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 lacerations and broken bones, with a
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 lacerations and broken bones, with a
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