One More for Christmas(22)

She didn’t want their gratitude, but she would have settled for respect or at least some acknowledgment that everything she’d done, everything she’d taught them, had been for their own good.

Still, she knew she needed to keep that thought to herself if she wanted to heal the relationship or Samantha would simply walk out, the way she’d walked out five years previously. Her daughters didn’t seem to realize that she was hurt, too.

Samantha looked at the nurse. “How serious is it? Can I talk to the doctor?”

“He’s dealing with an emergency right now, but he should be back within an hour. The scan showed no bleeding or fractures. That’s good news. She doesn’t appear to have memory loss. She’s a little irritable, but that’s normal after a head injury.”

Gayle thought she heard Samantha say and entirely normal for my mother, but she couldn’t be sure.

The nurse smiled. “I’m sure you’d like five minutes alone with her.”

Samantha looked uncomfortable. “Oh no, it’s fine—I can—”

“It’s no problem. I’ll be right outside. Press the call button if you need anything.” The nurse walked out before Samantha could speak or stop her.

Gayle, who had been wishing the woman gone all afternoon, now wanted her to stay. Without the presence of a third person, the focus narrowed. It was just the two of them.

Samantha undid the buttons on her coat. Presumably she was feeling the tension, too. So many memories and unspoken words.

Underneath the coat she was wearing wide-legged pants and a turtleneck that showed off her long neck and good bone structure. Both were white.

White? In Manhattan? Gayle shuddered.

It was an outfit she wouldn’t have worn in a million years, but she had to admit that with her flawless makeup and discreet jewelry, Samantha radiated success and confidence. If it hadn’t been for the coat—Red? Had she taught her nothing? It should have been black. Black worked for every situation—Gayle would have felt gratified, although to say so would in all likelihood send Samantha straight out the door after the nurse.

“Tell me about your job, Samantha.” That was a neutral topic, wasn’t it? “My assistant said you’re the CEO of your own company. Congratulations. You should have told me.”

“Why? It’s not important.”

Not important? It was everything. At Samantha’s age Gayle had been clawing and fighting for every morsel of success that came her way. She’d woven herself a security blanket, layer by layer. Blood, sweat, tears. It was a whole new take on patchwork.

“You’ve worked hard to be where you are. You should be proud of that. Never apologize for success.” Suddenly she felt more like her old self. “You should own—”

“Please—can we talk about something other than my job?” Samantha appeared to be clenching her teeth. “What happened?”

“To me? A stupid accident.” And just like that Gayle shrank back into the role of patient.

“Why were you standing on that chair?”

“You saw that?”

Samantha eased off her gloves. “It was on a news report.”

“That damn camera crew. I’d just finished a live interview when it happened. I hope this doesn’t damage my reputation.”

Samantha dropped her purse onto the chair and shot her a look of naked incredulity. “You’re in the hospital with a head injury, bruised ribs and a twisted ankle and you’re worrying about your reputation?”

“These things matter.”

“To you.” Samantha draped her coat over the back of the chair, shifted her purse out of the way and sat. She didn’t relax. Instead she perched on the edge, one foot forward as if she was ready to run if the need arose. “Does it hurt?”

“Knowing my reputation may be damaged? Obviously, it’s unsettling, and I—”

“Your head. I was asking about your head.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose it does hurt. And my ribs.” Now that she thought about it, every single part of her body hurt, but that probably wasn’t surprising given the way she’d fallen. She’d tried to shut the pain out, the way she always shut out bad things. Throughout her life, she’d made a point of moving forward, dragging herself limb by limb if necessary. Pain wasn’t new to her.

“Have you had painkillers? I could ask the staff—”

“No.” If she mentioned it to the staff, they’d never discharge her. “Thank you, but I think they probably gave me something.”

The conversation trailed off.

Samantha stared at her hands.

Gayle hunted for something to say that wasn’t going to be taken the wrong way. “Did you drive?”

“Flew.”

“Oh.” Had conversation always been this difficult? It was a wonder they’d managed to say enough for a falling-out. “Airport a nightmare?”

“Not too bad, considering the time of year.”

Gayle frowned. “Time of year?”

“Christmas.” Samantha looked at her. “It’s Christmas.”

Gayle stopped herself asking so what? “Not for ages.”

Samantha opened her mouth and closed it again. “In a little over three weeks. But I know you don’t love Christmas.”