Bad Influence. Kristin Hardy

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      “You’ll have to wait,” the clerk repeated. “Please sit down and we’ll call you.”

      It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Granted, her grandfather had sounded in pretty good shape when he’d called her from the scene of the accident, but he was eighty, after all.

      “I’m a family member. Can’t I just go in to him?”

      “Not until we get his approval.”

      Paige battled frustration and lost. “That’s ridiculous. He called me. All I want to do is see him.”

      The clerk looked at her. “Legally we can’t notify anyone of anything without his consent and we’ve got our hands full with other cases right now. We’ll get to you when we can.”

      Glowering, Paige stalked back into the waiting area. Ridiculous, she lectured herself. He was probably fine. To hear him tell it, it had only been a fender bender. Still, until he was completely checked out and had a doctor’s release, she wasn’t going to be able to completely relax.

      It happened that way when your only other living relative was a father who lived permanently overseas.

      “Makes you want to strangle someone, doesn’t it?” a voice said cheerfully, and Paige turned to see a rough-looking guy sprawled in a chair against the wall, lanky legs stretched out ahead of him on the carpet.

      Perfect. Just who she’d expect to run into in an emergency room, she thought, looking at his stubbled jaw. A gleam of white teeth glinted below his black Pancho Villa mustache. It made him look like one of those bandits who’d ridden along the border back in the Wild West days.

      Probably waiting for a buddy who’d gotten knifed in a bar fight, before they hopped on their Harleys and headed off to the next biker rally.

      “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” she said to herself as much as to him.

      He winked. “You could just break the rules and walk in,” he suggested sotto voce.

      Paige gave him a meaningless smile and chose a chair on the other side of the room. She had more things to worry about than shady-looking men with lawbreaking friends. She picked up a women’s magazine from the table next to her and leafed restlessly through Christmas cookie recipes and instructions on making appliquéd throw pillows for every holiday of the year. Even at the best of times it wouldn’t have grabbed her attention. Now, concentrating on anything was impossible.

      To one side, a group of people who were obviously related sat around a tense couple. She wasn’t the only one who was worried about her loved one, Paige realized. From the white knuckles on the woman’s hands, there were far worse things going on that night.

      “Paige Favreau?” A nurse stood at the door to the E.R.

      Paige rose.

      Behind the door, the emergency room was a scene of controlled confusion. Nurses and orderlies bustled to and fro, carrying basins, pushing gurneys or patients in wheelchairs. Her stomach tightened.

      And then she saw her grandfather.

      Lyndon Favreau lay in the bed with his eyes closed, looking subdued and uncomfortably frail. His thick, wavy gray hair was disheveled. He’d hate it if anyone saw him looking like that, she knew, and crossed to him to straighten it.

      His eyes opened. “What? Oh, Paige. How are you, sweetie?”

      “I’m fine. What I want to know is how are you?” No IV, she saw in relief. No obvious bandages. Only his eyes looked funny, a little glassy and unfocused. “The doctor won’t tell me anything until they get the go-ahead from you.”

      “Tight-lipped bunch here.” Lyndon nodded wisely, but his head bobbled a little. “I’m fine. You know me, raring to go.”

      He giggled and Paige blinked. In the thirty years she’d been alive, she couldn’t ever remember hearing her grandfather giggle. Laugh often. Giggle? Never. What the hell was going on?

      “Are you the granddaughter?” She turned to see a tall white-coated man with tired eyes and a kind smile. He put out a hand. “I’m Rich Patterson, the staff doctor.”

      “Paige Favreau,” she responded, studying him. He was younger than she’d have expected, though judging by the lines around his eyes, he’d seen plenty.

      “Don’t mind him,” he said with a nod at Lyndon. “He’s a little out of it because we gave him some painkillers.”

      “Painkillers? What’s wrong with him?”

      “Nothing serious, we don’t think.” He had a nice voice, soothing. His eyes were hazel, she noticed. “He’s a little banged up. He’s complaining of chest pain. It’s okay,” Patterson assured her immediately. “I really don’t think it’s serious. Probably rib or cartilage damage from the accident, but we have to check it out. We’ll keep him overnight for observation.”

      Head spinning, she listened to the litany. Broken wrist, sprained ankle, CT scan to rule out head injury. “He called me from here over an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine,” she protested. And she couldn’t understand why so far nothing had been done.

      “He is fine, but we just need to be a little bit careful. He’s had to wait because we had a car flip on the highway with four kids,” he added as though he’d read her thoughts.

      The families in the waiting room, she thought immediately.

      “We’ve been busy trying to get them put back together. Now it’s Lyndon’s turn. This could take a while,” Patterson warned. “You might as well go out into the waiting room. It’s more comfortable.”

      “I’ll stay here, thanks,” Paige said, taking her grandfather’s hand. He made a sleepy murmur, but his eyes stayed closed. You did for family, especially when you didn’t have much.

      Abruptly she missed her mother as deeply as though she’d lost her the previous week instead of twenty-five years before. Pretty and light and full of fun, Caroline Favreau had been a woman who knew how to tease joy and excitement from life despite the constraints of her husband’s profession. A walk to the park turned into an adventure; Paige remembered sitting with her shoes off in a fountain while her mother charmed the Prague police officer out of disciplining them. With her natural exuberance, Caroline could always manage to get people to laugh and relax, even James.

      Then had come the aneurysm and suddenly she’d been gone. Paige’s memories had largely blended into the images she’d seen again and again in photographs. An unexpected whiff of Shalimar, though, could still take her back to walking hand in hand with her mother through the museum in Vienna.

      James loved her, Paige knew. And maybe life wasn’t as fun and full of the unexpected as when Caroline had been alive, but he’d kept Paige with him throughout the years—she had to give him credit for that. “We’re a family, you and me,” he always said to her. “We stick together.” And maybe that had meant nannies to help shoulder the load, maybe it had meant being lectured to behave, behave, behave during seemingly every minute of every day, but it had still mattered. They had stuck together, except when he’d gone on long trips or been posted to an unstable country. Her haven СКАЧАТЬ