SARA'S SONG Nurse Nellie Pulaski was an old warhorse with forty years of experience. All forty years being spent in the Emergency Room of Benton Memorial Hospital. She snapped and crackled in her starched uniform, her nurse’s cap riding precariously on her corkscrew gray curls as she ruled the ER with an iron hand. The newer nurses, especially the younger ones, wore nylon uniforms and had long ago given up their starched caps. Some of them even wore sneakers much to the disgust of Nurse Pulaski. She herself preferred the rubber soled oxfords that were soundless and didn’t make those little snicking sounds on the marble floor. Nobody died on Pulaski’s shift. That was a given. Everyone at Benton Memorial, Los Angeles’s finest private hospital, said the patients who were nearing the end waited for Pulaski to go off duty so they could go to their Maker in peace. Nellie Pulaski was an in your face, gravel and molasses voiced, do it my way nurse and you’ll be out of here before you know it. She was loved, hated and feared. Dr. Sara Killian loved Nellie. She listened to her now, an amused smile on her face. “Trust me, this is going to be a night to remember, Sara. It’s a full moon. Every loonie and their brother will be out tonight.” Sara grinned as she popped a diet drink. “It’s a harvest moon, Nellie. Forget that full moon stuff. I have to admit, though, it hasn’t been this slow in months.” “That’s because the whole town is attending Dallas Lord’s benefit concert. It should be breaking up soon. The concert I mean. Then there will be fender benders, fights, and all that stuff that goes with those awful concerts. We’ll be jamming in here in another two hours. I’ve got my off duty list right here in my pocket. I’m surprised you and your sister didn’t go to the concert. My daughter is crazy about Dallas Lord and she’s 43. She said he’s better than Elvis on his best day.” Sara pretended horror. “Better than Elvis! I don’t think so.” “I don’t think so either. I did love the way he swiveled those hips of his. It’s time for you to think about settling down, Sara. All these nice dedicated doctors are just waiting for you to give them the time of day.” “I am not interested in dating or marrying a doctor. I don’t do one night stands and that’s all they’re interested in right now. I started down that road twice and it didn’t work out. If and when I decide to get married it will be to a plumber. I like my life just the way it is. Then there is the flip side to that coin. Maybe he just hasn’t found me yet.” Nellie snorted. “How can any man find you? You work double shifts and sleep the rest of the time. You have to do your share. That means getting dressed up and looking around on your own. Makeup helps. So do fashionable hair styles.” “Are you trying to tell me something, Nellie?” “What’s the point? You never listen. You need an image to go with that fancy Jaguar you drive. A pony tail and shiny nose aren’t going to turn any man’s head. Take right now. We’re sitting here doing nothing. You could go into the lavatory, bounce up your hair a little, put on some makeup and when the first patient comes in, and he will come in, he’ll feel better because you look good. Give it a shot, Sara. You do have makeup in that black bag lug around, don’t you? Do it!” “I will not. I am what I am.” Sara’s voice turned defensive when she said, “There is nothing wrong with the way I look.” “That’s bullshit, Sara. I think you’re afraid of men. If you aren’t afraid of men then you’re afraid of commitment. I think you need to get laid!” “Nellie!” “Don’t Nellie me. You’re thirty-nine years old. So what if you bombed out twice. Just because it didn’t work doesn’t mean all men are like those two . . . bums. It’s time for you to start thinking about a life outside this hospital. I don’t want you to turn out like me.” “Oh, Nellie, turning out like you would be wonderful. This hospital couldn’t run without you. The best part is they know it. You’re loved and respected and there isn’t a better nurse anywhere. You’re probably the best nurse in the whole world. Patients get better because of you. You were meant to do what you do just the way I was meant to do what I do.” “That’s my professional life. When I go home, I go home to a house with two cats and a dog that are just as old and cranky as I am. We eat in front of the television in our comfies and wait for the telephone to ring. Guess