by Karen Cimms
Kate followed, giving a quick tug on the knit cap to make sure it was secure before stepping inside. It was a large, bright room with windows on two sides. An older gentleman shuffled between the two windows, mumbling softly, a string of curse words exploding from his lips every few sentences.
Tom sat on a small sofa on the far side of the room, looking uncomfortable. Another sofa was anchored perpendicular to it, with a table and lamp between the two sofas. The table was bolted to the floor and the lamp to the table.
The look of horror on his face when he recognized her was disconcerting. “Kate!” He jumped to his feet.
She snugged the cap down over her ears again, forced a smile, and tried not to burst into tears as his arms wrapped around her.
“Oh, Tommy,” she sighed into his shirtfront. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Kate.” He pulled back to look at her, as if he still wasn’t sure it was her. “What the hell happened?”
She took his hand and led him back to the sofa. Before speaking, she peered down into the top of the lamp, then ran her hand under the lip of the end table.
“I’m checking for microphones,” she whispered. Once she was convinced there were none, she sat. Trying not to fidget, she gripped the front of her jeans, which were now at least a size too big.
“Rhiannon put me here.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought I was going kill myself.”
His eyes widened.
“I was, but I changed my mind. I saw Joey.”
Tom’s natural pallor grew even lighter.
“I’m sorry. I know that sounds crazy. He came to me in a dream—but it was so real, Tommy. I touched him.” She held out her fingers as if the evidence would be easy to see. “It was that real.”
He nodded and gave her a tight smile. Of course he didn’t believe her. He probably thought she was crazy, like everybody else. Chances were she wasn’t saying anything to change his mind.
She leaned closer. “As you know, I have to stay for seventy-two hours, and then I can leave.”
He cleared his throat. “Right.”
“I want to go away. Joey told me to go.”
“And where did he tell you to go?”
“Maine. He left me a house, right?”
“Yes.”
She slid forward so that their knees were almost touching. “I need to go. He made me promise I’d go, and I promised I’d get better.”
He thrummed his fingers on his knees as if playing an imaginary piano. “That’s a long way to go. Is Billy going with you?”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. No one. I don’t even want them to know where I am.”
“Kate—”
“Listen to me.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you won’t help me as my friend, then you’ll help me as my attorney. I’m invoking the attorney–client privilege, and you won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Now, you listen—”
She held up her hand. “No, you listen. You said the property is mine. I’m taking ownership, and you’re forbidden to breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“You’re putting me in a difficult position.”
“I understand that.” She struggled to remain calm. “But listen to my side of this.”
It was difficult, but Kate told him some of what had happened over the past few months, including an abbreviated version of what took place the night of Joey’s funeral.
“There are too many memories here for me right now. That in itself is enough to make me want to get as far away as possible. I can’t even come up my driveway without feeling guilty about Eileen.” Her voice started to break, but she took a deep breath and recovered. “And there are the other things. My family. I can’t deal with them right now. I can’t make myself go through Christmas and act like everything is okay. Even Devin snapped at me the other day. My presence is destroying them, little by little. They’re fighting with each other. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Billy is never going to let you go.”
She pushed her shoulders back. It was difficult, but she steeled herself against the painful words she was about to say. “That’s the thing, Tommy. He already has. There’s someone else.”
“Oh, Kate. I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. It’s been going on for years. I’ve been so stupid.” The sting of humiliation propelled her forward. “I’m trying to deal with it, all of it, but I can’t if I’m here, and it’s still going on right under my nose.”
“I just don’t think that moving four hundred miles away is the best thing for you right now. Yeah, the cottage is yours. That was always the plan, but not under these circumstances.”
There was an awkward silence.
“And if you’re trying to convince me that you’ve spoken to Joey and he told you to go to Maine, then maybe here is where you need to be, Kate. I’m not trying to be cruel. I care about you, and Joey loved you—”
“He looked good.” This wasn’t helping her case, but it was the truth. “And he was as sassy as ever. I can’t remember everything he said, but he gave me something, a gift to remember our meeting by. I just don’t know what happened to it.”
If he walked out that door before she convinced him to help her, she would be screwed.
“What was it?” Clearly, he was humoring her.
“You’ll think it’s silly, but it meant a lot to me and to Joey.”
“Tell me.”
“It was a heart. A sea glass heart.” If she closed her hand, she could still imagine it there. “Just a piece of broken glass someone tossed in the ocean. I’ve never seen a piece that color before. It was pink.”
Tom blinked and cleared his throat. He was probably trying to think of a way to get out of there gracefully. “How big was it?”
She traced the size against the palm of her hand.
He ran his hand over his mouth and stared out the window.
“Are you okay?”
He gave her a shaky smile and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He took a deep breath.
“So, he looked good?”
“He did. It was wonderful to see him. And Tommy?” She wrapped her hand around his wrist. “He reminded me that I’d promised to be there for you, and I haven’t done a very good job. I’m sorry.”
