“I’m fine.” He was sorry for what they’d all gone through. It had even been emotional for him, and he didn’t know her mother. It was shocking to hear that eleven people had died.
April had an idea then, but she didn’t know how he’d feel about it. “My family comes to the restaurant for dinner on Christmas Eve. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like to. I don’t know if that’s something you’d like to do, or not.” She didn’t want to push him, but she felt closer to him now, and brave enough to ask, after the time they’d shared the day before, waiting for news of her mother.
“I told you, I don’t do holidays. They were such a nightmare in my family when I was a kid, with my parents drunk and beating each other up, I’d rather pretend they don’t exist. But thanks anyway.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. She couldn’t even imagine growing up in a family like his. It was not surprising he didn’t want kids. Being one in his world had been bad enough.
“I’ll call you after the holidays,” he promised, “or before that, if I need comfort food,” he said, and laughed. He had begun to understand her restaurant and why it was so popular. It wasn’t Alain Ducasse or Taillevent, which she might have been capable of replicating, but in some ways it was something even better, and he could see the merit of it now. What she offered met a real need for her patrons. It was real food for real life, as she put it, and the best of its kind.
“Just call if you need pancakes,” she reminded him. “In emergencies, we deliver.” She told him they had just sent food to Jack Adams from her mother. “Apparently he helped her on the way out. That’s when he got shot.”
“I gather he got hit pretty badly,” Mike commented. It seemed incredible to both of them that Valerie had escaped without getting injured. She had been severely traumatized certainly, and the news reports said the hostages had been warned that they might suffer from post-traumatic stress for a long time, but at least physically, she was fine. “I’m glad your mom is okay,” Mike reiterated, and then said he had to go back to work, before he missed his deadline. He said he’d call her sometime soon, and she had no idea if he would. At least it felt as though they were friends now. That was something at least, given the situation. It was hard to believe they had ever been lovers, even for a night.
It felt good to get back to the restaurant, and be involved in her familiar world again. The day before had had such a nightmarish quality to it that it was hard to believe it had really happened. Everyone asked about her mother, and April confirmed that the food had been sent to Jack Adams at the hospital. The waiter who had taken it to him said he had been thrilled, and still looked pretty rocky. He had been getting a transfusion, but told the waiter that April’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes were worth ten of them, and laughed. He had been surrounded by doctors and nurses, and a news team had been there, but they had let her waiter in anyway. And she knew her mother would be glad.
“We can send him some more tomorrow,” April told her kitchen staff, and then got back to work, organizing her kitchen. They were low on produce, and she had to go to the fish market in the morning. And she had Yule logs to make in a few days for Christmas, and plum pudding. It was going to be a busy week for her. She forgot all about Mike, the baby, and even the hostage crisis of the day before as she raced around the kitchen, checking everything at full speed. She was in good spirits and happy to be back. She called her mother late that afternoon to check on her, and she didn’t answer. April wasn’t worried, she assumed her mother was sleeping. It was good for her, and then she got busy cooking dinner for the restaurant. April in New York was in full swing.
*
Valerie was feeling shaky when she dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a big down coat and left the house that same afternoon in a cab. She had planned to stay home and take it easy, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wanted to thank Jack Adams personally for what he’d done. She wasn’t exactly sure when he’d been shot, but she remembered him shielding her from the sniper to get her to the front door and out of the building. She still looked pale when she got out of the cab at New York — Presbyterian Hospital, and she had worn very little makeup, which was rare for her, but she looked pretty anyway.
Alan Starr, the psychic, had called her that afternoon, and apologized for not seeing the terrorist attack in her cards. He said that sometimes that happened, but like everyone else, he was grateful she had survived.
Jack was in a suite on the private VIP floor of the hospital, and just to be on the safe side, there were police guards outside his room. There had been no threats against him, but the police chief wanted to do everything he could for him, and had come himself to visit that morning. Jack had signed autographs for the chief’s kids and grandchildren, and thanked him for saving his life the night before when his artery was hit.
