Which turned out to be in the same building, though.
Going up to the third floor, he got off at a general inpatient unit and checked in at the nursing station. Then he went down a long hall, passing by carts of cleared meals, rolling bags of laundry, and pieces of medical equipment.
When he got to room 328, he knocked.
"Hello?" came a female voice.
"It's Lane. May I come in?"
"Hold on."
There was some rustling, and then Chantal said in a stronger tone, "Please. Thank you."
So polite. And as he entered, he kept his eyes averted because he knew she wasn't going to want him to look at her too much. Chantal had always preferred only to be seen when her makeup and her hair were done and her clothes were properly matched to the situation.
A quick glance confirmed that she was in a hospital johnny and fresh-faced.
Or rather, without foundation, blush, lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara.
In fact, she was anything but "fresh" looking. Her skin was sallow, her mouth a flat line, her eyes bloodshot and badly bagged.
"You are kind to come by," she said as she unfolded and refolded the top edge of her blankets.
"I wanted to see if you were okay."
"I have a nice view, don't you think?"
As she indicated the bank of windows, he obligingly went over and checked out the skyscrapers, the river, and the green farmland of Indiana.
"They're going to have to operate on me," she murmured.
He changed his focus so that he saw her reflection in the glass. She was examining her manicure.
"What do they have to do?"
"A D and C. Apparently, I haven't...passed everything."
He closed his eyes briefly. "Is your mother coming?"
"She's on a plane now. She arrives in about an hour."
"Good. She will take fine care of you."
"She always does."
Turning around, he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Do you need anything?"
"Have you seen today's paper?"
"No." He thought of those pictures of them that had been taken at the cemetery. "But I can guess what's being reported."
"I've been asked to comment."
"My phone's been ringing, but I haven't been picking up." He had other things to worry about. "I don't have anything to say."
"Neither do I."
His brows lifted of their own accord. "Really."
Chantal nodded as she inspected her thumbnail. "I'm going back to Virginia. After all of this. I'll be at Briarwood for the foreseeable future."
Her parents' estate, he thought.
She cleared her throat. "So, yes, Samuel T. can send anything he needs to there. You know, pertaining to the divorce."
"What about your lawyer here in town?"
"Just send the papers home. I'll sign whatever. I don't...I don't really care anymore."
Now he stared hard at her. It was difficult to know whether or not this subdued version of the woman could be believed. Or whether it would last. He had come here out of a sense of obligation--and maybe a little because he had wanted to know how her mood was.
He had certainly not expected this.
"I'm not going to fight you," she tacked on.
"Okay."
"I'm done with that."
"All right."
After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to go see Miss Aurora now. Let me know if you need anything?"
"How is she?"
"She's fine."
"Oh, I'm glad. I know she means a lot to you."
"Okay, then. Take care of yourself."
"You, too."
He nodded once and headed for the exit, stepping around the foot of her bed. He was almost to the door when Chantal's voice stopped him.
"I'm sorry."
Lane looked over his shoulder. She was staring across the shallow space at him, her face serious.
In the silence that followed, he supposed he could have asked her exactly what she was apologizing for, and maybe he would gotten some particulars. But they both knew what had been said and done on each of their parts, particularly hers.
He thought again about that party they'd met at. He could have taken any one of a number of women home that night. And he could have chosen not to follow up with Chantal afterward. Looking back on it, he couldn't remember why he had called her again, why he had met her out for dinner a couple of days later, why, following that, he had agreed to escort her to a gala for some ballet or opera or whatever it had been.
Was destiny just an accident, he wondered, the intersecting paths of people's lives nothing more than marbles spilled on a floor, the contacts random and purposeless? Or was there a higher plan?
He knew what his momma would have said to that. Knew also what Miss Aurora would have wanted him to say right now.
"I am sorry, too," he whispered.
And it was a surprise for him to find...that he meant that.
After Chantal nodded once, Lane lifted his hand as a good-bye and then he turned and did not look back again. As he made his way back down the corridor to the elevators, he had the strangest feeling he was never going to see her again.
And that, like so many other outcomes currently unveiling themselves, had once seemed an impossibility.
As Lane came up to Miss Aurora's ICU room, there was a crowd of people milling around outside in the hall, and he approached two of Miss Aurora's nephews as he waved to everyone else. The men were in their twenties, and one was a wide receiver for the Indiana Colts with the other a center for the Miami Heat. Both of their faces were showing all kinds of heartbreak.
"D'Shawne." Lane clapped hands with one and then the other. "Qwentin. How y'all doing?"
"Thanks for calling us, man." D'Shawne glanced at his brother. "We don't know how to handle this."
"Have you been in to see her?"
"Yessir," Qwentin replied. "Just been. Our sisters are coming at the end of the day."
"Mom said we need to be talking about the funeral?" D'Shawne ran his hand down his face. "I mean...is it really time?"
"Yes, I think so." Lane glanced at the closed door with its privacy drapery. "I've spoken with Reverend Nyce. He said the church is ours and he'll get the word out to the congregation."
