“You all right?” The driver looked worried. He was terrified that somebody would complain to his boss, but she promised she wouldn't. “Hey,” he said, pointing to Thrill as she felt panic rise in her throat, “you look like her!” He meant it as a compliment, but Grace didn't look pleased. “She's a pretty girl, huh? Pretty woman!” He gazed admiringly at the photograph that was supposed to be Grace but somehow didn't seem right whenever she looked at it, “she's married to a congressman,” he continued. “Lucky guy!” Was that how people looked at it, she wondered. Lucky guy? Too bad Charles didn't think so, but who could blame him?

He dropped her off at the airport, and she felt a little twinge in her neck from when they'd been hit, and she felt a little stiff, but it was nothing major. She didn't want to make any trouble for him. And she just managed to catch her flight. It wasn't until after they landed in New York that she realized she was bleeding. But it wasn't too bad. If she could just get to the hotel and rest, she'd be fine. She'd had a few incidents like that with Matt and Andrew when she was pregnant, the doctor had told her to rest, and the bleeding had always stopped quickly.

She gave the cabdriver the address of the Carlyle Hotel on East Seventy-sixth Street and Madison. She had made the reservation from the plane. It was only half a dozen blocks from where she used to live, and she liked it. She had stayed there once with Charles, and she had happy memories there. She had happy memories everywhere with him. Until June, their life had been idyllic.

She checked in at the desk. They were expecting her, and she had registered under the name of Grace Adams. They gave her a small room filled with rose-covered chintz, and the bellboy put down her two bags. She tipped him, and he left, and no one had said how remarkable her resemblance was to the porno queen in the tabloids.

She wondered as she lay down on the bed if Charles had come home by then and found her letter. She knew she wouldn't call. It was better to leave like this, if she called and talked to them at all, especially Charles, or Matt, she knew she couldn't do it.

She was exhausted as she lay on the bed thinking of them, she felt drained and utterly worn out, and her neck still hurt, and she had little nagging cramps low in her abdomen and in her back. She knew it was nothing. She didn't have the strength to go to the bathroom. She just lay there, feeling weak and sad, and slowly the room began to spin around, and eventually she drifted off into the blackness.

She woke again at four a.m., and by this time the cramps she'd felt earlier were really bad. She rolled over, and moaned in pain. She could hardly stand them. She lay there curled up for a long time, and then she looked down at the bed underneath her. It was soaked with blood and so were her slacks. She knew she had to do something soon, before she passed out again. But standing up was so painful, she almost fainted. She grabbed her handbag, and crawled to the door, pulling the raincoat she'd brought tight around her. She staggered out into the hall, and rang for the elevator. She rode downstairs huddled over, but the elevator operators said nothing.

She knew the hospital was only half a block away, and all she had to do was get there in a hurry. She saw the bellmen watching her, and the clerk at the desk, and when she got outside into the warm September air, she felt a little better.

“Cab, miss?” the doorman asked, but she shook her head and tried to straighten up, but she couldn't. A flash of pain made her gasp, and suddenly a cramp of unbelievable strength buckled her knees, as he reached out and caught her. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine … I just have … a little problem …” At first he thought she was drunk, but when he saw her face, he could see that she was in pain. And she looked vaguely familiar. They had so many regulars and movie stars, sometimes it was hard to know who you knew and who you didn't. “I was just going … to the hospital …”

“Why don't you take a cab? There's one right here. He'll take you right across Park Avenue and drop you off. I'd take you myself, but I can't leave the door,” he apologized, and she agreed to take the cab. She could hardly walk now. The doorman told him Lenox Hill, and she handed the doorman and the driver each five dollars.

“Thanks, I'll be fine,” she reassured everyone, but she didn't look it. After they'd crossed Park Avenue, and pulled into the space for the emergency room, the driver turned to look at her, and at first he didn't see her. She had slipped off the seat, and she was lying on the floor of his cab, unconscious.





Chapter 15

As they wheeled Grace into the emergency room, she saw lights spinning by overhead, and heard noises. There were metallic sounds, and someone called her by her first name. They kept saying it over and over, and then they were doing something terrible to her, and there was awful pain. She tried to sit up and stop them. What were they doing … they were killing her … it was terrible … why didn't they stop … she had never felt so much pain in her life. She screamed, and then everything went black, and there was silence.

The phone rang in the house in Washington. It was five-thirty in the morning. But Charles wasn't asleep. He had been awake all night, praying that she would call him. He'd been such a fool. He had been wrong to react the way he had, but they were all worn down by the constant attack of the tabloids. And it had been a shock. But the last thing he had wanted to do was lose her. He had told the kids she'd gone to New York for a conference for “Help Kids!” and would be back in a few days, which would give him a little time to find her. He wasn't sure where she was. He had tried calling the house in Connecticut all night and she wasn't there. He'd called the Carlyle in New York and there was no one registered by the name of Mackenzie. He wondered if she was at a hotel in Washington somewhere, hiding. And when the phone rang, he hoped it would be her, but it wasn't.

“Mr. Mackenzie?” The voice was unfamiliar. His name was on an I.D. card in her wallet, simply as Charles Mackenzie. And her driver's license read Grace Adams Mackenzie.

“Yes?” He wondered if it was going to be a crank call, and was sorry he had answered. The letters and calls had started again in full force after her photos.

