1 the Icu

The room was cool and dark in the eerie twilight of the Intensive Care Unit where they had brought Jessica. It was quiet, at the moment, except for a soft, rhythmic pinging and the whooshing sound of a machine hooked up to Jessica. To her anxious mother, the room gave off a strange vibe, cocoon-like, everything suspended in time and place—a way-station on the too thin line between this life and the next. What came next was unclear, but oblivion played a big part in Alexis’ notions of the afterlife. Oblivion was a blessing when life asked too much, like now, when she was worried sick about her daughter. The wish for oblivion was for herself, not for Jessica, who barely missed an early entry into the netherworld hours earlier.

Alexis sat in a chair next to the hospital bed. She had been there all night. A rescue team had found Jessica alive. They lifted her off the ledge where she had fallen and transported her by helicopter for trauma care.

Jessica was in good shape, given her fall and hours of exposure to the elements near the peak of Mt. San Jacinto. It was below freezing by the time rescuers reached her. Her daughter wasn’t out of the woods yet. Well, she was literally, out of the woods, but hadn’t received the “all clear” in terms of her prognosis.

She had dropped twenty feet before hitting that ledge. Alexis tried not to think about what would have happened if that granite outcropping had not been there. Another member of Jessica’s party missed the ledge and found oblivion. The room felt cold. Alexis rubbed her hands together to warm them and shake off the “what-if” chills.

Jessica was also fortunate to have landed in piles of accumulated leaves, pine needles, and other debris that cushioned her fall. She had sustained cuts and bruises in various places on her body, including scrapes on her face. The most serious cut, on the palm of her left hand, must have occurred when Jessica grabbed something as she fell. That cut, a deep slice, almost to the bone, had been cemented with medical grade superglue before

bandaging. She had bruised, but not broken, ribs on the left side of her body which absorbed most of the impact of the fall. Her left shoulder, slammed hard, was also bruised. The doctor described a broken bone in her left arm as a “clean break,” whatever that meant.

“That part of your daughter’s anatomy will soon be as good as new,”

the baby-faced doctor had assured Alexis, smiling as he spoke.

Alexis wanted to punch him. He was trying to be upbeat, but something about him grated. Perhaps, his bedside manner bore a hint of condescension that the young too often displayed toward their elders. Even filthy rich elders who could buy them several times over. She fiddled with the showy diamond ring on her finger. She still wore that even though she had removed the matching wedding band Giovanni had given her.

Or maybe it was just a doctor thing: a god complex running amok. In the last few months she’d had more than her share of heart-to-hearts with doctors. So many well-regarded specialists in their fields. Most of them were older men, women still far and few between. The young nerds, learning to ply their trade, weren’t any better than the well-established older gents. Many could not make eye contact if they had to ask you sensitive questions or deliver bad news.

Where were the doctors like the one she knew in childhood? The Baldwin family doctor didn’t have to ask what killed your grandmother because he already knew. All dead, and if not, a dying breed for sure, like their longtime family doctor, rest in peace. These days it was a “McDoctor, can I take your order, please?” experience, without the please. Even the so-called “concierge medicine” she paid for helped little. Despite all the hype, it seemed more like a way to collect extra fees than a means to provide more exclusive, patient-oriented care, like good old Marcus Welby.

Marcus Welby! Right, Alexis thought, as the doctor next to her pored over Jessica’s chart displayed on an electronic device.

You are showing your age, Alexis, my dear. That’s most unbecoming of a lady and a Baldwin. Her mother’s voice popped up on a tape in her head. Alexis needed to shut mum up to hear the doctor out. It was already

after midnight. She wanted to call Hank and tell him about their daughter’s mishap. And she wanted to get back to Jessica. The Xanax she had taken to calm her nerves wasn’t doing any good. How long before I can take another? Alexis wondered as she struggled to focus on what this annoying little man said.

