by Hope Ramsay
Chapter 2
A light summer rain was pattering on Nonna’s old slate roof when Sara awakened the next morning in her mom’s old bedroom under the eaves of Nonna’s little craftsman bungalow. The sound of the rain on the shingles above the sharply slanted ceiling brought her back to her childhood, when she used to snuggle and giggle with her sisters under this same patchwork quilt her grandmother had made when she was a young bride.
Desperate to know the mother they’d lost to cancer when Sara was just thirteen years old, her sisters and she used to carefully sift through her mother’s childhood possessions—classic books like Little Women and Gone With the Wind, award ribbons for track and basketball, literary awards for writing and English. Air Supply and Journey posters pinned up on the closet door, endless balls of yarn and colorful handmade scarves. Every empty perfume bottle, every old notebook filled with notes and doodles was an endlessly fascinating clue to who their mother had been, a tiny piece of her to hold on to just a little bit longer.
But waking up in a shrine was lonely. She thought of Tagg, waking up under the eaves next to his girlfriend in the brand-new house he and Sara had meant to call home.
His rejection still hurt, but now her grief was more for the life she would’ve had rather than for Tagg himself. Being married, decorating their new home, planning a family…that was the life she mourned. After all, she was almost thirty-one years old. She’d wanted that life, dammit. A happy life with a partner she loved, settling down. Being able to do all the things she’d put off for years because she was too busy studying, working, and being broke while all her other friends already had great jobs and had started their real lives. She was tired of delayed gratification. And she wanted a dog.
For ten years she hadn’t thought of her life as being any other way but with Tagg. And then suddenly…everything had changed. She’d gotten over the shock, yes. But she felt adrift, unmoored. Bobbing around in the middle of the ocean with no compass.
Her grandmother had always been her guide, and now Sara was losing her too. All the more reason to make every moment with Nonna count. To be there for Nonna the way her grandmother always had been for her.
Sara dug under the bed for her fuzzy purple slippers and tiptoed down the hall. The wooden floors creaked a little, but Sara wouldn’t trade this old house for anything. She’d always dreamed of someday having a quirky house with a lot of charm, but Tagg had preferred a brand-new house in a cookie-cutter subdivision that looked like all its neighbors, and she’d gone along with it. How much else had she gone along with, not really wanting to?
It was definitely too early for soul-searching. Nonna wasn’t up yet, which meant Sara had time to start the Sunday routine, one Nonna had followed without deviation for fifty years. First up was starting the coffee and homemade cinnamon rolls, then getting ready for Mass at St. Alfonso’s, followed by coffee and doughnuts and socializing in the church hall, followed by a trip to the grocery store and an afternoon of cooking for Sunday dinner.
Sunday dinner was a tradition that had been going on for generations. During her years of medical school and residency, Sara had missed everything about it—the food, the easy camaraderie, the squabbling—typical family stuff that made anything else the world had to throw at you bearable. Gathering at Nonna’s every week was nonnegotiable; unless you were overseas or serving a life sentence, you showed up, on pain of death.
Sara loved cooking alongside Nonna, spending time with her and learning to make the special Italian dishes that had brought her family together for generations. Not for the first time since she’d been back, it hit home hard that time with anyone was not an endless gift. Today would be the first time she’d see her entire family since she’d been back, and though her crazy family came with its own set of challenges, they loved each other a lot, and she never would’ve made it through the last year without them.
As Sara descended the stairs, she was greeted by the familiar clicking of Nonna’s dog Rocket’s toenails as he raced to her across the old pine floors. Rocket was a bull terrier with brown ears, a brown patch encompassing his left eye, and another on his right flank. A combination of pirate and Guernsey cow. His personality was definitely more on the pirate side; he was charming, sneaky, and a trickster.
“You got up early this morning, didn’t you?” Rocket usually slept curled up against her back, since Nonna often shoved him out of her bed, claiming she couldn’t sleep well. But he’d left her room sometime before dawn. Maybe he had insomnia too. Sara could relate. The events of the past year had kept her awake many a night.
