After the Loving. Gwynne Forster

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      “Oh, dear,” she said. “I had planned to drive Alexis’s car to Baltimore today. I need to take care of some business.”

      “The roads will be open by ten o’clock, but most businesses will probably be closed. If it can wait until tomorrow, you can drive me to Baltimore, and I’ll get a train there to Philadelphia.”

      Twenty minutes later, he had reason to be thankful that he was at home. “Aunt Velma! Aunt Velma!” he heard Tara screaming, obviously on her way up the stairs.

      He bolted from the room and met her as she reached the landing, both hands on her belly. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

      “My tummy. My tummy. I thought it was candy, and I ate it.”

      He grabbed her and ran as fast as he could to Alexis’s rooms. “What? Show me.”

      She pointed to the remainder of a substance that he supposed Alexis used either in her sculpting or painting. He tried to force Tara to give up the substance, but she couldn’t, and when her eyes widened, he knew that her stomach pains had intensified. He went to a closet.

      “Get your coat,” he told her.

      She pulled one off a hanger, and he sped down the hall still carrying her in his arms. “Velma!” he called. “Get your coat and let’s go.”

      He ran into the kitchen. “Henry, Tara swallowed something toxic, and I’m taking her to the hospital in Frederick this minute.”

      He pulled out his cellular phone and punched in Velma’s number. “Get ready to come with me right now,” he said, when she answered. “Tara swallowed something, and we have to take her to the hospital.”

      Minutes later he put Velma, Tara, blankets, and his first-aid kit in the backseat of his Mercedes and headed for Frederick. “How do you feel, Tara?” he asked the child, more worried that he would let either of them know.

      “My tummy hurts, Mr. Russ.”

      “I know, sweetheart,” he said, “and that’s why we’re taking you to the doctor.”

      “Did I do bad, Mr. Russ?”

      “No, you did not. You made a mistake.”

      “Do you think she has a fever?” he asked Velma.

      “Her forehead is cool, so I don’t think so.”

      “Last time I was in Frederick Hospital, I went there to see my uncle. One of the shocks of my life. Someday, if you’re interested, I’ll tell you about it.”

      “If it was important enough to shock you, of course I’m interested.”

      Her words sank in, even though he didn’t want them to impress him. He drove several miles without speaking, but at last he was compelled to respond. “I wish I could see inside of your head, know how your thoughts form and why they seem almost always to fall so nicely on my ears.”

      “I try to tell the truth. I am not interested in being clever or witty, though some people say I am. I just try to be myself.”

      He wished he’d been looking at her when she said that. “Including the other night when you blew kisses to your fans in that restaurant? It will be a long time before I let you forget that.”

      “I told you that I’m a prankster. That came as natural to me as breathing.”

      “How’s she doing? Don’t let her go to sleep.”

      “Right. And that’s what she’s trying to do.”

      “Talk to her. Anything to keep her awake. We should be there in about ten minutes, providing a highway patrolman doesn’t catch us.”

      At last, he parked in front of the hospital, jumped out and took Tara from Velma’s arms. “If you pray, this would be a good time,” he told Velma, slammed the car door shut and raced into the emergency room.

      A nurse took Tara from him, but although he knew he had to give the child up for care, a heaviness formed in his chest when he handed her over. “She swallowed some material that her mother uses either for painting or for sculpting, and she complained of terrible stomach pains.”

      “Thanks. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her.”

      “Can we go with you?” he asked the nurse.

      She shook her head. “Sit here. I’ll let you know how she is.”

      Velma’s hand clutched his wrist. “Should we put the car in the parking lot?”

      “Yeah. I guess so.” But leaving the waiting room was like deserting Tara, and he couldn’t do that. As if she understood his feelings and divined his thoughts, she held out her hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll move the car.”

      He reached into his pocket, got the keys and handed them to her. “Thanks.” Feeling that his heart would break, he stared up at her as she stood over him, her face the picture of compassion. Then, on what was certainly an impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

      “You got her here in time, and she’ll be well taken care of,” she said. “It’s hard for me, too, but please try not to worry. You’re a wonderful man. I’ll be right back.”

      She left him, and he leaned forward with his knees apart, rested his forearms on his thighs and let his hands dangle in front of him. Useless. Powerless. Unfamiliar feelings. He got up, walked to the other end of the small room and retraced his steps. Walls white and bare, gray chairs side by side around the room. Why didn’t someone put pictures in waiting rooms, or anything to distract a person’s attention? He walked back to the other side of the room. If only he could kick something! Thinking that an hour had passed and wondering why Velma hadn’t returned, he looked at his watch and grimaced. Less than twenty minutes had elapsed since he stopped his car in front of the hospital.

      Since he stopped… What had he been thinking? He didn’t allow anyone to drive his car except Telford and Drake, and he wasn’t keen on their doing it. Maybe he should pray, but he didn’t know how to begin. He sat down, leaned back in the chair that was too small for his big frame and closed his eyes. He remembered the Lord’s Prayer from his childhood, and he said it then in barely whispered tones. When he opened his eyes, Velma stood before him.

      She handed him the car keys. “I parked on the side. No news yet?”

      He shook his head. “No. She’s so little. What could they be doing to her?”

      “Probably pumping her stomach.”

      He sprang forward. “Will that hurt?”

      “I’m not sure. I hope not.” He started to get up, and she tugged at his hand. “Honey, try to relax. They’ll tell us something soon.”

      She caressed his hand, and he let her do it; he needed the comfort. “That little girl is so much a part of me. If she were my own child, I doubt I could love her more. Telford, Drake and Henry adopted her at once, but it took СКАЧАТЬ