The Year that Everything Changed

by Georgia Bockoven

  Rachel held out her hand. “Thank you, Dr. Kenton.”

  He took her hand between his. They were enormous, and warm. “You’re welcome.”

  When he was gone and Ginger had eased Rachel back into bed, she looked up from adjusting the blanket and asked, “Are you worried how Jeff will take it?”

  “Of course. How would you react if you woke up and found your leg gone?”

  Ginger considered the question. “After what the two of you went through, I think I’d be thrilled we were both still alive.”

  She knew Ginger was right, but was logic enough compared to the reality of a missing leg? It wasn’t as if Jeff had been offered a choice, his leg or his life. If so, the aftermath would have been easier to accept because he’d been in on the decision. “If the accident had to happen, I’m glad it happened on the way home instead of the way there. Now at least Jeff can’t question my reasons for moving home.”

  “So you did it?”

  Rachel stared at her. In one of those compelling moments of lunacy that sometimes accompany tragedy, she answered, “More than once.”

  Ginger frowned, plainly confused. Seconds later she burst out laughing. “Shame on you.”

  Infected with the same insane laughter, Rachel’s mind credited the small joke with high humor. A torrent of emotion slipped the dam she’d built to get her through all that had happened after the wreck. Almost immediately the laughter changed to sobs. She held her sides at the pain both created. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.”

  Ginger handed Rachel a tissue and then crawled into bed beside her, bracing her back against the headboard and crossing her legs at her ankles. She took Rachel’s hand and locked fingers.

  “I’m going to get all sloppy and sentimental for a minute,” Rachel said. “I get a knot in my stomach when I think how easily I could have missed knowing you. I wanted a sister from the time I was old enough to know what they were. And now I have you and Elizabeth and Christina, and my life doesn’t just seem more complete, it feels as if I’m connected to something wonderful that’s forever.”

  “I used to dream about having a sister, too,” Ginger admitted. “Someone I could talk to who would keep my secrets and tell me hers, someone who would laugh and cry with me, someone—”

  “—who would let me borrow her beautiful clothes,” Rachel finished for her.

  “My closet is your closet,” Ginger said. She laughed. “I can say that because I know there’s nothing in there you would want.”

  “I don’t know—that cropped sweater you had on last week was pretty cute.”

  “It’s yours—spaghetti stain and all.”

  Rachel appreciated Ginger’s efforts to distract her, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jeff and how he was going to deal with losing his leg. “I have to be with Jeff,” she said. “Would you help me get there?”

  Ginger swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll get a wheelchair.”

  Rachel sat next to Jeff’s bed, resting her head lightly on the pillow they’d used to support his arm. He’d been awake once long enough to see that she was there and to ask if she was all right and immediately fell asleep again. The nurse told her he could sleep for hours and tried to get her to go back to her room, but she’d refused. She wanted her face to be the first one Jeff saw when he woke up again.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked hoarsely, startling her out of her insulated world of “if onlys” and “might have beens.”

  With effort she got up and leaned over the bed to give him a kiss, biting back a groan at the pain in her side. It was time for another shot. “Since they brought you to the room.”

  “You look terrible.”

  She had to struggle to hear his throaty whisper. “It’s just surface stuff.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “They’re happy tears.” She swiped her hand over her cheeks. “We made it, Jeff.”

  “I know about the leg, Rachel.” He brought up his good hand, the one with all the tubes and IVs attached, to touch her chin. “They told me in the recovery room.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

  “I was so scared.”

  “You saved my life.”

  A sob caught in her throat. “I wish I could have saved your leg, too.”

  “I saw this dumb show a while back about a two-legged dog. He didn’t give a damn how weird he looked running around with half his legs. I remember wondering if it took someone special to love an animal that looked like that.”

  The pain spread from her ribs to her heart. She turned his hand over and pressed her cheek into his palm. “It’s not how you look that makes me love you, it’s who you are.”

  His fingers caressed her forehead. “When the water started coming in the car and I thought I wasn’t going to make it, I looked for something I could write on to tell you how much you mean to me. I couldn’t find anything, but it didn’t matter because I realized there weren’t any words. What I feel for you is so much a part of me that you’re like the air I breathe. I wanted you to feel what I feel. . . . To know how my heart beats faster just knowing you’re going to walk into a room.”

  The monitor beside the bed let out a pinging noise. Jeff smiled. “See?”

  She returned his smile, a quiet knowledge laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. They were going to be okay.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Ginger

  Ginger got out of the car at Rachel’s house and took a minute to stretch stiff aching muscles. She was long past the second wind that had seen her through the hours at the hospital with Rachel. Christina met her at the door. “You look awful.”

  “You should see Rachel. I don’t think there’s a place on her body that isn’t black and blue or on its way.”

  “How was she doing when you left?”

  “Physically, the broken ribs seem to be the worst. Her left breast is purple where the seat belt came across and it’s swollen twice the size of the right one. Mentally, I think she’s still in shock, more numb than traumatized.”