what, Sara, it doesn’t ring. It doesn’t ring because other people are busy with their families. My daughter lives in New York and she never gets the time thing straight. I want you to find someone who will be the wind beneath your wings. I had that once and I was a lot younger than you. It’s a wonderful feeling. Now go plump up your hair and put some makeup on. Dr. Mc Guire is going to stop by later with some catnip for me to save me a trip to his office. A vet is good, Sara. They make more money than some M. D.’s. He has his own practice, his own house, a car like yours. Already you have something in common. He does things. He goes fly fishing, para sailing and has a pilot’s license. He knows how to cook and he irons his pillow cases. He cuts down a real tree at Christmas and throws a party that will blow your socks off. He’s a good catch. I heard he was great in bed. People start those rumors all the time. Aren’t you curious? Do it for me, Sara.” “All right, all right!” Sara’s voice was suspicious when she said, “How do you know he’s good in bed?” Nellie smirked. “I know.” Fifteen minutes later, Sara returned to the ER. , her hair curling loosely around her shoulders, here eyes sparkling behind subdued makeup, her brows more defined. Her lips were past the pink stage and glossy. Definitely kissable. “Are you satisfied, Nellie?” “You clean up really nice. All you need now is one of those spandex dresses the younger nurses wear.” “And have my circulation cut off. No thank you. This is it.” “We can work on that later. You’ll do. Ten thirty. I say we trundle outside for a few quick puffs before all hell breaks loose. I have a bad feeling, Sara.” “Don’t tell me that, Nellie. I hate it when you spook me like this. It’s quiet. We have quiet nights sometimes. Don’t look for trouble.” “We’re so short handed. When you’ve been around as long as I have you recognize certain things. I’m hardly ever wrong. It’s the way it is, Sara. Either I’m blessed or I’m cursed. I wish I could quit smoking.” “I wish you could too, Nellie. Oh, oh, here comes a patient. It looks like appendix to me the way he’s doubled over. Take him to #3. The father looks worse than the kid. Do your thing, Nellie.” A gurney appeared as Nellie whisked the father to Admitting before she raced back to #3 where Sara was pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “Dr. Joyce is on her way.” A thermometer was in the boy’s mouth as Nellie strapped on the blood pressure bandage. “Show me where it hurts. Ah, how about here, here and here? “Shhh, don’t be afraid. I’m Dr. Killian and this is Nurse Nellie. Do you want to tell us your name.” “Mickey. Mickey Logan. I want my mom. Dad said Dr. Joyce is coming. It hurts bad.” “I like that name. I think it’s one of my favorite names. Because . . . I love Mickey Mouse. How old are you, Mickey? It’s going to be okay. Your dad is right outside and Dr. Joyce is on her way. So is your mom. ” The little boy’s face scrunched up. I’m gonna be seven tomorrow. I never had a belly ache like this. Dad said it’s bad gas.” “Definitely elevated, 102,” Nellie said shaking down the thermometer. “We’re going to take a little blood from your arm, Mickey. I promise it isn’t really going to hurt. It will sting at first. If you hold my hand real tight you won’t even feel the sting.” The white count is going to be off the chart. That appendix is boiling in there and no, I’m not psychic,” Nellie whispered. “Damn, where’s his doctor?” Sara whispered as she smoothed back the little boy’s hair. He was crying openly now instead of trying to be a brave boy the way his father had instructed. “I want my mom,” he howled. “Give me some of that pink stuff. My mom always gives me pink stuff when I have a belly ache. Dr. Joyce calls me sport.” “Do you think you can wait for the pink stuff until Dr. Joyce gets here? It’s important that you don’t eat or drink anything right now. You hold my hand and let’s see who can squeeze the hardest. If I win I have to sing the Mickey Mouse song and if you win then you have to sing it. Do you know all the words?” “I forget them,” he said squeezing her hand as hard as he could. Sara exerted just the right amount of pressure. “You’re doing good, sport. Look who’s here.” The little boy opened his tear filled eyes. “Who won?” “I think you did. I guess I’m getting old,” Sara smiled. “Long time no see, Joyce. Nellie, what’s the