His mother, Dr. Jack, and now Rosalind—the burden of losses was too great. No wonder he entertained doubts.
“Nothing will happen to me,” she assured him. “I’m young, like you. I have lots of years ahead of me.”
“Do you floss?”
“Every day.” She reconsidered. “Sometimes I forget when I’m busy. From here on out, I’ll floss every day. You have my word.”
“Aunt Darcy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Where do people go when they die?”
“Someplace better than here.”
“You mean heaven.” Emerson picked up a crimson marble, set it back down.
“I do.”
A tear clung to his lashes. It fell onto the board. “I don’t care if heaven is the nicest place in the whole universe. I don’t want Grandmother to leave. I’ll miss her too much. I’ll miss all her stupid rules.”
The slender bones of his shoulders quaked with sorrow. He was a brave boy, and he made a valiant effort to tame the feelings crashing inside him. But children aren’t capable of managing the most difficult emotions. Their hearts are untested and easily battered. Darcy knew this; Emerson did not. Motherless, with a talent for faking mature behavior, he assumed he could circumvent the tidal wave of grief rolling through him.
Throwing off the comforter, she pulled him onto her lap. When she lay back against the pillows, Emerson curled against her side without prodding, his legs wrapping around her thighs, his head tucked against her breast, as if they had snuggled like this often in the past. Like a mother shielding her child from the harsh reality that life, a haven blessed with sweet beginnings, was also a battleground cursed with bitter endings.
Darcy smoothed a palm down his back. She tucked him tight against her ribs. A sob broke from his chest.
Then he gave his tender heart over to tears.
Chapter 15
Shrugging on a jacket, Michael glanced around the shop. Currents of brisk dawn air rippled the sawdust on the floor. During the short, bleary walk from the house, he’d managed to forget what he’d come out to fetch.
The satisfying aroma of wood filtered through the small barn. The space, attached to the western face of the much larger riding area, was outfitted with table saws, jigsaws, a router table, and all manner of sanding tools. On the nearest table, a stack of Brazilian canary wood snagged his attention. The bird feeder he’d helped Emerson build was tucked behind the lumber.
Slinging the bird feeder beneath his arm, he strode toward the Goodridge estate. It was a safe bet the early-morning visit would roust the honorable judge from sleep.
He didn’t care.
Hopping the fence between the two properties, Michael put his game face on.
He refused to allow Rosalind’s longstanding hatred of his mother destroy the relationship he’d forged with Emerson. Having lost his own father in seventh grade, Michael understood the difficulty of growing up without strong male guidance. Hard, mostly. He’d never forgotten the junior high basketball coach and, later, the high school guidance counselor who’d quietly stepped in to fill the void. Emerson needed the same adult male influence, something lacking until now.
Letting the kid down was out of the question.
In the trees surrounding the Goodridge mansion, squirrels chattered to greet the fast-approaching day. The windows were dark. Brushing past the boxwood lining the stone walkway, Michael put the possibility of running into Darcy out of mind. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her again. The riddle had plagued him throughout a sleepless night.
Swiftly he climbed the front steps. He placed the bird feeder to the left of the door, near the railing and out of sight. It was best to keep the peace offering hidden for now.
Once he cornered Rosalind, he’d set the ground rules. No doubt Emerson would make an appearance before the adults finished talking. After Michael said his piece to Rosalind, he’d encourage her grandson to give her the gift. The eager child had outdone himself, patiently fitting together the joints for the rectangular base and gluing dowels in place for the roof. Together, they’d painted the bird feeder a deep forest green.
There was no telling if the gift would placate the ill-tempered judge. For the boy’s sake, Michael hoped it would.
Next weekend, he planned to take Emerson fishing. They’d visit their favorite spot on the Chagrin River, not too far inside the forest. Saturday or Sunday, whichever day Rosalind sanctioned. Michael would promise to bring her grandson home by nightfall.
He lifted his hand and knocked.
