by Amy Knupp
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I never should have said any of that this morning. I was...struggling. I took it out on you. Wrongly so.”
“Struggling. Yes, slightly.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to go with me.”
“Asking was fine. It’s pretty obvious you had a hard time handling going into the condo. I didn’t mind going with you.”
“You only minded the blowing-up version of me,” he said, attempting to lighten the tension with a self-deprecating grin. “I knew visiting the condo would be rough, but I never intended to take it out on you.” Cale twisted the paddle that still rested on her boat. “This thing is heavy as hell.”
“He gave you the worst one.”
Cale narrowed his eyes at her as if trying to discern if she meant it and then glared out toward Buck’s boathouse. “Crafty old sucker.”
“He’s got my back,” Rachel said cheerfully. Then she sobered and decided to voice what bugged her about his apology. “You said you shouldn’t have said what you said to me, but you didn’t say you didn’t mean it.”
Cale pulled his paddle and his gaze away. Obviously, he’d meant what he’d said, and it hadn’t been just a random thing during his emotional outburst.
“You think I’m not dealing with my grief?” she asked, her voice climbing higher in pitch.
“It seems like it from where I’m sitting.”
“How can you, of all people, even say that?”
“Have you ever let it all out, Rachel? Had some kind of freak fest like I did in my condo—both before and today—or cried yourself to sleep or...lost control for a second?” He shrugged and raised his brows in question.
“Fits of crazy are not the only way to grieve.”
“Nope. There’s lots. Blocking it out isn’t usually considered one, though. I think that’s called avoidance.”
“I’m not—”
“It’s easier not to feel,” he interrupted. “I get that. I don’t know how healthy it is to do it on a long-term basis, is all I’m saying.”
Irritation had been building up in her since he’d arrived. She wanted to scream. Pondered, again, whether she could beat him to the shore—either one. She wouldn’t be picky at this point.
“You want me to lose it?” she asked, her voice sounding half-hysterical. “Is that what you’re looking for, Cale? Should I go a little crazy just like you did? Would you consider me normal then? Healthy?”
“That’s not—”
She didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say. Before he could react, she took her paddle and pressed down on the side of his boat. Within two seconds, it had capsized and Cale was in the drink. Her boat wobbled, but she quickly regained her balance and avoided following him over.
“Haaaa!” Rachel yelled to the sky. When Cale surfaced, she said, half laughing and maybe half-crazy, “Is that what you’re looking for?”
Cale shook his head like a wet dog, spraying water all over her. “Not exactly.”
“You want crazy, I can give you crazy. I just need the right motivation.”
“Evidently,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “How do I get back in this thing?”
“Very carefully.” The release must have done some good because Rachel laughed. Or maybe it was just her latent wicked side finally coming out.
She watched his attempts to master the kayak for a couple of minutes, trying not to crack up. He was going at it from the side, and, of course, every time he hoisted his weight on the boat and tried to get his leg in, he went over again. After three failed attempts, he splashed her intentionally.
“Okay, kayak master, what is the trick?” he said, standing on the bottom, the water only about four feet deep there. It became officially impossible to not stare at his chest. His pecs were perfect—not overly huge like a bodybuilder but definitely eye-catching and beautiful. They went well with his considerable biceps, and she couldn’t prevent the fantasy of having all those muscles close around her.
She forced her eyes to his face with difficulty. She wasn’t supposed to be admiring anything about him. Now or ever.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “You seem to think I do everything wrong. I probably wouldn’t be able to help you.”
“If you don’t help me, I’ll be forced to retaliate.” Cale put a hand on her kayak and made it wobble.
While Rachel had had years of practice and was pretty good at staying upright, she didn’t stand a chance if he decided to deliberately tip her.
“Okay, okay. Give me your paddle.”
“Right. So you can strand me out here or force me to use this thing as a kickboard to get back to good ol’ Buck’s? I don’t think so.”
“You don’t trust me?” she said, acting overly innocent.
“I used to trust you.”
“I’ll hold your paddle while you get in and then I’ll give it right back.”
He sized her up, his eyes roving from her face, down over the top of her tankini swimsuit and back up to her eyes again. At last, he handed over the paddle. “I suppose I can swim to shore if I have to.”
“Don’t they teach you to get in a kayak in the fire department?” She lined up his paddle with hers and held them crosswise to the kayak in an attempt to give herself better balance should he rock it again.
He laughed. “Of course. You’re familiar with water rescue from a kayak?”
“Grab it right here,” she instructed, pointing at the very back of the kayak. “Go up on your chest there and let it steady.”
He did what she said and ended up back in the water.
“Easy,” she warned. “Not so overzealous. Try it again.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Cale said, guiding his kayak a few feet away from her, as if it were her fault he’d failed yet again.
“It’s a little entertaining. Think of it as a mood lightener.”
“For you.”
“I’ll hold the front if you want me to.”
“I don’t.” He heaved himself up again, this time with a little less power, and managed to balance himself over the back end.
