“Don’t worry about trying. I can come, if it’s okay with you.” Why he’d said that he had no idea.
“Hi, Mom. No, I’m … out at the fair.” She licked her lips, while Clint handed money to the man in the funnel cake booth. “I know, I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-minute thing. A friend invited me.”
She listened again, her face turning pink. “No, it’s not a guy friend.”
Pretend feathers all over his body began to ruffle and quiver in outrage as he accepted two plates from the vender. Uh … he could show her he was a guy, if she needed proof. Scratch that. She’d already seen the proof.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, Mother.” She rolled her eyes and glanced back at him. “You did what? How did you get his number?”
Her lips tightened, and she plopped down on a nearby bench, shutting her eyes for a second. “That’s right. I forgot I left his card on the refrigerator. What were you doing at my house, anyway?”
Clint shifted beside her, uneasy about listening in on the conversation.
“Mom, you are going to spoil Cooper rotten. You know he has a weigh-in coming up.”
Cooper? He set one of the plates on her lap and kept the other for himself. Did Jessi have another boyfriend? Visions of some muscle-bound hunk lounging in her bed came to mind.
No, she would have said something to him.
And exactly when had he given her the chance? He’d asked about Larry, but not about any other man who might be waiting in the wings.
“What? Clint already agreed to come? Wow, he sounds a little desperate, doesn’t he?”
She stuck her tongue out at him, just as he took a bite of his fried cake, making him relax in his seat. “Okay, I’m about done here, so I’ll start heading back that way. Love you.”
He hadn’t exactly agreed to go, and he was glad Jessi had heard for herself his side of the conversation. His smile widened. It would seem Mrs. Spencer could play loose and easy with rules, too.
She got off the phone and picked her cake up with a napkin he held out to her.
“Desperate, am I?” He didn’t try to hide the wry tone to his voice.
“What could I do? If I said you couldn’t come to dinner, she’d make up her own conclusions. And I couldn’t exactly admit that you were sitting right next to me, eating funnel cake, could I?”
That part was his fault. He’d been the one to pretend they weren’t together.
“So who’s Cooper?” He dropped the question as if it were no big deal. Which it wasn’t.
“A communal beagle,” she said, as she swallowed. “Mmm … that’s good stuff.”
Also good was the dot of powdered sugar on her lower lip. One he was just able to refrain from licking off.
“A communal … beagle?”
Her tongue sailed across her lip, whisking away the sugar. “Okay, I guess that does sound weird. He adopted me about a year ago … came waddling up to the door and scratched on it. No one ever claimed him, so Mom and I have been caring for him between the two of us. He’s on a diet. Supposedly.” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she went on, “When I have to work late, Mom takes him to her house. You’ll probably meet him tonight. Since you’re evidently coming to dinner.”
She munched down on another piece of cake, moaning in enjoyment. “That is if you still have room for food after this.”
“You haven’t asked me if I had plans for the evening.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Do you?”
“No. But I don’t want to make things any harder for you than they already are.” The tortured look when she’d discovered her daughter’s pregnancy came back to haunt him. “I know this isn’t easy, Jess.”
“No, it’s not.” She paused, setting her food back on her plate. “Can you let me set the tone of the conversation? Mom will just worry herself sick if she knew the extent of what Chelsea is facing. And she hasn’t seemed herself recently either. She was on antidepressants for several years, so it has me worried.”
He frowned, surprised by the information. But people sometimes hid their problems well. “Does she know about the suicide attempt?”
“Yes. But she wasn’t there when it happened. She only knew … afterwards.”
He touched her hand. “You sure you want me to come?”
“I’m not sure of anything right now. But Mom is right. Chelsea is her granddaughter. One she hasn’t seen in over two months. It’s time to start letting her know what’s going on. I—I just want to feed her the information in bits she can process. She’s been through a lot in the past five years.”
Since her husband’s death.
