Page 80 of Inferno
Chapter 20
Even if Stan and Prissy had wanted to stay and party into the wee hours of the night—which he didn’t—fate had other plans.
Shortly after they returned to their empty table, his pager went off. When he checked the display screen and saw their home number, he felt a jolt of alarm, because he’d instructed Manning to page him in case of an emergency.
Prissy stared alertly at him. “What is it? Is it the kids?”
He nodded, rising quickly from his chair as Prissy jumped to her feet, her eyes filled with instinctive panic. Stan took her hand, and together they hurried from the ballroom to use the courtesy phone in the hotel lobby.
Although Stan was used to responding to emergencies, it was different when the emergency was your own. So he didn’t argue when Prissy insisted on being the one to call home and speak to Manning.
He stood beside her, hands jammed into his pockets as he anxiously waited to find out what was going on.
“Manny, this is Mom. Is everything okay?”
Stan stared at Prissy as she listened to their son’s response.
After several moments, he watched some of the tension ebb from her body as she exhaled a shaky breath.
“Okay,” she told Manning. “Give him some ginger ale to help calm his stomach, and make him lie down. We’re on our way home, okay, baby?”
As soon as she hung up the phone, Stan asked with concern, “Who’s sick?”
“Maddox.Manny says he threw up twice and he’s running a fever.”
Stan nodded grimly, remembering that Maddox had seemed quieter than usual before he and Prissy left home that evening. “Come on, babe, let’s go.”
They returned to the ballroom long enough to say good night to their friends and stop by the coat check before they departed.
A tense, heavy silence hung between them on the ride home.
Prissy stared out the window, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Stan told himself that she was just worried about Maddox, but he knew there was more to her silence.
And he knew that sooner, rather than later, he’d have to answer the hard questions he’d been avoiding for months.
He could thank Dr. Gilliard for that.
Damn her, he thought darkly.
What the hell had she been thinking tonight? Why had she come anywhere near him after he’d specifically told her that he didn’t want to introduce her to his wife?
Stan frowned, stealing another glance at Prissy. Her stony profile yielded no clue to her inner thoughts.
He wished like hell that he hadn’t lied to her about not knowing Dr. Gilliard, but he’d been completely blindsided when, out of the blue, she’d turned to him and asked him about the doctor. Before dinner he’d caught a glimpse of Dr. Gilliard seated at the next table, and he’d been slightly unnerved by her proximity. But he’d figured that she wouldn’t do anything to blow his cover, so he’d forgotten all about her until Prissy pointed her out to him.
He’d automatically dismissed Prissy’s assertion that Dr. Gilliard was glaring at her because he couldn’t fathom why on earth his therapist would glare at his wife. He didn’t want to speculate on the possible reasons, nor did he want to examine Dr. Gilliard’s motives for not keeping her distance tonight.
He was afraid of what he might uncover if he went digging beneath the surface.
And at the moment, he had far more pressing matters to worry about.
Three hours later, Stan stood in the doorway of the blue-and-white-striped bedroom shared by Maddox and Mason.
Prissy and Maddox had fallen asleep on the boy’s narrow, wood-framed bed. Maddox’s head was tucked beneath her chin, his wiry body curled against hers as they slept peacefully. Prissy still wore her white ball gown because Maddox had been throwing up when she and Stan arrived home, so her only concern had been tending to their sick child.
While Stan kept the others preoccupied, Prissy gave Maddox some children’s Tylenol and bathed him in lukewarm water to help bring down his high fever. After dressing him in his pajamas, she’d asked Stan to bring Maddox apopsicle. When he arrived, Prissy had tucked their son into bed and was readingThe Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobeto him.
Stan sat at the bedside and listened, as enchanted by the sound of Prissy’s soft, animated voice as Maddox. By the time the boy finished hispopsicle, he was struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open. Long after he drifted off to sleep, Stan and Prissy sat and watched him, his deep, even breaths the only sound between them.
