Like There's No Tomorrow

by Camille Eide

  He stared at her, chest rising and falling like a bellows, sending out giant steamy puffs.

  She pressed a palm against her stomach and tried for a polite smile, but as his eyes roved over face and settled on her mouth, her smile faltered and numbness took over. Why couldn’t she breathe when he looked at her like that? The man was clearly unaware that his scrutiny felt like a caress.

  He didn’t say a word, just stared.

  Probably taking in her blotchy face and frizzled hair. She wiped her forehead with a damp sleeve. “How was the couch? Did you sleep okay?”

  He tossed up a single nod. “You?”

  “Yeah,” she lied.

  Silence.

  He seemed taller than he had the day before, somehow. Larger. Totally determined to do what he came to do.

  “Emily, about Grace ... there’s something you should know.”

  He’s going to explain what he’s about to do.

  “I’m—”

  “Wait, don’t!” Her hand flew up and waved as if she were erasing his words from a chalkboard.

  Frowning, Ian pressed his lips tight and waited.

  Emily held her breath, gut churning. Not now. She couldn’t talk about Grace now. Not with him. “Sorry, Aunt Grace is probably up and wondering where I am. I really need to go.” She edged around him without another glance and fled toward the lodge. When she reached the stairs that led up the cliff, what she’d just done to Ian sent a wave of angst crashing hard against her chest.

  When had she become such a total jerk?

  Maybe she’d just gotten carried away in her desire to protect Grace.

  Protect Grace?

  No. She’d been protecting herself. Choosing what she wanted over Grace and Maggie’s wishes. And even her dad’s. Maybe she needed to forget the promise she’d made to her mom and leave her dad alone, since that was so clearly what he wanted.

  A sharp twinge clenched her chest, followed by a fast flutter. Gasping, she clung to the handrail with both hands.

  The fluttering increased, deep and rapid like shoes thumping in the dryer on triple speed.

  She doubled over and tried to steady her pulse and her breathing, but a burst of panic sent her heartbeat into overdrive.

  She felt her pocket. No cell phone.

  Help me, God, I don’t want to die now, not all alone, not like this ...

  Emily gulped in deep breaths and forced herself to calm down. Light-headed, she slumped onto the step and put her head between her knees.

  After some minutes of steady breathing, her pulse slowed, then returned to nearly normal. She stood slowly and took a deep breath. It’s probably just stress.

  Taking it slow, she climbed the rest of the stairs to the lodge. She slipped into the bedroom where her aunt was sleeping, grabbed her duffel, and headed for the shower. When she returned to Juniper Valley, she would make an appointment with the doctor and get herself checked out. Maybe it was time to face the truth, no matter how difficult it might be. And no matter how much distress it would cause everyone who depended on her.

  Ian stood at the long window in the lodge’s main room, palms pressed flat against the cold glass. Even from here, he could feel the sea churning with energy—fierce, deep, and untamed, the way God created it. He let out a pent-up breath. The thick scent of frying bacon filled the lodge, sending deep jabs to his already rumbling stomach.

  “’Tis against the rules, laddie. Ye shouldnae be here.”

  Ian spun round.

  Aunt Grace, in a flannel dressing gown and bare feet, frowned at him. She had a hairbrush tucked askew in the crook of her withered arm.

  What? He studied her fixed stare, her eyes clouded as if she weren’t fully awake. Maybe she was sleepwalking.

  “This is no place for students to footer about. Ye need to go, before the dean finds ye.”

  “Aunt Grace?” he said in a loud whisper. “Are you awake?”

  She shuffled about the room, fluffing pillows and smoothing the furniture one piece at a time. She kept muttering something about “the code,” but he couldn’t make it out. Surely she would wake soon. Then she took Ian’s jacket that he’d draped over a chair and tottered over to one of the windows.

  He held his breath.

  She proceeded to clean the window. With his warm-up jacket.

  His fingers plowed through his already disheveled hair. “Do you want me to get Emily?”

  Grace turned and frowned. “Are ye still here, then?”

  That was all the cue he needed. He bolted down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

  After a few seconds, a muffled voice inside said, “Who is it?”

