Still conscious, Caleb moaned and tried to speak, but he wasn’t able to form the words.
In panic, Trevor and Marie had called for an ambulance and then had sat in silent prayer until it arrived. Trevor wasn’t sure he could handle losing his father now. He wasn’t ready for this, he thought sickly. Not by a long shot.
JAMIE HEARD the news about Caleb McBride the way one usually heard things in Honoria—through the grapevine. Her friend Susan called her Wednesday evening. “I wasn’t sure you would be home,” she said. “I thought you might be with Trevor.”
Having spent the day painting and fretting about why Trevor hadn’t called, Jamie frowned. “No. He and I usually go out on Friday evenings.”
“I didn’t think you were on a date, obviously,” Susan chided. “Not with his father in the hospital.”
“In the hospital?” Jamie repeated weakly.
“You didn’t—surely you’ve heard that Caleb collapsed at work this morning? Word is that he had a heart attack.”
“No. I hadn’t heard.” The admission was painful to make. She couldn’t imagine why Trevor hadn’t called her. Wouldn’t he have known she’d want to be there with him? “Is he—is Mr. McBride—” She couldn’t get the words out.
“I’ve heard he’s going to be fine,” Susan reassured her quickly. “If it was a heart attack, apparently it was a mild one. Everyone’s talking about it, and they all seem confident that he’s going to pull through.”
“What a relief. He’s such a good man. His family would be devastated to lose him.” Trevor would be devastated, she added silently.
Why hadn’t he called?
“Thanks for letting me know, Susan,” she added when the silence at the other end of the line stretched too long.
“Sure. I just assumed you already—well, anyway, everything’s going to be okay, so there’s really no reason to worry about it.”
Susan, of course, had assumed Jamie would know that her lover’s father was in the hospital. It was a reasonable assumption. Jamie found the fact that Trevor hadn’t let her know very difficult to understand, herself.
He’d hurt her before, but cutting her out this time was too much. It was time she found out once and for all just what Trevor wanted from her. And then she would have to decide if what he wanted was enough.
TREVOR WAS RELIEVED when the children were finally tucked into bed and sleeping Thursday night. Abbie had resisted bedtime a little more than usual, which had kept Sam awake, but they’d finally dropped off. Trevor retreated to the living room, turning on the evening news at a low volume. He thought about pouring himself a drink, but he resisted. It had been almost a week since he’d had a drink—he’d decided he was getting a bit too accustomed to those bourbons-in-the-dark.
He never glanced at the telephone, but he was very aware of it sitting nearby in what seemed oddly like silent reproach. His answering machine was on, not that he had returned any calls lately. He hadn’t even responded to the two messages Jamie had left him since he’d seen her at the ice-cream parlor Tuesday.
He knew he should talk to her. It was both cowardly and rude to continue to avoid her this way, especially since she was probably expecting to see him tomorrow night, as they had for the past five Friday evenings. He simply hadn’t been able to decide what to say to her.
He still wanted her so badly he ached. So badly he felt as if his own heart was being squeezed in his chest. He didn’t like to admit that it was fear keeping him away from her—but he knew that it was.
When the phone rang, he grimaced. He had no doubt who was calling. He didn’t move, but muted the TV so he could hear her message.
Apparently, Jamie had run out of patience. “Pick up the phone, Trev, or I’m coming over there right now to see if you’re dead in the bathtub.”
She would, too. After only a momentary hesitation, he sighed and lifted the receiver, telling himself to stop being a damn coward. “I’m not dead.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She sounded satisfied that she’d finally reached him.
“I, uh, just got the kids in bed. Abbie was wound up this evening.”
“Are the children all right?”
“Yes, they’re fine.”
“I heard from the usual sources that your father has been ill. In fact, some people seem to think he had a heart attack yesterday morning. I was shocked to hear it, of course—although the person who told me assumed I had already heard.” Her voice was as brittle as glass, and he knew she was hurt that he hadn’t been the one to tell her.
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” he clarified quickly. “He had some chest pains and we took him to the hospital, but he was told it was just an ‘episode,’ whatever that means. He’s being put on a restricted diet and an exercise program, and he’s going to be closely monitored for the next few months, but he seems to be feeling pretty well today.”
“And that happened yesterday morning?”
“Yes. We were at the office.” Trevor still hadn’t fully recovered from the terror.