Between the Girls (The Basin Lake Series Book 3)

by Stephanie Vercier

  “Okay, good. Thank you, Kate.”

  “Sure.”

  I’m relieved at the ease with which she agreed, and more so when she doesn’t change her mind. Clutching the stuffed reindeer as Claire and I walk through one of the hospital corridors, I’m hopeful that I’ll find Margaret in good spirits. She has a smile that can literally make a really bad day turn into an exceptionally good one. We’d gotten her room number at the admissions desk, and I’m counting on that smile as I knock at the door, her husband standing over the bed. Inching in just a foot or two, I can see Margaret, hooked up to more machines than I’d ever seen her on.

  “Mr. Latham?” I say quietly, not fully entering the room until he’s aware of our presence.

  “Claire,” he says, turning toward us with a surprised, though tired look on his face. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I hope it’s all right. I brought my sister, Kate, along.”

  “Hello, Kate,” he says with a forced smile. “If you both want to come in, you’ll have to gown up. Margaret’s got all sorts of infections, some of them contagious.”

  “Of course,” I say, stepping back out. There is a cart with paper gowns and masks on it right outside the door. I put them on and tell Kate, “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I think I do,” she says with a caring determination, something I’d not seen in months.

  “I brought her this,” I tell Mr. Latham once we’ve entered the room, and I produce the reindeer.

  “Oh, she’d love that,” he says, taking it from me and holding it over Margaret whose eyes are closed. “Look what Claire brought for you, sweetheart. It’s a Christmas reindeer.”

  Wanting her eyes to open and see it, I wait, but they remain closed, and the machine next to her looks like it’s breathing for her.

  “What’s happened to her?” Kate asks.

  I’m about to admonish her for asking when Mr. Latham replies, “She got herself a nasty pneumonia and a couple of other infections that have apparently been brewing for a while. Thought we’d lost her. The kids and grandkids are down in the cafeteria taking a break. Awful nasty stuff, but Margaret will pull through… she always does.”

  “It must be very hard,” Kate says, putting a hand on Mr. Latham’s shoulder.

  The act of kindness fills me with prideful emotion, and I can see a tear beginning to well in Mr. Latham’s eye.

  “It is,” he says, clearing his throat. “Very hard indeed, but I’ve got to do it for Margaret. She’s always been there for all of us.”

  My heart is breaking for him while I’m also incredibly sad that Margaret isn’t opening her eyes, that I can’t say hello to her, that she can’t see me. I want to hope she knows I’m here at least.

  “You can talk to her,” Mr. Latham says to me after Kate drops her hand from him, and she returns to my side.

  “Okay,” I say, knowing that when I’m a doctor I’ll be seeing scenes like this every single day, and yet it’s so different when it’s personal, when you have a vested interest in the patient lying on the bed. “Margaret, it’s me, Claire. I’m so sorry you’re sick, and I want you to know how much I care about you, how much I’d say I actually love you like another grandma. And I just want you to know that. I want you to know how special you are and how much you’ve impacted my life… for the good.”

  I reach out and lay my hand on hers, even if I’m probably not supposed to, and I think she moves her fingers, ever so slightly. I hold my hand on hers for a while and just stand there, not feeling rushed or like I’m ready to let go. It doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Latham or Kate either who stand back and let me be.

  “Can you let me know when she gets back to her nursing home—if you don’t mind of course?” I ask Mr. Latham once I finally step away from my friend.

  “I’d be happy to,” he says.

  I give him my phone number, and when it looks as though Margaret’s grown children and grandchildren are outside the door, I tell him I’ll be thinking and praying for both Margaret and him. Offering one more goodbye to her, Kate and I wash our hands as instructed by Mr. Latham, then slip out of the room, taking our gowns off and offering quick introductions to the family, some of whom I’ve seen in person at the nursing home, others I recognize from the pictures on her wall there.

  “I’m not sure she’ll ever go back,” Kate says once we’re in the elevator.

  “You don’t think so?” The same thought is moving through my head. I just didn’t want to vocalize it.

  “She doesn’t look good, Claire.” She’s so matter-of-fact.

  “Well, we can’t know for sure,” I say, shaking off the negativity I feel a tinge of guilt for. “Remember how bad Grandma was?”

  “Yeah, well Dad was apparently bad too, and he died.”

  She’s not saying it to be nasty. She’s just saying it because it is. Her own diagnosis has changed her and taken a great deal of her innocence away. And she’s seeing the world through those lenses, lenses that allow her to see that people die every single day in this world, the part of life least easy to discuss.

  Of course none of us can live forever, and yet it’s still so very hard to let go.

  On the drive back to Basin Lake, I’m feeling pretty miserable, and Kate won’t be winning any positive affirmation awards either.

  “So, I guess maybe I should be thankful I’m mostly healthy, huh?” she says out of the blue, breaking the silence in the car, noting her own silver lining.

  “Yeah, maybe you should. Things could always be worse.”