“Oh, I bet you want some bacon, don’t you?” she crooned as she scratched behind his ears. “Because it’s Sunday, yes it is. Want to go get the paper?”
At the word bacon, the dog’s ears perked up and he started jumping up and down, practically levitating with glee.
“OK, let’s go.”
She couldn’t find a robe, but when she got to the front hall, she found Nonna’s purple raincoat with a row of ducks along the bottom and slid it on over her pj boxers and T-shirt. Rocket, true to his name, darted out the front door into the wet morning to do his business.
The mid-June rain was steady but not pouring. The dark clouds and the fact that it was still quite early—before seven—cast the day in gray. The smell of clean fresh air mingled with the scent of roses in crazy, brilliant bloom along the driveway. Sara located the paper in the grass near the road and, kicking off her slippers, ran barefoot to where it lay, encased in bright-blue plastic. Just as she bent over to pick it up, Rocket swooped in and grabbed it up in his mouth.
The dog was quick, but Sara was quicker. She clamped on to one end of the paper and tugged. Unfortunately, Rocket seemed to think she was playing his favorite game. As she tugged, he tugged harder. Her hood fell off, sending a cascade of cold rainwater spilling down her back.
With one wrenching pull, the dog sidestepped away, bolting for the yew hedge that separated her grandma’s property from the street. Sara ran through the wet grass after the dog. He teased her by showing her the paper, an arm’s length away, but as soon as she reached for it, he dashed into the hedge.
He emerged a few seconds later, wet and leaf covered…without the paper.
Oh, bollocks.
There it was, lying in the mud under the hedge, surrounded by prickly branches that rivaled Sleeping Beauty’s briar patch. Sara walked around to the road side, having no choice but to get down on her hands and knees and dig out the paper. Ugh, and all this before coffee. She stuck her arm into the tangle of branches and was trying to capture the bag with her fingers when she heard a car idling behind her. And something that sounded suspiciously like a whistle.
Sara immediately popped her head up and turned around. A spotlight with the wattage of the noontime sun beamed on her. Through the glare she could make out a police cruiser. There sat Colton behind the wheel, his arm sticking out the window. The arm that she’d stitched up just a few hours ago. Clearly healing well, due to her excellent care, thank you very much.
“You can turn the floodlight off,” she said. “And did you just whistle? Because that would be completely unprofessional.”
“Of course not.” But he was biting down on his cheeks to keep from laughing. “I just happened to be driving home, minding my own business, when suddenly there it was…plain as day.”
“There what was?” Sara asked, lifting a brow. He’d better not mention anything about her behind. That would be…inappropriate. But, she couldn’t help thinking, completely par for the course as far as their relationship went.
He swept his hand in her direction to demonstrate. “A roadside distraction.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Need some help?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I was just fishing the paper out of the hedge.” Rocket sat next to the cruiser at full attention. Colton reached under his seat and tossed him a dog biscuit. Clearly something he’d done before, judging by Rocket’s expectant look an
d the fact that his tail was wagging faster than the speed limit.
As if on cue, the front door of the house opened and her little gray-haired grandmother stepped out on the porch. She was wearing a bright flowered apron and waving excitedly. “Colton! Yoo-hoo, Colton!”
Yoo-hoo, Colton?
“Hey there, Rose,” he called back. “I’ll be right up.”
Sara shot him a startled glance. Right up?
“Hurry up, dear,” Nonna said. “I’m just going to put some cinnamon rolls in.”
The thought of Nonna baking sent a stab of fear through her. Dad and her stepmom, Rachel, had already gently and painstakingly taken away Nonna’s car…Surely operating an oven was just as dangerous as driving.
Colton gave Sara a satisfied grin and backed up the cruiser, pulling it into the driveway while she dug around in the hedge and rescued the soggy paper. They walked silently to the house, the dog trailing happily at Sara’s heels. She felt aware of Colton in an uncomfortable way—a way that prickled the hairs at the back of her neck. Extreme irritation could do that to you, she supposed. It had nothing to do with that white, just-short-of-perfect smile that lit up his face and made little crinkles appear around his striking blue eyes, which were filled with amusement. These traits might make him seem like a warm and caring person, yet she reminded herself he was not. “After you,” he said, holding open the door.
