The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set : Complete Series, Books 1-4

by Shari J. Ryan

  11

  The hospital seems harder to walk into. Rather than the scent of ammonia and bleach, the aroma of sanitizer drowns everything else out. The elevator feels confining, and the lights seem duller. Then, there are the beeps—the beeps haunt me in my sleep.

  I feel like I’m invisible as I walk through a tunnel of nurses, doctors, patients, and visitors. Everyone has their own agenda, moving at a pace, which allows them to be where they need to be. I’m slower because I’m scared to see if Dad looks worse this morning than last night. I want to see him happy and healthy—the person I’ve always known, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance again.

  Journey and Mom are already here, sitting in the same seats they were in last night. Dad is asleep with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. My heart pounds, a pinching pain tears at my stomach, and I take my place on a rolling stool the doctor uses when he comes in to examine Dad.

  "Any updates?" I ask them.

  "His heart isn’t too strong today. The struggle is taking a lot out of him," Mom says.

  "Is he just going to deteriorate like this? No more good days?" I wish I had known sooner. I wish I had come home weeks ago and spent those days with him, but he didn’t want me to know, and I feel angry about it.

  "They don’t really know, sweetie. We have to take it day by day," Mom says. How is she so calm? How come I’m so weak?

  Journey has had her head back and her eyes closed since I arrived. I don’t know if she’s asleep or just thinking, but she hasn’t looked up at me.

  "I don’t think she’s sleeping at night," Mom whispers, motioning her head at Journey.

  "Probably not."

  "Did you get the muffins to the shop?" Mom continues.

  "Yes, Brett sends his regards.”

  "He’s such a nice guy," Mom says with a sigh.

  I want to roll my eyes because I don’t understand the sudden love fest for Brett. He just started helping in the shop this week, so it’s not like he’s been around before then. At least, I don’t think so.

  "Yeah, you’ve said this already," I agree, keeping my response short.

  "His parents are stopping by today to visit Dad."

  "That’s nice of them.” I might not sound as appreciative as she does, but I have very little energy for emotion.

  Once I’m settled on the stool, leaning against the wall with one foot pressed to the ground so the stool doesn’t roll, I pull my phone out of my coat pocket, ready to check my emails after being unplugged for the last few days, but there’s a message on my display.

  Your Teenage Crush: Hang in there.

  I didn’t add this name to my contacts … I didn’t enter these words into my phone.

  Me: Brett?

  Jerk.

  Your Teenage Crush: You’ve now confirmed my age-long question.

  Me: Are you always this cocky?

  Your Teenage Crush: Nah, just trying to distract you.

  I want to find this conversation annoying, yet there’s a strange feeling along the crease of my mouth, the muscles tugging upward, opposite from which it’s been the last few days.

  "What are you smiling about?” Mom says, sounding hopeful at the mere sight of a pleasant look on my face. None of us have smiled much since I’ve been home.

  "Oh, it’s nothing—just a stupid message."

  I leave the conversation on my phone as is and tend to my unanswered emails. However, the moment my eyes scan the list of subject lines with question marks, the exhaustion I’ve been fighting falls over me like a heavy blanket, and I turn my display off.

  "I wish there was a magical cure for Dad," I say, aware of how childish my statement sounds. "You’d think in this day of modern medicine, we’d have something like this, right?"

  "I wish we did," Mom says.

  A nurse pops her head in the room. "Thank you so much for the wonderful muffins you brought, Mrs. Quinn. It brightened my morning," she says, with an angelic smile.

  "Of course, dear, I’ll bring more tomorrow."

  The nurse smiles and gives me a quick wave before moving on. "You’re going to run yourself into the ground, Mom. It’s a lot of work to keep baking.”

  "I know, but if I stop moving, I will start to think," she says, clearly knowing the reason for what she’s been doing.

  I return my focus to Dad, wondering if he will ever wake up or if he’ll pass in his sleep. I don’t want to ask the question out loud, but will he wake up? Is this it?

