Not Until Forever (Hope Springs Book 1)

by Valerie M. Bodden

  Chase was already in with his father, but Mr. Sanders invited her in as well.

  She waited for one of them to say something about the phone call, but when neither did, she pushed forward. “I need to request a few days off. That was my grandmother who called—” Sophie cut herself off. No need to remind them of the interruption to the meeting. “Anyway, she’s not doing well. The doctors only give her a few days.” She didn’t let herself dwell on the words. “I’d like to go home. To say goodbye.”

  Chase toed the floor, not meeting her eyes.

  “Are you close to your grandmother?” Mr. Sanders’s voice was neither compassionate nor judgmental. It was a solid neutral.

  “I am. Or, well, I was. I haven’t been to visit her in a while . . .” Sophie cleared her throat.

  “You understand how important this project is? To the firm as well as to your career?” Mr. Sanders folded his hands in front of him on the desk.

  Sophie bit her lip, nodding.

  “Then—” Mr. Sanders stood, and Sophie understood the move as a dismissal. “I’ll leave it up to you. If you stay, you keep the project. If you go, I’m going to put Chase on it. We can’t afford to lose out on this one, and if you can’t dedicate yourself to it one hundred percent . . .”

  Sophie blinked at the unfairness. He was going to make her choose between her family and her career?

  She ducked out of her office, her insides roiling. How was she supposed to make a decision like this?

  Halfway across the lobby, Chase caught up with her. “Sophie, wait. What are you going to do?” She couldn’t tell if that was eagerness in his voice or compassion.

  “I guess I’m going to—” The word stay almost came out. It’s what she should do. For her own good. But the image of Nana, alone in her hospital bed, pushed into her head. Could she really forgive herself if she let Nana die alone like that? “I’m going to go. I’ll get you the plans.”

  To his credit, Chase didn’t gloat or even smile. “For what it’s worth, Sophie, I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted this project.”

  She shrugged. “There’ll be others.” Of course, she could kiss that VP position goodbye. If Chase hadn’t been a shoo-in before, he certainly would be after this.

  She stepped around him and into her office, grabbing the stack of plans for the Hudson project off her desk. She passed it to Chase. “I should get going.”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t be gone too long. Maybe you can help me put the finishing touches on the project plan.”

  Sophie nodded and stepped out of the office toward the bank of elevators.

  She had no intention of staying in Hope Springs a moment longer than she had to.

  The lowering sun lit the water on fire as Sophie crested the hill above Hope Springs five hours later.

  She pulled down the Camaro’s sun visor and rubbed at her weary eyes.

  As the road dropped into the town, she slowed, letting herself take in sights she hadn’t seen in more than five years.

  It was odd how everything looked the same and yet different. It wasn’t yet tourist season, so most of the shops were closed for the evening, and the streets were mostly empty, aside from the occasional local walking their dog.

  Memories piled up and slammed into her as she passed the Hidden Cafe. The Chocolate Chicken. The post office. Sophie tried to beat them back. She wasn’t here to reminisce. She was here to say goodbye to Nana and then get back to her real life.

  She accelerated, trying to leave the memories behind as she passed out of town. Her stomach tightened into double knots as she pulled into the long, winding driveway that led up the highest bluff overlooking the lake. Bare trees pressed in on her from all sides, until her parents’ over-large house finally came into view, all hard lines and sharp angles.

  She parked in the large section of the driveway her parents reserved for guests and sat for a minute, gazing toward the now-dark waters of the lake. Was this really the same lake she’d been looking at hours ago from her office in Chicago? It was the one thing that connected her two lives. That and the memories. But those she tried not to think about.

  She forced herself to push her car door open. To grab her suitcase out of the trunk. To follow the slate path to the front door.

  She reached for the doorknob but then thought better of it and pressed her finger to the doorbell.

  When no one answered after a minute, she let herself in. “Hello?” She felt oddly like an intruder as her voice echoed around her childhood home.

