Operation Cinderella (15 page)

“Maybe you could come and visit me in New York sometime.”

Pam’s eyes popped. “Could I? Do you think Momma and Daddy would let me?”

Not so very long ago, Macie would have replied no, never in a million years, but having spoken with her mother, she was no longer so certain. Her mother had said she was sorry. If that could happen, almost anything was possible.

“They might. No promises, but I can talk to them about it—provided you absolutely one hundred percent promise me you’ll never pull a stupid stunt like this again.”

Pam’s face lit. She stuck out her hand, the nails bitten to the quick, and grabbed hold of Macie’s. “I promise.”

…

MJ had been gone for a full week—and counting. Beyond a brief phone message letting him know she’d landed and a text message telling him that her sister had been discharged and was taking things easy at home, Ross hadn’t heard from her. When would she be coming back?
Would
she be coming back? He’d picked up and then set down the fancy red shoe he’d had fixed more times than he cared to count.

An emergency meeting at the station was called, more backlash from the
On Top
blog post come to bite him in the butt. A rival media outlet of southern Christian conservatives had picked up on the story and was exploiting it to steal sponsors. Caught up in coping with the crisis, Ross lost track of time and blew past lunch, but at least being buried kept him from brooding non-stop about MJ, which was a good thing. The next time he looked up, it was almost seven p.m.

Holy cow, Sam! He was supposed to pick her up from play practice—two hours ago. He grabbed for his cell phone. During the meeting, he’d turned the sound setting to silent, then, like lunch, he’d forgotten about it. Four voice mail messages waited, and he’d bet all of them were from Sam.

4:45 p.m.: “Daddy, it’s me. Practice ended early. You can come and pick me up anytime. ’Bye.”

5:15 p.m.: “Dad, not sure where you are but a couple of kids are going for pizza. Since you’re not here yet, I said I’d go. Hope that’s cool with you.”

5:55 p.m.: “Okay, so I’m back from getting pizza, and I still don’t see you anywhere. Sarah Johnson said she’d give me a ride. Guess I’ll see you at home.”

6:56 p.m.: “This is George Washington University Hospital. There’s been a car accident. Your daughter, Samantha Mannon, was transported here by ambulance. She’s regained consciousness, and they’re working on her in the ER now. Please call as soon as you get this message.”

Ross’s breath rushed from his body. Shaking, he punched redial but the nurse or doctor or whoever it was who’d called must have done so from an internal line because the call wouldn’t connect.
Shit!

Get a grip, Mannon, and think!
He scraped a hand through his hair and for a few seconds focused on simply breathing. The hospital was in the heart of the city in Foggy Bottom. By the time he found the ER direct number and finally got someone on the line, he could be there. That settled it. Grabbing his coat and keys, he raced out.

.

The scenario was one too often repeated among teenagers. Someone from the play practice had gotten hold of some beers, and the cluster of kids parked at the back of the Pizza Hut lot had thrown themselves quite a party. The classmate from whom Sam had accepted the ride was among them. The accident had happened on Rock Creek Parkway at rush hour, the worst possible time. The girl, Sarah, must have nodded off and the car had drifted into the oncoming traffic lane. Sam had reached over to grab the wheel, but it was too late. Fortunately the driver of the other car had seen them and swerved, avoiding a head-on hit. Still, the car was totaled—not that Ross gave a rat’s ass about that.

Sarah had been sent home with minor cuts and bruises and a scary lecture from the police officer assigned to the case. Her license had been confiscated and a court hearing was pending. If Ross were her daddy, the next vehicle she drove would be a donkey cart.

For now, though, all he cared about was Sam. Her injuries were all fixable—a concussion, a broken femur that was going to require surgery, and some pretty dramatic cuts and bruises. Looking up at him from the hospital gurney on which they’d parked her en route to the O.R., she swore, “I didn’t drink, Daddy. I didn’t even know about the beer. By the time I got there, everybody was inside ordering food. Sarah just seemed giggly and sleepy, but I figured it was because she’d pulled an all-nighter for the history paper we had due. You believe me, right?”

