by Jayne Denker
Celia remembered something in the news about a relative of his dying . . . but there had been no details—not about a drug overdose, and certainly not about Aaron dying in Niall’s house. He’d kept the incident as private as he could; it was impressive, considering what she knew about the entertainment press by now.
Niall hung his head, his hair concealing his face like a curtain. Heart breaking for him, Celia put her arm around his shoulders and said softly, “It was not your fault.”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone said at the time. I didn’t believe it then, and I can’t believe it now,” he murmured, an ache in his voice.
“This was your year on antidepressants?”
“Good memory. It was. I almost quit acting for good after Aaron died. It just turned my stomach, the whole lifestyle. He . . . he bought into it, fell into it, and look what happened.”
“And that’s why it’s not your lifestyle anymore,” Celia guessed. “That’s why you don’t drink much? Don’t party?”
“And why I don’t have a ‘posse.’ God, I hate that word. The last thing I want is a group of shallow ‘friends’ egging each other on to do wilder and wilder things. Because look what happens.”
Celia and Niall shared silence together for a few minutes, then she said softly, “I’m so sorry about Aaron. I’m sorry you’ve been living with this guilt for so many years. Do you think . . . do you think by opening this recovery center, you can get some peace?”
“I don’t know,” he said simply, honestly. “I just knew I had to try.”
“And this is where all your money is going.”
“This place exists thanks to McManus scotch. And every other soul-sucking endorsement and shitty movie I’ve ever done just for a fat paycheck.” He laughed hollowly. “It’s weird—that part of my life is done now. This place is built, funding is set up for people who need it . . . I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my career now that I can pick and choose my projects based on quality instead of the size of the paycheck.”
“How about you take some time for yourself while you think about it?”
Niall squeezed her knee, his eyes looking deeply into hers, and she felt that familiar thrill in every pore. “No time. The one thing I’ve learned is that there’s never enough time.”
“No, there’s always time to breathe.”
“Did you ever notice when somebody says that word, ‘breathe,’ you suddenly feel like you have to take a deep breath? It’s like when somebody yawns and you have to yawn.”
She smiled gently at his attempt to lighten the mood. “Niall? Breathe.”
Celia was glad Niall was feeling better by the time the ribbon-cutting ceremony was done. He’d brightened up by degrees throughout the morning as he toured the facility, making small talk with the administrators and posing for pictures with anyone who asked. He made sure Celia was by his side the whole time, or at least never farther away than arm’s length. She was honored he’d asked her to share this special moment with him—even more than if he’d asked her to accompany him to the Academy Awards. Because this was far more important to him.
They drove much more slowly back to Marsden. Now they had all the time in the world. Celia wondered what that meant. Would Niall want to go back to New York right away—today, even? Did he want her to go back with him? What would happen when they resumed their lives in the city? Judging by the fact that he kept her hand in his for the entire drive, when he wasn’t stroking her cheek or playing with a stray lock of her hair, she dared to hope he had been sincere last night, when he’d told her he loved her and wanted them to be together in New York. She had certainly been telling the truth when she’d said she loved him as well.
It terrified her, but in a thrilling way. She was so charged with energy, she felt as though she’d float right out the open window if the seat belt weren’t anchoring her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Niall, either—his handsome profile, his long, lean body that she’d finally come to know so intimately last night. She wanted another chance to explore him all over again—soon. The closer they got to Marsden, the more she practically squirmed in her seat.
As though he could read her mind, Niall glanced over at her with a smile, then his expression changed. “Uh . . .”
“What?”
“Celia, I think that’s your grandmother’s car.”
“Out here? Don’t tell me she decided to go for a hike or some other nonsense.”
He pointed past her, to the side of the road, then let go of her hand to swing the car over onto the shoulder, throw the car into reverse, and back up several yards, kicking up dust and gravel. She was out of the car before he was, but not by much. Ignoring the still-settling dust, she peered in the driver’s-side window.
“Gran?” She knocked on the glass.
Her grandmother glanced over, surprised, then lowered the window. “Hi, girlie. What brings you here?”
Just as Celia let out a relieved breath as she realized her grandmother wasn’t ill or hurt, her stomach clenched. Something definitely wasn’t right. “What are you doing?”
“Going to the grocery store. We need milk and bread.”
Celia glanced at Niall, who had come up next to her, a concerned frown on his face. She said carefully, “Gran . . . you’re about half an hour outside of town.”
Holly didn’t answer for a minute, just stared at the steering wheel. Then she nodded. “I couldn’t find the store. I’ve been looking.”
“For how long?”
Another pause. “I’m not sure.”
Celia felt Niall’s hand on her shoulder. When she looked at him through anguished, terrified tears, he said, “Hospital. Now.” His voice was soft, but brooked no argument. She nodded. There was no ignoring this anymore.
“I said I’m fine!”
