by Edie Claire
“There was nothing to miscommunicate,” Thane said tiredly. “Nothing happened.”
Margot’s jaw tightened. If sleeping with a woman was ‘nothing,’ she had officially failed as a mother. How could he be so callous toward Vanessa when the poor girl obviously loved him so much? She would never have expected this from him. From Jason, yes — she’d known since her youngest son hit puberty that he would be hopeless. But Thane? He’d never acted like this before. He was breaking her heart as well as Vanessa’s. “I see you’re like your father after all,” she muttered.
“Which one?” he replied.
Margot went silent. A wave of guilt washed over her as she realized what she had said. It was unforgiveable of her; she had no right conflating her son’s situation with her own, ugly past. No matter what had happened with Vanessa, he didn’t deserve that. In truth, Thane resembled his stepfather much more than his own flesh and blood. Thank God!
“I’m sorry, honey,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean that. You’re a wonderful person and you know I—”
“And my father wasn’t?” he demanded.
Margot’s voice faltered. She hated to be put on the spot. She’d always tried to protect her sons, to avoid their being too badly disillusioned. But she was only human, and Thane’s endless questions as a teenager had driven her near to madness. She thought he’d gotten over this childish need for hero worship, but apparently she was wrong. Jason had long since let it go — would Thane never do the same? Why, oh why, could he not be happy with Doug as a father?
“It’s just that this situation puts me in a very awkward position with both Vanessa and her mother,” she replied in a more neutral tone, changing the subject. “We were all expecting a wedding announcement.”
She was not surprised when Thane went quiet again. Her eldest had never been one to argue. His way was to state his piece and, if unsuccessful, to check out of the conversation as soon as possible.
“Well, I’m sorry you’re all disappointed,” he responded. “But I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
Margot knew when she was beaten. He would discuss the situation no more. She returned his goodbye, hung up, and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. She would never tell him, but in one critical way, Thane Buchanan was very much like his father.
She could never understand either one of them.
Chapter 11
Mei Lin woke the next morning to a dog stepping on her face. She yelped and sprang up.
“Sorry about that,” a voice apologized. “Kibbe wants out. I tried to get up a little while ago, but—”
“Oh, no! Don’t do that,” Mei Lin protested, scrambling toward the door with the dog dancing at her heels. She opened it, watched Kibbe shoot outside, then turned around.
Stanley Smith was sitting up. The crackers she’d left beside his bed last night were gone. His voice was no longer croaky, but sounded almost normal. All of which was good, but Mei Lin’s practiced eyes could see other, less positive signs. His forehead was damp, his face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. He was getting feverish again.
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but… who are you? How did you get here?”
Mei Lin stepped closer and met his gaze. Despite his fever, she could see in his eyes a certain telltale spark of awareness. She smiled, knowing that for the first time, she was talking to him in his conscious entirety. She sat down in the chair beside him and patiently repeated an introduction of herself and the explanation for her presence.
As she spoke, his blue eyes scrutinized her with a wondrous expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. “I don’t know what to say,” he replied soberly when she had finished. “You’ve certainly gone above and beyond for a stranger. I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Smith,” she answered, reverting to the formal address. “I’m just glad you’re better.” Meeting his eyes produced another vague flash of recognition, which puzzled her. Did he remind her of her father? Stanley Smith was older than Tom Sullivan and looked nothing like him. But there was a certain resemblance in the soft, polite way in which both men spoke. Imagining her own father living off the grid with long gray hair and a straggly beard was difficult, but somehow this man seemed equally out of place.
He scrutinized her in turn. “I think I remember seeing you before,” he said thoughtfully. “In the store.”
“That’s right,” she agreed with a smile. Perhaps that was the explanation? She crossed to the table and collected his next dose of antibiotic, as well as a pain reliever. Then she moved toward him and extended the pills matter-of-factly while they chatted. “You gave me quite a scare when I arrived yesterday. Not to mention upsetting poor Kibbe!” He took the pills from her hand, and she held her breath. His fingers were warm and sweaty. He desperately needed the medicine.
He cringed. “I feel bad about that. Poor Kibbe. He’s such a sensitive soul.”
Mei Lin poured a cup of water and extended it. “Does the name mean something?”
He cracked a weak grin. “It’s a food in the Middle East, like a meatball. When he was a pup, he used to sleep all curled up — looked just like one.” He took the cup and sipped from it, but the pills remained in his hand.
Mei Lin was afraid to speak. She wasn’t sure if he’d changed his mind about treatment or if he just wasn’t paying attention. He sat still for a painfully long amount of time, not looking at her, before he finished the water. Then he set both the empty cup and the pills on his nightstand.
“Don’t forget your pills,” she reminded casually.
He settled back onto the pillows. “No, thank you.”
Mei Lin sucked in a breath. Clearly, he was going to be difficult. She needed to tread carefully and play this right. “Why don’t you want them?”
He said nothing for a moment. He avoided looking at her. “It was very nice of you to come all the way out here, Mei Lin. Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done. But you have no need to stay. I can take care of myself, now.”
