Summer of Love

by Marie Ferrarella

“Were you?” Chelsea’s lips slid into a smile. “Guess you decided to stop by and see my doctor first.”

  Pink turned to bright red that swept up high cheekbones like twin beacons of guilt.

  Chelsea waved away her mother’s discomfiture and stood up to catch her hand. “Anyway, I’m glad you did, because we have something to tell you.”

  “We do?”

  “You do?”

  He and Jessi both spoke at once, then their eyes met. Hers faintly accusing as she met him stare for stare. She was the first to look away, though.

  Chelsea blinked as she glanced from one to the other. “I don’t actually mean ‘we’ because I kind of sprang this on Dr. Marks.”

  That was one way of putting it.

  She glanced at him again. “Is it okay if I tell her?”

  “That’s completely up to you.” He had to force the words out as invisible walls began to close in around him. So much for his quick, silent escape. What a damn mess. No matter which way he spun, seeking the nearest exit, he only dug himself in deeper and deeper.

  Pulling her mom over to the chairs, they both sat down, then Chelsea told Jessi what she’d told him, in almost exactly the same way. As if she’d been rehearsing the words over and over until she’d got them perfect.

  His insides coiled tighter.

  Once her voice died away there was silence in the room, except for Clint’s phone, which gave a faint pinging sound as it received a message of some type.

  Jessi licked her lips, her gaze flicking to Clint for a mere second before going to rest on her daughter. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

  “I asked Dr. Marks about letting the group come … and I invited him, as well. He said he’d be there, if he was still in Richmond.”

  “‘Still in Richmond’?”

  The words curled around a note of hurt, the sound splashing over him in a bitter wave.

  This wasn’t how he’d wanted her to hear the news.

  Chelsea’s hand covered her mother’s. “No, I mean he said that if I had the service five years from now, he might have been transferred somewhere else by then.”

  Jessi’s body relaxed slightly.

  Did she care that he might move away?

  Of course not. She had to know as well as he did how utterly foolish it would be for them to go any further than they already had. And she’d withdrawn a little over the past week, changing their working relationship into one of professionals who were collaborating on a patient they had in common. Only to Jessi she was no patient. She was her daughter—someone she loved with all her heart and soul. He saw the truth of it each time the women looked at each other and in the way Chelsea touched her mom, as if needing the reassurance of her presence.

  To be loved like that would be …

  Impossible. For him, anyway.

  And he needed to pull himself together before someone realized how jumbled his emotions had become.

  “Of course I’ll be there.” The words came out before he had time to fully vet them. So he added, “If I can.”

  “When do you want to do this?” Jessi’s voice became stronger, as if she saw this as a way for her daughter to close this chapter in her life and move on to the next one. One that Clint hoped with all his being would be full of laughter and happiness. This family deserved nothing less, they’d been through so much over the years.

  He did not need to add more junk to the pile. They both had enough to deal with right now. He decided to change the subject. “How’s your mom?”

  “Good. The home nurse is with her this morning. She’s getting stronger every day. In fact, she said today that finding out … er … finding out about her blockage might have been one of the most positive, life-affirming experiences she’d ever gone through. She feels tons better and is raring to get out of bed and go back to work on her garden and play with Cooper.” Jessi shook her head and squeezed Chelsea’s hand. “I think I know where you got your stubbornness from.”

  “Mine?”

  Laughing, Jessi said, “Okay, mine, too.”

  That was one thing Clint could attest to. This was one strong trio of women, despite the momentary flashes of pain that manifested themselves in physical reactions: Abigail’s heart blockage. Chelsea’s suicide attempt. Jessi’s reaching out to an old flame during a crisis?

  Yes. That was exactly it.

  It should have made him feel better—set his mind at ease about leaving in the months ahead. Instead, a cold draft slid through his body and circled, looking for a place to land. He cleared his throat to chase it away. It didn’t work. It lay over him in a gray haze that clung to everything in sight, just like the morning dew. What it touched, it marked.

  And that mark was …

  Love.

  He reeled back in his seat for a second, trying to process and conceal all at the same time.

  He loved her? Heaven help him.

  How could he have let this happen? Any of it? All of it?

  He had screwed up badly. Had let his emotions get the best of him, just like he always had when he was around this woman.

  The transfer papers seemed to pulse at him from beneath the binder with new urgency. The sooner he did this the better.

  And his promise to Chelsea?

  “What do you think Nana would want me to do?” Even as his own thoughts were in shambles, Chelsea’s were on the brink of closing old wounds and letting them heal.

  “I think Nana would want you to be happy, honey.”

  “Can we have the service next week, then? I don’t know how long the members of the group will keep coming to sessions. We can have a private memorial for just our family later, if Nana feels up to it.”

  “We can have it anytime you want.”

  And in that moment he knew he had to see this through. He had to be there for Jessi, just as she had to be there for Chelsea. Abigail wasn’t up to taking on that role yet. And Larry was no longer there.

  And he wanted to. Wasn’t that what love was about? Sacrificing your own comfort and well-being for someone else’s?

  Like he’d done once upon a time?

