Page 124 of Confessions

As for Ben’s insinuations about the man, they were just plain false. She’d spoken to Fitzpatrick several times, her senses on guard, and each time he’d been a gentleman. Ben, damn him, had been wrong.

But he’d been wrong about a lot of things, she thought darkly, wondering if he had an inkling of the fact that he’d nearly been a father.... The pain in her heart ached and she shoved those agonizing thoughts far away, where no one could ever find them.

She drove to her parents’ apartment and managed a smile as she opened the door. “Hi! Thought I’d stop by—” She stopped in midsentence as she felt in the air that something was wrong—dreadfully wrong.

“Carlie?” Her mother’s voice shook a little and her footsteps were quick as they carried her down the stairs. White lines of strain bracketed her mouth and she looked as if she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” Carlie asked, her heart knocking.

“Thank God you’re here.” Thelma’s voice cracked and she had to blink against an onslaught of tears. “It’s your father. He’s...he’s in the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Carlie whispered, her heart pounding with dread.

“He...he got that numb feeling again—you know, I told you it happened a couple of times before—and he couldn’t move very well and I called the emergency number and an ambulance took him to County General.... Oh, Lord, it was awful, Carlie. I stayed with him for a couple of hours, just to make sure he was resting, but then the doctor convinced me I should go home, that there wasn’t anything more I could do. I didn’t want to leave him—” Her voice cracked and Carlie hugged her mother tightly.

“Shh. He’ll be fine,” Carlie said, hoping for the best and knowing that her words held a hollow ring.

“They’re sayin’ it might be a stroke—a bigger one. Oh, Lord, I can’t imagine your father all crippled up. It’ll kill him, sure as I’m standin’ here.”

“Oh, come on, Mom, don’t think that way,” Carlie said, though she was smiling through her tears. A stroke?

Thelma sniffed, attempted a

smile and failed miserably. “I tried to call you, but by that time, you were already gone.”

“So what did the doctor say? What exactly?”

“A lot of things I didn’t understand,” she admitted and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “The gist of it is that your father’s out of immediate danger, whatever that means.”

“Well, it sounds encouraging.”

“I’m not so sure.” Thelma wrung her hands and walked into the kitchen with Carlie, fearing the worst, following behind. “They’ve taken more tests and well, they practically wore poor Weldon out with all their poking and prodding....” Her voice faded and she stared out the window to the rainy winter night. “All we can do is pray.”

Carlie’s heart seemed to drop to her knees. Her father couldn’t be seriously ill, could he? He’d always been so big and strapping—a man’s man. Now he was frail?

“Come on, Mom,” she heard herself saying as she walked on wooden legs. “Let’s go see how he is and I’ll talk to the doctors. Then, if we think we can leave him, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly, Mom. I want to. Now get your coat.”

Thelma didn’t argue and Carlie ushered her out to the Jeep. The ride to the hospital took less than thirty minutes and Carlie spent the entire time willing her father to live, to be as strong as he once was.

She’d always depended upon her father. Whenever she had been in trouble, she’d turned to him, listening to his advice. He was kind and strong, not well educated, but wise to the world and she’d adored him. Even when they’d argued, which had happened more frequently in her teenaged years, they had never lost respect for each other because of the special bond they shared.

It had been he, not her mother, who had been hurt when Carlie had turned her back on Gold Creek. He, who had in those first few months when she’d been starving in Manhattan, sent her checks, “a little something extra to help out,” though she knew he’d grumbled loudly and often about her decision to move to New York. He’d never liked the idea of her modeling, wearing scanty clothing and being photographed; he’d felt personally violated somehow. However, Weldon Surrett had offered a hefty shoulder when she’d needed to cry on one and then been baffled when she no longer reached for him.

He hadn’t approved of her love for Ben. Years ago he’d warned her about both Powell boys. She’d ignored him and when, in the end, he’d been right, he’d never mentioned the fact. Of course, he hadn’t known that she’d been pregnant when she’d left Gold Creek. That little secret was hers and hers alone.

Her father had been hurt badly enough when she’d gotten married on the spur of the moment but had tried his best to like his new son-in-law, though they’d met only once and Paul had been disagreeable. But Weldon hadn’t so much as said “I told you so” when the marriage had failed.

Oh, Dad, don’t die, she thought desperately. She wasn’t done needing a father. For the past few months she’d convinced herself that she’d returned to Gold Creek to help him, when, she decided as she squinted through the drizzle on the windshield, it had been she who had needed help to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

One thing was certain. It was time she stopped running. Time to face her past. Time to mend fences. Time to start a new life. Time to tell her father she loved him and time to deal with the one loose end in her life, the one dangling thread that still had the ability to coil around and squeeze her heart: her feelings for Ben.

But she couldn’t think of Ben now, not when her father was battling for his life. She drove the Cherokee into a spot near the emergency entrance, slid out of the Jeep and hunched her shoulders against the rain as she and her mother dashed across the puddles forming on the asphalt of the parking lot.

On the third floor of the hospital, in a semiprivate room, Weldon Surrett lay in the bed, his face slightly ashen, the left side slack. He was sleeping and his breathing was labored.