Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(33)

A breeze rolled in, shooting right up her skirt and making her envy Rehvenge’s fur coat. Leaning out from the side of the clinic, she tried to see down the drive, looking for headlights.

Ten minutes later, she checked her watch again.

And ten minutes after that, she lifted her wrist once more.

She’d been stood up.

It wasn’t a surprise. The date had been so hastily thrown together, and they didn’t really know each other, did they.

As another cold breeze tackled her, she took out her cell phone and texted: Hi, Stephan—sorry to have missed you tonight. Maybe some other time. E.

She put her phone back in her pocket and dematerialized home. Instead of going right in, she burrowed into her cloth coat and paced up and back on the cracked sidewalk that ran down the side of the house to the rear door. As the frigid wind kicked up again, a blast hit her face.

Her eyes stung.

Turning her back to the gust, wisps of her hair feathered forward as if they were trying to flee the chill, and she shivered.

Great. Now when her vision got watery, she didn’t have the excuse of the stiff breeze.

God, was she crying? Over what could just be some misunderstanding? With a guy she barely knew? Why did it matter so much to her?

Ah, but it wasn’t him at all. The problem was her. She hated that she was where she had been when she’d left the house: alone.

Trying to get a grip, literally, she reached out for the handle of the back door, but couldn’t bring herself to go in. The image of that crappy, too-ordered kitchen, and the remembered sound of those creaky stairs going to the cellar, and the dusty, papery smell of her father’s room were as familiar as her reflection in any mirror. Tonight it was all too clear, a brilliant flashlight nailing her in both eyes, a roaring sound in her ears, an overwhelming stench bombarding her nose.

She dropped her arm. The date had been a get-out-of-jail-free card. A raft off the island. A hand reached over the cliff she was hanging off of.

The desperation snapped her into focus like nothing else could. She had no business going out with anyone if that was her attitude. It wasn’t fair to the guy or healthy for her. When Stephan hit her up again, if he did, she was just going to say she was too busy—

“Ehlena? You okay?”

Ehlena jumped back from the door that had evidently just opened wide. “Lusie! Sorry, just…just thinking too much. How’s Father doing?”

“Fine, honestly fine. He’s sleeping again now.”

Lusie stepped out of the house and closed off the escaping heat from the kitchen. After two years, she was an achingly familiar figure, her boho clothes and her long salt-and-pepper hair comforting. As usual, she had her medicine bag in one hand and her big purse hanging off her opposite shoulder. Inside the medicine bag there was a standard-issue blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope, and some low-level medications—all of which Ehlena had seen put to use. Inside the purse there was the New York Times crossword puzzle, some Wrigley’s spearmint gum she liked to chew, a wallet, and the peach lipstick she slipped across her lips on a regular basis. Ehlena knew about the crossword puzzle because Lusie and her dad did them together, the gum because of the wrappers that went into the trash, and the lipstick was self-evident. She was guessing on the wallet.

“How are you?” Lusie waited, her gray eyes clear and focused. “You’re back a little early.”

“He stood me up.”

The way Lusie’s hand landed on Ehlena’s shoulder was what made the female a great nurse: With one touch she conveyed comfort and warmth and empathy, all of which worked to reduce blood pressure and heart rate and agitation.

All of which helped the mind unscramble.

“I’m sorry,” Lusie said.

“Oh, no, it’s better this way. I mean, I’m looking for too much.”

“Really? You sounded pretty levelheaded to me when you told me about it. You were just going for coffee—”

For some reason she spoke the truth: “Nope. I was looking for a way out. Which won’t ever happen, because I will never leave him.” Ehlena shook her head. “Anyway, thank you so much for coming—”

“It doesn’t have to be an either-or situation. Your father and you—”

“I really appreciate your coming early tonight. It was good of you.”

Lusie smiled in the way Catya had earlier in the evening, tightly, sadly. “Okay, I’ll drop it, but I’m right on this. You can have a relationship and still be a good daughter to your father.” Lusie glanced over at the door. “Listen, you’re going to have to watch that sore on his leg. The one he did on that nail? I put a new dressing on, but I’m worried about it. I think it’s getting infected.”

“I will, and thank you.”

After Lusie dematerialized, Ehlena went into the kitchen, locked the door and bolted it, and headed down to the basement.

In his room, her father was asleep in his huge Victorian bed, the massive carved headboard like the framing arch of a tomb. His head was against a stack of white silk pillows, and the bloodred velvet duvet was folded precisely halfway down his chest.

He looked like a king in repose.

When the mental illness had really grabbed hold of him, his hair and beard had gone white, causing Ehlena to worry that the end-of-life changes were going to start in on him. But after fifty years, he still looked the same, his face unwrinkled, his hands strong and steady.