“We're still concerned about the nasty bump on her head. A scan revealed no evidence of any internal bruising or bleeding, but she was out cold when the EMTs got to her. She could talk to us when they first brought her in; knew who she was, what day it was, things like that. We needed to patch her up and set that bone in her arm, and she was in pain, so we sedated her. The plan is to keep her in the ICU overnight where we can control the pain and watch her to ensure we haven't missed anything.” That smug smile again! Peering from over the rim of his glasses, the resemblance to a nerdy twelve-year-old was even more pronounced.

If he reaches out to pat me on the head or calls me honey, he’s getting an elbow or a foot in a place he’ll not soon forget, Alexis thought, as she smiled and listened.

“Jessica’s vital signs returned to normal once the EMTs reached her.

If they stay that way we’ll move her out of the ICU in the morning. Unless a new problem pops up, Jessica should be able to go home in another day or two.” Relief swamped Alexis, hearing that optimistic punch line to the doctor’s report.

Moments later, Alexis relayed what she had learned to Henry “Hank”

Huntington, her ex-husband, and Jessica’s father. She was sorry to have to call him so late, and with bad news. Still, she was grateful not to have to tell him he had a dead daughter.

That possibility had loomed large in her mind as she and Bernadette sped from Mission Hills to the hospital. It was a short drive with Bernadette at the wheel of the Escalade. Alexis, too shaken to drive, had already taken an Ambien. Not that one Ambien knocked her out, these days. But why chance driving when Bernadette was at the ready? And she had taken several other pills as she prepared to retire for the night, so better safe than sorry.

“Why do you suppose no one called us earlier, Bernadette? It sounds like this began hours ago,” Alexis wondered aloud.

“That’s what I wanted to know when Don Fontana called us. I was ready to give him a chunk of my mind for not telling us right away that Jessica was in trouble. He said his department didn’t hear about it right away either, Alexis. At first the rangers thought it was about stranded hikers. You know, that happens all the time around here? Those mountains are crawling with people, even this time of year when it’s cold up there.”

“Sure, the tramway counts on holiday traffic to tide them over until the season gets underway.”

“Don says the rescue team got on it right away. Then the rangers heard visitors saying somethin’ about gunshots, so they also notified the local police. Even at that point Don’s buddies didn’t know it had anything to do with Jessica.”

“Why would they? I didn't know she was up there, did you?”

“No, but Detective Hernandez said Jessica left him a message that she was meeting Libby Van Der Woert at the top of the tram. He’s with the Cat City police department, so it took a while longer to put two and two together. When he heard something was going on up there he called the Palm Springs Police Department and told them Jessica might be involved.

Don said even after that, he waited to know for sure what was going on before he called us. People were falling and guns were shooting so there was a lot of confusion. I guess it was all over TV by then, but nobody else called me either until they gave out Jessica’s name while I was talking to Don. After that the phone calls started, so I turned off the ringer. The answering machine will take the calls and I can listen to the voice mails later.”

“What was she doing up there, Bernadette? How did she get into this mess?”

“Jessica is good-hearted, Alexis, but too easy to get in over her head with other people’s troubles. This has to do with one of her cases, since she met Libby up there and called Detective Hernandez.”

“How odd, Bernadette. At the dinner party we held for Nick and Nora they seemed happy with their move to the desert, and glad to have Jessica handling their legal matters. Their daughter wasn’t with them for dinner that night, so I didn't realize Jessica even knew her.”

“There’s a lot more going on. Jessica has been trying to figure it out.

Even before Detective Hernandez got involved when Libby’s friend went missing.”

“You’re talking about that Donnelly woman? That story was on the news, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

“Yes, Shannon Donnelly’s car turned up in Cathedral City right after Thanksgiving. They found her car, but no Shannon, and nobody’s seen her since. I’m betting whatever Jessica was trying to find out had something to do with that, but who knows? Libby’s lucky to be alive; her doctor, not so lucky. What was he doing up there is my question? Who was shooting?

Why? We can ask Jessica, I hope.” They lapsed into silence at that point, as Bernadette sped up, driving as fast as she could to get to the hospital where the rescue squad had taken Jessica and Libby. They didn’t know, at that point, if Jessica could ever answer anybody’s questions.

