A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(23)

"Art." A voice stopped his descent down the school steps. He turned to see Lorelei Tanaka standing just outside the doors. Her fall of black hair, usually shining and smooth, blew in thick strands around her face.

He smiled. "What's up?"

"Just wondering how things are going with Brian McKibben. If you've heard anything. I was going to call his mother. Let her know I'm here when he's ready."

As school counselor, Lorelei would be responsible for helping Brian readjust to classes, rearrange his schedule, or find a tutor if necessary.

Art walked up the stairs to stand next to her. Several high school students congregated on the lower steps, and he didn't want his conversation translated into tweets and texts. "That's nice of you, but I think it's premature. He's in a coma."

"God. That's terrible. A lot of the kids in his class have come to my office to talk it out. They're so upset." Her pretty face looked pained.

"It's funny how different people react. Emily won't talk about it. After the initial tears, it was as if it never happened. I'm a little concerned."

"I wouldn't worry too much. We all process in our own way. She'll talk about it when she's ready." She gave him an encouraging smile.

"You actually caught me on my way to the hospital. I planned to visit after work yesterday, but Brian was rushed into an emergency surgery."

"Oh, no. What happened?"

"I don't know the details. Hemorrhage or something. I guess I'll find out."

"Olivia must be devastated," Lorelei said.

An image of Olivia Richards, doubled over with sobs, formed in his mind. He shoved it away. It was too painful to contemplate. "I'll tell her you asked about Brian."

"I hope they throw the book at the driver. People are so irresponsible. They race through neighborhoods and expect pets and kids to jump out of their way," Lorelei said, her voice indignant.

"It was hit and run. Only one witness, but she didn't see much. Brian came around a corner on his skateboard and shot out in front of a pickup. The police think the person may have been drinking or on probation. That's why he, or she, didn't stop."

"How could someone do that?" Anger made her dark eyes darker.

"It's beyond me," Art said.

Lorelei paused for a moment, then said, "I hope you're not being too hard on yourself."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I am, in part, responsible for this. I shouldn't have suspended him. It was a mistake."

"You did it for his own good. Donald Pratt would never have agreed to extend his scholarship if there hadn't been consequences."

"In part. But I also did it to protect my chances of keeping this job."

"I don't believe that. You're the most selfless man I know." She put a warm hand on his arm.

The hot, dry air felt suddenly claustrophobic. Art became aware of his shirt clinging to his back, the bead of sweat trailing down his spine. Lorelei was sensitive and lovely, and he'd known for a long time she had feelings for him. Maybe it was her size—she was tiny, smaller than most of the high school students—that made him dismiss the signals as if they were nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. But Lorelei was no schoolgirl. She was a brilliant woman in her thirties with a Masters in Psychology.

He'd allowed a friendship to develop between them because it was convenient. She stepped in where Gwen wouldn't. He wondered now when the relationship had crossed the invisible boundary line from coworker to something more and why he'd never noticed it before. Gwen would say this was another sign the job had become too important.

"You don't know me as well as you think." He removed her hand from his arm, gave it a squeeze, and trotted down the steps.

#

Ahead lay the tremendous, concrete disk that always reminded Art of an alien spacecraft out of a 1950's sci-fi movie. The fountain's cheerful sound used to bubble across the parking lot. Because of the California drought of recent years, it was now quiet and dusty. The winds whipped past him blowing bits of dead leaves into its empty waterspouts.

The lobby of Mission Hospital was cool and hushed. Art asked for Brian's room number at the information desk. Before it was given, he heard a familiar voice. He turned to see Brian's mother, Olivia Richards. She sat in a glassed-in waiting room off the lobby with a small crowd surrounding her. Apparently, the family had gathered after hearing about last night's surgery.

She was a pretty woman even with eyes red from crying. A man with brown hair the same color as Brian's—only his was raked into angry spikes—stood stiffly beside her. Art thought he must be her ex-husband, Davy McKibben. His eyes were swollen also, but it appeared to be more from drink than tears. Art had heard this was his solution to most of life's difficulties, hence the divorce.

Art had no idea how he'd be received. He was, after all, the one who'd suspended Brian. If Brian had been safely tucked away in his classroom on last Friday afternoon, he wouldn't have ended up under the wheels of a pickup truck.

"Olivia," he said when he got close.

Their eyes met. Tears sprang into her eyes. Art stood, still, waiting for an accusation. Several moments passed, then in a swift movement, she left the couch and stood before him.

"Art." She took both his hands in hers. "Thank you for coming. It means so much to me."