  Through the corner of my eye, I watch her nod and then turn back toward the window, a window she continues to look out the entire way back to Basin Lake. Even in her silence, I’m hopeful for a breakthrough in her mind. Perhaps seeing Margaret hooked up to all of those machines has made Kate grateful that she is standing, that she can walk and talk and run and eat and can look forward to many more days of the freedom those simple activities allow her. I think that being in Margaret’s room did more for her in less than half an hour than all the hours spent in a therapist’s office.

  TYLER

  “I’ll hand them up to you if you’ll climb the ladder,” Dad says with a handful of Christmas lights as the two of us try to figure out the best way to hang them along the roofline of the house.

  “What do I hang them on?” It’s pretty damn cold out, the forecast calling for snow tonight, and I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing than stuck outside hanging lights, anything to do with Claire on the very top of that list.

  “I’ll get a drill. We can get some hooks screwed in.”

  “Okay, sure, but I’ve got plans later you know?”

  “With that girl?” He sets the string of lights down on the ground and heads off to the garage, not even waiting for a response.

  “She has a name,” I say, but he won’t hear me, already in the garage and rifling through his tools.

  When he reappears with his drill and a box of screws and hooks, he says, “You should be worrying about school and endurance training. You’re getting out of shape, son.”

  “I’m not out of shape,” I tell him, annoyed that the only reason he wants me to do endurance training is so I can potentially get hired to fight wildfires this coming summer, and probably eventually just follow in his footsteps.

  “You’re losing muscle mass.” He hands me the drill and the box. “If I could change one thing about this town, I’d put some decent hills in it. We really need to head up to the mountains for a good run up a really steep trail.”

  “I’ve been working out here, doing sit-ups and push-ups in my room, and Jessup’s always up for hitting one of the desert trails,” I say from the top of the ladder. “And I’m not losing any muscle… I think I’d know.”

  “I hope that’s true,” he calls out after me. “You don’t want to end up all doughy.”

  I shake my head and focus on drilling the first hole.

  “You
been thinking any more about college?” he asks when I come down the ladder to reposition it.

  “Claire is going to help me look at some options in Washington. She’s really good at organizing and stuff.”

  Dad laughs. “And stuff.”

  “What?” I don’t like being laughed at, especially when it has anything to do with Claire.

  “Nothing, son. I just hope you’re being careful with her.”

  I get a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach when he says that, like he’s mocking me or calling me out for being immature.

  “We’re being careful,” I finally say as I climb up again.

  “On all counts? I hope you can trust her not to have a big mouth. You don’t deserve to be put through the kind of crap that happened in Denver again.”

  I drill another hole and ignore him for as long as I can, putting the hooks in and pulling the Christmas lights up that he’s feeding me. When I come down to reposition the ladder, he’s giving me this look like I better say something.

  “She isn’t like that, Dad. You should know that considering you’ve met her and seemed pretty impressed.” That’s all I’m offering him before I head back up to the roofline.

  “I am impressed by her, but I was impressed by Laney too, so for your sake you better hope she isn’t anything like Laney. We can’t have a replay of all that crap—it stained all of us, son.”

  I drill more holes, never answering him, knowing that if I open my mouth, it’ll just start a fight, and I don’t want to ruin the day for Mom who is busy decorating inside. We work together in silence and finish wrapping the front and one side of the house with lights when Mom comes out with some hot chocolate.

  “It’s already looking so pretty,” she says, handing me a cup of steaming hot chocolate with a mound of whipped cream on top. “They sure do brighten up a bleak day.” She looks up at the sky where thin, gray clouds gather.

  “Our boy is doing all the work,” Dad says, patting me on the shoulder. “Good and strong, even if he could use a little more bulk.”

  Leave it to dad to give me a compliment and follow it up with judgment.

  “He looks good to me,” Mom says in a strong voice, pushing back in her own way.

  “Better than being good is being great,” Dad says, taking a quick sip of the drink Mom hands to him. “When you’re great, nobody can hurt you.”

  Mom and I don’t reply to that, and eventually he just heads to the garage to gather more lights from the huge stockpile he brought from Denver.

  Mom shakes her head, then takes a small drink of her hot chocolate while I pretty much scarf down the whipped cream and chug the sweet liquid.

  “You’re already great,” she quietly tells me. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, feeling caught between her babying me and Dad always pushing me to be something impossible.

  Mom eventually goes in, and Dad and I don’t say much to one another as we continue our work. Every five minutes or so, I slip my phone out of my pocket and check it. Claire had texted me earlier about having to take her sister to Spokane and said she’d let me know when she was back, but there’s still nothing. Next time I check, there is a text message, but it isn’t from Claire.

  It’s almost Christmas. How are you? I miss you.

  It had been almost six months since I’d seen Laney, and at least a few weeks now since I’d last heard from her. I’ve been so wrapped up with Claire that I’d barely noticed. But now, I get this weird feeling in my stomach, like I’m being yanked back to reality, a reality that seems to be asking the question, “Did you forget you were still in love with Laney Barlow?”

  I nearly drop the drill but save it before it can slip out of my hand—Dad doesn’t even notice. When he heads back into the garage for more hooks, I take a second, re-read the message and respond.

  I’m okay. You? Miss you too.

  I decide to delete that last part about missing her too, but my hands are freezing and half numb, and I hit send instead.

  Shit.

