Everything Pales in Comparision Page 3

  Their first meeting was all business and mutual evaluation, and continued in the same vein for six months afterward, neither of them acknowledging the growing sparks of physical attraction between them. Daina finally realized that if it were left up to Kendra, the attraction would never be acted upon. So one night, after a sold-out concert at a smaller hall, both of them on an adrenaline high, she had pushed the envelope, with a bit of help from a celebratory bottle of their favorite Shiraz. Kendra, it turned out, had required very little seduction, and from that point on their relationship was personal as well. The delicate balancing act that such a relationship required was largely ignored by both of them. Daina preferred to concentrate on her music, Kendra on all things business-oriented. It was not an easy relationship, but it had seemed to work for a couple of years.

  It was only lately that Daina had become aware of a subtle shifting. Kendra wanted more control of her career, more say in the decisions being made, more power than the autonomous Daina would grant her. She was not blatant about her desire, but she dropped hints, made insinuations, and suggested courses of action which struck Daina as totally inappropriate with regard to her musical direction. Daina found herself becoming more and more annoyed with Kendra and less enamored. There were warning bells going off in her head all too frequently. And yet Kendra just seemed to take it all in stride, as if her behavior, her attitude, were completely reasonable. Daina was unwilling to deal with the problem, if problem it was, head-on. She did not want to become sidetracked by what could turn out to be petty issues. And so, as was her wont, she thrust her concerns to the side, to be dealt with later, if they were dealt with at all.

  Daina was now troubled to realize that her lack of attention to the matter had, quite possibly, caught up with her. With an effort, she mentally shifted tracks and answered her mother’s second question. “Do I trust her?”

  She sighed and shook her head again. Swallowing, she licked her dry lips and wished her voice were stronger. It was now a sort of throaty rasp, which she found annoying, compared to her usual voice, once described by a magazine critic as a “honeyed growl.”

  Clearing her throat, she said, “No, I guess I don’t trust her.” And as those words, and the truth behind them, sunk in, she bit her lower lip and frowned.

  “Well, dear,” her mother said gently, “that’s a difficult thing to come to terms with, especially when you’re close to someone. But,” and here Marlene rubbed her daughter’s arm briskly, her tone lightening, “it’s probably better that you realize it now, now that she’s out of your life. I didn’t really think she was right for you, anyway.”

  A startled laugh escaped Daina as her mother uttered those words. Marlene Buchanan had already dismissed Kendra from Daina’s life, before Daina herself had even done so. Granted, her parents had only just met Kendra two days ago, when Daina had flown into Winnipeg after being invited by PFLAG almost six months ago to headline the benefit concert. Still, she thought with wry amusement, it was too bad the whole situation couldn’t be dealt with so easily.

  “The reason I was asking,” her mother continued carefully, “is because she asked that we contact her should you regain consciousness.” She paused for a beat, then added, “And that we not tell you of her request.”

  Daina stared, puzzled and a little dumbfounded. “Are you serious? She said that?”

  Her mother nodded. “She did.”

  “Jesus Christ.” What the hell is going on here? And then, another thought occurred to her. “I take it you haven’t called her yet.”

  “No, of course not. Your dad and I thought we should discuss it with you first, to see how you felt about it.”

  Daina inhaled deeply and then exhaled, a guttural purr sounding at the back of her throat. It was a sound of frustration, of exasperation.

  “Well, Ma, I don’t know how I feel,” she said truthfully. “I really don’t. I mean, it’s like I should be feeling one way, you know, hurt or whatever, but I’m not. I’m angry. I have no idea what’s going on, why she would do this, and that really pisses me off. But it’s not like I can do anything about it, lying here in a hospital bed and her in Nashville.” She paused, considering, then said gently, “So, as much as I know you don’t want to, will you call her, please? Since that was the arrangement?”

  Her mother looked pained. “Are you sure, Daina? That’s what you want?”

  “Ma, I have to get this cleared up. I mean, this is my career we’re talking about, it’s not even so much the personal issue, you know? If she’s playing at some game here, then I might as well play along for a bit, don’t you think? Who knows?” Daina shrugged. “Maybe she really couldn’t handle…this.” She waved a hand to indicate herself and her surroundings. “Right at this moment, I don’t feel like I know her at all. If someone came up to me right now and said ‘Hey, your girlfriend planted that bomb,’ I’d be like ‘Wow, she must have really wanted to break up with me.’’’

  “Daina, that’s not funny,” her mother said shortly. “Regardless of what happened to you personally, a lot of other people were injured by that bomb.”

  Daina was instantly contrite, her grin evaporating. “You’re right, Ma, I’m sorry. That was tasteless. It’s just…I really don’t know what to think or feel. I need you to call her and I need to get this cleared up, as soon as possible.”

  “Then I’ll call her, sweetheart, tonight.” Marlene rubbed her arm gently. “One more thing, honey. That police officer, the one who rescued you? Would you be interested in meeting her?” The question was asked with polite interest.