“I understand.” He withdrew his hand and sat up straighter. “I’ll let you answer specific questions, and I can fill in any of the medical gaps. How does that sound?”
“Perfect. Thanks so much, Clint.”
Well, at least she hadn’t thrown his card away. Then again, she hadn’t kept it in her wallet either. “If you’re done, I’ll take you back to the house. I’m pretty sure you don’t want us arriving in the same car.”
She handed him her plate and waited until he’d thrown them both in a nearby trash receptacle to answer.
“Probably not a good idea.” She smiled and stood to her feet. As they made their way back to the parking area, Clint had one thought. He hoped tonight went a whole lot better than his day had.
Jessi’s plans for a relaxing evening at home looked like they were shot to hell. Between helping her mom set the table and dragging her makeup bag from her purse to touch up the dark circles under her eyes, she was getting more and more antsy. It was one thing to spend a few relaxing hours at the fair. It was another thing entirely to eat a meal with him while her mother grilled them about Chelsea’s condition, which of course she would.
She’d just put the last swipe of mascara on her lashes when the doorbell rang and Cooper started up with the baying his breed was famous for. She froze, the makeup wand still in her right hand. Sucking down a breath, she quickly shoved it back in the tube, blinked at herself in the bathroom mirror and headed to get the door.
By the time she got halfway down the stairs she saw her mother had beaten her to it, apron wrapped around her waist. The door opened, and Cooper bumbled forward to greet the newcomer.
As Clint bent to pet the dog, Jessi couldn’t help but stare. He’d evidently showered as well, because his hair was still damp. Dressed in a red polo shirt that hugged his shoulders and snug black jeans that hugged other—more dangerous—parts, he looked better than any funnel cake she’d ever had. He straightened and went over to kiss her mother’s cheek, while Cooper continued to snuffle and groan at his ankles.
His eyes came up. Met hers across the room.
A sting of awareness rippled through her as his gaze slid over her white peasant shirt and dark-wash jeans before coming back up to her face. One side of his mouth pulled up into something that might have been a smile. Then again, it could have just as easily been classified as a modified grimace. Either way, the action caused that crease in his cheek to deepen and her heart rate to shoot through the roof.
Sexy man. Sexy smile. Stupid girl.
Hurrying the rest of the way down the stairs, she grabbed Cooper’s collar and tugged him back into the house, while greeting Clint with as much nonchalance as she could muster under the circumstances. “Glad you could make it.”
Not that there’d been much choice on either of their parts. Her mom had made sure of that. And right now the woman was the perfect hostess, ushering Clint in and offering him a drink, which he declined. That surprised her. He’d been such a rebel in high school that everyone had assumed that he’d played it loose and easy with alcohol, although she’d never actually seen him touch the stuff.
Her mom glanced at her in question, but Jessi shook her head. She needed all her wits about her if this evening was going to go according to plan. If she could help it, they were going to avoid talking about Chelsea as much as possible, and
when her mom pressed for information, she would be honest but gloss over some of the more depressing aspects of her granddaughter’s present situation. Like the fact that she either didn’t want to talk about what had precipitated her suicide attempt, or she had simply blocked out that portion of her life. Who knew which it was? And it wasn’t like Clint had had much time to get to the bottom of things. He’d been her doctor for, what … a little under a week?
“You look lovely,” Clint said to her once her mom had gone to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on their meal. Cooper, obviously hoping for a few dropped morsels, puttered along behind her.
“Thank you.” She bit her lip. “I’m really, really sorry you got caught in the middle of this.”
“It’s fine. I haven’t had a homemade meal in …” He paused. “Well, it’s been a while.”
