The hospital room was dark. And cold. The walls were cream, and the tile was white. A framed picture of a field of cattails hung on the wall beside the television. Other than that, just a whole bunch of cream. I understood now why people brought flowers to hospitals. Claire and her father stood next to my dad’s bed. The echoes of their quiet voices floated through the air. Dr. Cunningham looked so different in his pale blue medical scrubs, almost intimidating. Or maybe it was the room and the reason we were in it that was intimidating. I stood in the doorway, syncing my breath to the beeping of the monitor. My legs were numb. No matter how much I willed them to, they wouldn’t move.
“Hey,” Claire said, simply. She met me at the door. Her hand reached out for mine, and it was the only sense of comfort I knew in that moment.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
She squeezed my hand then pulled me inside. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Claire’s father shook my free hand. “I’ve called the oncologist. He should be here soon.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
I had so many questions, but all I could seem to do was stare. I stared at the man in the bed that looked like my father but also like a stranger. At the monitors and the tubes. At the bleak, colorless walls. At nothing at all.
Dr. Cunningham’s strong voice tore through the silence. “Claire called me as soon as it happened. Your father’s lucky he wasn’t still at work.”
“As soon as what happened?” I finally found the courage to ask.
“Your dad called me. He said he wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could pick him up from work early. We were in the car. One minute we were talking and the next…” Claire’s words dropped off as though they were too difficult to say out loud.
“With the liver being in the stage it’s in, toxins get into the bloodstream. The brain loses certain functions. Memory loss, confusion… things like that. Sometimes, in a few cases, a patient can even become unresponsive. Which is what happened with your father,” Dr. Cunningham chimed in, sparing his daughter from having to relive the moment. “He’s having trouble breathing, so we want to run some tests. Make sure the cancer hasn’t spread.”
Make sure the cancer hasn’t spread. Unresponsive. The brain loses certain functions.
The words played on a loop inside my head until I could no longer stand still. Anger boiled within my chest. Why hadn’t my dad just let me help him? He could’ve gotten the best care money could buy, and none of us would be here right now. Anger turned to guilt. How could I be angry at a man that was lying in a hospital bed and letting machines breathe for him? Then the guilt faded to sadness, and the sadness threatened to consume me.
I held my father’s hand. “We’re going to fix this. We’re going to get you out of here,” I promised.
“I’ll let you know when the oncologist gets here.” Dr. Cunningham placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I promise. He’s in good hands,” he said. Then he gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek and left.
I squeezed my dad’s hand then moved to the end of the bed, next to Claire. We silently stared at a heart monitor, an IV, and an oxygen tank all connected to Jared Sterling’s still, frail body. I circled my arm around Claire’s waist and pulled her against my chest. I needed to feel her close. I stood here and held her, watched my dad, and prayed for help until my mind cleared.
I took in a deep breath then smoothed the back of her hair. “Thank you for getting him here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”
Claire tilted her head to look me in the eyes. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t ever talk like that. Everything is going to be just fine.”
Maybe it was the way she was looking at me. Maybe I needed to feel like there was still something good in my life. Or maybe it was the harsh reminder that life is short, and tomorrow isn’t promised. But I couldn’t stop the words from coming. I took Claire’s face in my hands. “I love you.”
Her mouth turned up in a warm, tender smile. “Well, it’s about time.” She leaned up on her tip toes and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “I love you, too. I’m not sure I ever stopped.”
***
The next few days were a waiting game. Dr. Cunningham brought in an oncologist named Dr. Falk, and they ran tests while Dad remained unresponsive. I didn’t leave the hospital. Not even to take a shower. I’d been gone long enough, and that guilt alone ate at me until I could hardly breathe. For thirteen years, I’d lived and worked a little over an hour away, yet I never found the time to visit. I’d let my anger build a wall around Clover Creek. What kind of son does that?
After nearly a week, my father finally woke up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Claire
Jared refused to let Jayce have him transferred to a bigger hospital in Houston, but he agreed to let Jayce hire a home health nurse. Baby steps. His cancer had spread to his lungs, and it didn’t look good. At least that’s what I got out of eavesdropping on my father’s phone calls with Dr. Falk.
Jayce did everything he could to convince his father to go for treatment, but Jared kept insisting he wanted to die with dignity and not by shriveling away in some cold, empty hospital room. As a matter of fact, that had kind of become his mantra. He repeated it to Jayce several times on the ride home from the hospital. I laughed at the way the two of them behaved when they were together. It was a constant power tug-of-war that Jayce usually ended up losing.
Gram was with Annie, and the nurse was with Jared, so Jayce and I snuck away for lunch at the diner. I sat across from him at our favorite booth in the back. I stretched my legs as far as they would go and propped my feet on the red vinyl cushion across from me. A twinge of excitement rushed over me whenever I didn’t have to scoot down in my seat to reach. Beside the booth, our initials were still carved into the wooden windowsill.
Jayce glanced down at my feet sticking out next to where he sat and laughed. “You can finally reach my seat without looking like you’re hiding from the cops.”