Hank asked no questions when Alexis called him after that briefing from the trauma doctor. He was now making his way to the California desert as fast as he could. An architect by training and CEO of a real estate development company based in L.A., he had spent a lot of time in Asia after the Great Recession wrecked the California real estate market. His company contracted to complete several projects in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing and Singapore after the U.S. real estate bubble burst.

He had come home to L.A., at the end of July, to attend the gala for a new exhibit honoring him and other well-known architects. Not just for the things they built in Southern California but for those “Never Built.”

Designs for projects that had never gotten off the ground, so to speak, were on display. Alongside those plans were magnificent photos and artists renderings of Hank’s handiwork, featuring projects that had moved from paper to brick and mortar. That included their desert modern home in the Mission Hills Country Club. The “Never Built” exhibit had created quite a

stir, bringing Hank well-deserved attention and prospects for new projects in California. He was back on this side of the Pacific at the moment, making travel to the hospital in Rancho Mirage simpler.

Still, he was upstate, north of the Bay Area, when Alexis located him after midnight. Given the late hour, he would have to jump through a few hoops to get to Palm Springs. His corporate jet was at the airport in San Francisco. He was trying to rouse the flight crew and get them to file a flight plan. As soon as he could arrange it, a car would take him from Napa or Mendocino, or wherever he was, to the airport. No doubt Hank had also already rallied two or three colleagues or assistants to rearrange his schedule, or fill in for him at events in an action-packed 12-14 hour day ahead. His stamina was legendary even now when he was in his mid-60s.

Alexis hoped he would arrive soon. Hank was better at handling crises than she had ever been. She reached out and took her daughter’s hand in her own. That hand was so small, cold and thin. She tried not to cry or to hang on too tight as she sat at her daughter’s side. As often happened, Alexis was fraught with doubt about the simplest act of mothering. The whole maternal instinct thing was a lot of hooey, as she well knew, having been reared by an icicle in a chignon and Chanel.

Jessica had been such a beautiful child, so inquisitive and full of life.

Impulsive, too, and more energetic than Alexis ever dreamed a child could be. It had been exhausting trying to keep up with her daughter, and fulfill all the expectations as Hank’s wife, both in L.A. and on the local charity circuit here in “the desert.”

Tougher, still, was doing all that while fighting with her inner demons. She wondered if Hank had been alone at that hotel when she phoned. Not that it was any of her business. Alexis, of all people, had no right to be jealous if he found pleasure in another woman’s arms. Besides, that was the least of her worries at the moment. It was all too, too much, then and now.

Not for a Baldwin! Her mother’s voice chided. Emma Baldwin’s stern face rose up before her, lips pursed pencil thin. The woman stood, straight as an arrow, her perfect posture an angry reproach. Alexis felt her shoulders

bow as she closed her eyes to make the image vanish. Her bent shoulders were, at once, concession and defiance.

“Thank God for Bernadette and Hank,” Alexis sighed, not even realizing she had spoken those words aloud. Jessica stirred. Alexis squeezed her daughter’s hand. The stalwart Bernadette was better at handling crises, too. She was off now, searching for coffee, and Alexis hoped she would return soon. Alexis let go of Jessica’s hand to scoot back in her bedside chair.

“No, no, don’t let go,” Jessica called out. Alexis jumped to her feet and hung over the bed, drawing close to her daughter. A wave of dizziness flowed through her. She grabbed the rail on Jessica’s bed to steady herself.

“It’s okay, Jessica. I’m here, Baby Girl. It’s me, Mom. I’m right here.” Alexis spoke in soothing tones as she reached again for her daughter’s hand. Tears filled her eyes with gratitude at the sound of that plaintive voice. Not just because Jessica was alive, but because she was at her side and able to comfort her beloved daughter. Alexis had not always been there when Jessica needed her, but she was now. Here was a chance to do the right thing if she could figure out how to do it.

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