by Mimi Barbour
“Why don’t you go have a shower while I make us lunch?” She put enough firmness into the words to make the question sound more like an order.
He said nothing, only sighed, and then left the kitchen.
She went right to work. She left the veggies and chicken on the counter and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Then she pilfered through several cabinets, finally finding what she was looking for in the pantry. She shook out the large trash bag, tucked the disgusting pizza inside, then moved to the living room. Making an efficient, clock-wise circle, she tossed the trash, gathered up the clothes, hung up the jacket, set the shoes in the hall closet, and took the glasses into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. She folded the blanket that was on the sofa and fluffed the throw pillows. After tying the trash bag securely, she set it outside the back door. Neither the living room nor the kitchen were in perfect order, but the rooms were in better shape than they had been.
She did one more thing while Aaron was busy upstairs; she slid the Claddagh ring off her finger and tucked it into one corner of the box that contained Izzie’s journal and her other things from the hospital. It was probably the coward’s way of returning the piece of jewelry, but Christy didn’t think Aaron was ready to come face to face with the memories that ring would conjure.
Then she took a deep breath, went to the sink to wash her hands, and moved on to preparing lunch. With the lettuce rinsed, the tomatoes and cucumbers chopped, the chicken pulled off the bone, Christy cleared the kitchen table and was just setting the plates on the placemats when Aaron rejoined her.
His clothes were fresh, his face was clean-shaven, his hair still damp. He looked good. Very good. Christy focused on placing a paper napkin beside each plate.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he told her, his guilt almost palpable in the statement. “The cleaning people really are coming this week. Sometime. What day is it, anyway?”
“Tuesday,” she told him. Then she bustled him into a chair. “I want you to try to eat a little something, Aaron. You might not realize it, but some nutritious food will make you feel better.”
“I feel better already.” There was no humor in his chuckle. “I can’t even remember if I showered yesterday. The days…”
She smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “They run together. I know.”
While they ate the crisp salad and juicy chunks of chicken, Christy kept the conversation as benign as possible. The topics she chose were completely mundane; the impossible procedure change that had been implemented that lasted only two days because it had thrown the entire hospital into near chaos, the new family that had moved into the house across the street from her, the new nurses she’d met and become friends with during a recent mandatory refresher course she’d taken.
He hadn’t asked about the box she’d delivered, he hadn’t even glanced at it. And that was okay. He might not feel strong enough to handle his daughter’s belongings just yet. But there would come a time when he would be desperately grateful that he had them.
“So,” she said, the tiny word tentative, “have you started back to work?”
Aaron picked up his glass of water and took a drink. “Not yet. I have facility managers who keep calling meetings. I keep missing them.”
Christy speared a slice of cool cucumber. “Well, that just means you’re not ready yet.” She crunched the crispy vegetable, then she swallowed. “You shouldn’t wait too long, though,” she told him gently.
He winced visibly, and she remembered feeling the same way when good-intentioned people told her the same thing. It was good advice then, and it was good advice now, no matter that he had difficulty hearing it.
“I know,” he said. “I know. I keep telling myself I need to do it. Just get myself packed and start making the rounds. But…” He shook his head and set his fork down. “It’s… difficult.”
Instinct had her reaching out to him, sliding her fingers over his forearm. “I know it is. It’s damned difficult.”
“Everyone keeps telling me it’ll get easier.” He gave the box on the desk a darting glance; for just a split second, his gaze made contact, and pain registered on his face in the form of a frown. His jaw tensed and he looked into her eyes. “I know they mean well.”
Christy tightened her fingers. “They do. They only say it because they want you to feel better. But you and I both know that the hard truth is, it doesn’t get easier. There’s a hole in your heart that can’t be filled. It’s just something you have to learn to live with.”
He nodded.
“And that’s why it’s important that you keep yourself busy,” she told him. “Go back to work. Meet with those managers. Immerse yourself in someone else’s problems. Help them find some solutions. That’s the only way you’ll find a bit of respite. Focus on something else.”
Aaron picked up his fork and poked at the pieces of succulent chicken. “I know you’re right. I do. I’ll get on it this week. I’ll set up some meetings.”
His spine straightened as he absently chewed. “It’ll mean a couple of weeks away. I’ll have to make some travel arrangements. Airline tickets. Rental cars. Hotel reservations. That kind of thing.”
In just the ten to fifteen seconds he’d spent contemplating getting back onto the swing of working, his gaze had cleared a little. Christy knew in her heart this was what he needed.
He talked about the cities he’d visit—Atlanta, Philadelphia , New York, Boston—and the gym owners and managers with whom he’d meet. He ate with more gumption, and soon cleared his plate of food.
“You’re right,” he finally told her. “I need to get out of this house. Get back to work.”
“It’ll be tough.” She had to be honest with him, but she was certain she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. “But just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“Keep moving forward,” he murmured. Clearly, he’d heard the advice before.
Christy nibbled on her bottom lip as Izzie’s innocent question echoed through her head.
