Page 50 of The Senator's Wife

Sloane’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at Athena in confusion, then seemed to get her bearings. “I must have dozed off. What time is it?”

“Close to one. I thought you might like to go downstairs for lunch. Doris made her special pot pie. I’d love to join you if that’s okay. I asked her to set us up in the sunroom. You mentioned that it’s your favorite room in the house.” Athena was doing her best to regain the sense of companionship they’d enjoyed when she first arrived. Sloane had become wary around her, and that wouldn’t do at all.

“That sounds nice.”

She followed behind Sloane as she made her way gingerly down the stairs. Athena could tell she was in pain by the way she winced each time her foot came down on a step. By the time they reached the sunroom, Sloane’s color was ashen, her upper lip dotted with sweat. Doris had already put their plates and silverware on the table, and they both took a seat. Sloane’s hand trembled as she reached for the napkin and placed it on her lap.

“Are you okay?” Athena asked.

Sloane nodded. “Fine.” She pointed to the empty glass in front of her plate. “Would you mind pouring me some water?”

Doris had left a glass pitcher on the table.

“Of course.” She reached over and filled Sloane’s glass, then her own.

They began to eat, and after a few minutes Athena looked over at Sloane. It was time to address the elephant in the room. “Sloane, I just want to tell you that in my experience, what you’re going through is temporary. I had a lupus patient a few years ago, and she also experienced hallucinations. Once her medicine was modified, the hallucinations stopped. I know it’s scary, and I’m sure it makes you uncomfortable to discuss. But that’s what I’m here for. There’s no need for any embarrassment on your part. I just want to help.”

Sloane sighed, and her eyes filled. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re healthy. Can you imagine what you’d be feeling if you couldn’t trust what your own eyes and ears were telling you?”

“I would be terrified. I’m not trying to minimize what’s happening, but we both know that it’s because of the lupus. It’s only been a day since Dr. Porter increased your steroids. Whit told me that Portersaid if that doesn’t help, he’ll introduce some new meds. But you need to give the steroids time to work and get that inflammation down.”

“I guess. But it’s not just the hallucinations. I’m forgetting things. Chunks of time,” Sloane said.

Athena was gratified that she was opening up to her. “It’s going to be okay. You’re getting the best medical care there is, and I’m going to take care of you while this gets figured out.”

“I appreciate your trying to cheer me up, but I’ve seen what this disease can do when the central nervous system is involved. I do my best to stay positive, but the idea that my brain could suffer damage that would change my personality or render me comatose is unthinkable. I wouldn’t want to live that way.”

Athena put her fork down and looked at Sloane. “You’re right. Itisunthinkable. But the reality is that no one knows what tomorrow brings. An accident, any sudden illness, an injury—all of those things can change our lives in an instant.” Athena knew this firsthand. “My mother always said worry is like paying interest on money you don’t owe.”

Sloane nodded. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was. She’d also tell you that you need your strength, so eat up.” She pointed to Sloane’s dish. When they’d finished, they headed back upstairs.

After Athena got her settled, she sat in the corner of the room with a book until Sloane was asleep. Going out to her car, she took the phone from the glove compartment and sent a text to Clint.

She’s beginning to trust me again. Caution is still necessary. When I was at her office, a staff member noticed that the picture over the wall safe was crooked. I’d neglected to make sure it was straight, and she seemed suspicious. This situation is trickier than the last one. Let’s keep communication to a minimum and not meet for a while—I don’t think I’m followed when I leave the house, but you never know. The payoff will be worth every ounce of planning and stress. Don’t reach out. I’ll contact you.

- 39 -

ROSEMARY

Rosemary had never been happier to be on her way home. The hospital finally released her after five more days, and Camille had stayed with her every night. The detectives had come to the hospital, but Rosemary still couldn’t remember anything. They had no leads whatsoever at this point. Camille arranged for a hospital bed, round-the-clock nursing care, and physical and speech therapy at her home, to help her regain her strength after being immobile for weeks in the hospital. The doctors were amazed at her recovery thus far, and said it was truly a miracle that she was talking and able to move so well.

She felt her mood lift as the familiar Stonefield sign came into view. Through the graceful iron gates onto the long tree-lined drive, they passed the stables and riding ring before the house came into view. Even after all these years, the sight of the beautiful stone dwelling comforted her. She smiled at her daughter, seated next to her, as her driver pulled up to the front. She waited while Anthony opened the wheelchair and then helped her into it from the back seat. Her eyes wandered to the tennis courts. She sighed, wondering how long it would be before she was playing on them again.

“Do you want to rest?” Camille asked once they were inside.

Rosemary shook her head. “Porch.”

Camille wheeled her into the screened porch with her chair facing the windows. The sun felt good on her skin. She needed to let Camille know about the report Mac had brought her. She remembered now: the vice president, Congressman Horner, Whit, and Peterson all going to those housing projects. Secret meetings.She needed to show the report to Camille. It must be in the house somewhere.

She cleared her throat. “Living room. Find report.”

Camille left the room but was back in a few minutes. “I couldn’t find anything. I asked Matilda if she’d seen a folder, but she said no.”

“Call…Faye,” she told her daughter.

Camille walked to the desk and retrieved Rosemary’s address book. “This number?” she said, pointing.

---