At the Brink Page 9

  Her blue eyes bored into my skull. “Something’s bothering you,” she said. “You’re looking sickly this morning.” She studied me further. “Oh, my God, Lily. Are you pregnant?”

  “No!”

  “Thank God.” Bree exhaled in relief. “You’ll never get rid of Martin if you get pregnant.”

  “Bree!”

  “It’s the truth and you know it.” She donned her apron, adjusting it over her full figure and tying it at the back. “I can’t understand why you’re still with the idiot. But there’s something else. What is it?”

  I shrugged. I couldn’t tell Bree, or anybody else for that matter, what I had done. Thankfully, our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the first customers spearheading the morning rush, which required our full attention for the next few hours.

  I called the nursing home at seven, but no one picked up the phone. After that, I called every twenty minutes. The coffee house went crazy busy between seven and nine, and yet in between lattes, macchiatos, cappuccinos and mochas, I managed to leave six messages, explaining that I’d be in later today to pay the bill. I worried. I was over six months late and they didn’t have any reason not to kick us out.

  After my sleepless night and frantic morning at work, exhausted, worried, and fueled by a stream of pure caffeine, I raced to Doctor Stevens’s office. I barely made it on time. The office was state of the art. The staff seemed friendly. Doctor Stevens was a tall, willowing beauty in her late thirties, a woman who exuded a rare combination of confidence and kindness. She made me feel comfortable right away. She asked many questions, all of which I answered easily, except one.

  “When was the last time you experienced intercourse?”

  “Um...it’s been a while.”

  “Can you be more specific?” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t know, a couple of years, maybe?”

  If she found my answer odd, she didn’t say so. “And everything was fine? You didn’t experience any pain, difficulties or discomfort?”

  “No,” I lied. Sex with Martin had been unpleasant at best, but I wasn’t willing to talk about it.

  Despite all my misgivings, I liked Doctor Stevens. She did a thorough exam, checked the birth control implant under my arm, and ran a battery of standard tests, before she declared me healthy and fit.

  “Please call if you have any questions,” she said in parting. “And Lily?”

  “Yes?”

  She winked as she walked out of the room. “Enjoy.”

  No doctor I’d ever visited had said anything like that to me before.

  I was out of the doctor’s office by noon. A cold wind joined the rain, slicing through me as if my coat was made of toilet paper. The same wind savaged my little umbrella. I pitched the tattered remains in a trash can as I rushed by. I called the nursing home several times from the bus, but I only got through once and the connection was terrible.

  “I’m on my way to pay you,” I shouted into the phone.

  “I’m very sorry,” Mrs. Ambrose, the administrator, said right before the call fell through.

  I was beside myself. I knew they couldn’t just put my mom out on the streets, but the thought that the eviction process had begun had me in tears.

  I ran the last few blocks to the nursing home, oblivious to the soaking rain. Glenview was the only care I’d been able to afford for Mom. It was far from modern or luxurious. The location wasn’t ideal, the facilities were outdated and the building was old, but the staff cared, and it was much better than the alternatives. It had taken us almost a year on the waiting list to get in. I couldn’t let them kick us out.

  By the time I bolted through the reception room, I was fueled by a caffeine rage and a righteous sense of social justice. Staff and visitors got out of my way as I marched down the hall. My sodden shoes squished, leaving a watery trail on the worn carpet.

  “How dare you?” I said to Mrs. Ambrose, who came out of her office as soon as she heard me raising hell at the desk. “How can you evict my mom when we have no other place to go?”

  “Allow me to explain,” she said, wringing her hands. “We moved your mother to—”

  “You did what?” I roared like a tiger. “You can’t do that without my authorization!”

  “You see, we were under the impression you’d given consent.”

  “I’ve done no such thing. I left messages. I have this.” I slapped the American Express on the counter. “I want you to put my mom back in her room. Right now.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Ambrose said. “I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes, you can.” I banged my fist on the desk. “You people can’t just kick us out in the streets for no reason.”

  “We didn’t—”

  “Lily?” The voice came from behind me, familiar and yet totally misplaced. “What are you doing?”

  I whirled around to see Josh Lane, leaning on the whangee handle of a classic British umbrella. He looked like an alien from a different world standing there at the nursing home, wearing a dark suit beneath his elegant coat, spared by the rain as if untouchable by the elements.

  “Christ, Lily.” He stared alternatively at me and at the puddle of water collecting at my feet. “What the hell happened to you?”

  The world unhinged about me. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend why he was at the nursing home. Had he come to find me? If he had, he hadn’t wasted any time. I shuddered. The last of my strength wavered under those implacable eyes, but I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine.

  “Rain happened to me,” I spat out. “And life, too, but that’s beside the point. I’m afraid I can’t talk to you right now. I’m busy.”

  “Busy?” He glared at me as if I’d somehow insulted him. “Look at you.” He pried me away from the desk. “Mrs. Ambrose, could you please get us some towels?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Ambrose rushed to do Josh’s bidding.

