Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(74)

Hutch had met her at the clinic, after a meeting with his attorney. He’d refused to discuss the case, telling her he was leaving the whole mess to the professionals paid to deal with it. They’d rented a paddle boat on Lake Washington before eating at a hole-in-the-wall f ish-and-chip place he’d gone to as a kid. It’d been a lazy summer’s night, interspersed with laughter and a growing attraction. They’d sat under an umbrella table and made excuses to loiter in the early-evening sun. When Hutch dropped her off after dinner, neither had wanted the evening to end. He’d gladly accepted her invitation for coffee, and they’d sat and talked for nearly an hour. But it was dark now, and they both had to work in the morning. Phoebe knew he got to the off ice by six, except for the days he visited the gym f irst. The phone rang and Phoebe hurried to answer it, expecting to f ind it was Hutch. It would be just like him to call as soon as he was in the car. He often did that to say good-night a f inal time or discuss the next day’s plans…or whisper that he missed her. Instead, Caller ID showed that it was Clark. Phoebe backed away from the phone. She didn’t want to speak to him, didn’t want anything to do with him. Her instinct was to let him leave a message. She did, and waited until her phone went to voice mail.

Unable to stop herself, she stood close to the phone and listened as he spoke.

“Phoebe, it’s Clark.” He sounded depressed. “I know you’re there. I also know you don’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t contact you if this wasn’t important. Please call me back. You’re at the condo, I know you are.” He hesitated, then added in a broken voice, “Please.”

Reluctantly Phoebe reached for the phone, but her hand hovered over the receiver. It was a week ago that she’d gone to the hospital to see his father and she wondered if Max had taken a turn for the worse. After all, he’d implied that he didn’t think he’d live much longer.

Her pulse accelerated. Clark’s father was such an extraordinary man. The family would fall apart without him. She grabbed the phone.

Clark answered on the f irst ring. He didn’t greet her; instead he whispered “Thank you” in a fervent voice.

“Is it your father?”

“I—”

“If this isn’t something to do with Max, we have nothing to talk about.” She started to disconnect when she heard him cry out.

“Don’t hang up! There’s no delicate way to say this…but my father’s dying.”

Phoebe gasped. “What happened?”

“He’s got a high fever. They haven’t been able to control it.”

“Oh, Clark.” There was no adequate response to that, no comfort she could offer. A lump formed in her throat.

“He’s caught some sort of infection and that seems to be causing the fever. It’s bad, Phoebe.”

“Oh, no…”

“The doctors called Mother and me to the hospital.”

“Are you there now?”

She heard Clark swallow hard. “Yes. Where else would I be?”

“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what she could do other than listen.

He spoke over her comment. “I was right, wasn’t I? You were home but you didn’t want to speak to me.”

His question came at her more like an accusation, and she had no intention of answering.

“He was there, wasn’t he?” Clark continued in the same aggressive tone. “This new man you’re seeing. You’re only doing it to hurt me, aren’t you?”

“Who I’m seeing is none of your business.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “I wonder if you ever really loved me.”

Phoebe felt dreadful but there was no reason for it. Clark was slinging guilt at her and she needed to step away, stop being his target. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow this conversation to revolve around him when his father might well be dying.

“Is he a good lover?”

“What?” Phoebe took a deep, shuddering breath. “This con versation is over.”

“No, please,” he begged. “Listen, just listen…”

Phoebe didn’t want to hear any more. She considered hanging up, but Clark interrupted.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t have the right to ask you questions like that.”

Phoebe desperately wanted to cut off this call; at the same time, she wanted to learn what she could about Max’s condition. Before she could decide, Clark said, “You can call me any name you like, Phoebe, and I’d probably deserve it, but one thing you have to admit is that I love my dad.”

Phoebe knew that was true. Clark was close to both his parents—although his behavior certainly didn’t resemble that of his father.

“Will you come sit with Mom and me?” he asked, his tone pleading. “The doctors said it would be a miracle if Dad lasts the night.”

When she hesitated, Clark said, “Can’t we put aside our differences for Dad’s sake? Just for tonight?”

“You and Marlene are alone? What about the rest of the family?”

“The crisis appeared to be over. Everyone’s gone—and now this. It’s killing Mom and me.”

Phoebe looked up at the ceiling, still unsure. Then, against her better judgment, she whispered, “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”