Last Of The Joeville Lovers. Anne Eames

her move gracefully down the jetway.

      A feeling of anxiety stirred behind his rib cage. He didn’t know why or when the game had changed, but he knew it had. Taylor Phillips was no longer just another challenge. He was starting to care about this woman—what made her tick, what would happen to her in Ann Arbor, and when would she return?

      He spun on his heel and strode toward the exit.

      How had he let this happen?

      Two

      The men’s room door opened ahead of Taylor as she neared the entrance to Intensive Care, and the sad figure of John Phillips emerged. At first he didn’t notice her, his head down, shoulders rounded, no doubt from fatigue as well as worry.

      “Dad!” She moved quickly to him and welcomed his warm embrace. He squeezed her tight, and for the longest time said nothing. Over her father’s shoulder she said gently, “It’s going to be okay, Dad. I’ve made a decision.”

      He stepped back and eyed her curiously, his face looking more lined than she’d ever remembered. Taylor took him by the shoulders and stared into his weary dark eyes, hoping to instill a measure of hope in him. “I’m going to give Mom one of my kidneys.” He started to shake his head, but she stilled it between her hands. “There’s no point arguing with me. While I’m seeing Mom, would you try finding her doctor...have him paged, if need be.” She looked around them and added, “Where’s Michael?”

      “Your brother’s in the chapel.” He stared at the tile floor. “Sweetheart—”

      “Please, Dad. Just find the doctor. Let’s not waste time.” She kissed his cheek as if he’d agreed and then punched the metal square on the wall. The large double doors to ICU swung open and she raced to the desk beyond.

      “I’m here to see Angela Phillips. I’m her daughter.”

      “Room six to the right...but you can only stay a few minutes.”

      “Thank you.” She tore around the corner, found the room and came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Tubes ran to bags and monitors in all directions. She’d seen it hundreds of times before, but none had been her mother...except for that one time years ago after the car wreck. Then, like now, Mom seemed so frail and vulnerable, so unlike the vibrant and energetic woman she had always been.

      Angela’s eyelids fluttered, then opened to narrow slits when she rolled her head toward the door. Taylor let out a cleansing breath and raced to her mother’s side.

      “Taylor—” Angela reached out a shaky hand, IVs channeled through a heplock into a puffy vein. “I’m so glad you made it—”

      In time. Those were the words that hung between them, but Taylor refused to believe them.

      “Mom, you have to fight this.” Then she forced a smile. “You’re getting a new kidney. Everything’s going to be all right.”

      Angela closed her eyes and a sweet smile curved her lips. “I can’t let you do that, dear.”

      “Who said it was me?”

      Angela squinted at her with a knowing look.

      “Well, I’m going to do it, so there’s no point discussing it.” Taylor glanced at the monitors and read the numbers. They would have to improve before surgery, but now that Mom knew there was hope, surely she would fight harder.

      She had to.

      Taylor couldn’t imagine life without her mother. They had always been so close, even when separated by miles. The weekly Sunday night phone calls were followed by long, chatty letters. There was nothing they didn’t share.

      “Taylor?” Angela whispered, as she closed her eyes again.

      Taylor leaned across the railing and kissed her mother’s clammy forehead. “I’m right here, Mama.” She kept her face near, and Angela’s lips barely moved.

      “You have to do something for me—”

      “Anything, Mama.” She swallowed hard to keep from crying. She had never seen her mother this sick, not even after the accident.

      Angela squeezed Taylor’s hand and she watched tears escape from behind her mother’s closed lids. “Please don’t hate me—”

      “Don’t talk silly,” she said, interrupting what she guessed were delirious words. “I could never hate you, Mama. You know how much I love you.”

      Angela nodded her head ever so slightly. “There’s something in the attic that you have to find for me...but you can’t let your father see....”

      Taylor looked nervously behind her, relieved that her father had not yet returned. What on earth was her mother talking about? Was it the drugs?

      “Under the old love seat in the attic...loose boards...two journals I wrote...long ago.” Her words were coming in short bursts and Taylor thought of making her stop. “Don’t let anyone see them.” She opened her eyes slowly and held her daughter’s steady gaze. “Please?”

      What on earth could this mean? Her parents never kept secrets from each other. She was sure of it. They had always treated each other with such tenderness and respect; there was always such contentment between them. It had to be the drugs.

      “Taylor? Will you get them for me?”

      Hallucinating or not, she couldn’t say no. “Yes, Mama.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and smoothed her fair hair away from her sallow face. “Get some rest now, okay? I’ll be back later.”

      Angela closed her eyes and seemed instantly asleep. Taylor checked the monitors again and there was no change. She pressed her lips to her mother’s temple and whispered in her ear, “Fight hard, Mama. I love you,” thinking she probably didn’t hear.

      Her eyes still closed, Angela whispered back, “I love you, too.”

      With one last lingering look, Taylor backed quietly out of the room.

      Michael and Dad were leaning against the far wall, arms folded as if to ward off a sudden chill. Michael met her halfway for a frightened hug as her father pulled himself from a stupor.

      His head shot up and his eyes grew round. “Is she—?”

      “She’s resting.”

      He exhaled a loud breath and Taylor realized what he’d been thinking.

      “Did you find her doctor?”

      He nodded, then clasped her hand between both of his. “I told him what you said.” He averted his eyes and she could see them glazing over. “He said she’s too sick for a transplant.” He looked back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It’s just too late.”

      “No!” Taylor backed away and glared at him. “Mom’s a fighter. She’ll get better and we’ll do the surgery.” She lowered her voice and raised his chin with her finger, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Dad...you can’t give up or Mom will see it on your face.”

      “You’re right,” he said, but without much conviction. “Let me go in and kiss her good-night. The doctor suggested we go home and let her rest. They’ll call if there’s any change.” He stumbled toward the door, paused, straightened his shoulders some and walked toward the woman who had been his wife and best friend for nearly thirty years.

      Michael laced Taylor’s fingers in his. “Where are your bags?”

      She stared after their father, unable to look Michael in the eye. Maybe she could fool Dad with her false hopes, but Michael could always see right through her. He was only twenty, five years her junior, yet it had been years since she’d thought of him as a kid. She met his sad gray eyes and remembered his question. “My bags are downstairs behind the information counter, but—”

      “I know you want to stay, but if you don’t leave, neither will Dad.