Home Again
She smiled. “You would have done fine.”
He shrugged and looked around again. “I keep thinking I should have luggage … something to show for all the time I’ve been here.”
She placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “You do.”
Behind them, the door opened, and they both turned, expecting to see Sarandon and Allenford for the momentous good-bye.
A middle-aged woman stood in the room, wearing a ragged wool coat and mud-splattered rubber boots. “I’m looking for—” She saw Angel and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my Lord, it’s you….” She looked at Madelaine. “It’s Angel DeMarco.”
Madelaine stood there for a second, then surged forward, gripping the woman’s arm and guiding her outside, slamming the door shut behind her.
A minute later, Madelaine was back, looking grim and angry. “They let her walk past security. Her father’s in 246-E.”
“Shit,” Angel cursed. “We’ve got to get out of here. As soon as that woman gets to a phone, she’s gonna think she’s won the lottery. They’ll pay her and give her her fifteen minutes of fame.”
Madelaine looked at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry—it had to happen.” He grabbed a mask from the bedside table and tied it behind his neck. Before he lifted it to cover his face, he said, “Here’s the story: I was here for an undisclosed amount of time and underwent successful cardiac surgery. I have been discharged and no one knows where I am. Anything beyond that is no comment. Have Allenford call
a press conference as soon as possible. And let’s get me out of here. Now.”
Madelaine nodded. “Let’s go.”
Long before the first reporters showed up, Madelaine had Angel in her car, and they were speeding away from the hospital.
Lina and Angel had taken to each other like ducks to water. She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched them. They were sitting side by side, their heads cocked together, talking animatedly. Lina was saying it was way cool the way they’d hustled Angel out of the hospital. Angel was telling her about some time he’d hidden out in the back of a pickup while his fans stormed a soundstage.
Madelaine maneuvered the car down Magnolia Street and pulled up in front of the first house she’d chosen for him to view.
“What do you think of this one?” she asked, putting the car in park.
Lina and Angel looked out the window, then looked at each other and simultaneously shook their heads.
With a sigh, she shifted back into drive and headed off. It irritated Madelaine that they wouldn’t even look at it, but more than that, it made her feel excluded. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen the houses at random. She’d taken an inordinate amount of time. She’d spoken with several realtors about the best array of houses for rent within ten minutes of the hospital. Then she’d done a quick drive-by of the seven best, and made appointments to see them all today.
They were already on house number four, and Angel had yet to get out of the car. He’d hated the first three on sight.
Finally she pulled up in front of her favorite of the houses she’d chosen.
She killed the engine and cast a quick look at the house. She knew that Angel wouldn’t like it, not Angel of the Las Vegas high-rise condo and the limousines, but she couldn’t resist showing it to him. It was the kind of place that Francis would have loved.
It was a small log cabin with mullioned windows and a big wraparound porch. Built at the turn of the century, it had been a summer house for one of the city’s founding fathers, and the subsequent generations had built other, more modern homes. So it sat on a sweeping Lake Washington waterfront lot, untended and vacant. Most people wouldn’t pay the exorbitant rent the family wanted—for that money they could get first-class construction in Broadmoor.
Huge old maple trees lined the brick walkway that led from the winding asphalt road. Stubborn Shasta daisies grew in random clumps amid the grass.
“Next house,” Madelaine said, waiting a split second for a two-voiced call to move on.
Silence.
She twisted around and looked in the backseat. Angel and Lina were both staring at the house.
“Francis would have loved this house,” Lina said. Opening the door, she got out of the car and began walking up the path.
Madelaine looked at Angel.
“I’ve never imagined myself living in a log cabin,” he said after a minute.
She smiled apologetically. “I know it’s not your style.”