Mei Lin steeled herself. Many of the best nurses she knew handled noncompliant patients with hard-hitting sermons and a touch of intimidation, but she’d quickly learned that her own petite, dimpled-cheeked self was hopelessly unconvincing as a bully. However, she did have other means of influence. “I very much doubt that, Mr. Smith,” she said softly. “If you don’t take the antibiotic you’re likely to get worse. Much worse.” She relaxed into the chair and poured herself a glass of water. “But you needn’t worry about wasting my time,” she continued more cheerfully, taking a sip. “I’m happy to keep you company. Since Elsie died I’ve been terribly lonely, rattling around all alone in that big, gorgeous house of hers. It just doesn’t feel the same without her there.”
Stanley threw her an expression of surprise. His forehead furrowed briefly, as if he were trying to figure her out. He had made no complaint of pain or discomfort, but the sheen of sweat on his skin and the tightness in his jaw told Mei Lin that he was both feverish and in significant pain. “What happened with Mariel Gonzalez?” he asked.
Mei Lin choked on her water. She sputtered and coughed for nearly a minute before she could draw breath enough to speak. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he apologized, a glimmer of amusement dancing behind his fever-bright eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But I was a bit restless last night. And you talk in your sleep. You said something about a lawsuit, and you mentioned the name Silverson. I couldn’t help but be curious.”
Mei Lin’s face flamed with heat. Such a turn in the conversation was not in her plan. When most people talked in their sleep, they garbled out broken phrases and indistinct mumbles. What sick-humored fairy had cursed her and only her to enunciate with perfect clarity while unconscious?
“I’m sorry if I heard something I shouldn’t,” he hastened to add. “But if you’d like to unburden your soul, feel free. I might not have the greatest reputation as a listener, but at the moment I’m a
captive audience.”
Unburden her soul? Mei Lin’s heart raced. What the hell had she said? And furthermore, why should he care? He had been ready to kick her out mere seconds ago! The man was pure enigma. He had the speech and mannerisms of a professor and the appearance of a hermit — adding fatherly concern was too much contradiction to process.
Kibbe jumped up suddenly, placing his front paws on his master’s bed. Stanley cried out as one of the dog’s claws raked his infected leg through the sheet, and Mei Lin moved swiftly to push the dog away. “Stay down, Kibbe,” she said gently, rubbing his ears. “We can pet you from here.”
Stanley’s face, which had blanched, gradually suffused with color again. He dropped a hand over the side of the bed and the dog moved toward it for a pat. “It’s okay, boy,” he rasped.
Mei Lin winced at his tone. The unexpected pain must have been intense. He had broken out in a fresh sweat.
“Talk to me, Mei Lin,” he said with an effort, even as his teeth gritted. “Please?” The pills were within his reach, yet he made no move to take them. “I know it has something to do with somebody named Tina. And that the records were changed. And a pill was wrong… that seemed especially upsetting to you.”
Mei Lin knew that he was trying to distract her from her goal — and himself from the pain — but she remained too stunned to protest. She had babbled all that… and he had listened and remembered it! There was no other explanation, since Elsie was the only person in Gustavus who knew about Mariel Gonzalez, and Elsie would never have told a soul.
She looked at him thoughtfully, considering the irony at play. Stanley Smith had been a witness to the unconscious overflow of her troubled mind, and she had been a witness to his. In a way, his request seemed only fair. If she was clever, she could use it to help him.
The man before her might be unaccountably odd, but she believed that he was sane and not suicidal in the traditional sense. For all that he seemed willing to die if nature dictated, he did not seem overly anxious to hasten the process. Living alone in this cabin for over a year now, he could have ended his life in any number of creative ways at any time. What was he waiting for? Did he truly want to die, or did he only feel as if he should?
She refilled his cup of water and handed it over. “I’m afraid I can’t speak about that topic, Mr. Smith,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Lawyer’s advice. We’ll have to talk about something else. I’d love to hear more about you and your life before coming to Gustavus. You said some pretty interesting things yourself when you were feverish.”
He paled. “Delusional nonsense, I’m sure,” he said shortly. “And call me Stanley, please.”
She nodded in agreement. He was clearly an intelligent man, and not one easily manipulated. Well, neither was she. At least not anymore. “It didn’t seem like delusional nonsense,” she said easily. “It seemed more like you were reliving disturbing events from your past.”
He looked mortified, and Mei Lin felt a twinge of guilt. She hated to distress him, however necessary it might be. A drip of sweat rolled down his temple and dripped from his cheek.
“Like what?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “What did I say?”
“You mentioned several different events.” She grabbed a rag, moistened it with cool water, and touched it gently to his burning forehead. “But your fever seems to be climbing. I really don’t think this is a good time to discuss it.”
“I feel fine,” he lied, even as his shoulders shivered. He made no attempt to stop her ministrations. “Go on, please. What did I say?”
Mei Lin shook her head. “No, Stanley,” she said quietly, but firmly. “I won’t babble on like nothing’s wrong while you lie there suffering unnecessarily. It disturbs me too much.”
His blue eyes narrowed, and for a long moment he studied her critically. Mei Lin stared back at him, unblinking. At last, he cracked a smile. Then, unbelievably, he chuckled. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Nurse Sullivan,” he said wryly.