  Daina grinned, recalling memories of a childhood spent being constantly dragged back by her mother or being verbally reminded to thank each and every person for a gift, for their kindness, for their time. Her mother was much more subtle about it now, but it was nice to know that some things never really changed.

  “I don’t have a way of getting hold of her,” Daina said, wondering how she would go about doing so. “Do you know what station she’s—”

  “Oh, don’t worry, honey,” her mother interrupted, making a dismissive gesture with one hand, “I can take care of that, if you like.”

  “Well, there’s no rush, but that’d be great, Ma, thanks. Oh, and Ma? Could we keep this quiet? I don’t know about her, but I don’t want any media involved at all.” Her parents had already told her that the press had been requesting pictures and interviews, a statement, especially since she had come out of the coma. She knew she would have to release a statement soon, especially in light of what her mother had so succinctly pointed out, those innocent individuals who had been injured. She needed to reach out to the public, and to her fans. But that would have to wait at least another day.

  “I believe she feels the same way, honey,” her mother said reassuringly. “She’s been ‘unavailable for comment’ since this whole thing happened. I’m sure she’d be willing to speak privately to you, though.”

  With a wry grin, Daina said, “Especially if you’re the one doing the asking.”

  “Well, dear, there’s a right way and a wrong way to say and do certain things. You know I believe in doing things the right way.”

  Daina didn’t miss the twinkle in her mother’s eyes as she blithely uttered these words, but all she said in return was a polite, “Yes, Ma, I know.”

  Marlene Buchanan bent to hug her then, rather awkwardly due to the setup. They both came perilously close to tears as her mother took her leave.

  A nurse peeked in, and then eased the dividing curtain back. Daina was grateful to see her; she had never been so uncomfortable, physically and mentally, in her whole life. Moving was agony, thinking, torture.

  “How are you feeling?” the nurse asked.

  Daina managed a wan smile. “I’m trying not to.”

  “Well, let’s help you get some sleep then. You’re still on morphine, doctor’s orders, but it sounds like you need it.”

  “You won’t get any complaints from me.”

  As the n
urse took her vital signs, preparatory to administering the drug, Daina sighed. “So, I assume I’m missing some beautiful summer weather.”

  “You are,” the nurse confirmed, unwrapping the BP cuff and lowering Daina’s arm. “And you’ll probably miss some more, but look on the bright side.” She smiled and winked. “You will live to see another day.”

  Daina gave her a perfunctory smile in return, wondering how many more times she’d be reminded of that fact, and if being annoyed by it meant she was ungrateful. Before she could follow that line of thought, the nurse fiddled with the little dial on her IV line. A second or two later, Daina felt the lulling affects of the drug, and willingly let herself drop off to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Clad in shorts and a loose T-shirt, Emma was just heading out the door for an evening run when the phone rang. She hesitated, leaning against the opened door and staring back at the phone on the coffee table. The press and TV stations had basically given up trying to get an interview with her. She had refused each and every request extended, politely but firmly.

  Police protocol in saving an individual’s life involved certain regulations. First and foremost was that the identity of the officer involved was not disclosed, due to the possibility of lawsuits. If a request for the identity was made, by family members for instance, such a request had to go through the chief of police’s office for verification. It would then be brought to the attention of the individual officer(s) involved, who could then choose, based on their own comfort levels, whether or not to grant the request. In this particular case, however, someone had leaked Emma’s name to the press. Emma could not possibly know who had done so, but she knew the leak was responsible for the media attention being currently directed her way.

  From what she knew of Daina Buchanan, the woman was not a huge star. She couldn’t really even be called famous. She was only just making a name for herself across North America, though she was definitely well known in her hometown. Winnipeggers, however, were generally not in the habit of hounding their stars, and that held true for the media, as well. People were generally respectful of other people’s privacy.

  For the last two days Emma had been pestered with occasional phone calls and the odd reporter and camera crew hanging around outside her building. She did not avoid any of these situations; the callers were told she wasn’t interested in granting any interviews and could they please not call again. Any phone messages she received she simply did not return. The individuals hanging around her apartment building were approached calmly and told the same thing, and then asked to leave the premises. She remained relaxed in these situations, but no one made the mistake of overlooking the intensity of her gaze or the edge to her voice.

  She hadn’t had to deal with any more bothersome calls since Sunday evening, almost twenty-four hours ago. On the third ring, she bit her lower lip, frowned and then shrugged. Ah, what the hell. She stepped away from the door to answer the phone.

  The caller sighed, almost as if in relief. “Constable Kirby? I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but my name is Marlene Buchanan.”

  Emma gave a start at the mention of the name.

  “I realize you don’t know me,” the woman went on, “but—you rescued my daughter, Daina, at the concert hall Friday night.” Her voice rose slightly at the end of her statement.

  “Mrs. Buchanan, yes, hello,” Emma greeted her. And then asked, a bit tightly, “Has—something happened?”

  “Oh, no, dear, no,” Marlene Buchanan replied immediately. “Everything is fine, everything is wonderful, didn’t you know? Daina came out of the coma this morning, she’s fine.”