He pressed his hand against the back of her neck and pulled her forward, close enough that their foreheads touched. They were so close, in fact, it was impossible to tell he had begun to cry until he let out a short sob. She wrapped her arms around him and held him until an orderly came over and asked if they were okay. Kate nodded and wiped her eyes on the cuff of her sweater.
When the man was out of earshot, Tom took her hands in his.
“I’ll help you, but it will take a few days for me to make arrangements and to schedule some time off. And I’ll only do it under a few conditions.”
She frowned. “No conditions.”
“You do as I ask, or no deal.”
She didn’t have much choice. “Fine.”
“First, I want you to stay until Thursday or Friday.”
She started to protest, but he held up his hand.
“That’s a condition, Kate. Let them help you. Get a jump start on my next condition.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You immediately go into counseling when you get to Maine. I’ll set it all up before we leave.”
“Tom, seriously—”
“No deal, Kate. You promised Joey you’d take care of yourself, right? Well, I don’t need him coming to me in a dream to tell me what kind of help you need. I love you too, you know. I want you to get better, and you aren’t going to do it staring out to sea by yourself day after day.”
She chewed on her lower lip, then nodded.
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made a face. “Sorry.”
“I’ll start things on my end as soon as I can. You think about any loose ends you’ll need to
tie up before you go. If I can get the ball rolling, we may be able to leave by Saturday. We still need to have an official reading of the will.”
Oh, crap. “Who has to be there?”
“Just me and you. He left you everything.”
She took a deep breath. She had no idea what that entailed, but it was more than she could think about right now.
When it was time for Tom to leave, she walked him to the entrance of the ward. As they waited for him to be buzzed out, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Why did you agree to help me?”
He leaned closer. “Now this may sound crazy,” he whispered, “but I was with Joey when he found that sea glass heart.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Rhiannon had just dropped the twins off at the sitters and was heading into Starbucks when her phone vibrated.
“Shit.” She’d been saying that a lot lately, especially when her father’s number popped up. She sent the call straight to voicemail. She was attempting to listen to the message he’d left when the barista asked for her order.
She glared at the young woman. Couldn’t she see she was on her phone? Some people. “Tall, skinny, upside-down caramel macchiato, two Splendas, extra hot.”
She hit Play again, then listened while she waited.
“I’ve been calling your mother for two days and I can’t get her on the phone. Is she with you? I’m worried. Call me.”
Damn it. She was afraid of that. She pressed Play for the second message.
“I know you’re sending my calls to voicemail, so knock it off. If you don’t get back to me soon, I’m taking the next plane home.”
Yeah, he was pissed. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Rhianna!”
She huffed as she snatched the cup away from the barista. She was dealing with idiots. Everywhere.
Caffeine would help clear her head, and then she would deal with her father. She tossed her wallet back into her purse, climbed into her Volvo, and took a much-needed sip of coffee.
“Fuck!” She’d asked for extra hot, not blistering. Idiots.
She steadied herself, lifted the phone, and hit redial, but canceled just before it rang.
“I know!” She was practically giddy. If she sent him a text, he couldn’t drill her with questions.
Thumbs flying, she typed out a message: “Hey Dad! Can’t talk. Heading 2 gym. Mom’s fine, just mad u made her go 2 shrink. I’ll check on her later & keep u posted. No worries. TTYL! XXXOOO”
She added a kissy face emoji before hitting Send, then turned off her phone. If he called, it would go to voicemail automatically. At least then he couldn’t claim she was ignoring him.
“What’s wrong with your phone?” Doug asked later that evening.
The twins were asleep, and Rhiannon was putting the finishing touches on a special dinner for just the two of them.
“Nothing.” She pulled a large baked potato and a small sweet potato from the oven, then gave a pot on the stove a quick stir.
He peered over her shoulder. “Creamed spinach? What gives?”
“You love creamed spinach.” She bustled around him.
He strode over to the table, where she’d place a wooden bowl with crisp romaine lettuce, the ingredients for a fresh Caesar dressing—her mother’s recipe—and a bottle of A-1 Steak Sauce.
“Caesar salad and steak?”
Averting her gaze, she darted around him. “You love Caesar salad and steak.”
“I know. And you never let me eat it. What’s wrong?”
She faced him, eye to eye. “Nothing. I just wanted to do something nice. I figured you’re sick of tofu and kale.”
“I’ve been sick of tofu and kale since the first time I ate it. That never bothered you before.”
Jerk. She gave him a dirty look.
“Sorry.” He captured her by the waist as she passed, spun her into his arms, and gave her a long, deep kiss, the kind that could end in dinner being eaten for breakfast. “I’m sorry.” He dragged his nose along her jaw. “Thank you. This is very sweet.”
Much better. She smiled up at him, satisfied.
“Now tell me what’s really going on.”
Her smile faded. Did he have to be so damn perceptive? No wonder he was one of the youngest attorneys to be a finalist for the state bar’s Attorney of the Year.
