She watched as the two uniformed officers entered the building below, and glanced back at the stick in her hand. Forcing her exhausted body into motion she stood and went into the bathroom to toss out the stick. She grabbed some toilet tissue and wiped the tears from her eyes.
There was no more time for self-pity. There were decisions to be made. Important decisions. And this time she would think it through instead of acting on impulse as she’d done two months ago.
This time she would make the right choices, because now her decision wasn’t just for herself anymore. Just then, a knock came on the door.
Liz frowned as she headed to the door. She hesitated to answer, wondering who it could be. Darren was the only person who knew she was there and he had a key. She bit her bottom lip nervously wondering if one of the ex-convicts who occupied the building had been watching Darren come and go and knew she was there alone. She decided not to answer, until another knock came and with it a deep baritone voice announced, “Liz Donovan? Las Vegas police—we need to talk to you.”
Oh, God, what has Darren done? Liz slowly moved toward the door and, after glancing out the peephole, she opened it. “I’m Liz Donovan.”
Liz braced her body against the door to keep from falling down. She’d opened the door expecting to find two officers bent on doing their duty whatever that may be, and that’s exactly what she found. But the sympathy in their eyes spoke volumes regarding exactly what type of duty they were required to do that night. In that moment Liz knew Darren would not be coming back that morning…or any other morning for that matter.
Chapter 1
Present Day
Mid-January, Columbus, Ohio…
As the light white flakes fell steadily outside the window Liz studied the chessboard carefully, fully aware of the skill of her opponent. If she did not make the right move, he could easily have her queen in two. She glanced up at his serious face wondering what he was thinking. His thin, black brows crinkled in concentration. She knew he would show no mercy if she made a bad decision. She shifted her body, trying to get a look at the board from his direction, trying to think like him.
Her opponent released a heavy sigh of frustration.
She simply frowned at him, refusing to be pushed into the proverbial corner. She lifted her hand to move her pawn and thought better of it. She glanced at the king sitting on the side table by the hospital bed. He already had her king. She couldn’t let him get her queen, as well.
Lord knows, he’d never let me live it down.
“Sometime today would be good,” he grumbled.
“Don’t rush me,” she mumbled back. After a few seconds of consideration she slid her pawn one space to the left, and knew it was the wrong move as soon as a beautiful smile lit his face followed by the musical laughter she loved more than life.
“I can’t believe you fell for that, Mom.” He shifted his bishop to the right and swooped up her queen. What she thought he would do in two, he did in one. “Checkmate! I win—again.”
Nine-year-old Marc North bounced in the bed oblivious to the tubes running from his arms and chest to the nearby machines. “I win! You lose! I’m a winner! You’re a looossseeerrr!” He laughed loudly.
Liz simple watched the antics, trying to suppress her own grin. “And such a graceful winner at that.” She knew in her heart that she would gladly lose a million chess games for that laughter. Although, there was no need to try to lose. Marc was exceptionally good at the game.
Ignoring her words, he poked his thumbs at his chest. “Winner.” Then pointed both index fingers at his mother sitting across the board from him. “Loser!”
“You shouldn’t call your mother a loser, Marc.” A gravelly voice came from across the room.
“Hi, Aunt Dee,” Marc was still grinning as his great-aunt came to the bed and wrapped him in a hug. “Mom lost—again. You’d think she would’ve learned by now.”
“Learned what exactly?” Liz asked folding her arms across her chest, and accepting a light kiss on the cheek from her aunt.
“I’m the master! You’ll never beat me.”
“Marc.” Delia frowned down at her nephew. “Your tone is disrespectful.”
“That’s okay, Aunt Dee.” Liz smiled deviously. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat—or a chess master.”
Marc’s playful smile disappeared. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, if your Xbox 360 ever goes missing—” Liz widened her eyes in a poor attempt to look innocent “—I don’t know what happened to it.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He looked so stricken Liz reached across the board and hugged him. “Of course not, I just wanted to bring you down a peg or two.” She leaned back and looked at him. “Did it work?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She stood up beside the bed. “You need to know that in the chess game of life…Mom always wins.”
“That’s because she cheats.”
Just then a nurse appeared in the doorway. “Okay, Marc, the doctor’s released you. See you Thursday,” she said as she removed the needle from his arm and pushed the dialysis machine aside.
“Thanks!” With a leap Marc was out of bed and headed across the room to the chair that held his shoes and coat.
“Slow down, tiger.” Liz rushed over to help him into his coat, ever mindful of his thin arms that she knew were sore where the needles for his dialysis were inserted twice a week, leaving them visibly bruised.
Marc crawled into the chair and waited patiently while his mother tied his sneakers. “Can we play in the snow when we get home?”
Liz’s eyes widened as she glanced up at her aunt who only shook her head in response. Given the draining procedure he’d just endured Liz could not imagine where he got the energy to want to play in the snow.
“Not today, sweetie.” She stood and pulled on her heavy winter coat. “How about we rent a movie on the way home, instead?”
“No way,” he called over his shoulder already headed for the doorway. “Tonight’s wrestling night, right, Aunt Dee?”
“You got that right,” Dee agreed, as the trio headed for the elevators.
“Alright, Aunt Dee, I’ll meet you downstairs.” Liz glanced down an adjoining hall.
She turned and headed down the hall, pulling on her winter knit cap as she spoke to the nurses she passed in the hall, realizing she knew them all by name. And why wouldn’t she, considering how much time Marc spent in this ward?
Her bright, beautiful boy had spent over half his short life in and out of hospitals, and yet he managed to remain upbeat and optimistic. Most of the time. Sometimes the pain from the dialysis needles was so intense, even the most spirited people were brought to their knees. And Liz spent every treatment holding his hand and praying that God would somehow transfer the pain into her body instead of his.
As she approached the end of the hall she passed through a set of double doors leading to the intensive care unit. She paused at the last room and lifted her hand to knock on the open door announcing herself, but the scene that greeted her caused her to pause.
In the bed lay a girl not much older than Marc whose kidney’s had completely failed. The only thing standing between the child and death were the various machines that did the work her failing body could not. The mother sat in a chair, her head resting on the side of the bed, and across the room the father and older sister stood looking out the window. No one noticed her standing