  A knock on the door startles me, and I realize I dozed off for a few minutes, somehow remaining still on this rolling stool.

  I recognize the couple in the doorway as Mr. and Mrs. Pearson—Elizabeth and Bill. They’re much older than I remember, but still look healthy and happy. Mom perks up as they enter the room and she stands from her seat as Elizabeth folds her into her arms. "Oh, Marion," Elizabeth sighs. "I don’t even know what to say."

  "There really aren’t words," Mom tells her. "Thank you for visiting, though."

  "Of course," she says, taking Mom’s hand and helping her back down into her seat.

  Bill walks over to Dad’s side and takes his hand between his and closes his eyes, muttering words we can’t hear—a silent prayer, I assume. "Harold, you’re like a brother to me, and I wish I could help you," he says.

  After a moment, Bill places Dad’s hand back down and makes his way over to me first. Journey is awake now, but silently taking in the scene.

  "Melody, look at you—all grown up. It’s been years since I’ve seen you, kiddo," he says, pulling me from my stool to give me a hug. His embrace is tight, warm, and makes my chest feel weak. He smells like Dad. "Your father told me you had gone off to live with the man you were going to marry." Bill presses his hands into my shoulders and pulls back to look into my eyes.

  "I’m not going to marry Ace, and I’ve moved home now.” I wish I didn’t have to keep repeating this story. I wish my story would just go away, or at the very least, stay in South Carolina like Ace did.

  "Well, I always say, what’s meant to be will always find a way, right?"

  I nod and try to offer a friendly smile. "Right."

  Bill shuffles his foot toward Journey and nudges her right boot. "Get any good gigs lately? If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you moved out of town too. Your dad told me you’re getting a lot of attention for your photography now."

  Journey shrugs with little expression. "Eh, I get around. I think Dad likes to brag," she says.

  "I’m sure you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You know, I commend you for having a career you’re passionate about. Both of you. With the many paths in life you can take, you’re both doing a fine job from what I’ve heard."

  I wonder if he’s saying this because both of his sons are single dads. I’m not sure any parent has a dream of watching their kid live like this, but what do I know?

  As if my thoughts are shared out loud, I hear Elizabeth telling Mom that Parker is seven, and Hannah is ten going on twenty.

  "It must be so nice to have grandkids around, though," Mom tells her. I know it wasn’t an intentional hint, or if she even intended for me to hear her, but I heard it, and feel sorry I haven’t given Mom grandchildren yet.

  Dad will never meet his grandkids.

  Elizabeth chuckles. "Well, they’re a handful. Or, Hannah is a handful. Parker, I worry about a lot. She’s quiet and keeps to herself—she’s been through a lot, though."

  I wonder if Mom knows what Parker has been through. She must. I can’t imagine Elizabeth and Bill wouldn’t have mentioned it over the years.

  "How is Brett holding up?" Mom asks.

  Elizabeth smiles with a sense of pride. "I never imagined seeing him playing this role in life, but he’s a natural. He’s incredible with Parker."

  "That’s wonderful," Mom says.

  "Brody, on the other hand—I think he lives to torture Hannah most days, or maybe it’s the other way around, but it’s all in good fun. Hannah is at an age w
here everyone and everything bothers her, and Brody isn’t putting up with it. He gives the attitude right back and ... it’s like watching two children fight sometimes."

  Bill raises a brow at their conversation. "That’s putting it mildly. Brody is a good father. He just needs to figure out how to raise a tween girl. He’ll get there."

  "Wow, you’ve got a full life there, huh?" Mom asks.

  "We sure do. We’re very blessed."

  Journey stands from her seat. "You can take my seat if you’d like. I have to go make a couple of phone calls," she says, grabbing her purse.

  "Yeah, I have to check a few things too, so feel free to stay for a bit," I say, following Journey out the door.

  She doesn’t stop when she steps into the hallway like I thought she would. She’s walking ahead without saying a word. "Are you okay?" I ask her, jogging to reach her arm.

