Chapter 17: Full Tilt

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Amy

I still haven’t figured out what to do by Monday. For starters, I’ve sent out so many feelers saying I’m doing PR work, I can’t switch gears without raising suspicion. Especially when the only PR job I’ve done is with Marcus.

I suppose I could simply turn down the job with Dickerson, Cox, and Broadhead—the very idea of working with Roland makes my skin crawl. Only, it’s a bad signal to send through the top firms in Chicago. I should be professional enough to work with anyone.

Standing in front of the coffee maker watching my mug fill, I try to picture myself being in that office. Another shiver crosses my shoulders. I don’t know what to do. Shaking my head, I pick up the now-full cup.

“You never told me about the gala.”

I shriek and nearly toss it. “Sylvia!” Holding a hand on my chest, I try to calm my galloping heart.

She laughs, but it’s breathy, almost weak. “Sorry to startle you.”

“Where were you yesterday?”

I’d spent most of the morning in bed sleeping off the night before, and when I finally emerged, the condo was empty. I exchanged a few texts with C.J. who was making a weekend of it with his new crush—the young-looking boyish one I won’t refer to in the same manner as my friend.

No complaints here. I moved from the couch to the kitchen to have a very unhealthy lunch and then back again before collapsing in bed for the night around seven. Still no sign of my mother.

She moves past me into the kitchen, carrying a mug, and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to evade my question. “I had a lunch date,” she finally says.

Lunch date? Sipping my coffee as I watch her, I can’t help noticing how slowly she moves. She’s also not wearing her usual casual day-chic—dark jeans and a loose blouse or even black pants and a sweater. She’s wearing a robe.

“A lunch date all day? Who did you meet?”

She’s standing at the cabinet not answering, staring inside, but not seeming to see what’s in front of her.

“Mom?” I walk over to her and set my down my coffee, reaching for her arm.

When CRASH!

My entire world tilts.

My fingers close around empty air as my beautiful mother collapses to the floor.

“SYLVIA!” My throat closes up and I’m shrieking. I’m on my knees beside her, shaking her arm, panic gripping my chest. “Sylvia! Sylvia!!!”

No response. My vision blurs, and I can’t see. I’m crying. I’m sobbing. My breath hiccups, and a cry rips through my lungs. Pushing off the floor, I dive for my phone on the counter.

“911! 911!” I scream the numbers as I dial them. An operator is on the line asking what’s my emergency. “My mother’s unconscious on the floor.” I’m back beside her, my hands fluttering near her face. I can’t stop shaking. I don’t know what to do.

“We’ll have an EMS unit there in two minutes.” The woman’s voice is unnaturally calm, and I waver between gasping for breath and screaming at her.

“How do you know where I am?”

“Your address appears with your number.” Her voice doesn’t change. She’s speaking like I’m placing an order at Sax.

“You’re not taking this seriously enough!” I’m about to be sick.

“Miss, I need you to remain calm and answer my questions.”

What the fuck? Stay CALM? “Are you kidding me?” I shout. “My mother. Is. Unconscious!!!” Oh, god, I’m crying more. Snot is on my upper lip.

“Has she been experiencing any unusual pain or nausea?”

My hands are trembling, and I can’t stop stroking Sylvia’s forehead. Her eyes won’t open, and her body is rigid. “Her muscles are flexed, like she’s fighting something.”

“They’re seconds from your building. Do you know if your mother has had any pain in her jaw or back?”

Oh god oh god oh god. I hold her hand, my mind racing, trying to think. “She thought she had food poisoning last week...” Oh god oh god oh god. “She made a dentist appointment for TMJ—”

“Has your mother ever been the victim of a stroke?”

“NO!” I scream, fear twisting my stomach so hard I nearly drop the phone. Oh god oh god oh god oh god! Not Sylvia!

A feral sound, somewhere between a whine and a strangled shriek rips through my throat as my eyes squeeze shut. Tears wash down my cheeks, and loud banging starts on the door.

I don’t even think about the dispatcher. I hit End and fly across the kitchen. Emergency workers push through the door so hard, I’m thrown back against the wall. They’re all around her, and I’m struggling to keep it together.

Breathe. Don’t pass out. Stop crying.

