by Dawn Atkins
“It meant a lot that Rosie needed me. When I left, I let people down where I worked. This makes up for that a little. And Rosie reminds me of my grandmother. I love her, Jonah.”
Emotion welled in his chest. He was so lucky to know this woman. He wanted to say that, but he wasn’t sure how, so he stuck with what needed to be done. “Guess you’d better call Frieda.”
CJ dialed the number and put the call on speaker. Frieda told them the surgery had gone well, Rosie was in recovery and the biopsy results would take a day or two.
“That’s that,” CJ said, hanging up. “Rosie will kill me when she finds out I told you.”
“She’ll get over it. I needed to know.”
“Hopefully, the café being painted will cheer her up. She’ll love the sign you made.”
Jonah had to laugh. “You save her life and I paint her a sign. Sounds about right.” CJ was the heart of things. The least he could do was be the muscle.
* * *
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Cara pulled up a chair between Jonah and Rosie in the café kitchen. They sat shoulder to shoulder waiting for the doctor to call with the results of Rosie’s biopsy. They’d given the doctor the café phone number so Beth Ann wouldn’t hear. She was safely upstairs.
When the phone rang, all three jumped. It rang again.
“Pick it up, for God’s sake,” Rosie finally said.
Cara pushed the speakerphone button. “Hello? Dr. Randolph?”
“This is he. Who’s this?”
Cara told him and explained that Rosie and Jonah were also present.
“Glad you’re all there,” he said. “I’ll get right to the point. The tumor was cancerous, Rosie. The good news is we believe we got it all, the danger of metastasis is slight with this tumor type....”
Cara’s mind shut down at the word cancerous. The doctor’s words went muddy, as if she were listening under water. Rosie had cancer. Cancer. She looked at Rosie, who sat as still as stone.
Jonah blew out a breath and turned his head to the side.
She managed to tune back in to the doctor as he said, “Harvey Royce is a superb oncologist. He’ll want to start chemotherapy right away. We’ve had excellent results with an aggressive treatment plan. Do you have questions?”
Cara and Jonah looked at Rosie. Silence.
“Mrs. Underhill?” the doctor said.
Rosie cleared her throat. “That’s all I need to know.”
“If you’ll hold, I’ll have my nurse give you Dr. Royce’s number.”
“No, thanks. I’m set. Goodbye.” Rosie pushed the end call button.
“We need the number,” Cara said gently.
“No, we don’t.” Rosie folded her arms, and Cara’s heart sank.
“You’re getting the treatments if I have to drag you there myself,” Jonah said, his eyes on fire. He looked afraid for Rosie.
Rosie stabbed a finger at Cara. “I blame you for this. We had a deal. But you went and blabbed to this bulldog.”
“I made her tell me,” Jonah said. “Deal or not, you don’t keep life-and-death secrets from your family.”
“You worry about your own life and death and leave mine to me.”
She got up.
“Where are you going?” Jonah said. “We need to discuss this.”
“We’re done discussing. No treatment. I’m done.” Rosie got up and stomped off, thudding up the stairs to her apartment.
“I shouldn’t have threatened her.” He was pale as death. “I got her back up.”
“She needs time to adjust to the idea.”
“She’s got cancer.” He looked devastated. “Rosie’s got cancer.” He swallowed hard, clearly battling emotion.
“I know. But we’ll talk to her. She’ll come around. The doctor said they get good results when they’re aggressive.”
“What the hell does he mean by aggressive? You got the guy’s number? Rosie might not have questions, but I have plenty.”
* * *
AFTER SUPPER, Cara opened the apartment door to let Jonah in so they could talk with Rosie, who sat gloomily watching TV in the living room. Beth Ann was in her room watching a movie on Cara’s laptop with headphones so she wouldn’t overhear.
“I’m armed.” Jonah waved a thick stack of paper. “Internet research.”
Rosie looked over at them. “Go home, Jonah.”
“Not until you listen to what we found out,” he said.
Rosie huffed a breath, but she stayed in her recliner, legs up, hands clenched on the armrests like stubborn royalty. Cara and Jonah took the beanbag chair and fuzzy mushroom ottoman, subjects at her feet.
“The doctor told us that with chemotherapy and radiation, the long-term survival rate is eighty percent,” Jonah said.
“That’s drug company PR,” Rosie snapped.
“No, it’s not. I looked it up.” He put the printouts on her lap. “Read it.”
“No need.” She handed it back.
“You are a stubborn old goat.”
Cara cleared her throat. “What Jonah means is that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you.”
Jonah looked chagrined. “Right. That’s right.” He exhaled. “You’re all we’ve got.” He paused. “Do it for Evan. He’s barely sober. You croak on him and he’ll sink into booze.”
“Don’t you dare play the booze card.” Rosie slammed down the footrest and stood. “It’s too late. Don’t you get it? They opened me up. That’s lighter fluid on a bonfire. I’m done for.” Her voice shook. “This is my life and I’ll end it with dignity. Now leave me the hell alone.”
