Trouble Don’t Last Always (4 page)

Once again she found herself the focus of the three women’s questioning gazes.

“I–I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation,” she stammered. “But…but I’m looking for a job. I’m dependable and hardworking, and since my car clunked, you don’t have to worry about me leaving,” she said, trying to make a joke out of the last comment, but none of the women smiled.

Since they hadn’t said no, Lilly kept talking, “Up until a week ago, when she passed on, I took care of a woman after her stroke for five years. She was partially paralyzed on the left side, so I bathed her, read to her, took her for walks, her appointments, did her physical therapy. Dr. Mason always said I was the best caregiver he’d ever seen. I’m sure I could do a good job.” She prayed she didn’t sound as desperate as she was.

“We don’t know anything about you,” Nicole pointed out dismissively.

“She did offer to help us when she thought we needed it,” Mrs. Wakefield said thoughtfully. “That showed a caring nature.”

Nicole gaped, staring at the older woman in disbelief. “You can’t honestly be considering her for the job?”

“We need someone immediately, and since she’s here, why not let Adam decide?”

Nicole crossed her arms over her generous breasts. “He’ll toss her out the same way he did us.”

Mrs. Wakefield threw an irritated glance at Nicole, then crossed to Lilly. “Perhaps we should sit down and I can tell you about my son.”

Lilly’s eyes widened. “Your son owns this place!”

“Yes,” Mrs. Wakefield answered, glancing around the high-ceilinged room as she led Lilly to the Chippendale sofa. “He bought it about five years ago. Although he’s been back only occasionally, he always said he loved the beauty and peacefulness he found here.”

Gingerly Lilly sat on the blue-green-
and white-striped cushion, careful not to disturb the tapestry accent pillow by her elbow. “I can see why he’d never tire of being here. Everywhere you look there’s beauty. Both inside and out.”

Mrs. Wakefield’s body jerked.

Nicole glared.

Kristen tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

“I’m sorry; did I say something wrong?” Lilly asked, apprehension sweeping through her:
Don’t mess this up, Lilly. You need this job.

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” Hands folded in her lap, her legs crossed sedately at the ankles, Mrs. Wakefield drew a deep breath as if fortifying herself and said, “Because of the senseless greed of others, Adam lost his sight.”

“He’s blind?” Lilly blurted.

“Oh, goodness.” Nicole threw Lilly a look filled with derision and sank gracefully into a side chair. “I can see she’s going to be fabulous.”

Lilly flushed under the censure of the other woman. “I–I thought he was just sick.” She gave her attention to Mrs. Wakefield. “If you’re his mother, he can’t be that old.”

“He celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday just weeks before it happened.”

Twelve years older than she was, yet he had accomplished so much while she had done nothing. Had nothing to show for her years but a broken-down car and a few pieces of clothes. “This must be hard on all of you.”

“It is,” Mrs. Wakefield admitted and leaned back in her seat. “Worse because it didn’t have to happen. Adam stopped at a red light and two men ran up to his car and demanded he give them the keys. When he refused they pulled him from the car and severely beat and kicked him.” Hands trembling, her voice unsteady, Mrs. Wakefield visibly fought to continue.

“If you’d rather not go on, I understand.” Lilly understood pain and despair.

“No, it’s all right,” Mrs. Wakefield said, her voice noticeably stronger. “You have to understand the kind of person Adam was to not think too badly of how this has affected him. One brutal act changed not only his life but also those of hundreds of others.”

“My brother was a well-known neurosurgeon specializing in head trauma injuries.” Kristen sat down on the curved arm of the sofa by her mother. “He had a thriving practice and was sought after by several hospitals across the country. But no matter how tired or how busy he was, he always had time for me and Mother.”

“Adam takes his responsibilities seriously,” Mrs. Wakefield said, pride in her voice.