I glared at him. “You’re not funny.”
The waitress showed up with two milkshakes before we could even order. A chocolate for Jayce and strawberry for me. Whipped cream. No cherry.
I glanced at the serving window between the front counter and the kitchen and saw Mr. Freddie Miller smiling back at me. He lifted his hand in a wave. Freddie had owned the diner my whole life, and he’d never missed a day in that kitchen. I waved back and thought to myself how good it was to be back. Not just back to Clover Creek but back with Jayce.
The Fourth of July festival at the B&B was less than a week away, and I hadn’t asked him about the fireworks yet. Everything else was in place and ready to go, but with Jared just getting out of the hospital, I hadn’t wanted to bother him. I swirled the straw around the glass of my strawberry milkshake. Jayce always dove right in and licked the whipped cream off the top, but I liked using my straw to blend it in.
“So, the Fourth of July thing… I was wondering if you’d want to be my date.”
Jayce dunked a fry in his chocolate shake. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and that adorable dimple appeared when he smiled. “You know the whole town’s going to be there?”
“I do.”
“And you know what they’re going to think?” He took a bite off the end of his French fry.
“I do.”
“So, you’re ready for that?”
I’d been ready for it since I was seven years old. I stole a fry from his red plastic basket. “I’m ready if you are.”
“I’ve been ready since the minute you opened your parents’ front door.”
***
I stood next to Mrs. Abraham on the sidewalk facing the Clover Creek B&B. Mrs. Abraham clasped her hands together in front of her and took it all in with wide eyes. “Oh Claire, you did a fantastic job.”
“Thank you. But I’m pretty sure it was a team effort.”
If I was honest, Pinterest really should get half the credit. Who knew th
ere were at least seven hundred things people could make out of pallets? And George down at the hardware store had stacks of them out by his dumpster. Thanks to Jayce, and his newly acquired handyman skills, I was able to create a patriotic wonderland.
We’d hung American flag inspired banners from the second-floor balcony. The back yard was filled to capacity with large round tables covered with white linen tablecloths. In the front yard, we had set up red, white, and blue canopy tents with face painting, games like pick-a-duck, and a great American chili cook-off. The cook-off winner would walk home with one of Thomas Abraham’s original paintings, and the entry fees would be added to Mrs. Abraham’s yearly donation to A Soldier’s Child foundation.
The whole thing made me feel like I should’ve walked around with a sash over my shoulder. Miss Patriotic Party Planner U.S.A. I’d just thought I was excited when I’d won the Back to School Door Decorating Contest of 2017. Hey, that three-dimensional Narnia-inspired wardrobe was no joke. But that was nothing compared to this. This was a heck of a lot bigger than a classroom door.
I’d asked the mayor for permission to use the empty lot next door to set up a stage and dance floor. Bennett actually used his charismatic persuasion powers for good and booked a popular band, and Jayce was more than happy to sponsor the fireworks.
Not too shabby, Claire. Not too shabby at all.
Neighborhood children had begun to make their way to the B&B with their parents. It was starting. This was it.
Mrs. Abraham wrapped me in a hug then stepped back and took hold of both of my hands. “You know, I’m not getting any younger,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see what’s outside of these city limits. And the B&B could really use a fresh pair of eyes. Someone with a new lease on life. Someone with a bigger reason to stay in Clover Creek…” The older woman gave me a wink. “Just something to think about as the night goes on.” Then she turned to greet the quickly growing crowd.
***
Couples were dancing. Children were running from booth to booth with painted faces and bags of prizes. Every table in the back yard was occupied. I would say it was a success. I wished Gram could be here to see it all. She’d always loved going to the town’s events. But as much as I begged her, Gram insisted on sitting this one out. “Maybe next time,” she had told me.
I stood and smiled to myself as I watched my father debate the winner of the chili cook-off. I wasn’t sure if I could still call Georgia home after all this. Mrs. Abraham had asked me to stay and help with the B&B. And as scary as that was, it was also exciting. What did I have waiting for me back home? A cheating ex-husband and an undecorated classroom door. And twenty-eight little sponge-for-brains that depended on me for…
I thought about Jared, and what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there when he called. I thought about Gram and how she smiled like a kid on Christmas while we replanted her flower beds. Then I looked around at all the smiling faces and bursts of laughter. I did that. Then I thought about Jayce. Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Hickory Falls.
“Well, I have to admit, I didn’t think you could pull it off, but this is amazing,” my mom said over my shoulder. I smelled her Chanel No. 5 before she ever said a word.
“Thank you, Mother. I’m so glad I didn’t disappoint you.” I turned to face her. And why in the world would you wear high heels to the equivalent of a neighborhood barbeque? I kept my thoughts to myself but smiled in relief when I saw Jayce walking toward us.
“You think you could take that cape off for a minute and give a guy a dance?” he asked.
I could look at that smile a hundred times a day and never get tired of it. “Well, I’ll have to check with the boss.” I teased then took his outstretched hand.
My mother shot daggers at Jayce with her eyes. She straightened her shoulders then glared at me. “You might want to also check with David,” she spit.
