Wish Me Tomorrow

AFTER CONCLUDING THE support-group meeting with reassurances and hugs, Christie huddled beside Eli’s brick prewar apartment building on a narrow SoHo street. Streetlamps glowed to life as the purple dusk deepened, illuminating pavement shining from the evening’s drizzle. A few buildings away, a Korean deli’s green awning stretched over flower-filled buckets. She inhaled the sweet scent, desperately needing some grounding after tonight’s ordeal with John.

Her insides still shook, but at least her hands had quit trembling. The need to save John had gone beyond professional, firing through her with a desperation stirred up by ghosts from her past. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been unable to simply go home afterward. If she couldn’t be at the hospital, she was glad, at least, to be here, where she was guaranteed updates.

John should have arrived at Bellevue by now, and the critical-care team would be working hard to stabilize him. Given his already-compromised health, the group faced a serious challenge. But didn’t they always? And John’s strong, larger-than-life persona would help him conquer this setback. It had to.

She shifted her weight to her right foot and pulled her damp shirt from her shivering body. How much longer would Mary keep her outside? She had promised to watch Eli’s children so he could stay with John. And if she didn’t get inside soon, she might miss hearing the latest on John’s condition.

“Ms. Bates?” Mary’s voice crackled through a brass speaker.

She pressed the talk button. “Yes. I’m still here.” Emphasis on the still. She shifted to her left foot.

“My husband ran your license number and it seems you’re all clear.”

“Your husband?” Mary had some serious connections. Getting inside Eli’s building was tougher than gaining clearance at the Pentagon.

“He’s a sergeant at the Sixth Precinct on West Tenth Street,” said Mary, pride ringing in every word.

“A man in blue? He must be handsome, then.”

“There’s nothing like a man in a uniform,” Mary gushed, the sound of the buzzer ending her sentence.

Christie’s sneakers squelched across a white marble floor to elevators with wrought-iron gates. A bronze art-deco light fixture made of scalloped glass dangled from a fifteen-foot ceiling with crown moldings.

This was the glamorous New York she’d envisioned back when she’d sat on her front porch swing in Kansas, dreaming of the day she’d rejoin Gran in the big city. Visiting her widowed grandmother had fueled her desire to become part of this vibrant, cosmopolitan world once more. She’d never forgotten her old neighborhood’s Irish street festivals and specialty shops, and its fine-dining and family-style restaurants.

She pressed the elevator button and stepped back to watch an ornate dial twitch closer to the lobby. When the elevator dinged, the familiar panic about entering an enclosed space clutched at her throat. An image of her brother’s casket flashed in her mind before she could block it. Where had that memory come from? She thought she’d locked it up and thrown away the key.

She searched her purse with trembling hands. Where was her lucky rabbit’s foot? She’d had it for ages. Wait. She’d given it to Eli. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured John. He needed it more than she did. She pulled the crisscrossed metal gate open and forced herself inside.

“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight...” she counted, a coping trick her psychologist friend and roommate, Laura, had taught her. She whispered “ninety-four” before the doors swooshed open, the lit button indicating the top floor. Impressive. Whatever Eli did for a living, he must be very good at it.

“Christie!” Tommy yelled as he burst through the double doors of his apartment. He wore dinosaur-patterned pajamas and massive green claw slippers. His wet hair and clean scent suggested a recent bath.

“Hey, Tommy.” She strained to keep her voice calm as she tugged at the stuck elevator gate.

“I’ll get you out, Christie. Daddy says I’m strong.” Tommy wrapped his small fingers around the metal strips and pulled. A golden retriever bounded out and barked.

“Scout. Tommy. Back inside.” Mary appeared, shooed the two into the apartment and turned to Christie. “My dear, are you all right?”

Christie slowed her breathing and dropped the hand hovering over her chest. Blackness crept around the edges of her vision.

“I can’t get the gate open,” she gasped. How much longer before she passed out? How mortifying if she did.

“We’ve asked the condo board to replace this thing a hundred times but they claim it’s too valuable.” Mary yanked the gate upward and sideways, applied a light kick to the bottom left corner and pulled. With a grating squeal the apparatus came loose. “Looks like a piece of scrap metal to me.”

