A Moment of Weakness: Book 2 in the Forever Faithful trilogy Page 3

  People were streaming through the gate with that bewildered look travelers wore. She moved closer, and there at the back of the pack she saw him. He was nearly a head taller than the masses, and he drew the stares of several women in the crowd. People had always noticed Tanner. He had a magnetic quality that couldn’t be taught or trained. It was more of a birthright. As he drew closer, she saw his skin had lost the paleness of three months ago when he’d flown out for Hap’s memorial service. He had some color now, and he was taking on a more pronounced jawline. Perfect. The public loves a good-looking politician with a strong jawline.

  He was going to look wonderful in the White House.

  “Mother, you look lovely as always.” Tanner strode toward her, wrapped her in a hug, and grinned.

  They made small talk, and he kept one arm around her shoulders as they headed toward the baggage department. After a few minutes, Tanner’s tone grew serious. “How are you, Mom, really? Dad’s been gone a while now. I’ve been praying for you.”

  Doris squeezed him tighter. “Thanks, honey. I miss him. But we had a wonderful life. I’m glad he didn’t suffer.”

  “It’s good you’re moving back to Virginia. I think you’ve had about as much of the Northwest as you can stand.” Tanner’s eyes danced as he nodded toward a wall of windows and the thick, gray sky outside. “You’ll feel better when you get back to sunny Virginia.”

  “Yes …” She paused. The sooner the better.

  Tanner was telling her something about the internship and the projects at hand, but she wasn’t really listening. She was wracked by thoughts of Jade and Tanner and Kelso, Washington … and the memory of a fifteen-year-old boy with earnest eyes insisting that one day he’d marry the girl.

  Even if he had to search the whole country and find her himself.

  Three

  MIDDAY AT KELSO GENERAL HOSPITAL WAS TYPICALLY A QUIET time, especially in the children’s unit. Most of the younger patients napped or watched afternoon cartoons; others were too sick to sit up, and they slept, usually until dinner.

  But that Monday, the fourth of June, Jade Conner was at the nurse’s station reading a book for her science class at Kelso Junior College when she heard whimpering. She worked three afternoons a week as a nurse’s assistant in the children’s unit, and she could hardly wait to finish her education and begin nursing. The children needed her. They were frightened, unsure of why they were sick and wondering whether everything was going to turn out all right.

  The whimpering grew louder.

  “Wanna check her, Jade?” The head nurse was buried in paperwork, and Jade nodded. She stood up, tucking a strand of short dark hair back behind her ear.

  “Coming, little one. I’m coming.” She worked her way across the hallway to Room 403. Shaunie Ellersby. Four years old. Recurrent kidney infections. Doctors were running tests, but there was a strong suspicion that the child’s kidneys were failing. Shaunie had been in the hospital off and on for the past six months. This time she’d been in for more than a week, and her mother had finally taken to staying home between meals to tend to Shaunie’s two younger sisters.

  “Sweetie, I’m here. What’s wrong, baby doll?” Jade cozied up next to the child and gently stroked her forehead. She knew she was Shaunie’s favorite nurse, and the two had been fast friends since the girl first got sick.

  “I miss my mommy.” The little girl squeezed out the words between stifled sobs.

  “Ah, it’s okay, sweetie. She’ll be here later, I promise.” Jade kissed the child’s forehead. “Want something to drink?”

  Shaunie nodded, and Jade saw her sadness fade. “Apple juice.”

  “What’s the magic word?”

  “Please?”

  Jade smiled. “Okay. Be back in a minute.”

  When she returned with the drink, she took her spot once more on the hospital bed beside the little girl. Shaunie took several long sips from the straw. After the third mouthful she smiled up at her. “Thanks, Jade.”

  “Sure, sweetie. Hey, what say we talk for a little bit?”

  Shaunie nodded. “Guess what? Mommy painted my bedroom.”

  “She did?”

  “Yep. Pink and white with little flowers.”

