Just Like Heaven

by Lacey Baker

  “Anything for you, counselor.”

  He disconnected the call with a light smile on his lips. Friends, good friends, had come few and far between for Preston. Probably having something to do with his trust issues, even when it came to other guys. Maybe it was more like a connection issue. Maybe he just didn’t want to make any more lasting connections.

  Whatever the case, he was grateful for Ryan and knew that if there was anything to be found out about this company and its dealings, Ryan would find it.

  As he fixed the tea, Preston thought about something else Ryan had said. He thought about it so hard he could feel his brow wrinkling in consternation.

  All this time he’d thought the problem with Heaven was that she was a female with secrets. But tonight she’d opened up to him and told him what had happened in Boston. So that was no longer an obstacle between them. He believed her story, and he believed she hadn’t been engaged to Billingsley. In fact, each time he looked into Heaven’s eyes, Preston was amazed at how much truth and honesty he saw there. Almost as if she were an open book. A pretty and compassionate woman who was as passionate as she was stubborn, as smart as she was a little on the shy side.

  With all that said, he should have been running upstairs, unable to wait to see her again, to touch her again. Yet Preston moved with slow steps, the hot cup in his hand the only reminder that he needed to get upstairs sooner rather than later. Because even with all the night’s realizations and observations, he was still in the same position.

  His life was still in Baltimore and Heaven’s was in Boston. No amount of hot tea or honest eyes or passionate kisses could change that.

  Chapter 19

  “It’s bad practice, I tell you. I read it on the Internet,” Lorrayna Sidney said, her legs crossed, hands resting still on her knee. “Walt tells me you’re a big-city lawyer. Well, I want to press charges.”

  So this was Walt’s sister. There was absolutely no resemblance, Preston thought as he looked at the woman now sitting in one of the dining room’s cherrywood chairs. That was probably a good thing since Walt was over six feet tall and easily more than two hundred pounds. His face was a mask of defiance with his gruff, graying beard and intense dark eyes, with matching bushy eyebrows. Whereas Mrs. Sidney was of a shorter stature, no more than 125 pounds and with a face that was most likely pretty at some point but now held a gauntness Preston guessed was caused by stress.

  Her daughter, on the other hand, Drew Sidney, sat at the other end of the dining room table flipping through a magazine, as if this conversation was the very last thing on her mind. Gossip around town—which Preston received from overhearing Louisa Kirk and Marabelle Stanley’s conversations during their daily lunches at The Silver Spoon—was that Parker had been eyeing her night after night down at Charlie’s. From what Preston could see, she was a pretty young woman with long legs and enticing curves, the only prerequisite his twin had when it came to the women in his life. But instead of looking sexy, today it seemed Drew was much more interested in ignoring her mother, which made Preston wonder even more about this meeting.

  Preston cleared his throat, giving himself another second to think about what he wanted to say. He could simply tell Mrs. Sidney that he was not a malpractice—or in her words “bad practice”—attorney. But he had a feeling she wouldn’t understand. Sweetland had one law office located in a small building right next to the police station for convenience. Considering there were only three police officers in the whole town, it stood to reason that lawyers would be another hot commodity.

  Case in point, Edison Creed’s name was engraved on the wooden plaque swinging just beneath the ATTORNEY-AT-LAW sign on the old, almost dilapidated building. A couple of weeks after Gramma’s funeral and the reading of her will, Mr. Creed had taken a vacation to California to visit his daughter and her family. He hadn’t been back since, and news from Lonnie, the mailman, was he’d put in for a change of address to have all his mail forwarded out west. This news had come to the Cantrells via Lisa Kramer, one of their summer interns who was currently dating Sonny Creed, Edison’s eldest grandson, now stationed in Hawaii, much to Lisa’s chagrin.

  So there was possibly a good reason she’d been directed to Parker. Possibly, but not really.

  “Mrs. Sidney, I’m very sorry for your loss. When did your husband pass away?” he asked, trying to focus on being as professional as possible.