A few moments passed. The door opened.
Mouth agape, Darcy stared at him. “Michael.”
Relief spilled across her features. She looked fetching in white shorts and a purple tank top, her features soft from sleep. She hadn’t yet run a hairbrush through her long hair.
“Good morning.” The electricity crackling between them snapped him fully awake. “On your way out?”
She brushed past him. “Want to tag along? I need to escape.”
The familiar remark sent his thoughts spinning back to childhood. The boredom of life with absentee parents or a recent argument with her mother had predictably sent Darcy into the forest.
“Sure.” Dazed, he watched her bound down the steps.
At a fast clip, she crossed the driveway and rounded the side of the mansion. She was halfway across the back lawn before he caught up. Fir trees clustered between the two properties, where the grass gave way to brushy undergrowth. She darted through the trees.
Rosy light painted the treetops. They ducked into the forest, taking the path they’d used during childhood when their friendship had led them on countless adventures. The ground rose up steadily. The rippling murmur of the Chagrin River filtered through the heavy necklace of trees. On the precipice above the river, moss blanketed the ground, softening their strides as they approached a magnificent tree.
The huge oak clung to the edge of the steepest section of the hillside. It stood like a sentry guarding the dangerous line between safe ground and the thirty-foot drop to the river below. Pinkish light slatted across its massive trunk. Ponderous limbs stretched into the churning air far above the bubbling river.
A stack of large gray stones leaned against the tree’s craggy trunk. Devising the makeshift steps had been an arduous task Michael had undertaken in grade school to make reaching the lowest branches easier. Summer storms often wrecked the steps, making rebuilding them a constant task. At age eleven, he’d finally had the sense to drag a pail of cement through the forest to set the stones permanently in place.
Stooping, Darcy inspected the makeshift steps. “Is the top stone new?” She ran a finger around the diamond-shaped contours. “It doesn’t look familiar.”
“Added last April,” he supplied. “Emerson helped.”
“You bring him here? To our tree?”
Our tree. The possessive remark surprised him. It also, he realized with a start, pleased him more than was sensible.
“I hate to break it to you—from your nephew’s perspective, this is his tree.”
“How far up has he climbed?”
“Not far. He’s still working on his tree-climbing skills.”
Walking around the massive trunk, she peered at the limbs thrust over the steep overhang like giant hands. “You don’t let Emerson climb over the river, do you?”
The question was ironic. When they were children, he’d silently quaked whenever the intrepid Darcy shinnied up the oak tree and out onto a limb. Back then, curiosity won out over risk.
“Emerson knows the rule. He’s only allowed to climb on the forest side.”
She came back around, ascended the steps. With the agility of a child, she caught the lowest limb and hoisted herself into the tree. Leaning against the trunk, she stared at the ground. “My mother is dying,” she said.
“What?”
“She doesn’t have long. At least that’s what she says. I won’t know what to believe until I talk t
o her doctor.”
“You can’t talk to her doctor without her permission.”
“I know, Michael. She promised she’d take care of it.”
“How long does Rosalind believe she has?”
“A few months. Maybe until Christmas—it’s hard to tell. She has amyloidosis.”
“I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s a protein disorder. Amyloid, an abnormal protein made in your bone marrow, gets deposited in your organs. Liver, heart, kidneys—in my mother’s case, the protein is replacing heart muscle.”
“There’s no medical intervention to stop it?”
“There are lots of therapies.” Frustration rippled across Darcy’s brow. “From what I found online, this isn’t the type of disease that usually leads to a death sentence. At least not if caught early. My mother ignored the symptoms. Tingling in her hands and feet, an irregular heartbeat. Lots of fatigue and weakness.”
No wonder Darcy looked wrung out. She’d spent the night searching websites. “How long has your mother been having symptoms?” he asked.
“For a couple of years, at least. It was hard to pin her down.”
“Hold on. Didn’t she mention the symptoms to her doctor?” When Darcy frowned, he expelled a disbelieving breath. “She didn’t?”
