“I have to...” He dropped his hand to his pocket. “This might be Re-Claimed.”
The spell broken, Rivers stepped back, blinking and shaking her head. “Of course.”
Cradling the phone, he caught the breath he’d been holding and answered, not even checking to see who it was. “Hello.”
“Hey, Coop, sorry to bother you.” Gabby’s voice sounded somber. “It’s just our volunteer scheduled to stay with Star cancelled, and I can’t find anyone else free. I’m in a real bind because I don’t want to leave her alone. She’ll probably bolt.”
“You’re right about that.” He named a few female sober companions he knew, but Gabby indicated she’d already tried all of them.
“Do you think Rivers...?” Gabby trailed off. “No. It’s too much to impose on her again. Forget I mentioned her.”
“She’s here. You can ask.” At least Gabby asking her might further break the spell that had come over him. He offered Rivers the phone. “It’s Gabby.”
She grabbed it faster than she’d gone for the water bottle after the spicy Brussels sprout. “Hello.” Her brows furrowed as she listened. “I’ll do it.” Her answer had come way too quickly.
Had she needed an escape as badly as he had?
No. Surely, he’d imagined the connection between them. His crazy feelings had to be one-sided, and he needed to keep this madness to himself.
Chapter 17
AS RIVERS MADE HER way back to the cottage, she fought the urge assailing her. The urge to run and hide. To bury her heart away forever, because she never wanted to dishonor Jordan or hurt his family.
Shame crept over her. How fickle must her heart be to want to kiss another man only a year after she’d lost Jordan? Another man who was James Cooper Knight.
“No need to run.” Cooper touched her shoulder. “God’s got this under control. You can trust His timing.”
Her lungs stopped working, and her frantic, clumsy steps in the sand halted. Could this man read her mind? She gaped at him.
“Gabriella just left Star, and we can only do what we can do. I don’t want you to hurt yourself in a mad rush to get to the hospital.”
Here she was tripping over herself to escape, but maybe he’d not felt the same pull she’d felt toward him. The noose around her chest loosened. “Right. I’ll be careful.” Careful with her heart. And her words.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips.
“Yes. Careful.” His voice was barely a whisper.
Oh, she needed a new focal point. Something to fixate on like a beacon or a lighthouse to keep her on track in St. Simons. She forced her gaze skyward. The golden moon hung dense and low, likely churning up some of those deadly tides. Its glow seemed to lay open those painful hollows that grief had carved into her heart.
Just keep moving.
The voice in her head prodded her on. Stepping forward, she continued her march toward the cottage, but at a slower pace, ignoring the opposing desires wrestling within her.
At the house, she stopped on the porch steps. “I’ve got it from here. I’m sure you have more important work to do than babysitting me all the time.”
“Nothing’s more important.” Shuffling his feet on the broken shells lining the driveway, he cleared his throat. “I mean I don’t have anything pressing, so I could drive you over.”
“No.” The force of her answer shocked her, and Cooper took a step back, his dark eyes widening.
“Sorry.” Rivers softened her tone. “I have to learn my way around, or I’ll end up dependent and clingy.” More dependent and clingy. And confused. She tried to give a nonchalant shrug to lighten the mood.
“Of course. Be safe.” His shoulders collapsed a little as he turned and walked away.
His posture reminded her of a kid discarded from a neighborhood game of kickball, and her chest ached to erase that image. “I have your number. Can I call you if I get lost?”
He glanced back and offered a tender smile. “Always.”
And she just kept making this puddle muddier. His presence lingered on the breeze even after his Jeep whizzed away. Oh, God help her, because her world was off balance.
She’d forgotten the reason she’d asked him over. All the things in the cottage she wanted to ask him about. Stella’s letters.
Where was she even going now? The hospital. Star.
Too bad she wasn’t in Memphis. She always kept a hospital bag ready in case Mom had a seizure or something requiring a sudden trip to the ER. A book, a small pillow, a sweater and socks did the trick. It always seemed cold in those places. Surely she could come up with something similar in the cottage.
After dumping the tote that held the beach towels, she glanced around the living room. A throw pillow and afghan lay on the couch, so she grabbed those and shoved them in the bag. At home, she had a hundred novels waiting to be read, but she hadn’t had the wits to pack even one when she’d made the painful decision to face this place.
Her thoughts meandered to the journal on the table. That could be additional emotional torture. She’d rather stare at the hospital walls. But...she’d come here to clean out and move forward. Before she changed her mind, she snatched the journal and her keys, and then continued out to the Stink Bug, stopping only to lock the door of the cottage.
Through the darkness she drove, slowly following the slave driver Cruella’s ever-rude directions. Only two wrong turns, but she’d been able to Turn around when possible and Make a U-turn fairly easily. And she’d even accomplished it without tears cried or threats spewed toward the technology supposedly guiding her.
Not many anyway.
At the hospital, Rivers found her way easily back to the hall where Star’s room was located. All the time she’d spent in these kind of places with her mother helped now. She’d learned that most of the healthcare centers had a somewhat similar order.
Nurses in blue scrubs. The AC blowing. The smell of sanitizer and disinfectant mingling. All familiar. This was doable.