  “Five years ago, this Sunday. They said he wasn’t going to live another six weeks. He believed them and he killed himself that next morning,” she said stoically.

  But her bottom lip quivered after she stopped speaking, her eyes watering. Preston reached out to take her hand.

  “Like I said, I’m very sorry for your loss. However, in the state of Maryland there’s a three-year statute of limitations on wrongful death claims. This means that you would have had to file your claim within three years of the time you first found out about the negligence. Now, when did you find out that the doctors told your husband he had inoperable lung cancer?”

  She swallowed and took a deep breath. “He called me the moment he came home from the doctor’s office. I left work early and we talked for several hours before Drew came home from work. She was working part-time at the library at the time. She’d just had a bad breakup and was trying to find something else to do with her time.”

  A sigh from the direction of where Drew was sitting said she didn’t think that last bit of information had been necessary. Preston agreed but wasn’t about to say anything.

  “And he left a suicide note, I presume?” It was an awful question to ask anyone, but Preston was used to asking candid questions and expecting honest answers.

  Mrs. Sidney nodded. “He emailed me and Drew. I rushed home and found a handwritten note on the kitchen table. We always used the back door to come into the house because the driveway had two parking spots in the back. He knew I’d see it as soon as I came in. Then I ran to our bedroom and there he was.”

  This time a tear slipped from her eyes, gliding slowly down her cheek. Drew stood then and came to stand behind her mother’s chair, placing her hands on her shoulders.

  “I came home shortly after that,” she said, giving her mother time to gather herself. “Three days later we had the funeral, a month later we found out more truth about my dad, and six months later we moved from Havre de Grace to Sweetland to stay with Uncle Walt.”

  That’s why they were both new faces to Preston. Since being back in Sweetland, he’d seen many familiar people and enjoyed catching up with some of them. The Sidneys weren’t natives, but from what he’d heard, at least Drew was making a home for herself here. Mrs. Sidney looked as if she’d never be home anywhere as long as her husband was gone. That was a sobering thought that had Preston wondering once more about this falling-in-love-and-living-happily-ever-after scheme.

  “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard for the two of you to deal with,” he said, still holding Mrs. Sidney’s hand.

  “They shouldn’t have told him that! A month after his death the doctor called me to say he’d made a mistake and that Arthur wasn’t sick at all. They’d mixed up the X-rays. Arthur had COPD, not lung cancer.”

  Drew rolled her eyes, as if there was something about her mother’s words that she either didn’t believe or was tired of hearing. Disagreeing families were no mystery to Preston. More often than not he’d have the mother and the girlfriend of a client believing he was unabashedly innocent. Then there’d be a cousin or sometimes a father who would hold firm to the fact that everything wasn’t always what it seemed. He got that impression here with the Sidneys but wasn’t sure he wanted to delve deeper into it.

  On the surface, Preston could admit he wasn’t a doctor. Still, misdiagnosing something like inoperable lung cancer and basically giving someone a false death sentence was a huge mix-up, one that if Mrs. Sidney had hired a lawyer two years ago would have cost that hospital plenty of money. Unfortunately, it was just too late.

&nb
sp; “That was a big mistake,” he admitted to her. “And it would probably have been worth litigating, two years ago. Right now, there’s nothing that can be done.”

  “I’ve tried to tell her that so many times,” Drew said.

  “But Walt told me you’re from the city. I looked you up and found out you win all your cases,” Mrs. Sidney argued. “Surely there’s something you can do.”

  Preston didn’t win all his cases. Sometimes he’d been forced to take plea bargains offered by the state because neither one of them had evidence that they were sure would garner a win at trial. But over the years, Preston had begun to admit—if only to himself—that it wasn’t all about winning. Defending people who were innocent until proven guilty, but more often than not guilty as sin, was not turning out to be as rewarding as he’d first thought.

  “Ma’am, I really wish I could help you. But I’m a criminal attorney. I don’t handle malpractice cases. I know generally about the law in these matters, but even if the statute hadn’t run, I still would not be able to help you.”