  “Any change in Jeff?”

  She’d called with the results of the surgery while Rachel was with Jeff in intensive care. “The same. They’re talking about moving him in a week or two if there aren’t any complications.”

  “Why?”

  “So he’ll be closer to home.”

  A tall blond man came up behind Christina. “This is Logan, Jeff’s brother,” Christina said. “Logan—Ginger.”

  They shook hands. “I came to get some things for Rachel,” Ginger said.

  “I can take them back for you,” Logan said. “I was just about to leave for the hospital.”

  “I didn’t know you were here or I would have called with the list,” she said. To Christina she said, “Where are the kids?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I didn’t, Logan did.”

  “Well?” she questioned.

  “I told them the truth.”

  “How did they take it?”

  “They asked a few questions, then wanted to know when they could go to the hospital. I told them they probably couldn’t right away but that I’d ask.”

  “The doctor said Rachel could be released as soon as tomorrow, so I thought I’d look for a hotel near the hospital. Not that she’s going to stay there, but at least it will give her a place to get cleaned up.”

  “I can do that, too,” Logan said. “You can stay here and get some sleep.”

  “I’d rather be at the hospital. I want to be there if Rachel needs me.”

  The doorbell rang. Ginger answered. It was Elizabeth, suitcase in hand. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Same thing you are. She’s my sister, too, you know.”

  Ginger introduced Elizabeth to
Logan before giving her an update.

  “How high did they remove his leg?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Mid-thigh.”

  Elizabeth winced. “Too bad he couldn’t have kept the knee, but he’ll do fine. They have some incredible prostheses now.”

  “How do you know about artificial legs?” Christina asked.

  “You live forty-nine years, you pick things up along the way.” She gave Christina an unexpected, spontaneous hug.

  “Wait a minute,” Logan injected. “What’s this about Rachel being your sister? She doesn’t have any sisters. She’s an only child.”

  “I’ll tell you about it on the way,” Ginger said. And then, feeling oddly on the outside, blurted out, “Don’t I get a hug, too?”

  “What the hell,” Logan said. Before Christina or Elizabeth could move, he put his arms around Ginger.

  Ginger was speechless. So, in addition to being tall and handsome and caring, he had a sense of humor. She liked the way the family was expanding.

  As soon as Logan let Ginger go, Elizabeth took his place. “I certainly never thought I’d see this day.”

  Christina opened her arms. “I believe that sound you hear in the background is hell freezing over.”

  “Why don’t you give me the rest of the directions before you fall asleep?” Logan said.

  They were still forty-five minutes from Santa Rosa. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Your head has been bobbing for the last ten miles.”

  “I’ll sleep when we get there.”

  “Then talk to me. Tell me about this sister thing.”

  She did, telling him everything except about the money, leaving that to Rachel.

  “I wonder why she never said anything,” he said.

  “I think we were all a little shell-shocked in the beginning. And why talk about something that’s going to be out of your life in six months?”

  “That’s not the way it looked to me.”

  “Things change.”

  “Sounds like your father got around.”

  A powerful defensive streak stiffened her spine. “Be careful,” she warned. “We’re all a little sensitive where Jessie is concerned.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know he existed until a couple of months ago.”

  She looked at the car beside them, at the woman driving, at the child strapped in the car seat. “It was my loss,” she said softly.

  Minutes passed. “I’m sorry,” Logan said. “I was out of line.”

  So, he had a sense of humor, asked directions, and apologized when he was wrong. “You’re a firefighter?”

  “Going on twenty years.”

  “That must mean you like what you do?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Not every call ends the way you want it to.”

  “Firefighters got Jeff out of the car and carried him up the hill.”

  “That’s what we’re trained to do.”

  “ ‘Just doin’ my job, ma’am.’ ”

  “Yep.”

  Firefighters and modesty supposedly went hand in hand, but throw in someone who looked like Logan—tall and muscular with perfect teeth, gorgeous eyes, and a drop-dead smile—and she wasn’t buying it. “Are you for real?”

  Logan laughed. “As real and as ordinary as this car.”

  “What’s wrong with my car?”

  “Nothing. It’s just not what you’d call a classic.”

  Oh, God, she liked him. This was not a good thing. “Wife?”

  “Are you asking if I have one or if I want one?”

  “If you have one.”

  “Did once, don’t anymore.” He shifted lanes. “What about you?”

  “Kids?”

  “Nope. What about you?” he repeated.

  “Neither—wife or kids.”

  He glanced at her. “So, why all the questions?”

  She shrugged. “Just figured it was time I got to know the relatives.”

  “You’re quick. I like that.”

  “You’re bossy,” she said.

  “And?”

  “I’m not crazy about that.”

  He grinned. “Hits too close to home?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem very worried about your brother.”

  “I’m not—at least not now. Jeff’s a survivor. He has some tough times ahead, but he’ll come through okay. Rachel’s the one who needs help. It’s going to fall to her to hold everything together while Jeff recovers. And she’s the one stuck with the nightmares. It’s my understanding Jeff was unconscious for most of what happened.”

