In Sickness and in Lies novel · Chapter 4 of 32

Chapter 4: At the Bedside

"It's paid," I said.

Desmond's hand stopped inside his jacket.

"What is?"

"The deposit. I paid it at noon today. Every dollar."

"With what?"

"I sold the shirt piece."

He stared at me.

For seventeen years he had told me that piece was a nice hobby and that no one would ever pay real money for it.

"Who bought it?"

"A woman with good taste."

Desmond took his hand out of his jacket and let the checkbook he had been reaching for fall back into his pocket.

His smile stayed where it was, but his eyes went sharp.

"Well," he said. "Then I'll cover your mother's other expenses. The ambulance, the equipment. We'll call it a gift."

"No."

"Gwyneth."

"You've done enough this weekend."

Cilla set the soup on the tray table.

"Honey, he's trying to help," she said softly. "Let him."

I looked at her.

She had her hand on Desmond's arm, and she was frowning with real concern.

It would have fooled anyone who hadn't stood outside a study door on Saturday night.

"Cilla," I said. "How is the beach house?"

Her hand left his sleeve.

"The what?"

"The house on the lake. The one he gave you for a bet."

The room went silent except for the monitor.

The nurse in the corner stopped writing.

Dr. MacGlynn lowered his tablet.

Behind me my mother's good hand tightened on the blanket, and I heard her breathe in.

"Gwyneth." Desmond laughed, a short, easy sound. "I don't know what you think you heard."

"I heard you say she asks you before she buys a coat. I heard you say she would never divorce you, even if you abandoned her tomorrow."

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