  He peered into the past with new eyes. Eyes that saw the truth.

  He’d loved her even then. Even as he’d been preparing to hand her over to another man. One whose father didn’t drink himself into a rage and let his fists do the talking.

  A normal, mundane life.

  Something Clint hadn’t been able to give her. Because back then he’d had anger issues, too. Toward his father, who’d dished it out. Toward his mom, who’d sat there and taken it. Toward the world in general, for turning a blind eye toward what had been going on in homes like his.

  The military had helped him conquer most of his anger, but only because it had instilled discipline in its place, and had channeled his negative energy into positive areas.

  But his life still wasn’t peaceful. It was filled with patients like Chelsea, who scrabbled and clawed to find some kind of normalcy.

  Jessi had been through enough. She’d deserved better than him back then, and she still did today.

  She deserved a professor or architect or poet. A man who brought beauty into her life. Not memories of days gone by.

  I’m going to have to give her up all over again.

  And he was going to have a few more scars to show for it.

  He realized both pairs of female eyes were on his face, both wearing identical expressions of confusion. One of them had said something.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Chelsea bit her lip. “I asked if next Sunday would work for you? Or do you have other plans?”

  “No. No plans.” Once he’d said it, he realized he could have come up with an excuse. Like what? A date? That would go over really well with Jessi. Besides, he’d meant what he’d thought earlier. He wanted to be there for her … and for Chelsea. Like the family he’d never had?

  Maybe. Maybe it was okay to pretend just for a few hours—to soak up something he’d never be able to have in r
eal life.

  Like a wife and daughter?

  Yes.

  Even if they both belonged to a man who could no longer be there for them.

  So he would act as a stand-in once again. For an hour. Maybe two. And he could pray that somehow it was enough to get him through the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SHE WANTED TO hold Clint’s hand, but she couldn’t.

  Not in a cemetery, while mourning a tiny life that had been snuffed out before its time. Standing next to him would have to be enough.

  Only it was so hard. Hard to remain there without touching him.

  Curling her fingers into her palms, she forced them to stay by her sides as a chaplain she’d never met talked about life and death … commemorating a granddaughter she’d also never met.

  A hand touched hers. Not Clint’s, but Chelsea’s. Her daughter’s fingers were icy cold, her expression grim, eyes moist with grief as the minister continued to speak.

  “In the same way this marker serves as a reminder that a tiny life was placed into Your loving arms, we, like Marie Elizabeth Riley, need to place our trust and hope in You, the Author and Finisher of our faith, that we will one day see her as she was meant to be. Whole and full of life …”

  The sudden rush of tears to eyes that had been dry took Jessi by surprise, overriding whatever else the chaplain was saying. She fumbled in her purse, letting go of Chelsea’s hand for a second as she searched for a tissue.

  Clint, still, solemn and heartbreakingly handsome in a dark blue suit, pressed a handkerchief into her trembling hands. She glanced up at him to find him watching her, something dark and inscrutable in his gray eyes. Was he irritated at her for blubbering? But this baby would have been her first grandchild … would have probably survived if Chelsea had had access to health care.

  And that was another thing that had driven her daughter crazy with guilt. All those what-ifs. If she had just spoken up … if she’d admitted she was pregnant, instead of fearing a reprimand or, worse, of being sent home in flurry of paperwork and inner shame … if she’d told her captors the truth. The baby’s father had never been notified. Chelsea saw no reason to cause trouble for a man with whom she’d had a one-night stand.

  Jessi knew what that was like. She’d had two of them. Both with the same man.

  The chaplain asked everyone to bow their heads, so Jessi closed her eyes. And felt a hand to her right clasp hers once again. Chelsea.

  And then, out of nowhere, warm fingers enveloped her other hand, lacing between hers.

  Clint.

  Oh, God. The tears flowed all over again. She’d wanted to hold his hand, and he’d not only read her mind, he’d found a way to accomplish the impossible.

  A flicker of hope came to life in her chest.

  Maybe it wasn’t impossible. He had certainly made love to her like she’d meant something to him.

  Then again, he’d done the same thing all those years ago. Maybe it was different now. They were both older. Wiser. They’d both lived through things many people never had to experience.

  She tightened her grip around both hands, allowing herself to feel connected to him in a way that had nothing to do with sex. Or need. But was something deeper. More profound.

  No.

  Not happening.

  And yet he’d made the impossible possible.

  As the prayer went on, Clint gave her hand a quick squeeze, then released it.

  When she peeked between her lashes, she saw that she wasn’t the only one who had a male hand linked with hers. The young man next to Chelsea stood so close their shoulders and arms touched. And his index finger was twined around her daughter’s.

  She swallowed. Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself believe. Just like the chaplain said.

  The seed took root and spread throughout her being, twisting around her heart and lungs until she wasn’t sure where they started and the belief ended. Maybe that was the way it was meant to be.

  She could talk to Clint. Somehow find out if he felt the same way. Surely he did. Otherwise why would he have held her hand?