  “Do you know someone who can?” she asked.

  Had she heard anything he’d said? A glance up at Drew, who was shaking her head slowly, confirmed she probably had but wasn’t comprehending it. And as much as he thought it was useless, Preston hated to see a female in such obvious distress.

  “How about this,” he proposed. “I’ll find you a malpractice attorney to speak to and in return you have to promise me that whatever he tells you, you’ll accept.”

  There was silence.

  “I know I can’t bring Arthur back,” she said, bottom lip quivering.

  “Why would you want to?” Drew quipped, then closed her mouth tightly at her mother’s sharp intake of breath.

  Those words and Drew’s reaction solidified Preston’s theory that there was more going on here than just the wrongful death claim.

  “No. Nothing will bring him back, Mrs. Sidney. But I understand you need some closure. So I’ll make that call and get you a name and number. But if he tells you there’s nothing that can be done, will you accept that and move on?”

  Because really, she needed to move on. It was clear to Preston that this woman had grieved every one of the days since her husband’s death, and that was a shame. Of course, he could relate to needing closure. He and his siblings had found it somewhat, after they’d learned of their grandmother’s cancer diagnosis and subsequently grim prognosis. Still, there were some lingering aftereffects, and they all missed her just the same.

  “I’ll try,” was what Mrs. Sidney ended up saying.

  With a smile and a pat to her hand, Preston stood.

  “I’ll make the call and be back with the information,” he told them.

  On his way out of the parlor he ran into Parker. “Hey, do me a favor and go in there and cheer up the Sidneys.”

  “What? Are they guests?” Parker asked.

  For a second Preston stared at Parker as if he were crazy. Didn’t he know who the Sidneys were? Then again, it wasn’t unlike Parker to have no idea what the woman he was lusting after’s last name was.

  Preston shook his head. “No. They’re not guests. They live in Sweetland. Walt sent them to me to talk about a med mal case. Seems the woman’s husband committed suicide after learning he was dying of cancer, but turns out he wasn’t dying after all.”

  “Damn,” Parker said with a shake of his head.

  “Yeah, tough. I don’t think she can sue but I’m going to make a few calls and find her a med mal attorney to give her a more detailed answer. She’s in there with her daughter and they’re pretty shaken up.”

  “So you’re sending me in to make that better?”

  “Sure, you’re used to talking to people about death.”

  “I’m used to telling mothers their sons have been shot dead on the streets, or wives that their kingpin husbands have finally met up with the other kingpins whose territory they invaded,” Parker said with a frown.

  Preston only nodded because he knew what the frown was for and could definitely relate. “Right. So go on in and work your magic.”

  * * *

  “There’s no law saying you can’t take med mal cases, you know,” Joe said into the phone.

  Preston had gone into his room to make the call for Mrs. Sidney. This room was quickly beginning to feel like his office since he was making more and more calls regarding some form of case or law issue from there.

  Down the hall he’d heard Michelle giving orders to whomever she’d wrangled into helping set up for the rehearsal dinner scheduled for late this afternoon. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July, a date Preston had no idea had become popular for hosting weddings. But at noon Tiffany Smythe would be married to Rockerfeller—Rock for short—Hanover at the Sweetland Presbyterian Church. Their reception would be held here at the inn, to the tune of seventy-five guests who’d begun to pour into Sweetland as early as Sunday night.

  To say that having this big wedding in the middle of the Bay Day celebrations was a little stressful for Michelle would be an understatement. But Preston didn’t doubt for one moment that his sister could handle it and that the events would go off without a hitch. However, he felt the need to do his part. A successful wedding leading into an evening of fireworks during Bay Day would only emphasize The Silver Spoon’s hometown connections and tourist attractiveness. It was great publicity and gave them a leg up on The Marina, which Preston knew for a fact had nothing special planned for today or the remainder of the week. With that in mind he wanted to hurry up and deal with the Sidneys so he could offer his help to make everything go smoothly.