Nicole’s expression thoughtful, she said, “Month by month his reputation grew. He was interviewed the day before the accident by the Associated Press. When asked what about his life he’d change, he said, ‘Nothing. It is perfect.’ “

Another silence stretched across the room until it was broken by Mrs. Wakefield. “The doctors aren’t sure if the blindness is temporary or permanent. The X rays and other tests indicate a great deal of hemorrhaging. We’re hopeful that, once the hemorrhage dissolves, Adam’s sight will return to normal. If the doctors attempt to operate and remove the hemorrhage there is the possibility of causing other complications, including permanent loss of sight. The doctors thought it best to see if the hemorrhage will dissolve on its own.”

“How long will that take?” Lilly asked, trying to figure out how long she’d have the job…if she got it.

The women traded worried glances again before Mrs. Wakefield answered, “At first they thought two to three weeks.”

Lilly was almost afraid to voice the next question: “And now?”

Mrs. Wakefield reached up and clutched her daughter’s hand. “They aren’t sure. It’s been almost five weeks and there’s been no change in his sight.”

Lilly wanted to ask Mrs. Wakefield if she thought the blindness could be permanent but didn’t. From the worry in her face and the faces of the other women in the room, they were already dealing with that possibility.

“Adam is understandably having some difficulties adjusting,” Mrs. Wake-field continued. “His medical training makes it more difficult, not easier. He’s used to being active. Waiting has never been his strong suit. Now that’s all he can do.”

“Sometimes that’s all any of us can do,” Lilly murmured, thinking of her own problems. She’d waited and bided her time to leave Myron.

Mrs. Wakefield stood. “This way.” At the foot of the stairs, she stopped and faced Lilly. “Adam’s room is the third door on the right-hand side. He may not give you permission to enter, but go in anyway. I’d take you up, but my presence seems to upset him.”

“Mother Crawford had bad days, too.” Lilly felt compelled to try to ease the other woman’s burden.

“Your mother?” Mrs. Wakefield questioned.

Lilly started to explain, then changed her mind. In every way that counted, Mother Crawford had been her mother. “Yes.” Turning, she started to climb the stairs.

“Ms. Crawford?”

“Yes.” Lilly paused, her hand wrapped around the mahogany newel cap.

“Adam is a wonderful man,” Mrs. Wakefield said, Kristen and Nicole on either side of her. “But he’s used to having his orders obeyed. Being thwarted is not something he takes easily. He’s striking out because he’s angry at what’s happened to him. Please remember that.”

Not sure of how to answer, Lilly nodded and continued up the spiral staircase, her hand sliding over the smooth polished wood railing. With each step she fought the trembling in her body.

Remembered thoughts of Myron towering over her, his rage-filled face inches from hers, caused her stomach muscles to knot. A man could do a lot of damage with a cane. She hadn’t seen any bruises on Mrs. Wakefield or the other women. Maybe she meant “striking out” figuratively. Or maybe they were good at ducking.

Wiping her sweating palms on her dress, Lilly stopped in front of the third door. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and knocked.

“Dr. Wakefield. Your mother sent me. May I come in?”

“Dammit. Leave me alone.”

Lilly jumped at the venom in the deep voice. “Dr. Wakefield, I want to help.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Go away.”

She’d like nothing better, but that choice had been taken from her when her car died. Following Mrs. Wakefield’s instructions, Lilly twisted the brass knob and slowly opened the door and entered.

She barely stifled a gasp. The room was in chaos. Chairs were overturned. Food littered the floor. And standing in the midst by the foot of the king-size four-poster, head bowed and his right hand clutching one of the thick, spiral-turned posts, was Dr. Adam Wakefield.

He was tall and elegantly built. The fingers holding the post were long and tapered. His body was lean, conditioned.

The hair on his head was shaggy and black. He sported an unkempt beard of the same color. His gray silk shirt and linen pants were stained and wrinkled. In no way did he appear to be a prominent doctor, related to the two immaculately dressed women downstairs, or owner of this beautiful house. He looked defeated, lost.