Tears dampened his eyes, tears of self-recrimination and reproach, thanksgiving and gratitude. Not bothering to wipe them away, he reached down to stroke her hair, careful to avoid the gash on her forehead the plastic surgeon had just finished stitching.

“Yes, baby, I do. And I only hope you can forgive me, because I sure won’t be forgiving myself anytime soon. Forgetting to pick you up is inexcusable. But that’s not for you to fret about. I want you to focus one hundred percent on getting well.”

An orderly dressed in scrubs and a see-through plastic cap stepped up to them. “Sir, we have to take her now.”

Ross stepped back. “I love you, honey, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Watching them wheel her toward the operating room, he plastered on a smile and waved while his eyes filled with tears. The last time he’d looked on to a similar scene, she’d been about to have her tonsils taken out. Sinking into the plastic waiting room seat, he took a moment to offer up a silent prayer of thanks. It could have gone so very much worse. God, he might have lost her! And just what the hell kind of parent was he? Could there possibly be a bigger hypocrite in all of God’s green earth than Ross Mannon? Publicly he preached the importance of putting family first, but in his private life, he’d fallen sadly short of practicing that ideal. What Sam needed was stability, a real home, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what Ross needed too. More and more of late, he’d come to associate home with MJ.

Sam’s surgery and recovery took just about two hours. They delivered her back to the room, out like a light. Ross held back as the orderlies lifted her from the gurney and laid her on the railed bed.

I’ll never let you down again, baby girl. Never!

Minutes melted into hours. Mulling over the future and slugging down black coffee, Ross lost track. At some point the orthopedic surgeon dropped by to run down the surgery—he’d re-aligned the femur bone and inserted a metal plate and screws—and the post-operative treatment plan.

Around 11 p.m., Sam cracked open an eye. “Daddy?”

Ross rushed to her side. “I’m here, baby girl. How’re you feeling?”

Her groggy gaze settled briefly on his face. “Pretty…okay. Tired. Thirsty.”

He gave her some ice chips, all that she was allowed to have until morning, and she slipped back to sleep.

A night nurse came in to check on her vitals and change out her IV bag, but for the most part they were left alone. A throat being cleared alerted him that their relative peace was about to be broken.

Assuming it must be the nurse again, Ross called out in a high whisper, “She’s so peaceful. Can’t you let her be a little longer?”

From the doorway, a woman’s low voice answered, “I won’t wake her, promise.”

Ross whipped around. MJ stood on the threshold, a wilted version of the woman he’d dropped off at the airport more than a week ago and yet a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Even sleep-deprived and makeup free, she was beyond beautiful. Feeling as if he’d wished her there, fearing she might fade away at any minute, he bolted to his feet, nearly spilling the contents of the Styrofoam cup down his shirt.

She shifted her gaze to the bed and whispered, “How’s our girl?” He gave the thumb-up sign, and she crept toward the bed. Reaching over the rail, she gently drew up the covers Sam’s good leg had kicked off. Looking on, Ross felt his heart turn over and the last of his resistance chip away.

He’d known he had feelings for MJ, strong feelings, but feelings of any degree suddenly seemed far too tepid a descriptor. What he had for MJ was love, honest to goodness love, and as inconvenient as that was and might yet prove to be, he was finally ready to stop fighting it and simply surrender.

She backed up from the bed and turned to him, her gaze still not quite meeting his. Foreboding descended, fisting him in the gut. He set the cup down on the faux wood grain tabletop and signed for her to follow him out into the hallway.

Stepping away from the open door, he filled her in on the details. “Her left leg’s pretty busted up—complex fracture of the ankle and a broken femur—but the surgery went great. Once the cast comes off, she’ll need some physical therapy, but the orthopedist feels she should heal just fine. Right now the plan is to keep her here for another forty-eight hours and then discharge her.”

“That’s great news.” MJ blew out a breath. “When the doorman told me what had happened, I imagined the worst.”

“It almost was worse, a lot worse.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “If that other car hadn’t seen them in time to swerve, if the passenger side airbag hadn’t inflated, she probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

MJ reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t torture yourself. The other driver did see them, the airbag did inflate, and she’s here and she’s going to be fine.”