count?” Nellie handed the pediatrician the blood report. Th doctor’s keen eyes registered the abnormalities. “Let’s get him prepped and into O.R. before that rascal decides to burst. Will you talk to Mickey’s father. I don’t think we have much time.” “He’s so little. He’s scared, Joyce. When he’s out of recovery call me. I promised to sing to him. You wouldn’t happen to know the words to the Mickey Mouse song would you?” “Every single one. Hold on, sport, we’re going for a ride. Thanks, Sara.” Sara nodded as she headed out to the waiting room. “Mr. Logan your pediatrician just arrived and has taken over. Mickey’s on his way to surgery. Appendix is a pretty routine operation. You got him here in time. A little longer and his appendix would have ruptured. Mrs. Pulaski told me you signed all the necessary papers. Your son is in good hands but I think you already know that. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” “No. One more cup today and you’ll be peeling me off the ceiling. I’ll wait here for my wife. She probably got held up in traffic. He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” “Yes. Do you happen to know the words to the Mickey Mouse song?” “Are you kidding. I say them in my sleep.” “Then I have a job for you. Write them down and give them to the nurse to give to me. I promised Mickey I’d sing it for him when he gets out of recovery.” “Sure. Sure, I’ll be glad to.” “Try and relax. I know, easier said than done. We’ll talk later, Mr. Logan.” “Thanks, Dr. Killian.” Sara nodded as she walked back to the ER. “Here comes another one. In a limo no less. Let’s go, Nellie, duty calls.” “The last patient to arrive in a limo had an impacted bowel. The one before that had the DDT’s. What’s your guess on this one?” “Drug abuse,” Sara shot back. Nellie pursed her lips. “You’re probably right.” Sara had only a brief glimpse of the man exiting the back of the limo before the orderly with his gurney blocked her view. Blue denim and boots. She sighed. Drugs. She could hear him even with the door closed. “C’mon, c’mon, man. This is serious stuff here. Can’t you see him clutching his chest? Never mind the damn straps. I’ll hang onto him. I don’t want to hear about rules. Go, go, go!” The voice continued to rail as the orderlies rushed down the hall to ER Room. “He wasn’t drinking. He doesn’t do drugs. He’s never been sick a day in his life. There are no records, man. Check him out, man. C’mon. C’mon, where’s the damn doctor? I don’t know what kind of insurance he has. Here, will five thousand cover it?” A wad of money flew through the air. “Take care of him. I’ll build you a new wing, a whole annex. Take care of my friend! Don’t let anyone in here but me. Do you hear me?” Sara came out of the cubicle. “The whole hospital can hear you. Go out to the waiting room and let us do our job. Right now we need a name. Pick up your money, sir.” “Sure, sure, whatever you say. It isn’t serious, is it? Look. Money is no object here. Get him the best. I want the best.” Sara placed both her hands on the man’s shoulders. Her gaze locked with his. She felt suddenly weak in the knees and didn’t know why. “Look at me. I don’t know if I’m the best there is or not, but right now I’m the best you’ve got. Now let me do what I’ve been trained to do. Just so you know, I’m the doctor.” “A woman doctor! Jeez. Billie Sweet. That’s his name, Billie Sweet.” “Sit down and wait. I’ll be back when there is something to report.” Dallas Lord stared at the woman in front of him, a frown building above his eyes. He felt strange, almost as if he was someplace else and observing what was going on through someone else’s eyes. “Okay, okay, I’m going to sit down and wait. Please, don’t let him die. Billie is my best friend. Suddenly he just grabbed his chest, sweat dripping down his face. I thought it was the lights and the sound. I’m going, I’m going. Just don’t let him die.” “I’ll do my best.” “We are famous tonight, Sara. Tomorrow morning all of us and that includes this hospital, will be on the cover of the L.A. Times. That was Dallas Lord and Mr. Sweet is his lead guitarist. They look different in person. They look normal. I always thought celebrities looked . . . you know, kind of plastic with tons of makeup. They look ordinary. Working the second shift in ER allows you to learn something new every day,” Nellie said. “People are people, Nellie. It’s what’s inside