  “In here.” Mom’s voice carried from the kitchen.

  Sophie left her suitcase in the foyer and followed the sound.

  Mom was seated at the long granite breakfast counter, poring over a design magazine. She barely glanced up when Sophie entered. “I told you, you didn’t have to come.”

  “I wanted to come.” Sophie gave her mother an obligatory kiss on the cheek.

  She knew better than to ask where her father was. If her mother was home, her father was likely at the club. The two had barely been in the same room together, aside from at church and when brokering real estate deals, in the past fifteen years.

  “How’s Nana?” Sophie went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.

  “Call her grandmother.” Sophie’s mom gave an exaggerated huff. “You know I hate when you call her Nana. Sounds like that dog from that movie.”

  “Peter Pan?” Sophie wrinkled her nose. She’d been calling her grandmother Nana since she was seven. She wasn’t about to stop now. “Have you been to see her?”

  “I called earlier. There’s no change.” Mom flipped the page of her magazine. “I don’t know what you think being here is going to accomplish. You should have stayed at work.”

  Sophie took another sip of her water to keep from striking back. It was the same old story. Her parents would never be satisfied with anything she did.

  “I wanted to say goodbye.” She focused on keeping an even tone.

  Her mother nodded, eyes fixed on her magazine. “I’m thinking about redoing the kitchen. What do you think of these cabinets?”

  Sophie set her water on the counter and walked out of the room without looking at the magazine. “They’re nice, Mom.”

  She grabbed her suitcase and trudged up the staircase before her mother could infuriate her any more. Not that Mom had ever been emotionally available, but planning to redecorate the kitchen while her own mother was dying was too much even for her.

  At the end of the hallway, Sophie pushed open the door to her old room. It’d been completely redone as a guest room almost the moment she left for college. All her old posters had been stripped from the walls. The poppy orange she’d painted the room when she was fifteen had been replaced by a soft lilac. She had to admit that the room was more to her taste now, but seeing it stripped of her former self stung.

  Oh, well. It’s not like she could ever go back to who she used to be.

  Sophie hefted her suitcase onto the overstuffed chair in the corner and collapsed on the king-size bed. That was new, too. She longed for the twin-size canopy bed she’d gotten from her grandmother—it’d been the one place that always felt cozy in the cold house.

  After a few minutes, she grew restless. She’d had way too much coffee on the way up. She wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours yet, but the thought of returning to the kitchen and doing another round with Mom turned her stomach. She crossed to the room’s built-in bookshelf. When she’d lived here, it’d overflowed with books. Mysteries, mostly. Romance. Some classics.

  Now, it held mostly knickknacks, but a few books were sprinkled here and there. She ran her fingers over the spines until they landed on Pride and Prejudice. Had this really been her favorite book once? Had she really believed that two people who were so different, who came from such different backgrounds, could make a life together? Well, Jane Austen may have been that naive, but she wasn’t. Not anymore.

  Still, she couldn’t resist pulling the worn co
py off the shelf. A bookmark stuck out about a third of the way through the book.

  As she flipped to the page, something small and white fluttered out and drifted to the floor.

  She bent to pick it up, and her breath caught.

  It was a pressed cherry blossom, in pristine condition.

  From Spencer. When he gave it to her, he said it reminded him of her—strong and delicate at the same time.

  She gently lifted the blossom to her face. A faint scent of spring lingered on it. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  She replaced the blossom in the book and stuck it on the shelf. That part of her life was over.

  Besides, Spencer likely had a wife and family of his own by now.

  A pang sliced through her belly. What if she ran into him while she was home? Worse, what if she ran into his new family? Could she handle seeing him with another woman?

  She shook her head and flopped onto the bed. She was being ridiculous. It wouldn’t matter if she saw him and his family or not.

  She had a highly successful career, an upscale apartment, a casual boyfriend who didn’t expect anything long-term from her. She had everything she had ever wanted.

