Sunrise Crossing. Jodi Thomas
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and that we’ve only met a few times at gallery openings.” Both facts were true. “Besides, it’s no crime to vanish, Tori. You are an adult.”
Victoria Vilanie was silent on the other end. She’d told Parker that she’d been on a manic roller coaster for months. The ride had left her fragile, almost shattered. Since she’d been thirteen and been “discovered” by the art community, her stepfather had quit his job and become her handler.
“Tori,” Parker whispered into the phone, “you’re not the tiger in a circus. You’ll be fine. You can stand on your own. There are professionals who will help you handle your career without trying to run your life.”
“I know. It’s just a little frightening.”
“It’s all right, Tori. You’re safe. You don’t have to face the reporters. You don’t have to answer any questions.” Parker hesitated. “I’ll come if you need me.”
“I’d like that.”
No one would ever believe that Parker would stick her neck out so far to help a woman she barely knew. Maybe she and Tori had each recognized a fellow loner, or maybe it was just time in her life that she did something different, something kind.
“No matter what happens,” Tori whispered, “I want to thank you. You’ve saved my life. I think if I’d had to go another week, I might have shattered into a million pieces.”
Parker wanted to say that she doubted it was that serious, but she wasn’t sure the little artist wasn’t right. “Stay safe. Don’t tell the couple who take care of the house anything. You’re just visiting, remember? Have them pick up anything you need from town. You’ll find art supplies in the attic room if you want to paint.”
“Found the supplies already, but I think I just want to walk around your land and think about my life. You’re right. It’s time I started taking my life back.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Parker had read every mystery she could find since she was eight. If Tori wanted to disappear, Parker should be able to figure out how to make it happen. After all, how hard could it be?
The hospital door opened.
Parker clicked off the disposable phone she’d bought at the airport a few weeks ago when she and Tori talked about how to make Tori vanish.
“Miss Parker?” A young doctor poked his head into her room. He didn’t look old enough to be out of college, much less med school, but this was a teaching hospital, one of the best in the country. “I’m Dr. Brown.”
“It’s Miss Lacey. My first name is Parker,” she said as she pushed the phone beneath her covers. Hiding it as she was hiding the gifted artist.
The kid of a doctor moved into the room. “You any kin to Quanah Parker? We get a few people in here every year descended from the great Comanche chief.”
She knew what the doctor was trying to do. Establish rapport before he gave her the bad news, so she played along. “That depends. How old was he when he died?”
The doctor shrugged. “I’m not much of a history buff, but my folks stopped at every historical roadside marker in Texas and Oklahoma when I was growing up. I think the great warrior was old when he died, real old. Had six wives, I heard, when he passed peacefully in his sleep on his ranch near a town that bears his name.”
“If he lived a long life, I’m probably not kin to him. And to my knowledge, I have no Native American blood and no living relatives.” By the time she’d been old enough to ask, no one around remembered why she was named Parker and she had little interest in exploring a family tree with such short branches.
“I’m so sorry.” Then he grinned. “I could give you a couple of my sisters. Ever since I got out of med school they think I’m their private dial a doc. They even call me to ask if TV shows get it right.”
“No, thanks. Keep your sisters.” She tried to smile.
“There are times when it’s good to have family around.” He said, “Would you like me to call someone for you? A close friend, maybe?”
She glanced up and read all she needed to know in the young man’s eyes. She was dying. He looked terrible just giving her the news. Maybe this was the first time he’d ever had to tell anyone that their days were numbered.
“How long do I have to hang around here?”
The doc checked her chart and didn’t meet her gaze as he said, “An hour, maybe two. When you come back, we’ll make you as comfortable here as we can but you’ll need—”
She didn’t give him time to list what she knew came next. She’d watched her only cousin go through bone cancer when they were in high school. First, there would be surgery on her leg. Then they wouldn’t get it all and she’d have chemo. Round after round until her hair and spirit disappeared. No, she wouldn’t do that. She’d take the end head-on.
The doctor broke into her thoughts. “We can give you shots in that left knee. It’ll make the pain less until—”
“Okay, I’ll come back when I need it,” she said, not wanting to give him time to talk about how she might lose her leg or her life. If she let him say the word cancer, she feared she might start screaming and never stop.
She knew she limped when she was tired and her knee sometimes buckled on her. Her back already hurt, and her whole left leg felt weak sometimes. The cancer must be spreading; she’d known it was there for months, but she’d kept putting off getting a checkup. Now she knew it would only get worse. More pain. More drugs, until it finally traveled to her brain. Maybe the doctor didn’t want her to hang around and suffer? Maybe the shots would knock her out. She’d feel nothing until the very end. She’d just wait for death as her cousin had. She’d visited him every day. Watching him grow weaker, watching the staff grow sadder.
Hanging around had never been her way, and it wouldn’t be now.
A nurse in scrubs that were two sizes too small rushed into the room and whispered, loud enough for Parker to hear, “We’ve got an emergency, Doctor. Three ambulances are bringing injured in from a bad wreck. Pileup on I-35. Can you break away to help?”
The doctor flipped the chart closed. “No problem. We’re finished here.” He nodded to Parker. “We’ll have time to talk later, Miss Parker. You’ve got a few options.”
She nodded back, not wanting to hear the details anyway. What did it matter? He didn’t have to say the word cancer for her to know what was wrong.
He was gone in a blink.
The nurse’s face molded into a caring mask. “What can I do to make you more comfortable? You don’t need to worry, dear. I’ve helped a great many people go through this.”
“You can hand me my clothes,” Parker said as she slid off the bed. “Then you can help me leave.” She was used to giving orders. She’d been doing it since she’d opened her art gallery fifteen years ago. She’d been twenty-two and thought she had forever to live.
“Oh, but...” The nurse’s eyes widened as if she were a hen and one of her chickens was escaping the coop.
“No buts. I have to leave now.” Parker raised her eyebrow silently, daring the nurse to question her.
Parker stripped off the hospital gown and climbed into the tailored suit she’d arrived in before dawn. The teal silk blouse and cream-colored jacket of polished wool felt wonderful against her skin compared with the rough cotton gown. Like a chameleon changing color, she shifted from patient to tall, in-control businesswoman.
The nurse began to panic again. “Is someone picking you up? Were you discharged? Has the paperwork already been completed?”
“No to the first question. I drove myself here and I’ll drive myself away. And yes, I was discharged.” Parker tossed her things into the huge Coach bag she’d brought in.