A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(31)

At 12:13, Art parked his car in the half-empty lot between Mission Hospital and the medical buildings next door. He passed the spaceship fountain and entered through the glass doors.

This time there was no group in the waiting room. A gray-haired volunteer at the reception desk sent him to the Children's Hospital of Orange County Center, better known as CHOC, on the fifth floor.

He fidgeted with a thread hanging from his jacket cuff on the way up the elevator. He was nervous, and that wasn't like him. He was used to being the one in control of parent meetings. They came to him with their worries, and he dispensed wisdom. But the accident had shaken his confidence.

He wondered now if he'd been looking at the world ass-backwards. Instead of protecting a child in his charge from a bully, he'd suspended him for defending himself. And now that child was in a coma. If he'd been this wrong about Brian, what else was he wrong about?

The small body in the big bed halted him in the doorway. Brian was swaddled in bandages and bed sheets. His face—blue-black with bruises—peeked out like a moth emerging from a chrysalis. Olivia sat on a chair nearby, her chin resting on her chest, breathing softly. Art hated to wake her.

He walked to the bed. He wanted to touch Brian, to place a hand on him and pray, but he couldn't see a way through the tangle of tubes growing from the child like wild vines. Instead, he folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head.

"Art?" A sweet voice interrupted his meditation. Olivia's short hair was disheveled, her eyes sunken, but the smile she wore was bright.

"Hi," he said and returned her smile. "How's he doing today?"

Olivia rose from the chair and motioned for Art to sit. She perched on Brian's bed, reached through the tubes and took her son's pale hand. "He's doing a little better," she said. "The doctor has started backing off the coma drugs, but he hasn't woken up yet."

"That's good news," Art said.

"Yes." She sounded hesitant. "But, I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"What's going to happen when he does? What if he can't speak, or move, or..." her smile shattered, "he doesn't recognize me?" Art reached out his hand. She clutched it. "It's easier this way. With him out. I sing to him—hold his hand. I can pretend he's sleeping."

Art opened his mouth to say, "He'll be okay," but closed it. He didn't know that. No one did.

"You know what's crazy?"

He gave a small shake of his head.

"I actually hope he wakes up cranky. That way I'll know he's himself. If he wakes up cheerful, I don't know what I'll do." She gave a small laugh. "I used to complain all the time to anyone who'd listen. I thought my worst problem in life was that he was such a bear sometimes."

"Maslow's hierarchy of needs," Art said.

Olivia looked at him with a question in her eyes.

"Maslow was psychologist. He came up with this pyramid to graph human needs from basic to more complex. His theory was that a person wouldn't experience the needs at the higher points on the pyramid if the needs in the lower categories weren't met.

“For instance, if you don't have food or shelter, or if there is some circumstance threatening your safety, you're not going to be spending a lot of time worrying about your social status. I think it's pretty accurate."

"How does this apply to me?" she asked.

"Don't be hard on yourself for feeling upset with Brian for being difficult. That's normal parent stuff. You were both safe, fed, sheltered. Your basic needs were met. You were trying to fine tune life. Nothing wrong with that."

"I've been leveled." Her eyes grew watery. "Reduced to life or death. Nothing else is important."

"Exactly." Art squeezed her hand. "So, let me help with some of the other stuff. What can I do?

"Just be a friend."





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


I'm glad I didn't get in bed with Caroline Bartlett, as the expression goes. My father's home was for sale again, so I hadn't needed to slay that dragon after all. More importantly, it would've been a reflection of my taste.

That house... Expensive? Yes. Tacky? Yes. I like to think I have some breeding, at least on my father's side.

I went to see him when I was eighteen. My mother knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who impregnated her. When I was conceived, he was keeping her in a very nice little house and paying all the bills, so she had no need for other friends. When he learned of the pregnancy he abandoned her. Oh, he paid dearly for her silence. Gave her the house and a healthy sum of money to keep her in groceries until she got her figure back. But I never saw a dime of it.

I wanted to go to college. I'd had good grades in high school. Not good enough to get a scholarship, but good. I knew my father was quite wealthy. Since he hadn't contributed to my needs up to this point, I figured he owed me something. A college education seemed like the least he could do.

I drove to Laguna and parked on the street in front of his house. I sat and watched and wondered what to do. What was behind door number one?

After a while, a woman with brown hair I assumed was his wife, pulled out of the driveway in a white Cadillac. I took advantage of the opportunity.

When I rang the bell, my father answered the door himself. It surprised me. I'd assumed he had a maid for that kind of thing, but I guess he fancied himself a liberal, open-minded sort of man.