  “Ian.”

  The door cracked open and Emily peeked out, clad in shorts and a pink T-shirt, blotting her long, glistening ringlets with a towel. Alarm creased her brow. “Is something wrong?”

  “Sorry, but it’s …” He glanced over his shoulder, his voice low. “It’s Aunt Grace.”

  Emily bolted toward the bedrooms, but he caught her gently by the arm.

  A cloud of sweet, flowery-scented steam poured from the doorway, enveloping him. “She’s all right. She’s just a wee bit confused. I think she needs help remembering where she is.”

  When they entered the main room, Grace was muttering and fixing the blanket on the sofa bed where Ian had lain.

  Looking to Emily, Ian mouthed, What do we do?

  “Give her some time,” Emily whispered. She laid a gentle hand on the old woman’s shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, Aunt Grace. How are you doing?”

  Grace frowned and continued to fix the cushions, starting over where she’d already been. “I need to tidy up here. Thomas is lecturing at the university clinic again, but he’ll be back soon. I spoke to one of the students—” She sent a suspicious glance over her shoulder at Ian.

  Emily also turned to him, eyebrows raised.

  He shrugged.

  Grace resumed her tidying. “Thomas needs to finish his research. He’s found a connection. It’s in the code.”

  Emily threw another questioning glance at Ian, but he shook his head and turned up empty palms. He must’ve been absent when they gave out the code.

  Turning to Grace, Emily asked, “Didn’t Uncle Thomas love coming to the beach? To watch the storms?”

  Grace stopped with a pillow clutched to her bosom and looked out the window, beyond the sea. “Aye. There was a fierce storm the first time I saw him.” A slow smile spread over her face. “Maggie said I was daft, going to meet that American at the kirk social. She was so jealous.” She patted the pillow and surveyed the room with a dazed frown.

  “Would you like to sit down for a minute?” Emily asked in a soothing voice.

  Grace nodded and let Emily help her onto a couch.

  Ian stood mesmerized like he’d been cast in a play and everyone else knew their lines except him. He stepped closer and leaned toward Emily, speaking in low tones. “Can I help? Maybe I could make her some tea.” Tea. That’ll fix it. Idiot.

  “Good thinking.” She turned to the old woman. “Should we have a little tea now?”

  “Aye, there’s always time for tea, dearie. But none o’ that fancy kind, mind ye.” She frowned, then offered up an expectant smile. “Did we get a letter from Maggie today?”

  Emily returned the old woman’s smile. “Not today.” She shot Ian a look before she went on. “Maybe you should get dressed first—I think they’re serving breakfast soon, and there’s a little chapel service after that.”

  “Ooh, aye, I must get dressed.” She looked to Ian and her eyes lit up. “What do ye say to a wee picnic on the beach after? We can visit more then.” She labored to her feet, straightening her little frame as she did, and lifted her face to him. “Would ye fancy that?”

  “Whatever you say, Aunt Grace. That’s why I’m here.” Ian glanced at Emily.

  Her brow quirked in a question. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, but he had no idea what the question was. All Ian knew wa
s his brilliant plan was quickly unraveling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sunday turned out different from the day before, not as warm, the sea rough and restless.

  Ian carried the picnic basket from the Jeep to a picnic table near the sand, inhaling the scent of sea. The salty breeze stirred up a damp fish smell that hung on the air like an old fishing net.

  Emily helped Grace unpack the food without saying much.

  Aunt Grace served Ian a tiny sandwich on a paper plate. He thanked her and popped it into his mouth, continuing his silent observation of the old woman. She’d worked for over an hour on the picnic lunch, insisting on doing it all herself. How oddly she’d behaved only hours before, and how quickly she’d returned to her right mind. Was it dementia? How often did she have those sorts of moments?

  And what if Grace had accepted Maggie’s earlier invitations to move back home? No doubt he would be dealing with an entirely new problem now, one needing an entirely new solution.

  “Are you warm enough, Aunt Grace?” Emily asked.

  “Aye, dearie.” Grace smiled, then frowned at Ian’s empty plate and served him another sandwich. “Maggie is the brave one. Och, she would have fancied that whaling boat yesterday.”