that counts. Mr. Lord is worried about his friend. He has soulful eyes if there is such a thing. That’s just to remind you a bouncy hair do and makeup are not going to change who and what I am on the inside. Move it, Nellie. Stat!” Dallas Lord returned to the waiting room, his own face dripping sweat. He folded his hands and prayed, something he hadn’t done in a very long time. An hour went by, then another hour. “Hey, mister, is that bus out there yours? You gotta move it, buddy, there’s been a nine-car pileup on the Interstate and they’re coming in,” the hospital guard said. Dallas looked around the small waiting room. He was the only occupant. Staring at his snakeskin boots he muttered, “I don’t have a bus.” “The limo, buddy. You gotta move it.” “Oh. Sure, sure, I’ll move it.” He was back in the waiting room in ten minutes. He looked at the clock. What was taking so long? He said another prayer. Then he thought about Billie Sweet and their friendship. He’d met Billie in Kindergarten at the age of five. They’d been best friends ever since. Inseparable friends. He was godfather to Billie’s three children. Thirty three long years. It couldn’t end like this. Not here in this sterile, antiseptic place. He should call Billie’s wife Nancy, and tell her what? There was no way Nancy and the kids could make it here to L.A. tonight. He could charter a plane for Billie’s family. If he did it now, they could be here by morning. Chicago wasn’t that far away. Dallas stomped his way over to the row of telephone booths. Using his phone card he placed the call and spoke in a tortured whisper. “I don’t know, Nancy. We were on the last set and he just turned white, grabbed his chest and collapsed. I rushed him here to the hospital. I thought it was indigestion. He ate three chili dogs before we went on and guzzled a couple of root beers. I saw him pop some Tums a couple of times. It’s been more than two hours. They don’t tell you anything here. Hang up, I’m going to call and charter a plane for you. I’ll call you back with the details. I did pray, Nancy. I’m still praying. Let me give you the number of this phone. You can call me from the plane. I’ll get back to you when I have the flight information.” It was a full thirty minutes before Dallas contemplated his snakeskin boots for the second time. Three hours! Three hours meant Billie was still alive. He wondered if they were operating. How long did operations last? He banged his booted feet on the tile floor, his eyes filling just as the double glass doors swished open to admit gun toting police, first aid volunteers, paramedics, bloody patients on gurneys and crying ambulatory patients. Outside, bedlam reigned as fans and members of the Canyon River Band arrived to see what had happened to Billie Sweet. Dallas tried to shrink into the hard plastic chair he was sitting on. Down the hall and around the corner, Nellie Pulaski mopped at her perspiring brow. “Told you it would hit the fan. We’re finished here, Sara. Do you want me to speak to Mr. Lord?” “I’ll do it. Prep number two and give me an update on the Interstate. Tell Dolores to call my sister to come in. She should be home by now. Does Harry the Hawk,” Sara said referring to the hospital administrator, “know who our famous patient is?” “He does now. He’s probably in the waiting room getting Mr. Lord’s signature on the dotted line saying he agreed to build a wing or an annex.” “Only if Mr. Sweet lives. It doesn’t look good, Nellie. When my sister comes in, have her sit in ICU to monitor him. I know it’s against the rules but have her do it anyway. I don’t want anything coming back here to haunt us later on. Mr. Sweet gets one on one. The Hawk will agree.” “See, you’re already thinking like one of them and you aren’t even a partner yet. That’s what I mean about getting a life.” Sara nodded. It really was true. Nellie Pulaski could do three things at the same time. Four if you counted talking. With Nellie every minute, every second counted. She was shaving, cleansing and bandaging an open wound as she rattled on to herself about the next patient awaiting her help. “Mr. Lord.” “Is he all right? What is it? Did you operate?” “Mr. Sweet has suffered a coronary. He’s in ICU right now. A private duty nurse is on the way to monitor him. Does he have family?” “They’re on the way. Is he going to make it?” What incredible blue eyes. How sad his voice was. How