I just stood there, gaping.
He smiled wider, and my heart was thumping, racing out of control.
“You okay?”
I barely could nod, totally mortified by the fact I was a mess. Only Maxon Chambers could send me into a tailspin like this.
“I’m Dr. Nelson, but everyone calls me Trevor. Did I just overhear we finally have someone to take over the front office?”
Oh awesome.
I’d just knocked into my new boss.
“Yes, we do,” Helen said from behind. “This is Isabel Lane.”
He kept his hands on me, holding me up, but stepping back a little as he angled his head to the side.
That was right when I was noticing just how attractive that he was. I mean, not quite like Maxon Chambers. That man was a brand all his own. But attractive in that clean-cut way, light brown hair and dark brown eyes.
“Well, I have to say it’s great to meet you. I was hoping we’d find someone to fill Sandy’s spot.”
I stepped back and stuck out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I just hope I can fill her shoes.”
His eyes glinted when he returned the shake. “I’m sure you’ll do perfectly fine.”
I glanced between them, flustered, not even sure where it was coming from anymore. “Well, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll see you Monday morning.”
I ducked out, glancing over my shoulder, redness hitting me again when I saw that Dr. Nelson was watching me go.
* * *
My old car bounced down the narrow, dirt lane that led to the house where I’d grown up.
Our home was secluded in a dense thicket on the far east side of Broadshire Rim, the forest surrounding it lush and alive, fed by the river that twisted through our property.
I wound along the mile-long lane that was hugged by towering trees, their huge trunks covered in moss, massive arms winding and curling as they fought their way toward the sky. The branches were covered in green leaves that protected the earth from the scorch of the blistering South Carolina summer.
Glittering streaks of sunlight broke through, and I leaned forward to see them dancing across my windshield, sprinkling like stardust where they played on the ground.
The sheer beauty of this place struck me with awe.
I’d missed it.
I’d missed it so much, just another piece of myself that had been ripped away when I’d left.
My parents.
My home.
Maxon.
All those stupid, childish dreams that he’d crushed in one sweeping blow.
I looked out to the right to see the meadow peeking out from the copse of dense trees. The tiny house where he’d lived was barely visible in the distance.
A lance of pain tried to cut through the joy I felt at getting the job. I forced it down. I wasn’t going there right then.
I kept driving, winding around one curve and then another until the estate came into view. It had once been a bit lavish, if not pretentious, though there were far more grandiose mansions in the area.
The years had taken its toll on it, though.
The white, two story home fronted by pillars and a sweeping porch had deteriorated, the paint peeling and wood splintering. The once perfectly maintained lawn was shabby in spots, and the wild jasmine was living up to its name, growing completely out of control.
The money had run as dry as the gargoyle fountain that stood not so proud out front.
But still, it was breathtaking. Welcoming. My home.
I pulled to a stop in front of the garage on the left side of the house and climbed out, my heels clicking on the red-brick pathway as I made my way to the porch steps. I climbed them, the wood creaking with my weight, and I wiggled my key into the lock.
Turning the knob, I pushed open one side of the double doors. “I’m home,” I called, just because saying it felt so good when I’d been gone for so long.
A trample of footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Did you get it? Did you get it?”
“Yes, baby, I got it,” I breathed out, my own relief and excitement uncontained.
“Yes!” Dillon threw his fist into the air before he was throwing his little body across the room. I picked him up, swinging him around, even though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, already five years old and larger than life.
He pulled back and looked at me seriously. “I’m really proud of you, Mom. I knew you could do it. Didn’t I tell you that you could? You had nothin’ to worry about. Just like you’re always tellin’ us we can be whatever we want to be.”
If you could be anything when you grow up, what would you want to be?
So yeah, I was guilty of that question, too, and didn’t feel bad about it at all. I was just glad he wanted to be a jet fighter when he grew up rather than to marry Brigid, the poor little girl next door who’d bawled her eyes out when she’d found out we were moving and her favorite playmate was leaving her behind.
I poked at his chubby belly, giving him a tease. “Does that mean you’ve been listening to me?”
“What do you think? Listenin’ is part of the rules, isn’t it? And you’re the one who said I had to follow all the rules, and I was listenin’ then, too. See?” he rambled out so fast it was a wonder I could process through the words.
“Just makin’ sure,” I said with a playful grin.
He was my life.
My soul.
My soul that was completed when I carried Dillon across the room and through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. It was where I was sure I’d find Benjamin at the bay window that had been converted into a big reading nook at the far corner of the expansive room.
The second he’d seen it, he’d claimed it as his own, and if I was looking for him, I could bet that’s where I would find him.
I ruffled a hand through Dillon’s hair and smacked a kiss to his temple before I set him on his feet and headed for my oldest son.
“Hey there, handsome man.” My heart leapt as I took him in where he sat in the swath of light that blazed in through the window behind him. He had a book on his lap, five others spread out on the cushions around him—those words Benjamin’s own escape.
