CHAPTER 5
It was a gorgeous reception area with soft leather wing chairs and Tiffany lamps, but after almost an hour of staring at the design on the expensive oriental carpet, Connie was feeling much more anxious and much less impressed. When she'd called Mr. Avery, his secretary had given her an appointment at four. The lovely grandfather clock in the corner was only seconds away from chiming five times, and Connie was still waiting.
She didn't like waiting rooms. They'd always meant trouble in her life. She remembered sitting on a cheap plastic chair at the emergency clinic, waiting for the doctor to stitch up her mother's lip; one of her mother's “dates” had split it. And pacing the tile floor at the veterinarian's office, only to find that her stepfather had injured her kitty so badly, the little creature couldn't be saved. Waiting in a small, cramped room on a scratchy sofa for a job that had been filled hours ago. Sitting on a folding chair in the wings until it was time for her to strip for old men with bleary eyes and alcohol-saturated breath, men who reached out to grope her if she ventured too close to the edge of the stage.
“Miss Wilson? Mr. Avery will see you now. Follow me, please.”
Connie jumped to her feet as the receptionist beckoned. She was a cold-eyed brunette in her early thirties with an impeccable figure and hair that looked too perfect to be real. She led Connie down a long corridor to a set of double bronze doors.
The receptionist knocked twice, and then she opened the doors to usher Connie in. “Mr. Avery? This is Miss Wilson.”
“Thank you, Sheila.”
The cold-eyed brunette made a hasty exit, and Connie took several steps forward. Mr. Avery looked imposing behind his huge mahogany desk. He appeared to be in his fifties. There were streaks of silver in his dark hair, but he looked tan and fit, obviously the product of a pampered life.
“Miss Wilson. Sit down.”
His voice had the ring of authority, and Connie sat in the leather chair facing his desk. He had gray eyes that reminded her of polished steel. There was no hint of a smile on his face.
“I have some papers for you, Miss Wilson.” The lawyer handed her a manila folder with a sheaf of papers inside. “Read them and sign them in duplicate, please.”
Connie frowned as she opened the folder and began to read the papers inside. They were standard forms of some sort, but she wasn't sure what they meant. “Excuse me, Mr. Avery. What are these?”
“The first is an agreement not to press suit against any member of the Stanford family. The second is a voluntary restraining order.”
Connie glanced down at the papers again, but they still didn't make sense. “I don't understand. Why would I want to sue the Stanfords?”
“For palimony, loss of support, that sort of thing. But I can tell you, Miss Wilson, you would not win.”
Connie shivered a bit. Mr. Avery kept his office quite cold. Perhaps he didn't want his clients to stay very long. She remembered reading something about a palimony suit, some famous actor's girlfriend had sued him, and it had been splashed all over the tabloids. But even if she'd wanted to do such a thing, how could she sue Alan? “But Alan is . . . dead. I couldn't sue him for palimony.”
“Precisely. You seem to be an intelligent woman, Miss Wilson, and I'm sure you'll want to cooperate. Now if you'll just sign . . .”
“No.” The hair on the back of Connie's neck bristled. She hated it when people talked down to her, yet that was exactly what Mr. Avery was doing. “You just told me I couldn't win a palimony suit, so I don't see any reason to sign.”
Mr. Avery began to frown. “Look, Miss Wilson. It's just a precaution. Alan's parents need reassurance that you won't bring a lawsuit. You've got to understand their position. They're grieving for their only son.”
"They're grieving?”
Connie was so angry, she almost jumped up from the chair. “How do you think
I
feel, Mr. Avery? I lost the man I love, I lost our baby, and then I lost my home!”
“Please calm down, Miss Wilson. I appreciate the emotional strain you must be experiencing. I know this could seem odd to you, but people handle grief in various ways. The Stanfords have pulled the wagons in a circle, so to speak. They've gathered all of Alan's belongings, in the hope that these things may provide some comfort to them.”
“And they left me out in the cold for the Indians to scalp!” Connie shivered again. “If they're so damned grief-stricken, why don't they talk to me? Why don't they find out what Alan really thought? What Alan was really like? I lived with him. I was a part of his life every day and every night. And now that he's dead, they're . . . they're pushing me away!”
“Believe me, that's not their intention.” Mr. Avery looked very sad. “Their grief is too fresh right now. It would be too painful for them to bring anyone into their family circle at this time of sorrow. Perhaps it would have been different if you hadn't lost Alan's baby. Then they might have taken some comfort in the fact that a part of their son would live on.”