  “That’s a dead cert.” Ian disposed of the second mini-sandwich in one bite. Grace probably meant whale-watching boat, but there was no need to correct her. Maggie would boldly board either type of vessel. And take the helm.

  “But I didn’t see any whales. I was too busy holding on.”

  “What?” Emily set down her cup and stared at the old woman. “What do you mean ‘holding on’? How rough was it?”

  “Ooh, just some waves, I only had to hold on once or twice.” Grace turned to Ian, her furrowed brow matching the worry in her eyes. “Are ye going to tell Maggie about that?”

  Ian knew little of Grace, but he knew Maggie well enough. She detested weakness of any sort. Either Grace feared worrying Maggie, or she was afraid of losing face to her younger sister. There was one way to find out.

  “Certainly. I can tell her your whale-boat story, if you like.”

  “No! Er ... perhaps it would be best not to share everything with her.” Grace’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “About the boat, I mean. I wouldnae want her to worry.”

  Ian frowned. “You think Maggie will worry?”

  “Ooh, dear me.” She gave a slow, grave shake of the head. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

  A sigh escaped him as the full weight of his stupidity sank in. How had he not seen it? Maggie ruled everyone, including her sister, regardless of distance or time spent apart. Grace could no more control Maggie than she could single-handedly win the Battle of Bannockburn. Which, in some respects, wasn’t much different.

  His brilliant plan to have Grace corral Maggie had made such perfect sense—when he’d first formed it. Now that he’d gotten to know Grace and observed her limitations, his plan ranked as one of the stupidest ideas he’d ever had.

  “Now then.” Grace aimed conspirator’s eyebrows at him. “Do ye have more stories for us about Maggie?”

  Ian grunted. “Loads. But perhaps I best not share everything. I’m sure Maggie wouldn’t want you to worry.”

  Grace patted his arm.

  Emily frowned hard into her Styrofoam cup, then looked up and met his gaze.

  He would speak to her soon, in private, and put her mind at ease about his abandoned plans to invite Grace to move home. No doubt Grace and Maggie would’ve enjoyed a happy reunion, had Grace been able to come. But happiness alone would not keep Maggie MacLean out of trouble. And Grace was certainly in no condition to keep the old hen under control. Though he respected his great-aunt’s dignity and admired her kindness, the day’s events had made one thing clear: He would not be leaving Maggie in the care of Grace Clark.

  Emily finally convinced her aunt she’d had enough wind and it was time to go inside.

  As they gathered up the picnic, Grace stopped and turned to Ian. “You know, we might’ve met sooner, Ian, when Thomas and I went home to work in Glasgow for a wee spell. But Maggie said ye were living in London that year.”

  “What year was—” Ian stiffened and looked toward the stretch of beach to the north.

  Emily took in his profile, the way he held himself, his clenched jaw, and a wave of pity washed over her. That was probably the year his wife died.

  After an awkward silence, Ian’s attention shifted back to Grace. “Maggie said you and Thomas had worked at the university. So you were only back in Scotland for a short time, then?”

  “Aye. It was good to see my homeland again. But I couldnae stay there, knowing poor Emmy was all alone here, without her dear mum.” She turned to Emily. “So we came back. I wanted to be here with ye.”

  Emily stopped packing food and stared at her aunt. “You did?”

  Grace smiled. “My home is wherever my heart is, child. And my heart is with ye.”

  You left your home, moved across the world, for me? Emily held her breath, but that didn’t stop the rush of guilt that threatened to choke her.

  The old woman patted Emily’s hand.

  Emily reached around and gave her aunt a hug. In the span of two heartbeats, she knew exactly what she needed to do. She resumed packing the picnic basket, gathering the nerve to back what she was about to say. “So, I guess after your extreme, high-sea adventure, it’s a good thing you’re going to Scotland by plane.”

  Ian froze in the middle of taking an enormous bite of chocolate chip cookie. “She is?”

  Grace’s broad smile illuminated her whole face. “I’m going to Scotland now?”

