Ana? Is she okay?
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he says to all of us.
“Yes, Taylor,” I ask, and he approaches and speaks discreetly in my ear.
“We have a situation at home concerning Miss Leila Williams.”
Leila? What the hell? And part of me is relieved that it’s not Ana.
“Would you excuse me, please?” I ask the two men and two women from the SBRA.
In the hallway, Taylor’s tone is grave as he apologizes once more for interrupting my meeting.
“Don’t worry. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Miss Williams is in an ambulance on the way to the ER at Seattle Free Hope.”
“Ambulance?”
“Yes, sir. She broke into the apartment and made a suicide attempt in front of Mrs. Jones.”
Fuck. “Suicide?” Leila? In my apartment?
“She slashed her wrist. Gail went with her in the ambulance. She’s informed me that the EMTs arrived in time and Miss Williams is not in any immediate danger.”
“Why Escala? Why in front of Gail?” I’m shocked.
Taylor shakes his head. “I don’t know, sir. Neither does Gail. She can’t get any sense out of Miss Williams. Apparently, she only wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly, sir,” Taylor says without judgment. I scrape my hands through my hair, trying to grasp the magnitude of what Leila has done. What the hell am I supposed to do? Why did she come to me? Was she expecting to see me? Where’s her husband? What’s happened to him?
“How’s Gail?”
“A little shaken.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I thought you should know, sir.”
“Yes. Sure. Thanks,” I mumble, distracted. I can’t believe it; Leila seemed happy when she last e-mailed, what, six or seven months ago. But there are no answers for me here in Georgia—I have to go back and talk to her. Find out why. “Tell Stephan to ready the jet. I need to go home.”
“Will do.”
“Let’s leave as soon as we can.”
“I’ll be in the car.”
“Thank you.”
Taylor heads toward the exit, raising the phone to his ear.
I’m reeling.
Leila. What the hell?
She’s been out of my life for a couple of years. We’ve shared the occasional e-mail. She got married. She seemed happy. What’s happened?
I head back into the boardroom and make my apologies before stepping outside into the stifling heat, where Taylor is waiting in the Suburban.
“The plane will be ready in forty-five minutes. We can head back to the hotel, pack, and go,” he informs me.
“Good,” I respond, grateful for the car’s air-conditioning. “I should call Gail.”
“I’ve tried, but her phone goes to voice mail. I think she’s still at the hospital.”
“Okay, I’ll call her later.” This is not what Gail needs on a Thursday morning. “How did Leila get into the apartment?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Taylor makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his face apologetic and grim at once. “I’ll make it a priority to find out.”
OUR BAGS ARE PACKED and we’re on our way to Savannah/Hilton Head International when I call Ana, but frustratingly, she doesn’t answer. I brood, staring out the window as we cruise toward the airport. I don’t have to wait long for her to return my call.
“Anastasia.”
“Hi,” she says, her voice breathy, and it’s such a pleasure to hear her.
“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to the airport now. Please apologize to your mother—I can’t make dinner.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“I have a situation that I have to deal with. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send Taylor to meet you at Sea-Tac if I can’t come myself.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”
I wish I didn’t have to go.
“You, too, baby,” I whisper, and hang up before I change my mind and stay.
I CALL ROS AS we taxi toward the runway.
“Christian, how’s Savannah?”
“I’m on the plane coming home. I have a problem I have to deal with.”
“Something at GEH?” Ros asks, alarmed.
“No. It’s personal.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“Positive. But I had to cut it short. Let’s see what they put in writing. I might prefer Detroit just because it’s cooler.”
“The heat’s that bad?”
“Suffocating. I’ve got to go. I’ll call for an update later.”
“Safe travels, Christian.”
ON THE FLIGHT I throw myself into work to distract me from the problem waiting at home. By the time we’ve touched down I’ve read three reports and written fifteen e-mails. Our car is waiting, and Taylor drives through the pouring rain straight to Seattle Free Hope. I have to see Leila and find out what the hell is going on. As we near the hospital my anger surfaces.
Why would she do this to me?
The rain is lashing down as I climb out of the car; the day is as bleak as my mood. I take a deep breath to control my fury and head through the front doors. At the reception desk I ask for Leila Reed.
“Are you family?” The nurse on duty glowers at me, her mouth pinched and sour.
“No.” I sigh. This is going to be difficult.
“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“She tried to open a vein in my apartment. I think I’m entitled to know where the hell she is,” I hiss through my teeth.
“Don’t take that tone with me!” she snaps. I glare at her. I’m not going to get anywhere with this woman.
“Where is your ER department?”
“Sir, there’s nothing we can do if you’re not family.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself,” I growl, and storm over to the double doors. I know I could call my mother, who would expedite this for me, but then I’d have to explain what’s happened.
The ER is bustling with doctors and nurses, and triage is full of patients. I accost a young nurse and give her my brightest smile. “Hello, I’m looking for Leila Reed—she was admitted earlier today. Can you tell me where she might be?”