How many times had Lilly stood with her head down, misery pounding at her from all sides?

To have so much and then to have it taken from you because of the senseless cruelty of others would fill anyone with rage and despair. Hadn’t she felt the same way after Myron had done a number on her? Empathy swept through her.

Abruptly his head snapped up, then tilted, paused, moved only to repeat the jerk–pause motion over and over as he moved his head in a semicircle around the room. Gold-rimmed shades were perched on his aquiline nose.

“Who’s there?”

Lilly took a small step forward. “My name’s Lilly Crawford. Your mother said I should come in. She wants to hire me to sit with you if it’s agreeable wi—”

“Get out!”

She jumped, tucking her head as she had always done when faced with conflict. Then she remembered again her disabled car and little money. Her head came up; she took another halting step farther into the room.

“Please, Dr. Wakefield. I need this job. I’ve taken care of ill peo—”

“I’m not ill. I don’t need you,” he said, cutting her off once again.

“I could keep your room clean and make sure you eat,” she said, her words as desperate as her face. “I promise to stay out of your way.”

“I don’t want you or anyone else here!”

“Please, I have nowhere else to go. I could read to you, take you on walks. I promise—”

“If you won’t get out, I’ll throw you out!” he threatened and started for her.

Lilly instinctively shrank back, throwing up her arms. A cry of rage caused her to jerk her arms away from her face. Adam lay sprawled on the floor. His left foot and leg were hooked over the claw-and-ball leg of an overturned armchair.

“Why! Dammit. Why?” he shouted, pounding his fist repeatedly against the area rug.

Forgetting her fear, Lilly rushed to untangle his leg. She set the chair upright, then reached for his arm. “Let me—”

Adam snatched his arm away, came to his knees, and planted both hands firmly on the floor. Head down, his lean body trembled; his breath rushed out over his lips as if he had been running. His shades lay on the floor. “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m sor—”

“Get out,” he ordered, finally turning his face to hers.

She cowered from the rage she saw there. Then she saw his eyes, black as onyx but with none of its brilliance or fire. They were…lifeless. The dramatic contrast caused her throat to dry. The full depth of what had been taken from him slowly sank into her. In that instant Adam Wakefield became a person instead of a job.

“I’m sorry. So sorry,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “How could anyone be so cruel?”

His shaggy head snapped back. His right hand lifted toward sightless eyes, stopped inches away, then curled into a fist. “I don’t need your pity. Just leave me alone.”

The soul-deep misery in his voice shook her as few things had. And she had put it there just as Myron had done so many times to her. Coming to her feet, she backed away, then turned and ran. From him. From herself.

Fumbling with the doorknob, she finally opened the door and raced down the hall. Rushing toward her were the three women and a distinguished-looking black man with wings of silver in his closely cropped black hair.

“What happened?” Mrs. Wakefield asked frantically.

Lilly moistened her lips. Guilt weighed heavily on her thin shoulders. “He—he tripped over a chair.”

Mrs. Wakefield gasped and pressed the trembling fingers of both hands against the lower half of her face.

“Was he hurt? Did he hit his head?” the man asked. The drawl in his deep, authoritarian voice demanded an answer.

“No. I–I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Her back against the wall, Lilly quickly eased past them, then turned to run down the stairs and out the front door.

On bended knees Adam found his glasses and slipped them on, then felt the cool, tufted cushioned seat of the winged leather chair that had tripped him. It was lying on the floor because he’d tripped over it earlier. She must have righted it.
Bully for her!
he sneered, coming unsteadily to his feet.

Could she possibly imagine how degrading it felt to flounder around, tripping over the slightest obstacle, while people stared at you as if you were on exhibit? No, she couldn’t. No sighted person could. All she wanted was a job. Well, he didn’t need anyone. He’d be fine until Samuel and Odette returned on Monday.

He had to be.

