Accept Me

by Marion Ueckermann

  She’d named the young horse after one of the main characters in her favorite animated dog movie. With matching coats on the horse and canine—white splashed with black spots—the filly’s name was inevitable.

  Until her fourteenth year, Perdy had been Haddie’s only friend. Then Cara Walsh entered Haddie’s life. A weak smile brushed across Haddie’s lips at the image that drifted into her mind. Such a fitting name for the dark-haired teen that’d had such a profound impact on Haddie’s life, for Cara meant friend.

  Once again, Haddie’s chest tightened, but not at the memory of the friend she missed so much, even though they’d kept in touch over the past decade via email, instant messages, FaceTime, and even good old phone calls.

  She slid out of the saddle, and as her feet touched the grass, she reached into her coat pocket. A wheezing sound came from her chest as she gasped for air. She should never have ridden Perdy so hard in this cold weather. Not when she was already feeling so stressed and upset. Haddie was well aware of the consequences of the all too familiar triggers. Exercise. Cold. Stress. Any one of them was enough to send her into a coughing fit, struggling for her next breath.

  The rescue pump between her lips, Haddie administered a single dose to relieve her asthma symptoms, but it would take a few minutes to work.

  “Miss Haddie, are you all right?” George, a new stablehand at the farm, stepped out of a stall and neared.

  Haddie nodded and handed the young man the reins. She coughed then gasped for a breath. “Brush...” Another gasp. “Her…” Gasp. “Down.”

  George frowned, but as Haddie dismissed him with the wave of her hand, he obeyed and led Perdy away to the far side of the stables where all the saddles and brushes were stored.

  Still coughing and out of breath, Haddie stumbled to her horse’s empty stall. She stepped inside then leaned against the wooden wall beside the door before sliding to the fresh hay on the ground. She felt so weak. Thankfully hay wasn’t her problem or she wouldn’t have been able to spend all the hours she had in these stalls since she was a child. Soon the medication would work its magic. Fifteen minutes or so and she’d be able to breath normally again.

  She just needed to relax. She had at least half an hour before George would return Perdy to her stall. She should get back home to her mother, but she just couldn’t. Not yet.

  Resting her head back against the wall, Haddie closed her eyes and continued her stroll down memory lane.

  Cara and her widowed father had moved from Ireland to Harrodsburg to live and work at Bluegrass Stud Farm in central Kentucky. Soon, Haddie and Cara became best friends, although initially, Haddie had been rather reluctant to befriend anyone. She’d become so accustomed to her own company as she’d grown up. But with Cara and her father living in the farm manager’s house on her parents’ property, it had been impossible for Haddie to avoid Cara.

  And soon, she hadn’t wanted to.

  Blue-eyed Cara could’ve been the most popular girl in school, especially with the boys. Instead she was quickly labelled a freak and nearly ostracized, all because she’d chosen to be Haddie’s friend.

  How beautiful her friend was, not only on the outside, but on the inside too.

  Four and a half short years later, the Walshes moved back to Ireland to manage an Arabian stud farm in Kildare, an hour or so’s drive west of Dublin. Cara’s father missed Ireland, and although he’d told her parents that he’d never be done grieving his late wife, he’d felt he was ready to return home—that it was time.

  Tears began to trace their way down Haddie’s cheeks as she remembered how wonderful life had been with Cara around, the only real friend she’d ever had. She should call her—it wasn’t too late, Ireland was only five hours ahead of Kentucky. She needed a shoulder, or ear, to cry on.

  She dug her hands into the straw, then balled them into fists and wept.

  So often she’d wondered how her friend had coped with life without her mom. Haddie’s heart squeezed so tight her chest hurt—she was about to find out what that would be like. How would she manage? She could never be as brave as her bold Irish friend.

  Oh, Cara. I miss you so much. I wish you were here with me right now in my dark hour.

