Thorne slammed down the receiver and stared out the window to a winter-crisp day where evidence of last night’s storm still glistened on the grass and hung from the eaves in shimmering icicles. A headache pounded behind his eyes. He’d been on the phone all morning, guzzling cups of coffee as bitter as a spinster’s heart. He’d bedded down in his old room, the one that had abutted his folks’ suite and his brothers had, by instinct, claimed the bedrooms where they’d been raised. But when he’d awoken this morning he’d been alone in the house. During the intervening hours, he’d called the hospital, hoping for a report of improvement in Randi and the baby’s condition. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. His sister was still comatose and the baby, though stable, was still in danger. He’d hooked up his laptop computer to the antiquated phone lines and looked up everything he could on little J.R.’s condition. From what he could determine, everything that could be done to counteract the meningitis was being done at St.
What do You think about Rumors: The McCaffertys (2012)?
