Falling for the Innkeeper

by Meghann Whistler

  “My aunt is threatening to kick him out,” the kid said miserably. “She says he made his bed and now he needs to lie in it. Learn to live with the consequences of his actions, unlike our mother, who, according to Aunt Rose, avoids responsibility for everything in her life.”

  One of the rules for open share was that there was no cross talk, and Jonathan had to bite his tongue until the group let out.

  “Hey,” Jonathan said, hurrying to catch the kid before he headed out with his friends. “Dan, was it?”

  The kid looked at him warily. He was maybe fifteen, tall and thin in that way of teen boys who sprout six inches in less than a year. “Hey.”

  “Your brother. Has he gotten in trouble before? With the law?”

  The kid shook his head. “No, man. Never even had a detention at school. He’s supposed to go to UMass in the fall.”

  Jonathan took a business card out of his wallet, scribbled his cell number on the back. “I’m a lawyer. You want help with this, you let me know.”

  The kid took the card, his skepticism written all over his face. “We don’t have a lot of money for lawyers.”

  “You wouldn’t be retaining me to be his defense attorney. But I know some people. If you want, I could make a few calls.”

  “Um, yeah, sure, okay. But why me? Why us?”

  Jonathan wasn’t really sure he wanted to have this conversation, but the kid had opened up about his life during the sharing portion of the meeting; he figured there was no way this boy would trust him if he didn’t do the same. And for some reason—maybe because his search for his father had brought old memories and feelings to the fore, and maybe because he was still determined to show Laura that not all lawyers were the unethical, morally bankrupt people she thought they were—he really wanted this kid to trust him.

  “I get it,” Jonathan said, “what it’s like to have a parent who’s got a mental illness.”

  “Oh, yeah?” the kid asked.

  “Yeah, it was my dad. Bipolar disorder. He never wanted to take his meds. Disappeared on us when I was about your brother’s age, about to head off to college. It messes you up.”

  The kid stared at his feet. “My mom hasn’t really been in the picture since I was in grade school.”

  “That’s a raw deal,” Jonathan said.

  The kid toed the floor with his scuffed-up shoe. “Ethan took care of me when Mom left. We were alone for like a week before DCF got involved and took us to Aunt Rose.” The boy looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’ve been reading about it all weekend, man. He could go to jail for three months. He could lose his financial aid package. My aunt said once he graduates from high school, he’s on his own. I’m scared about what’s gonna happen to him.”

  Jonathan touched the kid on the elbow. “Here, let’s sit down so you can tell me everything I need to know about Ethan. I’m going to do my best to make sure nothing bad goes down.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t get it, Harvard. I thought you were a corporate lawyer, not a criminal one.” Laura studied him over her cup of coffee in the dining room on Monday morning. He was dressed for court: suit, tie, cuff links, the whole deal. She’d already dropped Emma off at preschool; he’d been on the phone when she’d left, and on the phone when she’d returned. In fact, he’d been on the phone half the night—with former classmates, he’d told her, and people within his extended professional network—trying to figure out a way to help this Ethan kid.

  This morning, he’d told her, he’d already spoken with the juvenile police prosecutor, the assistant district attorney assigned to Ethan’s case and the head of the Juvenile Diversion Program—which, as he’d explained it to her, was an alternate to arrest that included counseling and community service.

  “I know,” he said, “I’m not, but my friend Constantine—”

  “The criminal defense lawyer?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah, he can’t get down here today for the arraignment, and I need to be there to ask for a continuance so we can try to get Ethan into the Juvenile Diversion Program.”

  “You know one of the Celebrate Recovery guidelines is that we’re there to support one another, not fix one another,” she said. “This seems like a pretty big fix.”

  “You really want a seventeen-year-old, straight-A student to have a permanent mark on his record from trying to use a fake ID?” he asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Their mom took off on them when they were in grade school, Laura. Their aunt barely tolerates their presence. These kids could use a break.”

  “I get it, I do, I just worry that maybe you’re getting a little overinvolved...”

  She saw a muscle in his jaw tighten. “I’m trying to do something nice here.”

  “I know you are, I know,” she soothed. “And if it works out, those boys will definitely appreciate it. I guess I’m just worried about—well, what if it doesn’t work out? What if you promised more than you can deliver?”

  He smirked. “You don’t make it to the top corporate law firm in Boston without being able to deliver on your promises.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you so invested in this whole thing?”

  “Lawyers are competitive,” he said easily. “I like to win.”

  She shook her finger at him. “Uh-uh, Harvard. You’re not getting off the hook that easy. What’s the real reason?”

  “The real reason?” He glanced up at ceiling. “Man, you’re relentless.”

  She waited, head cocked.

  He blew out a breath. “I used to wish my dad had cancer instead of bipolar disorder, because at least with cancer, there’s a way to cure it. You can do surgery, you can do chemo, you can do radiation. But you can’t go in and cut the mental illness out of someone’s head.”