Despite herself, Connie nodded. What Mr. Avery said had the ring of truth.
“Please sign the papers, Miss Wilson. Give them the peace of mind they need. Do you really believe Alan would have wanted you to cause his parents additional grief?”
Connie sighed. Another point, and it was well taken. “Alan never wanted to hurt his parents. I know that. And I don't want to hurt them, either. Tell me about the papers again, Mr. Avery. The first set promises that I won't sue them?”
“That's correct.”
Connie paged through the document and found the line for her signature at the bottom. Her hand was shaking slightly as she signed both copies. “What about the other set?”
“It's a voluntary restraining order. It promises that you won't try to contact them until they're ready. They need time, Miss Wilson. Give Alan's parents time to cope with the loss of their son.”
“All right.” Connie felt terribly weary as she signed the second set of papers. The Stanfords should have known that she wasn't the type of person to force herself on them. But as she handed the papers back to Mr. Avery, she had a terrible thought. “How about Alan's funeral? Please, Mr. Avery . . . I need to see him again to say good-bye! They won't keep me away from his funeral, will they?”
“Of course not. But you see, Miss Wilson, there won't be a funeral. Alan didn't want one. His wish was that he be cremated and placed in the family mausoleum.”
“Alan didn't want a funeral?” Connie frowned slightly. Perhaps it was true. They'd never discussed it.
“Alan thought funerals were much too painful for the survivors. He wanted his family to hold a memorial one year after his death. Alan felt it should be a celebration of his life at a time when everyone could remember him without tears.”
Connie nodded. That sounded like Alan. He'd always been very concerned about everyone else's feelings. “So he'll be cremated?”
“That's right.” Mr. Avery nodded. “Just as soon as the hospital releases his body.”
“His . . . body? But the police told me Alan died at the scene of the accident. Why does the hospital have his body?”
“You didn't know?” Mr. Avery looked surprised. “Several years ago, Alan filled out a donor card. It was on the back of his driver's license.”
It took Connie a moment to get over her shock, but then she remembered. She'd seen the pink card on the back of Alan's license. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd insisted on cremation. He hadn't wanted anyone to see him after they'd taken his organs.
“This is for you, Miss Wilson.” Mr. Avery handed her a small white envelope. “Alan's parents wanted you to have it. The family is leaving the country for a while. Going to Italy, I believe. They have a villa there.”
“But . . . do you think they'll call me when they get back?”
“I'm sure they will.” Mr. Avery stood up, signifying that her appointment was over. “Good luck, Miss Wilson. I'm very sorry we had to meet at such a distressing time.”
Connie rose. Mr. Avery was extending his hand, so she shook it. It was cold and dry, exactly what she'd expected, and Connie shivered as she followed him out of his office, down the long corridor, and past the deserted reception area.
“Good-bye, Miss Wilson.” Mr. Avery held open the outer door.
“Good-bye, Mr. Avery.” Connie went through the doorway and walked to the elevator. It wasn't a long wait, the building seemed to be deserted, and when the doors slid open she found that she was the only passenger.
Her hands were trembling as she pressed the button for the ground floor. She waited until the doors had closed, then removed the envelope from her purse and held it close to her chest. What was inside? A picture of Alan? A small keepsake of his that they wanted her to have? A handwritten note from Alan's parents, apologizing for changing the locks on the condo and moving her things? A sympathy card that said they were terribly sorry she'd lost the baby?
The envelope was sealed, and Connie was almost afraid to open it. She hoped it would contain something of Alan's. She had nothing of his, and desperately needed a memento that had belonged to the man she'd loved. It would be a comfort to her, something she could keep forever.
The elevator stopped on the ground floor, and Connie got out. She called for a cab at the pay phone in the lobby. Then she stood by the huge plate-glass window, watching snow drift down as her fingers slowly opened the envelope. It had to be something of Alan's. It just had to be!
Connie held her breath as her fingers pulled out what seemed to be sheets of paper, five of them, exactly the same size. Then she took a deep breath and looked down at what she was holding.
“Money!” Connie's eyes widened in shock. There were five crisp hundred-dollar bills, nothing more, not even a note.
