her skin dry, then slathered on a liberal coat of her favorite moisturizer, giving it plenty of time to soak in before she carefully applied her makeup. She completed her makeover with a squirt of a light-toned fragrance and a fresh shirt.

Feeling much better and satisfied that she'd made some much-needed improvements, she zipped her carry-on shut and returned to where her mom was still sleeping. She poked around for a few minutes, positioning the pretty flower arrangements so that they could all be seen from her mother's bed. There were red roses from her dad, a potted African violet from Ricky, pink roses from the Jolly Janitors—
That company must really care about their clients
, she thought—and a bouquet of spring colored tulips from Hair and Now. But seeing that her mother was not stirring, Rita decided to run downstairs and seek out a good cup of coffee.

Rita had just ordered a latté when Dr. Wright came over to greet her. “You look bright and fresh this morning,” he said as he refilled his coffee cup. “How's your mother doing?”

“She was sleeping when I left her. She slept pretty soundly all night.”

“That's good. Sleeping is nature's way of helping her brain to heal.”

“Will she be sleeping a lot during the daytime too?”

“She needs a balance of rest and rehab therapy.”

“And I know she's got that MRI scheduled for this morning.” Rita reached for her latté.

“Yes. And I did print out some information about strokes. If you walk with me, I'll pick it up for you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “I'd appreciate that.”

“My shift is actually over,” he explained as they walked. “Now I get to go home and get some sleep.”

“I think I slept a total of three hours last night,” she confessed.

“You should probably go home and get some rest too,” he told her.

“Except that
home
is in California.” She sighed to think of the comfortable memory foam bed she'd left behind—and the old squeaky twin bed she'd be sleeping in tonight.

“A California girl.” He gave her an appreciative nod. “Whereabouts?”

“Beverly Hills.”

He looked impressed. “Nice. I'll bet the weather's a little warmer there.”

“That's for sure.” She told him about the unseasonable weather.

“So where will you stay while you're in Chicago?” he asked with what seemed a little more than professional interest.

“At my parents'.”

“Oh, right.” He paused by a door marked
PRIVATE.
“I'll grab that printout now.”

As she waited for him, she wondered if Dr. Wright was flirting with her. It wasn't like this was something new. For some reason a lot of guys seemed to be attracted to tall blond women. Unfortunately, they often turned out to be the wrong kinds of guys…something that Rita was still grappling with.

“Here you go.” He handed her some papers and, looking directly into her eyes, he smiled. “Hopefully, I'll be seeing more of you. I'm back on duty tonight at six. Think you'll be here then? Maybe we could sit down with coffee and discuss your mom's prognosis.”

“I don't know if I'll still be here.” She glanced away, unsure of how to react. Was he hitting on her? “I mean, I plan to stay as long as I can today. But I need to get some sleep.”

“Well, I'm on the night shift all week. I'm sure our paths will cross again.” He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “If you need to reach me, this has my number.”

“Thanks.” She nodded. “I didn't realize doctors had business cards.”

He laughed. “Sure, why not? How about you?”

“What?”

“No business card?” He looked disappointed.

“Oh, yeah.” She reached into her handbag, digging for the pocket where she kept a handful of cards from her salon. “I have this.”

“Roberto's Spa and Beauty Salon?”

“I'm a hairdresser,” she told him.

His fair brows shot up. “A hairdresser?”

She stood straighter, looking down on him slightly. “That's right. Just like my mother. We do people's hair for a living, and we happen to like it.”

“I'm sorry. I'm just surprised. I didn't mean to sound disapproving.”

She made a forced smile. “Yes…I'm used to that reaction. But our clients are very appreciative.”

“Yes, I'm sure they are.” His pale gray eyes twinkled. “I suspect it's similar to how patients feel about their doctors.”

She nodded briskly. “In some ways it probably is.” Now she glanced at her watch. “I better go. My mom might be awake by now and I don't want her to be alone.” She made a little finger wave. “See you around, Doc.”

He chuckled. “I hope so, Rita. Give your mom my best,” he called as she walked away.

She wasn't sure why she felt aggravated as she rode the elevator up. Really, she should feel flattered—a doctor was flirting with her. Wouldn't her mother be pleased? And yet she felt something about Dr. Wright was insincere. And his reaction to finding out she was a hairdresser? Well, that had seemed fairly revealing too. Despite his denial, he had seemed to clearly disapprove. Or maybe she was just tired…and being overly sensitive.

Finding that her mother was awake and sitting up, Rita put thoughts about Dr. Wright aside and focused her attention on her mom.

“How are you doing?” Rita asked slowly and clearly, like Ricky had explained she should.

Donna mumbled a response, reaching for Rita with her left hand—the one unaffected by the stroke. She squeezed Rita's fingers and smiled happily, mumbling something unintelligible.

“I'm so happy to see you, too,” Rita said in response, hoping she'd read her mother correctly. She reminded her about the MRI scheduled for nine o'clock. “But it's still early.” She pointed to the clock on the wall. “Almost two hours before they'll come get you.” She held up the printout that Dr. Wright had just given to her, explaining what it was. Then, hoping to amuse her mother, she confided her suspicions that the intern was flirting with her. “I could be wrong, but it seemed pretty straightforward.”