"I'd better go in," she said at last, a note of weariness creeping into her voice.
"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
He nodded. "There's an open-house reception at Halloran House tomorrow night. Part of our fund-raising drive going on this week. I'd like for you to come with Summer and Derek."
"I'd love to. I'm curious to see this place that you and Summer are so devoted to."
"It's interesting." He dropped a kiss on her lips, a mere ghost of the kisses that had gone before, and set her away from him. "Goodnight, Spring."
"Good night, Clay."
She slipped into the house, then walked quietly toward the den, deep in thought. Her steps halted abruptly at the doorway. Derek and Summer stood before the room's spectacular glass wall, locked in a passionate embrace. Derek's head was bent protectively over his petite wife as he kissed her with familiar intimacy, her arms clenched around his neck.
Spring turned silently and headed for her room, wondering why she suddenly found herself blinking back tears.
* * *
Clay bent over the bed, his lips touching soft, cool skin as his hand stroked a headful of crisp black curls. "Hi, beautiful."
Liquid brown eyes smiled into his tender blue-green ones. "Hi."
"How're you feeling?"
"Not so great," Thelma whispered, turning her head restlessly on the flat pillow of her intensive-care bed. "My chest hurts like crazy."
"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, but thanks, anyway. What time is it? I lose track inhere."
"It's seven-thirty a.m.," he answered. "Thursday," he added, in case she'd also lost track of the days.
"How'd you get in here? I thought only family was allowed in. Not that I'm complaining. I'm so glad to see someone besides my loving mother." She added a bitter twist to the last two words that wrenched Clay's heart.
"I sweet-talked a nurse," he told her, deliberately maintaining his easy smile. "Told her I was your brother."
Thelma laughed weakly, lifting their clenched hands and eyeing the contrast between her brown and his fair skin. "And she bought it, right? You're slick, man."
"Thanks. I try." He glanced at all the tubes and wires attached to her, trying not to frown. Thelma remained a very sick young woman. The doctors still hesitated to predict whether her recovery would be complete, continuing to worry about permanent lung damage—the delicate membranes had been so badly scarred by her neglect of her condition. Clay refused even to consider the possibility that Thelma could still die. "I talked to Frank this morning. He said that you're going to Chicago to live with your aunt when you leave the hospital."
Thelma nodded. "That's right. I been begging to go live with Aunt Diane for a long time, but my mother refused to let me. She's finally given in."
"Think you'll be happy in Chicago?"
The shrug she gave was heartbreakingly old for her age. "Who knows? But it couldn't be any worse than here. And Aunt Diane seems to want me with her. First time anyone's wanted me around in a long time."
"That's not quite true, Thelma. I've always wanted you around."
"Yeah, but we both know that you're a bleeding heart. Always have been, always will be."
"You got it," Clay admitted, winking at her.
"Well, you can stop bleeding over me. I've decided to get it together in Chicago. Aunt Diane says if I'll straighten up and really try to do better, she'll see that I get the money to go to college when I finish high school, major in music, like I've always wanted to do. The doctors won't tell me whether I'll be able to sing worth a damn, uh—" she paused, knowing how Clay felt about "his kids" cursing, then continued "—halfway good after this thing with my lungs, but I'm going to do it, one way or another. If I can't sing, I've always got my piano. I'm pretty good, you know."
"I've always been your number one fan, haven't I?"
"Yeah. You have. Thanks. Sorry I keep screwing up."