A Love for All Time

  A Love for All Time

  Dorothy Garlock

  One

  Someone was crying.

  The sounds were so soft that at first Casey wasn’t sure what she was hearing. They were coming at quick intervals, with intermittent panicky little gasps. “Is someone there?” Was that her voice? It was muffled and strange.

  The crying grew louder. Casey’s mind groped its way into full awareness. Curiosity gave way to fright when she realized the sobs were coming from her own throat. She lifted a hand to her face. It didn’t hurt; it only felt. . . heavy. And her mouth was dry, her tongue clinging to the roof. She tried to turn her head, but movement was impossible. If she was awake, why couldn’t she see? Nothing seemed to make sense.

  “Are my eyes open?” she asked aloud, forcing her tongue to make the necessary movements.

  “I can’t see!” The words were anguished. Panic, then terror seized her.

  “Shhh ... Lie still.” The voice was deep, masculine and muffled. “Don’t be frightened. You can’t see because there’s a bandage over your eyes.”

  The calm words drew her back from the brink of hysteria.

  “You’re in the hospital, but you’ll be all right.”

  “But ... I can’t see!”

  “The doctor said the bandage can come off soon,” the calm voice persisted. “You’ve a concussion and must keep your head still.” Hands held her forearms gently. “Keep your arms still, too. You’re taking fluids intravenously.” He moved her arms gently to her sides and kept his hands there.

  “Why . . . what . . .?” She tried to sniff and something large and soft was dabbed to her nose.

  “You were in an accident. The doctor will be here soon. He can tell you about your injuries. Don’t be frightened. I ...” The voice seemed to move away.

  “Don’t leave me!” She tried to lift her arms, but they were gently forced down.

  “I won’t leave you. I’ll keep my hand on your arm so you’ll know I’m here.”

  “Oh, I remember! I was on the highway. The fog—“

  “Don’t think about it now.”

  But she did. It all came rushing back. She remembered her own voice screaming in her ears and then the endless shattering of glass and the . . . crunching, metal grinding . . . breaking, tearing and cracking. Then everything stopped and the world turned black.

  “Oh, dear God! Was . . . anyone killed?” The words came with fresh sobs.

  “No one was killed.” The voice was smooth and quiet. The handkerchief came to her nose again. “You mustn’t cry.” Then with an attempt at humor, “until you can wipe your own nose.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I’ll see about getting you a drink. Will you be frightened if I leave you?” The hand on her arm tightened just a fraction.

  “Don’t go!”

  “I won’t be gone any longer than it takes you to count to twenty. I promise.”

  The hand left her arm and she strained her ears to hear him open the door, but it must have been ajar. One, two, three, four, five . . . Then a voice, low, controlled and icy. She forgot about counting.

  “What the hell do you mean leaving her alone? Dammit! She woke up scared to death!”

  “I was only gone for a few minutes.” This voice was trembly and feminine.

  “You were hired to stay with her.” The calm voice was no longer calm. It was angry and censorious.

  “I’m sorry—“

  “Being sorry isn’t enough. Get the doctor in here. She needs some answers. And,” he added with a touch of menace to his tone, “she’s thirsty.”

  “She can have water sparingly.”

  “I’ll do that while you get the doctor.”

  There was a small silence and then Casey felt the hand on her arm again.

  “Cassandra?”

  “Casey. Everyone calls me Casey.”

  “All right, Casey. You can have some water. I’ll give it to you while the nurse goes for the doctor. I’m going to put the end of the tube in the corner of your mouth. Take only a small amount at a time until you see how it goes down.” The man’s voice was low pitched and even tenored as if nothing could move him to anger, but something had— that nurse abandoning her post.

  The water was cold and good, but it was too much of an effort to draw it into her mouth. The tube was removed and she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “There’s a small ice cube here. Do you want to hold it in your mouth?”

  “Yes, please,” she whispered, tired now.

  “Be careful and don’t let it slip down your throat.”

  She parted her lips and a sliver of ice was placed between them. It was so small it disappeared almost at once, but left a coolness in her mouth.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No. My name’s Dan.”

  Casey felt a flash of disappointment, and then another voice reached her ears.

  “Good evening.” The warm hand left her arm. “Miss Farrow, I’m Dr. Masters.”

  “Please take the bandage off my eyes!” she blurted out desperately.

  “Not until tomorrow. There’s a cut across your forehead and your eyelids are swollen.” The voice was calm and impersonal, not at all as warm as the other man’s. “You must lie very still for another twenty-four hours. I’ll give you something to make you sleep.”

  “No! What’s wrong with me? My hands are bandaged, too. And I feel numb all over. I can’t feel my legs! Oh, God! Are my legs on?” Panic made her voice shrill.

  “They sure are, and you’ve enough stitches in them for a patchwork quilt,” he said lightly.

