Feels Like Home

by Beth Andrews

She frowned. The table was covered with a red cloth and two place settings….

  “You…” She squeezed the back of a stool. “You’re expecting company.”

  His expression was unreadable. “Yes.”

  Of course he was. She clamped her lips shut to stop from laughing. It made perfect sense. He was dressed for a date, she realized, in his dark jeans and black sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his face clean-shaven. It was a Friday night, after all. And he was a single man. An attractive, intelligent, successful man. He had every right to cook a meal he’d often prepared for her…for another woman. Had every right to bring another woman into their house. To make love to her on his bed.

  Had he bought a new one? she wondered numbly. Or was he still sleeping on the bed they used to share?

  Oh, God.

  She shoved her arms into her coat. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry she’d come here and faced the reality of Aidan’s life now that she was no longer his wife. Sorry it hurt so much. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening. I’ll see myself out.”

  Before she broke down. Before he realized what was going on inside her. What she was feeling.

  “Wait,” he called, but she didn’t slow, just rushed through the dining room, past the table that had been given to them as a wedding gift from his grand mother.

  Lily must’ve thought Yvonne wanted to play, because she barked excitedly and raced ahead. But Yvonne’s fear of Aidan was greater than her apprehension about the dog, and she nudged her aside with her leg and opened the door.

  To see a woman coming up the walk. Yvonne froze.

  Aidan came up behind her. “Listen, I’ll…I’ll see what I can do about getting someone out to the carriage house before the end of the week.”

  But Yvonne no longer cared about the carriage house or proving herself to the Sheppards. Not when the woman had reached the door, a bakery box in her gloved hand, a smile on her pretty face. She was tall and willowy with glossy, dark, chin-length hair and a dusky complexion that set off the deep green of her eyes.

  “Hello,” she said, looking at Yvonne curiously, but her expression was warm. Friendly. Yvonne couldn’t push out a greeting past the lump in her throat.

  The woman looked over Yvonne’s shoulder and held up the box. “You said we were having Italian so I picked up some tiramisu.”

  “Sounds great.” His voice was close, his warm breath on Yvonne’s ear causing her to shiver.

  He didn’t even like tiramisu. Or at least, he hadn’t when they’d been together.

  Things change. People change. Besides, you’re not together anymore. The proof of that is standing before you. Standing before you waiting to go through the door you are currently blocking.

  Too bad she couldn’t seem to move.

  Aidan tugged her aside, leaving enough room for the brunette to enter the foyer and shut the door.

  Shutting Yvonne inside.

  “Marlene Lucca,” Aidan continued, as if it was every day his ex-wife and his current…girlfriend? lover? met on his doorstep, “Yvonne Delisle. Yvonne works at the winery.”

  Nothing. No flash of recognition at the mention of Yvonne’s name. Obviously Aidan hadn’t discussed their marriage with Marlene.

  She set the dessert box on the side table and then offered Yvonne her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. What do you do at the winery?”

  “I…actually…I just started,” she said, returning Marlene’s firm handshake. “I’m the events planner.”

  “Yvonne is a wedding planner in Charleston,” Aidan said as he helped Marlene off with her coat. She smiled affectionately over her shoulder. Yvonne had to look away.

  “A wedding planner? That must be interesting.”

  Yvonne pulled her shoulders back and forced a smile. “It is.”

  It was interesting. And rewarding.

  Lily quivered by Marlene’s side and she crouched to pet the dog, not the least concerned about getting dog hair on her clothes. Or that the dog might get hungry and suddenly take a chunk out of her person.

  “Although Aidan doesn’t agree,” she said, looking up at Yvonne, “I think the winery expanding into events is a great idea.”

  “That’s because you’re all about the bottom line,” Aidan said.

  Marlene laughed, the sound low and husky and genuine. “I’m an accountant,” she explained as she straightened. “So he’s right. But bottom line or not, a wedding at the Diamond Dust would be just…beautiful.” Grinning at Aidan, she linked her arm with his and pressed against his side.

  Yvonne never would’ve made such a public display of affection, had never been comfortable doing so, not even with such a small, innocent gesture. There had been times, she remembered, numerous times when they’d been out that Aidan had reached for her hand.

  And she’d pulled away from him.

  He and Marlene looked so right, so perfect together. The other woman fitted here, in this house with her friendly smile, her jeans and ballet flats and red sweater.

  While Yvonne had never felt more out of place. More alone.

  “Well,” she said in an overly bright tone, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll leave you to your evening.”

  “Don’t rush off on my account,” Marlene said, still at Aidan’s side, her free hand on his biceps. “If you two have business to discuss, I can keep myself occupied.”

  “We don’t,” Aidan said. “We’ve said all we need to. Isn’t that right, Yvonne?”

  “Yes. It was lovely to meet you, Marlene. Y’all enjoy your evening.”

  Quietly, holding together what was left of her dignity, she walked out the door, away from the house she used to call home. Away from the man she used to call husband.

  Away from the life she’d thought she’d had no other recourse than to toss aside.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “IT’S CANCER.”