Will you watch over my daddy?
“Listen, Aaron,” she said. “I’d like for you to call me.”
Her request surprised him, that was obvious.
“Y…you know,” she stammered softly, “if you want to, that is. If you need to talk, I mean.”
Nervous energy had her scrambling in her purse for a pen and a scrap of paper. She scribbled down her number and slid it across the table toward him. “You probably already have my number, but…”
He picked up the jagged-edged paper and studied it.
“No strings attached or anything.” She licked her lips and attempted to smile. “Just one friend chatting with another.”
“Just one friend chatting with another,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the number she’d written down. Then his dark gaze was on her. “Are you serious? It’s really okay if I call?”
His questions took her aback, and for a heartbeat or two, she wasn’t able to respond.
“What I mean is,” he continued, “that construction paper marriage certificate isn’t making you feel, you know, responsible for me, is it?”
Her anxiety flared and the too-close-for-comfort mention of their time in Ocean City caused the chuckle that erupted from her throat to sound a tad panicky. “Well—” she grinned, offering up her palms “—I can’t make-believe marry a man and not be there for him when he needs a friend, right?”
For a tense moment, she wasn’t certain what he would say. But then he laughed, and she knew down to her bones that he really was pleased that she made the offer.
Chapter Eleven
February rumbled across the state, bringing bitter temperatures and leaving everything covered in a thick blanket of snow. But Christy wasn’t bothered by the cold. Driving to and from work became an adventure; however, she’d always been a careful driver.
Although Aaron had been traveling for nearly three weeks, he’d taken her offer of phone calls to
heart and had called her every night. The topics of their conversations varied widely. She now knew he had a sister in California, and that his parents had retired to Florida. And she’d told him about her sister who was a proud stay-at-home-mom and lived in Chicago with her husband and two boys, her brother and his family who lived in Wilmington, and her quilting-fanatic mother and her golfing-fanatic father who lived in Georgia. He talked about his meals on the road, the memorable ones, anyway. And he always gave her a room update whenever he changed hotels. He always asked about the nurses at the hospital. She knew his meetings were going well and she even recognized the names of the people he worked with when he mentioned them now. Getting back to work had been wonderful for his state of mind.
During the last few days, he’d even begun reminiscing about Izzie without becoming upset, and he had asked her questions about Danielle. During yesterday’s call, they had traded baby stories, which had progressed to funny toddler experiences, and both of them had ended up chuckling as they’d tried to one-up each other with new-parent craziness.
When a parent lost a child, it was almost impossible to find someone who felt comfortable listening to the recounting of precious memories. Such talk made others feel awkward, so grieving parents kept their thoughts to themselves. But it was different between Aaron and Christy. Both of them knew what it was like. Both of them had both had crawled through the horrific trenches of grief and were trying to come out on the other side. Being able to talk about their kids was a relief, and Christy honestly looked forward to hearing the phone ring.
As if her thoughts had conjured the real thing, her cell chirped, and seeing his name in the ID box filled her with happiness.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hi, ya,” he said. “So how was your day?”
“Good. Really good. Bridget’s man is coming to town for Valentine’s Day, so she’s walking on air.”
He knew all about Bridget’s fiancée who was attending med school in Florida.
“That’ll be fun for them,” he said.
They discussed dinner; she was planning on having last bit of the leftover vegetable soup she’d made, and he’d enjoyed meatloaf and mashed potatoes cooked to order at a local diner. Then the conversation morphed to discussion on comfort foods.
She found herself laughing at some silly something he said about gravy needing its own food group, and she was struck by how much she thoroughly enjoyed talking with him about a lot of nothing.
“My last meeting is coming up,” he told her. “I’ll be flying home late Friday night.”
“Won’t you be tired? Should you wait until Saturday to fly home?”
His soft chuckle rumbled in her ear and sent a shiver coursing across her skin.
“I won’t be flying the plane, Christy.”
She grinned. “Of course.”
“Besides, I’m ready to come home. I’ve been away long enough. Listen…”
There was a long moment of silence, and as the seconds passed, the pause became more… pointed. Suddenly, that old fear that lived in the pit of Christy’s gut sparked to life. What was it he wanted to say? She’d grown complacent during their phone calls lately, hadn’t worried about him bringing up subjects that would embarrass her—like the night they’d churned up that feverish passion. The night he’d slept with her out of pity. They hadn’t talked about their intimate encounter since Izzie’s funeral, and she hoped they never would. He’d apologized once and he had wounded her, bone deep. She didn’t need to endure that again.
She pressed the phone to her ear, listening hard. Was he holding his breath? He must have been because he suddenly expelled it audibly.
“I’m going to get off here and jump into the shower. You have a good night, okay?”
“You too.”
She disconnected the call and sat staring across the room. The fear slowly subsiding, and then she realized she was filled with… something. Longing? An achy yearning?
What the devil was wrong with her?
She missed him!