  Laura reached out, laid her hand on his arm. Her heart hurt for him. “I can’t imagine.”

  “I coped with it by throwing myself into school. But I get it—why some kids might act out.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want this kid to pay for this for the rest of his life. You get a criminal record, even for a misdemeanor, they can rescind your acceptance at college. They can cancel your financial aid. I don’t think one mistake should warrant those kinds of consequences.”

  He looked at where her hand rested on his arm, then into her eyes. “It’s kind of like what you were talking about last night, about your church community being there for you. Maybe I want to be part of extending this kid a little bit of grace.”

  They were silent for a moment—not a charged silence, but a contemplative one. “Your dad,” Laura said finally. “Did he try to get help? I mean, I know he was hospitalized, but was it voluntary, or did you guys have to commit him?”

  Jonathan gave a humorless laugh. “Bit of both, I guess. Sometimes it was his idea, but he never stuck with his treatment. Said the drugs made him feel dead inside. He loved the mania, loved the high. He thought he could control it himself, like there was some magical off button that would stop it from tipping over into chaos.” He shook his head. “And then the depression that would follow was brutal. Just brutal. There were times he’d go out and wouldn’t come home for days. I was always afraid something terrible would happen...”

  The bleakness in his voice nearly killed her.

  “And then he just disappeared into thin air. All these years, we’ve had to wonder, had to worry...” He put his hand over his eyes and shook his head a little, obviously trying to get his emotions in check.

  She gave him a moment to collect himself, then took his other hand and squeezed it. “You’re doing a good thing for that kid, Harvard.”

  He took a deep breath, removed his hand from his face and looked at her. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.” He had that same shaky, vulnerable look in his eyes that he’d had the night they’d gone to Beacon
Light, and she couldn’t help it, she had to offer him comfort. “I hope you don’t think this is weird, but can I give you a hug?”

  She saw his face crack into a lopsided smile and she felt...happy. Useful. Like she had a role to play in easing his burdens, at least for a little while.

  “I definitely think it’s weird, Lessoway,” he said, seeming to instinctively know that she needed there to be a bit of levity in this exchange, “but come here.”

  He opened his arms and tucked her into a big bear hug.

  * * *

  As Jonathan drove back to the inn from the arraignment hearing, he felt happier about his day’s work than he’d felt in a long time. He’d been able to get the continuance they needed so that the Juvenile Diversion Program could evaluate Ethan and make a determination on whether to accept him into the program.

  Helping an actual person instead of a corporation was strangely gratifying. He’d never been particularly interested in criminal law—being a defense attorney meant working for liars and criminals, and being a prosecutor meant seeing humanity at its absolute worst from day in to day out—but maybe there were some other options out there. Immigration law or adoption law, something where you helped good people who hadn’t broken the law but who simply needed help.

  But he couldn’t seriously be considering giving up his prestigious job with the best corporate law firm in Boston to look into becoming a solo practitioner in an area of law he hadn’t touched since law school, could he?

  Rain started falling, and he picked up his speed. If Laura needed to get the roof repaired, she wouldn’t be happy about this storm. He wondered if the ceiling in his room was going to leak onto his bed.

  He ran from his car to the inn with his briefcase over his head to hold off the rain. Chloe and Emma were in the parlor, playing Go Fish.

  “Hey,” he said, putting the briefcase down and dusting drops of rain off his jacket. “Where’s Laura?”

  Chloe looked at him, her mouth drawn into an unhappy line. “On the roof. With some tarp. To try to stop the rain from getting in.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. I couldn’t stop her.”

  He ran back outside, called her name. She didn’t answer. His pulse went into warp speed. What if she’d slipped off the roof? What if she’d fallen?

  He ran around the side of the inn, saw the ladder and immediately climbed up. His dress shoes had no tread on the bottoms, so he stopped partway up and shed both the shoes and his socks, deciding that bare feet were better than slippery shoes.

  When he got to the top, he saw her straightaway. She was draped over the ridge of the roof, one arm and leg on one side of the slope, one arm and leg on the other. She was facing away from him and the sound of the rain was loud, so he doubted she knew he was there.

  “Laura,” he called out, “it’s Jonathan. Don’t move. I’m going to get you down.”

  “Jonathan, it’s too slippery!” she cried, and he could hear the terror in her voice. “I’m going to fall!”

  His eyes scanned the roof. Her right foot really wasn’t that far from him. He was pretty sure that if he just shimmied up a little, he could grab her.

  But if he was wrong, and they both slipped, then what? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she got hurt on his watch.

  “You’re not going to fall, sweetheart. Just stay right where you are. I’m going to go tell Chloe to call 911, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  He hurried down the ladder and around to the front of the inn, threw the front door open and barked at Chloe to call 911. He saw Emma’s eyes go wide and frightened, and he gentled his voice. “It’s okay, honey, everything’s okay. Your mommy’s not hurt, just stuck, and the firemen are going to come and help her.”