  Through the roaring in her head, Diane was vaguely aware of Dr. Pacquin speaking, his voice calm and unemotional. Professional. Yes, she thought dully, we must remain professional. Must remain strong.

  She wanted to throw up.

  “Invasive ductal carcinoma,” the doctor continued, his fingers laced together on his desk blotter. He was young, around the same age as her sons. How many more people would he sit across from today to give them news that would change their lives forever?

  Al squeezed her hand, his palm warm against hers, his fingers strong, his touch reassuring. As if everything would be all right simply because he was next to her. Because he loved her.

  Too bad that wasn’t how things worked. A fact she knew all too well.

  She tried to swallow, but it felt as if her throat was blocked off. It took all she had to drag oxygen into her lungs and blow it back out again.

  She sensed her fiancé glance her way. He wanted her to say something, to react to this news. But she couldn’t speak. Didn’t know how she was supposed to feel or act.

  “What do you recommend?” Al asked, leaning forward on one of the leather seats across from the doctor’s utilitarian metal desk.

  Dr. Pacquin shifted and rubbed a hand over the bald spot at the back of his head. “Chemotherapy, followed by a lumpectomy,” he said, reciting treatments as if reading his grocery list, “radiation and hormone therapy. The tumor is just under seven centimeters, so we’re looking at a fifty to sixty percent survival rate.”

  Al’s grip tightened, turned almost painful, and Diane blinked, tried to focus. Both men were looking at her, waiting for her to…what? Agree that she was going to be one of the lucky fifty percent who survived? Why should she survive when Tom hadn’t?

  “I need some air,” she blurted. She stood and raced out the door.

  She hurried down the corridor. The sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital only added to her growing nausea. She went past the nurses’ station, not slowing when a young R.N. asked if she was all right. With both hands, Diane pushed open the door to the stairwell. The sound of it shutting behind her echoed dow
n the stairs.

  She was hot. Sweaty. She pressed her forehead against the cool, gray wall, breathed through her mouth until the churning in her stomach subsided. She slowly rolled her head back and forth. She was sick. She hadn’t needed some doctor barely out of med school to tell her what she’d already known ever since discovering that lump.

  Al opened the stairwell door, clearly relieved when he spotted her. “Are you all right?” He shook his head and laughed harshly. “I’ve asked a lot of dumb questions in my life, but that has to be about the dumbest.”

  Without lifting her head from the wall, said, “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  He held out his arms. “Come here,” he said gruffly.

  She almost didn’t. Didn’t want to show any more weaknesses. But she realized he was doing it as much to comfort himself as her, so she stepped forward and let him hold her.

  And though she told herself she didn’t need to, that she was strong enough on her own, she clung to him.

  “You’re going to beat this.” His hand was unsteady as he stroked her hair. He leaned back and gently cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You will beat this.”

  “There are no guarantees.” She’d learned that eight years ago when this same damn disease had taken her Tom. And though it was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do, she had to give Al one more chance. “I’ll understand if you want to…postpone the wed—”

  “No.” His eyes flashed. “I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

  “Will it be easier after I’ve lost my hair?” she heard herself ask, emotion clogging her throat. “How are you going to stand being with me, making love with me after…”

  After. After the treatments when her hair fell out, her body ravaged by chemo and radiation. When she was so tired she couldn’t get out of bed, when her world was reduced to nausea and mouth sores and pain. After the surgery when they took part of her breast.

  “I love you,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “You. I love you because you’re strong and capable and brave. I love you because of what’s inside of you. And that will never change. Never.”

  Her nose stung, but her eyes were so dry they burned. “I’ve been so lucky,” she said, holding his gaze, “so unbelievably blessed to have been loved by two strong, caring men. To have been given three handsome, wonderful sons. I built a business from the ground up, a business that’s thriving and, best of all, will go to my children. Will hopefully someday to to my…my grandchildren as well. Grandchildren I may never see.”

  “Don’t think like that.”

  “I have to face the truth, all possibilities.”

  She’d had a good life. A wonderful life. Plenty of days filled with laughter and joy. But there had been hard times, too. The heartache of losing her parents, the soul-numbing grief of burying Tom. For years she’d dealt with the daily fears of having a son fighting a war half a world away, fears that turned into terror when Brady had been injured.

  But Brady survived—thank God. And so did she. She’d survived her husband’s illness. Of witnessing cancer ravage his body. Their hopes dashed time and again when each treatment failed. She didn’t know if she could go through that again. Not even to save her life.

  “Let’s go back to Dr. Pacquin’s office,” Al said in that convincing way he had, as if stumping for votes. “He said he can get you set up with Dr. Stone, the oncologist—”

  “I can’t.”

  “Do you want a second opinion? Dr. Pacquin came highly recommended, but if you’re unsure about his diagnosis we can find someone else. Someone with more experience.”

  “No. That’s not it.” She inhaled shakily. “I want to go home. Now.”

  Al nodded, his hands slipping down to her elbows. “You want to tell your sons.”

  Panic threatened to overcome her. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “They’re your sons,” he said quietly. “They deserve to know what’s going on. They’d want to know.”

  “And I’ll tell them. When the time is right.”

