The Still of Night (57 page)

She cleared her throat. “You need coffee.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I can … I have …”

He closed her hand into his. “There you go again.”

She pressed her brows together. “I want to do something.”

“You can’t.” The poverty in his tone this time was pure desolation.

She started to cry. Kelsey couldn’t be gone. All these years knowing she was out there, growing, learning, living. Jill pressed her hands to her face, sobbing. Morgan’s hand warmed the back of her neck, but nothing penetrated the chill inside her. Their daughter was dead.

Morgan waited for Jill’s sobs to ease. Then he let her go and went into the bathroom. He heard her crying again, mourning Kelsey with everything in her. He could not get the image of his daughter out of his mind, her bloated body, angry blistered skin, but most of all the eyes she’d opened and turned to him. His eyes.

She had known he was there, but he’d been utterly helpless to stop her dying. He scrubbed his face and wiped it dry, then went back out and stood behind the couch. Jill’s sobs had become weary sighs. She needed someone who could do something, help her in a way he could not.

He had nothing to offer. Everything he’d accomplished was dust. He had no control over anything that mattered. It was all a joke. The very marrow in his bones had failed. When she took a turn in the bathroom, he went to the kitchen and picked up the phone, flipped Jill’s book open to Shelly’s entry and punched in the number. To the man who answered, he said, “Yeah, is Shelly there?”

The guy hollered to someone in the room. “Brett, where’s Shelly?” Then he came back on. “She’s asleep. Who’s calling?”

“Is this Dan?”

“Yeah, who’s—”

“Jill needs someone with her.” He glanced behind him to make sure she was still in the bathroom.

“What’s the matter? Is she okay?”

“Please send Shelly over.” His throat closed on the next words, but he forced them out. “Kelsey’s dead.”

The silence on the other side of the line told him Dan understood. Morgan hung up, picked up his bag beside the door, and went out. He walked along the sidewalk to the street, then took the route he and Jill had run. At the Starbucks he could call a cab in from Des Moines.

Jill came out of the bathroom, more composed if not peaceful. Morgan didn’t need her falling apart. His grief matched hers. She stepped into the hall, pushing the hair back from her face. Dan stood in the main room and turned when she entered. She searched the living space with her glance. “Morgan?”

Dan said, “He called for someone to be with you.”

Fresh pain. How could there be more? She caught the back of the couch. Dan hurried around and clasped her elbow. Where had Morgan gone? And why?

“Come and sit.”

Would he leave without saying good-bye? Now that Kelsey was gone, he had no use for her? Maybe he went for coffee. But her eyes fell to the place he’d left his bag. She sank to the couch with Dan’s help.

“Jill, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded silently, fresh waves of pain too deep for tears. Shelly took over for Dan when he left with Brett for work, keeping her company and for once not forcing conversation. She handled phone calls until Jill asked her to unplug it altogether. She could not make herself function, and the phone was a constant reminder that all around her, life was happening. But it shouldn’t be. Why had Morgan gone? And why, why had Kelsey died? It was all so useless.

Shelly brought her a cup of broth and Jill did manage to swallow it. She turned to her friend. “You were right. Faith changes nothing.”

Shelly caught her hands and held them. “It helps you bear it.”

Jill nodded. Maybe. But right now she didn’t believe she could. Especially when Shelly opened the door to her parents.
Lord God, I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t
.

“Jill, I’ve tried to call you for two days.” Mom stepped inside and took one look at her face. “So I heard right.”

What had they heard, that the word was out? That people knew she’d had an illegitimate child, that she’d seen Morgan? Surely not that her daughter had died, that Morgan had done everything possible to save their child, then stood like an outcast for one brief glimpse before she died.

Jill had not risen from the couch. She hardly had the strength to hold back her tears. Her parents’ indignation was a drop in the well of her grief.

Shelly gave her a quick hug and whispered, “Sorry.”

Jill formed a thin smile. “Come back later.”

Dad took the giraffe chair while Mom joined her on the couch. Dad cleared his throat. “I guess you know in a town this size secrets are hard to keep.”

Did he have any idea how hard? What it cost her to pretend, to hold her shame and sorrow inside so tightly she could not experience joy and relationship? Mom searched the townhouse with her gaze. “Is he here?”