  Which didn’t explain the hollow feeling that had taken up residence in her chest.

  Chapter 2

  Spencer grabbed a cherry branch and pulled it closer to his face. The wood that had appeared barren from a distance showed little signs of new life all along its length, tiny buds just barely poking out from the bark.

  Spencer ran his fingers over them. They were no guarantee that the tree would actually blossom and fruit, but it was a good sign.

  A sign they needed right now.

  He stepped back to survey the tree, choosing the branches he’d prune. He needed to choose carefully. Last year, a late season frost had destroyed their entire crop. If they hadn’t had his woodworking to fall back on, the farm probably would have gone under entirely.

  But cherries were the lifeblood of the peninsula, drawing tourists from all over the state. If the crop failed this year—

  He couldn’t think about that.

  He grabbed his pruning saw and lifted it to a dead branch. With a practiced rhythm, his saw bit into the wood until the branch came off clean in his fist. He slathered sealant on the fresh wood underneath to prevent disease, then selected another branch to prune. Spencer let himself fall into the familiar routine of spring on the orchard as he shaped the tree, ensuring maximum air flow and sunlight to the branches. When he’d finished, he gathered his fallen branches and dragged them toward the trailer he and Dad had been filling all morning.

  Dad was taking the lopping shears to a tree near the pile. Spencer still had to think about each cut he made, consider the tree before choosing a branch to trim, but for his father, it was second nature. He never hesitated, just snipped branch after branch until the trees were shaped perfectly.

  “Slow down, Dad. You’re making me look bad.”

  Dad grunted and lowered his shears, rubbing at the left side of his chest. He shifted to lean his weight heavily against the tree trunk.

  “Dad?” Spencer moved closer. “You okay?”

  Sweat gleamed on Dad’s face, despite the chill breeze that blew in off the lake. He waved Spencer off. “Fine. Just need a break for a second.” He pushed off the trunk and set back to work.

  Spencer studied him. Since he could remember, Dad had always been the first to work and the last to quit. But he’d slowed down some in the years since his heart attack. “Why don’t you go back to the house for a bit? I’ve got this. Give me a chance to catch up.”

  His father kept clipping. “Stop coddling me. I get enough of that from your mother.” He lowered the shears again to roll out his left shoulder, then lifted it to the next branch.

  “I’m not coddling, Dad. But you know Mom would never forgive me if—”

  “You let me worry about your mother. I don’t need a break, and I’m not going to take one. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got a whole orchard to get ready. We don’t have time to stand here arguing.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that. Last year’s lost crop meant they didn’t have the money to hire on any seasonal help this year. Dad bent and gathered his discarded branches. Spencer reached to help him.

  “I said I can do it.” His father’s voice held the sharp edge of warning Spencer recognized from his childhood.

  “All right, Dad.” Spencer raised his hands and moved to the other side of the row to trim the next tree. Arguing would only make it worse.

  Spencer’s phone rang, overly loud in the silent orchard, and he pulled it out of his pocket, answering as he examined the tree.

  “What’s up, Dave?”

  Their neighbor from the next farm over huffed into the phone, and Spencer waited for him to catch his breath. Dave was older than Dad, but he still insisted on doing all his work himself. Spencer always worried that one of these days it would kill him.

  “Having an issue with Old Bessie over here,” Dave puffed. “She’s bottomed out pretty good. Think you could come over and help me push her out?”

  Spencer’s shoulders tightened. Helping Dave with the tractor would put him back at least an hour. And this orchard wasn’t going to prune itself. But if the situation were reversed, Dave would be over in a second. And if his father had taught him anything, it was that neighbors were a farmer’s lifeline. “Yeah, Dave. I’ll be right over.”

  He jabbed his phone into his pocket and stalked toward the ATV he and Dad had ridden out to the orchard. He unhitched the trailer from it and lowered it to the ground.

  “Gotta go help Dave with Old Bessie,” he called to his father.

