The Shooting Star, page 18
Sally reached across for her hot drink and took a sip. “I know about the attack that left you unconscious, I already guessed you didn’t find the jewels, and she mentioned you might have fallen in love with a Connor, who could be the grandson of Uncle Ben’s twin?”
Liz put her mug down and sighed. “We’re not sure about that, but if the jewels belong to his family, then who else could he be? And Sal”—she groaned painfully—“I said some horrible things to him before he left, and it’s not Roberta’s fault. I know the second attack scared us both, but the more I think about it, the dumber my accusations were. God, how I wished you were there. You’re always so clear-headed in any situation.”
Sally smiled at the compliment. “Are you sure he wasn’t involved?”
Liz sat back, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “I presume Roberta told you she’s stalked him on the net and done some reading?”
Sally confirmed her answer with a nod. “So have I done some looking. Have you?”
Picking up a cushion, Liz shook her head as she fingered its embroidery, her gaze unseeing. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.”
The clock in the kitchen chimed the hour, dragging her out of her trance. Sighing, she dropped the cushion to her side and reached for her mug. “It was his eyes.”
Trying to make sense of her answer, Sally asked, “What do you mean?”
“It never dawned on me. Not once. But when Roberta connected the dots, it was suddenly so obvious. His eyes are the exact colour of Uncle Ben’s. You don’t see that shade of green often, and I still beat myself up that I didn’t see it the first time I saw them.” Liz rolled her shoulders as though trying to ease their tension before taking another sip. “Was I that blind to something staring me in the face? Freakin’ love, it turns a person’s brain to mush.”
Sally chuckled. “So, you did fall in love?”
Exchanging the mug for the cushion again, Liz wrapped her arms around it. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them. “I don’t want you panicky, Sal. We both knew the rules. We agreed to help each other with the research and do some touristy stuff, no strings attached. I just wish he’d said something about the possible connection. But as nothing was discussed, it should’ve been ‘end of story’. Except I’m left feeling like the bad person. Not only did he spend a lot of money on me, including paying for my hospital stay, but I also went and accused him of being a thief, or his accomplice, when down deep”—she squeezed the cushion tighter—“I knew it wasn’t true. He was so good and kind to me. I can’t believe what I said.”
When she looked up, she said reflectively, “As for falling in love, it wasn’t hard to do. He swept me off my feet, and I loved every minute. But let’s face it, what does a mega-rich guy like Connor want with the likes of me? I need to accept our time together and relegate it to a happy memory somewhere at the back of my mind. I’ll send him a letter of apology and a ‘thank you’ for paying my medical bills, end of story. His business address will probably be all over the internet. Surely someone will pass it on.”
Sally knew it was easier said than done for Liz and wondered how many months or years it would take her to achieve that, if ever. As for Connor’s accident, when was the right time to tell Liz? Hopefully they heard from Connor’s mum soon.
Determined to keep her talking, Sally threw another question at her. “Did the doctor talk to you about the care your Nan needs moving forward?”
The mention of her grandmother was all it took for Liz to crumble. Sally raced over to her and took her in her arms.
“Oh, Sal,” Liz cried, “she … she went downhill so fast while I was away. She must’ve sensed I wasn’t around.” Liz’s tears soaked into her own shirt as she held her against her chest. “The … the doctor says there’s a vacancy at the nursing home, but … but I know as soon as she leaves here, it’s … it’s like I’m putting her to death. I … I know she won’t last long in a place like that.”
Sally tried to console her, holding her in her arms and offering words of encouragement, but knew she spoke with a grain of truth. “Hey, if you’re planning to take some time off from uni, there’s no reason why you can’t visit her every day and make sure she’s being properly taken care of.”
Liz nodded against Sally’s chest. “I… I know.” She sniffled and pulled away, reaching for a tissue in the box sitting on the coffee stand. “That’s my main reason for deferring.” Drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she hiccupped. “I know it’s getting harder to look after her, but …” She sank against the lounge, looking miserable. “I love her so much, and I miss the old Nan. I don’t want to be without her.”
Sally took hold of her hands and squeezed them. “You’ll always have me and Mum and Dad. We all care about you. Got it?”
Liz struggled to smile, more tears trickling down her face. “Oh, Sal, I’m such an emotional mess. Too much has happened in a short space of time and damn it, I didn’t even come close to finding the jewels. It would’ve made it so much easier to pay for the best treatment for Nan. Now I’ll be running on a shoestring budget as usual and she’ll miss out.”
And so will you. Sally’s heart constricted at Liz’s money worries. She wanted so badly to rally against the injustices of the world, where more money meant you could die in a dignified manner.
CHAPTER 28
Connor rubbed his bleary eyes, willing them to open. The knock on his bedroom door confirmed the morning nurse had arrived to help him wash and change. She would do some chores first, but by about the third attempt to rouse him from bed, she would enter regardless.
He didn’t want to get up. Reaching for the bottle of scotch near his lamp, he cursed when he saw it was empty. Christ, I just want one more mouthful. Anything to ease the pain that kept him awake most of the night.
