“You wanted to be a politician!”
“I am one. Right here in Chapel Springs.”
Mom huffed. Her lips flattened. She shook her head.
“I should’ve said something a long time ago. It never felt right, but I—”
“This is all that girl’s doing!”
Daniel clenched his teeth. “This is my life, my decision.” He appealed to his dad. “Being a mayor was good enough for Grandpa. He left a legacy. I’m proud to follow in his footsteps.”
“This is a big decision. Take some time, son. Think it over.”
“What are you saying, Allen?” Mom’s voice rose. “There’s nothing to think over.” She nailed Daniel with a look. “Do you know what your father has done for you? All the potential you’re so carelessly tossing aside? You should be grateful!”
Daniel set his napkin down. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.”
“No, Mom.” Daniel stood. “I’m done now.”
Mom’s ruby lips parted before pressing together. His dad sat back in his chair, poker-faced.
“I’m leaving,” Daniel said. “Good night.”
He slipped into the kitchen to say good-bye and thank his grandma. He hated to leave early, but his emotions were high. He was going to say things he’d regret.
“Be careful, sweetie.” Grandma slid her thin arms around him. “It’s probably getting slick out there.”
In the car Daniel turned on his wipers as he followed the concrete drive. The snow was coming down in thick flakes, padding the earth with a soft blanket. He tested his brakes at the end of the drive. The wheels slid a foot or so before coming to a stop.
The street was clear of snow. His headlights swung across the pavement as he turned, catching on shiny patches of black. Yeah, definitely a run or two tonight.
He headed cautiously toward his place, his mind back in the dining room. He couldn’t believe he’d said it. Couldn’t believe he’d stood up to them. But then he’d bucked them on Jade too. Maybe that confrontation had given him the courage to take a stand on his career. He knew he hadn’t heard the last of it. His parents wouldn’t let it go easily. His mom was as tenacious as a bulldog. His dad had more subtle ways of manipulating.
But he wasn’t going back. This was right. He hadn’t known how right until he’d said it aloud.
There weren’t many cars out. It was early in the evening, and most families were still gathered around the table or stretched in front of the football game letting the tryptophan go to work. That’s what the McKinleys were no doubt doing. He should be there, lounging in his spot in the corner of the sofa, Jade under one arm, one of the babies sleeping on his chest.
Needing a distraction, he turned on the radio to check the score of the game. Maybe when he got home, he’d get on the treadmill again. Run until he couldn’t focus on anything but catching his next breath.
He didn’t see the glare of lights until he looked up from the radio. He turned to the left in time to feel the slam, hear the crunch of metal. His head hit something hard. And then there was darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“LOOK AT THAT SNOW,” GRANDPA SAID. “IT’S REALLY COMING down now.”
Jade looked out the dining room window. The flakes were huge. She hoped it would stick. It would give her an excuse to stay in with the girls awhile.
“Beautiful,” Mom said.
“Why can’t we ever get this on Christmas?” PJ asked.
“We did,” Ryan said. “Three years ago, remember? You nailed me in the head with a snowball as I was leaving to go home.”
“Oh yeah.”
The snowball had started a boys-versus-girls war. It had ended when Jade stuffed a handful of wet snow down Daniel’s shirt. He’d finally called truce.
“Mmmm,” PJ said. “Who made the sweet potatoes? These are delish.”
“Madison.”
“I want the recipe.”
“Me too,” Mom said. “Though the calories in this alone are putting me over the top for the day.”
“Shhhhhhh,” Madison said. “No talk of calories on Thanksgiving.”
“A couple miles on the treadmill tomorrow, and they’ll be gone,” Ryan said.
“Hush,” Mom said. “No talk of exercising either. It’s Thanksgiving, and we have so much to be thankful for.”
Dad grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss there. “Like your health.”
Mom traded a loving smile with him, then shifted her focus to the babies. “And our beautiful granddaughters.”