Rachel walked him through sitting up on the back and then sliding his way forward inch by inch. When he was finally situated back in the kayak, he breathed out. “That wasn’t the kayaking lesson I had in mind originally.”
“Always good to learn new things.”
“Your generosity is unrivaled.” He held his hand out and she returned his paddle. They sat for a few minutes in silence and her attention switched from him to the girls in the park onshore, more distant now. They were both sitting on the bench, one on either side of their grandpa.
“I hate to get back to being serious,” Cale said after a while, “but I’m sorry I ruined your morning, Rachel. And your kayak outing. God knows I’m not an expert on how to handle things, but...I worry about you.”
“Said the man who single-handedly destroyed a wall with a hammer.”
“That was months ago. I was much calmer today. Sometimes you have to block out the bad stuff, but if you never let it in, you’re never going to get through it. Don’t you want to feel a little better, have it get somewhat easier to handle thinking about Noelle?”
Like he wouldn’t believe, she did. But...letting in that pain without filtering it at all? No. She wasn’t sure she could ever handle that and live to tell about it. With enough time, her way of dealing with her grief would be just as effective. She hoped.
“I do what I need to do to get through,” Rachel said, a lump developing in her throat. All this time, she’d fought not to lose control, afraid that if she ever did, she wouldn’t be able to surface for days. It was self-preservation, the only way she knew to handle her loss. But now Cale planted doubts in her mind.
Their boats were side by side, touching. Cale was staring at her, his expression sympathetic. She almost preferred having him rant at her because sympathy made her want to lose it. As she’d already pointed out, she wasn’t up for that. He reached out
and put his hand around hers where she held on to her paddle.
“I rented this godforsaken boat to tell you I’m sorry for the things I said at my condo. I never meant to upset you more, but that seems to be about all I can do, huh?”
“You do have a knack for it,” Rachel said, endeavoring to lighten the mood. So maybe she was an escapist, she acknowledged.
“You’re the doctor.... Doesn’t it have something to do with the Y chromosome?”
“Cop-out,” she said, stifling a grin. “It has nothing to do with genetic makeup and everything to do with personality.”
“Oooh, that’s where you’re gonna go? And here I was about to offer reparations.”
“Such as?”
“I was going to give you a head start on our race back to Buck the shyster’s. But not now. And you know why?”
Trying not to laugh, she waited for him to answer his own question.
“Because I have a Y chromosome and Y chromosomes make men want to win.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Personality again. But I’ll take the challenge. To the dock.”
“So I’m forgiven?” he asked. “Everything’s good with us?”
“Until the next time you accuse me of grieving wrong, everything’s good.”
As they lined up side by side, with Cale making sure the noses of their kayaks were precisely even, Rachel kept a smile on her face. Everything between them did appear to be fine, and for that she was thankful. But what he’d said about working through things, about it never getting any easier for her, had her questioning herself. And that was not a familiar place to be for Dr. Rachel Culver.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“NOW YOU’VE got new miniblinds for me, huh?” Cale’s mother said as she sauntered into the guest bedroom of her condo. “Was there something wrong with the old ones?”
“Only if you wanted them to actually cover the window completely. There were three slats toward the bottom that were damaged.” Cale reached above his head and tightened one of the screws on the bracket.
Ronnie sat heavily, as was her way now, in the flowered armchair in the corner. “I hadn’t noticed, but thank you for taking care of that. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Cale.”
“Happy to do it.” He finished with the bracket on one side, lowered his arms and studied his mom. She looked worn-out. He’d been here at their new condo every day he hadn’t been on duty at the fire station, trying to help them put the place together. Trying to alleviate the burden for his mom, knowing full well his dad was of little or no help with the physical stuff.
“You’ve spent too much time here,” she said. “Too much time on us these past few months.”
“I don’t mind, Mom.”
Getting his parents relocated after his dad’s accident had been a priority, one he’d worked toward for close to six months. The ranch was too far from medical services. Hell, his mom had had to drive forty-five minutes on a good day just to get groceries, and she’d ended up doing it alone since getting his dad in and out of the van was too much for her. The past few months had put about ten years on Ronnie, even though Cale had made the nine-hour drive regularly, whenever he had three days off at a time from work, in order to do what he could for them.
“You’re young, son of mine. You should be out painting the town, not taking care of your decrepit folks.”
Cale chuckled. “Painting the town, huh? I don’t think people do that anymore.”
“You’ve always been the guy who takes care of everybody else,” she continued, ignoring his smart-aleck response, “and I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. Your father does, too. But we’re here in San Amaro now. We’re fine. Your social life must be nonexistent, Cale.”
“I go out sometimes.”
She always pointed out how he was a caretaker, the one to go out of his way whenever someone needed help. He didn’t think much about it—it was just the way he was. But...maybe that explained why he was drawn to Rachel so much. There was no doubt in his mind she was going through a rough time now that she was back in town and was faced more directly with Noelle’s death.
“When?” his mom asked. “For the three weeks we’ve lived here, you haven’t had a moment that you weren’t fixing up our home or working at the fire station, have you?”