  “Oh, I wish I had a room like that. Your Mommy sure is nice.”

  Shaunie nodded and finished her juice. “Jade, do you live here?”

  She grinned and tousled the child’s hair. “Here? At the hospital? Of course not, silly.”

  “Then where do you live?”

  “At home, like everyone else?”

  “With your mommy and daddy?”

  A twinge of sorrow seized Jade. The answer never came easily. “No, sweetie. Just with my daddy.”

  Shaunie’s face scrunched up. “What about your Mommy?”

  Jade felt the sting of tears and blinked them back. “I don’t have a mommy.”

  Shaunie’s eyes grew wide. “Why not? Did she die?”

  The child’s innocent questions rattled around in her heart like pebbles in an empty tin can. “She lives far, far away, baby doll. We never see each other anymore.”

  Sadness filled the child’s face. “That’s too bad. How ’bout your daddy. Does he paint your room sometimes?”

  Jade thought of her father, passed out in his easy chair, beer bottles littering the living room floor. “No, sweetie, he doesn’t. But think what a lucky little girl you are to have a brand new room waiting for you when you get home.”

  Shaunie considered that for a minute, and Jade ran her fingertips over the child’s forehead. The little girl’s skin had a yellow cast, and her eyes still looked tired from the infection that ravaged her body. The doctors had done more tests that week, and Jade hoped they wouldn’t find anything seriously wrong with her.

  “My mommy and daddy don’t live too far away from me, do they, Jade?”

  “Well, honey, no. But you don’t live here, you live with your mommy and daddy.”

  “Sometimes I live here.” Shaunie didn’t seem distraught by the fact.

  “That’s true, I guess. But Mommy and Daddy are very, very close. They can visit all the time.”

  For now, anyway. Unless the county voted to shut down the children’s unit. A stab of fear set free a batch of butterflies in Jade’s gut. There had been talk about closing the unit for months. Budget cuts were needed, and someone had designed a plan to eliminate the children’s ward at Kelso General. If that happened, sick children like Shaunie would have to go an hour south to Portland for care. An hour that meant the difference between a child getting to see her parents several times a day or being left alone in a hospital with infrequent visits at best.

  The city was going to discuss the idea at a meeting that afternoon. The plan made Jade furious.

  “Yes, honey, you can see your mommy and daddy any time you want.”

  Shaunie nodded and wriggled about, an anxious look on her face. “I have to go potty.”

  Jade helped her out of bed, careful not to tangle her IV lines. When the ordeal was through, she eased the child back under the blankets.

  “You’re pretty.” Shaunie yawned.

  Jade smiled and kissed the little girl on the tip of her nose. “Thanks. You, too, princess.”

  “My mommy says you look like Meg Ryan with dark hair.”

  “Does she now?” Jade laughed.

  “Who’s Meg Ryan?”

  “Oh, she’s someone in the movies.”

  “I think you’re prettier than her.” Shaunie laid her head back on the pillow and rubbed her eyes. “I need to take a naptime now.”

  “Okay, baby doll. You do that. I won’t be here when you wake up, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Where will you go, Jade? Home to see your daddy?”

  She hugged the little girl close. Only when I absolutely have to, honey. “No, sweetie. I have to go to a meeting.”

  “Okay.” Shaunie yawned again and her eyelids fluttered. “Night-night, Jade.”

  “G’ni
ght, honey.”

  Rarely had anything mattered this much to Jade. She slept in the house where her father lived, but the hospital was her home. She had volunteered in the children’s unit since she was sixteen. Now that she worked there, she would fight the county with everything she had so Shaunie and Kelso’s other sick kids would never have to be shuttled away to a hospital in Portland.

  Jade returned to the nurse’s station and glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. The meeting was at four and was expected to draw a hundred people.

  Jade pushed aside her science book and began scribbling on the back of a blank admitting form. If she had a chance, she intended to talk about the kids at Kelso Hospital. Shaunie had given her an idea. She began putting her feelings on paper until she’d filled an entire page with notes.