It took the willpower of the ages not to roll her eyes again. Once they were inside, she took off her grandma’s rain jacket and shook it, then hung it on a hook in the foyer to dry. When she turned around, she saw Colton quickly avert his eyes.
Realization dawned, sending heat blazing to her cheeks. She was wearing pj boxers and a black T-shirt with a rib cage on it that read “I Got an ‘A’ in Anatomy.” She grabbed Nonna’s long gray sweater off a hanger and tugged it on, along with the purple slippers she’d left on the foyer floor.
Nonna appeared in the doorway. “Come in, you two. I just put coffee on.”
Sometimes Nonna amazed her and seemed completely unaffected by the disease that had crept up so insidiously. It was a cruel thing, the dementia. Even though Sara was a doctor and knew the course, the moments Nonna acted exactly like herself made hope soar, as if this whole thing were a nightmare and she would wake up and Nonna would be…Nonna again. Then the next moment her grandmother would repeat a thought for the tenth time, and hope would come crashing down.
“Here you go,” Colton said, handing her grandmother a nice dry newspaper. Sara looked at the soggy blue bag in her hand, pierced with multiple fang marks.
Ass kiss, she mouthed behind Nonna’s back.
“Oh, you are a dear,” Nonna said, patting Colton’s hand. “I bet you worked all night too.”
“I did have the night shift, yes, ma’am,” Colton said, grinning widely. His charm knew no bounds, affecting women of all ages. And dogs, as Rocket had no reservations about accepting Colton’s friendly scratch behind the ears as an invitation to glue himself to his side.
“You must be starving then.”
Was this what had been going on while she’d been gone? Colton had insinuated himself into her grandmother’s good graces. For free meals and other grandmotherly services, no doubt. Like socks-darned, buttons-sewed, shirts-ironed kinds of things.
In the kitchen Sara was surprised to see her younger brother Rafe sitting at the heavy oak table, still in his firefighter uniform. He rose, walked over, and kissed Nonna. “I let myself in,” he said, gesturing to the back door. “I see I’m just in time for breakfast. Hey, Colton. Hi, Sis.” Sara hugged her baby brother, who was around three years younger than she but was also a broad-shouldered, muscular six two, so baby probably wasn’t quite the right term. Colton and Rafe shared some kind of complicated handshake that made it clear they were on friendly—fist-bumping—terms.
“Tough night?” Colton asked, sitting down with Rafe at the table. Rocket flopped down at his feet and promptly fell asleep.
“Big three-alarm blaze in the next county. Took us most of the night to put it out. Fortunately it was an abandoned warehouse, so no one was hurt.” Rafe spoke animatedly with his hands, and his whole face lit up.
“You firefighters can’t wait to rush to a great fire, can you?” Colton said.
Rafe laughed. “At least no one’s shooting at me. Or making me chase them under barbed wire fences. Your arm OK?”
Sara helped Nonna put the rolls in the oven, then watched Nonna disappear into the dining room to fetch a platter. She sneaked a glance at Colton, whose response to Rafe was a shrug and a smile. Today, as in the ER, he seemed to take pains to downplay the danger of his job. She wasn’t sure if he was just cavalier or if maybe time had humbled him a little. Probably the former. He always had been Mr. No Big Deal.
He sat there talking shop with her brother, looking the picture of masculinity in his navy-blue uniform, his hands grasping his coffee mug. Sara couldn’t help but notice the sinewy muscle that ran the length of his tanned arms, and the elegant, long fingers curled casually around his cup.
“I heard you were in the ER,” Rafe said. “Hopefully your doctor did a nice job fixing you up.” Rafe gave Sara a wink.
“Yeah,” Colton said, “my doctor did a nice job but also gave me a nice pain in the ass. But I guess that’s OK, because she also complimented me on it.”
