After the Fall by Patricia Gussin Page A

arms,” he said, “but that wouldn’t feel so good for you.”
    When Tim leaned in, brushing tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, he rewarded her with the most glorious smile before he gently placed his lips on hers.
    At that exact moment, Laura knew. Her tears had nothing to do with guilt. They reflected a flood of love. A love that pushed aside disappointments of the past, insecurities that had consumed her all those years.
    â€œTim,” she sighed, “I love you.”
    â€œLaura, please marry me,” he said.
    â€œYes, Tim, I will,” she said, tears dampening her hospital gown. With her good hand she grabbed Tim’s and clutched it fiercely.
    An aide hesitated at the door, hoisting a tray. “Dr. Robinson,” she said, “a VIP dinner from the kitchen.”
    â€œThanks. Over here,” he said, easing his hand out of Laura’s to clear a space on the bedside table.
    The aide glanced at Laura. “Dr. Nelson, are you okay?” she asked. “Do you want some dinner too? Your orders say you can have whatever you want.” She pointed to the beef short ribs and mashed potatoes.
    â€œNot sure I’m up to that yet,” Laura said, smiling throughlingering tears. “But maybe…” she hesitated, maybe she could try some broth. But the pulsating pain in her hand reminded her she’d have to learn to eat with her left hand. “…Jell-O,” she said, a less risky first attempt. “And champagne.”
    â€œWe don’t—”
    â€œJust kidding,” Laura said. Champagne would have to wait until she was off potent narcotics. “Tim, get started. Please, eat.”
    â€œI’ve had no appetite since I’ve been here, but suddenly I’m ravenous. Does happiness do that to you?”
    â€œI’m actually looking forward to Jell-O!”
    â€œAfter I eat this, though, I’m going to call the kids. I promised, and I’m a man of my word.”
    You are, Tim Robinson, and I’m one lucky woman
.
    â€œCan we tell them?” Laura asked, a grin spreading across her face as she recognized the giggle in her voice.
    â€œI need to have a talk with them,” Tim said. “Ask their permission. The old-fashioned approach.”
    â€œThey’re my kids, not my father. Are you going to ask him?”
    â€œForgot to tell you. Your parents did call to check on you. Said they’d call back. I’ll ask your dad when—”
    â€œI’m an old-fashioned girl,” Laura said, “but I think I’m old enough to forgo that formality.”
    The Jell-O was a long time coming, and Laura had to ask for pain relief before it arrived; however, she insisted on half the dose. When the kids did arrive that evening, they’d notice a big difference. And they’d be thrilled for her, she knew.
    She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    W EDNESDAY , F EBRUARY 19
    Jake left by the back door and retraced his steps to Mack’s garage along the fence line that separated adjacent back yards in his neighborhood. Lined with mature trees, leafless now, but still large enough to give Jake plenty of cover as he maneuvered from tree to tree. The distance took five minutes, just as it had when he’d left his friend’s garage, stealthily moving to his house. Mack played poker with Jake at the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post. He also drove a Jeep Cherokee, only his was dark blue, close enough to olive green in the dusk that was falling around Rockville. Mack used to brag that he never locked his doors, so Jake borrowed the space for the half hour that he’d needed shelter. Mack would never know. Wouldn’t care if he did, unless, of course, he knew what Jake had done during that half hour.
    Earlier, Jake had backed into Mack’s garage, and now he simply had to open and close the manual door and drive normally into the moderate traffic. Gloves would