  “You’ll be starting treatments. There is no other time.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. “That’s just it. I…I’m not sure what—if any—treatments I want to take.”

  His hands fell back to his sides. “You aren’t serious.”

  “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t fair to you. You’re scared for me—I’m scared for me,” she admitted, her throat so raw it took all she had to get the words out. “But I want to go home. I need to think about my options.”

  “The only options are the ones Dr. Pacquin just told us about.”

  She could see Al’s anger and fear in his face, hear it in his voice. “You don’t understand. I’ve witnessed what treating this disease does to people. How much it costs them. I watched Tom suffer from the side effects. Saw how bravely he fought until his strength was depleted, his body racked with pain. And in the end, nothing we did, nothing he went through, was enough.”

  Al took ahold of her by the arms again and gave her a shake. “Damn it, Diane. This is different. You’re not Tom.”

  “You’re right. I’m not as strong as he was. Not nearly as brave. I have no control over this disease but this…deciding what does and doesn’t happen next, I can control. Please. I need this time.” His hold though his fingers dug into her. “Now, I can go rent a car and drive myself back to Jewell,” she said gently. “But I’d very much like it if you took me home.”

  LATE MONDAY MORNING, Aidan walked past a pile of old cardboard boxes, two full black garbage bags and a rusted out toolbox on his way to the open door of the carriage house. Leaning in the doorway, he raised his eyebrows at the sight of Yvonne studying an antique sign advertising Overalls that Wear Like a Pig’s Nose—complete with a picture of aforementioned pig.

  “My grandfather swore that sign would be worth millions someday,” he said.

  She didn’t jump, didn’t act as if she was in any way surprised to find him watching her. She seemed…resigned.

  “He may have been right,” she said, lifting the sign by the edges and walking toward him. “But I don’t think overalls or pigs are quite the look you’ll be going for in here.”

  Sunlight filtered through the windows, combining with the subtle glow of the hanging lightbulbs to illuminate the dust particles in the air. Yvonne stood before him, the sign in her hands like a shield. Her hair was pulled back and she wore tight, dark jeans and a University of South Carolina sweatshirt that looked very familiar….

  He frowned. “Is that my shirt?”

  She blinked innocently. “Not anymore.” She brushed past him.

  He turned to watch as she set the sign next to the toolbox. “Hey,” he called. “That sign isn’t garbage.”

  She brushed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re more than welcome to go through these piles and take anything of value home with you.”

  “That’s big of you. Letting me keep things that belong to my family and all.”

  “I texted your mother last night and she gave me the go-ahead.” Yvonne walked back to him, loose strands of hair curling around her face, a streak of mud—or was that oil?—running down the side of her neck, and a cobweb on her shoulder. “Take it up with her.”

  Impressed despite himself, he sipped his coffee. He followed her back inside. It was cool and smelled of damp earth and dust. The wood floor was warped, the boards swollen from water and age.

  She picked up a snow shovel that was leaning against the wall, and something darted out from behind it and across the floor.

  Aidan jumped, lifting one leg, then the other like a puppet on a string, his hands flailing. Hot coffee spouted up through the travel mug’s lid and landed on his denim work shirt. “Damn,” he muttered, his gaze darting left then right. But the mouse had disappeared.

  It could be anywhere.

  He looked up to see Yvonne staring at him, her eyes wide. “What?” he growled, trying unsuccessfully to
wipe his shirt.

  She shook her head. “Did you just squeal?”

  The back of his neck heated. “I don’t squeal. I was surprised. That’s all.”

  “It’s just a little mouse. It’s more scared of you than you are of it.”

  “I’m not scared of a mouse. I just…don’t like rodents. Especially when they sneak up on me.”

  She laughed, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her words muffled by her fingers, “I’m not laughing at you… Well, I guess I am.” She lowered her hand, her eyes sparkling. “But only because it’s nice to see you’re not quite as invicible as you seem.”

  “I never claimed to be perfect,” he groused, setting the cup on a windowsill. He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “And I’m not afraid of mice.”

  She nodded sagely. “So you said.”

  “Look, you want to see me in action? Bring a snake in here. I can handle snakes fine.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said solemnly, but it looked as though she was fighting a grin. Walking over to a pile of plastic pipes, she clapped her hands loudly. Lily barked from outside, then ran in.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” she said under her breath, making a shooing motion to the dog. Lily tipped her head to the side and barked again before putting her nose to the ground and exploring the building.

  “I’m going to pick up this pipe,” Yvonne said, nudging it with her foot. “This one right here.” Another nudge. “So if there happens to be any rodent-type animals currently living in this pipe, make your presence known.”

  “I realize a lot can change over the years,” Aidan said, “but I never would’ve guessed one of those changes would be you losing your mind.”

  Her answer to that was to kick the pipe harder.

  “Are you waiting for a mouse to come out and introduce himself?” he asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She gingerly picked up one end of the pipe, shook it, then lifted it into her arms. “I was giving any mice that might be living or hiding in this pipe a chance to run off so they don’t…surprise you.”

  Though he felt like an idiot, he grinned. “I’ve never witnessed anyone being so polite about trying to scare a mouse.”