lonely he looked. “I don’t know, Mr. Lord. We’re doing everything we can. I have to be honest with you. It doesn’t look good. I wish it were otherwise. You can go up to ICU now. I’ll check with you later. As you can see we’re busy here and we’re short handed.” “Can I do anything?” Taken aback, Sara stared at the man in front of her. “Thank you for saying that. If you were a surgeon, I’d snatch you right up. If you really want to help, I would appreciate you asking those people outside to quiet down. I’m assuming they’re your fans or your people. I’m being paged. We can talk later, Mr. Lord.” Dallas brushed at his dripping brow. How could someone as pretty, as gentle sounding as that doctor know what she was doing. Billie needed an experienced older man, someone who’d been around twenty or so years to treat him. He wanted brash and bluster, clean shaven and confidant eyes not lipstick and poufy hair. He’d been given an order and he had to obey it. Just the way he always obeyed his brother Adam’s orders. When you obeyed orders, according to Adam, things worked. It was when you ignored those orders that things got shot to hell. There was no way he wanted to shoot down Billie’s chances. He took a moment to compose himself. He needed to look confidant. The barracudas out there would sense any little thing that didn’t sit well with them. The tabloids already had their scoop. He wondered if helicopters were flying overhead. “Mr. Lord, I’m Harry Heinrick, the hospital administrator. Dr. Killian has informed me of Mr. Sweet’s condition. This is a fine hospital, Mr. Lord, and our staff will do everything humanly possible to treat your friend. Would you like me to go outside with you to make a statement? A vigil is fine but it’s getting rowdy out there and we have our patients to think about. The police are cordoning off the parking lot. A few words from you will go a long way. The media is . . . I guess I don’t have to tell you about the media, do I?” “No.” “It was a wonderful thing you and your band did this evening. I wish more celebrities felt as you do.” “Billie’s dad has Alzhimers disease. Will this hospital get a share of the proceeds? Right now I can’t think clearly or remember the list. It was Billie’s idea to do this benefit. The band agreed.” “A small share. We’re a private hospital and our research is kept to a minimum.” Dallas waited for the sliding door to open. “Why is that?” “We rely on donations and requests. When you’re private, you have more say in the way things are done.” “I’ll look into it. I’ll be paying for Billie so if you want money now . . .” “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Lord. Later will be fine. Let’s just worry about Mr. Sweet’s comfort right now. Good Lord, there must be a thousand people out here!” the administrator said, his voice full of awe. For the first time in his life the suave money man was at a loss for words. Dallas held up his hands for silence. He drew a deep breath, his eyes searching the crowd for someone to hone in on. He always did that when he was on stage singing. Sandi Sims. She looked like she was crying. He flapped his hands in the breeze to stop the questions. “Billie’s had a heart attack. His family is en route and should be here in a few hours. I’d like to ask all of you to say a prayer. Mr. Heinrick the hospital administrator will give you a further update in the morning. Please, move back and keep the noise down. This is a hospital and there are a lot of sick people here. I’ll see you all later. Two prayers would be better than one.” Harry Heinrick moved closer to the yellow tape as Dallas sprinted across the parking lot to the Emergency Room door. Flash bulbs popped. He did his best to look annoyed and wondered if they were capturing his best side. He couldn’t buy publicity like this. “I can give you five minutes.” Dallas stopped in the rest room on his way to the elevator. Who was this haggard looking individual staring back at him in the harsh light? He cried because he didn’t know what else to do. He knew his life was going to change. His life as he and Billie knew it, would never be the same again. What would he do without Billie in his life? Whom would he talk to in the wee hours of the morning? Whom would he confide in? Whom would he share his memories with? Adam? Adam was his blood brother. Older by three years, it was Adam who was the brain behind Dallas