"She's on the prayer list already." Qwentin shook his head. "I can't believe this. She was just calling me last weekend. Telling me what I needed to work on over the off-season."
Lane clapped a hand on the man's neck. "She was always so proud of you. Both of you. She used to brag on you so hard. And she always said you were her favorites."
Next thing Lane knew, he was locked in one bear hug and then another. And then the two men walked off.
"Are you telling everyone that they're her favorite?"
At the sound of Lizzie's voice, he turned around and smiled. "When did you get here?"
As he held out his arms, Lizzie came forward and embraced him. "Just now. I didn't want to interrupt. How was the board meeting?"
"Good enough." He brushed her hair back from her face. "I'm glad to see you, and yes, I'm telling everybody they're her favorites."
"How is she? Have you been inside yet?"
"No, not yet." Lane checked his watch. "Let's see if we can head in--"
A nurse came rushing out and searched through the crowd. "Mr. Baldwine! She's coming around--she's asking for someone? I think it's you!"
Lane could only blink. "I'm sorry, what--"
"Miss Toms is coming around! I'm calling for the attending right now."
Lane glanced at Lizzie as people started talking loudly, and then after a quick conversation with the family, it was decided he should go in because he was both the healthcare proxy and the executor of Miss Aurora's estate.
And he couldn't handle it without Lizzie so he took her in through the glass door with him.
Over at the side of the bed, Lane skidded to a halt.
"Miss Aurora?" He
took the still, cool hand. "Miss Aurora?"
For a moment, he thought it was a cruel joke. But then he saw her mouth move. Leaning down, her mumbling was low but insistent, a stream of words coming out of his momma's lips.
Lane tried to interpret the syllables. "What are you saying? What do you need?" He glanced up at Lizzie. "Can you hear this?"
Lizzie came around to the other side. "Miss Aurora?"
More with the mumbling, and Lane couldn't decide whether he wanted the medical staff to arrive--or give him a little more time. If this was the last thing his momma ever said, he didn't want an interruption before he could figure out what it was.
Suddenly, Lizzie straightened. "Edward? You want to know where Edward is?"
At that moment, Miss Aurora's eyes popped open. "Where is Edward. I need Edward...."
She didn't appear to be focused on anything, her pupils dilated and unfixed.
"Edward! I need Edward!"
The onset of the agitation was like a train gathering speed, her arms starting to move and then her legs, some inner engine of panic animating her body.
"Edward!"
As the attending came in with other staff members, Lane backed up so that the white coats and nurses could gather around the bed.
He didn't want to admit it, but it killed him that, of all the people his momma wanted to see...it was his older brother, not him. And how petty was that.
The important thing was that she was conscious.
"What's going on?" he demanded of the staff as Lizzie came over next to him. "Is she...going to be okay?"
Come on, though. Did he think she'd just slept off the damn cancer?
The same nurse who had rung the bell came over. "I'm going to have to ask you to step out. I'm so sorry, but we need space to work."
"What's going on? I'm not leaving until you tell me."
"It's probably the morphine. At these levels, it can cause hallucinations. One of the attendings will give you an update in a little bit, okay?"
"Come on," Lizzie said. "We'll just stay right outside."
Lane allowed himself to be drawn back out into the corridor. And then he started pacing up and back, up and back. As time passed, and the family dispersed into chairs in the hall, he kept his head down and his eyes on the linoleum. He didn't trust himself to meet even Lizzie's kind and worried stare.
Why the hell did she want to talk to Edward?
"Lane."
"Hm?" He stopped in front of Lizzie and shook himself. "I'm sorry, what?"
"There's something I need to tell you," Lizzie whispered as she stared at the glass door.
She spoke fast, but very quietly, and when she was done, all he could do was stare at her.
Then, with a shaking hand, Lane took out his cell phone and made a call that was, as far as he could tell, his only option.
--
The timing for meals in jail was based on a shift rotation of preparers and servers, and one of the things Edward had had to get used to was having breakfast at six a.m., lunch at eleven, and dinner at four in the afternoon.
So when his cell door released at what certainly seemed like late afternoon, he hauled himself up from his bunk in preparation for his shuffle down to the cafeteria with the others. But it was not mealtime, as it turned out.
The guard who opened things up was the same one who had come just before lunch to tell him that his brother wanted to see him.
"You got another visitor."
"I told you, if it's Lane Baldwine, I am going to regretfully decline."
"It's not him."
Edward waited for the name. "And it is...?"
"It's a woman."
"Okay, that's a no, too." He sat back down on his bunk. "I don't want to see Shelby Landis, either."
"Well, here's the thing. I got a call from my supervisor? And he says I have to bring you down. Or I'm going to have to explain to him how I messed this up. And if I mess this up, my supervisor is going to give me bad shifts for the rest of this month--"
"That's not legal, you know. A hostile working environment is not just about harassment--"
"--and I got a new girl, and I need my weekends. So I'm sorry, you're going to have to come with me."
"Who is your supervisor?" Even though Edward knew.
"Deputy Ramsey."