  The little girl nodded, and he ran back into the rain and up the ladder. Laura was right where she’d been when he’d left her, and he felt a surge of relief so strong it would have knocked him over if he didn’t already have so much adrenaline rushing through his veins. “I’m back,” he called out. “The fire department’s coming.”

  “Jonathan,” she cried. “It’s so slippery.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going to let you fall.” He looked out toward the road, didn’t see any lights or hear any sirens. “Can you push yourself back, just a little? It’s okay if you can’t, but if you can, I might be able to reach you.”

  He saw her hands move up toward her head, toward the center of the ridge. “I’m scared,” she said.

  “It’s okay. I’m right here. You don’t have to move if you don’t want to. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  She pushed herself back a few inches. He reached up and grazed her right heel with his fingertips.

  “That’s good, sweetheart. That’s good. Push yourself back a little bit more and I’ll be able to get you.”

  She moved back again and his hand encircled her ankle. “See? There. Now I’ve got you. Can you push yourself back a little more?” She did it, and he moved his hand to her calf. “Okay, now bring your left leg over the top slowly—really slow, honey. I’ve got you. Just like that.”

  She managed to creep her other leg over, and he used his hands to pull her closer to him, then inch her down the slope. He could hear her whimpering now, see that she had her eyes closed tight. “You’re okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  He took a slow step down the ladder, still holding on to her, though he had her by the hips now, not the feet. “Laura, I’m going to guide your feet to the ladder, okay? Do you think you can climb down?”

  “I...I don’t know,” she stuttered. Her teeth were chattering. Her face was very white.

  “You can do it, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We’ll do it together, okay? Just one step at a time.”

  He guided her feet to the ladder, then reached up to steady her waist. “Come on, honey. One step. Use your right foot,” he told her. “Good,” he breathed when she carefully, carefully started to make her way down. “Now your left.”

  They crept down the ladder, his heart in his throat the whole time. When they got to the bottom, she collapsed into him, sobbing.

  “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmured, clutching her to his chest. “You’re okay. It’s over. I’ve got you.”

  A fire truck pulled up to the curb in a blaze of sound and light, followed by an ambulance. Jonathan led Laura over to the paramedics. “We got her down,” he informed the first responders. “I think she’s just in a little bit of shock.”

  The paramedics sat her down inside the ambulance bay, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and started a quick exam.

  “Want us to look at your feet, man?” one of the guys asked him.

  Jonathan looked down. His feet were bleeding. “I’m okay. Just take care of her, please. I’m going to go tell her daughter that everything’s all right.”

  * * *

  Laura sat in the parlor in her fuzzy pink slippers and pink flannel pajamas, nursing a cup of tea. She felt insanely embarrassed. All that fuss with the fire truck and the ambulance and Emma’s frightened little face.

  And Jonathan.

  She groaned—Jonathan. Who’d been so steady, so rock-solid when she was panicking on the roof. I’ve got you, he’d said. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. And what a relief it had been to hear it each time he’d said it. To know that he was there, that she could count on him. I won’t let you fall.

  What must he think of her and her stupid plan to climb up there in the rain?

  As though she’d conjured him with her thoughts, he appeared on the stairs, wearing dry clothes. “Hey,” he said gently, descending the steps and sitting beside her on the couch. “How’re you feeling?”

  She bit her lip. “Stupid,” she said. “Embarrassed.” Chloe had taken Emma to The Candy Shack to give Laura time to re
cover, so they were alone.

  He took her hand, stroked it with his thumb. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  She didn’t want to cry again, she really didn’t want to, but it was too late. The tears were already spilling down her cheeks.

  “Hey.” He held her hand more tightly. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry.” She held herself rigid, trying to stanch the flow of tears, angrily wiping them from her cheeks with her free hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You can cry,” he said softly. “It was scary up there in the rain. It’s okay to cry.”

  “I hardly even know you!” she protested, although—strangely enough—the words didn’t ring true. After everything they’d been through over the last few days, she felt like she did know him, had perhaps always known him, even though, objectively, it had been less than a week.

  He let go of her hand, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to his side. “You know me,” he said.

  And then she was sobbing, her body curled into his, her breaths a violent staccato against his chest, her face soaking his shirt with saliva and tears.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she took in a deep, shuddering breath and inched backward. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was hard to draw away from him—she felt the pull of him, of his fresh, clean scent, his protective warmth, his comforting touch.

  He kept his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

  She wiped at her face. “It’s just—I miss Gram so much. And everything’s changing, everything’s falling apart, and I thought—I thought...”

  “You thought maybe you could fix it,” he said simply. “I get it. It’s okay.”

  She craned her head to look at him. He gave her a crooked smile. “I have big shoulders. I promise you I can take a few sniffles.”

  She wiped at her face again, which was tingling. It was strange, given that she’d just had a meltdown in front of him, but his teasing actually made her feel better. “A few, huh?”