“Just down there. He’s asleep now.” Gage bought her a bottle of cold juice and sat down beside her. “Better?”
She managed to nod even though it wasn’t better and it wouldn’t be remotely better until she knew every detail of her grandfather’s condition. “How is he, Gage?”
“He’s come around twice, but only for a few minutes. No visitors allowed until morning. The doctor came by at eight and said he’d be back early tomorrow. We’ll get more information then. There isn’t a lot you can do here tonight, Grace. Caro and I have a room in the motel across the street. Why don’t you go over and get some rest? I’ll be here if he wakes up.”
“That’s—” Grace swallowed a lump in her throat. “That’s so generous of you.” Her eyes burned with sudden tears. “You go. I want to stay here tonight.” She squeezed Gage’s hand. “And thank you again for all that you and Caro have done. I hate taking up your precious time together while you’re on leave.”
“Forget about that. I owe your grandfather more than I can ever repay. He took in my pets when I had nowhere to turn. He’s a good man.” He crossed his arms, frowning. “You should rest. You’ll be no good to him if you’re run-down and exhausted.”
“I can’t leave,” she said hoarsely. “I need to be close in case…” She didn’t finish. She couldn’t bear to say the words aloud.
“There won’t be any ‘in case.’ Your grandfather is going to be fine,” Gage said gruffly. “He’s got more strength and willpower than any man I know.”
“He can definitely be stubborn. I’m very glad for that now. But I still don’t understand what happened. Was it a stroke?”
“Hard to say until the test results are back. We’ll know soon.”
She nodded, trying to relax, but her mind kept whirling from possibility to possibility. “What about the animal shelter?”
“We’ve got volunteers lined up. Everyone in town wants to pitch in. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“That’s the first thing my grandfather will ask me. You know how devoted he is to his animals.”
Gage smiled. “Yeah, I got that message loud and clear. And I know it weighs on him. But he didn’t want you to worry about any of this.” Gage shook his head. “In fact, he made us promise not to call you. He didn’t want you upset.”
“Upset?” Grace shot to her feet, pacing again. “That’s just crazy. Of course I had to know.”
“That’s what we thought. Caro called as soon as she could. But Caro says he was too proud to admit he needed help. In the last months the shelter has been understaffed and work has been piling up. It might have become more than he could handle.”
“He should have told me,” Grace said. “I would have come home to help. All he had to do was tell me.” More waves of guilt hit. If she had come home sooner none of this would have happened.
Her fault.
She sank into a lumpy chair next to Gage, staring down the hall. “I should have been here to check on things. I should have seen what was going on.”
“Hey.” Gage gripped her shoulder. “Don’t start guilting about this. He’s a tough old bird, and the last thing he would have wanted was you hovering around, fussing over him. You were right where he wanted you, off in D.C. carrying on with your life and making a success. Do you know how often he bragged about you to Caro and the staff at the shelter?”
Grace closed her eyes. “I should have called him more often. I should have heard how tired he was when he called me.”
“No one here saw anything. I doubt that you could have, either. But what’s done is done. No point making yourself sick over what you can’t change.” Gage looked up as footsteps rapped down the hall.
A tall woman sprinted toward them, her dark hair flying and her purse swinging from side to side. She wore plain black clogs and a long gray sweater over leggings that hugged her slender curves. Her deep blue eyes widened when she saw Grace.
“You made it. I’m so glad Caro tracked you down.”
“Jilly.” Grace whispered her friend’s name and then reached out for the physical comfort that came from someone who felt like family, someone who knew your oldest secrets and deepest fears. They had been friends since the age of twelve, when Jilly had first moved to Summer Island with her foster family. Like Grace, Jilly had worked hard to find stability in her life. She had followed her dreams. Now she was an up-and-coming chef in Arizona.
“Honey, you need to eat something. You look terrible.” Jilly shot a look at Gage. “Is anything open? Maybe a sandwich, do you think?”
He gave a little two-finger salute. “I’ll go reconnoiter.”