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he says to all of us.
“Yes, Taylor,” I ask, and he approaches and speaks discreetly in my ear.
“We have a situation at home concerning Miss Leila Williams.”
Leila? What the hell? And part of me is relieved that it’s not Ana.
“Would you excuse me, please?” I ask the two men and two women from the SBRA.
In the hallway, Taylor’s tone is grave as he apologizes once more for interrupting my meeting.
“Don’t worry. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Miss Williams is in an ambulance on the way to the ER at Seattle Free Hope.”
“Ambulance?”
“Yes, sir. She broke into the apartment and made a suicide attempt in front of Mrs. Jones.”
Fuck. “Suicide?” Leila? In my apartment?
“She slashed her wrist. Gail went with her in the ambulance. She’s informed me that the EMTs arrived in time and Miss Williams is not in any immediate danger.”
“Why Escala? Why in front of Gail?” I’m shocked.
Taylor shakes his head. “I don’t know, sir. Neither does Gail. She can’t get any sense out of Miss Williams. Apparently, she only wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly, sir,” Taylor says without judgment. I scrape my hands through my hair, trying to grasp the magnitude of what Leila has done. What the hell am I supposed to do? Why did she come to me? Was she expecting to see me? Where’s her husband? What’s happened to him?
“How’s Gail?”
“A little shaken.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I thought you should know, sir.”
“Yes. Sure. Thanks,” I mumble, distracted. I can’t believe it; Leila seemed happy when she last e-mailed, what, six or seven months ago. But there are no answers for me here in Georgia—I have to go back and talk to her. Find out why. “Tell Stephan to ready the jet. I need to go home.”
“Will do.”
“Let’s leave as soon as we can.”
“I’ll be in the car.”
“Thank you.”
Taylor heads toward the exit, raising the phone to his ear.
I’m reeling.
Leila. What the hell?
She’s been out of my life for a couple of years. We’ve shared the occasional e-mail. She got married. She seemed happy. What’s happened?
I head back into the boardroom and make my apologies before stepping outside into the stifling heat, where Taylor is waiting in the Suburban.
“The plane will be ready in forty-five minutes. We can head back to the hotel, pack, and go,” he informs me.
“Good,” I respond, grateful for the car’s air-conditioning. “I should call Gail.”
“I’ve tried, but her phone goes to voice mail. I think she’s still at the hospital.”
“Okay, I’ll call her later.” This is not what Gail needs on a Thursday morning. “How did Leila get into the apartment?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Taylor makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his face apologetic and grim at once. “I’ll make it a priority to find out.”
OUR BAGS ARE PACKED and we’re on our way to Savannah/Hilton Head International when I call Ana, but frustratingly, she doesn’t answer. I brood, staring out the window as we cruise toward the airport. I don’t have to wait long for her to return my call.
“Anastasia.”
“Hi,” she says, her voice breathy, and it’s such a pleasure to hear her.
“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to the airport now. Please apologize to your mother—I can’t make dinner.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“I have a situation that I have to deal with. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send Taylor to meet you at Sea-Tac if I can’t come myself.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”
I wish I didn’t have to go.
“You, too, baby,” I whisper, and hang up before I change my mind and stay.
I CALL ROS AS we taxi toward the runway.
“Christian, how’s Savannah?”
“I’m on the plane coming home. I have a problem I have to deal with.”
“Something at GEH?” Ros asks, alarmed.
“No. It’s personal.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“Positive. But I had to cut it short. Let’s see what they put in writing. I might prefer Detroit just because it’s cooler.”
“The heat’s that bad?”
“Suffocating. I’ve got to go. I’ll call for an update later.”
“Safe travels, Christian.”
ON THE FLIGHT I throw myself into work to distract me from the problem waiting at home. By the time we’ve touched down I’ve read three reports and written fifteen e-mails. Our car is waiting, and Taylor drives through the pouring rain straight to Seattle Free Hope. I have to see Leila and find out what the hell is going on. As we near the hospital my anger surfaces.
Why would she do this to me?
The rain is lashing down as I climb out of the car; the day is as bleak as my mood. I take a deep breath to control my fury and head through the front doors. At the reception desk I ask for Leila Reed.
“Are you family?” The nurse on duty glowers at me, her mouth pinched and sour.
“No.” I sigh. This is going to be difficult.
“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“She tried to open a vein in my apartment. I think I’m entitled to know where the hell she is,” I hiss through my teeth.
“Don’t take that tone with me!” she snaps. I glare at her. I’m not going to get anywhere with this woman.
“Where is your ER department?”
“Sir, there’s nothing we can do if you’re not family.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself,” I growl, and storm over to the double doors. I know I could call my mother, who would expedite this for me, but then I’d have to explain what’s happened.
The ER is bustling with doctors and nurses, and triage is full of patients. I accost a young nurse and give her my brightest smile. “Hello, I’m looking for Leila Reed—she was admitted earlier today. Can you tell me where she might be?”