Lord and the Canyon River Boys success. Adam was the point man, their manager, their idea man, their investment banker, their attorney and broker. Adam had marketed them like a pro for the past fifteen years. They were a household name that even little old ladies in Punxatawney, Pennsylvania knew. Adam wasn’t Billie Sweet. Adam was a suit with a Wall Street haircut and monogrammed Brooks Brothers shirts. Adam never went fishing with him the way Billie did. Adam never played baseball with him the way Billie did. Adam never shared a pizza and a beer with him the way Billie did. Adam never shared a secret with him. Hell, Adam didn’t even like their music. What was worse, he didn’t bother to pretend he liked it. Cold water rushed from the tap. Dallas stuck his head under the faucet until he thought his eyeballs would freeze. A glob of paper towels wiped away the ice cold water. He didn’t feel one damn bit better. Dallas combed his hair with his fingers, the springy curls going any which way. From his hip pocket he withdrew his Padres baseball cap and settled it firmly on his head. Billie had one just like it. Billie even wore his in concert. They were old, frayed, the stitching barely discernable. They’d gotten them the day Billie’s dad took them to their first baseball game. Light years ago. If something happened to Billie who was going to take care of his dad? Nancy had her hands full with the three kids and her own parents. He made a mental note to look into the elder Mr. Sweet’s care. Dallas decided at that moment that he hated hospitals. It was too white, too hushed, too smelly. Was the smell a death smell? He didn’t know anything about death. His parents had died when he was two. Everyone he knew was physical and vital, front and center, even old Adam. Death was something he never thought about. Billie thought about it, though and worried about his elderly father. Nancy had told him that. He heard them whispering as he strode down the hall. They knew who he was and they were speculating. About what he didn’t know. Childishly he crossed his fingers that none of the nursing staff would be crass enough to ask for his autograph. An older nurse with cherub cheeks pointed to Billie’s room and nodded. He walked up to the plate glass window. He clenched his teeth as he jammed his hands into his pockets. The person lying in the bed wasn’t Billie Sweet. The Billie Sweet he knew needed a king size bed because he was a sprawler. Billie Sweet was perpetual motion, playing music in his head even when he was sleeping. When Dallas finally managed to open the door, his hand trembled. The machines were evil eyes glaring at him, defying him. If they worked, if they helped he could live with them. “If you’re going to stay in here, Mr. Lord, you have to be sterile. There is a room at the end of the hall where you can change,” the nurse said. “I’m Carly Killian.” Dallas accepted the folded garments. “Is . . ., has . . . how is he?” “There’s been no change, Mr. Lord.” “Where’s the doctor? She said she’d be up to talk to me.” “We’re having a busy night, Mr. Lord. Dr. Killian’s shift was over some time ago. However, if she said she’ll talk to you, she will. No one at Benton actually works an eight-hour shift. We always go into overtime. The patients come first here. Time clocks aren’t important when you compare them to a life.” Dallas nodded and backed out of the room. I can handle this. I can do whatever has to be done. I know I can do this. I will do this. It was an hour before dawn when Sara Killian opened the door to Billie Sweet’s room. She motioned for Dallas to leave. He stood outside the door and waited, his breath exploding from his mouth in soft little puffs of sound. He looked across the hall to the nurse’s station. A tired looking nurse smiled at him. He nodded. How could she smile? Was this a just a job? Didn’t they care? Suddenly he was holding a cup of coffee in his hand. “It will help you to stay awake,” the smiling nurse said. Dallas consumed the coffee in two swallows. He was handing the empty cup back to the nurse when Sara motioned him to follow her to the ICU lounge at the opposite end of the corridor. “I wish it were yesterday,” Dallas said before Sara could say anything. “Yesterday’s gone, Mr. Lord. All we have is today because tomorrow isn’t here yet. The truth is we never really see tomorrow. Perhaps you can write a song about that