The Sweater Next Door

by Callie Cole

  My mother’s voice is as clear as if she were standing behind me. “You can do this, Laney. You can do anything you put your mind to. Don’t be afraid. You’ve got this.”

  She was my biggest cheerleader, and yet I wasn’t here when she needed me. I wasn’t holding her hand. I never gave her the words of encouragement she needed in those last days because all I could think about was myself. I figured I had time. Did she know that I loved her?

  An all too familiar feeling hits my heart, and the tears I’ve held back these last few days finally fall.

  Chapter 3

  It wasn’t until later that first night, sleeping alone in the house, that I noticed something seemed off. I thought stress and the lack of sleep was to blame, but as the time passes, it feels more like someone is watching me.

  Last night I distinctly remember seeing my mother’s basket of yarn on the floor in the craft room, but now it’s sitting in the corner of my bedroom. It’s not really a craft room, but rather my sister’s old bedroom where my mother keeps all of her knitting and sewing things.

  There is no way I would have moved it. I try to remember if maybe Emily moved it for some reason. I wouldn’t have noticed it, except we’ve had some chilly nights, and so when I went to close the window, I tripped over the basket.

  Now, looking out the window, I can see Patrick and Ella sitting on their back porch steps. He is brushing her long hair, putting it in a French braid.

  I’ve never known a man who knows how to braid hair, let alone a French braid. I can barely do that myself.

  Ella looks up as if she can see me in the window. I move slightly to the left of the curtains, not wanting to seem like I’m spying.

  Patrick looks like he just got out of bed. He is wearing pajama bottoms and a large tan sweater, exposing his bare smooth muscular chest.

  That is the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The only thing missing is an adorable little dog.

  As if on cue, a sweater-wearing miniature apricot poodle comes running out the door with a stuffed animal in its mouth.

  Oh, man, come on. Don’t do this to me.

  I tear myself away from the window and consider buying a pair of binoculars.

  For the next hour, I make phone calls to various contractors to schedule work that needs to be done while I’m in town. Once that’s accomplished, I make a pot of coffee and sit at my computer, trying to finish up my latest article. I consider changing the title.

  Stop Texting with Your Ex: The Five Biggest Mistakes Women Make After a Breakup.

  Twirling my hair, I look over my notes.

  1.You both need to move on.

  2.Getting stuck in old patterns.

  3.Do you really want to hear about his latest girlfriend?

  4.Is it really over?

  5.You’re not his mother.

  That’s about as far as I get. I can’t get into the subject and feel so restless I get up and start pacing the room.

  My process for writing usually involves taking a walk and listening to music. With headphones on and breathing fresh air, I can usually come up with ideas for my articles. It’s only research that keeps me indoors, but right now, I feel stuck.

  I can’t stay inside this house for the next couple of weeks. I’m going to have to get out and not worry about who I run into.

  I grab my purse and car keys and plan a slow drive through town. There is so much about the center of Stone Ridge that has changed, but some things are still the same as they were when I was growing up here.

  The park across the street from the high school still looks the same as it did when I was a kid.

  I parallel park in front of the green painted wooden benches and look to see if my initials are still carved on the back of the largest one.

  I can’t help but smile when I see the letters LJ in the center of the back of the chair. It feels like a lifetime ago when I was running around this field with my friends after school. I take a deep breath when I see the initials KN carved right next to mine, and I swallow to push down the lump in my throat.

  I walk through town, passing several stores that have been here since before I was born. I laugh when I see a couple of stores still have the same items in their windows as they did when I was a kid.

  Across the street, I notice Patrick Langford getting out of his car. He sees me and waves.

  “Hey. What brings you into town?”

  “Oh, I was a bit bored and thought I’d see what wild and exciting things might be going on in downtown Stone Ridge, home of the famous peaches and cream corn.”

  Laughing, Patrick walks toward me, stares into my eyes, and lowers his voice. “Don’t make fun of us. You have no idea how exciting things can get around here.”

  His teasing makes me blush, and I have to look away from his gaze.

  Apparently worried he might have overstepped, Patrick says, “I tell you what. How about I check in with my assistant, drop my bag off, and you and I go get a coffee at Buddy’s? We might even be able to get a piece of Buddy’s wife Harriett’s homemade peach cobbler. I know it’s a dessert, but it has all the ingredients of breakfast. It has oatmeal in it, after all.”

  I’ve had Harriet’s peach cobbler before, and I might as well plaster it to my hips right now, since that’s where it will end up when I’m done eating it.

  “Sure. That would be nice.”

  “Great. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  Suddenly excited to be spending some time with my handsome neighbor, I run down a list in my mind of the things I want to know about him. The only problem is I wonder how much I’ll have to share about myself first.

  Chapter 4

  I watch through the window as he goes inside. I walk back to the edge of the sidewalk and look up at the building. Although it looks like an old farmhouse and country home, it has always been considered a medical building. It’s where our family doctor’s office was. I remember getting my shots here as a child. I’m certain this is the building that Emily mentioned when she talked about taking my mother to her doctor’s appointments.