  Because she’d been crying? Maybe. That was why it was important to talk to him. And she would. Just as soon as the service was over, and she’d made sure her daughter was okay. Her mom was at home. They still hadn’t told Chelsea about the circumstances behind the heart episode, and they’d both agreed to keep that quiet. Her mom also felt it was best for her to stay at home for this particular event. Neither of them wanted anything to mar the service. And although Jessi trusted Clint not to say anything, one of them could inadvertently let something slip without realizing it.

  The prayer ended, and Chelsea took the white rose in her hand and gently kissed the bloom, then placed it across the bronze marker that had been set in the lush grass beside Larry’s grave. Grass that hadn’t needed to be turned up, since there was no body to bury this time. The back of Jessi’s throat burned. Larry would have loved his daughter. And his granddaughter, if he’d been able to see past his own hurt and pride. Two lives, needlessly lost.

  But at least there was now a place where Chelsea could come and remember—along with a concrete bench that had been placed at the foot of the graves, a gift from her mother. She hoped they could come here each year and remember.

  The service ended with a flautist from their church playing “Amazing Grace,” the light, bright sound of the instrument giving the hymn a sense of hope and peace. It’s what Chelsea had wanted, and as her daughter moved to stand beside the same young man as before, a quick glance was shared between the two of them. Jessi looked at him a little more closely. Surely it was a good thing that her daughter was beginning to look past the pain in her heart and see a future that was brimming with possibilities.

  Like Jessi herself was?

  When she gave Clint a sideways look, she saw that his attention was also on the pair. She could have sworn a flash of envy crossed his expression before disappearing. His gaze met hers, and he nodded to show her he had noticed, then he leaned close, his breath brushing across her ear as he murmured, “Try not to worry. Paul’s a good man.”

  Words hung on the tip of her tongue, then spilled past her lips. “So are you, Clinton Marks.”

  His intake of breath was probably not audible to anyone except him, but even so he froze for several seconds at her comment, while his brain played it over and over in that same breathy little whisper.

  She thought he was a good man?

  Emotion swelled in his throat, and he forced himself to stand up straight before he did something rash right in front of her late husband’s grave. Like crush her in his arms and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. Tell her that he loved her and would always be there for her.

  As the last notes of the song died away, people began to filter out of the cemetery. Chelsea leaned over to Jessi and said, “I’ll see you later on at Nana’s?”

  “I probably won’t be there for a few hours, okay? There’s something I need to do first,” said Jess.

  “Okay.” The two women embraced for several long seconds then broke apart. Paul walked her daughter over to her car and held the door open, leaning over to tell her something before closing it.

  “What do you have to do?” Clint asked.

  If he was smart, he’d say his goodbyes right now before he got caught up in some kind of sentimental voyage that would end with him dragging her back to his place.

  “I thought we might go back to my house for a little while.”

  He waited for her to tack a valid reason on to the end of that phrase. But she didn’t. Instead, she simply waited for him to respond to the request. One that had come right on the heels of her other shocking comment.

  He should end it right now. Cut her short before she could say anything else with a brusque, “Not a good idea and you know it.”

  Right. He could no more bring himself to say something like that than the moon could grow an oxygen-rich atmosphere. Or maybe it could, because right no
w he was having trouble catching his breath and his head felt like it was ready shut down.

  He glanced back at the markers, Larry’s name biting deep into his senses and grinding them into something he no longer recognized. Needing to get away before it took another chunk from him, he said, “Sounds good. Are you ready?”

  “Do you want to follow me back?”

  Honey, I’d follow you anywhere, if I could.

  Maybe things weren’t as dire as he’d painted them. Would it be so bad if he and Jessi somehow tried to make a go of things?

  That paper on his desk came to mind. He could just tear it up and dump it in his waste can, and no one would be the wiser.

  The thought grew as they walked to the parking lot together. With no one else around, Clint took her hand again, gripping it with an almost desperate sense of reverence. This woman did it for him. She met him right at his point of deepest need. And she had no idea.

  And if she wanted to go back to her place and discuss Chelsea’s case, he was going to be crushed with disappointment. Because he wanted her. In the past. Right now in the present. And in the days that stretched far into the future.

  Whether or not any of that was possible was another matter. But maybe he shouldn’t worry about leaping right to the end of this particular book. Maybe he should turn one page at a time and savor each moment as it came.

  Because who knew how long anything in this life was going to last? Wasn’t today a reminder of that?

  He saw her to her car and smiled when he did the exact same thing young Paul had done. Opened her door for her and then leaned across it. Only instead of saying something, he kissed her. Right on the mouth. Right in the middle of a public parking lot.

  And he didn’t give a rip who saw him.

  One page at a time. And he was loving the current chapter because, instead of a quick peck and retreat, Jessi’s lips clung to his for several long seconds. When he finally forced himself to pull back, she gave him a brilliant smile. “I think we’re on the same page.”

  A roll of shock swished through him. Coincidence. It had to be. Unless Jessi had suddenly become a mind-reader.

  Then again, he found it pretty damned hard to hide his feelings from this particular woman. They bubbled up and out before he could contain them. That’s what had gotten him into trouble when they’d been in high school and again a couple of weeks ago. It was impossible to be near her and not want to touch her. Hold her. Make love to her.