someday.” “He isn’t going to make it, is he?” “We don’t know that. We hope and pray right up to the end. Miracles happen every day of the week. If you’re asking my opinion then I would have to say, no, Mr. Sweet isn’t going to survive. When do you expect his family?” Dallas looked at his watch. “Another hour or so. Is there a specialist you can call in? Who’s the best heart specialist in the country? I’ll fly him here, pay him whatever he wants. Isn’t there anything we can do?” “Sit down, Mr. Lord.” Sara reached for Dallas’ hands. “I did call Dr. La Cross. We spoke at length about Mr. Sweet. He arrived about ten minutes ago and is on his way up here as we speak.” “That’s a relief. It’s not that I don’t have any faith in you. A second opinion is always good. Billie got six opinions when the first doctor diagnosed his father with Alzhimers. It didn’t change anything, though. This won’t change anything either, right?” Sara shrugged, aware that she was still holding Dallas’ hand. She was about to remove it when he said, “Do you operate?” “Yes.” “What kind of doctor are you? Do you have a speciality?” “I’m a general practitioner.” She smiled at his discomfort. “It’s all right. I agree with you about second opinions. One night a month I work the ER. Last night was my night. I wish there was something more I could do.” “I always thought Billie would live forever. Me too for that matter. Something like this just never entered my mind. His wife and kids are going to be devastated.” “You’ll have to be strong for them,” Sara said. Reluctantly she withdrew her hand from his. She couldn’t help but wonder why she felt so reluctant to let go of this man’s sweaty hands. Something was tugging at her heart, something she hadn’t felt for a long time. “How do you do it?” “I do my best. When my best isn’t enough, I surrender the patient to other hands. I learned that from Dr. La Cross. He was my mentor.” “You’re making me feel like an ass, Doctor.” A smile tugged at the corners of Sara’s mouth. “If I were in your place, I’d probably be doing and thinking the same things you are. I think he’s here. Wait here, Mr. Lord.” “Call me Dallas.” “When Dr. La Cross completes his examination, he’ll come out and talk to you. Get another cup of coffee and try to relax. Conjure up your happiest memory with Billie and hold on to that. Can you do that?” “Sure. Sure, I can do that. Look, don’t let him suffer, okay. Nancy will tell you the same thing when she gets here. Promise.” “We’ll do our best.” Sara watched the funeral services for Billie Sweet on the eleven o’clock news in her bedroom on a small television screen. She felt her eyes mist over when she saw Dallas and seven other members of the band carrying the bronze casket from the church. How strange. A week ago she hadn’t a clue as to whom Billy Sweet was. A tear rolled down her cheek when she saw the three children hovering near their mother. She turned off the television set and the night light. Sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned. She got up and made a cup of tea. On the kitchen counter was a large brown package and a smaller one on top of it. Nellie Pulaski had thrust it in her hands as she was leaving the hospital. “It’s Mr. Sweet’s personal belongings. It would be nice of you to take them to Mr. Lord to give his family.” She’d accepted the package and was now sorry. She didn’t even know where Dallas lived. Ha! Trust Nellie. The directions and the phone number were taped to the larger package. Sara looked at the kitchen clock. Eleven forty-five. Go in darkness and get it over with. Or, go in daylight and have the media follow her. Should she call first? Maybe she should just drive to the house and slip the packages through a gate. Rock stars like movie stars always lived behind gates and walls. She could pen a short note, express her condolences and staple it to the brown package. “I thought I heard you down here. Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Carly said setting the kettle back on the stove. “Some doctor you are. Don’t you know tea like coffee will keep you awake?” “Then why are you drinking it?” “Because I’m just a nurse and you’re a doctor. You’re supposed to have more brains. Did you watch the news?” Sara nodded. “So, are you going to take his stuff up to his house or what?” “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it. Want to go along for the ride?” “Nope. I have the morning shift. Tonight probably would be better than tomorrow in daylight. I’m glad we’re close, Sara. Dallas talked to me a lot while we sat in the room together. He was close to Billie Sweet but not with his brother. That’s so strange and yet I understand it. I think he liked you, Sara. He said you were honest and compassionate. Traits he never gets to see in his business. Do you know what else he told me? He said he’s been tactfully trying to break off a relationship with one of his back up singers. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. He asked my advice.” Sara stared at her younger look alike sister or as she preferred to call her, Carly the fixit kid. “Carly, tell me you didn’t offer advice.” “I offered. You know me. I told him to tell her straight out. This way she gets on with her life and he gets on with his. Life is simply too short to be unhappy. I try to tell you that all the time, but do you listen to me? No, you do not.” “I’m not unhappy. I love my work. I love puttering around the house. I try to keep it the way Mom did. For us, Carly. I have a good life. If I meet the right man someday, good. If not, that’s okay too. I think I will take that stuff to Mr. Lord. Mandeville Canyon isn’t that far.” “That whole thing with Billy Sweet bothers you, doesn’t it?” “Yeah, it does and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Mr. Lord said he didn’t think he could keep the band going without Billie. I don’t think he was thinking clearly. It was his grief talking. If he gives it up all those people who depend on him will be out of a job.” “And the music world will lose one of the greatest entertainers of all time,” Carly said as she dumped six spoons of sugar into her cup. “Syrup’s good,” Sara said. Carly giggled. “Okay, I’m going to get dressed and drive up there. I’ll see you in the morning. No, I won’t. I’m off tomorrow. Who cooks dinner tomorrow?” “The one who stays home. I’m in the mood for some stuffed pork chops. Sweet potatoes, snap peas, a crisp salad and maybe some made from scratch dinner rolls.” “I know where you can get that; the Sunflower Grill,” Sara shot over her shoulder. Carly gulped at her tea. Tomorrow evening dinner would be just as she requested, right down to a linen table cloth and matching napkins along with crystal glasses of Evian water. Sara was the best doctor in the world. The best cook in the world, the best sister in the world. Sara was simply the best. Carly craned her neck for a better look at the note scotch taped to the brown package. Dallas Lord’s phone number. Hmmmnn. She reached behind her to grapple for the phone. Without hesitating she dialed the number. “Yes, hello. This is Carly Killian. I’m a nurse at Benton hospital. I just wanted to leave word that Dr. Sara Killian is on her way to Mr. Lord’s house to drop of Mr. Sweet’s belongings. It would be nice if someone would admit her through the gates. Please give the message to Mr. Lord. I think he wanted to speak to Dr. Killian personally. Thank you. Yes, I know it’s late. Doctors work very long hours. No problem.” Carly dusted her hands dramatically. “Match making has always been my strong point.” Carly was rinsing out her cup when Sara entered the kitchen. “You look like you’re going on a . . . hayride. It’s a given that some cop is going to pull you over at this time of night in that racy Jag. Maybe you should fix yourself up a little. A little rouge, some dangle earrings, some of that sinful perfume. You look like a farmer, Sara.” “Maybe you should mind your own business, Carly. I’m dressed for comfort.” “Bib overalls! Ponytail! Nike Airs? Give me a break.” “I’ll see you in the morning. Lock the door behind me and don’t let any strangers in.” “Yes, Mother.” It was a standing routine each of them used when they went out if one or the other remained at home. It was also something their mother always said to them. “Be careful. It’s dark out there.” “I’ll be careful. Go to sleep.” “If you see Mr. Lord tell him I said hello. Get his autograph for me, okay.” Sara slammed the door so hard the cups rattled on the drain board. Back to Chapter One Main Page newsflash / biography / bookshelf / contest my latest / complete list / my favorites / my suggestions chapter one / series list / my publisher / my blog the romance club / site map / contact Copyright ©1997-2008 by First Draft, Inc. All rights reserved.