“Good-luck buns for dessert!” Beth Ann’s cheery voice from the kitchen doorway made them all turn. She walked to them and held out the plate of four rolls. “Everybody take one.”
The adults glanced at each other.
How much had Beth Ann heard? “Honey, we were just talking about—”
“Rosie has cancer and she won’t get it fixed. I heard you.”
Once again, Cara had failed to protect her daughter from hard truths.
“Take one and check your fortune. I already buttered them.”
There was nothing to do but pick up the rolls, so they did.
The smear of cold margarine disguised a rip in her bun, Cara saw. When all four held good-luck clovers, she knew Beth Ann had made sure the charms matched.
“Wow!” Beth Ann said with feigned surprise. “That’s good luck times four. You’ll be safe for sure, Rosie.”
Cara’s heart squeezed. Her daughter was trying to help.
“First off, you rigged the rolls.” Rosie slapped hers back on the plate. “And second, luck won’t fix me.”
“Because you don’t need luck,” Jonah said. “The odds are in your favor.”
“Like poker odds?” Beth Ann asked. “Does she have the odds of a full house? Or three of a kind? Or—”
“More like a pair,” Jonah said.
“You said any idiot can draw a pair, Rosie.”
“You’re too smart for your britches, young lady. I’m going to bed.” Rosie stomped off.
Beth Ann’s face crumpled. When Cara reached for her, she gave her the plate and ran down the hall.
“Go talk to them,” Jonah said. “I’ve done enough damage for one night.”
“Rosie just needs more time,” she said.
“I hope you’re right. Call me if there’s anything I can do that won’t make it worse.”
“I will.”
&
nbsp; He looked at her for a few seconds, then pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry we dragged you into our mess.”
She felt better just being in his arms. “I’m sorry there’s a mess in the first place.”
“If there’s a hope in hell of fixing it, you’re the one who can do it.” With a last comforting look, Jonah left.
Cara found her daughter sitting up in bed, Bunny held tight, eyes full of worry.
“Did I make her so mad she won’t get fixed?” Beth Ann asked.
“She’d not mad at you. She’s scared about being sick.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” Cara sat beside Beth Ann with her back against her daughter’s pillow. “She’s just scared. She needs time to decide to get treated.”
“Oh.” Beth Ann sighed with relief, surprising Cara by resting her head against Cara’s shoulder.
Cara brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m proud of you for trying to help her. You have such a big heart.”
“I do?” After a pause, she added, “Jonah says you have one, too.”
“Yeah?”
Beth Ann shifted to look at Cara’s face. “He said you would always forgive me, no matter what I did.” Wary hope flickered in her blue eyes.
Cara’s breath caught in her throat. “He’s right. I always will.” She paused. “Is there something specific you mean?”
Beth Ann thought for a few seconds, then said, “Not really. But what you said, the night I cried, about how I felt when you almost died?”
“Yes?” Cara held her breath. Beth Ann had never spoken of this with her.
“I did feel like that. Scared and mad at you. And that night…I felt that way again. My brain went, like, black. It was dumb. I acted like a scared baby.”
“It wasn’t dumb. And you weren’t a baby. You experienced a trauma. Doctors know that trauma stays with people for a long time. You’re very grown-up and brave, Beth Ann. Almost too brave. You hold in so much.”
Cara swallowed before continuing, “I know I let you down. Maybe you’re not sure of me yet, but I want you to trust me, to talk to me about what bothers you.”
Beth Ann studied her. She didn’t speak, but there was relief in the way she lay back against Cara’s shoulder. This was a breakthrough. Beth Ann had talked for the first time about what had happened. Cara swallowed back the tears that would spoil the moment.
“Did you tell Jonah that I cried?” Beth Ann asked abruptly, turning to look at her. “Does he think I’m a baby? Is that why he won’t talk to me anymore?”
“What?” That made no sense. “What exactly did Jonah say?”
“He said to talk to you not him about personal stuff. He said he’s not good at it, but that’s not why. I know it.”
As her daughter spoke, it all became clear. Jonah had heard Cara’s concerns about Beth Ann not confiding in her and tried to fix it in his own clumsy way. “I think what Jonah was trying to do was help you and me talk about our feelings more. Like we did just now.”
“What?” Beth Ann wrinkled her forehead, confused.
“He likes you a lot. He likes talking to you, but he feels like you talk to him more than to me. He wanted to help us.”
“That’s dumb,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Almost positive.” Cara’s heart seemed to break open in her chest. “But I’ll go talk to him and be certain.”
“Will he get mad that I tattled?”
“Absolutely not. I’m sure of that.”
“Okay.” Beth Ann sighed. “I’m tired now.” She scooted down under the sheet, ready to sleep.
Cara kissed her forehead. “If you wake up and want to talk, you can call me at Jonah’s. The number’s—”
“In Rosie’s book. I know,” she said sleepily. “Good night.”