Madison leaned into Beckett. “Each other.”
“A long weekend,” PJ said.
“Food,” Ryan said, shoving a bite of stuffing into his mouth.
PJ rolled her eyes.
Beside Jade, Ava squirmed in her carrier, then began mewling. Jade set her fork down.
“I got her.” PJ scooted her chair back and scooped up the baby. “Speaking of weight gain. Good grief, little girl.” Ava instantly quieted as PJ rubbed her back.
Across the table, Ryan’s pager went off, quieting the room.
“Oh, honey, no,” Mom said. “Not on Thanksgiving.”
Ryan checked the screen and pushed his chair back. “Sorry, Mom. The streets are messy. It was inevitable.” He pecked her on the cheek on the way out. “I’ll try and be back in time for pumpkin pie.”
After he left, the family lingered around the table, squeezing in seconds of their favorite dishes. They were in no hurry for dessert, needing time to digest and wanting to wait on Ryan.
The whole meal had felt strange without Daniel. He always came for Thanksgiving, usually with his grandma. Every year he fought Jade over the wishbone. After supper he traded covert smiles with her when Dad jumped from his chair, complaining about some unfair call in the football game on TV. He shot hoops with PJ no matter how cold it was and ended the evening passed out in the corner of the sofa, the newspaper open on his chest.
A distinct odor permeated the dining room. PJ held up Ava and took a whiff. “Ugh.” PJ held her out to Jade. “This is all yours.”
“I’ve got her.” Mom reached for Ava. “Come on, baby girl. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“We’re missing the Colts.” Dad scooped up Mia and headed for his throne in front of the TV with Grandpa. Madison and Beckett insisted on dish detail. Jade helped PJ clear the table. She was returning to the table when the phone rang.
“Got it,” she said, then wondered if it was Daniel calling to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. She wished she hadn’t volunteered so fast, but it was too late now.
She covered her ear to hush the rushing of the faucet and Madison and Beckett’s banter by the dishwasher.
“Hello?”
“Jade, it’s Ryan.” His voice was strung tight.
A burst of adrenaline shot through her system. She squeezed the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Daniel. He’s had an accident. He’s being medevaced to Riverview right now.”
Her heart hammered, the blood rushing through her veins. “What?”
“He had a car accident. He’s unconscious and unresponsive. Tell the others. I’ll meet you there.”
No. No, God. Not another car accident. This can’t be happening. Not again.
She shook her head, another accident, another trip to the hospital. It had ended so horribly last time. No, please. She shook her head.
“Jade? Did you hear me?”
Please, God. Not Daniel. Not Daniel. Not Daniel.
“Jade?”
“Who is it?” Madison asked from the sink. Her face fell. “Jade, what’s wrong?”
Get it together, Jade. Think. “Is he—is he going to be okay?” Please, God. He has to be okay.
“I don’t know,” Ryan said.
As the family hunched in waiting room seats, Jade paced the adjacent hallway. Madison and Beckett had stayed behind with Grandpa and the babies. Daniel’s parents and Grandma had arrived
at the hospital, shaken, shortly after the McKinleys and had disappeared down the hall with the nurse. They hadn’t returned with news, and Jade was about to come unglued.
Mom had put Daniel on the prayer chain, and the family’s own prayers were constant waves of petition. But Jade had a bad feeling, way down inside. A feeling that kept her feet moving on the sterile tile and made her hands tremble at her sides.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Why haven’t they told us anything?”
“They have to run tests,” Ryan said, still in his bunker gear. “It’ll take awhile before we know anything.”
“What happened?” Dad asked. “Was there another car involved?”
“An SUV was coming down Oak toward Main. He tried to stop, but there was black ice. Plowed right into Daniel’s door.”
Jade shuddered.
Mom patted the empty chair beside her. “Come sit down, honey.”
She needed to see him. Needed to touch his warm flesh and watch his chest rise and fall. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was already gone?
