If She Only Knew by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

excitement to his voice.
    Her throat tightened with the thought that she was loved by this man to whom she was married, a man she couldn’t visualize.
    â€œYou mean she’s heard our conversation?” Eugenia asked, an icy fear in her voice.
    â€œI . . . I suppose so.”
    Then there was a silence, as if they were looking at each other, maybe mouthing words of caution, or just exchanging knowing glances.
    Marla slowly let her hand relax and heard soft footsteps sidle to the bed. “Marla?” Alex asked, gently. “Honey, can you hear me? Just move your hand, sweetheart. Let me know that you’re okay. God, I’ve missed you.”
    He sounded so sincere. She wanted to believe him. Oh, God, she wanted to trust that he loved her. He picked up her hand and held it in his.
    â€œSqueeze my finger if you can hear me, darling. Come on. Give it a try.”
    Marla willed her fingers to move, but her hands were stiff, her muscles unable to bend or shift.
    â€œI think . . . I think I felt something,” Alex said.
    â€œGood. Oh, maybe she’s finally waking up.” Eugenia’s voice was closer. “Marla? Can you hear us, dear? Just nod, or open your eyes.” A pause. Marla couldn’t move, felt herself losing the frail hold she had on consciousness. “Honey . . . ?”
    With a sigh of disgust, he let her hand fall onto the bed. “It’s no use.”
    â€œOf course it is,” Eugenia said calmly. “We just have to be patient. She’ll come around.”
    â€œAnd if she doesn’t?” Alex said coldly.
    â€œThen . . . we’ll have to adjust. All of us. It’ll put a crimp on things, but it won’t be the end of the world. Don’t borrow trouble. You saw her hand move, felt her try to squeeze your hand. This is progress.”
    â€œIf you say so,” he grumbled, obviously disbelieving.

    Bayview Hospital was one of the city’s finest, or so he’d been told, but as Nick walked down the carpeted hallways where recessed lighting played on copies of famous pieces of art, and nurses, doctors and aides hurried by at a clipped, professional pace, his skin crawled. He’d never liked the feel of a hospital. Any hospital. The odors of antiseptic, talc from the latex gloves, and disinfectant burned in his nostrils. Piped-in music, meant to be soothing, scraped against his nerves, and the smiles of patients, visitors and staff all seemed tarnished and false. In Nick’s opinion, not much good ever happened at a hospital. This one wouldn’t likely alter his position.
    But he was here. Like it or not. And he was going to do his damned duty.
    Gritting his teeth he made his way up in the elevator to room 505 and found the door slightly ajar. Soft music—an instrumental version of an old Beatles piece—played from hidden speakers in the corridor that was surprisingly empty of nurses, aides or visitors. But then maybe his brother had segregated this wing for his wife; after all he was some kind of muckety-muck on the board of this hospital. Samuel Cahill, then his son Alex after him, had donated enormous amounts of money to Bayview’s building fund, all through the Cahill Foundation. So, Alex could probably call the shots here when it came to his wife’s care. Just the way Alex liked it.
    Nick pushed the door open to the darkened room where a patient, Marla, he presumed, was lying in a hospital bed. She was alone. Alex hadn’t shown up yet, but then, Nick was a few minutes early.
    The room was pretty much standard. Polished metal bed rails reflected the dimmed illumination from a single fluorescent fixture recessed in the ceiling. An IV, like a thin sentinel, stood guard at her bedside, dripping glucose water and God-knew-what-else into her veins. Bouquets of cut flowers, boxes of candy, and potted plants gave splashes of color to the otherwise drab surroundings. Cards from well-wishers overflowed from a white