Twisting onto his stomach, he burrowed his face into his pillow, determined never to get out of bed again. In the four weeks since being discharged from hospital, every morning was a struggle. He didn’t envisage it ever changing.
He must’ve dozed off again because further knocking penetrated the fog clouding his brain.
Reluctantly rolling onto his back, he scratched his chin. The three days of stubble pricked his softened, pale hand. He reached across for the remote on his bedside table and activated the button to open the blinds. When he threw it back, it missed and landed on the carpeted floor. His gaze remained riveted on the translucent skin of his hand and the bluish veins protruding. With the full force of the morning sun now shining through the wall of glass on the tenth floor of their inner-city unit, his veins resembled a street map gone wrong. In disgust, he thrust his hand down onto the sheets. How would any woman ever want to hold such a weak-looking hand?
Without warning, his mind overcame the phantom pain that attacked him in bouts when he least expected it by remembering a pair of sun-golden hands laying protectively in his once strong ones. His thoughts floated gently across his mind for a few blissful moments before he groaned out loud and willed his head to forget about her. Sometimes the pain of losing Liz eclipsed the pain of losing his arm.
The door to his room opened, and the matronly nurse his mother employed strode in. “Good morning, Connor.”
His response was unintelligible and not worth the effort. He had no intention of attempting to be friendly or helpful. He had to get past the Berlin Wall of pain that copious amounts of drugs only managed to control before he could contemplate looking life in the face again. Alcohol was his second-best friend.
“I believe you have some friends dropping in for lunch today.” The hefty-sized nurse manhandled him into a sitting position like some floppy mannequin. No sooner was he up and standing than the usual bevy of cleaners waltzed in to change his sheets, vacuum the carpet, tidy his room and generally irritate him.
His mother’s guilt catered to his every whim. Every friend he knew from kindergarten had been to see him, but she couldn’t help him with the one person he really wanted to see, unless he told her about his time in Falerna.
Phil would drop in later with work-related questions and issues while therapists and specialists would teach him to write again, brush his hair, eat his food, tie his shoelaces and the hundreds of other things any normal two-handed person did without thinking.
“Would you like a shave today?”
Connor scowled. “No!” He didn’t speak much these days, and if the nurse thought he was rude and didn’t like it, then she could leave. He couldn’t have cared less. The money Mother pays her must be good because she puts up with a lot of my shit.
“Well, go have a shower. You have to be ready by ten. You’re being fitted for your temporary prosthesis.”
It had already been explained that his stump would continue to shrink for months, and a temporary prosthesis was a start until he was fitted with his final one. Without an elbow joint, it would take longer for him to master its use.
The nurse gave him a gentle nudge from behind. Connor gritted his teeth and made his way to the bathroom. It was the mental block that was holding back his progress. He was adapting okay to doing things one-handed, but learning to write would be his biggest challenge. He wasn’t ready to face that yet.
Once out of the shower, Connor made for the kitchen and spotted his mother sitting on a stool alongside the dark granite kitchen bench, drinking a coffee. She never failed with a smile and was the only person who ignored his grouchiness. Instantly he would recall her years of hell, and as much as he wanted to shut her out of his life, a small part of him couldn’t do it.
Her newfound love for Phil had completely overhauled her. No longer dependant on alcohol and antidepressants, her vitality for life was in direct contrast to Connor’s lack of it. While being around him didn’t give her much inducement to laugh, somewhere lurking in his head was this need to hear it again. If he ever stopped being a total arse.
“Your phone is flat. I’ve put it on charge.” She took another sip of her coffee and pushed one towards him.
He didn’t take any interest in answering his phone, often letting the calls go to voicemail. Without fail, his mother always ensured it was charged. “I’ve also brought all your mail from the office. You might want to go through it and send out thankyou notes.”
Connor twirled the kitchen stool before sitting down. “Burn them. I have no intention of reading their sympathy or sending any thankyou’s back.”
His mother prepared his cereal, ignoring his comment. He ignored her worried frown.
“Did you sleep well last night?”
“Sure,” he replied sarcastically. Sitting down, he pulled his breakfast closer to his chest and clumsily attempted to eat with his left hand.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell she didn’t want to watch him, but her gaze flicked across sporadically whenever he snuck a glance. Taking the occasional sip of coffee, she tapped the bench top with her fingers.
She looked deep in thought, and her next question momentarily surprised him.
“Were you holidaying in Italy, or was it business related?”
Christ. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of Liz. “Forget it, Mother. It’s none of your business.”
She swallowed, hurt wavering across her face, but he didn’t acknowledge it and continued eating.
“Would you like a hand going through your mail?”
Exasperated, he dropped his spoon, splattering muesli and milk across the counter, and shouted, “No. I also don’t need you around all day. Sure, you blame yourself for what happened to me, but I’ll deal with it. Go home. Go back to Phil and forget about me for a few days.”
He slumped over his breakfast and steadfastly refused to look at her. She slid off her stool, shoes clacking on the tiled floor as she grabbed her handbag off the end of the bench. “I hope you enjoy your friends at lunch; I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?”
Shoving his breakfast plate away, then slamming his palm on the bench, he looked up and barked, “And stop sending every goddamned person I know to try and cheer me up!”