“I want to see him.”
“They’ll let us back when they can,” Dad said. “His parents are with him.”
“He’s not close to them.” His mom was probably demanding that he wake up and stop this foolishness.
Jade rubbed her temple. That wasn’t nice. They were scared and hurting too.
She glared at the unhelpful woman manning the front desk. “Can’t they at least tell us something?”
Ryan got up. “Let me try again.”
Three hours later, they’d been moved to another waiting room. Exhausted, Jade slumped in the chair, digging her fingers in her hair. They’d finally gotten an update from Daniel’s father.
Daniel had lacerations from the airbag and a fractured clavicle, but most worrisome was the head trauma. He hadn’t woken yet. The MRI revealed swelling on the brain. The doctors said they’d have to wait and see.
Wait and see. It sounded so easy. So simple. Just wait.
But waiting had become the most difficult thing Jade had ever done. Because the life of the man she loved hung in the balance. She hadn’t even been allowed in his room. She wasn’t family. Wasn’t his fiancée or even his girlfriend. Hours later, after Jade had gone home briefly to feed the babies, a nurse swept into the waiting room. “You can go in now. Room 423. One at a time, though, and just ten minutes.”
“You first, honey.” Mom squeezed Jade’s shoulder.
Jade rose on shaky legs. Finally. She couldn’t get there fast enough. Her heart pummeled her ribs as she walked down the hall, her flats squeaking on the polished floor.
She turned the doorknob and pushed it open. Her eyes caught at the form on the bed. Wires and tubes were everywhere. Machines beeped. The breath left her body in a rush.
Mr. Dawson stood. His eyes were puffy and red. New lines had sprouted across his forehead. Mrs. Dawson sagged in a chair near the bed.
“Is he—is there any change?” she asked.
Mr. Dawson shook his head. “We’ll give you a moment,” he said thickly, touching her arm. He escorted his wife from the room.
Jade’s eyes swung back to Daniel. Her feet carried her to his bedside in a trance. One side of his face was black and blue, his eye swollen. Lacerations marred his beautiful face. His dark lashes swept down over the discolored flesh.
An ache built in her throat, behind her eyes. She reached for his hand and was comforted by the warmth of his skin.
“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered. Her throat closed up.
He should be awake, smiling. Throwing snowballs. He should be teasing her and holding her babies and rooting for the Colts.
“You have to wake up.” She wrapped her hand around his, wishing she could climb into bed and hold him. “I need you.”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Do you hear me? You have to wake up.” She watched his eyelids, his lips, for some flicker of movement. But he lay perfectly still except for the rise and fall of his chest. The beeps continued steadily.
“We missed you tonight. There was no one to fight me over the wishbone, and no one else even wanted the drumsticks.” Her voice broke.
None of this should’ve happened. He should’ve been at the McKinleys’, and then he wouldn’t have been on the road. There would’ve been no accident. He wouldn’t be lying here unconscious.
Her breath caught in her lungs. If she hadn’t broken up with him, this wouldn’t have happened. Guilt choked her. Her own heart raced. She sank into the chair Mrs. Dawson had vacated. Her head fell against the cool metal of the bed rail.
She squeezed Daniel’s hand. “Wake up, Daniel,” she whispered. But there was no response.
“Jade, honey, you need some sleep,” Mom said as Jade reached for her coat. She’d come home to feed her girls again. She’d held each of them well past the time they were sleeping before settling them in their cribs.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. One day? Two? Her family took shifts with the babies. The hospital staff changed. Daniel’s fire fighter friends came and went. The Gazette called for updates on the mayor. The world around her was moving, shifting, changing.
Everything except Daniel. He remained the same.
She left the hospital when her breasts became engorged and returned after putting the babies down. She felt guilty when she was home. Daniel needed her. She should be by his side. Then she felt guilty when she was with him. Her girls needed her too.
