It meant Jack couldn’t fulfill his obligations in Japan. He had never walked out on a contract in his life—a point of pride for him. The Japanese investors had been more than patient with him, but they couldn’t wait forever, and he had to let them down.
Then the physical therapist arrived, delivering a boot for his bad ankle and a new set of forearm crutches he’d have to usefor the next month. She had been prepared to teach him how to strap on the bulky plastic boot and use the crutches, but there was no need. Jack spent most of fifth and sixth grade in a plastic boot with geeky crutches. The aluminum poles with arm cuffs and wrist handles would make it easier to protect his ankle, but he’d always hated them. He walked like a praying mantis and felt like crippled.
Alice showed up at noon with lemon cookies and a sunny smile. “You got your neck brace off,” she cheered, beaming.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “The neurologist gave with one hand and took away with the other. I can’t get on a plane so I can’t go to Japan.” Would the wrenches thrown into his life by hemophilia never end?
Alice sat on the bedside chair. “I’m sorry about that. I know you were looking forward to seeing Japan.”
He kept his face immobile, refusing to let Alice know that the real problem was that he needed the money.
“They’re renovating a golf course at Camp Lejeune that I can make a bid for,” he said. It would be a four-hour drive from here, but at least the plastic boot was on his left foot so he could still get himself to North Carolina to assess the golf course and submit a proposal ahead of the deadline.
He met Alice’s gaze. “I’m supposed to be discharged tomorrow.”
“You can stay at my place,” she said. “Your suitcases are already in my guest bedroom. I didn’t know where else to put them after I moved you out of the hotel. You’ll be more comfortable at my place than there. I’ll even cook for you.”
He glanced away, even as temptation clawed. “I’ll head back to the Tucker Inn,” he said. It would be easier on them both. The convenient, impersonal touch of a hotel was exactly what he needed.
“Jack … when I packed up your room from the Tucker Inn, I couldn’t find the signet ring anywhere.”
He blinked. “It’s gone?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I did a pretty thorough search, but maybe you have a hiding place? Like in a hidden compartment somewhere?”
“It was zipped up in my laptop case. It wasn’t there?”
“No, we checked there. I worried one of the hotel staff stole it because of the gold. If it gets melted down …”
Her phrase trickled off. They both knew the real value of the ring was its history, not its gold, but that wouldn’t be obvious to someone unfamiliar with the ring.
“The good news is that we’ve got a lot of pictures of it,” Alice continued. “I’ve sent them to the College of Arms in London.”
“I remember. Any word back from them yet?”
She shook her head. “I gather that it can take several weeks. Are you sure it was in that laptop case?”
“Certain,” he bit out, anger beginning to gather anew. A lot of people had access to his hotel room while he’d been laid up, so it could have been stolen by any of them. That ring meant a lot to Alice. The gold alone was worth a few thousand dollars, but it was the history of the ring that mattered more than anything.
A nurse tapped on the open door. “Are you up for a visitor?”
He sagged against the pillows. He was broke, sick, and now he’d disappointed Alice by failing to protect that ring. All he really wanted was to be alone, but it could be important. “Who is it?”
“He says he is your father. Frank Latimer?”
Jack recoiled. The last time he saw his dad had been in a Dairy Queen for a supervised visit when Jack was fourteen years old. Dad bought him a chocolate milkshake. It had been hard to drink while watching his dad battle tremors from alcoholwithdrawal. Jack should have been grateful his dad sobered up enough for the visit, but all it did was disgust him.
“Mr. Latimer?” the nurse asked. “Shall I let him in?”
“No,” Jack said. “My dad and I said our goodbyes a long time ago.”
“Jack,” Alice said. “I think perhaps—”
“It’s a hard no, Alice.” He met the nurse’s eyes. “I don’t care what you tell him. Tell him that I’m sleeping or too sick. Or that he’s had twenty years to see me if he wanted, but just don’t let him in here.”
Alice stood. “Could you give us a few minutes?” she asked the nurse.
“Of course,” she replied. Alice crossed the room to close the door, but not before shooting a quick glance down the hallway.