  “We’ll be there for her.”

  He pinned her with a look. “Will you? Really? For the long haul?”

  “Yes,” she said with absolute conviction. “We really will. All three of us.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Christina

  Christina stopped to look at the drawings decorating the refrigerator. John’s was the outline of his hand made into a turkey, the head his thumb, the fingers the tail feathers. Cassidy had made a Pilgrim couple, the woman with flaming red hair and dangling earrings, the man sporting a buzz cut and headband. She was crazy about her niece and nephew but not so enamored she was blinded to the truth—neither was a budding Rembrandt.

  She reached inside for the cream, poured it into the small ceramic pitcher shaped like a cow, and put it on the tray with mugs of coffee. She’d spent so much time in Rachel’s kitchen the past three weeks that she was almost as familiar with it as she was the one at home.

  Only it wasn’t her home. It was Jessie’s. It just felt like home. But soon, probably the first of the year, Lucy would put the house on the market and it would be someone else’s home. And she’d be in L.A. looking for a new place to live, starting a new life.

  Elizabeth came into the kitchen. “Need some help?”

  She picked up the tray. “I got it.”

  “Wait a second. I want to talk to you.”

  Christina put the tray down again. “What’s up?”

  “What are we going to do about Thanksgiving? Jeff should be home by then, and there’s no way Rachel can take care of him and fix a dinner, too.”

  She should have known this was coming. Elizabeth was half Martha Stewart and half organizational freak—a lethal combination for those related to her who just didn’t give a damn about holiday traditions. Christina’s last four Thanksgivings had been unmitigated disasters—the best of which was the one she’d spent at a friend’s house where everyone celebrated by getting stoned. The turkey hadn’t made it into the oven until eight o’clock that night, its only stuffing the plastic bag of giblets, plastic included. “There has to be a restaurant around here that does catering.”

  Elizabeth looked horrified.

  “God, you’re so predictable. Okay, what did you have in mind?”

  “We could do the cooking.”

  “We?” Christina questioned.

  “The three of us.”

  “Like that’s going to happen. You’re assuming a lot if you think I can cook.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, so we throw some Stove Top stuffing in a pan and open a can of gravy. What are you going to do with Sam and Stephanie and the boys?”

  “Would it be so bad if I brought them?”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And me and Rachel. That’s seven. With Rachel’s four that’s nine. Then there’s Logan—”

  “He said he won’t be here. He has to go back to work next week, but he’ll be here for Christmas.”

  Christina was fighting a battle she didn’t want to win. “Sure. What the hell. Why should I care?”

  “Be careful,” Elizabeth said sarcastically. “You might give someone the wrong impression with all that enthusiasm.”

  “Well, what did you expect me to say? It’s not like I know how to do any of this stuff.”

  “I’ll
teach you.”

  Christina picked up the tray again. “I’m thrilled.” She pushed open the swinging door between the kitchen and family room with her hip. “Hey, guess what,” she said to Rachel and Ginger. “Elizabeth has decided we should all have Thanksgiving here.”

  A stunned silence followed. Rachel was the first to say something. “Would you do that?”

  “Should we is more like it,” Ginger said. “Jeff will be home by then. You don’t need a houseful of people when—”

  “Oh, but I do,” Rachel protested. The bruises around her eyes had faded to a yellow-green that she’d stopped trying to hide with makeup. “Jeff can’t wait to get some normalcy in our lives again. And the kids would love it.”

  “What about you, Ginger?” Elizabeth asked. “Are you going to Denver for Thanksgiving?”

  “I’m going home for Christmas this year. I never do both.”

  Elizabeth beamed. “Then it’s a done deal. I’ll pick up what we’ll need before I leave today. Does anyone have any family recipes, any traditions they want to include?”

  Christina groaned.

  “Oh, shut up,” Ginger said without malice. “We’re on to you, you know. If Elizabeth hadn’t thought of this, you would have found a way to suggest it yourself.”

  “Not likely. My domesticity begins and ends with cleaning moldy takeout from the back shelves of the refrigerator. And remember, I was raised in Mexico. Mexicans don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

  “I hate canned sweet potatoes,” Ginger said.

  “I love mince pie,” Rachel added.

  They all looked at her as if she were some kind of alien creature. Christina made a face. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Well, I like fruitcake,” Elizabeth confessed.

  “Okay,” Ginger said, “if we’re admitting dirty little holiday secrets, I like giblet gravy.”

  “Euww,” the others said in unison.

  Rachel laughed. “Sounds as if we’d better stick to the basics.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She could handle basic; she could handle elaborate. The meal itself didn’t matter, the company did. They had one more meeting after today, in December, to listen to Jessie’s final tape. After that, geography would create barriers between them when Christina moved to Los Angeles, Ginger to Kansas City, and Rachel . . . she didn’t know about Rachel other than how hard the road ahead was for both her and Jeff. They would likely stay through Jeff’s recovery. After that, it made sense to leave California, if only to escape bad memories.