  I tell myself I was just trying to be nice in saying that. Why would I miss Laney when I have Claire? But maybe I do. That’s what I admit to myself. Maybe I miss Laney and still really love her. And I hate myself for even considering that’s still true.

  Good to know.

  And then, before I can even give another second’s thought to it, a text from Claire rolls in:

  Just got back. Sorry… will tell you why later. Mom’s willing to drop me at your house if you can drive me home?

  Instantly, I feel like a complete and total asshole. Even though all I did was text Laney, it feels like cheating. If she were texting Austin, saying stuff like that, I’d be livid.

  That’s cool. Just finishing putting lights up. See you soon?

  She replies that she’ll be on her way in just a few. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her all day, but now that excitement is tinged with a layer of guilt I hadn’t wanted to feel. Hopefully it won’t be written all over my face.

  When Claire’s Mom drives up, they both get out, and Mrs. Kessel spends a good fifteen minutes talking to both of my parents. I finally break away, no longer able to stand having Claire close and not being able to do what I want with her.

  “You mind if I head in with Claire?” I finally ask, figuring the social visit between adults could easily go on for another hour.

  “Go on in,” Mom says.

  “I’ll see you later tonight, Claire,” her mom adds.

  “Sure. Love you, Mom.”

  “See you later, Mrs. Kessel,” I tag on.

  And then I’m taking Claire by the hand, leading her into the house, past the newly decorated Christmas tree and into my room. As soon as we’re in, I pull her body against mine and kiss her, anxious to cover my guilt with the comfort of Claire’s touch. And at first, it’s magic, like always. My body responds to her, my senses becoming more attuned, my pleasure receptors pushing past the parts of my body that are scarred and dull.

  But something is wrong.

  Claire doesn’t kiss me back with the passion that I’m used to. I think she even tries to pull away once, and I wonder if she feels my guilt, somehow sees that I still have feelings for another girl, feelings that I don’t want, feelings that I only want to be for Claire.

  “Are you okay?” I say after pulling my lips from hers while still keeping a firm hold on her hips, realizing I hadn’t even asked how she was before I’d brought her back here and pretty much attacked her.

  “It was a hard day,” she says, her eyes sad all of a sudden.

  “What’s going on?” I loosen my grip on her hips, take her hand and lead her to the bed where we sit close to one another.

  With slumped shoulders, she starts to tell me something but falters.

  “You’re scaring me,” I say, putting my arm around her.

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry…” Then she takes in a deep breath and exhales. “It’s just that when I was in Spokane with Kate, I went up to the nursing home to see Margaret. You remember her, right?”

  “Yeah, of course. The really sweet lady at bingo with the cool husband.”

  She nods without looking at me. “Well, she wasn’t there—she was at Sacred Heart… the hospital. Kate went with me to visit her, and she’s not good. I’m actually really afraid for her.”

  “Sorry. God, Claire, that’s really hard.” I pull her close. “Do you know if she’s going to pull through?”

  She’s silent at first, and then, with a heavy tone says, “Her husband thinks so, but I’m not so sure. It would just really suck though. She’s so sweet, and a lot of people would really miss her, me included.”

  Until now, I’d never seen Claire break down. It starts with a few jagged cries that become louder until her body is shuddering and she’s burying her face in her hands. I hold her tight and stroke her hair, my mind going back to all of the times she’d tell me to look at the bright side of things or the way she’d accepted me jus
t the way I was—I want nothing more than to return the favor and be the guy that makes it better for her.

  It takes a while for her to settle down, but eventually she does. She heads into my bathroom, blows her nose and splashes her face with cold water. I’m standing and waiting for her, ready to take her right back into my arms.

  “We don’t have to talk about colleges,” I tell her once I’m holding her close to me again. “If you want, we can just chill and watch Christmas movies… whatever you think will make you feel better.”

  “But I promised you I’d help you,” she says, looking up at me.

  “We can do it another day,” I assure her. “Really, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate anyway. I just want to be here for you.”

  “Thank you, Tyler.”

  As much as I’d love to just turn my TV on and hold her in my bed, I know Mom would have a pretty big issue with that. So, once Claire blows her nose for the last time, I lead her out into the living room. Mom is back inside, adding a few last ornaments to the real tree we got this year, lit up with white lights and red garland.

  “Everything okay?” Mom asks, turning toward Claire.

  With my arm wrapped around Claire, I’m about to answer for her when she says, “I’m just worried about a good friend.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope they’ll be okay?”

  “I hope so,” Claire replies.

  “Dad still outside?” I ask after a few long moments of silence.

  “Working on one of his projects in the garage.” She lets out a small laugh.

  That should keep him out of our way at least.

  “We were just going to watch TV if it’s okay?”

  “Of course! I’d love it. It’s been too quiet around here. Maybe you could start a fire, Tyler, and maybe I can put together some food for you guys?”

  “I’m okay,” Claire says, subdued but still offering a smile to my mom and then to me.

  “I’m good too,” I say, though I’m actually pretty hungry.

  “All right, then. I’m going to make some cookies, so just holler if you want anything.”

  “Your mom is really nice,” Claire whispers to me.