One of the men has been talking into a little black device attached to his shoulder since they arrived, and a silver stretcher bangs through the door. It’s happening so fast. Brawny men heft her delicate body onto the white mattress, and they’re strapping her down, running oxygen and tubes to her arms and against her beautiful face. They’re being too rough.

“Please be gentle!” I cry, fighting the flood of tears that refuse to stop.

I’ve got to call Patrick. I need Stuart. I need my brothers here. I want to protect her, but nobody listens to me. My teeth grind. I’m so useless and helpless and weak. It’s the worst feeling in the universe.

“We’re taking her to Northwestern Memorial.” They’re at the door, and I’m trying to chase after them.

“Please let me ride with you!”

A female steps forward and catches my shoulders. “It’s better if you don’t.” Her voice is calm, soothing, but it doesn’t help my crumbling insides. “We’ll be working on her on the drive, and you’ll be in the way.”

“I need to be with her. My mother needs me.” I try to push past her, but she holds my shoulders.

“Is there anyone you can call?”

Marcus. Shaking my head. “I need to call my brothers.”

“See if you can get a ride—you shouldn’t drive—and contact your brothers on the way.”

With that, they’re gone. All of them. I’m left standing in the silent kitchen alone, my brain spiraling in my head.

Sylvia didn’t wake up.

I can’t stop shaking.

I’m so afraid.

Without thinking, I touch the buttons.

* * *

Marcus

My expensive shoes squeak against the cheap linoleum floor, and I’m practically running through the ICU. One thought repeats in my head—She called me.

Dammit, that has to mean something.

The moment I see her, the very second her form registers in my brain, my instinct to protect her twists in my stomach.

Amy sits in a dark blue vinyl chair, her slim arms hugged tightly around her midsection as if she’s holding her insides together with all her strength. She’s leaned forward slightly. Her hair is tied back, but thin wisps frame her face. She looks so young and vulnerable. I’m moving even faster now. Her chin lifts, and red-rimmed eyes meet mine. I don’t stop until I’m in front of her, pulling her into my arms.

“Come here.” My voice is sharper than I intended. I can’t help it. This woman holds my heart in her fucking hands, and seeing her like this, so shattered, impacts me deeper than I was prepared to handle.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she melts into my embrace. I feel her grip the back of my shirt, and all I can do is hug her to me, kiss the top of her head, and tell her over and over I’m here. It’s going to be okay.

I’m not lying. Sylvia was beyond fortunate Amy was there to respond so fast.

“You did everything right,” I murmur between pressing kisses against her beautiful hair. “She’s going to be okay. This is one of the best hospitals in the country.”

She’s shaking as I hold her, and I know she can’t answer me. I don’t quite remember my own mother, but I can imagine how frightened she must feel. Hell, I’d be apoplectic if it were Edward, and he’s never been the warmest of fathers. The closest I can imagine is if something happened to Elaine. My chest clenches, and I hug Amy again.

“Don’t be afraid, my love.” Yep, I said it, and I’ll keep on saying it until she hears me. At this point, she’s too shell-shocked to pull away.

A little sniff, her hand moves to her face. She lifts her chin, but I can’t help noticing she’s made no attempt to leave my embrace.

“I called Stuart and Patrick.” Her voice is small. “They’re taking the first planes available, but it’s going to be a while.”

“A direct flight from Princeton is at least two and a half hours.” I smooth one hand up and down her back. “From Wilmington, it’s four.”

She nods rapidly against me. I don’t know what else to say, so I reach back for the days when it was just Elaine and me. I think about when she would be upset, and I would try to fix whatever it was. One time, she’d told me sometimes all she needed was my support.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper against her hair. “You probably saved her life by calling help so fast.”

Her body melts a little more in my arms. Clearly this is what she needs to hear. Thank you, Elaine.

“I was so afraid.” Her words are muffled against my chest. “It happened so fast. All of it was too fast. They were so rough with her. I tried to make them be gentle.”

She shudders again, and I feel the warmth of fresh tears against my now-damp shirt. I couldn’t give a shit. She can cry on me all night if she needs to.

“I’m sure they were just doing their job.” I’m speaking against her soft hair, since her head is in my chest. “Medical treatments are rougher than we realize. It’s probably why they don’t allow us back when they’re working.”

