with her friends, and to confide in Julia Corsi, Kate's unflappable mother, when she needed womanly advice.
Like Clementine, she'd flown far and fast as soon as she was old enough. Her grandparents had undoubtedly been relieved. She occasionally sent brief notes with changes of address and phone numbers so they could contact her if they wished, but they hadn't wished. Nor had they sent felicitations on her marriage. Prescient, perhaps.
The only time she'd seen them since moving to California was the year before when she'd come to Baltimore for Kate's second wedding. Feeling that she should make an effort, she'd visited her grandparents. They greeted her with stiff surprise and no sign of pleasure. She left after a polite but uncomfortable half hour, wondering why she had bothered to come.
It was almost dark when the town car pulled up in front of the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, a sprawling complex of buildings surrounded by hills and trees. Rainey remembered it well. She'd visited the emergency room regularly after falling from trees, being whacked by a lacrosse stick, and similar misadventures. She'd been a sore trial to grandparents who'd planned on a peaceful retirement.
The hospital was a maze, but Rainey found her way to her grandfather's room with only a few missteps. She paused in the doorway. William Marlowe lay still as a waxwork, only the beeping monitors showing signs of life. Virginia sat next to him, eyes closed and face drawn with fatigue, but still erect in her chair.
How had William and Virginia Marlowe created a daughter as vital and flamboyant as Clementine? Once when Rainey was eleven and exploring the attic on a wet day, she found an old photo of her mother singing in a church choir as a teenager. Even in a choir robe, Clementine's red hair and voluptuous body had made her more sinner than saint. Rainey took the photo and hid it in her treasure box. She had it still.
"Gram?" Rainey asked quietly.
Virginia opened her eyes, startled. "What are you doing here?"
"My friend Val Covington called when she heard about Grandfather's accident." Rainey studied his long face, almost as white as the pillows. Even sleeping, his expression was inflexible. "How is he doing?"
Her grandmother shrugged. "He's still alive." Her flat tone couldn't quite disguise her despair.
Rainey felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Her grandparents' relationship had been so deeply private that she'd half assumed they stayed together from propriety and habit, but there was real grief in Virginia's eyes. "Does he know where he is?"
"He knows I'm here, but not much more, I think." Virginia twisted her hands together with uncharacteristic nervousness.
"Then come down to the cafeteria with me. I just landed and need a meal, and I'll bet you haven't been eating much since his accident."
Virginia glanced at her husband, on the verge of protest. Then she sighed. "I suppose you're right. I must keep up my strength."
She stood, inches taller than her granddaughter. Together they walked out of the room and down the hall. Word must have spread that Raine Marlowe had arrived because a cluster of nurses and aides had gathered at the departmental desk, but no one approached or asked for an autograph. Rainey was grateful for their tact.
All she could face eating was vegetable soup and crackers, but she was glad that her grandmother got a hearty plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. The woman looked far too thin. Though they'd never been close, their relationship had been less strained than the one between Rainey and her grandfather. Seeing Virginia so vulnerable brought out an unexpected protective streak.
She waited until her grandmother pushed away her meal half-uneaten before asking, "What happened, exactly? And what do the doctors have to say?"
Virginia's mouth twisted bitterly. "He was on his way to play golf when his car was hit by a drunk driver. At nine o'clock in the morning!"
"How bad were his injuries?"
"He has
Like Clementine, she'd flown far and fast as soon as she was old enough. Her grandparents had undoubtedly been relieved. She occasionally sent brief notes with changes of address and phone numbers so they could contact her if they wished, but they hadn't wished. Nor had they sent felicitations on her marriage. Prescient, perhaps.
The only time she'd seen them since moving to California was the year before when she'd come to Baltimore for Kate's second wedding. Feeling that she should make an effort, she'd visited her grandparents. They greeted her with stiff surprise and no sign of pleasure. She left after a polite but uncomfortable half hour, wondering why she had bothered to come.
It was almost dark when the town car pulled up in front of the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, a sprawling complex of buildings surrounded by hills and trees. Rainey remembered it well. She'd visited the emergency room regularly after falling from trees, being whacked by a lacrosse stick, and similar misadventures. She'd been a sore trial to grandparents who'd planned on a peaceful retirement.
The hospital was a maze, but Rainey found her way to her grandfather's room with only a few missteps. She paused in the doorway. William Marlowe lay still as a waxwork, only the beeping monitors showing signs of life. Virginia sat next to him, eyes closed and face drawn with fatigue, but still erect in her chair.
How had William and Virginia Marlowe created a daughter as vital and flamboyant as Clementine? Once when Rainey was eleven and exploring the attic on a wet day, she found an old photo of her mother singing in a church choir as a teenager. Even in a choir robe, Clementine's red hair and voluptuous body had made her more sinner than saint. Rainey took the photo and hid it in her treasure box. She had it still.
"Gram?" Rainey asked quietly.
Virginia opened her eyes, startled. "What are you doing here?"
"My friend Val Covington called when she heard about Grandfather's accident." Rainey studied his long face, almost as white as the pillows. Even sleeping, his expression was inflexible. "How is he doing?"
Her grandmother shrugged. "He's still alive." Her flat tone couldn't quite disguise her despair.
Rainey felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Her grandparents' relationship had been so deeply private that she'd half assumed they stayed together from propriety and habit, but there was real grief in Virginia's eyes. "Does he know where he is?"
"He knows I'm here, but not much more, I think." Virginia twisted her hands together with uncharacteristic nervousness.
"Then come down to the cafeteria with me. I just landed and need a meal, and I'll bet you haven't been eating much since his accident."
Virginia glanced at her husband, on the verge of protest. Then she sighed. "I suppose you're right. I must keep up my strength."
She stood, inches taller than her granddaughter. Together they walked out of the room and down the hall. Word must have spread that Raine Marlowe had arrived because a cluster of nurses and aides had gathered at the departmental desk, but no one approached or asked for an autograph. Rainey was grateful for their tact.
All she could face eating was vegetable soup and crackers, but she was glad that her grandmother got a hearty plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. The woman looked far too thin. Though they'd never been close, their relationship had been less strained than the one between Rainey and her grandfather. Seeing Virginia so vulnerable brought out an unexpected protective streak.
She waited until her grandmother pushed away her meal half-uneaten before asking, "What happened, exactly? And what do the doctors have to say?"
Virginia's mouth twisted bitterly. "He was on his way to play golf when his car was hit by a drunk driver. At nine o'clock in the morning!"
"How bad were his injuries?"
"He has
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