A while since someone had cooked for him? Jessi found that hard to believe. A man like Clint wouldn’t have any trouble finding dates. He was even better looking now than he’d been in high school, although she never would have believed that possible. Gangly and rebellious as a teenager, he had filled out, not only physically—which was impressive enough—but he now had a maturity about him that had been lacking all those years ago. Oh, he’d made all the girls, including her, nervous wrecks back then. But as a man—well, she’d be hard pressed to say he wasn’t breathtaking in a totally masculine way. From the self-assured smile to the confidence he exuded, he gave her more than a glimmer of hope that this was a man who could help her daughter.
“Have a seat,” she told him. “Mom will be back any minute, and I’d like to set some quick ground rules. Like I said earlier, I haven’t told her much about Chelsea’s behavior—she knows about the suicide attempt, but not much about her time at the hospital. I wanted to keep it simple until I felt like there was some ho—”
Her voice cracked as an unexpected wave of emotion splashed over her, blocking the one word she wanted to believe in.
“Until you felt like there was some hope?” He finished the sentence for her. “There’s always hope, Jess. I think we’ll start seeing a little more progress in the coming weeks.”
He shifted to face her. “Exactly what do you want me to say to your mom? I’m not comfortable with lying.”
And yet he’d been the one to suggest she lie to her father about what happened after she’d run out of the gym during graduation all those years ago. To protect himself from her dad’s wrath? Or to protect her?
Maybe it had been a little of both.
“I don’t expect you to lie. You said there’s always hope. If you could just keep that as a running theme when you talk about Chelsea, it would help Mom feel better.”
“She’s going to ask to see her, you know. Is there a reason you don’t want her to?”
“I’m worried about her, like I told you earlier. I want to … be there when she sees Chelsea.”
And I want you to have time to work your magic first. She didn’t say the words, but she wanted them to be true. She trusted him. Why that was she couldn’t say. She hadn’t seen them interact that much. But he’d said he’d do his very best for Chelsea and she believed him. She just hoped it was enough.
Five minutes later, they were called into dinner. Cooper settled under the table with his head propped on Clint’s right foot, despite all her efforts to deter him.
“He’s fine,” Clint said. “As long as he doesn’t expect me to share any of that delicious-looking brisket.”
They all laughed, and Jessi gave a quick sigh of relief. She’d half expected her mom to grill Clint on Chelsea’s prognosis from the moment they sat down, but it was mostly small talk as Jessi munched lettuce leaves with nerves that were as crackly as the salad. The feared topic didn’t hit until they were halfway through her mom’s famed brisket, which, despite being as succulent as ever, was getting tougher and tougher for her to force down.
“Jessi tells me that she thinks Chelsea is dealing with PTSD. Is that what you’re seeing, as well?”
Clint dabbed his mouth with his napkin and nodded. “We see quite a number of veterans who come back with issues related to what they’ve seen and done.”
“Does that mean you have some ideas on how to proceed?”
Jessi’s eyes jerked to his and found him watching her. She put her fork on the table as she waited for him to answer.
“We’re keeping our options open at the moment. I’m still working through the notes from her previous doctor.”
“That’s right. I forgot you’d just moved home. What perfect timing. Or were you just so homesick that you couldn’t bear to stay away any longer?”
Jessi sucked down too much of the water she’d been sipping and choked for a second, but Clint didn’t miss a beat. “Doctors are transferred to other locations on a regular basis, just like any other member of the armed forces.” He gave a rueful twist of the mouth. “We both know about that, don’t we?”
Way to go, Clint. Find something you have in common and use it to evade the real question.
Kind of like he’d done when she’d asked him why he had to leave the day after graduation. “I’ve already signed the papers, and that’s when they told me to show up” had been his answer. She’d bought it at the time. But now? She had a feeling he’d just wanted to avoid her making any demands on him after their shared time together.
Which stung even more now than it had when he’d said the words.
Jessi’s mom smiled back. “I’m sure you’ve done your share of moving, just like we did when Jessi was little.” She paused then said, “I’m really glad you’re back, though, and that you’ll be the one treating Chelsea.”
Clint’s face registered surprise. “Why is that?”