Perhaps I’m right, but I wouldn’t know. I’ll say anything at this point to comfort her. She clutches me tighter, and I return her strength.

“I tried to get here as soon as you called.” I rest my cheek against her head. “I hope you weren’t alone for long.”

Her arms loosen, and she steps back. Not too far, though, just enough to see my face.

“I wasn’t.” She wipes her eyes with her fingers, and I fish in my pocket for a handkerchief. Taking it, she notices the navy MM monogrammed on white cotton before glancing up. “Thanks.”

“My grandmother insisted we be prepared.” She sniffs a small smile before pressing the cloth to her face.

“I’ll have it laundered before I send it back.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s quiet, and I know she’s processing, worrying about her mother. I want to find some way to ease her mind, but until the doctor checks in with us, there’s nothing more I can say.

“Let’s sit.” Taking her arm, we go to the navy vinyl chairs lining the waiting area.

Moments tick by as I watch her slowly coming around. She’s still afraid, and she pulls the fabric of my handkerchief back and forth in her fingers.

A television blasts sharp voices reporting on a kidnapping, then a flash flood in the west. I’m about to stand and turn it off, but Amy leans back with a deep sigh and slides her hand under mine.

The chair arms prevent me from pulling her into my side. Now the television is blasting about some Hollywood starlet showing her ass. It’s all so stupidly inappropriate, I lean forward as if to block her from it.

“Would you like some water? A coffee?” She’s dressed in soft grey pants and a charcoal tee. Her hair is a messy bun, and it looks as if she had only just got out of bed when it happened.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is so soft, I tighten my fingers over hers gently. She rests her head on her hand, and I lift her fingers to my lips.

Minutes tick by like hours. I can’t take her away from here. We have to wait for word from the doctor. She’s called everyone as far as I know, and her brothers are most likely on airplanes. Looking around, I try to find something to distract us.

A dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby sits on one of the low end tables. Some high school kid must’ve left it here. When I was in high school, I skipped reading it, but as a Pre-law and English double-major, I muddled through Fitzgerald’s seminal work.

“The great American novel,” I say picking it up. 

Her eyes scan the royal blue cover. A disembodied face floats above the curl of cigarette smoke and the lights of Cony Island. She takes it and stares at the cover a few moments.

“New York money kids playing their own version of the game,” she says, handing it back.

Turning the slim volume over, I scan the back text. “It was a flop when it came out. Reviewers hated it.”

“Now it’s a classic.”

“Who decides such things?” I open the front cover and read the first page.

“Vivid writing and iconic imagery,” she sighs. “Gatsby’s green light, the dream he’s so convinced he wants to possess. It never lives up to reality, and in the end it kills him.”

“You remember it a lot better than I do.”

“I saw the movie twice.” Her green-hazel eyes blink to mine, and she gives me a grim smile.

“I seem to recall some of that.” I drop it back on the table. “I’m with the reviewers. I hated that fucking book.”

“Too boring?” The smallest hint of a tease is in her tone, and my shoulders relax. If she can forget her worries for just a few moments, I’m happy.

“Too annoying. Gatsby’s delusional. Nick Carraway is a judgmental prick, and Daisy’s a materialistic murderer satisfied with letting others clean up her messes.”

Her lips press together. “Gatsby built her up in his mind. She became a fantasy he wanted, something unreal.”

“So she stays with her racist, cheating husband.”

“Everybody cheats.” Our eyes lock a moment before hers cut away again, and I’m unhappy with the irritating turn our conversation has taken.

“No they don’t.”

If she’s trying to draw some parallel here, she’s going to have to do a better job. I have a clear-eyed vision of what I want, and it’s not a fantasy. I know who she is, and most importantly I know who I am.

A physician who looks far too young to be treating her mother appears in the public area, calling for the Knight party. Amy is on her feet at once, nearly jogging in his direction. I’m right behind her, but I’m also ready to be told I’m not family. I have to wait while they discuss Sylvia’s prognosis in private.

“Miss Knight?” The young doctor’s manner exudes calm concern. I’m thankful for that. His eyes flick to me. “Is this your husband?”

I clear my throat, but her slim hand grasps my forearm. “No—he’s... family.”