Mei Lin grinned back at him. “Likewise, I’m sure.”
He scooted himself farther up on his pillows and took a sip of water. “You remind me of an old friend of mine. She was a sweet-looking thing, just like you — so tiny and thin you’d think a gust of wind would blow her over. But put a pistol in that girl’s hands…” He whistled and shook his head.
“You mean Wang Li?” she suggested innocently.
His pupils widened in alarm. “Who?”
She picked up his medicine from the bedside table. Then she shrugged. “You brought up the name. You mistook me for her, I think.”
“What else did I say?” he asked with a quaver in his voice.
Mei Lin smiled, but said nothing. She extended a hand and offered him the pills.
In the depths of his blue eyes, she caught a flash of anger. But she also saw a glimmer of respect.
***
Thane was sitting sideways at his accursedly uncomfortable desk when his mother rang his cell phone. The metal desk was jammed into the corner of an office that hosted four graduate students in a space sufficient for one, and he couldn’t get his legs under it if he chopped off his feet first. He worked elsewhere whenever he could, but this morning he had data to gather and copies to make. When that was done, he had only to square things with his advisor and pack up. If he was lucky, he could catch the three-thirty ferry out of Horseshoe Bay without a reservation. Then he could dump his stuff at Jason’s and lay low for a while.
“Mom?” he said with less deference than usual. “I’m sorry, but I’m super busy here.”
“Well, you’ll have time for this,” Margot replied. Her voice sounded strange, and Thane stopped what he was doing. “I want to apologize,” she continued. “Vanessa called me last night, and we had a long talk. I had no idea…”
An uncomfortably long pause followed. Thane waited it out, saying nothing.
“Clearly I had no idea what was really going on between the two of you,” Margot continued. “Although I don’t know how I could, since you never tell me anything! But when I pressed her, she admitted that you’re not… well, that you haven’t been—”
Thane spared his mother the awkwardness of finishing that sentence. “I told you that yesterday,” he reminded, his voice gruff. He did appreciate his mother’s willingness to apologize. But he wanted this discussion about as much as a mosquito bite in the armpit.
“I know!” Margot said apologetically, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I know you did, and I should have believed you. I’m sorry. What you said just sounded so… well, so unlikely. And it didn’t fit at all with what Vanessa has been suggesting all this time, not just to me, but to her family, too. I still can’t understand why she would blow the situation so out of proportion!”
“She’s not right, Mom,” Thane said tiredly. “I’m beginning to wonder if she needs professional help.”
“Yes. I think she might,” Margot replied, her voice strained. “I’m meeting her mother later. We’ll talk about it.”
“Good,” he replied, genuinely relieved. “I hope you guys can get through to her. Thanks for calling.”
Margot Tremain was impervious to hints. “It’s just that the poor girl has always wanted to be a mother so badly. And she’s concerned about her biological clock…”
Thane winced in agony. He let his mother prattle on for another thirty seconds or so, thanked her again for her apology, then said a firm goodbye.
He set down the phone and buried his face in his hands. He would never so much as eat a burger with a woman again.
Chapter 12
Mei Lin stretched her arms over her head and stood on her tiptoes. The ground outside the cabin was far too wet and mushy to indulge in her usual yoga routine, but considering the scenery, she didn’t mind improvising. It was turning out to be a beautiful morning.
No sooner had Stanley begrudgingly swallowed his much-needed medicine than Jesse Torpin had reappeared at the cabin door, this time with Sandra Gruber in
tow. As the nurse practitioner introduced herself to her new patient, a relieved Mei Lin had stepped outside. Stanley would be all right now, she was certain. The seasoned ex-military nurse would have the situation in hand in a trice.
Last night’s rain had swollen the stream, and Mei Lin smiled to see two bright red fish in its center. They were swimming against the current, but their efforts were only just enough to keep them stationary. They were large creatures, over two feet long, and even though they were in the deepest channel of the stream, the tops of their green fins stuck out above the surface. “Hello, sockeye,” she greeted, earning a tail thump from Kibbe, who rested near her feet. She looked down at him and chuckled. Living as the dog did, he had every reason to believe that any words spoken were addressed to him.
She practiced a few more stretches. The meadow around Elsie’s house in town was picturesque, but the cabin’s setting was even more striking — in a darker, more mystical way. The forest on the opposite side of the stream was so thick with trees and understory that she could see only a little ways into it before the sunlight petered out, leaving nothing visible beyond a greenish-brown haze. The straight tree trunks were so close together a bull moose couldn’t walk between them without getting his antlers caught, and an explosion of moss coated every exposed surface with a symphony of green. When the sun shone brightly, she felt as if she were surrounded by a fairy world. But the second the warm beams were blocked by drifting clouds, a shadow fell across the forest, giving it an eerie feel.
She jumped when the cabin door banged shut. Sandra Gruber walked towards her. “This one’s all yours,” the nurse practitioner announced, shaking her head. “Says he spent his whole life pushing paper for some oil company.” Her eyes rolled. “Lying through his teeth. I’d bet any amount of money he’s an MD. Probably a surgeon. Arrogant know-it-alls always make the worst patients!”