In the past he had always been able to overcome any obstacle he set his mind to, achieve any goal. He could do it again.

His anger turned inward. Why hadn’t he given them the keys to the damn car? He’d just finished an emergency surgery on a young man with massive head trauma. Going in, the college student had had less than a 5 percent chance of survival. He might have been in a coma for the rest of his life. Thankfully, Adam’s skill and that of his team had lengthened the odds. Once the marathon seven-hour surgery was over, the man’s condition remained critical, but his chance of survival with normal brain function had increased dramatically.

When the unkempt man had come out of nowhere at a stoplight, Adam had first thought he was looking for a handout, a common occurrence in the San Francisco area. Adam had watched the man approach without apprehension. The night had been mild and Adam had the window down on the Porsche, unwinding with a Billie Holiday CD.

When he realized what was happening, he’d been tired enough after being at the hospital for almost twenty hours to tell the man and the one who suddenly appeared by his side to jerk off.

Adam would never forget the chilling sound of the windshield glass shattering. He’d thrown up his hands to protect his eyes. He had succeeded then. But he hadn’t been able to protect them from steel-toed boots and fists.

His hands clenched. In one stupid, arrogant moment he had jeopardized everything he had worked most of his life to accomplish. He worried that the hemorrhage wasn’t clearing up as fast as any of them had thought it would. But more so he was worried about possible damage to the optic nerve.

If the optic nerve was damaged, his blindness was permanent. He’d remain in a hell he had helped make.

Taking a sliding step, he felt the sole of his shoe smear across something soft and grimaced. Eggs from breakfast or mashed potatoes from lunch? He couldn’t even feed himself without making a mess. He was as helpless as an infant. To urinate he had to almost get on his knees. Every waking moment of his life was filled with humiliation. Why couldn’t they understand how it degraded him for the people he loved, people who had always seen him at his best, to see him at his worst?

The bedroom door opened. He pivoted. His hand connected sharply with metal. Frantically he grabbed for the object, only to hear it crash to the floor. Immediately he knew what it was: the solid brass trumpet lamp he had been so happy to find at an estate sale. His anger soared. It wasn’t important. He’d find another reading lamp once his sight returned.

He straightened. “Enjoying the sideshow?”

“If you weren’t blind, I’d knock you to hell and back,” answered a heavily accented male voice that was just as biting as Adam’s. “What if it had been your mother?”

His anger still high, Adam didn’t back down. Jonathan Delacroix might be his godfather and a lifelong friend, but at the moment he was another reminder of what Adam had lost. “Get out, Jonathan.”

“I’m staying.”

Stalemate. Jonathan weighed in at 200 pounds and stood six-feet-two. He lifted weights to stay in shape. He was as solid as the trunk of an oak, and just as immovable if he wished to be.

In growing frustration, Adam ran his hand over his head and felt an inch of hair at the nape of his neck. He needed a haircut. Damn, he needed so much and was so helpless. His hand fisted. “Can’t any of you understand? If I wanted company, I wouldn’t have chartered a private plane to bring me here.”

“It’s a good thing you and your mother have the same travel agent and that she contacted her,” Jonathan said, the words followed by a thudding sound.

Adam turned toward the sound. Another chair righted, probably the Chippendale armchair by the reading table. Leather creaked. Jonathan’s heavy weight settling into the seat. Adam knew Jonathan had made both sounds on purpose. There wasn’t a clumsy bone in his body. He might resemble a linebacker for the Forty-niners, but there the resemblance ended. His gentleness and concern for his OB-GYN patients was almost legendary.

He was one of the finest doctors Adam knew. In the operating room, there was no hesitation, only precise, swift movements that amazed and awed those seeing Jonathan’s large hands do such delicate work for the first time.

The unnecessary noise had been his way of making Adam aware of where he was. Talking to where you thought the person was, was another reason Adam didn’t like being around people. Still, he wasn’t in a mood to forgive the man he had looked up to and admired for as long as he could remember.