Cutting into another section of her meat, her mom glanced up with a hint of sadness mixed with what looked like relief. “Because you, more than anyone, know what it’s like to live with the effects of PTSD.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE ROOM WAS silent for five long seconds.
Clint knew, because he counted every damn tick of the clock. He hadn’t told Jessi or anyone else about his dad and the problems he’d had. Could his mom have mentioned it to Abigail or someone else from their past?
Worse, did Jessi know?
Even as the questions ducked through his cerebral cortex, looking for a believable response, he thought he saw pity flit through Jessi’s eyes, although right now her mouth was hanging open in shock.
But, eventually, he had to say something. The ache in his pinky finger sprang to life, reminding him of all the reasons he’d decided to join the military and leave Jessi far behind. He clenched his fist to rid himself of the sensation and made a decision.
He was going to tell the truth. Air his dirty laundry—at least about his father. After all these years.
“Yes. I do know.”
Jessi’s fork clattered to her plate, and her mouth snapped shut. “Mom, I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to blurt out at the dinner table.”
Wounded green eyes, so like her daughter’s, widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just assumed that everyone knew—”
“It’s okay,” Clint said, his thumb scrubbing across the crooked joint, a habit he used as a daily reminder of why his job was so crucial. Because PTSD didn’t affect just the individual soldier … it affected everyone around them, as well. “I didn’t talk about my problems much. And for a long time I didn’t realize that something could be done.”
Jessi finally spoke up. “You had PTSD?”
“No. My dad did. It was back when I was in high school.”
Differing emotions flickered through her eyes. Sadness. Shock. Then finally the one he’d hoped never to see: guilt.
“Clint, I—” Her tongue flicked across her lips. “You never told any of us.”
“Would you have?”
He knew she’d catch the inference. That her father—a tough army boot-camp instructor—had been vehement in his opposition t
o her being involved with anyone in the military. After Mrs. Spencer’s words, he now wondered if it was because Jessi’s dad and the entire base had witnessed the hell his mom had gone through because of his dad. Because of the way he’d used the bottle to blot out the demons related to his war deployment. It hadn’t worked. He’d just created a living hell for everyone around him. Clint wouldn’t want any daughter of his to go through what his mom had on a daily basis.
Whatever Mr. Spencer’s reasons, it had ended up saving Clint’s hide down at that creek. It—and his enlistment papers—had given him the perfect out for leaving Richmond. He’d jumped at the excuse, although he now realized that’s all it had been. An excuse. He’d been afraid of his dad and for his dad. Had run away from the possibility that he might turn out to be just like him. But most of all, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know the shame he’d felt.
The irony was, they had known, according to Abigail.
“No,” Jessi said. “I wouldn’t have shared my secrets with just anyone.”
The hint of accusation in her voice was unmistakable. Because she had shared her secret with someone: him. But he hadn’t returned the favor by telling her his. Maybe because he hadn’t wanted to add any more to her plate. Maybe because the only thing he’d wanted at the time had been to erase the pain in her eyes.
Instead, he’d ended up making love to her and adding to his long list of sins. Which included leaving her the very next day. He’d thought it was to protect her.
Not that it had done any good. Jessi’s own daughter was now struggling with trauma related to her military service, so he hadn’t ended up protecting her from anything. Just his own ugly past and uncertain future.
Little had she known back then that he had harbored a secret crush on her. Maybe it had been part of the whole badass, wanting-to-redeem-himself syndrome. The same reason he’d enlisted. A need to redeem himself and maybe even his father—or at least to make peace with what had happened.
Clint’s job, though, had turned into a passion he just couldn’t shake. In some small measure he had redeemed himself. Each time he was able to help an emotionally wounded soldier have a shot at a normal life, he was somehow giving his father the help he’d never received when he’d been alive. And in doing that—Clint flexed his damaged finger again—he helped protect their sons and daughters.
Summer of Love Page 35