Sara dropped the mixing bowl she was carrying into the sink. “I did not compliment you on your ass.” There was no way she was going to let him get away with that in front of her brother.
“Maybe not, but I could tell you wanted to.”
What an ass. Literally. “That is the most ridiculous—”
Nonna shuffled back into the kitchen. “Sara, be a dear and pour Colton some coffee, would you?” Nonna asked.
“Can I put arsenic in it?” she mumbled as she took the coffeepot out of its holder.
“I heard that,” Colton said quietly as Nonna proceeded to wipe off the counters. “So much for the Hippocratic oath.”
“That only applies to patients,” Sara said.
Colton slid his cup toward her as she approached the table. “You did sew up my arm, so I guess you are my doctor.”
“A one-time visit to the ER does not make me your doctor.”
“You’re right. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
Rafe laughed. “That’s not what I heard.”
Colton’s face turned red. Sara was surprised he was capable of a good strong blush. “I could tell stories about you, Rafe,” Colton said, “but out of respect for your grandma I’ll refrain. Besides, you’re listening to too many rumors.”
Rafe patted Colton on the back. “They’re not rumors, Colt my man, they’re legend.”
Sara made an involuntary gagging noise.
“Sara, are you choking on something?” Nonna asked.
“Just the thought of all those poor women,” Sara said so only the men could hear. “I’m fine, Nonna,” she said louder.
“Don’t feel bad for those women,” Rafe said. “They were all very…happy.”
Colton gave Rafe a cease-and-desist look. “Rafe, so help me God, if you do not shut up, I’m going to tell everyone about the time we all went out for your birthday and you decided it would be fun to take a little dive into the river buck naked with that—”
“Hey, Nonna,” Rafe said loudly, “those rolls ready yet? I sure am hungry.”
These guys and their fish stories. Sara found it interesting that Colton seemed so eager to downplay his reputation. Rafe had told her once that the firemen and the town’s one deputy police officer jokingly referred to Colton as the Revolver, and it wasn’t because of his gun.
“Oh, you boys go out and have fun together, do you?” Nonna asked, bringing the sugar bowl to the table.
“Yes, Grandma,” Rafe said. “Colt and I go out all the time.”
Sara was happy to take a seat at the far end of the old oak table and tune out their banter. Since she’d been gone, it
seemed Colton had become part of the family. She hadn’t counted on negotiating that now that she was home to stay.
A big bay window overlooked her gran’s backyard and a giant old oak tree that she and her siblings used to climb. In the years when her grandpa was alive, they used to swing on a swing he’d hung from the lowest branch, which was now much higher than she remembered. The swing was long gone. Even the dirt patch underneath, worn by little feet pushing higher and skidding to a stop, had filled in with grass.
Sara supposed she’d have to get used to such change. After all, this was not the world of her childhood, or even the world she’d left behind when she left town for college and med school. Or, for that matter, the world she’d left last year when her engagement went bust.
“I can’t find that darn pot holder,” Nonna said, rummaging through a drawer.
Sara got up to help, found the pot holder on top of the toaster, and pulled the rolls out of the oven.
“Would you like some cream, Colton?” Nonna asked.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Faranaccio. I take it black,” he said.
Sara helped Nonna ice the cinnamon rolls. When she returned to the table, she noticed a full, steaming cup of coffee sitting at her place.
Nonna couldn’t have poured it. Rafe was at the other end of the table, near the back door. That left Colton.
She must have looked a little puzzled. He passed her the cream, chatting to Rafe about some kind of potluck the police and fire departments were going to host.
How did he know she took cream?
“Colton, would you like cream, dear?” Nonna asked again as she brought the rolls to the table and sat down.
“I’m good, thanks, Mrs. F,” Colton said politely.
Sara caught his gaze across the table. He hadn’t embarrassed Nonna or pointed out that she’d asked twice. Still, Sara got busy stirring her coffee, unwilling to let him see her concern.
Every little slip-up Nonna made caused a little trickle of dread to churn in her stomach and gave her a tip-of-the-iceberg kind of feeling. Nonna, however, was in a great mood, laughing and joking with the guys.