Saved! Christie stumbled out and dragged in a deep breath.

“Thank you.” She tried to pull it together. The ambulance call and the high emotions of the night had shaken more than just her claustrophobia.

“We should thank you. Eli would have been crushed if he couldn’t be there for John.”

“Has he called?”

Mary nodded. “While you were outside. He said to tell you that John’s condition is stable but still critical. Oh. And that he’ll call you again soon.”

She smiled in relief. John’s life had hung by a thread at the YMCA. Thank goodness for Eli’s quick-thinking aid. She might be a trained RN, but she hadn’t been on a code response team in years. She wasn’t used to the adrenaline rush that came with that kind of pressure. Having him beside her had helped keep her steady.

“Christie, are you coming?” Tommy called. He held out a silver purse. “And you forgot this, Mary.”

Mary took the purse and put an arm around Tommy. “I would have been sadder if I’d forgotten your good-night kiss.” Tommy tipped his bright head back, his dimples so like his father’s.

“Goodbye, Becca,” Mary called through the doorway.

Tommy waved a dismissive hand. “She’s in her room talking to her boyfriend.” He clamped a hand over his mouth. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

“We’ll deal with that tomorrow, dear.” Mary ruffled Tommy’s hair, stepped into the elevator and gave a last wave.

Tommy grabbed Christie’s hand and yanked her inside. An excited Scout wove in and out of their legs, halting them to beg for an ear scratch before moving aside.

“Want to see my dinosaur? His name’s Rexie and he’s awesome.”

“Sure.” She smiled as the youngster scampered down the hall to her right, Scout hot on his heels. She turned to survey the rest of the apartment and— Wow.

A mammoth open space, so unlike the illegally sublet SoHo loft she and Laura shared, yawned before her. Despite the vintage exterior, the apartment had an ultramodern aesthetic that blended rather than clashed with its Corinthian columns. Square light panels alternated in a checkered pattern across the vaulted tin ceiling. A woven beige area rug covered gleaming maple floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows encompassed an entire wall, commanding a panoramic view of the neighborhood and city. The neutral color palate, repeated in black leather couches with white and beige accent pillows, was broken by vibrant artwork and framed photographs. The apartment could have graced the cover of a decorating magazine...if it wasn’t completely and utterly trashed.

Holy cow.

She leaned against the closed door and gaped at the mess. It looked as if a Kansas twister had barreled through the room, scattering papers, books, toys and, of all things, a sewing machine covered in fabric pieces, feathers and open bags of sequins and rhinestones. Not that the place was dirty. In fact, every uncovered surface shone. No doubt Mary was doing her best to keep things clean, but why leave it so untidy?

She twitched at the lack of organization and bent to pick up a paperback.

“Dad doesn’t like anyone touching his stuff,” Becca said behind her.

Christie put the book on a recessed shelf and turned. “I can see that.” She smiled at the young girl, who wore a pink tank top and gray sweatpants. Her dark hair hung past her shoulders in loose curls. “How are you, Becca?”

“Good. A little hungry, though,” Becca laughed. “I can never eat enough after dance class.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Is Mr. Vaccaro going to be okay?”

“He’s getting the best possible care,” Christie assured the girl. Good thing her voice sounded steady. When she’d seen John sitting so still in his wheelchair, she’d felt as if her own heart had quit beating. “Now, let’s find you something to eat.”

“Oh. Me, too. Me, too.” Tommy burst from behind his sister and dropped his plastic Tyrannosaurus rex. Scout snatched the toy, trotted to a plaid dog bed beside the door and settled down to gnaw on the dinosaur’s tail.

“It looks like everyone’s starving.” Christie eyed Scout. “Give,” she commanded in her firmest nurse voice. The dog’s mouth slackened, the toy dropping to the floor.

“Wow.” Becca tucked her hair behind her ears. “He never listens to anyone. How did you do that?”

She grabbed the toy and sidestepped a shoe pile on her way to the kitchen. “I have a dog, too.” She turned on the hot water and washed the dinosaur in a double sink set in a black granite countertop.

It felt good to clean. Create order. There was nothing like busywork to distract her from worries. She took her first solid breath since she’d noticed John was unconscious.