  With her schooling completed and firm plans to follow in her father’s footsteps in the equine world, Cara had left Kentucky with her dad. Alone once again, Haddie had wasted no time retreating into her world of books, which, truth be told, she’d not entirely abandoned during the Cara years, although she had read far less during that time. By that fall, Haddie had enrolled at the University of Kentucky in neighboring Lexington where she’d spent the next six years obtaining her BA in English, and then her Master’s in Library Science. Oh, she’d had a handful of like-minded friends during those years, but none of them remotely like Cara.

  When the tightness finally eased from Haddie’s chest, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell phone. As her friend answered, Haddie sobbed one single word into the phone. “Cara—”

  “Mo chara deas,” Cara whispered. “Is it your mom? She’s not…”

  Haddie had always loved Cara’s Irish term of endearment—my dearest friend. How had she been so lucky to have a lifelong friend like her?

  Shaking her head slowly, Haddie replied. “No. At least not yet. But I—” She choked on the words she had to say. “I know it won’t be much longer.”

  She slammed her head back against the wood—ouch!—then rubbed her head with her palm. “Damn cancer! I hate it! I hate this!”

  “Oh, Haddie. I’m so sorry. I’m praying for you and your family constantly. I wish I could be there with you.”

  Haddie inhaled deeply then sighed. “Me too. I miss you.” Especially now. But it was impossible for Cara to come to America. Her father had recently had a run-in with a horse’s hoof, and with his arm now in a sling for several weeks, Cara was in charge. Besides, if she was ever to see her friend again in real life, Haddie wanted it to be at a joyous occasion…like her wedding. Pfft, as if that would ever happen. It would have to be Cara’s wedding, but could Haddie ever pluck up the courage to travel that far on her own? The farthest she’d traveled alone was within an hour radius of home. And she’d never flown.

  “I know it’s not much consolation at a time like this,” Cara said, “but you do know where your mother’s going when our dear Lord takes her out of her suffering. Let heaven give you the hope you need, Haddie. One day we’ll be reunited there with our loved ones.”

  Yes, she would see her dear mother again, but only thanks to Cara and her dad. If they hadn’t come to America for those few years and led Haddie, her mom and her dad to Jesus, she wouldn’t have had that blessed hope to cling to.

  Although her faith wasn’t what it had always been. Her mother’s illness had driven a wedge between her and God, and if she were honest with herself right now, she was angry and disappointed. For months she’d prayed, believed her mom would be healed. Now her mother lay on her deathbed, and Haddie just couldn’t believe in the power of prayer, or the goodness of God.

  Not now.

  Hopefully one day she would believe once again.

  “I–I should get back. Dad will be looking for me. I love you, my friend.”

  As tears began to roll down Haddie’s cheeks, she cut the call and shoved to her feet. Hearing the clip-clop of hooves on the cement floor outside, she swiped at her cheeks. Head down, she hurried out of the stall, past George and Perdy.

  “Miss Haddie?” George called after her.

  Haddie barely glanced over her shoulder, not wanting to get into any conversation over whether she was all right or not. She wasn’t.

  “Thanks for brushing her down, George.”

  She picked up her pace, taking care not to run and set off a coughing fit.

  The moment the front door of their two-story ranch house closed, her father trotted down the staircase.

  “Haddie…”

  Panic dug sharp, icy claws into Haddie’s chest. She r
ushed forward. “Mom? Is she—?”

  Her dad mustered a smile as he slid his arm around Haddie’s shoulder. “She was resting while you were gone. Where did you disappear to?”

  “I took Perdy for a ride.”

  Dad’s brows narrowed. “In this weather? You know the cold and the exercise are a bad combination for you.”

  Haddie wiggled out of her father’s hold. “I’m fine. I just— I had to get some air. She’s—” Haddie turned and fell against her father’s chest, sobbing. “She’s dying, Dad. We need to face it. Mom’s dying.”

  Strong arms clasped her tight. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” Breaking down, her father sobbed too.

  Finally composing himself, he eased back and tipped her chin. “She’s asking for you. Are you all right to go up and see her?”

  Haddie drew in a deep breath and nodded.