  Patrick comes out of the building, and as we start to walk, I can’t stop myself from asking the obvious question.

  “You were my mother’s doctor?”

  As if I’ve just discovered a secret, Patrick explains, “I was her primary physician, yes. I was the one who coordinated with her oncologist.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when you came to the funeral?”

  Finally in front of Buddy’s, Patrick asks, “Why don’t we go inside so we can talk?”

  The hostess, Mary Kennedy, smiles when she sees Patrick, then looks at me, and the smile disappears. It’s clear she’s trying to flirt with him, and I’m ruining her chance to get his attention.

  Mary always looked like she had a stick up her ass, but today’s look is designed to send me a message. Her boyfriend broke up with her when we were in high school and asked me out after that. I turned him down, but that didn’t stop Mary from seeing me as a competitor for her boyfriend’s affections. Some things in this town never change.

  Throwing two menus down on the table, she seats us at a booth. On her heels, a waitress brings us coffee.

  “What do you say about that peach cobbler?”

  “Yes, fine. Thank you.”

  Patrick orders two peach cobblers, and then continues, “I didn’t say anything about being your mother’s doctor for the simple reason that she was more to me than that. I wasn’t attending the funeral as her doctor. I was there as her friend. She became like a second mother to me, and a grandmother to Ella. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, honest.”

  It only occurs to me now that my questioning must sound like I’m angry with him.

  I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you did anything wrong. I was surprised, that’s all.”

  The waitress places the peach cobblers in front of us.

  “So just how much about my life do you already know, Dr.
Langford? I know my mother. If you were as close as you say, there’s no way she could keep from telling you my whole life story, from the day I was born onward.”

  Embarrassment colors his face, and I have my answer.

  I want to be mad about this. If she were alive, I’d be marching over to the house this very minute to complain, but I can’t. There is nothing to be done now except acknowledge that my life is an open book to everyone in this town, including the handsome Dr. Langford. What surprises me is how much I care what he thinks of me.

  Patrick reaches to touch my hand, but I pull away.

  “I’m sorry, Laney. I want us to be friends. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “No, I’m the one who is sorry.” Taking a deep breath, I explain. “I have lots of regrets in my life, as you probably already know, but the latest one is that I wasn’t there for my mother.

  My sister Emily handled everything and seemed to think that the best way to deal with me was to keep the seriousness of my mother’s illness from me. I’m sure she thought she was doing the right thing because I’ve always pushed everyone away. I didn’t realize what a mistake I’ve made in doing that until just now.”

  My appetite is gone, and I’ve no desire to eat the peach cobbler. More than that, I’m ashamed of myself and worry the longer we talk the worse this is going to get. I slide out of the booth and stand to leave, but Patrick grabs my arm.

  “Laney, none of us gets through this life without regret. If you’re living, then it’s inevitable. I have a few of my own. Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? You can meet Ella and we can talk more. Please?”

  Something in his touch helps me understand why he was such a good friend to my mother. I could use a good friend right about now.

  “That would be nice. I’d love to meet your daughter. What time?”

  “How does six o’clock sound?”

  “Six o’clock is fine. Can I bring anything?”

  “Just you, Laney. Just you.”

  Chapter 5

  Of all the clothes I packed for my trip home, I can’t find one damn thing that is appropriate for dinner with a hot guy and his adorable five-year-old daughter. Jeans and a pretty pink top is the best I can do.

  I hate showing up empty-handed. There’s got to be an unopened bottle of wine in this house somewhere.

  Memories flood my mind as I go down into the cellar. As a child I used to be terrified of the dark. The cellar, even with lights on, was darker than I was comfortable with.

  When you’re a kid, you think monsters hide out in darkness. It’s not until you’re an adult that you realize they exist in the light as well. I brush off the dust of a suitable pinot noir and head back up, taking the stairs two at a time, because...well...monsters.

  At six o’clock I head over to Patrick’s house. Several houses on this street were built by the same builder, and so his front porch looks exactly like my mother’s, porch swing and all.

  Ella opens the door. “Are you Laney?”

  “I am. You must be Ella.”

  She takes my hand, and I follow her into the living room.

  “Daddy’s in the kitchen. He’s been making a mess. I helped him make the dinner.”

  I put the bottle of wine on the table.

  “Maybe I should go in there and help too?”

  “Nope. He said I should take you into the living room and ask you if you want something to drink. So do you want something to drink?”

  Smiling, I can tell that Patrick is teaching Ella how to be polite when entertaining guests.

  She’s probably had to learn a few grown-up things earlier than most children.

  “No. Thank you.”

  I sit on the sofa, and Ella climbs up next to me, her miniature poodle jumping up and settling beside her.

  “That’s my dog, Olive. She won’t bite you.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” I pet the dog’s head. “Hello, Olive.”

  Ella is staring at me, and I can’t tell if she is waiting for me to say something, or if she’s trying to decide if she likes me or not.