She huffed at him and wiggled in his arms. “Let me go so I can get your steak off the grill.”
By the time she came back inside, carrying a perfectly grilled porterhouse, Doug had opened the bottle of syrah and poured two glasses. The candles on the dining room table flickered.
“How’s your mother?” he asked as she sprinkled fresh Parmesan over the salad.
Not a conversation she wanted to have. “Fine. That’s all they’ll tell me. That, and I can’t see her.”
“She’ll get over it. She’s mad that she’s there, but it’s what she needs. You’ll see. Any day now she’ll call, and you can go see her.”
Rhiannon wasn’t so sure. “I hope so, although I’m almost afraid. You didn’t see her, Doug. It was awful.” She dropped into the chair beside him. “I’m afraid she may never be the same again.”
He slipped a large hand over her much smaller one. She loved those hands. Doug wasn’t as tall as her father, but he was brawny and big enough that she always felt safe, secure. He was so damn dependable, too, which made him very much not like her father.
“If she’s not getting the right help there, we’ll find a place where she will. I love your mother. I want her to be well just as much as you do.”
Rhiannon’s facade crumbled. “Thank you.” She was leaning across the table to kiss him when her cell phone rang.
Shit!
“Did you turn my phone on?” Of course he must have, since it was ringing.
He wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “Yes. I thought you’d turned it off by mistake. What’s wrong?”
She darted into the kitchen and snatched it off the counter.
“Damn it! What time is it?”
“A little after eight. Why?”
She held out the phone, waving it wildly. “Then why is he calling me now?”
“Who? Jesus. Just answer it.”
Moments after the ringing stopped, the house phone began to ring.
“Sonofabitch!” She stomped her foot.
“What the hell’s going on?” Doug pushed back his chair and stalked into the kitchen. Rhiannon rushed him as he reached for the phone, but it was too late.
“Yes, of course. She’s right here.” He handed her the phone. “It’s your father.”
“No shit,” she grumbled, scowling as she yanked the handset from him.
“Hi, Daddy,” she cooed into the phone. “How come you’re not on the stage yet?”
“Maybe because it’s only five o’clock on the west coast,” Doug muttered.
Her ears still ringing, Rhiannon hung up. “Why’d you turn my phone on?”
Granted, her father had a temper, but it had rarely ever been directed at her. Not this time. He was beyond pissed. She’d wheedled, cajoled, and finally sworn to God that her mother was fine, just annoyed that they were making her see a psychiatrist. She hated lying to him, but it was for his own good. By the time he learned the truth, her mother would be well on her way to recovery and this nightmare would be over. He’d probably even thank her.
Right now, her most pressing problem was the man in her kitchen giving her the stink eye.
“Why are you lying to your father?”
She sighed. “Because if I tell him she’s been committed, he’ll come home.”
“And?”
“He needs to do this, Doug. His agent said this could be his last shot at a recording contract. This is his life, remember?”
He could be so obtuse sometimes. She stalked across the kitchen and dropped the phone into her bag, but not before turning it off again.
“And what’s your mother?”
“What?”
“You think a recording contract is more important to him than your mother?”
She grabbed her glass of syrah and drank. “No, but . . . I don’t know. I’m handling this, okay?”
“You’re lying. You need to tell him the truth. Let him make his own decision about whether or not he wants to come home.”
Rhiannon was a practiced negotiator who’d worked her way out of things for years, from cleaning her room to missing a final exam. None of those skills worked on Doug, however. There was only one weapon left in her arsenal.
She angled her head, exposing the curve of her neck, and reached up and tugged off the tie he’d loosened when he walked in the door earlier. Her fingers drifted over the buttons of his Hugo Boss shirt.
“You don’t understand. Being a musician is everything to my father. It’s who he is. Without it, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.” She slipped a finger between the buttons, running it over the soft skin of his chest. “It’s like being a lawyer is who you are.”
He shook his head. “No, Rhiannon. Being a lawyer is my occupation. It’s not who I am. I’d walk away from all of this right now if you needed me to.”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s not the same thing at all.”
He grasped her wrists. “It is. I love you so much, I’d give all this up and live in a one-room shack if that’s what I needed to do.”
He let her go, picked up his glass, and drained it with one long swallow.
“Your father loves your mother that much, enough to walk away from it all because she needs him. Too bad you can’t see that.”
He plucked his wallet from the bowl near the mudroom, tucked it into his back pocket, and grabbed his keys. “Thanks for dinner.”
Typical Doug. He didn’t even slam the door on his way out.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Rhiannon had been convinced she knew what she was doing, that she could handle her mother and her father.
Turned out she was wrong.
Her father was relentless—left her no choice, really. Sending him text messages from her mother’s phone probably wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done, especially when he begged her mother to call him back or answer when he called her. He texted several times a day, swearing how much he loved her, telling her how much he needed to hear her voice.
