After the Loving. Gwynne Forster

      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 me a long time. One day late last summer, I saved her life, and she’s been in here ever since.” He pointed to his heart. “I couldn’t bear it if she—”

      She sat beside him then and put her arm around his shoulders. “She’s going to be fine.”

      He closed his eyes in an effort to blot out his surroundings and tried to think of his next project, but he failed. He sensed that Velma stood up abruptly and opened his eyes to see the nurse approaching, her face brilliant with a smile. He rushed to meet the woman.

      “Is she…? How is she?”

      “She’s fine, but we want her to rest a couple of hours before you take her home.”

      “You’re sure? You’re sure she’s all right?” he asked her.

      “Absolutely. You got her here in good time, so there won’t be any permanent damage, but there certainly could have been. She said she thought she spit it out when she realized it wasn’t chocolate, but she swallowed enough of it to make her very sick. If you want something to eat or drink, there’s a cafeteria on the first level down. Take the elevator.”

      “Can we go in and see her?” he asked. “Just for a second?”

      “I’d rather not. It’s important that she rest. Are you Mr. Russ?”

      “Yes. I’m Russ Harrington, and this is Velma Brighton, Tara’s aunt.”

      “I’m glad to meet you. I’m Nurse Parker. She said to tell you she’s not sick. She’ll be out in two hours.”

      “Two hours to…well, at least she’ll be all right,” he said to Velma. “Let’s go downstairs and get something to eat.” They got on the elevator and went to the cafeteria. He chose a hamburger, french fries and salad. He put it on the table and stared at it.

      “What’s wrong?” Velma asked him.

      He ran his fingers through his silky curls and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I must be losing it. I don’t eat junk like this.”

      “This chicken fried steak is pretty good, want a sample?”

      He tasted it. “Not bad.” He dumped his tray of food into the trash bin and returned with the steak, mashed potatoes