When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,20
“Molly Mommy.” The child cocked her head. “I want to see my daddy.”
The phone’s ringing startled Molly, and she raced to answer it. Finally, the grandmother was calling. About time.
“Mrs. Taylor?” a voice that wasn’t Mrs. Nesbitt asked.
Molly paused, hoping the lie wouldn’t be detected. “Yes.”
“This is Rita. I’m Mr. Taylor’s nurse.”
“Is he okay?” Molly’s breath caught in her throat and she felt liked she’d stepped into a frigid lake. Worst-case scenarios raced through her brain. Had Pearce died? Was he in a coma?
“He’s awake. The doctor has taken the breathing tube out.”
Molly sighed audibly.
“He’s demanding to see his daughter. He wants to know that she’s okay.” The line was silent for several seconds. “We told him you would bring her to the hospital. It was the only way we could get him to settle down.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?”
“Well, usually.” The voice paused. “But he’s threatening to leave. He can’t do that. The doctors want you to come. They want you to bring your daughter.”
“Did a woman come to see him?”
“Yeah, an older woman. Said she was his mother-in-law.” Molly heard the chill in the nurse’s voice. “For a few minutes. She upset him.” Her voice rose an octave. “Can you come now?”
Molly hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Is she still there?”
“I don’t think so. I was outside the room, watching through the glass. She spoke to him, then left.”
Molly heard the tremble in the nurse’s voice. Did she feel she’d let her patient down by leaving him alone and allowing a visitor to upset him? “The doctor had to come and order more sedation. It won’t last long.” Her voice became insistent, demanding an answer. “Can you come, now?”
What choice did she have? There was no way Pearce could leave the hospital yet. He’d had major surgery just last night, and a head injury, not to mention his broken leg. She was surprised he was awake, let alone alert enough to think about going home.
“Yes. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
Molly laid the phone back on the cradle. Her mind galloped with unanswered questions. What would she find when she got to the hospital? What happened to the child’s grandmother? What did she say to Pearce? Was she on her way here to take Gracie? What if Molly went to the hospital and missed her?
She needed to rein in her thoughts and concentrate on getting to the hospital. The nurse was adamant she get there as soon as possible. Molly thought of patients she’d looked after, who, after wakening from surgery, had been irrational and violent. She knew she had to go. Now that he was awake, Pearce must be crazy with worry about his daughter.
“Molly Mommy.” Gracie tugged her shirt again, her lips curled in a pout. “I want to see my daddy.”
“Okay, Gracie. Let’s get you dressed, then we’ll go see your daddy.”
Her stomach felt as knotted as a ball of wool tangled in a kitten’s claws. She knew she needed to get Gracie to the hospital, yet waves of apprehension gnawed at her brain. Now, in the light of day, and with the passage of the initial trauma of the accident, how could she keep up the pretense? Would Pearce even remember his request?
Ten minutes later, Molly had Gracie dressed and in her car. She set the vehicle in motion, forcing herself to concentrate on the road, rather than her increasingly anxious thoughts. This was no time for a second accident.
The drive back to the hospital was easier in daylight, and less than half an hour later, they were approaching the doors of the intensive care unit, Gracie skipping at her side. Molly held the child’s hand, her heart doing its own skipping as she wondered what kind of reception she would get. Would Pearce remember he had asked her to pose as his wife and care for his child? What had happened to upset the nurse when the child’s grandmother visited?
A low buzz came from the visitor’s television set in the waiting room for the intensive care unit. Molly half expected Mrs. Nesbitt to be sitting primly on one of the rigid vinyl chairs, waiting impatiently to collect her granddaughter. She felt the muscles in her face tense at the thought of handing this sweet child to the cold woman in the picture. Holding her breath, Molly glanced inside.
With its generic furniture, muted moss green walls, scarred coffee tables topped with full boxes of Kleenex, the room was stark and