“Crazy, right?” Bright spots of color rose beneath the nearly translucent skin of Darcy’s cheeks. Agitated, she hopped down from the tree. “That’s the part I don’t get. It’s not as if the symptoms would disappear if she hid them long enough. Why hide them?”
He suspected they both knew the answer. Rosalind controlled every aspect of her life. She took rigorous care of her physical health. Given her strong-willed nature, she’d undoubtedly believed in her ability to outwit the symptoms. If she ignored them long enough, they would disappear.
She’d believed her tenacious hold on life was stronger than any threat.
Michael asked, “If she kept this to herself, how did she receive a diagnosis?”
“She blacked out in court. Slid right out of her chair and crumpled behind the judge’s bench. The defense attorney arguing the case before her thought she was having a heart attack. A woman on the jury totally freaked out.”
“Pandemonium in the courtroom.”
“Basically. It takes hell breaking loose for my mother to face health issues she shouldn’t have avoided.” Behind the oak tree, a scattering of birds arrowed down to the riverbank. Grim-faced, Darcy watched their descent. “She was hospitalized for several days. A cardiologist did the biopsy of her heart.”
“And gave the diagnosis?”
Darcy nodded. “She took an immediate leave of absence, which she’s now making permanent. The only option left is to get on a heart transplant list. She informed me and Latrice in no uncertain terms that she won’t consider it. A minor issue, since she’s not a great candidate. Or so she says. I won’t buy the explanation until I talk to her doctor.”
“What happens now?”
“From what I understand, amyloidosis reduces the heart’s ability to fill with blood between heartbeats. That’s why she blacked out. She’ll have more episodes going forward. More dizziness.” Darcy grimaced. “Shortness of breath . . . and more pain.”
“You’ll have to stop her from driving,” he said, imagining the arguments sure to follow. “Gird yourself for battle. Your mother won’t relinquish her mobility without a fight.”
“Tell me about it. Latrice and I are mapping out a schedule—we’ll need extra help, including a visiting nurse later on. A home health aide even sooner. I’m not ready for the battles to come.”
“Does Emerson know? He’s been worried about her. I’ll wager he’s been worried about her for longer than he’s let on.”
“He’s the reason the rest of us know anything. Last night, he cornered her with the strangest question.”
“Let me guess. He asked if she was nearing her expiration date?” When Darcy looked at him swiftly, Michael added, “There’s not much that gets past your nephew. He’s known something was up. Maybe he saw Rosalind have a dizzy spell, or noticed other symptoms.”
“All the more reason why he wanted me to come back.” An air of regret followed Darcy’s movements as she scrubbed her palms across her face. She was only beginning to process the changes sweeping into her life. “After my mother revealed the basics, Emerson ran upstairs. I stayed with him until he fell asleep.”
“He’ll need all the love you can give him.”
“I won’t let him down.”
“I know you won’t.”
She hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear, her expression gaining an admirable level of focus. For a woman more adventurous than steady, the change was fascinating to behold.
“Michael, we’ll need to keep Emerson busy this summer,” she said.
He caught the bright pronoun: we. She believed his participation was important; the assumption warmed him. “That’s a good plan,” he agreed.
“Watching his grandmother’s decline will be difficult. I don’t want him obsessing about what will come. I wish he hadn’t dropped out of all his summer activities.”
“It’s not his fault. Rosalind makes enemies wherever she goes. By extension, Emerson catches the flack.”
“Is there anyone in Geauga County my mother hasn’t antagonized?”
“I’m sure there are a few holdouts,” Michael remarked dryly. Considering, he added, “Strange how things change. Before Rosalind put my mother on the blacklist, she had lots of friends. All those women on the country club circuit. I’ve always wondered if their falling out led those mutual friends to pick my mother over Rosalind.”