At the room, the television droned, and a sturdy brunette nurse stood in the doorway. “Hey, are you the friend of Gabriella’s?”
“That’s me.” Rivers stifled a chuckle. Friends was a relative term.
“Great. I was keeping an eye out for you.” Brows raised, the nurse motioned with her head toward Star.
“I know Gabby appreciates your help.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” a grumpy voice called from the hospital bed. Star was awake.
The nurse plunked her hands on her ample hips. “She’s actually doing well, considering. Good luck.”
Pressing on a smile, Rivers nodded and entered the room. “Hi.” She took a seat on the reclining chair.
“The girl with the weird name is back.”
“Yep. I’m Rivers.”
“Like I care,” Star mumbled.
“Need anything?”
“Quiet. I need quiet.”
“O-kay.” Seemed like Star would turn off the television then. Rivers retrieved the blanket and the journal, settling in for a long miserable night. Perhaps a safer night than if she’d stayed on the beach with Cooper. Her mind meandered back to his profile under the stars. A place she really didn’t need to return. In fact, she needed to go back to Memphis. Maybe even sooner than she’d planned.
“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep.” Star flicked the remote from channel to channel and cursed. “There’s never anything good on TV.”
That was one thing they could agree on. Rivers turned and studied the younger woman. Dark circles plumped the skin under Star’s eyes, muddling her pretty face.
Rivers had read that detoxing wasn’t for sissies, that it was physically painful, along with the emotional and psychological torment. A small burst of unexpected compassion surfaced in her heart for this girl. “Sorry you can’t sleep.”
“I don’t need your pity or your judgement. I need—”
“Quiet. Got it.” Rivers opened the journal. Its contents couldn’t be wo
rse than trying to carry on a conversation with Star.
JUNE 1957
I was fooled. Tricked. Manipulated.
No. I am the fool. I allowed it all to happen.
Meeting Frank that night at the party felt like a fairytale. The swanky way he played piano and sang had all the girls swooning, and out of everyone there, his gaze landed on me. Me, of all people. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world when he asked to see me again.
If only I’d listened to Daddy. He said Frank was a no-account and a conman after our family money. My sister, Betty, warned me to be careful, and my dear friend, Sue, did, too.
But Frank and his dark eyes and his sweet talk were all I could see or hear. What a mistake. And poor Lars, the faithful boy-next-door who’d mooned after me my whole life was heartbroken. I’d strung him along for so long. I can’t erase the memory of the stunned expression on his face when he saw me sneaking out my window to meet Frank.
That was six months, an elopement, a disownment, and what seems like a lifetime ago. If only I could take it all back. If only I could wind back the hands of time and stay home that night. I would marry Lars and have the life Daddy planned for his youngest daughter.
But here I am, utterly alone, no idea where my husband is, weeping for what might have been while Sue and Lars marry today. All my friends and family are celebrating the happy couple, and I’m an outcast.
I am getting what I deserve for being a stubborn fool.
August 1957
Mrs. Thompson, an older woman in the boarding house, is teaching me how to live on a shoestring, as she calls it. I’m learning what it means to budget here in Savannah. I save Green Stamps and buy what we need wholesale or second-hand. She’s taught me to can vegetables from the farmer’s market. I’ve shelled peas and pecans until my once-tender hands are covered with thick calloused skin. Scabs dot my arms from picking blackberries in the brambles along deserted country roads. But my cupboards won’t be empty this winter. Maybe Frank will appreciate the effort, and maybe he won’t have to drink so much. If only he could look at me like he did that first night.
December 1957
I’m doing my best to make this a good Christmas. Working at the jewelry store, I’ve been able to squirrel away enough money to put down a deposit to rent a little house if Frank would agree. Maybe if we had a place of our own things would be different.
I made Christmas cards for each member of my family in Atlanta, though I doubt any of them will open the letters. I’m such a scandal to them all, marrying a lounge musician. Would Momma have disowned me if she’d still been alive? Would she have let me come home once I explained that my husband stayed out all night or that when he didn’t, he came in drunk and belligerent? Would his threatening words or the way he grabbed and bruised my arms be reason enough for me to leave? Wouldn’t that be a worse scandal—divorced at twenty years old?
January 1958
Gone. It’s all gone. I know it was Frank because he went on a three day bender. My house fund took months of scraping, and in one long weekend, he blew every last penny. Again, I am a fool.
February 1958
We were kicked out of the boarding house when Frank threw one of his drunken fits, but I managed to find us a room in town above one of the shops. I just have to clean the store every evening once they close. It’s better than nothing, and maybe Frank will be less frustrated, not having to live around other people in the boarding house. He says they don’t understand him. But neither do I.
The lonely voice of Jordan and Cooper’s grandmother poked at Rivers and pinched her heart—the ghosts of addiction still haunting the present.
Rivers glanced up to check on Star. Glazed eyes stared at the blinking lights on the television screen. Sleep didn’t seem to be on the agenda any time soon, so Rivers turned her attention back to Stella’s journal, scanning the entries.