Celia took a labored breath. She was exhausted and frustrated, and the return of Holly’s usual bullheadedness wasn’t helping. Her grandmother sat bolt upright on the end of the exam table in the emergency department cubicle, showing no trace of her previous confusion, with the exception of a bit of weariness around her eyes. They’d been in the hospital for hours, which was to be expected; Niall was still there as well, which was entirely unexpected. And he refused to leave.
His voice wafted through the closed curtains surrounding the exam table. “Knock knock.”
“Come on in, movie star.” Holly gave him the once-over when he ducked through the curtains. “You gonna bust me out of here or what?”
“Not a chance, old woman,” he snapped, but in a warm tone. “You scared the daylights out of your granddaughter, and you’re going to get some help right now. Here.” He held out a white waffle-weave blanket. “I figured you might be cold. I had to sign quite a few autographs and pose for plenty of pics to score this, so be grateful.”
“Pah,” Holly scoffed. “I don’t need a blanket like some invalid. I need to get out of here. And I need a drink. You got any on you, movie star?”
“Sorry. That’s going to have to wait.”
Despite her grandmother’s protests, Celia arranged the blanket over the woman’s legs. Holly immediately pulled it off. Celia put it back.
“Stop trying to make me an old lady.”
“You are an old lady. And there’s something wrong with you. So we’re going to find out what, and you’re going to sit here until we do.”
Holly snorted and looked away, but didn’t protest any longer. She’d told the doctor she had no memory of getting into her car and driving half an hour away from her home, or stopping, or how long she’d been sitting by the side of the road. He’d asked about her medical history, her other incidents of memory loss (which Celia had filled in for her, because Holly had denied any other lapses), her psychological history (which Celia could have gone on about, at length, but she’d held her tongue), her medications, her diet, her lifestyle. He’d ordered an MRI and other tests. Now they’d been left alone for quite a while, and Holly was bored and itching to get away. Celia
toyed with the idea of requesting restraints, but she knew it was a long shot.
Holly stayed quiet, but not for long. “Are we done here?”
“No.” Celia sighed. “Do you want some food?”
“No, I don’t want any damned food. I want to go home.”
“Well, that’s not happening till we find out what’s wrong with you.”
Ten minutes later: “How about now?”
“Have you seen a doctor come through here, telling you you can go? No? Neither have I. So you’re staying.”
Fifteen minutes later: “That’s it. I’m busting out of here. Who’s with me? Movie star? Find me my shoes, dammit.”
Niall, who had been leaning on a counter off to one side, building a log cabin with long, paper-wrapped cotton swabs, was across the room like a shot. Suddenly he was in front of Holly, one hand on either side of her, palms flat on the exam table. “No,” he growled. “Listen to your granddaughter. You’re staying here until they find out what’s wrong with you. You’re staying here until they treat you. To make sure you don’t die. Got that?”
Holly was taken aback. So was Celia. She glanced at her grandmother, who was staring, openmouthed, at Niall. Finally the woman said, “Fine! Sheesh! What’s up your butt, movie star?”
In a softer tone—but not by much—he said, looking her straight in the eye, “I lost my grandmother because I wasn’t there to make sure she saw a doctor. She was just as stubborn as you, so I know what I’m dealing with. And I’m not losing you too. Got that?”
Instead of snapping at him again, Holly softened, and put a hand to his cheek. “You’re a good boy.”
Celia turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
Chapter 34
Celia stood in the middle of the kitchen, a bit lost. She took a moment to rub her eyes and felt the weariness in her bones. Then she shook herself, squared her shoulders, and yanked open the narrow cupboard above the dish drainer to haul out all her grandmother’s pill bottles. So many. Niall was right—it was frighteningly easy not to see something amiss with someone you loved, even if it was going on right under your nose.
She started sorting. Almost all of them were going to be spirited away from Holly, taken to the next medication disposal event at Marsden Apothecary. In the meantime, she dumped the bottles into a plastic shopping bag and knotted the top. The doctor had explained about how the medications Holly was taking with abandon—her antihistamines and sleeping pills especially—had had an adverse effect on her. Not to mention that she’d been taking the wrong doses, at the wrong times, and how this one or that one had fogged her brain. And the more fogged her brain had gotten, the more confused she’d been, and the more mistakes she’d made with her subsequent doses. A perfect storm, the doctor had explained, for mimicking dementia. If that weren’t enough, he’d discovered a severe vitamin deficiency, and now Holly was going to receive regular shots of B-12, which she was furious about—well, more the requirement that she was going to have to visit her doctor regularly, and he was going to be keeping a close eye on her from now on.
Not to say that her grandmother would be perfectly healthy once the medications were out of her system. There really was plaque building up in her brain, and the doctor had said something about “tangles”—which just made Celia think of her mother’s yarn bombs—signs of impending dementia. But not as severe as what she’d been displaying recently—that could be reversed. So that was something, anyway. For now at least.
The news seemed to finally defeat the indefatigable Holland Leigh. She’d gone quiet . . . but only for a little while. Then she’d come back with both guns blazing, insisting she was really going to stay put now, all thoughts she’d entertained about the senior home out the window. As if staying within her familiar four walls would keep her from aging one more day.