My eyes moved over him, taking in his super skinny legs and arms, the joints of the right side of his body set at an odd angle from the contractures he’d dealt with his entire life, his knees and shoulders knobby and his mouth permanently twisted on that right side.
He looked so frail sitting there. Fragile. But I’d never met anyone quite as strong.
He struggled to push himself up higher against the pillow rested against the wall.
I knelt down in front of him and nudged his chin with my knuckle.
Redness climbed to his cheeks. “Mmmmom, I’m nnnot a baby,” he said, though he was grinning and trying to hide his angel-smile that was brighter than the sun that shined like a halo on his head. “Sttop it.”
His speech was slurred, elongated and lurching as his tongue grappled to form the words.
Sometimes it was difficult to understand him, but to me, they were the most beautiful sounds on the earth considering I’d been told he would probably never talk.
“Never,” I told him, pinching his chin instead.
“You’re embarrrrassing.” Only he was grinning and playfully swatting at me.
“What are you talking about? Being embarrassing is my job. I’m your mom, remember?” I drew out.
“How could I forrrget?” he slurred, a glint in his eyes.
“Punk,” I teased him.
He gestured at himself. “Total troublemaker.”
“Hey, what have I told you? You can be anything you want to be, you just have to set your mind to it. Work hard enough for it, and it’s yours.” I tried to keep a straight face when I said it.
He laughed from his belly, his head flopping back a little bit. “I donnn’t think that’s what you meant.”
Dillon leaned on the window seat, poking that adorable, inquisitive face in betwe
en us. “Hey, I thought troublemaking was bad? I think you’re givin’ bad, bad advice, Mom. You better think twice.”
Light laughter danced on my tongue, and I hooked my arm around his waist and drew him closer. “You’re right. Troublemaking is bad. I take it all back. A troublemaker is something you can’t be, no matter how hard you work for it.”
Bad boys were just . . . well . . . bad. They were a terrible idea for everyone involved.
Dillon giggled, holding his shaking belly. “But what if that’s what I really wanna be?”
“No way.”
Benjamin was grinning, watching our interaction, my sweet little man turning serious, his eyes lighting with pride.
“And you gggot the job?” he asked.
“I did. Pretty amazing, right? I told you everything was going to come together exactly like we needed it to.” I tapped his chin in emphasis.
He’d been worried over our reason for returning to the place he’d only heard about in stories.
His disability had been a good excuse not to visit, my parents always coming out to see us since traveling truly was a bit of a trial.
But he knew.
It was crazy how insightful that he was, the boy so smart, his intelligence extending into the realm of knowing. I wondered if it was because he had to spend so much time on the outside looking in, an observer, excluded from conversations because people often assumed that he wasn’t smart.
Immediately, he’d picked up on the fact we were making this move because of him.
For him.
Not only had I been told Benjamin might not talk, I’d also been told that he might not walk, either.
Diagnosed with cerebral palsy, my son had endured seven different surgeries and a series of castings for years to help with his contractures.
He’d suffered through intense pain, but he’d worked so hard and made incredible strides.
The day he’d taken his first step with his walker, I’d fallen to my knees, unable to stand beneath the swelling of gratitude that had hit me like a landslide.
It was what he’d wanted most.
To run and play with other children, to be normal like the other boys who he hoped one day would call him friend, even though I spent every day of his life trying to instill in him that he was normal in his own, beautiful way.
Or that maybe none of us were normal. We were all different. Special.
But I understood the need to run free. Wild and alive. Who didn’t want the best life for their child?
He’d progressed so far that he no longer had the walker and now used forearm crutches.
So, when his therapist in Idaho had mentioned a new two-year study in Charleston, I’d made the decision to betray the promise I’d made to myself that I would never come back here.
Hatchett’s specialized in experimental treatments that had shown major strides in treating children with cerebral palsy.
Considering we were basically broke, and I could never afford the type of care they were offering, I had to take the chance.
My parents weren’t really in all that better of a situation than I was financially. My father had made some bad investments through the years that had eaten through our family’s wealth. But at least they still had the house and had offered us a home, and I figured I could do my part with fixing up around the place.
It was a win-win-win.
Especially for Benjamin.
When we found out he had been accepted, we packed up our things and left.
I glanced back at my mother who was on the other side of the room, across the huge butcher’s block island that separated the cooking area from the dining space and den, watching us softly as she dried the dishes she was doing at the sink.
She sent me a gentle smile.
I turned back to my boys, soft affection riding through my expression.
“Tell me you two weren’t too much trouble for Nana and Grand-Pop?”
Dillon looked at me, a tease in his dark eyes. “What are you talkin’ about? Boys are supposed to be noisy and rambunctious and like to get into trouble. I mean, we are troublemakers, after all.”
Dillon’s gaze slid to his brother. Two of them thick as thieves.
Benjamin cracked up, a laugh so big and genuine that it stole my breath. “Yuuuup. Told you, Mmmom, total troubbblemaker.” He gestured to himself with that crooked grin.
