Riptide

She wasn’t sure.

What was important was that he was alive. He would get well.

She laid her cheek against his shoulder. She stayed there for a very long time, listening to the steady sound of his heart beating against her face.

She got the call at the hospital at eight o’clock that evening. She’d just left her father and was going back downstairs to be with Adam when a nurse called out, “Ms. Matlock, telephone for you.”

She was surprised. It was the first call she’d gotten, or rather, it was the first call they had put through to her.

It was Tyler and he was talking even before she could say hello. “You’re all right. Thank God it’s all over, Becca. Jesus, I’ve been frantic. They had footage of your father’s burning house, for God’s sake, with this huge safety net in the front yard. They said you’d nearly died, up there on that roof with that maniac, that you shot him finally. Are you truly all right?”

“I’m fine, Tyler. Don’t worry. I’m spending all my time at the hospital. Both my father and Adam Carruthers were shot, but they’ll both survive. The media is outside, waiting, but it will be a long wait. Sherlock is bringing me clothes and stuff so I don’t have to try to sneak out of here and take the chance the media might nab me. How’s Sam doing?”

There was a bit of silence, then, “He misses you dreadfully. He’s really quiet now, won’t say a word. I’m worried, Becca, really worried. I keep trying to get him to talk about the man who kidnapped him, to tell me a little bit about him and what he said, but Sam just shakes his head. He won’t say a word. The TV said that man was dead, that he set himself on fire and hurled himself at you. Is that true?”

“Very true. I think you should take Sam to a child psychiatrist, Tyler.”

“Those flimflam bloodsuckers? They’ll start psychoanalyzing me, claiming I’m not a fit father, tell me I need to lie on a couch for at least six years and pay them big bucks. They’ll say it’s about me, not Sam. No way, Becca. No, he just wants to see you.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave here for another week, at least.”

Then she heard a little boy’s wail, “Becca!”

It was Sam and he sounded like he was dying. She didn’t know what to do. It was her fault that Sam was having problems, all her fault. “Put Sam on the phone, Tyler. Let me try to talk to him.”

He did, but there was only silence. Sam wouldn’t say a word.

Tyler said, “It’s bad, Becca, really bad.”

“Please take him to a child shrink, Tyler. You need help.”

“Come back, Becca. You must.”

“I will as soon as I can,” she said finally, and hung up the phone.

“Problem?” a nurse asked, a thick black brow arched.

“Nothing but,” Becca said, and lightly touched her fingers to her right arm. The burns were healing and were itching a bit now.

“Problems are like that,” the nurse said. “It rains problems, and then, all of a sudden, it’s a sunny day, and the problems have just evaporated away.”

“I hope you’re right,” Becca said.

The next day, Adam was much improved, even managed to joke with his nurse, who patted his butt, and her father came down with pneumonia and nearly died.

“It’s nuts,” Becca said to Agent Austin. “He survives a bullet to the heart and gets pneumonia.”

“There’s got to be some irony in that,” Agent Austin said, shaking his head, “but no matter, it still sucks.”

“He’ll pull through,” the doctor said over and over again to Becca, taking her hands in his. Maybe the doctor didn’t like the irony, either, Becca thought, lightly touching her father’s shoulder. It was odd, when she touched him—settled her hand on his arm, laid her hand over his, lightly touched his shoulder—his breathing calmed, his whole body seemed to relax, to ease.

And when he was finally awake, his mind alert, and she touched him, he smiled at her, and she saw the pleasure in his eyes, deep and abiding. And when she whispered, “I love you, Dad,” he closed his eyes briefly, and she knew she didn’t want to see his tears. “I love you,” she said again, for good measure, and kissed his cheek. “We’re together now. I know you love Adam like a son, but I’m very pleased that he isn’t your son. If he were, then I couldn’t marry him. Now you’ll get him anyway.”

“If he ever makes you cry, I’ll kill him,” said her father.