  “I’m a criminal attorney,” was Preston’s ready retort.

  “Really?” Joe asked. “I mean, I can’t tell since you’ve been gone more than you’ve been here.”

  “You offered to take over some of my cases. If that was a problem, you should have let me know and I would’ve come back,” Preston said, slightly irritated at Joe’s remark.

  “But you need to be there with your family. On top of that, Preston, you want to be there. Listen, man, I don’t blame you. If I had a family at home I could run back to and get away from all the crap going on in this city, I would. Hell, I’d have left years ago. You’ve got something going there with the B and B and your family trying to mend fences. I’ve already talked to an associate who wants to leave Brindle Rachette. He can start the first of August.”

  Preston sighed. “Okay, so we hire an associate. That’s fine. We’ll both have more free time. How does that help me with this med mal issue?”

  “For a man who graduated at the top of his class I spend a lot of time spelling things out for you,” Joe said with a chuckle. “You’re licensed to practice law in Maryland; Washington, DC; Delaware; and New York. I think Sweetland’s somewhere in between there.”

  “I’m not moving to Sweetland to practice law, Joe. They already have an attorney.” Even if he was on his last leg and possibly about to announce his retirement. “I just need a referral,” he said adamantly.

  “You can handle a med mal case, all you have to do is read up on the law,” Joe persisted.

  “The statute has already run. There’s no case to litigate. Look, just text me a name and a number. I want to try to help this woman before she drives herself insane.”

  Joe sighed with defeat. “I’ll find someone and I’ll call them first to give them the heads-up that this woman will be calling. Give me the name.”

  Preston told him the name and ended the call before Joe had the opportunity to say anything more about him moving to Sweetland. It was not a possibility. Preston loved his job in the city. Okay, maybe love was too strong a word to use. But it was his job, his identity, his life. The only thing here in Sweetland was the B&B, his family, and Heaven.

  * * *

  For two nights Preston had slept in the bed beside her. This morning as she’d dressed, Heaven wondered how her two-day trip to Sweetland to pick up a puppy had turned into weeks in this pictu
resque small town, with a man in her bed.

  It seemed surreal.

  One day she was alone in a city that should have been her home, with parents who treated her more like an employee than a relative and a job that was fulfilling in its own way, but most likely lost regardless. And the next she was here baking almond croissants and smashing rude females in the face with frosted cupcakes. She was staying in a pretty room, getting to know her adoring puppy, and falling for a man who would undoubtedly break her heart.

  The upside was that Heaven was smart, educated, and trained in biochemistry. She could go anywhere she wanted to go and find a job doing research or lab work, or simply writing papers if she wanted to. And if she didn’t, she had a multimillion-dollar trust fund that had reverted completely to her on her thirtieth birthday. She hadn’t touched any of it, determined to make her own way. But it was there if she ever needed it. If Preston did break her heart and she found herself needing to leave Sweetland, she had options.

  Unfortunately, those options didn’t really appeal to her.

  Especially as she carried folding chairs outside to set at the four nine-foot-long tables already assembled. During the morning briefing—which she secretly called the breakfast hour in the Cantrell kitchen—Michelle had told them all that today’s rehearsal dinner would consist of thirty people: the bride, the groom, the wedding party, and their parents. The menu was Chesapeake crab cakes, with a choice of two salads and two veggies: coleslaw or potato salad, steamed broccoli with cheese or snap peas. The dough for the yeast rolls was already rising, pitchers of iced tea and lemonade chilling. Dessert was pecan pie and lemon poppy seed cupcakes—favorites of the bride and groom.

  Drew Sidney had been here earlier with her mother; Heaven had no idea what that was about. But when she’d seen Drew leaving, she’d stopped to speak.

  “Hi, Heaven, it’s good to see you,” Drew had said.

  Heaven had shrugged. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  “How long are you planning to stay? When I saw you last, you were leaving when everything was settled with the puppy.”