Grace closed her eyes, leaning on Jilly’s shoulder. “He’s been so good to do all this. But he and Caro should be at home. His leave won’t last much longer, will it?”
“Don’t bother to argue, because I’ve tried. They would rather be here helping. Just like I would. Now close your eyes and lie down here on the couch. I’m going to find you a blanket.”
“But I—”
Jilly simply ignored her, striding around the corner.
When she returned, she was carrying a big crocheted afghan and a plate with a sugar doughnut. “First you eat. Then you’re going to rest. I knew you’d refuse to leave until you saw your grandfather, but at least you’re going to sleep. I’ll be here. And don’t argue with me on this,” Jilly said fiercely. “I can take you in a fight, Lindstrom. Just remember that.”
Grace yawned, overwhelmed with worry. But there was comfort in her friend’s brisk energy. Jilly had always been the doer, filled with a thousand ideas and the energy to try all of them. Clearly, she still raced through life, taking every corner on two wheels. “Okay, but just for an hour. It feels as if I’ve been traveling for days.”
“Eat the doughnut. It’s crappy, but it will fill you up.”
Grace forced down the sweet, sticky pastry and then drank from the water bottle Jilly produced from her big leather tote. She blinked back tears as Jilly smoothed the afghan over her. “It’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed all of you.”
“As if I wouldn’t come,” her friend snapped. “I love your grandfather. He’s as cool as they get.” Jilly smiled crookedly. “You, I’m not so sure about, gadding all over Europe and never coming home to see us. And I’m still waiting for that French macaron recipe you promised me. Now quit talking, stretch out and close your eyes. Stat,” she said firmly. “I’ll come get you if there is any news.”
Grace curled up on the long couch. “Just an hour…?.” she whispered.
And then she gave in to the dark grip of exhaustion.
GAGE WALKED DOWN the hall from the elevator carrying two tuna sandwiches and a hard-boiled egg.
“Asleep yet?”
“Finally,” Jilly whispered.
“She’s as tough as her grandfather.”
“Tell me about it.”
Gage put the food down on the table next to Grace, for when she woke up. Then he followed Jilly down the hall, where their voices wouldn’t wake Grace. “She can’t see him until morning. Make her go rest.”
“Not happening. She’s too stubborn. But I’ll take over here. I’ve got a thermos of coffee in my bag and a new romantic suspense. I’ll be fine. You need to go across the street and take care of your wife.”
Gage looked undecided. “Are you sure that—”
“I’ll be fine. Get going. Caro needs you now. And you should get some sleep, too. You have to be feeling a bit of jet lag.”
Gage glanced back at Grace. “You’re sure you can do this, Jilly? With the hours you’ve been keeping down at the café…”
“I slept this afternoon. I’m just fine. Now go.” She smiled, giving him a little shove toward the elevator. “And give Caro my love. Then tell her to get ready, because I’ve got a lot of things to discuss with the two of you tomorrow.”
Gage ran a hand across his neck. “About that thing?”
“Yeah.” Jilly smiled. “About that thing.”
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NOISES CAME AND NOISES WENT.
Shoes squeaked and tapped. Carts clattered.
Grace slept through it all, caught in cold, blurred dreams of bad things she couldn’t quite see. The old memories of childhood crept out, mocking and shrill. Warning her that everything could be stripped away in a second.
Beside her, Jilly stood watch, a silent and unyielding guardian.
BY TWO IN THE MORNING the floor was quiet. Families had gone home and the late medications had been dispensed. Hall lights were dimmed outside rooms with patients caught in fitful dreams.
Down the hall from the ICU, Jilly kept her vigil near Grace. She glared at anyone talking loudly, making them move away so that Grace could sleep. As the hours ticked past, she drank her way through four cups of single-origin organic dark-roast coffee and two hundred pages of the newest release from her favorite author. Her energy level had always been off the charts, so an all-nighter was no problem. Jilly wasn’t much of a knitter. Unlike her friends, she didn’t pull out needles for solace. She had never gotten the hang of string and points, though she had tried hard. She would never admit it, but her friends’ skill at needlework completely amazed and intimidated her.