  The fifteen steps up the staircase to the second story felt like fifty to Haddie. Slowly, she made her way toward the guest room where her mother now slept. The door creaked softly as she eased it open and stepped inside the dimly lit room. She sank into the chair beside the bed and gently wrapped her hand over her mother’s, a skeletal shape of the elegant hands that had once held her, fed her, dressed her, raised her. Mom had taught her so much—how to cook, how to sew, how to play the piano, how to ride a horse, and drive a car.

  Oh, they’d laughed so at the latter as she’d nervously inched her mom’s car away from their house and down the narrow track straddled on both sides by black four-board fencing. The vehicle had jerked all the way to the main road before Haddie turned and repeated the staccato drive back home. It had taken quite a number of similar trips before the ride became smooth and Haddie, and her mom, were confident enough for Haddie to drive on the open road.

  Her mother’s eyes flickered open and she mustered a smile. “Haddie.” Her voice was soft and weak.

  Haddie swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that once again threatened.

  “Mom.” She eased out of the chair to kiss her mother’s forehead. Then her cheek. Haddie’s thumb caressed her mother’s now wrinkled skin. This disease had taken its toll on her mom in so many ways. “Hush, don’t try to talk. Just rest.”

  “I…have to.” She breathed in a shallow breath. “You must…know.”

  Must know? Must know what?

  Haddie’s own breaths suddenly felt as empty as her mother’s.

  Mom’s eyes fell closed. She opened them again, her gaze glazed. “You mustn’t…worry. The same…fate…won’t befall…you.”

  Was she talking about her illness?

  Since her mother’s diagnosis, Haddie had often wondered whether she, too, would one day be struck down with triple negative breast cancer. Even the double mastectomy, chemo, and radiation treatment hadn’t been enough to save her mom from this rare and aggressive cancer.

  But why would her mother say she wasn’t to worry? Wasn’t a woman at risk if a family member has had the disease?

  Mom squeezed Haddie’s hand. “My sweetest Haddie… You have…given me so much…joy.” Her face crumpled and tears leaked from her eyes. “I so wanted to…spare you…this news. But now I…must tell…you.” Her words came slow and labored.

  Tell me what?

  Haddie wanted to scream at her mother, tell her that she was scaring her.

  Instead she leaned forward and laid her head on the pillow beside her sweet mom’s head. Gently, she placed her hand over the soft, pink sleep cap with its white lace edging that had replaced the blond bob her mom had sported for years. Her mother’s hair lost its luster as it began to thin, and it wasn’t long before turbans, wigs, bandanas, hats, and sleep caps covered her bald head.

  “I have…loved you…from the moment…they placed you in…my arms.” Her mother closed her eyes, struggling for her next breath.

  Haddie sat up and reached for the oxygen mask dangling from the tank standing beside the bed.

  Mom shook her head as Haddie tried to put the mask on her face. “No. I…must tell…you first.” She gasped for air. “Y–your father and I…adopted you.”

  What? Just when she thought life…God…couldn’t be crueler.

  “No! That’s not true. You’re my mom. I love you,” Haddie protested as if her objection and declaration could wipe away her mother’s words.

  Mom offered another weak smile. “And I…you. When the…time is…right, talk to…your…father.”

  Talk to him? She didn’t want to entertain this information for a single second. This news had just rocked her world. She’d put what her mother had said down to the morphine, or her being in pain. Confused from lack of oxygen. Anything. Anything rather than what she had said being the awful truth.

  Chapter Two

  THE SIREN was already wailing as Riley Jordan hopped into the ambulance. “C’mon, go,” he barked at his partner and best friend.

  The passenger door slammed shut behind Riley as the ambulance tore out of the fire station, Pete Bennet behind the wheel. Flashing red and white lit up the dim streets like a Christmas tree. Except, it wasn’t Christmas. Almost Thanksgiving though. Just a few more days, although for a couple of lucky, wealthier Chapel Cove women, Thanksgiving would start tonight.

  “Hey, do you really think it’s okay to arrive there with lights blazing and sirens blaring?” Pete asked as he crossed over Alder Drive. He worried his bottom lip then flicked on the left blinker to turn onto Spruce Street. Soon they’d be at City Hall.

  “Yeah. Chief’s orders, remember?”