We are not related, dammit. I give a tight smile and a nod. The young man motions for us to follow him into a glassed-in area. Amy’s arms are crossed over her body again. I’m right behind her, ready to catch her if she falls.

“It was a mild heart attack, but your mother is doing very well.”

A blast of relief exhales from us both the moment the words leave his mouth. “Oh, thank God,” Amy mutters, covering her face with her hands. I wrap my arms around her waist.

“We didn’t pick up anything on her scan a week ago.” He looks down at the chart. “At this point we think it might have been a coronary artery spasm.”

Amy’s head pops up. “She had a scan?”

“An angiogram.” The young physician returns her frown. “She didn’t mention it?”

“No.” I can see her thoughts flying behind her eyes.

“It’s a troubling diagnosis, as she doesn’t exhibit the usual risk-factors associated with spasm,” he continues. “Her cardiac muscle has suffered trauma as would be expected. However, your rapid response and the skill of the EMS team curtailed any permanent damage.”

Amy nods, but her arms tighten over her waist again. My hands move to rub her shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say softly, right at her hair.

“Thank you,” she says. I don’t know if it’s to me or to the doctor. Probably both.

“We haven’t detected any additional trauma, but she needs to stay with us for observation. I expect her to go home fully recovered.”

“Oh, God, thank you,” she whispers. Another little shudder, and I hold her arms. I’m here.  

“We’ll prescribe a program for rehab and try a few medications to prevent it from happening again.” Amy nods as he continues speaking. “I’m sure you want to see her, however I’d rather limit visitors for now. She needs as much rest as possible.”

“How soon before she can go home?” I ask, feeling it’s something all the Knight children will want to now.

“Not for a day at least. Possibly two.”

We both thank him. He leaves as I notice the sounds of people arriving behind me. Amy turns, and I see relief break across her face. I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind me before I look.

“Amy?” Stuart Knight’s voice cuts through the waiting area. She’s out of my arms and running to her oldest brother. “How’s Mom?”

She stops in front of him. The siblings don’t embrace; rather they stand facing each other in controlled concern. A beautiful, slim woman dressed in a flowing red-patterned skirt and black halter-top is at his side, holding his hand. I can only guess she’s Mariska, his fiancée, from the delicate chains draping her neck and the rings on almost every finger. She matches Elaine’s description perfectly. She also doesn’t hesitate to step forward and give Amy a warm hug.

“I can’t imagine how frightened you were.” Releasing the hug, her hands drop to hold Amy’s.

I wait as Amy fills them in on what the doctor just told us, joining them slowly, not wanting to cloud the issue with my presence.

Glancing up, Stuart sees me and smiles. “Marcus.” He clasps my hand in a firm shake. “I should’ve expected to find you helping out in a crisis. I didn’t know you and Amy were friends.”

The last time Stuart and I were together, we worked to keep his best friend and business partner Derek Alexander out of prison. I actually like and respect him quite a bit, despite his former-Marine, imposing personality.

“I-I called him.” Amy’s voice trails off as if she’s not sure how to finish her sentence.

He’s unfazed. “Thanks for coming.” Releasing my hand, he puts an arm around Mariska.

“Glad to help.” As much as I’d like to put my arm around his sister, I don’t.

Knowing what I know about the elder Knight, it’s possible he’ll be a bit protective of Amy and suspicious of my motives. I’m prepared to ease his mind, stand up to his grilling, but now isn’t the time.

“The doctor said she has to stay a day or two,” Amy’s voice is weak from all she’s been through. I ache to hold her the way I held her when it was just us, but... well, see above.

“You must be starving!” Mariska’s cries. “Have you eaten today?”

Amy blinks to her and seems to realize. “No, actually. We were having our morning coffee when it happened.”

The young woman turns to me, and I know what she’s thinking.

“Good idea,” I say. “Mariska and I can step out and get food for you—for all four of us?”

“I’m not sure I can eat.” Amy leans back before sitting in the chair.

“Get us all something. Amy will eat.” Her brother is all tense muscles and intimidation, but she’s clearly accustomed to his personality.

“I’ll try to find something light.” We start to leave, and again, I long to give her a parting embrace. “We won’t be long.”