October 1958
If my belly swells any larger, I feel I will split open, but already I love you, my children. When the doctor said he felt two babies, I couldn’t have been happier. You two will always have each other, and I will do anything to protect you and shelter you from the mistakes I’ve made. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of my stupidity. I even wrote and begged Daddy for help for his grandchildren’s sake. He allowed my sister to come visit me, and she finally convinced him to give me the beach cottage. Betty must’ve made my situation sound really pitiful because he even offered to give me a small allowance as long as I keep Frank’s name off the deed. We will have a place of our own, sweet babies. Maybe your father will love you more than he loves me. Maybe having children will help Frank mature.
January 1959
The fever’s still raging. My whole body aches with this flu. I haven’t slept in days. The girls seem to cry nonstop. If one sleeps, the other wakes. They are always hungry, and since I took ill, my milk’s not been enough. I never knew life could be this hard. Frank refuses to listen to my pleas for help. I don’t know how long I can go on like this. Alone, but for my children.
After a quick knock, a nurse came in, this one rail thin and wearing glasses. “I’m Lynn. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. I have some Tylenol and the antibiotic for you.” She fiddled with the IV attached to Star. “Can I get you anything? Some Sprite or ice cream?”
Star groaned. “Sleep. I need something to help me sleep.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. It’ll get better.” The nurse’s voice was kind and reassuring.
“How would you know?” Star shot back.
“You’re not the only one who’s been through this. I promise you can come out on the other side.”
A pang of guilt rippled through Rivers. She hadn’t really put much effort into trying to comfort Star, just plopped down into the pity puddle of her own situation.
The nurse exited, and Rivers set aside the journal. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
“I don’t need anything from you, Malibu Barbie.” Star snapped off the TV and the lights.
Chapter 18
GOD IS IN CONTROL. Cooper drove around town, trying to calm his raging emotions. Like a juggler tossing up one too many objects, his attempts were failing. Between the thought of losing the gallery and his home and his unquenchable feelings for Rivers, he needed help.
A late-night open AA meeting was about to begin at a local community center, so he exited his Jeep and made his way across the dark parking lot. It had been a while since he’d participated with this group, since he usually preferred the Celebrate Recovery meetings near Re-Claimed, but tonight, a tiny bit of anonymity would be nice. Though most people in these groups around town knew him, at least his current clients wouldn’t be here. He pushed open the door and blinked against the bright lights of the recreation room.
A group of about ten men and women sat in the circle of folding chairs. He recognized several, and the others looked familiar. The smell of coffee and cigarette-smoke-infused fabric filled the room. For the first time in a long while, his mouth watered at the thought of a cigarette. The yearning pressed against him like a heavy hand. Clearly a spiritual battle was approaching, and a bone weariness settled over him.
How many times and for how many years, Lord, must I war against my own body?
“I thought you might be here.” Behind him, Davis approached. “Got permission from Kevin to use the van and come join you.”
Thankful for his friend’s concern, Cooper nodded and shook Davis’s hand, but then his stomach sunk. Yeah, it was thoughtful and perhaps an answer to prayer, but acknowledgment of what he was dealing with would be harder in front of someone who knew the whole score. And Davis sure had him figured out.
Tonight’s meeting leader, a fiftyish man in a fitted, gray business suit who Cooper knew was an attorney in the community, began with the usual announcements and readings. The repetition of the twelve steps and serenity prayer calmed some of the angst churning in Cooper’s heart and mind.
The floor was opened for discussion.
One after another, group members shared their current struggles, most of them much worse than some silly crush, but Cooper recognized signs of a problem brewing in his mind. When a quiet moment spanned the room, he knew it was time for him to talk.
“I’m Cooper. I’m an addict.”
The group answered, “Hi, Cooper.”
“I’ve been in recovery five years, but I’m having an emotional trigger right now. The first in a long time. A person who, without meaning to, is churning up the painful past with my family.” He paused, not wanting to admit the romantic feelings, but Davis’s larger-than-life presence beside him spurred him to deeper soul-searching. “I’m also struggling with an emotional attraction to this person who is off-limits for me.”
That probably sounded all wrong. “She’s not an addict or married or anything, but the situation is too complex. I know I need to meditate on God’s word, pray, and keep giving God control...the control He already has.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I think I really need to paint tonight or run a marathon or something to work through all of this turmoil inside. That’s all I have for now.”
“I try to have a plan in place for when temptations come,” the man who’d led tonight’s meeting commented. “Following a plan, meeting with my sponsor, reworking the steps keeps me focused.”
“Admitting triggers right away is always a step in the right direction,” a woman added. She was probably late thirties with tattoos running down her arms. A gold ring pierced the right side of her nose. “People often substitute one thirst for another. I like to look at the core of what’s driving the trigger and deal with that issue. I talk to my sponsor about it and give control to God.”
She was right. He’d seen substitution happen time and again. Trading drugs for alcohol or food or porn. Exercise and even art. Anything done obsessively to avoid the real problem.
A few others commented, offering encouragement, and the leader gave out sobriety chips as warranted, then they all circled up and said the Lord’s Prayer.
The Art of Rivers Page 12