“We have a Grace Mackenzie here.” The voice seemed totally without interest.

“Who are you?” Had she been kidnapped? Was she dead? … Oh God …

“I'm calling from Lenox Hill Hospital in New York. Mis. Mackenzie just came out of surgery.” … oh God … no … there had been an accident … “She was brought in by a cabdriver, hemorrhaging very badly.” Oh no … the baby … he felt a hand clutch his heart, but all he could think about was Grace now.

“Is she all right?” He sounded hoarse and frightened, but the nurse was slighdy reassuring.

“She's lost a lot of blood. But we'd rather not give her a transfusion.” They did everything they could now to avoid it. “She's stabilized, and her condition is listed as fair.” And then for a moment, the voice became almost human. “She lost the baby. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.” He had to catch his breath and figure out what to do. “Is she conscious? Can I talk to her?”

“She's in the recovery room. I'd say she'll be there till eight-thirty or nine. They want to get her blood pressure up before they send her to a room, and it's still pretty low right now. I don't think she's going anywhere till later this morning.”

“She can't check out, can she?”

“I don't think so.” The nurse sounded surprised at the question. “I don't think she'll feel up to it. There's a key in her bag from the Carlyle Hotel. I called there. But they said no one was with her.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much for calling me. I'll be there as soon as I can.” He jumped out of bed as soon as he hung up, and scrawled a note to the kids about an early meeting. He dressed in five minutes, without shaving, and drove to the airport. He was there by six-thirty, and caught a seven o'clock flight. A number of the flight attendants recognized him, but no one said anything. They just brought him the newspaper, juice, a Danish, and a cup of coffee, like they did for everyone else, and left him alone. For most of the flight, he sat staring out the window.

They landed at eight-fifteen, and he got to Lenox Hill just after nine o'clock. They were just wheeling Grace into her room when he got there. He followed the gurney into the room, and she looked surprised to see him, and very groggy.

“How did you get here?” She looked confused, and her eyes kept drifting shut, as the nurse and the orderly left the room. Grace looked gray and utterly exhausted.

“I flew,” he smiled, standing next to her, and gently took her hand in his. He had no idea if she knew yet about the baby.

“I think I fell,” she said vaguely.

“Where?”

“I don't remember … I was in a cab in Washington and someone hit us …” She wasn't sure now if it was a dream or not … “And then, I had terrible pains …” She looked up at him, suddenly worried. “Where am I?”

“You're at Lenox Hill. In New York,” he said soothingly, sitting down in the chair next to her, but never letting go of her hand. He was frightened by how bad she looked and was anxious to speak to the doctor.

“How did I get here?”

“I think a cabdriver brought you in. You passed out in his cab. Drunk again, I guess.” He smiled, but without saying anything, she started to cry then. She had touched her belly and it felt flat. At three months there had been a little hill growing there and it was suddenly gone. And then she remembered the terrible pain the night before, and the bleeding. No one had told her anything yet about the baby. “Grace? … sweetheart, I love you … I love you more than anything. I want you to know that. I don't want to lose you.” She was crying harder then, for him, for the baby they'd lost, and their children. Everything was so difficult, and so sad now.

“I lost the baby … didn't I?” She looked at him for confirmation and he nodded. They both cried then, and he held her.

“I'm so sorry. I should have been smart enough to know you'd really go. I thought you were bluffing and needed some space that night. I almost died when I read your letter.”

“Did you give my letters to the children?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I kept them. I wanted to find you and bring you back. But if I'd been smart enough to keep you from going in the first place, you wouldn't have had the accident, and …” He was convinced it was all his fault.

“Shhh … maybe it was just from ail the stress we've been through … I guess it wasn't the right time anyway, with everything that's happened.”

“It's always the right time … I want to have another baby with you,” he said lovingly. He didn't care how old they both were, they both loved their children. “I want our life back.”

“So do I,” she whispered. They talked for a little while, and he stroked her hair and kissed her face, and eventually she fell asleep and he went to locate the doctor. But he wasn't encouraging. She had lost a dramatic amount of blood, and the doctor didn't think she'd be feeling well for a while, and he said that while she was certainly able to conceive again, he didn't recommend it. She had a startling amount of scarring, and he was actually surprised she'd gotten pregnant as often as she had. Charles did not volunteer an explanation for the scarring. The doctor suggested that she go to the hotel and rest for a couple of days, and then go home to Washington and stay in bed for at least another week, maybe two. A miscarriage at three months with the kind of hemorrhaging she'd experienced was nothing to take lightly.

They went from the hospital to the hotel that afternoon, and Grace was stunned by how weak she was. She could hardly walk and Charles carried her into the hotel, and to her room, and put her right to bed, and ordered room service for her. She was sad, but they were happy to be together, and the room was very cozy. He called his aides in Washington and told them that he wouldn't be back for a couple of days, and then he called the housekeeper and told her to explain to the children that he was with their mother in New York, and would be back in two days. She promised to stay with them until he returned, and drive Matt to school. Everything was in order.

“Nice and simple. Now all you have to do is get well, and try to forget what happened.”

But after they left the hospital, the nurse at the front desk had commented to the doctor, “Do you know who that was?” He had no idea. The name had meant nothing to him. “That was Congressman Mackenzie from Connecticut and his porno queen wife. Don't you read the tabloids?”