One More Dance Roxanne Rustand (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📖

success and far less support staff than surgeons had in a hospital. But seeing Jared here, surrounded by tense staff and a jumble of high-tech hospital equipment, made her feel faint.

She couldn’t stifle her sharp cry when the nurse shifted the monitor and its screen came into view.

His pulse was racing, the rhythm irregular.

His oxygen stats were dropping.

He was in shock, and he was getting worse by the second.

The orderlies angled the gurney toward the door and pulled it forward, with the nurse managing the portable electronic equipment and IV stands.

They paused for barely a second in front of Kate, though she could sense their tension.

His face was ashen, with a laceration from cheekbone to jaw, and white bandaging covered his forehead and hair. With every fiber of her being she wanted to hold him. Tell him all the things she should have said long ago. But the grim faces of the staff told her that every moment was critical.

She brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I love you, Jared,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She straightened and watched the gurney rattle away toward the elevator at the far end of the ER, taking with it a big piece of her heart.

“We’ll follow,” Ralph said, clasping her arm and guiding her to a different elevator. Once inside he rested his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Look, I know this is really hard. But I promise you, he’s in the best possible hands. Dr. Jacobs spends the school year teaching thoracic surgery out East, but during the summer he lives here. If anyone can pull off a miracle, it’s him, and he should arrive any minute.”

The elevator door slid silently open at the second floor. Ahead, wide double doors labeled Restricted Access were just swinging shut. To the left, a tall, gaunt man in surgical scrubs—probably the anesthesiologist—stood by a door marked Family Lounge, holding a clipboard. He and Ralph exchanged glances, then he eyed Kate with sympathy.

Overhead, a loud speaker crackled, then blared, Code Blue! Code Blue! Thirty-four, East Wing. Thirty-four, East Wing.

A white-faced young nurse burst through the double doors. “He’s seizing. Hurry!”

The anesthesiologist and Ralph disappeared into the OR. Other hospital staff seemed to appear out of nowhere, all racing in the same direction.

The room seemed to fill with glaring light, then went dim at the edges...until Kate remembered to breathe. Jared wouldn’t even make it onto the surgical table. He was going to die.

The enormity of this moment, of her overwhelming loss and regret and grief, hit with the force of a freight train. She sank against the wall to the floor and bowed her head.

And began to pray.

CHAPTER THREE

PRESENT DAY

Sylvia Mathers brushed an imaginary bit of dust from her classic black Yves Saint Laurent coatdress, fixed a haughty smile on her face and strolled into the restaurant, well aware that she radiated Old Money to those seated at the tables.

As well she should.

The décolleté V of the lapels framed a string of perfect, creamy pearls inherited from Ellsworth’s mother, and the vintage couture dress itself was a wise purchase made decades ago that would never go out of style. She hadn’t dared tell Ellsworth about this particular price tag—though back then, money had been of little consequence and image had been everything.

Image and political alliances and the illusion of class that had lured even more benefactors into her late husband’s fold during his political campaigns.

Not bad for a barefoot girl born to dirt-poor Oklahoma farmers who’d had too many kids, too many bills, and little regard for education.

She’d been the first to break the mold. After scrabbling her way through college, she’d made sure she found the right jobs, where she could meet the right people. Now, very few remembered that she’d ever been the young, sexy executive secretary in Senator Mathers’s office who had helped end his first marriage, because she’d carefully cut those unfortunate little complications from her address book the day after her own marriage to Ellsworth.

Nanette Laughton set aside her water glass and lifted a brow at Sylvia’s approach. “My, you’re early, dear.”

“A rare thing, I know. I went to the health club first, then the standing appointment with my hairdresser. Georgio was right on schedule today.”

Sylvia settled into a ruby velvet chair opposite her friend, miffed at Nanette’s choice of position at the table. Early-evening sunlight filtered through the curtains at her friend’s back, highlighting her platinum blond hair and casting her face in subdued, ambient lighting.

Sylvia, facing the low angle of the sun, knew it accented every wrinkle and line on her own face. She usually took great care to avoid direct and unflattering lighting. “I’m so glad we were able to meet here for dinner. I haven’t been to Stillwater in years.”

“And it is such a lovely drive over here from the Twin Cities. We should do this more often.”

After the waitress took their orders, Nanette leaned a little closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re lovelier than ever, by the way. I just knew Dr. Falk would do a wonderful job for you.” She touched a fingertip to the smooth outside corner of her eye. “I know I couldn’t have been happier.”

Sylvia managed a faint smile, though her stomach twisted into a nervous knot as she thought about the money she’d spent and the stock she’d had to sell off last month.

Life was still all about packaging, really...keeping up appearances, contacts, and the impression that all was well, even though the family’s software company had gone belly-up years ago amidst allegations of upper-level corruption and mismanagement. Downturns in the stock market had decimated what was left. The senator had died soon afterward while under a cloud of suspicion about his personal life.

He’d certainly chosen an unfortunate time to die, given the family’s financial disaster and the fact that Jared had just started college.

But now, with her daughter Julia left to marry off, Sylvia had a last chance to make the