Her first instinct was to tear up the bills and throw them in the trash. The Stanfords had decided to buy her off with five hundred dollars. It was a reward for signing the papers and promising not to make trouble. They'd been smart enough to realize she had no income. Much as it rankled, Connie knew she'd have to keep the money.
A horn honked outside, and she looked up. Her cab had arrived. She pushed open the door, ran out to the curb, and climbed into the backseat.
“Where to, lady?”
The driver turned around to look at her, and for a moment Connie wasn't sure. She couldn't go back to the condo. It was no longer her home. But where could she go?
“Lady?”
The driver was frowning. He looked impatient, so Connie gave the first address that popped into her head. It was a dive, a bar on lower Hennepin. She'd gone there with the other strippers when their shift was over.
“You sure you want to go there?” The driver looked surprised when Connie nodded. “It's no place for a lady like you.”
Connie almost laughed out loud. She was no lady. All he had to do was ask the Stanfords. They'd paid her off with hundred-dollar bills in a plain white envelope, as if she were some kind of expensive whore!
“Did you hear me, lady?”
“I heard,” Connie nodded, bitterly. “Just take me there. I know what it is, and you're wrong. It's exactly my kind of place.”
CHAPTER 6
“I'm scared, Jill.” Neil reached out for her hand. “What if the disease destroyed too many nerves? If they take off the bandages and I can't see, I . . . I don't know what I'll do!”
Jill gripped his hand tightly. She'd never seen him this vulnerable before, and her heart went out to him. “Don't borrow trouble, honey. Dr. Varney said the operation went perfectly. I'm sure it's going to be all right.”
“That's easy for you to say! You have no idea what I'm going through. Let me tell you, it'd be a lot different if
you
were the one who was stuck here with bandages over your eyes! What time is it anyway? And where's that damned doctor?”
“It's almost two.” Jill did her best to be patient. Neil had been like a bear all morning, alternating between rage and utter despair. Several minutes ago, she'd gone out to the desk to ask if he could have a tranquilizer, but the nurse had told her they'd have to wait for the doctor to arrive. “I know it's hard, Neil, but try to relax. Dr. Varney will be here any minute.”
“And doctors are always on time. Isn't that right, Jill?”
From the tone of his voice, she knew he would have glared at her if he'd been able. She'd seen that caustic glare many times in the past; she knew it well. She could almost feel it searing the inside of his closed eyelids, making the bandages smolder with his hurtful brand of sarcasm. “Neil . . . please. It's not good for you to get upset.”
“I . . . am . . . not . . . upset!”
His voice dripped icicles, and Jill found herself backing away from the bed. Even though he was flat on his back in a head restraint, he still held the power to intimidate her. But today, some crazy instinct made her do something totally unexpected. Influenced by the vampire movie she'd seen the past night, she raised both forefingers in the sign of the cross and stifled a very inappropriate giggle.
“Jill? What was that? What are you doing?”
“It's all right, Neil.” She dropped her hands and moved toward the bed again. “I was just . . . uh . . . coughing.”
“Well, you'd better not be coming down with a bug. I need you to take care of me!”
The words on the tip of Jill's tongue struggled to be set free. She wanted to tell him that if he wasn't nicer to her, she might very well walk out the door. But she stifled the words and then sighed. Her husband was anxious and frustrated, both entirely understandable reactions. Today he would learn whether he'd ever be able to see again.
There were footsteps in the hall, someone walking quickly and with authority. The steps slowed at the door, and a moment later, Dr. Varney stepped into Neil's room. “Jill . . . Neil. How are you this afternoon?”
Jill glanced at Neil. Would he make some sarcastic retort about how he'd been a hell of a lot better before he'd set foot in this hospital? Would he lash out at the doctor for being late? But Neil didn't do either. He just smiled, the nicest smile that Jill had ever seen.
“I'm fine, Doc.” Neil's voice was friendly. “Are you going to let me sit up?”
Dr. Varney shook his head. “Not right away. We'll take off your bandages first, and then we'll see.”
“I hope you're right!” Neil actually produced a laugh. “About the seeing part, that is.”
The doctor laughed, too, and patted Neil on the shoulder. “I'm glad you're in good spirits. Now let me tell you exactly what I'm going to do.”
Jill listened while the doctor explained. They would pull the drapes and turn off the fluorescent lights. After almost forty-eight hours of total darkness, a sudden exposure to light could be painful. Dr. Varney would use a small, specially designed light to examine Neil's eyes. Neil had to be careful not to move his head or open his eyes.