“My ex–travel agent. She won’t get any more of my business when I start traveling again.” He’d see again and when he did he’d find another agency. It was just a matter of time before the hemorrhage dissolved.

“I’m sure her concern wasn’t monetary, Adam,” Jonathan told him. “A great many people think highly of you and sympathize with what you’re going through.”

Adam’s lips curved into a snarl. “They pity me.”

“A few.”

Adam’s hand clamped heavily on the back of the leather chair. Those who didn’t pity him felt uncomfortable in his presence. They’d tried. He’d tried. But sooner or later a word would slip out and a thick pervading silence would hang in the room. A word he no longer could associate with.
See.

He couldn’t
see
the game,
see
to read the article in the medical journal,
see
a beautiful woman,
see
the curb.

He’d never noticed before how, in even casual conversation, gestures and expressions conveyed just as much as words. He was as lost in carrying on a normal conversation as he was lost in a world of darkness.

And it was all his own fault.

“I was about to lie down. I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t show you the way out.”

Jonathan’s weight settled heavier in the chair. “Eleanor says you haven’t been out of this room since you arrived three days ago. What do you say we go for a walk and get some fresh air?”

“I’m fine,” Adam snapped, then said more calmly, “I’m just tired.” If they realized the real reason he didn’t want to leave his room, he’d never get rid of them.

“That’s debatable.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary.”

Adam moved in front of the chair, guiding himself by the back of his knees against the edge of the seat. His hand securely on the arm of the chair, he sat down, then pressed his back firmly against the cushion. In the past he’d always liked space and the ability to move freely. Now it made him feel helpless and lost. “Please tell Mother not to bother with dinner.”

“You aren’t fooling anyone, Adam, and I think it’s time the kid gloves came off.”

Adam stiffened, a sense of foreboding creeping over him. The reasons Jonathan was such a good doctor were his unshakable concern for others, his dogged determination to help those in need, and his keen intelligence. Once committed, he was unshakable. “What are you talking about?”

“Your stubborn refusal to listen to reason,” Jonathan told him. “You have to realize that there is no way you can stay here by yourself.”

“Odette and Samuel will be back Monday.” Adam tried to get his tense body to relax and his voice to sound normal. He knew he accomplished neither.

“Today is Thursday,” Jonathan said.

From the closeness of his voice and the faint whiff of the spicy Oriental cologne he always wore, Adam knew Jonathan had stood and moved closer. His nearness was oddly menacing.

“What,” Adam’s godfather finally continued, “do you plan to do in the meantime?”

“I’ll manage.” Somehow he had to.

“I’m looking at the way you’ve managed for the past three days. Not only is this room in shambles; you’re in pretty much the same condition. You need a haircut, a shave, clean clothes.”

The painful words were like a slap in Adam’s face. It took all of his control to remain seated. Giving full vent to his anger and coming to his feet to defend himself might make him feel better…until he stumbled over some object and proved Jonathan right.

Adam’s fingernails dug into the soft leather armrest. “If I offend you so much, leave.”

“If I didn’t care about you and your family I would, but I do and you’re stuck with me.” Jonathan’s sigh was long and deep and filled with frustration. “I was there with your father the night you were born. I watched you grow into a man to be proud of. You’re the son that I never had. You’ve been hurt and it’s not my intention to hurt you more, but I will if you leave me no choice.”

“Stay out of my life, Jonathan.”

The older man continued as if Adam hadn’t spoken. “If you insist on staying here by yourself I have a lawyer ready to start proceedings to declare you incompetent.”

Fear came first, almost choking Adam before reasoning intervened. He eased back in his chair, dismissing the threat with a negligent wave of his long-fingered hand. “You’d need Mother’s permission and she’d never give it.”

“Don’t bet on it, Adam. She’d fight until her last breath to keep you from the slightest harm, whether that harm was caused by you or another source.”