“Don’t waste your time attempting to unravel the secret.” Darcy appraised the leafy dome above them. “I need to schedule a sit-down with my mother’s doctor,” she mused, switching track. “How quickly will she decline? Do I need to hire a visiting nurse immediately? And most important, are there any viable options to stop the disease?” Her eyes watering, she inhaled a deep breath.
A flurry of questions streamed through Michael’s head. Was Darcy up to the task? And what about Rosalind? Her ability to accept help from her estranged daughter wasn’t a sure bet.
Only time would tell. Still, Darcy seemed ready to shoulder the hardships. It seemed a selfless decision—little more than Rosalind’s cruelty and petty grudges bound them together.
The conversation finished, they left the forest.
Darcy asked, “Do I owe you an apology for dragging you on a walk?” To her surprise, spending time with Michael was easier than anticipated. “I doubt you planned on traipsing through the woods first thing this morning.”
“It’s fine. I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“Do you want to see Emerson? I’m guessing that’s why you stopped over.”
“Actually, I want to see Rosalind.” Matching her pace, Michael explained about his plan to begin taking Emerson on scheduled outings. Summing up, he added, “Should I come back later? All things considered, this isn’t the best time to argue my case.”
“As if there is a good time.” Darcy hesitated. “How will you change her mind? She’s told Emerson to avoid all members of the Varano family.”
“If Rosalind wants assurances I’ll keep her precious grandson away from my mother and Tippi, I’ll promise to follow the rule—for now,” he clarified with a gratifying note of determination. Evidently, he’d given this a great deal of thought. “It’s time for things to change. Rosalind has spent too many years building a wall between our families.”
“A big wall. Don’t expect it to come crashing down with one lobbying effort.”
“Just watch me. I intend to dismantle it brick by brick. Not because I care to analyze what went wrong in the first place or have any interest in patching up our mothers’ broken friendship. My interest begins and ends with your nephew. The war games will end—for Emerson’s sake.”
His sincerity threaded hope through Darcy. Could Michae
l normalize relations between their families? The coming months promised to bring many difficulties. Having Nella and Tippi nearby for emotional comfort would be a gift. Emerson would need their support.
Darcy knew she would too.
“You love my nephew,” she said, moved by the knowledge.
“Growing up surrounded by women isn’t easy for a boy. At least I had my father for most of my childhood.”
“He was a nice man.” Unlike her own father, Joseph Varano had been a hands-on dad, finding time in his busy schedule for Michael—and Darcy. Silently, she was grateful that the loving parenting Michael had known in childhood would now benefit her nephew. Which made her add, “Emerson does need you to lean on, now more than ever. He hasn’t even begun to process what my mother told us last night.”
“It will be hard for you too, Darcy. We aren’t built to accept death without a fight—our own death or a loved one’s.”
“Which is why I plan to fight. I don’t care what my mother says. There must be something we can do.”
“I’m glad you’re not giving up. She’s agreed to let you talk to her doctor?”
“She has.”
“Check out all the options. If you find something viable, don’t back down until you get her on board.” Michael gave her a knowing glance. “While you’re navigating her care, try not to be too hard on yourself. You have a bad habit of beating yourself up. Or have you turned over a new leaf?”
“I wish,” she murmured. They reached the patio, and she drew him to a stop. “Question.”
“Anything.”
“Going forward, how should I approach my mother’s illness with Emerson? Wait until he’s ready to talk? Draw him out? He’s awfully precise for a kid.”
Michael grinned. “And too smart for his own good.”
“I don’t want to scare him with too many details or seem evasive if he does want the facts. I’ve begun looking into support groups, and there’s a good child psychologist in Chagrin Falls. But I don’t want to leave everything to the professionals. I want to be there for Emerson.”
Breaking off, she cringed beneath a sudden wave of embarrassment. Foisting all of this on Michael felt wrong. It was kindness enough that he appeared open to easing them back into the friendship they’d once enjoyed. He seemed willing to overlook the complications that had come later, when they began dating.
The Road She Left Behind Page 17