  It didn’t escape me that everyone in the nursing home was ogling Josh and glaring at me as if I were a demon.

  Josh dragged me into a small alcove off the reception room. “You need to listen to me.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I have to talk to Mrs. Ambrose.”

  “Sit down,” he said curtly. “I’ve already done that.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already talked to Mrs. Ambrose and settled your mother’s account.”

  Just then, Mrs. Ambrose bustled in carrying a pile of towels.

  “Is that true?” I asked her.

  Mrs. Ambrose gazed adoringly at Josh. “A wire transfer hit our account in the early morning hours for all outstanding charges, including late fees and other penalties. And just now, under Mr. Lane’s personal supervision, your mother was transferred to Parkview, which as you know, provides our highest level of care. Mr. Lane produced paperwork signed by your husband authorizing the move and, frankly, I didn’t think you’d object.”

  My caffeine-propelled boost and my knees gave out at the same time. I plopped down on the chair. Parkview would have been my first choice for Mom, if I had oodles of money and some influential friends to help me get around the long waiting list.

  “Do you believe me now?” Josh handed me a towel. “Or are you still too busy to talk to me? Thank you, Mrs. Ambrose. That will be all for the moment.”

  He took a knee before me and, after peeling off my soggy shoes and drenched socks, wrapped my shriveled feet in a towel. I was suddenly too cold to think and too tired to function. The sight of him on the floor and me on the chair was somehow wrong. This is what it must have looked like when Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.

  “Really, Lily, don’t you own a better jacket?” He helped me out of my soaked coat. “You’ve got to stop doing stuff like this. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

 
“I can’t believe you did this.” I wiped my face and discovered that my admittedly inexpensive mascara was anything but waterproof. “Why?”

  “We made an agreement,” he said, drying my hair with such fervor that my scalp burned. “You did your part and now I’m doing mine.”

  For once, I was speechless. I hadn’t realized that Josh Lane would act this quickly. He was as fast and nimble as the Roadrunner, whereas I felt as clumsy as Wile E. Coyote. I couldn’t believe his level of efficiency. My mom was at Parkview. Parkview! I felt as if I could breathe again. Instead, I sneezed.

  “Jesus Christ.” Josh handed me an immaculate handkerchief. “I swear, if you get sick, I’m going to spank you for being so careless.”

  The expression on my face must have been telling, because he shook his head. “It’s just an expression, Lily, one of frustration. Let’s go.” He scooped me out of the chair and into his arms with very little effort. “I’m afraid that short of tossing you into an industrial size dryer, we’re not going to make much more progress here.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I can walk. Put me down!”

  “You’re barefoot,” he said. “These floors must be crawling with germs.”

  “Wait,” I said. “My shoes!”

  “They’re done,” he said, tramping across the reception room, oblivious to the bewildered staff and visitors.

  “I can save them,” I said. “I’ve done it before.”

  “Too many times, apparently.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Lily,” he said in his obdurate tone. “We’re out of here.”

  With me trapped in his arms, Josh stepped through the doors and out into the curb, where his driver opened the door to the sleek Audi. I realized that I’d been in this car on Wednesday night, but it looked completely new to my dazzled eyes.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as Josh deposited me on the back seat.

  “You’ll see.” He slammed the door shut.

  By the time he swaggered around and got into the car, he was on his cell, giving instructions. He motioned for the driver to go, reached into a compartment and pulled out a fine Scottish tartan. Balancing the phone on his shoulder, he shook out the blanket and wrapped it around me.

  The warmth in the car began to defrost me. The blanket around my shoulders helped. It was all very surreal, the heated seats, the plush leather and polished paneling; the people toiling through the relentless rain outside the tinted windows; Josh Lane in all his glory, spewing facts and figures into his cell while I sat beside him, ignorant, wet and barefooted.

  But my mom was at Parkview. Parkview!

  I took out my new cell and typed a quick email to Mrs. Ambrose, apologizing for my rash behavior. I added a signed directive to ensure that Martin didn’t have authority over my mom’s affairs anymore, just as I’d done with my bank account months ago. Then I waited until Josh hung up from his call.

  “I appreciate what you did for Mom.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t believe I’d follow through with our agreement?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “I’m a man of my word, Lily.” He flipped open his tablet and brought up his email, the Wall Street Journal and some dizzying number-streaming application all at once.

  I hadn’t doubted Josh before. In fact, for reasons that eluded me, I’d believed everything he’d said from the offset, no matter how outlandish or difficult it was to hear. I just hadn’t understood how fast he would act on his promises and how thorough he’d be. For good or bad, I was used to taking care of myself. I wasn’t used to decisive action or astonishing efficiency, and I certainly wasn’t used to anyone else taking action on my behalf.

  “What you did was very nice,” I said. “But don’t you think you should have asked me before you did it?”

  He stared at me. “Ask you?”

  “This is ultimately my responsibility and therefore my decision.”