Jonathan’s deep bass voice grew quieter, yet infinitely more terrifying. “Insisting you stay by yourself in this huge house is insane. How the hell do you plan to find your way downstairs to the kitchen when you can’t find your way around this room? What would you do if you were to fall and seriously injure yourself? I tell you what you’d do: not a damn thing, because you couldn’t see how, and that’s exactly what I plan to tell your mother.”

Rage mixed with fear propelled Adam to his feet. “You bastard!”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Jonathan said calmly. “Your mother is outside this room worried to death. I don’t care what you think of me, but she’s suffered enough. She’s not eating and Kristen tells me she’s not sleeping.”

“Once she returns to San Francisco, she’ll be fine,” Adam said, aware of his mother’s concern yet unable to reassure her. How could he when fear was his constant companion just as guilt was?

“You don’t believe that lie any more than I do. Your mother hasn’t ever been nor will she ever be that shallow. She loves with all her heart. And now her heart is breaking because of you.”

A heavy weight on his chest, Adam slumped back in his chair. He and his mother had always been close. His father had been a busy gastroenterologist and raising Adam and Kristen had fallen to their mother. She’d never faltered or complained. Losing her husband, their father, five years ago was hard enough on her. Now this.

“I don’t want her here.”

“I can understand your reasoning, Adam.” Jonathan’s voice gentled. “Eleanor probably understands it, too. All she wants is to be sure you’re taken care of. How that’s accomplished is up to you.”

Adam’s head came up, hope surging through him. “Then why put her through a painful court battle?”

“You’re slicing her apart. What’s one more cut?”

Adam flinched. His mother loved deeply and completely. She was fond of telling one and all that her children were her greatest accomplishments. And she’d walk through fire for him and Kristen.

Head bowed, Adam braced both arms on his thighs; his wrists and arms dangled over his knees. “How long will it take to hire someone?”

“I don’t know.”

Adam was already shaking his head. He wanted the women gone today. Especially Nicole. Each time he heard her voice, the shame and humiliation of that night he came home from the hospital and they went to bed together came rushing back. “There was a woman just here.”

“She left running.”

“Find her; then all of you can leave.”

“Aren’t you forgetting one thing?”

Adam’s mouth flattened into a hard, narrow line. “Please.”

Jonathan laughed, a robust, hearty sound that easily rolled from his deep chest. “That was nice, but unnecessary. I’m used to your high-handed way of ordering other people around. Comes from being the top in your field.”

Adam flinched again. Once he had been the best.
Once.
No more.

“I meant, aren’t you forgetting the young woman may not want to come back?” Jonathan explained.

“Then you’ll have to convince her otherwise, won’t you?”

Adam couldn’t see the smile on Jonathan’s ebony-hued face but heard it in his voice. “I guess so.”

Their questions tripping over one another, the women swarmed around him as soon as he closed the door to Adam’s room.

“Is he all right?” Eleanor asked, pushing ahead of her daughter and Nicole.

“Did he hurt himself?” Kristen asked, her eyes teary.

“Can I go in?” Nicole wanted to know.

Jonathan’s gaze stayed on Eleanor. Hope, fear, desperation shimmered in her deep amber-colored eyes. He’d give anything, do anything, to keep the hope alive.

“We’ll talk downstairs.”

“Jon—”

“Downstairs.” Jonathan glanced meaningfully behind him to the closed door.

Without another word, Eleanor turned and headed downstairs, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. She had never been a patient woman, less when it came to those she loved.

In two long strides Jonathan caught up with her, his large hand closing around her upper arm. She never slowed or indicated in any way that she was aware of his touch. His fingers flexed out of his own perverse need for her to acknowledge him. The need no longer annoyed or disgusted him; it simply was.

The glance she threw him was impatient at best, but for the moment it was enough. His fingers relaxed, but not before he noted the fragility of the bones beneath the silk blouse she wore. His brows bunched as they started down the carpeted staircase.