“I don't understand,” Jill said, “if Neil isn't supposed to open his eyes, how can you tell whether he can see?”
Dr. Varney turned to her. “I'll check for perceived light through Neil's eyelids. That'll tell us whether the optic nerve is functioning properly.”
“Doctor?” A middle-aged nurse with frizzy blond hair entered the room. She was pushing a cart draped with sterile towels.
“Thanks, Mary Ellen.” Dr. Varney smiled at her and then turned to Neil. “Mary Ellen's my assistant. She wasn't scheduled to work today, but she came in as a favor to me.”
Jill held her breath. Was Neil going to complain that it was a rip-off, an excuse for the hospital to bill their insurance company for Mary Ellen's overtime? But her husband just smiled that same nice smile.
“Thank you, Mary Ellen.” Neil sounded very grateful. “I really appreciate it.”
The nurse nodded. “No problem. Now don't worry, Mr. Bradley. I've been assisting Dr. Varney for almost ten years, and we haven't lost a patient yet.”
Neil chuckled. “That's good enough for me. I'm all yours, Mary Ellen. And please call me Neil. That way I'll feel I know you.”
Jill stared at her husband. He sounded gracious and utterly charming, the way he'd been when she'd first met him. People who met Neil casually, often told her how lucky she was to be married to him. They felt they knew him, but they only knew the witty, amiable professor. Jill knew Neil's dark side, his fits of rage, his biting sarcasm, and his totally demanding nature.
“Jill?” Dr. Varney turned to her. “Could you pull the drapes while Mary Ellen removes Neil's bandages?”
“Of course.” Jill hurried to the window. She hadn't noticed it before, but the drapes were lined with a material that completely blocked out the daylight.
“Why don't you sit down in that chair by the wall switch?” Dr. Varney pointed to a chair near the wall. “We'll leave the lights on until the final gauze strip. I'll tell you when to turn them off.”
Jill sat down in the chair he'd indicated and tried to relax. She was glad Dr. Varney hadn't suggested she sit by the bed. If she'd held Neil's hand, she might have somehow conveyed the panic she was feeling.
It took several minutes for the nurse to remove the layers of bandages. When there was only one strip of gauze remaining, Dr. Varney flicked on his light and motioned to Jill. “All right. Turn off the lights.”
Jill reached up with fingers that trembled and flicked the wall switch. It took her eyes several seconds to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, she saw Dr. Varney's light illuminating the last gauze strip.
“Keep your eyelids closed, Neil.” Dr. Varney removed the last strip. “Now, with your eyes closed, I want you to tell me if you perceive any slight indication of light.”
Jill held her breath as the doctor moved his light over Neil's eyelids, back and forth, from his right eye to his left. This was the moment they'd been waiting for. Would Neil be able to see again?
“It's . . . red. I can see a red glow, and it's moving back and forth.”
“That's my light.” Dr. Varney's voice was loud in the stillness of the room. “Keep your eyes closed, Neil. Mary Ellen's going to cover one of your eyelids with a patch and then I'll use my light, again. I want you to tell me if you still see that red glow.”
Mary Ellen covered Neil's left eye with a patch of cloth. Dr. Varney moved his light in the same pattern, from the right eye to the left, and then back again.
“Yes. I can see it.” Neil's voice was shaking. “That's good, isn't it?”
“That's very good. Now keep your eyes closed while Mary Ellen moves the patch to your right eye. We're going to do the same thing, in reverse.”
This time Neil laughed out loud. “I see it! You're moving it in a circle.”
“Very good. Now, keep your eyes closed and concentrate. Sometimes we want things so badly, our minds play tricks on our bodies. We have to make sure that's not happening in your case, and that's why I'm going to run a control. Do you know what that is?”
Jill winced. Of course Neil knew what a control was! Every student who'd ever taken freshman psychology knew about experiments and control groups. Dr. Varney was talking down to Neil, and Neil despised condescending people. She just hoped that her husband would restrain himself and not say something sarcastic.
“I think I know.” Neil's voice was even and reasonable. “You're running a blind test, but I can understand why you didn't want to use that term.”
Dr. Varney chuckled. “You're absolutely right. Mary Ellen will put a patch over both of your eyes. One patch will have a clear lens which will let in the light. The other lens will be opaque. Since the patches feel exactly the same, you won't be able to tell which of them contains the clear lens. As soon as Mary Ellen gets them in place, I want you to tell me which eye perceives the red glow.”