  “Let’s be clear,” he said. “When you accepted our agreement, you gave me total jurisdiction over all aspects of your life, which also means I’m willing to assume your responsibilities, financial and otherwise. Understood?”

  “Yes, well, but maybe you should’ve at least asked for my opinion. I’ve been dealing with this problem for over three years.”

  “Had you been able to find a better solution before now, you would’ve done so. Right? I had the capability, the resources and the prerogative to make the better decision and I did.”

  “But she’s my mom,” I said.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Lily, you’re going in circles here. You agree that Parkview is the best possible place for your mother. You also agreed to let me make these decisions. Just because you love a person doesn’t mean you know best. Emotional involvement is a liability when making rational choices.”

  I spoke to the businessman now. “I’m capable of making good decisions too.”

  “An irrelevant fact to this discussion.”

  “At the very least, you should have told me what you were about to do. You could’ve saved me some worry, not to mention the long trek across town.”

  “You should have known better.”

  He was a piece of work. “Do you ever admit when you’re wrong?”

  “But I’m not wrong.”

  “You’re acting like a jerk.”

  “Watch it,” he said “You don’t want to have a sudden meeting with my temper.”

  I was about to tell him that I wasn’t afraid of his temper meeting mine when the Audi swerved to avoid a swarming mob, screaming obscenities, pounding on the hood and holding up signs. The skilled driver maneuvered around them, but I caught a glimpse of furious faces. With a violent thump, several signs smacked against my window.

  Murderer, one of the signs said in big capital letters, and God laughs when soldiers die. Thank God for IEDs, another sign said. God hates fags, Jews, soldiers and you, Josh Lane.

  I recoiled in horror. A huge stone crashed against the door. In the next instant, I lay splayed on the floor with my cheek pressed against the mat.

  “Stay down.”

  Josh crouched over me, shielding me from the vicious crowd. His arms extended at an angle, tracking the threat outside. My heart stopped. He held a gun.

  “Control, this is Amman,” I heard the driver say. “We’ve got hostile contact. Over.”

  With a smart turn and the hum of the accelerator, our driver dodged the assailants. I caught a glimpse of the signs at the exit ramp and as we gained speed and drove onto the highway.

  “Roger that,” a voice came from a radio somewhere. “On the way.”

  Above me, I could see Josh’s face set into a blank expression as he scanned the road. I tried to get up, but he kept me down.

  “Clear,” Josh said. “You?”

  “Clear,” Amman said from the front.

  “You can get up now,” Josh said, helping me up.

  By the time I sat back on my seat, the mob was far behind us, the gun had disappeared and Josh was in his seat, scrolling through his tablet as if nothing had happened. I looked at the driver’s face, reflected in the rear view mirror. His attention focused on the road. If there was a radio aboard the car, I couldn’t see it.

  “What just happened?” I rubbed my cheek where the mat had left an imprint.

  “Stand by.” Josh answered his phone. “Lane here. Yep. Yep. Good.” A pause. “You can try, but you said they’re not prosecuting freedom of speech related cases.” Another pause. “Go the traffic violation route. They could’ve caused an accident. Yep. Thanks.”

  “What was that all about?” I said as he hung up.

  “Nothing to worry about.” He was as cool as an ice cube and not inclined to answer any of my questions.

  “Really?” I sa
id. “Is that all you have to say? I was here in the car with you. I saw what happened. Those hateful people... You had a gun, a mean looking one. Amman had a gun.” I gestured to the driver. “Who are those thugs? What did they want?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?” Josh said.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you answer too few of them?”

  In the rear view mirror, the driver checked me out.

  “They’re just a bunch of nutjobs, okay?” Josh said. “The situation is under control.”

  “Does this happen to you often?” I said. “Do those people come after you all the time?”

  “I’m not their only target, if that’s what you mean.”

  But considering Josh Lane’s wealth and prominence, he would be one of their most notable ones.

  “Do you always carry a gun?” I said. “And Amman too?”

  “Standard security procedures.”

  I ran my fingers over the window glass. “Bulletproof?”

  “A sensible precaution.”

  “Wow.” My heart still raced in my chest.

  “Don’t worry.” He gave me a cursory little pat on the lap. “You’re safe.”

  “I wasn’t worried about me,” I said. “You, on the other hand, you’ve got a lot to worry about. It’s got to be hard, living like this.”

  This time, when Amman glanced at me in the rearview mirror, he appraised me differently—with a little more interest, maybe?

  “People like that don’t scare me,” Josh said, eyes on his tablet. “They’re loud, clumsy fanatics. It’s the ones you don’t see coming you have to worry about.”

  Geesh. There were others?

  My thoughts came to a screeching halt when the car turned into the airport exit.

  “Um, Josh?” I said. “Why are we at the airport?”

  He looked up from his tablet and gave me one of his looks. “Why do you think?”

  My belly flipped over like a slinky. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “Why would we come to the airport otherwise?”