He nodded. “No thanks to me.” He hadn’t meant to burden MJ but before he knew it, he was confessing everything, from the silenced cell phone and missed messages to being a no-show at the school pickup. “No wonder she doesn’t trust a damn thing I say,” he ended miserably.

“That’s not true,” MJ said firmly.

Switching the subject, he asked, “How’s your sister?”

“She’s still taking things easy at home and swearing she’ll never sneak out again. Here’s hoping.”

“How are
you
?” Not for the first time since she’d turned up, he noted the dark hollows beneath her eyes. For someone who’d ultimately gotten good news, she still seemed pretty stressed out.

Her gaze shuttered. “I’m okay, happy not to be sitting on a plane for sure. Despite the circumstances, visiting my folks was…cathartic.”

Wondering what she meant by that, he said, “You should go get some sleep. You can visit Sam tomorrow when you’re both awake.”

That she didn’t argue further demonstrated that she was dragging on her feet. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She turned to go.

He started after her. “Hold up, I’m driving you.”

Looking back, she waved him off. “Thanks, but I’m a big girl and a New Yorker. I take cabs all the time. In fact, I took one here.”

That might be, but Ross wasn’t budging. “It’s almost one in the morning and this isn’t New York. My car’s right here in the hospital garage. You’ll be doing me a favor. I could stand getting out of here for a while.”

She hesitated for a few seconds before giving way. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Walking with him to the elevator bank, she remarked, “You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”

He snorted. “Other than feeling like the worst parent on the planet, I’m raring to go.”

She reached over and laid a hand on his forearm, the shirtsleeve rolled up to his elbow. Now that his parental panic had subsided, her fingers on his flesh set off a trail of tingling.

“Ross, how many times must I say this? It wasn’t your fault.”

“Bull crap, it was entirely my fault. The whole reason she was in that car was because I missed picking her up. I left my own kid stranded and at the mercy of a drunk driver. Father of the Year, I’m not.”

The elevator doors opened. He held back for her to enter, and then stepped inside, hesitating over which garage floor to push. When he’d parked, he’d been half crazed, not knowing how badly Sam was hurt. Digging into his pants pocket, he found his parking stub and pulled it out. The second level, he remembered now. He punched the button for two and the elevator began its descent.

The doors opened again, and they stepped out. The garage, which had been filled almost to capacity when he’d arrived, was nearly deserted, making his Ford Explorer easy to find. He pulled out his keys, clicked the unlock button, and opened the passenger’s side door.

Macie slid inside and he crossed to the driver’s side and climbed in. Locking the doors, he tossed the keys in the beverage cup holder and turned to her.

A worried look settled over her face. “You’re exhausted. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

He nodded. “I’ve had enough coffee to float a battleship. Right now, I couldn’t fall asleep if I tried.” That was suddenly a good thing because as far as he was concerned, they had some serious talking to do and a whole heap of air to clear. “Truth is, I’m not much interested in talking about me anymore right now. I’d rather talk about what’s up with you.”

Her gaze slid away. “What do you mean?”

He blew out a heavy breath. “You’re keeping something from me, something big. What is it?”

She firmed her mouth as though afraid some secret might spill out. “Nothing you or anyone else can do anything about.”

“Why not try me? I’d like to help if I can.”

She looked up—eye contact at last! “If I could time travel back by a month and change things, I would, but I can’t. None of us can redo our past.”

“Who’s asking you to?” Wondering exactly what she was regretting—coming to DC, accepting the job, accepting…him?—he said, “Let’s talk about the here-and-now, starting with whether or not you’re back to stay?”

She dropped her gaze to the folded hands in her lap. “I’m back for now but…you should probably start searching for my replacement.”

Her response didn’t really surprise him. She’d said more or less what he’d expected—dreaded—hearing from the moment she’d set foot inside Sam’s hospital room. Still, hearing the actual words sent his heart sinking deeper than a Texas oil well.

He reached over and gently cupped her cheek. “You are one hundred percent absolutely irreplaceable, not only to Sam but to me. After everything we’ve all just been through, how can you still not know that?”

Her anguished face slashed at his heart. “Ross, please.”