But Celia’s parents had been waiting at the house when she’d brought Holly home in the early evening, and once they’d all worked together to stuff Holly into bed—there was much protesting, especially when she was denied the drink she’d been waiting for all afternoon—Alan and Wendy had assured Celia that their goal was to get Holly into the senior home as soon as humanly possible. That it was now nonnegotiable. No matter what Holly thought.
And then they’d enthusiastically started sifting through Holly’s things—all the items Celia had already sorted and packed—as though they’d been the first to think of all the tasks that needed to be done to get the house in order before it went on the market. They’d even drafted Jordan, who’d helped for about half an hour, then had made some excuse to get away. Celia didn’t blame her—Jordan had come to Marsden thinking she’d be able to lounge around her grandmother’s house and do nothing; she hadn’t planned on walking into the mayhem caused by Holly’s illness, not to mention the chaos surrounding Celia and Niall.
But for Celia . . . being with Niall . . . it no longer felt like chaos. It felt like home. More than anything else in her life. And now it was all going to change.
When they’d left the hospital, Niall had secured Holly into the passenger seat of her own car, kissed the old woman on the cheek, slammed the door, and quietly told Celia he had to get back to the inn, but he’d come by later to check on them. So he wasn’t leaving just yet. She was glad of that, even though she knew it was just delaying the inevitable. He had his life. She had hers. And those lives weren’t going to occur in the same location. Not anymore.
Celia stayed in the kitchen while her parents were clunking and clanking about in the living room. It was wasted effort on their part—in more ways than one—but she couldn’t tell them to stop. Not just yet. Soon, though.
When her parents moved on to the garage, Celia passed through the disordered house to the front porch. She curled up on the weather-beaten loveseat, leaned back, and closed her eyes, letting the regular, familiar rhythm of the neighborhood wash over her: lawnmowers roared in concert, the wind tossed the tips of the scattered pines and shushed through the leaves of the more plentiful maples, small children squealed in the distance. In the street, a skateboarder tried—and failed—to conquer an ollie. Repeatedly. Swush, chunk. Swush, chunk. She admired the kid’s tenacity even as his persistence started to grate on her. Sometimes, kid, she thought, you’ve got to accept that you just can’t pull it off and just give the hell up.
She opened her eyes when she heard heavy footsteps on the old wooden porch steps. At the sight of Niall, long and lean, her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay still.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She looked past him, at the driveway. “Where’s the Stinger?”
“On the street. I didn’t want to block your U-Haul. How’s she doing?”
“She’ll be all right. She’s napping.”
Celia made room on the loveseat for Niall, who gathered her up, his arms encircling her from behind. She leaned back against his strong, comforting chest.
“And you?” he asked.
“Pretty exhausted.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”
“Said my good-byes to everyone. That took a while. I missed Audra, though—think she’ll understand?”
“You will pay, and dearly.”
“I’ll be a long way away when she finds out.”
“Doesn’t matter. She will hunt you down. Her wrath exceeds the bounds of time and space. Did you see Nora?”
“I did. And I offered to hook her up with some people in the biz. She said she’s not interested. She said she’s comfortable here, she’s made her peace with the past.”
“Mm. I’m not surprised.”
“I respect her for it.”
Celia’s stomach churned. “Good,” she murmured.
He took a breath. “So now I came to get you.”
She almost couldn’t get the words out. But she had to. Her voice was strangled as she said, “And you know I can’t go.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I figured as much. I
was hoping I was wrong, but I know you wouldn’t want to leave until your grandmother’s settled. How long do you think that’ll be? Another week?”
She didn’t answer his question. “I don’t have a job anymore, you know.”
“What?”
“Vic got fed up waiting for me. I can’t say that I blame him—he could replace me a hundred times over with a snap of his fingers. To his credit, he did ask me if I was coming back right away. But when I said no, he said he couldn’t hold my job for me anymore.”
Niall sat up straighter, reaching in his pocket for his phone, though he still held her to him. “I’m calling him right now—”
“Don’t. I don’t want the job.”
“Oh!” He relaxed, and his arms tightened around her again. “You’re going to be a photographer full time? Finally?”
She hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Well, good thing you’ve got your first gig, then,” he murmured close to her ear.
She sat up and turned to him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”
“All those photos you took during Night of Shooting the Stars—”
“Hey. Ray warned you about that.”
“Yeah, but it’s the perfect name for your exhibition.”
“What exhibition?”
He lifted his chin and said pompously, “I am proud to announce that the Bowen Farms Art Gallery is extremely excited to mount the exhibition ‘Night of Shooting the Stars.’ ” He paused to let that sink in, then added smugly, “I pulled a few strings. The owners are friends of mine, you know.”
The deep ache in her heart was muddied first by befuddlement, then a growing sense of happiness and a rush of love for this man who would do this for her. “You. Conned Casey and George. Into doing an exhibition of my photography.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I believe this requires payment of at least one kiss. As a deposit. I’ll get the balance from you later.”