Jilly simply wasn’t the crafty type. Not that it was a loss. She would have been laughable in lace or soft, clingy angora. She generally gave up makeup and hair products to make time for an extra fifteen minutes of sleep and an early-morning run.
She had a rangy, athletic body that usually stayed hidden beneath the crisp jacket and comfy knit tank tops that she wore as a busy chef. She didn’t inspire overblown love poems or romance in the men she dated. It was more likely that they treated her like a comfortable old friend. And Jilly liked that just fine. Why complicate life by adding grand passions or sloppy emotional entanglements? Her single goal in life was to become the best chef west of New York City. With that prize achieved, she intended to bank a few million dollars with a restaurant and a branded food franchise based on organic Southwestern specialty foods. In the eight years since she had enrolled in cooking school in Arizona, Jilly had set her feet firmly on the path to that goal. She already had a gourmet salsa line sold in several high-end Scottsdale resorts, with more due soon. And with a new restaurant in the works, sleep had become a limited commodity.
But loyalty outweighed ambition. Friends would always come first.
When Caro had called her with the news about Peter Lindstrom, Jilly had cut short an important business meeting and flown home to Oregon. She was here for the duration, determined to help Grace and the tall, quiet man who had done so much for Summer Island without ever asking anything in return. Dr. Lindstrom was a hero to Jilly—and to most of the people in the close-knit town. He had given Jilly her first pet rabbit. Then he had let her work after school as a volunteer at the animal shelter. A few months later he had appeared at her door carrying an abandoned golden retriever pup.
It was love at first sight. The two had gone everywhere, best friends and companions. Samson had eased Jilly’s rough road through adolescence, when everything Jilly did seemed to be the wrong thing. She had never been part of the popular crowd, and she had never had many dates. She preferred to spend her spare time helping at the animal shelter and reading up on cooking at the Summer Island Library.
When she had lost Samson, all the joy had been sucked out of her life. For weeks the world seemed to close in on her, and even her friends couldn’t cut through her depression. Then Dr. Lindstrom had rescued her again.
This time her solace had come in a tiny package of white fur, wet nose and big clumsy feet. The Samoyed puppy had been hit by a car and left behind on an isolated road. The vet had operated and set a fractured bone, and after a slow recovery, the restless white ball could totter around awkwardly. But he was still badly frightened of people, and Dr. Lindstrom had warned her that the puppy would be a challenge.
Jilly never turned down a challenge. She kept her new friend active and trained him carefully. She had made him part of her busy life while she scouted locations for her future restaurant and products for her line of organic food. They had traveled up and down the coast by car a dozen times, and now her friend Duffy knew an impressive set of commands.
The puppy was outside in Jilly’s SUV at that moment, chewing on his favorite rope toy while Jilly stood hospital duty. Every hour she snuck outside and took him for a wild run, crossing the road and sprinting along the beach to his delighted barking.
She stood up, stretching. Two interns walked by and eyed her tall, slim body.
Jilly was oblivious. Tough and cynical, she had no time for sex and she didn’t believe in romance, which in her eyes pretty much covered all the possibilities. She wasn’t elegant and smart like her friend Grace; she wasn’t brilliant and dedicated like her friend Caro. Growing up as a foster child had left Jilly with few illusions. She was glad that she had found a foster home on Summer Island and happier still when she reached her majority so she could be off on her own. The only people that really mattered in her life were her friends, Dr. Lindstrom and the brilliant local chef who had been her career mentor during high school. Sally McGill could work magic with French pastry and had a thriving career teaching expensive retreats at her cliff-side estate over looking the harbor. Throughout high school Jilly had helped at those weekend retreats and in Sally’s big kitchen Jilly had found her first real glimpse of a family.
