Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) (2 page)

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Authors: Pat Warren

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“What about the person I replaced on the list, Dad?” Alex asked, his voice not accusatory but rather questioning.
Ron sat down on the edge of the companion chair, looking momentarily troubled. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that person many times since I... persuaded the hospital staff to help me? But if he or she was as sick as you—and he’d have had to be to be next in line—then he’s probably had the surgery by now and doing as well as you.”
Rationalization. He’d thought of that argument, too. “How do we know that for a fact?”
“We don’t.” A scowl appeared on Ron’s strong face. “Listen, I don’t want you to be thinking about this. You need to concentrate on getting well, on recovering. What’s done is done, and if there’s blame somewhere in this, it rests clearly on my shoulders.”
And perhaps the hospital staff and the doctor in charge, for caving in to financial pressure, to hospital politics. However, Alex wasn’t naive. These sweetheart deals were made all the time in business. And running a hospital, he knew, was exactly like running a business. Sometimes difficult decisions had to be made for the overall good.
But a life had been involved here, a poor, unsuspecting, very ill victim of liver disease. He’d been there and knew how that felt, how the unfairness of it all ate at you. Only that person hadn’t had a guardian angel in his corner.
He decided to make one more stab at it. “I thought there was a regional transplant registry, plus a national one. Isn’t shuffling people around on the list against the rules?”
Ron’s face took on a stubborn look. “You let me worry about the rules.”
And that, Alex knew, would be the last Ron would say on the matter. Wearily, he ran a hand over his unshaven chin. He’d gotten lazy lying around, reading, napping daily, letting Maddy spoil him with special meals and freshly baked cookies. The doctor had said it would likely be several months before he could get back to work. Although he didn’t mind his enforced rest now, he was sure that as soon as this incredible weakness left him, he’d be anxious to get back. He’d been too active all his life to enjoy being idle for long.
Ron touched his son’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t hate me for this, Alex. I simply couldn’t lose you, too.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Alex gripped his father’s hand. “How could I hate you? You saved my life. I’m grateful.”
Ron leaned over and grasped his son into a rough hug, then straightened. “Got to get back to the salt mines. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Hey, Dad, will you ask Mitch to come see me? If I can’t get back just yet, I’d kind of like to hear what’s going on in my department.” Alex was in charge of the land acquisition and development end of the business, while the construction division was Ron’s responsibility. Mitch Franklin was Alex’s right-hand man, an old college buddy.
“All right,” Ron said, his reluctance obvious. “But I don’t want you concerned about the company just now. We’re doing just fine. You need to heal.”
“I’m healing, I’m healing.” He waved his father off, wishing for the day he could put all this invalid stuff behind him. Shifting on the lounge, he felt the pull of the staples still in his incision. Eighteen inches long from left to right across the top of his abdomen just under the sternum. Not a pretty sight.
Alex heard the patio door open and saw Maddy coming toward him with a small tray. His afternoon medication, no doubt. Fourteen pills a day including the newest antirejection drug. He’d be on most of them the rest of his life.
But at least he was alive.
Resolutely, he set aside his thoughts about the person who’d moved to second place on the transplant list and smiled a welcome to the housekeeper who’d been like a mother to him.
 
Mitch Franklin was as dark as Alex was fair, with brown curly hair and eyes that were almost black. He was also a good four inches shorter than Alex’s six-two, but he was muscular and strong, a former college wrestler.
In shirtsleeves and his trademark paisley suspenders, Mitch walked into Ron’s den and found his friend watching an old Hitchcock movie. “Man, what a life you lead!” His smile wide, he shook hands with Alex and dropped down onto an oversize hassock, propping his elbows on his knees.
“Yeah, it’s great. I’ve memorized the dialogue from a dozen movies and read nearly every book up there.” He waved at the far wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
“Ah, come on, it’s only been a month.”
“Feels like longer.” Using the remote, he turned off the television. “You have no idea what boredom can do to you. I’m considering taking up needlepoint. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a natural. Great hands, lots of patience.” He grinned at his friend. “No kidding, you’re looking good.”
They’d talked on the phone several times, but this was Mitch’s first visit. “No,
you’re
looking good. Tanned and healthy, while I look like hell.”
“I wouldn’t say that. A little pale maybe, but better than being golden yellow,” Mitch commented, referring to the jaundice Alex had had before his transplant.
Alex sighed and sat up. “I guess you’re right. How’re Jan and the kids?” Unlike Alex, with his brief marriage that had ended in divorce after less than a year, Mitch was happily married, a real family man. Jan was a tall, dazzling blonde who adored her husband and had given him a son and daughter so far. Alex dropped by for dinner every few months, but he knew the domestic scene wasn’t for him.
“Great. Cheryl’s taking ballet and Toby’s in Cub Scouts, which means I have to be a group leader. Ten six-year-olds. I wish I had their energy.”
“Me, too, especially these days. So, how’re things at the office? And don’t give me one-word answers like ‘fine’ and ‘okay’ the way Dad does.”
Mitch shoved long fingers through his thick hair. “But things
are
fine and okay. We locked up that parcel outside Fallbrook. We should have water approval in another week. Oceanside condos are completed. Not much else simmering right now.”
“So then you don’t really need me. I can jump on my boat, live on board, sail around the world.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. There are always problems. Electricians are on strike, but you probably read about that already. That might put us behind on the Del Mar project if they don’t settle soon.” He glanced out the window. “And this unseasonable heavy rain’s slowing things. Plus two people are out this week and I’m buried in paperwork. Same old, same old.”
Alex was quiet, not commenting right away, staring out at the rain slithering down the window. A day as gloomy as his thoughts. He’d been pondering something for weeks. It was time to act. “Mitch, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure. Name it.”
“I want you to hire a private investigator to find out something, and I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
Mitch didn’t bother to hide his curious frown. “All right. What’s it about?”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but organs for transplant are available first in the area they’re harvested. The hospital in each area has a recipient list, names waiting for a donor. When an organ becomes available, the man or woman who gets first crack is determined by age, probable recovery and by how sick they are, how needy. By some fluke, I found out that I shot to the top of the list because...because of Dad’s influence.” His eyes on Mitch, he waited for a reaction.
Mitch shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Ron’s pretty aggressive, which can’t be news to you.”
“No, but sometimes he crosses the line.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I overheard two nurses talking. I want you to hire this guy to get me a copy of the list at the time I went into surgery.”
Mitch looked perplexed. “Why?”
Alex ran a hand along the back of his neck. “I just need to know. Because of Dad, someone who was scheduled next got shoved to second place. I want to know that someone’s name and as much about him or her as this P.I. can dig up.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Mitch shook his head. “I fail to see why you need to know. It’s not going to change a thing.”
“I’m aware of that. I...I just want to know. And tell him no fudging. I want the truth. Also, I’ll pay the guy in cash. I don’t want Dad to know about this.”
Rising, Mitch stuck his hands in his pants pockets and rattled his change as he studied his friend. “I’d like to talk you out of this, Alex. There’s no way this information is going to help you put all this behind you and move on with your life.”
Wearily, Alex leaned back. “Maybe you’re right. Nevertheless, I want it done. Will you find someone?”
Still frowning, Mitch nodded. “I’ll get right on it. Might take a bit of doing. Hospitals guard that sort of information.”
“Get someone good. Call me when his report’s in.” Alex watched his friend walk away, then shifted his gaze out to the rain-washed yard and beyond to the gray skies.
Was he doing the right thing? Who was to say? He only knew he wouldn’t rest until he got some answers, right or wrong.
 