  She jerks her arm from my hand and pushes through the doors, moving through the empty hallway until she’s in the far corner near the elevators. She presses her forehead against the window, overlooking the parking lot, and I watch her back shudder.

  I place my arms around her. "I know."

  "He’ll never be able to walk us down the aisle or have a father-daughter dance or see his grandchildren. We didn’t give him the opportunity,” Journey says.

  I didn’t think Journey had relationships, a marriage, or children on her mind, or if she ever would. It was never on her agenda, but maybe something changed over the years.

  "I didn’t know you wanted all that.”

  "Well, I know you do, and yeah, someday I’ll want to settle down. I didn’t know we were on a timeline. Maybe I would have cared sooner."

  "I know.”

  "And it looks like we let Mom down too. I mean, what the hell? I didn’t know this was what we were supposed to be doing right now?"

  "No one said we should be married and have kids by now, Journey.”

  "Mom’s life will be so empty when Dad goes, and it’s our fault."

  I wasn’t thinking of it in that way, but her words gut me. "We’re still here. It’s not like we’re leaving or going to forget about her,” I tell Journey.

  "You know it’s not the same thing. She’s going to be lonely just sleeping at night."

  "Grandkids wouldn’t fix loneliness.”

  Journey groans. “He told me, Mel. I just—I’ve been thinking about so much, but not about what happens after ... you know?"

  "After will come. We must be here now, though. Nothing in our lives is changing at this moment, and we need to do what we can to be what Mom needs."

  Journey reaches into her purse and grabs a wad of tissues, blotting beneath her black-lined eyes. "God, this sucks," she grunts.

  She’s usually the strong one of us two, and she’s losing it. Not one of us will ever be the same again.

  Mom, Elizabeth, and Bill find us in the hallway. "They need to do a few tests and help him move around a bit. They’ll come back out to get us when we can go back inside," Mom says, her words monotone and lifeless.

  Elizabeth looks at Bill briefly before refocusing her attention on Mom. "Tonight, I’m bringing dinner over. Stay here until they kick you out. Then, we’ll come over and keep you company for a bit."

  I assume Mom is about to turn her down because of her need to cook and feed everyone.

  "That would be so wonderful of you, Elizabeth. Please bring the boys and those grandkids of yours too. I’d love to meet them."

  Bill clears his throat. "Uh—are you sure you’re up to this? Our house sounds like a circus most nights."

  "I need life in our house. I’m sure," Mom says with a weak smile.

  "Where my food is, my sons will follow, so I am sure they will accept the invite, but as long as you are absolutely sure, Marion. I don’t want to stress you out any more than you are."

  "I’ll make sure Journey and Melody are home too. It sounds like a lovely distraction for us," Mom says, staring past Elizabeth.

  "Mom, are you sure you’ll be up for it tonight?" I ask her again.

  "Yes," Mom answers me, then takes Elizabeth’s hand. "You know your son, Brett, was darling enough to bring us dinner last night."

  "I know. I thanked him for helping out. He’s a good son," Elizabeth says. "He has a heart of gold."

  And apparently, a bad memory, I’d like to say.

  "He certainly does," Mom agrees.

  "Well then, I better get home and prepare some comfort food. Visiting hours are over at seven, right?" Elizabeth asks.

  "Yes," Mom responds.

  "We’ll be over around seven-thirty. Does that sound okay?"

  “It sounds perfect." Mom tries her hardest to look upbeat, but it doesn’t show well through the pain written across her face.

  Elizabeth offers Mom another hug, and Bill places his hand on my shoulder. "If you need anything before then, give us a call," he says.

  "Will do," I tell him. "Thank you."

  We watch as they step into the elevator and as the door is closing, I swear I hear Elizabeth say: "Brett will be happy to hear—"

  Brett will be happy to hear what?

  12

  I thought the day would crawl by minute by minute, while I watched the clock on the hospital room wall, but the sun melted into the trees before I realized I had skipped lunch. Nurses and doctors were in and out of the room so often there wasn't much time to think.