Jill slowly turned her head. “No. But if he were, I would beg him to stay.”

“Oh, Jill, why?”

“Because after Kelsey, he’s the best person I know.”

Dad cleared his throat. “There’s no question he’s done well for himself.
Fortune
magazine and all that.”

“No, not all that, Dad. I’m talking about what’s inside him. How he helps people.”

Mom huffed. “Well, he certainly didn’t help you. Coming back here and destroying everything we’ve done to keep—”

“The truth from being known?”

“To keep you safe from the consequences of your mistake.”

Jill’s heart split. “The consequence of my mistake was a beautiful girl with features like mine and Morgan’s deep blue eyes. She spent half her life battling a terrible disease but used her suffering to give others hope and tell them about the love of Jesus. Get on the Web; read Kelsey’s Hope Page. See for yourself the consequence of my mistake.”

“We’re not condemning the child.” Dad used his deacon’s tone.

She turned to him. “And even though we lied to Morgan, let him believe I had destroyed his child, falsified information to obtain a termination of custody, and gave her away without his knowledge, he donated his bone marrow to try to save her. He paid a third of a million dollars in medical expenses—”

“He could afford it,” Mom murmured.

Jill spun, staring in disbelief.

Mom dropped her gaze. “I’m not criticizing.”

“You’ve done nothing but criticize him since the day you met him.”

Mom shook her head. “Because I knew he was trouble.”

“You judged him by his walk.”

“He was so worldly.”

Dad said, “We are to be in the world but not of it.”

Jill turned to her father, enunciating each word like a knife blade. “Morgan’s housekeeper lived in a city dump. Her husband and sons died from it. His personal assistant was almost killed by her boyfriend. He moved the office to his home and made a safehouse of his guest quarters for her. He befriended an angry foster kid and helped him believe in himself.”

Dad spread his hands. “That’s all well and good—”

“Morgan doesn’t profess his faith, he lives it.”

Both her parents were silent. Mom played with her fingernails, then looked up. “The question is what do we do now?”

Jill looked from one to the other. “What do you mean?”

Her mother moistened her lips. “People will want to know if it’s true.” Now Jill was struck dumb as Mom continued. “It was Morgan who told Ed Fogarty.”

Lord God
. Would they make him a liar? “He told Ed Fogarty the truth.”

Dad clasped his hands piously. “Don’t you care that your name is ruined? You teach Sunday school, Jill.”

She sank back against the couch, thinking of her friends, how they’d reached out to her. “I’m not the only person who’s made mis-takes. I’m not worse than anyone else in this town, and I’m tired of believing I am.”

Mom reached a hand to her arm. “We’re not saying that.”

“You’ve been saying it since the day I told you I was pregnant.”

Dad drew himself up. “Well, it isn’t something you should be proud of.”

Jill’s throat hardened. “Maybe not the way it happened. But I’ll tell you what I am proud of. I’m proud of the child Morgan and I created! I’m proud of the lives she touched and her brave witness to truth and hope and love.” Tears poured from Jill’s eyes. “Yesterday I watched her die. Today I don’t really care what people think of me.” She pulled her arm out from under her mother’s hand. “Would you please leave so I can mourn my child.”

Mom looked as though she’d been struck, and for a moment Jill thought she would break down and beg forgiveness. There was regret in her eyes when she stood with Dad and walked to the door. He turned. “I know you think we’re insensitive. You’ve resisted instruction and pushed the limits from the day you were born. Cheerleading. Flag football. Dances, dates, sex before marriage. That’s not who we are.”

Jill crumbled inside. “Then shake the dust from your shoes when you leave my home.”

Mom opened her mouth to speak, but Dad caught her elbow and ushered her out. Jill pressed her hands to her face and cried.

When Morgan left the airport, he drove the Vette along the highway toward home but on impulse kept going through Santa Barbara, into the green hills with clumps of trees, all the way to the San Luis Obispo Mission. He paid the donation and went inside without a tour, just walking through to the chapel. Somewhere there had to be an answer. The question would burn his soul to ashes.
Why, God?