 
It felt great being back in his own place among his own things, Alex thought. His father had been against his leaving, as the hovering housekeeper had been, but he’d insisted. His condo was only ten miles up the shoreline from Ron’s house, so it wasn’t as if he’d be far away. Of course, he couldn’t drive yet, but he was only a phone call away.
Maddy had insisted on stocking his kitchen, so he was well set. Alex yawned expansively. If only he felt like doing something more strenuous than a leisurely swim in the community pool or his evening stroll on the beach. Dr. Benson had ruled out ocean activities for now, but he seemed pleased with Alex’s progress. The ennui would gradually fade, his energy would return and his need to nap disappear altogether, they’d promised him. So far, none of that had happened.
But his appetite had returned. Finishing the sandwich and glass of milk he’d prepared for lunch, Alex put the dishes into the dishwasher just as the doorbell rang. Moving slowly, as he did most things, he went to answer.
Mitch strolled in, a manila envelope under his arm and a hesitant look on his face. “Ron says you’re jumping the gun by moving back here so soon.”
Alex closed the door behind his friend. “Dad’s become an old woman. I had to get out of there before he and Maddy drove me nuts. And I’m fine.” He nodded toward the envelope. “Have you finally got something for me?” It had been three weeks since their last meeting. Each time Alex had phoned, Mitch had told him to be patient, that good investigations take time.
“Yeah, but I really wish you’d reconsider. This is crazy, Alex.” He faced his friend, concern plain on his tanned face. “What possible good will this do?”
“It’ll set my mind at ease.” He held out his hand.
“I doubt that.” Reluctantly, Mitch handed over the envelope before wandering into the kitchen. “Got any coffee made?”
“Yeah, in the pot. Warm it in the micro.” Walking to his favorite chair by the large picture window, Alex sat down and opened the envelope.
The first sheet listed ten names. His name was second in line. In the number-one position was a Neal Delaney. Alex felt a muscle in his jaw clench. It was one thing to think about this for weeks now, but quite another to put a name to the man he’d replaced.
The second sheet contained two short paragraphs. Alex read them quickly, then a second time more slowly. The third, topped by the private investigator’s letterhead, was a bill for services rendered plus expenses. Alex scarcely glanced at it, returning instead to the information sheet on Neal Delaney.
Thirty years old, had a congenital liver disease that was apparently inherited from his grandfather and known to skip generations. Diagnosed first week of July, immediately put on the list. Became critical two weeks later, moved to top position. Died on July 29 before an organ became available.
Shaken, Alex lowered the pages as Mitch walked in, sat down and looked at him. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”
Alex didn’t know what he’d been expecting to see, what he’d
hoped
to learn. Probably that the guy had gotten a good liver right after his own surgery and that he was doing well. That would have eased his conscience a great deal. But this...this was a shocker.
Neal Delaney had died two days after Alex’s surgery.
Wordlessly, he read the second paragraph. Neal’s widow, Megan Delaney, was twenty-six, his son, Ryan, was seven. They lived in Twin Oaks, twenty miles northwest of Los Angeles where Megan now operated Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast alone. Neal had had two insurance policies totaling $275,000.
Mitch glanced down at the sheet Alex had just read. “At least she’s not broke, eh?”
Alex nodded, setting the packet onto the table alongside his chair. He pushed on the lounge chair’s arms until the footrest rose and then stretched out. He felt uncharacteristically numb.
Sitting down opposite his friend, Mitch leaned forward, his dark eyes worried. “Chances are the man was too sick, Alex. He might have died
during
surgery, or maybe right after.”

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