  Under normal circumstances, lights and sirens would be a Code 3 time-critical response like a fire or rescue incident. And even though their destination was time-critical—they’d be late if they didn’t hurry—Riley hardly thought that lining up for a bachelor auction classified as a Code 3. An image of what lay ahead flashed through his mind. They’d definitely be “running hot” in a couple of minutes. He chuckled at the pun, unable to deny the similarity between the slang term for a Code 3 and he and Pete strutting down a catwalk to the fast-paced tune of “Burning Man”—the fire chief’s choice of music—and the hungry stares of Chapel Cove’s bachelorettes and spinsters. Still, the chief had given them carte blanche to do what was needed to make a grand entrance. With most of the firefighters in town married men, or almost, the chief was pinning his hopes on Riley and Pete to rake in a wad of cash at the auction for the town fundraiser. And after the recent flood damage, Chapel Cove needed them to be on fire tonight.

  The thought of being on parade soured in his gut, but he’d take one for the team…for the town. He could do a single date with a desperate woman. It was for a good cause. What he didn’t like was the idea of said woman arranging the date. Who knew what desires and fantasies would lurk in the mind of the woman who bid on him?

  If anyone bid on him.

  Riley sniffed the air, his eyes widening as they settled on his friend. “Are you wearing cologne?” Not that handsome Pete with his five-o-clock shadow needed it, or Pietro as his Italian grandmother called him, from whom he’d inherited his dark features.

  Dang, he probably should’ve thought to splash on some of the good stuff too. After transporting old Mrs. Winters to the cardiac hospital in Portland, they’d barely arrived back in Chapel Cove with sufficient time to hop in the shower at the station before changing into a fresh uniform. Cologne had been the last thing on his mind. What had been on his mind were the two heart attacks in one year in Chapel Cove. That was two too many. First Ivy Macnamara, and now Dorothy Winters. The sooner that hospital was built in Chapel Cove, the better.

  Thankfully, Dorothy’s attack had been mild, and she didn’t need to be medevacked by air to Portland as Ivy had back in April. Still, Dr. Johnson said he was taking no chances and wanted Dorothy seen by a cardiologist as soon as possible. So despite Riley and Pete being the hope of the fire department tonight, they’d drawn the short straws to make the three-hour round trip to the city.

  Oh well, the fresh fragrance of his usual brand o
f bar soap would have to suffice—no one would be getting up close and personal tonight. He hoped.

  “Maybe we should’ve put on bowties…spruced up our uniforms a bit, huh?” Riley’s guffaw filled the ambulance cabin.

  “And detract the ladies’ attention from these epaulettes we worked so hard for?” Pete brushed his fingers over the ornamental piece of fabric on his right shoulder. “Not to mention the distraction from the reflective stripes on our uniforms… Nah, I don’t think so.”

  As Pete pulled the ambulance to a sudden stop outside the city hall, several people rushed outside to see what all the commotion was about.

  Riley and Pete hopped out of the ambulance, their boots hitting the ground with a thud. The stethoscope dangling around Riley’s neck swayed from side to side. He turned and leaned back inside the cabin to grab his medical bag. As he strode up the stairs of City Hall, he slung the bag’s long strap over his shoulder.

  A host of guests was gathered inside the huge hall. Up front, suave, tuxedo-clad bachelors lined the ramp. And town handyman, Roman Vela, looking rather uncomfortable even though casually—and comfortably—dressed in a black T-shirt, black jeans, and cowboy boots.

  Buddy, I know exactly how you feel.

  Following prior instructions, Riley and Pete wove through the crowd as the music was cranked louder. With the stealth of two leopards, they hopped simultaneously onto the catwalk and strode toward their fellow bachelors who’d probably already been auctioned off.

  “Ladies…and gents…our two final contestants from the Chapel Cove Fire Department—Pete Bennet and Riley Jordan,” old Judge Henderson, the evening’s auctioneer, announced. Even if he was retired, at least he had practice swinging a gavel. He loved presiding at town events, and current Judge Esteban permitted him to. Maybe out of respect for his age and experience, or perhaps because she shied away from public affairs. That was something Riley wouldn’t know.