“Fine, you’re right. Boys are noisy and rambunctious and totally like to get into trouble. What am I supposed to do with you two troublemakers?”
“Love us?” Dillon grinned up at me, sarcasm thick.
“Hmm . . . no problem there,” I said, pushing to my feet, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t gladly send you to time-out, too.”
“Ah, man. Mom’s nothin’ but a funsucker.”
I bit back a smile. “Watch it, little man.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I won’t be a troublemaker. Crush my dreams, why don’t you?”
This kid.
I laughed, kissing Benjamin on the top of the head and running my fingers over the top of Dillon’s before I turned around and headed toward my mama. She was plump and as pretty as ever, lines starting to deepen on her face, like maybe she’d aged right along with the house.
“How did it go?” I asked, edging up to her side so I could help her dry the dishes. “Did they wear you out? I hate to be any trouble.”
I added a little extra emphasis for the sake of my two troublemakers.
She knocked into my hip. “Oh, stop it. They were just fine, exactly like I told you they would be. You worry too much.”
I let a light chuckle ripple free. “Of course, I worry too much. I’m a mother.”
She angled her head. “Who finally has a little help. You need to take a breather and relax. Rely on us a little. We want you here. We want your boys here. It’s what we’ve always wanted. So, stop walking around like this isn’t your home when that’s exactly what it’s always been.”
I blew out a strained sigh, taking a dishtowel to a plate. “I know. It’s just . . . strange being back. Especially with the boys. It’s like my old life here and the one in Idaho were completely separate. It’s hard to see how to mesh them together.”
She set down her towel and turned to take me by the chin, studying my face. “You do it just like you’re doing now. A day at a time. You’ve always been the bravest, strongest person I know. You have more power than you’re givin’ yourself credit for.”
Old grief lapped, and I tried to swallow down the emotion that gathered at the base of my throat, quick to sting my eyes. “I saw him today.”
Worry traipsed across her face, brow twisting in a frown. “Well, we knew that would be comin’, didn’t we? I’ve seen him around over the years. There was no avoiding it.”
“I’d just . . .” I fidgeted, warring with what to say. With what I felt. “I’d hoped to have a little more time to prepare myself, I guess.”
I glanced around, as if I could picture the thousand times that he’d been in this room, then darkness came speeding in when I thought of the last time he’d come through this door. The day that had changed everything.
She brushed her thumb along my cheek where a single tear got loose. “I hate him for chasing my baby away. I won’t let him do it again.”
Sniffling, I lowered my voice, “I’m scared, Mama, of having to face him. Of the way he still made me feel.”
It was just like those two segmented lives. Once I’d jumped back into the old one, it felt like a day hadn’t past.
The wounds just as raw. The connection just as real.
“He hurt you somethin’ terrible. But the one thing I am certain of when I see him is the guilt he carries.”
I winced. “He left me, Mama. Left me and turned his back as if what we’d shared for our whole lives didn’t matter at all. He can feel guilty all he wants, but it doesn’t change what he did.”
I swallowed around a tremble of sorrow. “He hurt me in
a way no one has ever hurt me before. In a way that no one else ever could.”
“And still, he inspired you through it. Made you feel all that time. And you continued to hope for the goodness to shine.”
She brushed her knuckles down my cheek.
“Who knows what love is if he hasn’t experienced grief?” She almost sang the words, the quote hitting me square in the chest, and I sucked in a staggered breath.
“How could I ever forget what he went through? How could I ever stop hoping that he would escape that life?”
Her smile was close to sympathetic. “I think that says more about you than anyone else.”
Three
Mack
I drove up the short gravel lane to Ian’s house, the sun a blister in the sky, my hands and my legs still shaking like a bitch. Squinting against the glare, I came to a stop in front of the house.
It was painted a light blue, the trimmings and porch white.
Quaint and sweet and homey.
Such a mindfuck that Ian was really living this life.
I shut off the ignition to my unmarked patrol car. The white Suburban with super tinted windows was supposed to come off as incognito. Still, it stuck out like a car coming at you in the dead of night with high-beam lights.
Pushing out a sigh, I just sat in it for a second, trying to get myself together before I went inside. But I couldn’t shake the girl from my skin, the surprise at seeing her.
The devastation that still remained clear.
Hurt flashing like a beast, toiling in the air between us.
Did I think she’d feel any different? Did I think that enough time had passed that she’d give me a quick, careless hug and offhandedly ask how I was?
Like she hadn’t thought about me in years?
But I guessed maybe that’s exactly what I’d hoped she’d done. Moved on. Found something bigger and better away from this dead-end town. God knew, I couldn’t give her the kind of life that she deserved.
Hoped she’d realized it’d been for the best.
Maybe even thank me for it.
Which was damned stupid because she didn’t even slow down long enough to thank me for buying her things, hightailing it out of there so fast I was left wondering if I’d hallucinated seeing her in the first place.
Pieces of Us: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel Page 3
