In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [31]
“Hard work is the only answer, son,” he told Ed as they descended through the wispy morning fog, splashing through sparkling streams and over polished rocks. Through meadows waist-high with wildflowers where orange-and-black butterflies unfurled their wings as the early sun warmed them. Down the rutted lane onto the narrow blacktop road that led into the local town, fifteen miles away.
“But mark my words, Mitch ain’t one for hard work. He wants it all and he wants it now. No matter what it takes to get it.”
“And that’s the way it was growing up.” Ed’s tone was deliberately light, but Mel heard the undertone of despair.
She said in a choked voice, “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “No need to be. I wasn’t the only kid to grow up poor.”
“But you fought your way out of that poverty.”
“Not for a long time after that.” He paused. “A long, long time,” he said softly, and there was such a note of sadness in his voice that Mel was afraid to ask what he meant, so instead she leaned over and kissed him. A sweet nothing of a kiss, light and airy.
While he was still dazed, she started up the car and breezed slowly back down the highway, back home to Santa Monica.
“I’m returning to New York tomorrow morning, early,” Ed said reluctantly. His eyes linked with hers.
She nodded. “And I have to move Mr. and Mrs. Barton Forks from Encino to Sherman Oaks. My, how full life is.” She dropped another kiss, on his cheek this time. “Honey,” she said with a wicked grin, “I surely enjoy playing detective with you.” Then she was out of the car, slamming the door, waving good-bye.
Ed watched her take the front steps in a giant leap, then she turned and waved to him from the door. He was still laughing as he drove away.
They met many times after that—he just couldn’t keep away from Santa Monica. He chartered a small jet and every Friday evening he was there. They went to dinner; took Riley to the Lakers games, and to the Kings, freezing in the ice hockey stadium, eating hot dogs and laughing. They always seemed to be laughing. And Riley held on to Ed’s hand as though she never wanted to let him go. Neither of them wanted to let him go . . . even Lola was coming around and didn’t bite him anymore. “And I have the scars to prove it,” Ed had said, laughing. Mel had taken him to all her favorite places; he had met her friends, though she had never met any of his.
“Don’t you have any friends?” she had asked.
“Not too many,” he’d admitted. “I’m a cautious man.”
“I wonder why,” she’d said, puzzled, and he had looked back at her with that strange expression in his blue eyes, sort of faraway, a remembered pain . . . she didn’t quite know what he was thinking.
“Maybe someday I’ll tell you” was all he had said. And then he had changed the subject and whisked her and Harriet and Riley off to the Bel-Air Hotel for a sumptuous Sunday brunch, outdoors in the pretty courtyard. But he never talked about his past again, after that night.
23
Mel was in the hospital, sitting next to him, watching over him.
Ed could sense that she was there, he could smell her sweet, fresh scent—thank God one of his senses was still functioning. . . . But he needed to touch her, to hold her. . . . With a mighty effort he reached out for her.
Mel watched as his hand crept, agonizingly slowly, across the tight white hospital sheet toward her. She took it in both of hers, bent her head, and kissed it. He knew she was there. . . . Ed knew.
Standing in the doorway, Art Jacobs knew he was looking at a miracle.
“She can stay,” he told the nurse. “In fact, she can stay as long as she likes.”
You’re here, Ed thought, you’ve finally found me. Please, don’t ever take your hand away from mine. As long as you’re holding me, I’ll know I’m still in the land of the living. I can feel your blood pulsing, maybe it’ll inspire mine to get to work again, pump this old heart . . . which always pumps twice as fast when you’re