He was resting and there was no one in his room when Valerie knocked. One of the cops at the door had recognized her immediately. He said his wife was addicted to her show and had all her books, but he didn’t dare ask her for an autograph. He knew she had been a hostage the day before. She still looked pretty shaken.
“Hi,” she said cautiously, as she peeked around the door. Jack was watching TV and looked half asleep. They had given him a shot for pain not long before, but he was awake enough to recognize her. He smiled as soon as he saw her face. “Can I come in, or is this a bad time?”
“No, it’s a fine time. Thanks for the food,” he said, struggling to sit up a little, and she told him not to, to just stay where he was. She promised not to stay long. “I didn’t realize April was your daughter. It’s my favorite place to eat,” he said, and meant it.
“Mine too. How do you feel?”
“Not so bad. I hurt my back two months ago, and that was worse. I just feel a little woozy from the drugs. The leg isn’t so bad.” And the painkillers were strong. “How about you?”
“I’m fine. Just a little shaky. It was a terrifying day. I came to thank you for helping to get me out. That was a brave thing for you to do and I’m sorry you got shot.” She said it admiringly, and he smiled. He had been hearing it all day, and all the nurses on the floor had been fighting to take care of him. He was in good hands.
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted. He changed the subject then. “The day I saw you in the elevator, I didn’t know it was your birthday till I saw it on the news. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself that day. It was my birthday too, and I was a mess with my herniated disk.”
“Your back looked pretty bad. I felt really sorry for you. How is it now?”
“It’s fine. I’m going to be on crutches for a while for the leg. Shit, ever since my birthday, I’ve been falling apart.” He laughed again. “I hit fifty, and it’s been downhill ever since.” He had heard how old she was on the news, so he knew she was older, but she didn’t look it. He thought she looked great, and not nearly her age, and old enough to have a daughter as grown-up as April. Even after the events of the day before, and with very little makeup on, he thought Valerie looked terrific.
“Don’t talk to me about birthdays. I’ve always kept mine quiet, and they had it all over radio and TV this year. I nearly had a heart attack when I heard it.” And then she sighed. “Somehow after yesterday, it doesn’t seem important. We’re lucky to be alive.” They were both sobered by the reality that so many others hadn’t survived it. “Today I don’t even care how old I am.” And she meant it.
“Yeah, me too, and I figure if I can survive a sniper, I should be okay from now on. The night of my birthday, I figured I was all washed up.”
“So did I.” She smiled. “I don’t want to wear you out,” she said politely, and he looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, two IVs going into his arms, and a machine next to him to self-administer pain medication. He was no longer on the critical list, but he was by no means recovered yet, and he had nearly died the night before. “I just wanted to thank you in person.”
“I really appreciate that, Valerie,” he said, saying her name for the first time. And as she stood up, she realized how long his legs were in the bed. He was a tall, powerfully built man. “Thanks again for the food. Why don’t we have dinner at April’s sometime? They’re sending me home in time for Christmas, in a few days.”
“I’d offer to cook for you,” she said, as she approached the bed, and he smiled at her, “but I set a great table, and I’m a rotten cook. April is the chef in the family, I’m not.”
“I’m a pretty good cook, if I can stand up when I get out of here. I think April’s is our best bet. I’ll call you in a few days. Thanks for coming by.”
“Thanks for saving me,” she said, with a serious expression and tears in her eyes. “I thought we were going to die.” He reached out and took her hand and held it in his own with an equally serious expression.
“I wasn’t going to let that happen to you, or the others, if I could help it, once I had you in my sights in the lobby. You’re all right now,” he reassured her, and she nodded and brushed the tears off her cheeks. She was still very emotional after the day before, and the death of her assistant. And Jack was upset about Norman, the young assistant producer of his show, who had been one of the eleven who died. It had all hit very close to home. To
