I’m sorry about your husband.” The woman paused. “His brother is cute.”
The nurse breezed back into the room. “Here’s the number. It’s an ungodly hour though. You’d better wait.” She left a slip of paper on the bedside tray and hurried out.
“But I have to check on my children!” A sob racked Miranda’s throat and shook her ribs into pain so intense that a wave of black rolled across her vision. She fought it off.
“The nurse ain’t God,” her roommate said. “You can call right now, if you want to.”
Miranda tried to shift her position and yelped. “I can’t reach the phone.”
“I’ll get it for you.” A middle-aged woman swam into view. Wearing a blue and white hospital gown, she padded to the bedside. “Hi, I’m Sue.”
“I’m Miranda.”
She heard a rustle as the woman picked up the paper, and then the tap-tap-tap of fingers on buttons. The phone nestled in Miranda’s hand and was guided to her ear.
She waited, anticipating Timothy’s voice. It was his job to pick up the phone when she wasn’t home.
On the second ring, a man answered with a low, grumpy “Hello.”
“Who is—oh.” Her scrambled brain had already forgotten Jack would be there. “Is this Jack?”
“It is. Who’s calling?”
“This is Miranda.”
“Miranda. Is everything all right? Do you need me to run up to the hospital?”
“No. The children. How are the children?”
“They’re fine. Alive and kicking.”
“Are they up yet?”
“At five in the morning?” A short laugh. “No. I wasn’t either. I’m glad you called though. I have questions.”
“It’s too early for that,” she said quickly. “I’ll call back later so I can talk to the children. About eight?”
“Sure. Let me give you my cell number so you can reach me anytime.”
“Wait. Sue? Can you write down a number for me?”
Miranda repeated the numbers after Jack. On the other side of the curtain, Sue parroted them once more as she wrote them down.
“I’ve got it.” Miranda’s nose itched as tears dried on it. “Has anyone else called? Or come by?”
“No. Not a soul.”
“This may sound strange, but I’d like to ask you not to rock the boat while I’m gone. Don’t, um, make waves.”
He laughed. “You’re asking the impossible, darlin’. They call me Jack ‘Tsunami’ Hanford.”
“They do?”
He laughed again, making her feel like a fool. “No, I just made it up. I like the sound of it though.”
She had to play along. “Yes, it has a ring to it. Well, I’ll … I’ll let you go.”
“All right. And Miranda—you’re welcome.”
“Oh! Thank you, Jack. Thank you so much. You’ll never know how much I appreciate—”
Too late. She was speaking to a dead phone. She deserved his shortness with her, but it still stung.
He’d better not be short with the children, or he’d hear about it.
As she lowered the phone to the bed, a man walking down the hallway chuckled and said “Bottom of the ninth.” A woman laughed and made a soft reply.
She sounded happy. Normal. She wasn’t worried about tangling with a pastor who wanted to drag his entire church out of state. She didn’t have to rely on a smart-mouthed professor who had no idea what kind of trouble he might cause.
Miranda needed him though. The children needed him. Jack was the wall between them and Mason’s threat.
Unwilling to disturb her roommate again, Miranda wept quietly, the agony escalating with every stifled sob. She ached to be with her children. This hospital stay was like an evil foretaste of a worse separation.
At five minutes to eight, Jack rounded up the kids and told them their mom would be calling. “And everybody will have a chance to talk, all right? You can pass the phone around.”
They gathered at the kitchen table and waited. Sometimes they were a tad too compliant, as if their behavior had been shaped by a rod on their backsides, though Jack had no problem with that. He had been raised that way,
The nurse breezed back into the room. “Here’s the number. It’s an ungodly hour though. You’d better wait.” She left a slip of paper on the bedside tray and hurried out.
“But I have to check on my children!” A sob racked Miranda’s throat and shook her ribs into pain so intense that a wave of black rolled across her vision. She fought it off.
“The nurse ain’t God,” her roommate said. “You can call right now, if you want to.”
Miranda tried to shift her position and yelped. “I can’t reach the phone.”
“I’ll get it for you.” A middle-aged woman swam into view. Wearing a blue and white hospital gown, she padded to the bedside. “Hi, I’m Sue.”
“I’m Miranda.”
She heard a rustle as the woman picked up the paper, and then the tap-tap-tap of fingers on buttons. The phone nestled in Miranda’s hand and was guided to her ear.
She waited, anticipating Timothy’s voice. It was his job to pick up the phone when she wasn’t home.
On the second ring, a man answered with a low, grumpy “Hello.”
“Who is—oh.” Her scrambled brain had already forgotten Jack would be there. “Is this Jack?”
“It is. Who’s calling?”
“This is Miranda.”
“Miranda. Is everything all right? Do you need me to run up to the hospital?”
“No. The children. How are the children?”
“They’re fine. Alive and kicking.”
“Are they up yet?”
“At five in the morning?” A short laugh. “No. I wasn’t either. I’m glad you called though. I have questions.”
“It’s too early for that,” she said quickly. “I’ll call back later so I can talk to the children. About eight?”
“Sure. Let me give you my cell number so you can reach me anytime.”
“Wait. Sue? Can you write down a number for me?”
Miranda repeated the numbers after Jack. On the other side of the curtain, Sue parroted them once more as she wrote them down.
“I’ve got it.” Miranda’s nose itched as tears dried on it. “Has anyone else called? Or come by?”
“No. Not a soul.”
“This may sound strange, but I’d like to ask you not to rock the boat while I’m gone. Don’t, um, make waves.”
He laughed. “You’re asking the impossible, darlin’. They call me Jack ‘Tsunami’ Hanford.”
“They do?”
He laughed again, making her feel like a fool. “No, I just made it up. I like the sound of it though.”
She had to play along. “Yes, it has a ring to it. Well, I’ll … I’ll let you go.”
“All right. And Miranda—you’re welcome.”
“Oh! Thank you, Jack. Thank you so much. You’ll never know how much I appreciate—”
Too late. She was speaking to a dead phone. She deserved his shortness with her, but it still stung.
He’d better not be short with the children, or he’d hear about it.
As she lowered the phone to the bed, a man walking down the hallway chuckled and said “Bottom of the ninth.” A woman laughed and made a soft reply.
She sounded happy. Normal. She wasn’t worried about tangling with a pastor who wanted to drag his entire church out of state. She didn’t have to rely on a smart-mouthed professor who had no idea what kind of trouble he might cause.
Miranda needed him though. The children needed him. Jack was the wall between them and Mason’s threat.
Unwilling to disturb her roommate again, Miranda wept quietly, the agony escalating with every stifled sob. She ached to be with her children. This hospital stay was like an evil foretaste of a worse separation.
At five minutes to eight, Jack rounded up the kids and told them their mom would be calling. “And everybody will have a chance to talk, all right? You can pass the phone around.”
They gathered at the kitchen table and waited. Sometimes they were a tad too compliant, as if their behavior had been shaped by a rod on their backsides, though Jack had no problem with that. He had been raised that way,
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