“Sleep tight.” At the door, Cara looked back at her daughter, lit by the softly glowing peace sign—one more gentle gift from Jonah—and smiled.
Then she ran to Jonah’s trailer and knocked on the door.
He threw it open. “Did something happen? Is it Rosie?”
“Rosie’s the same. Something happened, but it’s a good thing. Beth Ann and I had a breakthrough and it was because of you.”
“Because of me?” He looked puzzled.
“You told her I had a big heart and that I would always forgive her.”
“I said that, yeah.”
“Because of you, she opened up to me for the first time in a long time.”
“So I didn’t step in it for once.”
He seemed so relieved she almost laughed. “You spoke from the heart. And no one’s heart’s bigger than yours. Don’t doubt that.”
He turned red. “Thanks, I guess.”
Standing there on his porch, she realized how much she cared for him.
And wanted him. This was more than desire. This was yearning. She had to be in his arms again, to feel what she’d felt before.
Cara had stopped them because she thought she was hopeless, and because of Beth Ann, but she knew better now. She could hold Beth Ann in her heart and still be with Jonah.
“I want to try again,” she blurted, not thinking it through first. “You gave me hope. I don’t want to lose that or give up.”
“You want to… I gave you…what?”
Her words weren’t sinking in for some reason, so she went to kiss him, but he caught her arms. “We can’t do this. You were right to end it.”
“But I thought you wanted…” Me. She couldn’t say it. Hot shame poured through her, making her want to melt into the deck.
“I did. I do, God help me, more than ever. But it won’t work. It sounds simple, but it won’t be. There will be snarls. It would kill me to hurt you.”
Cara stared at him, stunned, unprepared to argue, not sure she should. Was he right? Would this be a mistake? Did she really know him? She’d been wrong before. Dangerously wrong.
“Have a glass of water with me.” He held the door for her and she followed him to his tiny kitchen while he poured their drinks. The moonlight made the water glisten and turned the ice cubes to silver.
As she accepted the glass, her glance landed on his windowsill, where two yellow hearts glowed up at her from circles of red. The good-luck charms from three weeks ago. “You kept these?” She put them on her palm.
“Didn’t seem right to toss them.” He smiled faintly.
“Because it would be bad luck?”
“I think people make their own luck, so no.”
“Why then?”
“Because you got so embarrassed when they matched, had to explain that they’d clumped.”
“I was afraid you’d think I set it up, that I wanted us to fall in love.”
“That would have been crazy. You were on the way out of town.”
“But I didn’t go.”
“No. You stayed for Rosie.”
“And I was glad to see more of you.”
“Same for me.”
“Despite the din…and the disruption?”
“Maybe because of that.” Jonah’s eyes held hers close, as if understanding her was all that mattered to him in the world. Shadows made his strong jaw stronger, the bones of his face crisper, his straight nose straighter.
Cara studied the hearts glowing in her palm, and her doubts melted like the ice in her glass. She wasn’t wrong to try again. She knew this man. She’d seen him with Evan and Rosie and Beth Ann. He could be gruff at time
s and clumsy, too, but he did his best for the people he cared about. And he cared about her. He’d told her so. And she believed him.
Cara set down her water glass and locked gazes with Jonah. “I do believe in luck. I believe we’re lucky to meet at this moment in our lives, when we’re both coming out of—what did you call it, a rough patch? We can help each other.”
“Yeah?” He put his water glass beside hers.
“I don’t want to waste this good luck. We can keep it simple. We won’t be together long enough to hit any snarls.”
“Damn, I hope you’re right,” Jonah murmured, “because I’m only human and you’re too damn close and you smell too damn pink for me to resist you one second longer.”
He leaned in and kissed her. She met his tongue with her own. This time when the wave came, she let it take her, tumble her, make her tremble. She pressed her hands to his back, letting the gummy hearts drop to the floor. They’d served their purpose. They’d reminded her of Jonah’s good heart, of their good fortune.
Cara was determined this time, sure she could power past her doubts and fears on the strength of her feelings for this man and his feelings for her. If she weren’t half his size, she would have carried him to bed.
Instead, she backed him into the living room, down the short hall, so narrow they bumped both walls, then to his bed. He turned her at the last second and lowered her first, lying at her side, looking down at her, eyes burning.
She would think only of Jonah, a man who respected her, cared for her, even admired her. A man she cared for and respected.
He edged his fingers under her shirt, stopping at her bra, waiting for her signal. His jaw was tense, his muscles tight. He was holding back, following her lead. He would go slow, touch her first, patiently wait his turn.
But she didn’t want that this time. She didn’t want to be fragile or tentative or nervous. She didn’t need to be. This was Jonah, not Barrett. He would never trap her or try to own her or make her act against her better judgment, let alone against her will.
“I want you with me,” she said. “I want us to be together. Let’s get undressed.” They took off their clothes and Jonah pulled the sheet over them, which made her feel less exposed.
