Romancing Miss Right (23 page)

“Fine, put it on hold, but the show can’t end
this way.”

“It won’t.”

“It had better not. You’d better have a plan
in place to get her back on the horse and excited about filming the
last few episodes if her father kicks it.”

Miranda flinched. “You’re a real asshole, you
know that, Wallace?”

“I do know that. I’m also the asshole who
will replace you if you make the call not to film the final episode
while Daddy is still alive and Miss Right decides she isn’t
emotionally able to film it later. Understand?”

“I think I got it.”
Asshole
.

“Good.”

He didn’t say goodbye. But then, she hadn’t
been expecting him to.

Miranda turned off her phone—ignoring the
dozen flashing messages from the production crew asking for
instructions—and continued toward the cafeteria and the espresso
machine of the gods. Right now she needed a caffeine fix almost as
much as Marcy did.

Fifteen minutes later, with a latte in each
hand, she’d come to one conclusion—maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad
thing if she got fired.

She liked her job—most days. She was good at
her job—every day. But what kind of legacy was she leaving behind?
What kind of person was she becoming, exploiting the emotions of
others day after day in a quest for ratings glory?

Was that really who she wanted to be?

She wasn’t religious, but for a moment, she’d
almost found herself praying for Marcy’s father to live—just to
make the continuation of the show easier. And then the shame of
that almost-prayer had smashed into her like a wrecking ball. No,
losing the job might not be a bad thing at all.

But what would she do if she wasn’t that
person anymore? A ball busting, Machiavellian reality TV producer
was the only person she knew how to be. What was left of her if she
took that away?

She didn’t have a family. Her friends were
almost all colleagues. Her love life was non-existent.

Without the job, she was just a bossy woman
with a God complex and no one to act it out on. But maybe that
wasn’t all she could be. Maybe she could be more than this. Maybe
she could be a human being too.

Miranda shoved open the door to the waiting
room. “One caramel latte, no whip.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Craig sat across from
Marcy in the hospital cafeteria, watching her poke at her lasagna
with a plastic fork. The food was actually pretty decent, the
chairs were comfortable, and the large windows overlooking the pond
let in lots of light and made the spot surprisingly bright and
cheerful—all things considered.

It was a nice hospital cafeteria. But that
was kind of like saying someone was an honest politician or a
friendly executioner. Nice could only take it so far. It couldn’t
change the nature of the thing.

Marcy looked about like he’d expect the
beloved daughter of a man hovering on the edge of life and death to
look. Circles under her eyes. Her thick, dark hair bunched back in
a ponytail, with flyaway strands sticking to her cheeks. One of the
production assistants had brought her a change of clothes, so she
wasn’t still in the t-shirt and shorts from the picnic, having
exchanged them for jeans and a soft, long-sleeved lavender shirt.
She twisted the sleeves around her wrists—when she wasn’t poking at
the lasagna, staring at it with dazed, fixed eyes.

He’d never felt more useless in his life.

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted
desperately to fix it, to make her feel better even if he couldn’t
wave a magic wand and make her father wake up, healthy and whole.
But all his life he’d cultivated one skill. All he knew how to do
was be a jackass and that wasn’t what she needed.

“Do you want to find your mom and your
sisters?” he asked.

She’d been with him all day. Useless him.
Surely she’d be better off with them—though he had no intention of
leaving her.

Her gaze didn’t lift from the pile of prodded
lasagna, but she shook her head, quick and sharp.

“How about bowling?”

That got her attention. Her head snapped up.
“What?”

“Hospital bowling. We steal a few of these
for the pins—” He held up the plastic cup holding his soda. “—then
all we need is one of those grapefruits over there and an empty
stretch of hallway. Voila. Instant bowling.”

“Somehow I don’t think hospital bowling is a
good use of my time right now.” But there was amusement lurking in
the depths of her eyes.

He nodded somberly. “You’re right. Colostomy
bag water balloon fight.”

“Ew.”

“Not
used
colostomy bags. That’s just
gross.”