“Jade.” Mom grabbed her coat. “I mean it now. Sleep. You’re not doing him any good like this.”
“I have to go back.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
Jade couldn’t think past the fuzz growing inside her brain. “I don’t know.”
“Sit.” Mom led her to the couch and gave a gentle shove.
Jade’s knees folded.
“You need to keep up your strength if you want to keep nursing.”
A moment later there was a hot bowl of soup in her hands. Jade ladled a spoonful to her mouth. The sooner she got it down, the sooner she could get back to Daniel.
Mom set a glass of milk on the table and settled at the other end of the sofa. Jade was sitting where she had been that night. The night she’d returned Daniel’s ring. The night she’d broken his heart.
She’d never told him she loved him. Had never done him that small kindness. What if he never woke up? What if she never got to tell him? Her breath came quickly, stuffing her lungs.
So many things she hadn’t done for him. She’d never made her awesome pancakes for him or covered him with a blanket when he drifted asleep in his recliner. She hadn’t even played him the song she’d started writing the night he’d played the lullaby for her.
She thought of all the nevers and her heart caved in on itself, crushing her chest. She couldn’t breathe, much less eat. She set the soup on the table.
Losing Aaron had been so hard. But at least she’d done all those things and so much more. Losing Daniel, before she’d given him anything, would be so much worse.
How selfish she’d been. Holding back from loving him because she was afraid. Her depth of love for her girls frightened her too, but would she even think of giving them up now? Of course not.
Yet she’d given up Daniel. She could’ve made him happy. Even if only for days or weeks, she could’ve made him happy. But she’d broken his heart instead.
Her lungs closed off, and the ache inside built.
“It’s going to be okay, baby.” Mom was there, brushing the tears from her face.
Jade shook her head.
“Yes it is. God’s got this under control.”
“Does He? Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes if feels like everything is spinning out of control. Sometimes it feels like He doesn’t even care. I mean, Daniel. Of all people. Dear, sweet Daniel.”
“Jade.”
“It’s not fair. Michael, Aaron . . .”
“Don’t go there, Jade. Da
niel is not Aaron. And we don’t know what’s going to happen. Look, God had His reasons, and we don’t always understand the why of it. We just have to trust Him. He created all things, He knows all things, and He does have this under control.”
At times like this, when the world felt upside down, Jade envied her mom’s unshakable faith.
“I wish I could be so sure,” Jade said.
Mom wiped Jade’s tears away. “You can be. Times like this either cause us to fall away from God or make our roots sink deep. It’s our choice. Troubles have a way of doing that, and God knows you’ve had your share of troubles.
“The same sun that burns a shallow-rooted plant will nourish a deeply-rooted one. I hope your roots burrow down deep. It won’t take away your troubles or make things perfect, but it does give you peace and strength through the hard times.”
I do want that kind of faith, God. That kind of peace. I’m tired of my life spinning out of control. Of being afraid. Give me courage. I want to believe there’s a reason for all this. Some greater purpose, even if I can’t see it.
Jade took a tissue from her mom. “You think he’ll be okay?”
Mom gave a hopeful smile. “Only God knows. In the meantime we can be there for him. But you have to take care of yourself, Jade. You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll sleep at the hospital.” She’d slept in her folded arms when his parents tore themselves from Daniel’s bedside. Spent hours slouched in the waiting room chair, head against the wall.
She felt the pull of him now and finished the soup, knowing she had to keep up her strength. Maybe today he’d wake up. Maybe she’d get the chance to tell him she loved him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
Mom stood when Jade finished her soup and helped Jade into her coat. “When PJ gets here, I’ll be over.”
“Thanks.” Jade grabbed her purse. She turned at the door, her heart in her eyes. “I love him, Mom.”
Her mom gave her a teary smile. “I know, baby.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
PAIN.
Everywhere.
He tried to move, but his limbs weighed a thousand pounds. He was cold. His heart beeped. And then the fog closed over him again.
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