Another tourist stood alone in the cool quiet of the place, and Morgan noticed the cross on his lapel. “Are you a Christian?”

The man turned and nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

The man shrugged. “Sure.”

“Why does God make the innocent pay for the guilty?” He gave him Jill’s biblical examples, then the agonizing one from his own life.

The man nodded slowly. “As C.S. Lewis put it, it’s the ‘problem of pain.’ It doesn’t seem right that a loving God could inflict or allow pain. Those were Old Testament examples, before the blood of Jesus covered our sins. Now suffering is the purest prayer there is, a perfectly good God allowing us to share in His redemptive work.”

Morgan took in the words. The image of Kelsey dying filled his mind. Pure? Perfect? Good? Pain like fire rushed in his veins. He turned and walked out. Heading south, he redlined the Vette down the highway, then the curving coastal road. His marrow had burned the life out of Kelsey, and God called it good and redemptive? He swung around a produce truck, saw the VW bug in the opposite lane and veered back, but his speed was too high. The Vette left the road and plunged over the side.

Rick took the phone from Noelle. “Hello?” His stomach plunged like lead inside him as he listened, strangely unprepared for what he heard. He’d had no sense, no urge to pray, no burden weighing on his spirit. “How bad is it?”

“He’s still in surgery, but his condition is critical, his injuries extensive.”

How long had he anticipated this call, though he’d always expected it in the middle of the night. “Have you contacted any other family members?”

“Yours was the first number we located in his wallet.”

Rick rubbed his face. “I’ll call the others.” He hung up and took Noelle’s hand. “It’s Morgan. He’s crashed the Vette.”

She searched his face. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Let’s pray.” They took the time to bring Morgan before God, pleading for healing, protection, and skill for the doctors. Then Rick called home.

Five hours later they gathered in the hospital. Morgan was out of surgery but had not been upgraded. The doctor came out to talk with them. She gave them a frank smile. “First let me say, by rights he should not be alive. If the car had come down on the rocks in any other position, he would have been killed instantly.”

Rick held Noelle to his side, hoping the anxiety and dread obvious in her face and posture would not affect the baby inside her. It was bad enough they had flown with her due date so near. The stress and fear could not be good.

“As it is, he’s sustained massive trauma to the chest and abdomen, major organ damage, fractures, and some lacerations. I can’t tell you yet which way this will go.”

“No head injuries?” Dad’s voice quavered.

“Nothing major. Bruising from the air bag, minor lacerations. Brain function is normal, but we’ve induced a coma to promote stabilization.”

Rick glanced at his mom and read in her face the worst of her fears playing out before her.
Lord, this is up to you. All things according to your
perfect purpose and power. Don’t take Morgan, yet, with his heart unturned. Give us time to reach him
.

When Morgan was brought out of recovery into ICU, they took turns at his bedside, since there were so many of them. Rick worried now for Tara, who’d always been the closest to her big brother and was clearly distraught. Her first sight of Morgan had brought a wail to her lips, and he wondered if they should have left her with friends. But she would not have stood for that. Not when it was Morgan in that bed.

Rick bent and kissed her head, and she looked up with a desperate smile. “He’s going to be okay, Rick.”

He smiled back. “We’re storming the gates, aren’t we?” When the nurse came in to get his vitals and check the monitors, Rick asked, “How high was the blood alcohol?”

She checked Morgan’s chart. “No alcohol, no drugs.”

Rick stared at her a moment. “None at all?”

She let the clipboard drop back against the bed. “A trace of caffeine.”

Then why? The policeman who’d met with them had described a probable speed of over a hundred miles per hour before the car left the coastal road. Why would Morgan drive like that unimpaired?

Therese and Tara sat with him while the rest of them went to the cafeteria for dinner. Rick posed the question, and they batted around a few thoughts. Then Mom said, “Has anyone heard anything about Kelsey?”

Something stirred inside Rick at her words. “Would you like me to find out?”

She nodded. “This has been a critical time for Morgan with the transplant and everything. Maybe …” Her words faded away.

Rick searched Morgan’s wallet for the card Jill had given him. It was there, next to a small copy of her senior picture. He found a phone and dialed the number. It rang twelve times before he hung up. No answers from there.