In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [43]
“He’s still alive. That’s about it.” There was a silence, and Mel rushed to fill it in, bringing Harriet up to date.
“Not good” was Harriet’s verdict, and, in her heart, Mel agreed with her. “You want me to come out there, give moral support?” Harriet asked.
“Thanks, but one wrecked woman is probably all Ed could stand right now. And believe me, I am a wreck. I don’t think I’ve slept since I got here.”
“Then you’d better get to bed right now.” Harriet’s voice was sharp with anxiety. “You’re not doing Ed, or yourself, a favor, driving yourself into the ground.”
Weariness suddenly enveloped Mel like a fog, and she knew that what Harriet had said, what Estevez had said, what Camelia had said, was right. She could not go on. She slid to the ground, propped against the wall, the phone still clutched in her shaky hand. Sleep and oblivion were claiming her.
“Take care of Riley for me, Harr.”
“You know I’ll always do that. And you take all the time you need. We love you, Mel.”
Mel replaced the receiver. She was too tired even to cry. Somehow, she got to her feet and trudged back down the long, empty, silent gray corridor. She didn’t even see the cop at the door, or the nurse, hovering. She went directly to Ed’s bedside, took his cold hand in hers, leaned close.
“Riley sent you a message, Ed. She said to be sure to tell you that she loves you. And, Ed, she wants you to know, especially, that you can share her Sundays anytime you want. Isn’t that great, honey? Riley loves you. And so do I.”
She stared down at him. Not a muscle moved, not a flicker of acknowledgment that he had even heard.
Her heart was back in her boots—where it seemed she kept a supply of sighs these days—as she trudged wearily from the hospital room to the elevator and took a cab to Vincent Fifth.
Ed’s penthouse had the forlorn air of an abandoned home. No roses, no music, no magical evening lay ahead of her. Instead, she lay down on his bed. Sleep didn’t even describe the sensation overtaking her. She was sinking into it, wheeling downward, into oblivion. This must be what Ed feels like, where he is, she thought. And then she was out.
28
The purr of a phone penetrated Mel’s subconscious. Eyes still tight shut, she groped for it. It wasn’t where it usually was, and, bewildered, she forced her eyes open, shading them with her hand from the subdued glow of the bedside lamp that seemed like a glare in her semiawake state.
But this wasn’t her lamp. It wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t her phone. . . .
It came to her in a rush: Oh, God, it must be the hospital calling. . . . Oh, God, Ed, wait for me, wait for me. . . .
Adrenaline catapulted her from the bed. She stared wildly around, looking for the phone. There wasn’t one. But she could still hear it ringing. Oh God, oh God, Ed, my darling, honey, sweetheart. . . .
Now she remembered, Ed hated telephones in the bedroom. He’d refused to have one, said there was no need for anyone to call him in the middle of the night, business could wait. . . . But not the hospital. She was already racing through the lofty living room, grabbing up the telephone. . . .
It stopped ringing.
Jesus! She sank into the sofa. Her hands shook and she bit her bottom lip hard to stop it from trembling. She couldn’t fall apart, not now. This was urgent, mortal . . . she needed to keep her wits about her, needed to call the hospital. Right now.
It rang again. She picked it up on the first bleat.
“Mel? Are you there?”
Her stopped breath came out in a quick gasp. “Oh, God, it’s you, Camelia. What is it, what’s wrong? . . . Is it . . . ?”
He finished her thought for her. “Ed’s still the same. It’s you I’m worried about. Nobody has heard from you in twenty-four hours.”
Twenty-four hours. . . . She had been away from Ed all that time. Anything might have happened . . . anything. But it hadn’t. She put a hand to her fast-beating heart, willing it to calm down.
“I’ve been calling you for