"Of course." Edward closed his eyes. "Look, this is really unnecessary--"
"Come on, I have to have you out of here and into the meeting room in five minutes. He's calling to make sure you get down there."
"And let me guess, you're prepared to throw me over your shoulder and carry me out of here if you have to."
"Yup." At least the guy had the grace to seem honestly chagrined. "I'm sorry, but I gotta do what my supervisor tells me to."
As Edward stood back up, he was thinking about two things: one, that whole line parents gave their kids, the old "If so and so told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?"; and two, that he might owe Deputy Ramsey his life, but even that debt was getting stretched thin with all this visiting bullshit.
Why couldn't they just sentence him now and move him out of state?
Except there was no stopping this train, evidently. So he and Ramsey's fricking subordinate with the new girl and the need-my-weekends problem left the block and followed the same path Edward had been led through the other night.
When he was let into the interrogation room, he sat down in the same seat as he had before.
It had to be Shelby giving things another shot. She and Ramsey were best friends, weren't they. Who else, other than her, would the guy take things this far for?
But never again, Edward thought.
This time, he'd play real hardball with the young woman. He was due a phone call or two a week--and if she insisted on shirking her duties out at the farm, just so she could drive all the way into town to bug him about absolutely nothing? That was grounds for dismissal--
He knew by the smell of the perfume.
As the interrogation room door opened, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Must de Cartier.
And then came the delicate clipping sound of expensive high-heeled shoes.
Which was harmonized by a low, very well-modulated female voice: "Thank you."
The guard stammered something--a not unusual response of the male sex when they were addressed by Sutton Smythe. And then the door was re-shut and locked.
By the sounds of those stilettos and the shifting of clothes, Edward knew she had taken a seat opposite him.
"You aren't going to look at me," Sutton said softly.
His heart thundered and he could feel the heat in his face. And the only reason he popped his lids was because he refused to appear to be as weak as he felt.
Sometimes pride was a poor man's only sword and shield.
Oh...dear God.
Red Armani suit. Cream blouse. Brunette hair in a chignon. Nails painted the same red as the suit. Pearls at the throat, face tinted with just enough makeup to give her a little color. And yet none of those details really registered.
He was too busy being knocked on his ass even as he stayed in his bolted-to-the-floor chair.
Oh, God, she was still wearing his earrings, the ruby ones he'd bought her from Van Cleef & Arpels. And as he focused on them, her fingertips went to one lobe.
"I've come from work," she said. As if that explained something. "I just decided to stop by."
All he could think about was the fact that she wore what he had given her even when she didn't know she was going to see him.
Edward cleared his throat. "How are you? Growing into your new role as CEO?"
"Really." Her eyes narrowed. "We're going to make social chitchat?"
"You've just started to run a multi-billion-dollar corporation. That is hardly chitchat."
"And you've been arrested for murder."
"I guess we're both in for some life changes. I'm certain yours come with a better salary and food."
"Damn you, Edward." br />
As he fell silent, he tried to ignore the sheen in her eyes.
After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."
"For what? Blowing me off right before you came in here? Or killing your father."
"Sutton, you don't need this"--he motioned around the interrogation room--"in your life. I knew I was going to end up here. What did you expect me to do?"
She leaned in. "I expected you not to take my choice away from me. Which is what grown-ups do with other grown-ups."
"You're the new head of the Sutton Distillery Corporation, a company that your beloved father spent his entire life helming. What you do and who you relate with matters--now more than ever, and you know that--"
"Stop it," she bit out. "Stop trying to cover up that you're a coward."
"Did you come here just to argue that point with me? Because I don't believe that agenda is going to get either of us anywhere."
"No, I'm here because your brother asked me to see you--and because Lane was smart enough to know that unless Ramsey was involved, you would shut me out, too."
Edward crossed his arms over his chest. "Lane needs to leave well enough alone."
"Miss Aurora is asking for you. At the hospital."
Now Edward was the one narrowing his eyes. "She's awake? Last I heard she was not doing at all well."
"She is evidently saying your name, over and over again."
"I'm surprised it isn't Lane's."
"I believe so is he." There was a pause. "Can you think of any reason she would feel the need to speak to you right before she died?"
Abruptly, Edward found it hard to breathe. He kept that to himself, however.
Making sure his face showed nothing, he slowly shook his head. "No. Not at all."
As Sutton sat across from Edward, she was torn. She wanted to keep confronting him about their relationship--or, hell, whatever it was they had between them--but there was a larger, more important imperative. When Lane had called her from the hospital, it was obvious he was shaken up, and as he had spoken to her with great, shocking candor, it had become readily apparent why he was upset.
And of course she had volunteered to try to get in front of Edward.
She didn't think she was going to have the magical effect on the man that his brother seemed to think she would, however. Edward Baldwine had always gone his own way, and she would be a fool to think she was the one person who could get through to him.
But she had to try.
"None whatsoever?" she prompted him. "You can think of no reason your name would be on Miss Aurora's lips."
"Maybe she's worried about Lane and wants me to help. I don't know. Ask her."