When exactly had her days begun revolving around Aaron’s nightly phone call? While at work, she made mental notes of things that happened, things that she could share with him. When the phone rang, she had a visceral reaction. His calls brought her such heart-palpitating joy. His voice made her smile. That light laugh of his, the one that rumbled from deep in his chest, could make her toes curl.
If she didn’t know better…
“Oh, hell.” She uttered the words with a drawn out groan.
She’d reached out to Aaron because she’d promised his daughter that she’d watch over him. Christy had talked herself into visiting him that first time, and she’d resigned herself to being his phone-a-friend.
How on earth had she allowed herself to fall in love with the man?
Chapter Twelve
The phone jarred Christy awake. Her eyes popped open and she sat up straight, automatically reaching for her cell phone on the coffee table.
Aaron’s name showed on the screen, and she frowned when she saw the time.
“Hello? Aaron, are you okay?”
“It’s not too late, is it?”
“No,” she murmured the polite answer even as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“I wasn’t going to call tonight,” he said. “I got in so late. But I couldn’t sleep. Then I…” He heaved a sigh. “I felt this overwhelming need to talk to you. I have something I want to show you. Something you, maybe, can help me figure out? But I obviously woke you.”
“Yeah, I fell asleep on the sofa.” Waiting for his call, she silently added.
“Ah, that explains why your lights are on.”
“You’re outside?” She stood and crossed to the living room window.
“I was wide awake and feeling antsy, so I went for a drive,” he told her. “I ended up at your place.”
The fog of sleep she’d felt just a moment before disappeared completely. “Well, don’t sit out there. Come on in.”
“You’re sure.”
“Of course. I’m sure. I’m positive.” Christy ended the call with a quick tap on the cell’s screen. She finger-combed her hair and smoothed her palm over the front of her satin dressing gown before moving to unlock the front door.
“Hi,” he greeted softly.
If the glint in his gaze hadn’t alerted her that he was happy to see her, his unexpected hug left no doubt. When he pulled back from her, even he looked surprised.
Heat skittered through Christy like summer lightning and she feared he might sense her body’s reaction to him.
“Sorry, but it’s really good to see you,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
Nervousness made her laugh. “But we’ve talked almost every night.”
“I know. But—” he shrugged “—talking isn’t the same as seeing your beautiful face.”
Self-consciousness had her dipping her chin. “Aaron, I washed off all my make-up hours ago.” But she’d be lying if she said his compliment didn’t please her.
Again, he lifted a shoulder. “I’m just telling the truth.”
Then she noticed that he had Izzie’s journal in one hand.
“You’ve sorted through the box,” she said.
He nodded. “The house felt so empty when I arrived home. I was missing her, you know? So I decided to look through her journal.” He held the book in both hands now. “I… um, I really hate to say this, but I think my little princess set us up?”
Confusion knit Christy’s brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Can we sit?” He indicated the sofa.
“Sure,” she told him, and followed on his heels as he crossed the room. “Do you want anything? Coffee? A cup of tea?”
“No, thanks.” He sat down and waited for her to do the same. “Remember when Izzie talked about wanting a puppy… and a boat?”
Christy sat next to him. “And a pony.” She nodded.
“Yeah, and that’s when she brought up that regret o
f hers.” He opened the journal and began turning the pages. “About never being a bride… or seeing a bride, or attending a wedding. Whatever it was she said exactly.”
“I remember,” Christy whispered. What she wanted to say was, I’ll never forget, because she had dwelled on and dreamed about what had followed that night between herself and Aaron ever since.
“Well, Izzie wrote about it in her journal,” he told her. He turned a page, then another. “Here. Right here.”
The printing was wobbly and there were some spelling mistakes, but Izzie did a great job of describing Christy’s home-made bridal gown. Izzie had even called Christy’s red onion-bag veil both “beeyouteaful” and “injeanyous.”
Aaron ran his finger to the bottom of the page and read, “‘I did it,’ she writes here. ‘I got them to get married. Now, if only Santa will make my Christmas wish come and make it stick.’”
They looked at each other, and it quickly became apparent that he was waiting for her to respond.
“Well,” she began, “she did tell me that what she’s asked Santa for hadn’t arrived on Christmas. She said she’d asked for a miracle. I thought she’d meant for herself. It’s kind of endearing that she asked Santa for—”
“Oh, come on,” he cut her off. “It’s not endearing. It’s devious. She played us like a piano.”
The enormity of the offense he felt brought a grin to her face that couldn’t be suppressed. “Well, yeah. She set us up. That’s clear enough.”
“How does a kid learn to be so manipulative?” he asked. “She was eight, for criminy’s sake.”
Humor had Christy’s shoulders shaking. She chewed her top lip, but couldn’t keep the chuckle from escaping.
“I contemplated going to the pound and adopting a puppy for her.” He shut the journal. “How did I not see through all that? I almost checked the Ocean City phone book to see if there were any fishermen willing to take us out for a boat ride. On Christmas Eve! And all the while, Izzie saw me as a big, ol’ Steinway. She was banging on the keys and making me dance. Making us dance.”