“I went kayaking just the other day,” he blurted out.
“Kayaking? Who did you do that with?”
“Noelle’s sister. She’s a doctor now. Only been back in town for about a month and doesn’t have many friends.”
“I remember Noelle talking about her when you two came out to the ranch for the weekend. They were twins, right?”
“Identical,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want his mom’s mind going...there. “She’s having a hard time, I think.” He rushed on, maybe to distract her from jumping to conclusions. “It’s like Noelle’s death is just starting to sink in now that she’s back on the island and living in her family home.”
His mom frowned and shook her head sympathetically. “Poor thing. It’s good of you to befriend her.” Her frown turned into a bittersweet half grin. “See what I mean? You’re doing it again.”
“It’s not because I feel sorry for her.” He wasn’t sure why he protested, especially when he risked having his mom suspect he was interested in Rachel as more than a friend. In spite of the kisses on the beach, that wasn’t what he wanted.
Was it?
He shook his head. Hell no. It couldn’t be. That would be ten shades of twisted.
“You’re not focusing on her to avoid things yourself, are you?”
The suggestion grated on him and he had to temper his reaction.
“I went through hell, Mom.” He shook his head, choosing his words carefully because he knew, on some level, she was looking out for him. But... “It’s been a year and a half—more than that—and I’ve worked through a dozen or two stages of grief. Faced it head-on because I can’t see how else to get through it and start feeling like maybe I can get up in the morning and get through a whole day without being flattened by a thought of Noelle...” His throat threatened to swell up and cut off his oxygen supply.
“I know you have, Cale. I wasn’t suggesting that you weren’t.”
He turned his attention back to attaching the blinds to the brackets so his mom wouldn’t see what the topic was doing to him.
“You’ve come a long way. I know it’s been hard,” she continued. “But you don’t really have your life back yet. You used to love to play beach volleyball, didn’t you? Weren’t you in a league of some kind?”
“I played on the department’s intramural league.” He’d liked playing, but when Noelle had died, the thought of going out and horsing around, carrying on...caring about something as petty as a game... It had turned his stomach, to put it mildly. “I’ll go back to it someday. Soon,” he added in an attempt to appease her. He hadn’t given much thought to looking up the team’s schedule or seeing if they needed another body. He probably should.
Her compassionate look morphed into the stern-mom look. “Do. It’ll be good for you. You need some fun in your life.”
Cale got the blinds attached and lowered them. He tested them out, opening and closing the slats a couple of times.
Fun was a tall order.
“And another thing...”
Cale closed his eyes. Sometimes—no, most times—it was better not to get his mom started. It appeared it was too late for that today, though.
“Your condo.”
“What about my condo?” As if he didn’t know.
“It’s time, Cale. Your father and I are fine. The few boxes we have left to unpack will be there. I can tackle them when I feel like it. You’ve done all the updates to this place that we wanted and more.”
He could feel her staring at him, stern look still in place. Sometimes he hated that look.
“Did Mariah say something to you?” he asked guiltily.
“She didn’t have to.”
&nb
sp; “I know. I need to get out of her apartment.” The thought of living in his condo, of sleeping in that bed, turned his stomach, but maybe once he spent time in it just working on the remodel, it would get easier.
“Maybe it’s time to consider selling.”
The suggestion panicked him. “No way. It’s a great place. Tons of potential. I started working on it last weekend.” Never mind that “working on it” was an exaggeration.
“Why don’t you let us pay to have someone help you with the work?” his mom asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve got it, Mom. I want to do it.” Cale sat on the bed, suddenly exhausted—from the conversation, not the task. “I get it, okay?” he said gently. “I’ve been letting a lot of things slide. I’ve known I needed to jump back into them, but sometimes it’s easier just to stick with the status quo.”
“We just want you to find happiness, Cale. You’ve been through so much....”
“I get what you’re saying, Mom,” he said, appreciating her intention but wanting to avoid the mushiness. And any mention of finding a girl, which he suspected would be next. “I hear you. I’ll see if I can get my act together.”
If he reassured her enough, maybe he’d believe it, too.
“See that you do. And if we can help you somehow, you let us know.”
Needing help wasn’t his way. His mom was right—though he’d taken steps to come out of his reclusive sadness, he had a long way to go to get his life back. He’d been patting himself on the back for the occasional night out with the guys, even if they were few and far between. But he had to admit that he’d plateaued in his recovery. He’d just been waiting for something to push him. Something like a kick in the butt from his no-nonsense mom.
It didn’t slip his notice that if he was going to preach to Rachel to stop avoiding, then he better walk the walk himself. Maybe if he faked it for long enough, he could get through the rest of his reentry relatively unscathed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“TELL ME AGAIN—what part of this is relaxing?” Rachel asked her mom.
“You need to use a fork to cream that together,” her mom said, pointing at the bowl of sugar and butter on the counter in front of Rachel. Jackie surreptitiously licked a dab of brown-sugar-nut topping off her finger as she directed their Saturday-morning undertaking.