  “I don’t believe you! Where’s that man? Please . . . man! Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Casey.” The now familiar voice came from the other side of the bed and his hand encircled her forearm. “The doctor’s telling the truth. The cuts had to be stitched, but other than that your legs are all right.” “Is there any pain?” the doctor asked. “No, everything is numb.” A fresh sob came from her throat. “I’ve got to know . . . about my face!”

  “Tell her!” Dan’s voice grated and his fingers tightened on her arm. “She’s got a right to know.”

  Another sob broke from the bandages.

  “Miss Farrow! Miss Farrow!” The doctor said again in a louder, sterner voice. “Calm down or I’ll give you a sedative. I won’t lie to you about your injuries. You have a deep cut down the side of your face. You covered your face with your hands and protected it, all but the right side. In time we can fix it so scarcely a scar remains. You also have several broken ribs and a concussion.”

  “But . . . why am I all bandaged?” She tried to lift her hand toward the man called Dan.

  “Your car crashed into the back of a truck carrying a load of windows. The tail of the truck smashed right through your windshield. Only a few inches more and the rear of the truck would have crushed you. As it was, you were showered with flying glass.” His hand was firm on her arm and his voice quietly confident. “The cuts have been stitched and you have been given something to kill the pain, that’s the reason your body feels numb.”

  “The best thing for you is sleep,” the doctor said. He moved aside and made room for the nurse with the hypodermic syringe. She lifted Casey’s arm, shook her head, and lowered it when she couldn’t find-a place to give the injection amid the network of puckered cuts held together with surgical stitches. She looked inquiringly at the doctor and he carefully lifted the sheet to expose a section of thigh. The nurse bent and quickly injected the needle.

  “I’m hoping to take the bandage off your eyes tomorrow.” The doctor talked calmly while he looked at the hundreds of cuts on her thighs and legs. It had taken him almost six hours to pick the
glass out of her flesh and close the wounds on her beautiful body. What would her reaction be when she looked at it for the first time? He shook his gray head. She would have to live with the results of the accident for a long time, but at that, she was lucky to be alive.

  “M . . . an, are you still here?” Casey’s voice was slurred as she fought to stay awake.

  “Dan.” The comforting voice was close to her. “You’ll not be left alone, Casey. Go to sleep.” “How . . . long have I been here?” “Almost twenty-four hours. I notified your father and hell be coming to see you in a few days.” “How .. . did . . .?”

  “I got his name and address from your employer and called him.” He gently stroked the one place on her forearm that was free of cuts and scratches. “You’re not to worry. Everything has been taken care of.”

  “But. . . who are you?”

  Casey struggled to stay awake to hear the answer to her question, but the drug she had been given took effect and she slid into a deep, engulfing abyss.

  She was swimming up out of the murky darkness. She wanted to sleep, but she was being lifted, turned, and she tried to push the punishing hands from her tortured body. Someone lifted her legs and she cried out. There was a sharp tug on her hair and she cried out again. At last she was allowed to lie back and was covered with something soft. Soothing words calmed and reassured her. A strong, rough hand stroked her arm. Her heart settled into a quieter pace as the pain subsided and finally her sleep deepened and the nightmare left her.

  The sensation of something against her mouth woke her abruptly. She felt as if a thousand needles pierced her flesh, and she couldn’t hold back the little gasp of pain that came up out of her dry throat. The whole side of her face throbbed in

  almost unbearable pain with every beat of her heart, and her eyelids seemed to be glued shut. It took a supreme effort to open them a mere crack. She saw the shape of a window, the shade partly drawn. She began to cry. Tears rolled down the side of her nose and across her mouth.

  Through the blur of tears she saw a bottle hanging upside down beside the bed with tubes running to her arm. She turned her head slightly. A white-caped nurse was bending over her.

  “Awake at last!” The voice was young, cheerful. “Is your mouth dry? I’ve been wetting your lips with a damp cloth.”

  Casey opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She tried again and managed to say, “Water.”

  A glass tube was placed in her mouth. She puckered her lips around it. The water was delicious, cool, and she could feel it streaming through her body. The tube was removed and Casey opened her eyes wider. The nurse smiled at her. She was pretty. Very pretty. She’d make a good model for cosmetic demonstrations, Casey thought dully, her skin’s clear and smooth.

  “What time is it?” she asked, and lifted her hand to look at the watch she usually wore. The thing she lifted, the drawn, clawlike thing, with the dark spikes of surgical thread studding it, couldn’t be her hand! The long, tapered nails were cut bluntly, the polish removed, the fingers curled as if she were holding an invisible egg. “Oh!” she gasped and tried to lift her other hand, but the nurse reached across to press it firmly to the bed.

  “It’s two o’clock. I’m going off duty soon. We can get acquainted before I leave.”

