Cast a Pale Shadow(42)

Her long discussion with Fitapaldi had caused her to miss Bryant Edmonds before he went on duty. So now she would have to wait until Dr. Cummings arrived for his rounds to find out if the improvement she saw was more than wishful thinking. She did not know if she could will her exhausted body to stay awake that long. She scooted her chair a bit closer and lowered the rail. She lay her cheek on Nicholas' hand and dozed.

"You should be at home in bed. You won't help him by making yourself ill." Bryant Edmonds' tone was dryly efficient, a prescription delivered. "He's out of danger now. The chart looks good. I could drive you home if you want. I'm on my way out."

Trissa raised her head and rubbed her eyes. "Dr. Edmonds. It's so late. I thought you'd already left. Thank you for the good news and the offer, but I want to be here when he wakes."

"I figured, so I brought you this." He held out a couple of danish rolls he had hidden behind his back. "They'll be in with coffee and juice in just a minute. I have a friend in the kitchen."

She smiled and took a peach-filled roll. "I am hungry. Thank you."

"May I join you?"

"Yes, if you like."

He settled in a chair near the window. She patted Nicholas' hand then moved her chair back so she could talk quietly with Bryant. He spoke first. "I wondered about this Dr. Fitapaldi you talked to last night."

Trissa shrugged. She and Fitapaldi had worked out a story. It did not include informing everyone about Nicholas' alarming background. "He's an old friend. He knew Nicholas in Michigan years ago. He was in town and came to visit."

"Yet I see his name on the chart. He received permission to consult on the case." Bryant picked four raisins out of his cinnamon danish and set them on the windowsill. After inspecting the roll closely, he took a bite out if it.

Trissa watched him repeat the process for his second bite before she responded to his comment. "Is that unusual? I told you, he's an old friend."

He looked up from his roll and studied her over the rim of his glasses. "He's a psychiatrist, Trissa."

"I know that," she answered without emotion.

He frowned and brushed cinnamon sugar off his chin. "Did the police catch who did this to him yet?"

"No."

"Do you know?"

"I have my suspicions."

She was amused to see his perplexity turning to exasperation as he failed to fluster her with his questions. "What kind of man is this, Trissa? Why has he come in here twice in a month's time beaten and battered, this time to near death? Where did all his scars come from? The man is even missing two toes, for Christ's sake!"

She glanced back at Nicholas sleeping so peacefully at the moment, and she smiled fondly at him, knowing he would excuse her next understatement. "He's had a hard life."

"I've worked two years in the ER and rarely saw anybody as banged up as he is. Anybody that survived, that is."

"Dr. Fitapaldi said he was a survivor."

As many as twelve raisins stood at parade rest on the windowsill by now. Bryant added three more to the display. "And this is the guy you want to pretend to be married to?"

"I don't pretend."

"Then I'd advise you to stay out of the way of shrapnel and flak. Sometimes it's the innocent bystander who is hurt worst of all."

"That won't happen to me. Nicholas is teaching me how to be a survivor, too."

"Dr. Edmonds?" an orderly stuck his head in to door to inquire.

"Yes."

"The kitchen sent up juice and coffee for you. Do you want it in here?"

"Yes, bring it in." He watched as Trissa wrinkled her nose at the steaming cup offered her. "Too strong?"

"No, I like it half cream is all. They never leave enough room in the cup."

Bryant took a deep gulp from his own cup and refilled it with some from Trissa's cup. "There, will that do?"

"Yes, that will help."

"There are other kinds of help I could offer," he said as their fingertips touched briefly in the exchange of cups.

"Help for Nicholas?"

"Help for you."

She smiled blandly. "I appreciate the help you've given already. The daily reports. The sweet rolls."

"That's not what I meant," he growled.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. "I have to get home now. It's been a rough night. Good luck. To both of you."

"Bye, Bryant."

It was the first time she'd called him that, she realized. It was a slip. "May I speak to you out in the hall for just a second?" he asked. She set down her cup and followed him. Before she had a chance to suspect what he was up to, he cupped his long fingers around her chin and kissed her, full and wet, on the lips. "Bye, Trissa."

Keeping her face a flat mask, she wiped his kiss off with the back of her hand. "Oh, before you go," she saw him square his shoulders hopefully at the soft sweetness in her voice. "Should I save your raisins for later, Dr. Edmonds?"

Like an exasperated bear chased out of a Yellowstone picnic area, he grunted and lumbered away.



*****



In his dreams, he held her and loved her as if the shadows of her past were long forgotten. Cole jolted awake. In his dreams--

But these were not his dreams...dancing in the facets of an emerald, making love to the rhythm of pattering water and flickering candles... He squeezed his eyes tight until the pulsing colors on his eyelids blocked the memory of the dream. When he opened them again, she was there, leaning over him, smiling.

"Cole? Are you feeling better?"

"Hmmm? Yes... uh..."

"Trissa," she whispered. "My name is Trissa..."

"I know. I just...The pain made me--"

"Brewer."

"Brewer?"

"Mrs. Nicholas Brewer."

"Ohhh," he groaned and closed his eyes again. Nicholas had done it this time. This was not an entanglement that was as easily unraveled as a job he didn't know how to do or a key to a car he couldn't find. A wife. What would he do about a wife?

"Cole?"

She called him Cole. It confused him to hear his name from her lips. Nicholas. Nicky. Nick. Those were the names she might know him by. "Why do you call me that?"

"It's all right. I know."

"You know what?"

"Everything. Fitapaldi told me."

He laughed, a dry, mirthless hack. "No one knows everything. Not Fitapaldi. Not even me." He would have turned away from her then but the cervical collar restricted him. He shut his eyes to her but felt her warmth as she drew closer and placed a light kiss on his forehead.

"Don't do that," he said, touching the back of his hand to the searing brand of her lips on his brow. "I don't like it."

"But I do, Cole."

"Nevertheless, we are strangers."

"Yes, I guess we are." She backed away from him. He ignored the grief in her eyes. He couldn't help that. She could not have Nicholas back. How could he be sorry for that and survive?

"Cole, I--"

"For the sake of appearances, it would be best if you called me by the other name."

"Appear... appearances?" she stammered, biting her lip and pressing the edge of her finger to the corner of each eye. "Yes. Yes, I understand. For appearances." The word itself seemed to give her pain. She tried to nod it away. He heard the catch in her throat when she spoke again. "Nicholas, I'm sorry my father hurt you so. You shouldn't have gone. If I had known what you were planning--"

"Don't cry," he said brusquely. "I don't remember any of that. Sometimes there is a benefit in forgetfulness."

"But the pain," her fingers stretched out to touch him. He warned her off with his frown.

"The pain is nothing. It's more reliable than breathing." Seeing the puzzlement on her face, he added, "To let you know you're alive."

An aide came in bearing the dinner tray, his first real meal since Friday.

"Will you need help with this?"

"I'll help him, thank you." The girl who was his wife lifted the metal lids revealing a cream soup, mashed potatoes, something that might be stewed chicken. A study in off-white. He saw a fleeting tautness in her jaw as she grimaced at the food then turned to him and boldly lied. "Looks delicious. I'll bet you're hungry."

"And I'll bet I still am afterwards. Are there any utensils? A straw?"

"A straw?"

"Yeah, why dirty the flatware for this? Anyway, I may have need of the knife later. To slit my wrists."