  The thought of Shaunie being separated from her parents made her throat constrict. Help me, God. Let them see how badly we need this place.

  Jade was not religious—she didn’t attend a church or read a Bible—but ever since she was a little girl she had talked to God, especially when she was alone. And she was alone often.

  She thought about the townspeople who would attend the meeting and wondered whether they, too, wanted to keep the unit open. Jade would know many of them, she was sure, and she hoped her words would persuade them to join the fight. While the people of Kelso who knew her did not go out of their way to be friendly to Jade, most of them didn’t seem to hold her father’s alcoholism against her. Jade didn’t care if they did. She didn’t need anyone’s approval. She didn’t need anything at all.

  Except the children’s unit at Kelso General.

  A unit whose fate was entirely in the hands of the county’s board of supervisors.

  Four

  THE OFFICES OF THE COWLITZ COUNTY BOARD OF SUPERVISORS for the city of Kelso, Washington, were located above city hall and adjacent to an auditorium where town meetings had been held for the past fifty years. Tanner had spent the morning in meetings and used his lunch hour to unpack his files, reference books, and rearrange his office.

  Tanner surveyed the worn-out cubicle that would serve as his workspace for the summer. His mother would have been appalled. Nothing but cherry wood and inlaid carpets for Tanner Eastman. A politician on the rise needed the right type of office even if it meant having his mother come down and make over the place herself.

  He ambled toward the last of his things, a stack of legal books that would barely fit on his desk. These were treasured books, and whether he’d need them or not during the internship, he intended to read them: Religious Freedom Fading Fast, Whatever Happened to God in America?, One Nation Under God?

  He stood the books where he could see them, wondering what his mother would say if she knew what really interested him. Hogwash, no doubt. A waste of time. Silly notions. Extremism. Tanner smiled. The books were a secret, but they were nothing compared with the secret he harbored in his heart. The secret of what he really wanted to do with his life.

  Fred Lang, one of the younger supervisors, peered around the pressed board that made up the east wall of Tanner’s new office. “You ’bout ready?”

  “I think so.” Tanner reached for a folder.

  “You did read the file we sent, correct?”

  “Four times.” He handed Lang the folder. “I put together a few pages in summary, stating the board’s reasoning, highlighting the profit and loss statement for Kelso General’s children’s wing. It’s all in there.”

  Lang took the folder and glanced through it. “Impressive.” He looked up at Tanner. “This is a hot one. Town’s pretty riled up about it, what with a closure affecting sick kids and all.” He hesitated. “What would you think about presenting your summary at the public meeting today? Since the townspeople don’t know you yet.”

  Tanner shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  Lang’s shoulders relaxed and the lines on his forehead were replaced with a broad smile. “Okay, great. We’ll introduce you, tell them you’re working with the board for the summer. Then hand you the floor. We’ll handle the questions when you’re done.”

  Tanner shot a glance at his watch. “The meeting’s at four, right?”

  “Right. We need to be there half an hour early to compare notes.”

  “One question.”

  Lang leaned against the particleboard but straightened again when it threatened to topple. “Shoot.”

  “The file wasn’t real clear on the alternatives, other ways the county could cut the budget besides closing the children’s unit.”

  Lang sighed. “To tell you the truth, there really hasn’t been time. Elections are coming up this fall, we’ve got the police staff about to go on strike. Budget cuts are a reality, and this was an easy choice.”

  “Maybe not to the townsfolk.” Tanner wasn’t trying to be difficult, but if he was going to be on the front line, he needed to know how to respond to the fire.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take the heat. You just give ’em your presentation. Maybe then they’ll stop thinking we have something against their kids.”

  “Small town syndrome?”

  “Too small. Everyone on the board knows someone who’s taking this thing personally. The town thinks we’re a bunch of ogres who have it out for them.”

  Tanner wondered. “Nothing personal involved?”

  “No. Just the simplest cut we could make. The one that took the least time to figure out and helped us make ends meet.”