  Casey stared stupidly at the nurse, fear making her speechless. Her hands were ruined! The long, slender fingers that held a bottle of scent for the television commercials; the smooth fingers that glided cream over the faces of hundreds of beautiful models during demonstrations for Allure Cosmetics, looked like the fingers of an old crone, a witch!

  Instantly she became aware of her body lying naked beneath the sheet. Whimpering, she tried to lift the covering. Her hand clawed frantically as she pressed her chin to her chest so she could look down at her body. “I’ve got to see! Please ...” “Of course you do.” The nurse’s voice was patronizing. “Just lie still. You’re healing nicely.” She lifted the sheet. “The doctor used as few dressings as possible and the sheets are sterile. He did a wonderful job ...”

  The nurse’s chatter fell on deaf ears. Casey looked at the bandages on her breast and at the hundreds of cuts that covered her stomach, hips and thighs. Her pulse leaped convulsively and she raised imploring eyes to the nurse.

  “I’m . . . cut all over!” she gasped. She lifted her free hand and felt the bandage on her face. “Is it very bad?” she whispered.

  “It’s a big dressing,” the nurse said lightly. “Doctors are notorious for bulky dressings. The rest of your face is perfect, not a scratch.”

  “I don’t believe you! I want to see it.” Casey’s voice rose in panic. Dread lay heavy within her.

  “I don’t have a mirror. You’ll have to take my word for it. Dr. Masters will be in to see you soon and no doubt Mr. Murdock will be here, too. Would you like more water?”

  Casey closed her eyes and turned her face away. Tears rolled from beneath her swollen lids and wet the pillow beneath her cheek. She felt old, broken, as though her life had come to an end. How could she possibly conduct a beauty seminar with a scarred face and hands? She’d spent seven years with Allure Cosmetics and was one of their

  top consultants. Neil Hamilton, her boss and president of the company, was a perfectionist. He’d told her many times it was her flawless complexion, her poise and confidence that made her so much in demand as a demonstrator.

  Life had been a struggle ever since she could remember. Her father and mother had divorced when she was small, and her mother died suddenly when she was a senior in high school. After that it had been one job after another until she went to work in the cosmetic section of a large department store. It was while working there that she came in contact with Allure beauty products. Now seven years later she was back to square one, but this time with a handicap.

  Casey never had a great opinion of herself, but others admired her for her sweet nature, her sturdy personality and her beauty. Tall, five foot nine, and willowy, she wore her heavy honey-gold hair in a loose, casual style reaching to shoulder length. Her eyebrows and lashes were naturally darker, and her eyes a clear tawny gold harmonizing with her hair. Her face was a perfect oval with a small fine nose and full soft lips. Casey knew the contentment of being satisfied with herself.

  Her father came back into her life four years ago and any resentment she felt toward him for not being there when she was young faded when she realized he was a weaker, less secure person than she, for all his handsome, gallant ways. A handsome rogue. That’s the way she thought of him, and it was no wonder her mother had loved him so desperately.

  “Miss Farrow . . . are you all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m all right.” Casey tried to sound more “all right” than she was.

  “You’re coming along nicely. The doctor did a wonderful job putting you back together.”

  Casey rolled her head on the pillow. She looked

  frightened and helpless, but resentful, too. “Please don’t tell me that again. I’m sure the doctor did his best.”

  Later the young nurse with the peachy complexion left and a fat matronly woman took her place. The tubes were removed from Casey’s arm and the bottle rolled out of sight. Casey lay quietly, her thoughts as painful as her injuries. What would she do? Would there be a position available at Allure that didn’t require meeting the public? She knew nothing about office work. Demonstrating was her field. Would Neil employ her now that she was no longer a walking advertisement for his company?

  The doctor came in and stood at the foot of the bed. He wore a gown and a mask dangled from a cord around his neck. His eyes looked kindly behind horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Hello. I’m Dr. Masters.”

  “You’re the one who did the wonderful job.” The words rolled out and Casey was surprised at how bitter she sounded.

  “Not exactly wonderful, but we did get all the holes closed.” The doctor sounded merciless, and Casey hated him. He moved around to the side of the bed and sat down
. The nurse silently left the room.

  “I’ve asked for a mirror, but they won’t give me one.” Her eyes were full of tears again. She couldn’t seem to stop crying.

  “You won’t be able to see anything until I remove the dressing in a few days. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “How . . . bad is it?” They were the hardest words she ever had to say.

  “It could be much worse. I just told a young woman her leg’s coming off in the morning and a father of two that he won’t live to see his third child born.” Casey turned her face away. The doctor sighed. “You have a deep laceration that starts at the hairline above your right eye and curves around the side of your face. Part of the flesh was cut away, and ... a good part of your right ear lobe. ...” Casey rolled her head toward him and an endless sob burst from her. “It will be a few months before any more work can be done. But, it’s my opinion that a specialist in plastic surgery will be able to repair your face and ear.” The doctor sounded firm and impersonal.