Jill had been relatively calm, but now her hands began to tremble. This was the test that would tell them if Neil's sight had been restored. She shut her own eyes, almost afraid to watch as Dr. Varney conducted the test. She heard the doctor's questions and Neil's answers, and then the test was over.
“Congratulations, Neil.” Dr. Varney patted him on the shoulder. “We have every indication that the transplant was a success. Now keep your eyes closed while Mary Ellen puts on a fresh bandage. If you promise not to make any sudden head movements, we'll only use the restraint at night.”
“I promise. Thanks, Doc!”
Neil sounded sincerely grateful, and a phrase from “Amazing Grace” floated through Jill's mind. “
I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.
” Neil had been lost in a dark world and now he was found. He'd almost been blind, but now he would be able to see again. Was it conceivable that Neil's terrible selfishness and his mood swings had been discarded with the bandages that had covered his eyes? Did she dare to hope that her husband was a changed man?
As soon as Mary Ellen had taped the first pad of gauze in place, Dr. Varney walked over to flick on the lights. Then he went back to the bed and patted Neil's shoulder. “Do you have any questions, Neil?”
“Just one.” Neil grinned. “Everyone's been great, but when can I get out of here? I want to go home and have a big slice of Jill's pot roast.”
Dr. Varney laughed. “I can understand that. I eat in the cafeteria occasionally, and I know hospital food isn't exactly gourmet fare. I want to keep you for three more nights, just to be on the safe side. If everything's normal, I'll release you on Wednesday, right after I've made my rounds.”
“Okay.” Neil started to nod, but he caught himself. “No sudden head movements, right?”
“That's right. I've got to run, Neil. I've got surgery in an hour.”
Since Mary Ellen was still bandaging her husband, Jill stepped out into the hall with Dr. Varney. “What time are your rounds on Wednesday, Dr. Varney?”
“Between three and four. Is that a problem for you?”
“I don't think so. I have to be in court at ten, but we should be through by three at the latest.”
“I'd forgotten you were a lawyer.” Dr. Varney frowned slightly. “Since you work, we'll have to discuss some arrangements for Neil. Your insurance provides a day nurse for the first two weeks, but I think you should start looking for someone after that.”
“But . . . Neil will be able to see by then, won't he?”
“Not well enough.” Dr. Varney looked very serious. “Your husband will be able to distinguish between dark and light, but I had to do considerable muscle repair. Eye muscles can be retrained. That won't be a problem. But it's only fair to tell you that it'll take time.”
Jill nodded. “How much time?”
“It depends on the individual. During the first month, I'll want Neil to come in three times a week for therapy. Once he learns the exercises, he'll be able to do them at home, but he'll experience episodes of double vision for at least six months.”
“I see.” Jill tried not to frown. Neil's recovery would be a lot slower than either of them had anticipated. “How about an eye patch? Would that help to correct the double vision?”
“Absolutely. But he has to remember to switch it every four hours. We don't want one set of eye muscles to become lazy, while the other set grows stronger.”
“That's it?” Jill's relief was short-lived when the doctor shook his head.
“Do you remember our discussion on tunnel vision?”
“Of course.” Jill nodded. “Right before the operation Neil could only see in an arc of twenty degrees. You told us that between one-sixty and one-seventy degrees was normal.”
“That's right. For all practical purposes, Neil's back to square one. I wouldn't expect any big changes right away. In time the arc will widen, but it could take a year before his peripheral vision is fully restored.”
Jill began to frown. “Neil's not going to be happy about that!”
“I guessed as much. I have patients who manage to cope with this type of visual difficulty, but to be quite frank . . . I don't think your husband is one of them.”
Jill's eyes widened. Even though Neil had been perfectly charming, he hadn't fooled Dr. Varney.
“And since we're speaking frankly, I don't think Neil will get along well while you're at work.”
“But I can't take time off right now.” Jill's frown deepened. “Should I hire a nurse for him?”
“You don't need a nurse. A housekeeper or a companion would do just fine. All she has to do is fix his meals, drive him in for therapy, and make sure he changes his eye patch. The hospital has a list of recommended names if you'd like them.”
“I would, thank you.” Jill gave a sigh of relief. She didn't know the first thing about hiring a companion or a housekeeper, and she didn't have time to run an ad in the paper and interview applicants.