  “Your mommy died?”

  “Yes, Ella, she did.”

  “My mommy died too. I didn’t meet her though. She died when I was born. I have her pictures. Do you want to see them?”

  My heart breaks to hear this news. I’m not surprised that Patrick’s wife had died, but the fact that Ella never got to know her mother is extremely sad.

  “Yes, I’d love to see her pictures.”

  Ella runs off and returns with a photo album. She climbs back onto the sofa and opens the book.

  The album is full of pictures of Patrick’s wife as a child and then as an adult. Toward the middle of the book, the pictures are of them together, their wedding, and her pregnancy.

  “Your mommy was very pretty. You look a lot like her, did you know that?”

  “That’s what Daddy says too.”

  Patrick enters the room with two glasses of white wine. Handing me a glass, he says, “I see Ella has given you a tour of our lives.”

  “She’s been a wonderful hostess.”

  “Can I show her my room, Daddy?”

  “Dinner is ready, sweetie. Why don’t you show her your room after we’ve eaten?”

  Ella jumps off the sofa and takes my hand, leading me to the dining room table.

  Throughout dinner, Ella talks a blue streak, constantly correcting her father and explaining things from a girl’s point of view.

  It’s hilarious to watch the way they interact with one another. Ella seems far older than her five years, and I can only imagine what Patrick will have to contend with when she is a teenager.

  Since Patrick has had to be mother and father to Ella, I have no doubt he’s learned a thing or two about how to raise little girls. I do wonder if it was my mother who taught him how to braid Ella’s hair, since she was so good at braiding mine.

  When dinner is over, I help clear the table. Patrick insists I go with Ella to see her room while he washes the dishes and takes the dog for a walk.

  Ella’s room is very organized, with drawers filled with crayons and markers and plenty of coloring books and toys. A small table and two chairs sits in the corner of the room, the chairs occupied by a stuffed giraffe and teddy bear.

  Ella removes the stuffed animals, takes out two coloring books and a box of crayons, and insists we sit at the table to color. I oblige and let her ask me what seems like a million questions. Within ten minutes, Ella knows more about me than Patrick does.

  Before long, it’s time Ella’s bedtime.

  “Can Laney read me to sleep, Daddy?”

  “Ella, haven’t you kept Laney pretty busy tonight? She must be tired.”

  Ella looks at me. “Are you tired?”

  I laugh and say, “No. I’m not tired.”

  Looking at Patrick, I reassure him, “It’s fine. I’d love to read to Ella.”

  Patrick gives in and instructs Ella, “Okay, but be quick about it. Get in your pajamas and brush your teeth, and don’t forget your prayers.”

  Listening to Ella say her prayers, I’m moved by her words, adding me and my mother to her list of people who need God’s help. My appreciation for Patrick grows just thinking about what a good father he is.

  Once she’s in bed, I pull a chair close and begin reading. It doesn’t take long before Ella falls asleep. I put the book away, turn the light off and leave her room, not shutting the door completely.

  Chapter 6

  I join Patrick, who is sitting on the sofa in the living room. Olive is spread out on the loveseat.

  “Your daughter is adorable.”

  “She can be a handful sometimes, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “She told me about her mother. It must have been very hard for you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No. I don’t mind at all. To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Nothing about Meredith’s pregnancy was difficult. It wa
s a smooth nine months without issue. She didn’t have any underlying condition that would put the pregnancy at high risk. Everything was perfect—until it wasn’t.”

  “Was my mother close to your wife?”

  “We were living in New York at the time. I met my wife in medical school. She was from New York and loved the city. She used to say she was a real city girl who married a real country boy. I was born in a small town like this, but much closer to Raleigh.

  The pregnancy wasn’t planned. Meredith wanted to wait, which was understandable, given all the years working toward our careers. I have to admit, I was a little envious of our friends who had kids. But we were honestly too busy working to be there for a child.

  When we found out she was pregnant, I was elated, but she wasn’t as thrilled as I was. I’ll give her credit, though. She adjusted and got used to the idea fairly quickly.

  Soon, we were getting excited about being parents. We decided she would quit her job for at least a year. We figured it would be best for the child, especially living in the city and without family close by.

  The day Ella was born; Meredith developed an amniotic fluid embolism. It’s not something you can prepare for. It all happened so fast. Everything seemed fine. They delivered Ella, but things deteriorated rapidly.

  I was with her in the delivery room until the tension changed, and the nurses started pushing me out. I had to go be in the waiting room until someone came to explain what was happening.

  I knew when I saw the doctor’s face as he approached me that something terrible had happened. I assumed we’d lost Ella. It was a complete shock when they said it was Meredith. I mean, who dies giving birth in the twenty-first century?

  You think being a doctor somehow gives you special protection against such things. None of my training prepared me for her death, or for the fact that I couldn’t do anything to save her.”

  As I listen to Patrick’s words, my heart breaks for him and for Ella. My words of support and sympathy somehow feel as if they fall short, but it’s all I have to give him.