Copper Beach

Copper Beach

There was nothing like the drama of a deathbed scene
to expose the skeletons in a family’s closet. You never knew what would fall out when you opened the door, the nurse thought. Lifelong conflicts, absolution, regret, long- held grudges, enduring love or unrelenting hatred, whatever had been hidden for decades or generations was
suddenly made visible at the end.

The night- shift staff was gathered at the nurses’ station, drinking coffee, snacking on vending- machine munchies and speculating on the sexual orientation of the new orthopedic surgeon, when the dying man’s son arrived. Emotions in the small group ranged from cynical to relieved.

They had all watched patients die without family at the bedside. It happened more often than most people realized. Everyone who did this kind of work understood that family dynamics were often convoluted and messy and sometimes downright evil. There were often very good reasons why relatives turned their backs on a family member who was dying. And there was no getting around the fact that the patient in 322 was seriously wasted not just from the cancer but from years of hard living and major addiction issues.

“Knox probably wasn’t anyone’s idea of a great father,” the orderly said. “Still, it’s about time someone from the family showed up.”

The middle- aged nurse watched the visitor disappear through the darkened doorway of 322. Ten she checked the computer file.

“He signed in as Knox’s son,” she reported. “But there are no relatives listed on the chart.”

One of the orderlies popped a handful of potato chips into his mouth. “Guess it’s safe to say it’s not a close family.”

Lander Knox knew what the crowd at the nurses’ station was thinking. The prodigal son shows up at last. It amused him, but he had been careful not to let his reaction show. He understood that humor was not appropriate to the occasion.

He had learned long ago to fake the correct emotional responses for a wide variety of situations. His acting talent was worthy of an Oscar. He had gotten very good at pretending to be one of the sheep. He moved among the weak, emotional, easily duped creatures that surrounded
him like the wolf he was.

He had considered taking a moment to charm the staff at the nurses’ station. It would have been simple to give them a clever story about how he had been on the other side of the world in a war zone when he got word that his father was dying. He could have told them that he had spent three days without sleep trying to get back before the end.
But it wasn’t worth the effort. He was planning to stay only a few minutes, just long enough to take his revenge.

Shadows pooled inside room 322. The machines hummed and
hissed and beeped like some high- tech Greek chorus heralding the inevitable. Quinn Knox’s eyes were closed. He was hooked up to an IV line.

Copyright © 2012 by Jayne Ann Krentz