“He’s got emphysema, and speaking is difficult for him,” Sophie said. “We’ve been so worried about Jack. Please tell us how he is. The hospital wouldn’t tell us anything, except that you’ve been with him since he was admitted.”
“That’s right,” she said. It still felt like a violation to reveal Jack’s medical information to the people he’d been avoiding for years, but it wasn’t in her to be unkind to desperate people. “He’s in an induced coma, but the doctors plan on bringing him out of it tomorrow. They anticipate a full recovery.”
“Thank you for looking out for him,” Jack’s father said, his raspy voice sounding painful. “Tell him that I love him. Proud of him.”
Whatever else Frank Latimer intended to say was cut off by a series of gasping coughs. Sophie murmured some soothing words to her husband, urging him to sip something through a straw. There was more coughing and wheezing, then a long pause before Sophie came back on the line.
“I got my husband settled on the patio outside so he can’t overhear,” she said. “I want to thank you for letting us know how Jack is. We have been praying for him every day for years.”
“I’ll tell him.” Not that it would make much difference.
“Alice, my husband is dying. We’ve both come to terms with that, but Frank wants to see Jack before he goes. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him ever since it became obvious that Frank didn’t have long. The biggest regret of his life is losing contact with his son.”
What could Alice say to that? For a man to abandon a seriously ill child was appalling, and it was up to Jack to decide about forgiveness or a reconciliation.
“I’ll pass along what you’ve said but can’t make any promises.”
She ended the call and set the phone on the bedside table. Sebastian was his typical insouciant self. “That sounded uniquely awful. Care to tell me what it was all about?”
It wasn’t her story to tell. If she hadn’t been so surprised by Sophie’s unexpected call, she would have taken it off speaker phone immediately. As it was, Sebastian heard everything.
“Not everyone has great relationships with their parents,” she said simply, and mercifully, Sebastian seemed to accept it.
They finished packing up Jack’s room in short order. Everything fit easily onto the cart, and Alice took a quick final inspection of each drawer, beneath the bed, and through the shelves in the closet.
Nothing left. “Seb … did you see the signet ring anywhere?”
“No. Is it supposed to be here?”
She did a mental inventory. Jack took it with him after their argument at her townhouse. It hadn’t been on him when the accident happened. The hospital put all his personal belongings in a sealed baggie, and there hadn’t been much. His wallet, his watch, a pair of sunglasses, and a roll of mints. No ring.
“Let’s go through his pockets,” she said, opening the first suitcase.
Between the two of them, they searched every pocket and golf bag cubby. Sebastian dumped Jack’s toiletries on the desk and unscrewed every lid, searching for a hiding place.
They found nothing. The room now looked like a disaster zone, with clothes strewn everywhere in their hunt for the ring.
“Maybe he has a safe-deposit box at a bank,” Sebastian said.
She nodded. “I’ll ask him when he wakes up.”
It took another twenty minutes to fold and pack everything up again, but Sebastian never once complained. After reloading the cart, he met her gaze.
“Alice … I need to know. Is there any hope for us? I've dated some of the world’s most beautiful women, but you’re the one. You’re the last puzzle piece I need to make my life perfect. Say the word, and I’ll buy a castle for us.”
Dear Sebastian, charmingly self-centered and irresponsible as always. She blinked back a suspicious prickle in her eyes but told the truth, even though it was painful for them both. “I’m sorry, Seb. It’s over.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He should be grateful to be alive. This wasn’t the first time Jack had been knocked unconscious and had to endure the protocol for head injuries, but this groggy, drugged feeling was never easy. He couldn’t remember the details of what happened, only that there’d been an accident at the golf course and it was bad. His brain felt encased in sludge that made thinking a struggle.
And yet, here he lay, going through a series of questions with a neurologist. The flashing light measured eye response. The neck brace kept him immobile, but at least his eyes could follow that pinprick of light, which was a good sign. How long had hebeen under? His tongue felt coated in cotton as he mumbled the question.
“You’ve been out for six days,” the doctor said. “Can you give me a thumbs-up with your hand?”
He managed to do so with both hands. “Excellent,” the doctor said.
He’d missed his flight to Japan. There were so many people around his bed. Beeping monitors. IVs attached to both arms. Electrodes taped on his head fed data to a laptop monitoring his brain activity. A lady in scrubs watched the laptop data. Someone else stood behind his head.
