The Best Way to Lose Read Free Page B

and filled me in,” Trace explained and reached inside his jacket to the shirt pocket for his cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?” A negative shake of her head gave him permission, then refused the one he shook from the pack to offer her. “And I spoke to the doctor in the hallway just before I came in.”
    Another vinyl-covered chair was companionably angled toward his. Pilar sat down in it and leaned earnestly toward him, her dark eyes probing his expression. “What did he say?”
    “Probably the same thing he told you.” He bent his head to the match flame and puffedon the cigarette, then lifted his head while he shook out the match.
    “Elliot’s going to recover. He told you that, didn’t he?” It was a demand.
    As he lowered his hand to toss the burned-out match in an ashtray, Trace noticed that Pilar’s hands were clenched into fists on her lap, knuckles showing white. There was a moment when he debated whether to let her believe what she wished or to prepare her for the worst.
    “It’s too soon to make that kind of judgment.” He opted for a middle road that would at least provide a cushion. “The first twenty-four hours after a massive coronary attack such as Elliot’s are critical. If he passes that crisis point without another attack, his chances improve. Three days afterward there’s another critical period. But either way”—Trace finally looked at her—“it’s likely some kind of heart surgery will be needed. Any operation involves risk.”
    “He’ll make it.” She was staring at some unseen spot on the floor. “A lot of people have heart attacks and recover to lead normal lives. A year from now Elliot will be jogging again. Today will just seem like a bad dream.”
    A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Santee, your husband is conscious. I think he’d like to see you,” she said with a gentle, encouraging smile.
    For an instant Pilar was motionless, thenshe was squaring her shoulders to gracefully stand. Trace watched the way her lips came together in a smooth, straight line. It seemed to go against her nature to be so controlled.
    “You are his son, aren’t you?” the nurse inquired. “Perhaps you should come now, too.”

Chapter Two
    H e is extremely weak,” the nurse cautioned in a hushed tone as she escorted them into the room. “Don’t let him try to talk too much or exert himself. I’m afraid I can only allow you a very few moments.”
    There was an absent nod of understanding by Pilar but the advice seemed to glide right out of her mind. Her whole attention was focused on the man in the bed, a grotesque copy of her husband. She walked slowly to the bed, trying to shut out the sight of all the apparatus around him.
    His dark hair was all mussed. Hesitantly she reached out with tentative fingers to smooth it. There seemed to be more strands of silver present than she remembered. At the light touch of her hand his eyes opened.
    “Hello, darling.” She bent down to press her lips to his cheek but his skin felt cool and odd.
    There was fear lurking in his light blue eyes as they clung to her. His mouth moved and some nearly unintelligible sound came out of it. Pilar cast a panicked look at the nurse.
    “He’s having trouble with his speech, but it’s nothing to be worried about now,” the nurse assured her.
    “Ssh, don’t try to talk too much.” She managed to smile at him but she was inwardly struggling with this new vulnerability. Elliot had always seemed so indefatigable, invincible almost. Now he was helpless as a baby.
    “I love you.” Each word was separately spoken. Although badly slurred, Pilar understood them. It reassured her.
    “I love you, too, darling.” This time the smile came more easily to her.
    But his glance was already leaving her and searching out his son, standing discreetly at the foot of the bed to give them a few minutes alone. He grunted out an “A” sound. Pilar had already followed the direction of his glance.
    “I think he wants