  “Yeah. Well, not right now.” When her aunt’s face fell, Emily winced. “But soon, I promise. I should’ve taken you for a visit long before now.” Her voice faltered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Ah, child, dinna worry yer wee head now.” Grace patted Emily’s arm. “We only come and go as the good Lord wills.”

  Around his mouthful of cookie, Ian mumbled, “She’s coming to Scotland?”

  Emily pulled in a deep breath, lifted her chin and nodded. “Yes, we are. For a visit.” She waited for his satisfied smile, a victory fist pump, something.

  Ian’s face darkened into an alarmed frown. “We?”

  Stifling a yawn, Ian braced himself for the long ride back to Juniper Valley. The balmy weather had drawn a swarm of visitors to the beach, a swarm that was now exiting the coast region simultaneously and funneling into a single lane of stop-and-go on the eastbound highway.

  While Emily navigated the road, Ian closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Like the traffic, all his thoughts converged into a single thread. Kind, forgetful old Grace could not solve his dilemma, and there was no one else who would live with Maggie. Ian tried to picture himself traveling the world while Maggie lived alone on the farm.

  Fat chance. He didn’t have to try to imagine the potential for mayhem. He’d seen it. Most likely, he would have to forget the feature-series job. And worse, forget about leaving the farm for quite a while. His plans rained down round him like a collapsing house of cards. He blasted out a deep breath.

  “Tired?” Emily asked.

  He glanced at her face.

  Her brown eyes twinkled above little, round sunglasses perched partway down her nose, and beneath them a smile dazzled. By the end of their picnic with Grace, Emily’s pensive mood had vanished like morning fog in the afternoon sun.

  Ian shrugged. “Not much.” He fought another yawn and failed.

  She chuckled. “Ian, if you want to sleep, go ahead. You’ll need all the sleep you can get before your early morning drive to the airport anyway. Lean your seat back. Go for it.”

  A tempting offer. He drew in a deep breath. “Emily, that odd incident with Grace this morning—what was that?”

  Lips pressed tight, Emily shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been talking to her doctor and he’s watching her, but without some extensive testing, he can’t say for su
re. It could be dementia. He also mentioned—” She frowned.

  “What?”

  “Possibly the early stages of Alzheimer’s.” Her voice dropped on the last word.

  Alzheimer’s? Far more serious than a few bouts of memory loss and, eventually, a wretched end. “Why haven’t you told Maggie?”

  Emily darted a sideways glance at him, then focused on the slowing fuel truck ahead.

  Ian waited. He had learned a number of things about Emily in the past forty-eight hours. Like how careful she was concerning the feelings of others.

  “For a while, her doctor thought the memory lapses might be a temporary effect from the stroke. If that was the case, there was no point worrying Maggie for nothing.” She checked over her shoulder and changed lanes to pass the truck. “But it’s been getting worse, not better. I guess I should’ve told Maggie sooner. It’s just ... so hard to actually say.”

  “No, I understand.” He frowned. “But now you’re bringing her to Scotland?”

  “Yeah. For a visit.”

  “How long?”

  Emily kept her eyes on the road. “I don’t know. Traveling overseas will probably be a drain on her strength. I think we need to stay long enough for her to recover from the trip. And of course, to give her enough time with Maggie and to see everything she wants to see. Maybe a few weeks, if I can get the time off from the ranch. How does that sound?”

  Until he found a way to manage Maggie, he wasn’t going anywhere. “Fine. But what made you change your mind? Why are you making the trip now?”

  Like a soft shadow, something stole over her. A look of resolution, sad yet peaceful. “I owe it to her, Ian.” Her voice softened. “I’m doing it for her—for both of them. I want them to be happy, just like you do. I only hope this visit is enough for Maggie.”

  “Maggie?”

  “Yeah. You’ve worked hard to care for her and are so thoughtful of her needs.” Drawing a deep breath, she seemed to be collecting her nerve. “I’ve been trying to make Grace as happy as possible, but maybe I was protecting her for the wrong reasons. I’ve lost everyone else, you know?” She darted a quick look at him and back at the road. Though the sunglasses partially hid her eyes, they didn’t hide the sadness in her voice. “It was totally selfish of me not to take her back home.”