  Emma sagged with relief and sat on the arm of the sofa. “Oh, wow, that’s great,” she said, with heartfelt sincerity, “I’m glad to hear that. I was wondering how your daughter was doing.”

  “Well, yes, and that’s why I’m calling. She asked that I call you.”

  “She did?” Emma asked carefully.

  “Constable Kirby, Daina would not even be here right now if not for you. And she would like to thank you, personally, for what you did.”

  Emma said nothing; she couldn’t think of anything to say. She knew, of course, that what Marlene Buchanan was saying was true. That what everyone was saying was true. She, Emma Kirby, had played a major part in saving Daina’s life. Were it not for Emma’s intervention, Daina would not be alive right now. But she did not seek recognition; she did not want any publicity. She had been doing her job; anyone else could have done the same thing. She was being hailed a “reluctant hero” by the media, which was almost laughable. She wasn’t reluctant at all. She knew what she had done. She was willing to leave it at that.

  “Would it be possible for you to meet with her?” Marlene Buchanan was asking.

  “Um…sure, I suppose,” she said slowly, knowing she couldn’t very well refuse. “If that’s what she wants. When would you—well, when would she like to do this?”

  “Well, we’re quite certain she’ll be in the ICU for a short while yet, but I’m sure we could get you in, if we specifically asked. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

  Trying to get her thoughts in some sort of order, Emma automatically answered, “Okay, sure. I still have a couple of days off, and the afternoon is better for me, anyway.” And then, taking the bull by the horns, she added, “Uh, let’s say around three, would that be okay?”

  “I think that would be fine,” was the immediate reply, to which was hastily added, “Oh, and Daina mentioned she would like this to be private, so this will be just between the two of you.”

  “Oh.” Emma was unsure of what that meant, exactly.

  “In other words, there won’t be any media.”

  “Oh, okay, well that’s my preference, as well.” Emma was grateful that Daina Buchanan was not a media hound. Chalk one up for her.

  “Constable Kirby,” Marlene Buchanan said carefully, her tone suddenly solemn and serious, “if it wasn’t for you, my husband and I wouldn’t have a daughter right now. We’re eternally grateful to you. I’m sitting here right now, holding Steve’s hand, he’s my husband and Daina’s father, and we both want to thank you right now if we don’t get to do so in person. If there’s anything we can ever do for you, you just let us know, dear, is that clear?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan,” she said, swallowing, “and thank your husband for me as well. I appreciate that. I’m glad I was able to make a difference. Your daughter is very talented and seems like a fine person.”

  “Well, we love her dearly,” Marlene said thickly.

  “Mrs. Buchanan, I’ll be at the hospital at three tomorrow, and I hope I do get to meet you. You take care now, ma’am.”

  Afterward, Emma sat there staring at the phone, aware of her heartbeat, and of her sweaty palms. She hadn’t realized just how much the singer’s condition had been weighing on her mind. The coma had alarmed her. To know that Daina was alive and well relieved her immeasurably.

  As a police officer, she had saved lives in less dramatic circumstances, and she had also had to witness death once, in a gang-related knifing incident where she had been utterly powerless to save the young man whose life had bled from him while she held him. It had been over in seconds; there was nothing she could have done, and she had accepted that. She had never taken a life, but she knew her actions as a police officer could certainly cause that to happen. She supposed that such a time might come and she believed herself capable of dealing with it.

  With Daina Buchanan, the whole scenario had taken on an almost surreal aspect. The bombing, the ensuing panic, the rescue of the woman had been so overwhelming, she had immediately switched to autopilot. Nothing had really registered until afterward. And then the belated realization of her sense of responsibility had all come crashing down on her.

  She knew now why she’d broken down that night: to know that she was unequivocally responsible for saving someone’s life, that had she made even the slightest mistake that life would have been lost, was
a very heavy weight, and she could not possibly remain unaffected by it. Nor could others remain unaffected by her actions, specifically Daina herself and Daina’s family.

  But was she comfortable with the thought of this impending meeting? Well, she had agreed to it. And besides, it felt like the right thing to do. The woman wanted to thank her; she could be gracious and accept those thanks. In all honesty, she knew she wanted to meet Daina Buchanan, anyway. The memory of that grin, and her reaction to it kept gnawing at her. She had nothing to lose by agreeing to meet with her.

  Feeling much more at ease, she stood, stretched luxuriously and headed for the door to go for her run.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Awakened in the early hours by the flurry of activity attending a cardiac arrest at the other end of the ICU, Daina lay quietly, watching without fully comprehending the tableau playing out across from her. She felt thick and stupid from the aftereffects of the morphine, and annoyed that her sleep had been disturbed. She struggled to make her brain work, but it was only when the crash cart was rushed over that she was able to make sense of the scene.

  Overcome with a feeling of horror, she decided right then and there that she wanted to be out of the ICU as soon as possible. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, but she could not shut out the sounds as the team worked. She squeezed her eyes tighter. The quiet, urgent voices of the team overrode her attempts to block them out. A moment later, she felt a touch on her shoulder, and at the same time a gentle voice asked, “Daina, are you okay?”