  Tanner nodded. “Is there a Plan B?”

  “Plan B?”

  “The town’s coming out for the meeting, right? What if there’s more outrage than you’re counting on? It’s election year, after all. You said so yourself. Maybe we should have a Plan B.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as taking the summer and seeing if we can find somewhere else to cut the budget.”

  Lang gripped his chin with his thumb and forefinger and nodded slowly. “Not a bad idea.” He let his hand drop. “But don’t tell the people that.”

  Tanner folded his arms. “First rule of sticky politics: Work like you have a Plan B, talk like you wouldn’t consider it.”

  Lang smiled. “I like that. But it wouldn’t be us finding somewhere else to cut the budget. It would be you.”

  Tanner chuckled. “I figured as much.”

  Lang patted Tanner roughly on the shoulder. “Welcome to summer internships, my friend. We’ll keep you so busy you’ll look forward to final exams.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Lang had lightened up considerably in the past five minutes and seemed ready to make small talk. Tanner didn’t mind that he’d been made chief scapegoat on the issue. He didn’t know a soul in the state of Washington, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend in Lang.

  The man shot a look around Tanner’s cubicle. “Public office, right? That’s the goal?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Princeton degree in poli-sci, political internships, get elected to councilman or congressman. Maybe the big time, state senator, or even the White House.” Lang huffed and a grin appeared on his face. “I’ve worked with you dreamers before.”

  “Yep.” Tanner studied the stack of books he’d unpacked moments earlier. He suddenly felt like a load of bricks had been dumped on his shoulders. “That’s always been the big dream. Public office. An elected servant of the people. It’s something I’ve …” he searched for the right words, “known I’d do … as far back as I can remember.”

  The ten-member board of supervisors had finished its private meeting and now sat along a panel at the front of the auditorium. The room was filling fast, and Tanner could feel the tension. Scattered about were clusters of townspeople, whispering and gesturing and casting disdainful looks toward the board.

  This wasn’t going to be a discussion. It was going to be a lynching. They didn’t want to lose the children’s unit at Kelso General, and they appeared ready to demand the heads of the people who did.

  Ta
nner scanned the room. Mostly older people, longtime residents, probably, and several serious-looking couples. Parents of sick kids, no doubt. He continued searching the room … and his breath caught in his throat.

  She was in the back row, sitting by herself. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty, slim and athletic looking with short, windblown hair the color of roasted walnuts. She was studying a pile of notes on her lap, and Tanner realized she was wearing a nurse’s uniform. Great. Another voice against us. Despite the scowl on her face she was breathtaking. The girl glanced up and met his gaze, and for a moment a look of recognition flashed in her eyes. Then she looked quickly away.

  For a moment, Tanner’s political poise wavered, and he considered going to her. There was something familiar about her, though Tanner couldn’t decide what it was. He watched her for another few seconds, then returned to his notes. The girl didn’t matter.

  If she worked with the children at Kelso General, then they were about to become enemies.

  The meeting was underway, and several minor matters of business had been taken care of. Now Lang had the floor, and he was reading from Tanner’s resume.

  “We have a young intern with us for the summer. He’s from Princeton University and—” he shot Tanner a look—“will probably become a household name one day in political circles. This afternoon he’s going to brief all of you on the budget status and the intended closure of the children’s unit at Kelso General Hospital.” A chorus of grumblings began to build, and Lang was forced to raise his voice. “If you’ll please give him your attention. Mr. Tanner Ghormsley.”

  Tanner hesitated for a moment. Ghormsley? Some great start he’d made in becoming a household name if his boss couldn’t even remember what to call him. He didn’t bother making a correction. He stood and felt a sense of serenity. Crowds did not make him nervous.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, first let me thank you for coming. I understand that many of you have serious concerns about the closure of the children’s unit at Kelso General.” He paused, guessing that nearly two hundred people had packed the auditorium. Not one of them was smiling. His eyes found the girl in the back, but she was looking at her notes again.