Sally didn’t coddle her. She was rude, red-haired and had a razor edge to her wit. Her temper kept most people at bay, but she and Jilly had sized each other up as friends within minutes of meeting. Now they could work side by side for hours, never talking yet perfectly happy.
Sally had pushed Jilly to go to culinary school, and Sally had become her first investor, though Jilly had found half a dozen more, thanks to her contacts from cooking school. She pinched herself every morning, unable to believe that her oldest dreams were actually starting to take shape.
Jilly finished her thermos of coffee and pushed away thoughts of all the work that was building up in her absence. For one wild minute she actually thought about digging up the unfinished scarf she had been trying to knit for the past year.
Instead, she stood up and stretched. Her clumsy efforts would only leave her muttering in frustration.
Pacing the hall, she thought about the future. Grace was what counted now. Caro and Grace and their oldest friend Olivia had gotten Jilly through an awful adolescence and a high school experience that rated somewhere between traumatic and agonizing.
Jilly could never repay them for that.
Friends always came first.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HER MOUTH BURNED.
Someone was banging a pan near her head.
Grace sat up with a start, squinting at a bank of fluorescent lights. She was disoriented as an orderly pushed a cart of bedpans down the hall.
A hospital hall.
Her grandfather was here.
The memories fell like stones. She shoved off a pink afghan and looked around for Gage or her friend Jilly. Suddenly she saw the swing of long arms and the gleam of wild black hair.
Jilly waved at her, carrying a huge leather tote bag and a worn piece of rope. “My puppy is out in the car. We take a nice brisk run every hour.” Jilly ran a hand through her hair and gave up trying to smooth down its chaotic waves. “You look better after your nap. I think you’ll survive.”
“Thanks to you.” Grace bit into a protein bar that Jilly had pulled out of her bag. “Has the doctor come by yet?”
“Not for another hour. And you won’t be able to see your grandfather until he clears it, so you may as well relax. We could go up to the cafeteria for coffee.”
“No, I’ll wait. Thanks again for coming, Jilly. And for staying.”
They sat together, silent, remembering other times of loss and worry. Then Jilly turned, frowning at her friend. “Wait a minute. What happened with that big project you told me about? It was a digital cookbook, something to do with
the White House, right?”
Grace nodded.
“Well, did you get it?”
“I’m not sure.” Grace hesitated. She didn’t want to answer questions now, when her grandfather’s illness changed everything.
“I thought you had a big interview coming up.”
“I did.” The lie came before Grace could think. “I…haven’t heard yet.”
“Well, you’ve got my vote.”
Grace shrugged. “It will be very hands-on, and you know I like lots of freedom to follow my research.” She studied her friend critically, noting the circles under Jilly’s eyes. “You’ve been working too hard. You’re not smoking again, are you?”
“That’s one bad habit I finally kicked. But things are hectic. I’m finally looking for restaurant space and it’s a pretty heady experience. I warn you, I’m going to pick your brain clean about layout, suppliers and overhead models.”
“Pick away. I’ll help you any way that I can. And congratulations on making the big leap.” Grace squeezed her friend’s hand. “You always wanted to have a restaurant, ever since that day in fourth grade when you made us all line up, put on aprons, and copy you while you made pretend chocolate chip cookies.”
Jilly rolled her eyes. “What a little ass I was. How could you three stand me ordering you around?”
“Because we were friends. Always and ever, remember? The girls of Summer Island.”
“I remember. It’s the one good memory I have of growing up.” Jilly frowned. “Are you really okay—I mean about James?”
“It’s getting easier.” Grace didn’t want to talk about that, either. Anxiously, she glanced at the wall clock, calculating how long until the doctor made his morning rounds. She needed answers.
“Stop worrying. Gage said your grandfather looked good last night. He recognized Gage, too. That’s a great sign.”
“I can’t relax until I’ve seen him. I want him to know I’m here, that he’s not alone.”
“He won’t ever be alone. Too many people on Summer Island love your grandfather.” Jilly handed Grace a bottle of orange juice from the nearby vending machine. “Drink that. All of it,” she ordered.
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