His mother straightened her skirt and avoided looking at him. His heart lurched when he suspected they might be glazing over, but he ground his teeth together in a futile attempt to hide his own pain.
She reached the front door, opened it and stopped. With one foot outside, she turned back and said, “Oh, by the way, Roberta apologises for the accusations she made. She knows they were wrong.”
The door slammed shut.
There was no way she would’ve seen his jaw drop and his eyes pop out.
In haste, he nearly fell off the stool as he veered around the bench to grab his phone. Finding enough charge on it, he quickly searched the calls received until he finally found the one he was looking for.
Damn, damn, damn. A bloody month ago and she only tells me now.
Fumbling with the phone, he swiped the screen until his mother’s number came up; she would barely be at her car. When she didn’t answer, and his call went to voicemail, he swore and slammed the phone on the bench.
Changing his mind, he slid the phone closer and awkwardly sent a text with his left hand, a skill he would need to perfect.
Within a matter of seconds, her reply beeped.
Two can play this game.
What the hell?
Connor leant over the kitchen bench on his only elbow and raked his fingers through his drying hair. He knew what she meant. If he didn’t tell her his reasons for being in Italy, there was little chance she’d share her news. Does she know about Liz?
He spun around and stormed off to his room to change. This was something he was getting better at. While he dressed, his mind continued to torment him until he slammed his hand against the wall. Get a grip! There was no use getting all worked up. It was only one phone call. One lousy phone call. There had certainly not been any others and none from Liz.
As he pulled a Lacoste shirt over his head, one thought jabbed at the outer reaches of his brain. He tore out of the room in search of the box of personal mail his mother had spoken about. Finding it still on the kitchen bench, he poured the contents out and hastily checked the sender addresses. Discarding the ones that didn’t interest him onto the floor, his gaze finally landed on the one envelope showing an Australian stamp in the right-hand corner.
With his heart beating exceptionally fast, he turned the envelope over and gasped, reading Liz’s name. Fingers tightening around the envelope, he used his teeth to grab and tear it open and struggled to remove the card from inside. He made his way towards the lounge and dropped into its softness, releasing the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.
He closed his eyes and brought the card up to his chest. His head was playing tricks on him when he smelt her citrus scent, as though his nose nuzzled her hair.
Slowly, he drew it back and opened his eyes, holding the card open.
Dear Connor. I hope this finds you well. I wish to apologise for my behaviour on the day you left and want to thank you for taking care of my hospital costs.
Thank you, Liz.
What? That’s all? Bitterness welled in his throat when he reread the note. Not a single word of love or missing him. Not a single word to convey her feelings in any way matched his.
So why the hell did Roberta bother to phone? Was she after some financial gain now that she knew who he really was?
He scrunched up the card, his heart plummeting. This was it; he’d never recover. Didn’t care anymore. He angrily brushed at the tears daring to roll down his face. He was living in a dream if he thought he’d ever see Liz again, and it was time to give it up.
CHAPTER 29
Belinda drew strength from Phil. They sat on his beige leather couch in his home, its softness drawing them in.
“Make the phone call, Belinda. You’re hurting, and your guilt is going to crush you.” Phil pressed his lips against her cheek, and Belinda turned to receive the kiss better. She absorbed his love and concern, cloaked around her like a thick winter jacket.
Her voice wavered, agitated at how her interference had made matters worse. “Oh, Phil, I don’t get it. Since the day I mentioned Roberta’s phone call, instead of motivating him out of the slump he’s in, it’s had the exact opposite effect.” She raked her hand through her hair. “It’s been two weeks, and he rarely showers. He hasn’t shaved and is showing no interest in the business, as you well know, and”—she cleared her throat, her emotions tangling up—“what if he tries to take his own life? I know how it feels when you reach that point. I’m so petrified, but I can’t seem to get through to him … ohhh …” She whimpered, tears beginning to gather around her eyes.
“Shh.” Phil placed his hands on either side of her face. He gently kissed her on the mouth and used his fingers to wipe away the tears. “Find out if Roberta thinks involving Liz is a good idea. You’ll never rest if you don’t. You know something happened in Italy between this woman and Connor, and it sounds like there was some misunderstanding when they parted. She might be able to help him face life as an amputee.”
Belinda leant in and rested her forehead on Phil’s. Sighing, she said, “I honestly don’t know what he does all day. He drinks too much, but apparently, I’m not qualified to suggest he stop. I’m not even certain if it’s the phantom pain he’s trying to dull anymore. He’s popping too many painkillers, and he’s not eating properly. He’s lost so much weight he looks gaunt and unwell.”
She looked up into Phil’s worried face; he was carrying her burden and Connor’s. She clamped down on her teeth to stop any further tears. It was well past the time for crying. It was time for action and Phil was right. Thank God. She met his gaze and let the usual rush of gratitude flood her body, reciting a quick prayer to the angel responsible for taking care of her.
“It should be early morning in Australia if you phone now.” Phil roused himself from her gaze and rose. “We’ll use the phone in the office.” He took her hand, clasped it firmly and smiled. “We’ll get through this, Belinda. I promise you.”