Her lips were twitching now. Something soft
and warm entered her eyes. “You don’t have to be the funny one all
the time,” she reminded him.

I do when I need to see you smile
.
“And you don’t have to be the clever one. So why don’t you want to
see your sisters and your mom?”

Her eyes went back to her lasagna.

“Marcy?”

“They’ll—I don’t want to—“ She broke off. He
waited. She lifted her gaze to his. “I feel like it’s my fault.”
Her voice wavered but didn’t break on the last word.

Craig nodded. He understood that perfectly.
“Feelings are stupid.”

She blinked and frowned, her dazed eyes
focusing more sharply on him. “What?”

“I felt like it was my fault that my dad
didn’t leave his wife for my mom. For years. It’s not my fault my
dad was a two-timing dick any more than it’s your fault your dad
had a clogged artery. But feelings are stupid. They don’t care
about what really happened. They just hurt.” He reached for his
soda cup, found it was down to just ice and set it back down
without trying to drink. “Your mom, your sisters, they don’t blame
you. They couldn’t, because it isn’t your fault. Shitty things
happen and we wish they were our fault because then we’d be in
control. We could make the next shitty thing not happen. But we
aren’t in control. We don’t run the universe. And no one blames
us.” He reached across the table, covering the hand that didn’t
hold a plastic fork with his. “They love you. Any idiot can see
that. And I should know, because I’ve been an idiot more times than
not.”

Marcy looked at him, drinking in everything
he said. She hadn’t been saying much since they got the news about
her father, but she’d held on tight whenever he’d reached for her.
She turned her hand beneath his now, lightly gripping his
wrist.

“Do you want to go see your mom and your
sisters?” he asked again. “It’s not too late for colostomy bag
water balloons.”

She cringed at the suggestion, but her eyes
were warm. “No colostomy balloons. Let’s go upstairs.”

#

Her family had claimed a corner of one of the
waiting rooms on the third floor. Her mother and Laurie held hands,
their lips moving in silent prayer, while Dinah played what looked
like a game of spades with Rick, Daniel and her oldest
nephew—though they didn’t appear to be keeping score. Laurie and
Rick’s younger kids watched cartoons on the television on the
wall—probably too young to understand all of what was happening,
though they picked up on the worry.

Marcy’s mother looked up as they approached
and then everything happened quickly. Marcy was absorbed into a
huddle of Henrickson women, all speaking at once, wondering where
she’d been, sharing hope that they would hear something soon—and
Craig hung back with Daniel standing awkwardly at his side.

“Thanks,” Craig said. “For staying with
them.”

Daniel shot him a look, frowning, and Craig
realized it was probably a weird thing to thank the other Suitor
for, but he didn’t know what else to say. There didn’t seem to be a
right thing in this situation.

Before he could bungle it further, Marcy
extricated herself from the knot of her family. Her eyes looked
clearer, as if just being with them had burned off some of the fog
that had clouded her thoughts. “You guys should go home. Get some
sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Craig thought about arguing, about telling
her there was no way in hell he was leaving her, but if she didn’t
want him here, he couldn’t very well force the point. Daniel
nodded, reaching out to give her a hug goodbye and for the first
time Craig didn’t want to punch him for touching her. She could use
all the comfort she could get.

He took his turn—the hug feeling oddly formal
after the last twenty hours—then followed Daniel toward the
door.

“Guys,” Marcy said, when they were almost to
the exit. “Thanks. You were both really great today.”

Craig nodded, Daniel murmuring, “It was my
honor.”

Neither spoke as they waited for the elevator
and rode it down to the lobby. Craig still didn’t like Daniel,
really, but a silent truce had risen up between them and he
accepted it.

In the lobby, instead of making a beeline for
the door, Craig turned toward a cluster of low armchairs that
circled the indoor fountain with a funky sculpture at the center.
He picked one of the chairs—much too small for his long frame—and
tossed himself onto it with a grunt.

Daniel had hesitated when he turned toward
the fountain and followed him now, coming to stand over him, the
usual Disapproving Danny frown in place. “What are you doing?”