  Dad only opened his eyes a few times, long enough to tell each of us how much he loves us, but he’s so tired, it’s hard to stay awake.

  We took turns holding his hand, running the sides of our fingers down the length of his cheek, nuzzling our heads against his neck. Moments I’ll miss.

  A nurse popped her head into the room, and through a whisper, informed us visiting hours were over, but said we could stay if we preferred. I think we all struggled with the decision to stay or leave, but Mom suggested we all get some rest. Therefore, we said our maybe forever goodbyes.

  My claustrophobia in the elevator feels worse on the way down than it did on the way up. Journey must be feeling the same, too. Her face is pale, and she’s swallowing hard and loud enough to hear.

  "I’m not doing this dinner thing tonight. I can’t," Journey says. "Dad won’t be there, and I just can’t."

  She has a point, but our other option is to go home and stare at one another with tears and sadness. A diversion sounds healthier, especially for Mom. "That’s okay, honey. I understand. I considered those facts too, but—" Mom tries to justify her feelings.

  "You should enjoy the dinner, Mom," Journey says. "You’re not doing anything wrong. I just—I have a lot of work to catch up on too."

  "I know," Mom tells her. "Melody, you must be behind with your work too." Mom’s head turns in my direction.

  "I’ll figure it out," I tell her.

  Journey is a loner and needs to wallow, heal, and handle pain on her own, or she’ll explode. I was taken by surprise after her offer to have breakfast so early the other morning, but I think it was more for me than her.

  We’re all drained. We all need to cope somehow.

  "Are you going to be okay tonight?" Journey asks me. I know she isn’t trying to be offensive to Mom, but Mom takes my hand as if asking me to ensure Journey that I will be fine staying with Mom.

  "Of course," I tell her.

  Journey squints her right eye a little, knowing I feel the way she does. She also knows I’d rather be around others than alone when necessary. We’re very different in that way, as well.

  As we’re parting ways in the parking lot, I grab Journey’s wrist. "I know about your little key switching trick last night.” I tilt my head to the side.

  Journey smirks. "You’re welcome."

  "Pain in the butt," I mutter.

  "Always will be," she says, walking off.

  "You knew, didn’t you?" I ask Mom before unlocking Dad’s truck. I parked beside her when I arrived since the lot was still empty.

  "Not until she
mentioned it after you and Brett were both long gone. I told her it wasn’t the time to be playing match-maker," Mom says.

  "Thank you for standing up for me.”

  "Well, I tried, but I didn’t have much to respond to after she said there was already a match-made a long time ago."

  I gaze at the keys in my hand, wondering why life would align this way, at this time, and with these hurdles.

  "A lot of life has happened over the last decade," I remind Mom.

  "Life has also brought you both back to the same place, so—you never know, right?"

  I didn’t need these thoughts swimming through my head before dinner with his family. My mind is already going haywire—I’m weak, and a mess. "Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  "It could be, but it might not be," she says. "I’ll see you at home, sweetie." She disappears into her Lexus, and I clamber into the driver’s seat of the truck.

  The timing is wrong.

  The timing was wrong back then, and it’s wrong now, and I should be focusing on everything else.

  I should be focusing on losing my father.

  On death.

  On what life will be like with a permanently broken heart.

  The driveway has an open spot for the truck, but there are three other vehicles lined against the lawn on the dirt road.

  My body feels numb as I make my way to the front door, and my mind fills with fog as I hear soft laughter bubbling from the kitchen. Mom is laughing.

  Are we allowed to laugh right now?

  Mom set the dining room table for eight people, but I feel like I’m walking into a stranger’s house. This isn’t my family.

  It’s just Mom and me.

  I hang my coat up and place the truck keys in the small dish on the entryway table.

  When I step into the kitchen, I find Mom with a glass of wine in her hand, and Elizabeth dishing out food from the casserole she must have prepared. Bill sweeping a crumb off the counter, Brett is filling glasses with either water or wine, and Brody is doing a magic trick in the corner with the two girls.