No. No, no, no. Of course, my mother went there. A three-day trip turned into a life-altering change, and I’d never once mentioned the divorce to my parents. If I could’ve punched myself in the face without looking like a mental patient, I would have. Dirty looks and I told you so’s would have been so much easier to deal with than the confusion that was written on Jayce’s face.
“David? Who is David?” he questioned.
My mother’s lips curled into a sadistic grin. “David is Claire’s husband.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jayce
The earth might as well have opened up and swallowed me whole. She was married.
Claire was married.
That meant she had lied to me. Everything she’d said, every moment we’d shared, every kiss, was a lie.
I dropped her hand and took a step back.
“I warned you to stay away from her,” Abigail snickered.
Claire reached for my hand again, but I pulled it away. “Jayce, don’t listen to her. Let me explain,” she pleaded.
There was a fear in her voice I’d never heard before. It made my blood run cold. Why would Claire need to explain something that wasn’t true?
“There’s nothing to explain. It’s really pretty simple.” My voice was as hard as stone. “Are you married, Claire?”
She let out a heavy breath then looked at her mother. Claire’s father approached us and draped an arm around his wife. Claire dropped her eyes to the ground then looked back up at me.
“No. I’m not,” she answered firmly.
“Then why did your mother—”
“Claire Olivia, that’s enough with the lies,” her mother cut me off.
“It’s not a lie.” Claire took a step forward and focused all her attention on me, ignoring her parents. “I was married. And I should’ve told you. I was going to tell you.” She grabbed my hand and took another step closer. “I should’ve told you about the divorce. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. Can we please talk about this somewhere else?”
Divorced. Claire was divorced— as in not married. Why didn’t she just tell me that? Why the secrets? Did they have kids? Was he still in her life? What else hadn’t she said?
“Him? You’re worried about him? Why didn’t you tell your father and I? When did this happen? Why didn’t you ask for help?” Abigail shot a loaded gun full of questions at Claire.
Claire threw her head back and closed her eyes as though she were meditating on her next words. When she opened them again, she locked her gaze on her mother. “Because words like failure and divorce don’t fit into your perfect designer box. Because I’ve spent my entire adult life running from expectations I’ll never live up to. No more mistakes, not in the Cunningham house, not on my watch, right Mom? And because the last thing on earth I ever wanted to hear is how you told me I should have never left Clover Creek.”
Abigail startled backwards. As if Claire’s words were stones and she’d just been hit by them. Dr. Cunningham held her steady. “Is that really how you feel? That I’ve suffocated you? That you aren’t good enough?” she asked Claire.
Claire drew in a staggered breath, and I immediately felt protective of her. She had kept something from me, and I had questions. Starting with why she didn’t trust me enough to be honest. But this thing with her mother had been brewing Claire’s whole life, and it was time to put it to rest. I pulled her against my side and wrapped my arm around her shoulder.
“Yes,” she finally answered.
Tears welled in Abigail’s eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen her show any emotion other than spite. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to feel any of that. I just wanted what was best for you.”
“Whose best, Mom? Yours? Or mine?”
Abigail wiped a fallen tear from her cheek then nodded her head. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I never thought of how it was affecting you. When you disappeared that day, I’d never been more terrified in my life. After we got you home, I went to your room every night for a year just to make sure you were still in there sleeping. I didn’t sleep for months.”
“You might as well have stuck me in a castle and surrounded me with a moat. I know you were trying to protect me. But, from what? A confused old woman? Come on, Mom. Take a look at Gram. Yeah, she’s sick. She might even be a little bit scared sometimes. But she’s not dangerous. Jayce’s Nana wasn’t either. I was never in any danger. You just wanted an excuse to control me.”
“I never wanted to control you. I just wanted to keep you safe.”
“I can’t do this right now. I need to talk to Jayce,” Claire said then she took my hand and pulled me through the sea of people until we were alone. Away from the crowd. Away from Abigail. Away from everything but the sound of the band.
She stopped in front of me and grabbed both of my hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s just… there was so much… and it was all at once… Then it was good again, and I didn’t want to ruin the good with more bad. I wanted to tell you. I just…” She heaved an exhausted sigh.
I understood that more than she knew. She had a past. So did I. The details weren’t important as long as they stayed where they belonged— behind us.
“Married, huh?” I asked with a smirk.
I teased her, but I didn’t actually care. Her past was hers to learn from. Mine certainly hadn’t been perfect. All I cared about was that she was here now, in my arms, and I wasn’t ever letting her go.
“They say you have to kiss a frog or two before you find your prince,” she replied with a grin.
“Or two?”
She smacked the side of my arm then rolled her eyes. “Okay one. It was one frog.”
“That’s better.”
“I like to think of the past thirteen years as a haze. I was just walking around, not really seeing where I was going.”
I knew exactly how she felt.
“And now?” I pressed my palm against her back and pulled her closer.
“Now I’ve never seen things clearer.”
Clover Creek (Sweet Southern Nights Book 1) Page 11