Isn’t it obvious?
“Staying.”

“She won’t even know you’re here,” Daniel
protested.

Craig shrugged. “I will.”

Daniel’s frown deepened. He glanced toward
the front doors.

Craig sighed. “I’m not going to be able to
sleep anyway. I just don’t see the point of going back to my room
at the hotel and twiddling my thumbs there when I could be doing
the same here.”

After some more deliberation, Danny Boy
seemed to accept this. “I’ll go back to the hotel and get some
sleep. I’ll be back to spell you later.”

Craig shrugged. He wouldn’t be moving, now or
later, but he didn’t see the point in having the argument. He
stretched out his legs, trying to find the most comfortable
position for a body that wasn’t as young as it used to be and
didn’t take kindly to sleeping sitting up with his head lolling
back against a wall. As Daniel made his exit, he watched the water
burbling in the fountain, letting his thoughts drift and wondering
if he remembered how to pray.

#

Moonlight was filtering through the lobby
skylights to play over the water in the fountain when the chair
beside him dipped beneath a female form and a waft of perfume
brushed past him.

“Hello, young man.”

Katherine Henrickson was an attractive older
woman, a little rounder than her daughters, with the fair coloring
she’d given to Laurie, though Marcy and Dinah had their father’s
darker looks. She wore a pair of fresh trousers and a neatly
buttoned blouse, her hands busy with the silk scarf around her neck
the same way Marcy fidgeted with her sleeves when she was upset.
Her hair was a bit damp, but her make-up was perfect and fresh.

“Hello, Mrs. Henrickson. Has there been any
news? Can I get you anything?”

“No news yet. And I’m well taken care of. My
daughters talked me into taking a shower. They kept telling me I’d
be refreshed, over and over again. I gave in just to make them feel
like they were doing something—looking after me for their daddy—but
you know I do actually feel quite refreshed.”

“Funny how that happens sometimes.”

She hummed agreeably. “I think the shower was
supposed to be only for staff, but the people here have been very
accommodating. Or maybe that’s Miranda being a bully to get us what
we need. I could almost like that woman.”

“She is a force of nature.”

Another hum of agreement.

They fell silent then, letting the water in
the fountain do their talking for them for a while.

The sound of her voice was almost as gentle
as the water when she finally spoke. “I didn’t think much of Frank
when we first met. He was so full of arrogance and bluster. He had
a good heart, but he didn’t really know how to use it yet.”

“And you taught him?”

“I did my part. But it was those girls who
really gave him an education. He became an expert at love when he
became a daddy.” She smiled, still watching the fountain. “Some men
are like that.”

Craig couldn’t imagine it—but he couldn’t
imagine being anyone’s father either. The idea of having kids had
always been mildly terrifying to him. It would have been making the
best of a mistake, but undeniably a mistake. He’d never really
dreamed about a family. Being a daddy on purpose.

“I’ll always be Frank’s sweetheart, but those
girls are the lights of his life. Especially Marcy. She was her
daddy’s girl from the day she was born. Wrapped him around her
little finger when she was a teeny little thing. I worry for Dinah,
my wild child, but Frank has always worried for Marcy.”

Craig wasn’t sure if he was being warned off
or not. She seemed more contemplative than accusatory. “I don’t
want to hurt her.”

“I know you don’t.” Her soft smile warmed
slightly as she took her eyes off the fountain and looked up at
him, resting her hand on top of his. “You have a good heart, young
man. You just need to learn how to use it.”

Something thick clogged his throat and he
cleared it roughly, squeezing her hand. “He’s going to be fine, you
know. He has a good heart.”

She looked back to the fountain with another
soft smile. “That he does.”

#

“That nurse said he saw her down here.” Marcy
rushed into the lobby with Dinah on her heels, scanning every chair
for a sign of her mother. They’d just gotten news that the second
emergency surgery her father had been rushed into was now complete
and the doctor would be out to speak with them soon.

There would be news soon. Actual news. She
could only hope it was good. They’d been waiting so long without
knowing.