  Dad waved to acknowledge he’d heard but kept working his saw. Spencer almost asked one more time if he was okay but bit the question back. Having his head torn off twice in one day wasn’t worth it. He jumped on the ATV and took off toward the field that bordered Dave’s farm. Mud from the rains that had saturated the ground the last few weeks shot up at him, but he pushed the machine harder. He had too much to do today to worry about getting a little dirty.

  Ten minutes later, he found Dave knee-deep in mud, slogging around his old, beat-up tractor.

  The ground sucked at Spencer’s feet as he jumped off the ATV.

  “Gonna need to invest in a new tractor one of these days,” he called to Dave.

  Dave grunted. “Not ready to give up on Old Bessie yet.”

  Spencer pulled out the chains he kept in the ATV’s storage compartment. He passed one end to Dave. When everything was secure, he jumped on the machine and gunned it. He gritted his teeth and squinted against the mud spraying up around him, throttling up higher.

  But after half an hour, the old beast remained stuck.

  Spencer switched off the ATV. No sense killing it, too. He pulled out his phone. “Gonna have to call in the old man for reinforcements,” he called to Dave.

  He scrolled to Dad’s number. But the phone rang until it went to voice mail.

  Spencer frowned and dialed again. He clenched his teeth as the rings added up. Voice mail again.

  Something heavy dropped in Spencer’s stomach. He shouldn’t have left Dad alone. He’d promised Mom. It didn’t matter that Dad had been in perfect health for the past five years. Didn’t matter that his mood had made it easier for Spencer to walk away. If something had happened to him—

  Spencer reined in his thoughts.

  Just because Dad wasn’t answering his phone didn’t mean anything bad had happened. He probably didn’t have his phone on him. He was forever leaving it at home or in the shed.

  But Spencer couldn’t stop picturing how Dad had been rubbing at his chest, rolling his shoulder, sweating. Weren’t those exactly the signs he was supposed to watch for?

  With a sudden decisiveness, Spencer jumped off the ATV and worked to free it from the chains.

  “What’s up?” Dave called.

  “Dad’s not answering. I’m going to go check on h
im. I’ll be—”

  But Dave was at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Let me do this.”

  Spencer didn’t stop to think. Just dropped the chains his shaking hands had been unable to unhitch and jumped on the ATV, bringing it roaring to life. The moment Dave said “go,” he shot off.

  The machine whined as he pushed it to its limits, barely noticing the branches that whipped at his face as he raced the ATV through the thin stand of trees between their farm and Dave’s.

  Please let me get there in time. He repeated the prayer over and over as he maneuvered the ATV closer. Why couldn’t the machine go any faster?

  Finally, he reached the orchard. He jumped off the ATV, swiveling his head toward the spot Dad was working last. But the orchard was empty.

  He probably went back to the house for a break, like you told him to.

  But Spencer knew in his gut Dad wouldn’t have taken that advice.

  “Dad?” He ran down the long line of trees, trying not to let the panic that clawed at him take over. How far could Dad have gotten?

  “Dad?” When he’d gone a hundred yards or so, he stopped. None of these trees showed any signs of having been pruned.

  He made his way back toward the ATV, more slowly this time, eyes trained on the ground, just in case.

  Please not that.

  As he approached the trailer, his eye caught on something sticking out from the far side. Was that a foot?

  He sprinted to close the distance. “Dad?”

  A groan.

  Spencer’s heart lurched.

  He jumped over the trailer’s tongue.

  Dad was half-sitting, half-leaning against the trailer, his hands pressed against his chest.

  “Dad?” Spencer dropped to the ground next to him. “What is it?”

  But he already knew. Already had his phone in his hand. Was already dialing 911.

  “I’m fine—” Dad’s face contorted, and he closed his eyes, his hands tightening into fists.

  “You’re not—” Spencer cut off as the dispatcher answered.

  He had to push aside the fear gripping his own heart to speak. “I think my father’s having a heart attack.”