by Beth K. Vogt
“I need to see this . . . I . . . I know the woman in that car.”
“What?” Jessica stepped in front of the TV. “Scotty, honey, go to your room.”
“But, Mommy, I haven’t finished eating . . .”
“Go to your room—”
“It’s okay, Jessica.” Alex shoved his chair back, the wood scraping against the floor. “I need to leave.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
He lowered his voice so Scotty wouldn’t hear him. “The woman in the car . . . she’s my mother. I need to leave. Now.”
TWENTY-SIX
How could you let this happen, Alex?” His father’s words assaulted him like a verbal slap as the two of them waited in the hushed hospital hallway.
“Me?” Alex jerked to attention. “Why is this my fault?”
“I was out on an emergency call, you knew that.” His father’s boots thudded as he paced the corridor. Six steps to the left. Turn. Six steps to the right. Turn. “Why weren’t you home?”
“I was on a repair call—”
“There was nothing on the books—and don’t say there was. I checked.”
“I was helping a client . . . who’s also a friend . . . with a broken washing machine.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “And just because I live at home doesn’t mean I have to tell you where I am at all times.”
His father motioned to the room where his mother lay, medicated into a fitful sleep. “If you’d been home, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can’t expect me to stay home twenty-four hours a day just because something might happen—”
“A broken nose. Fractured wrist. Mild concussion.” His father continued on as if Alex hadn’t spoken. “Not to mention being ticketed for the accident and a DUI.”
“Look, I’m sorry this happened, but Mom is the one who chose to get in the car and go buy more alcohol—”
“Don’t you realize how this could affect the business?” His father scrubbed his hand down his face, which was shadowed with a scattering of dark whiskers flecked with gray. “The news channels have already linked your mother to me and the business. What will our customers think?”
“So that’s what this is really about, huh? Your reputation? How this affects business?” Alex stepped in front of his father, forcing him to stop pacing. “For once I thought you might actually care about Mom.”
“Hey!” Alex’s father poked his finger in his chest, pushing Alex back against the wall. “What kind of talk is that? I love your mother.”
“Well, you have a funny way of showing it. You’re always asking me to check on her. For your information, I am not Mom’s babysitter. You’re gone so much there were times I wondered if you had a girlfriend—”
His father took a step closer, breathing heavy, hands fisted. At that moment, a nurse exited the room where Alex’s mom rested, and stepped in between them. “There is an injured woman in there, in case you’ve forgotten. I suggest both of you quiet down. And you—” She moved Alex’s father toward the door. “—go sit with your wife. Your son can go get some coffee.”
Without another word, his father disappeared into the hospital room. Alex shrugged off the nurse’s hand. He needed fresh air, not coffee.
As he stepped off the elevator, his cell phone buzzed—a number he didn’t recognize. Great. Another customer who couldn’t make it through the night without air-conditioning. What did it matter that his mother was in the hospital?
“Emerald Coast Air-Conditioning and Heating, Alex speaking. How can I help you?”
“Alex, it’s Jessica.” Her words were rushed. “I hope it’s okay that I called. Your number was on the business card you gave me.”
He was surprised at how hearing her voice seemed to calm some of the pounding in his head.
“Hey, Jessica. Don’t tell me, I know. The unit fritzed out, right?”
“No.”
“The washing machine?”
“No. And even if they had, I wouldn’t call you about that now.”
“Then why are you calling?” The hospital doors slid open, allowing Alex to step outside, the humid night air swallowing him in its grasp.
“I’m calling because I’m worried about you—and your mother.”
Her words tangled around his heart, making it difficult to breathe. To speak. Jessica was breaching invisible boundaries. Couldn’t she read the NO TRESPASSING sign?
“Alex, are you still there?”
“Yes . . . I’m here.”
“And where is ‘there’? Are you at home or the hospital? I’ve been watching the news to get updates, so I know they took your mom to the hospital.”
“We’re still here. My mom has a mild concussion, a broken nose—that’s why she had so much blood on her face—and a fractured wrist.”
“Oh, how awful. Did they admit her?”
“Yes, just overnight for observation.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. Is there anything I can do?”
Anything she could do? Swear to keep his secret, maybe? If Jessica watched the news, then she now knew his mother had failed a Breathalyzer test and been ticketed for a DUI. No alcohol was found in the car, but only because she had been going to the store to purchase more wine before she crashed.
“No, but thanks for asking.” Alex paced the sidewalk. “For calling.”
“I’m praying, too. And Scotty prayed for your mom before he fell asleep.”
“Scotty?”
“Yes, he kept asking about the lady in the car accident. And when I tucked him in bed tonight, he asked if we could pray for her. Of course I said yes.”
Alex stared at the mostly empty parking lot, his grip on the phone tightening. He scraped the back of his fist against his dry lips.
“Alex?”
“Yeah.” His answer came out on a rough exhale that burned his throat. “Tell Scotty that I said thank you for praying for my mom.”
“I didn’t tell him it was your mom.”
“It’s okay. I trust you with that information. And Scotty, too.”
“You sound tired. I guess that’s stating the obvious, huh?”
He slumped against the side of his car. “I don’t think I thanked you for dinner.”
“No need.”
“Thank you.”
“I have some leftovers put aside for you.”
“Your mother raised you right.”
“That she did.” Jessica’s voice softened. “Can you go home and get some sleep now?”
“Yes. My father . . . is staying with my mom tonight.” Jessica didn’t need to know how unusual that was. “So I’m heading home.”
“Drive safely. And sleep well.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
The memory of his conversation with Jessica replayed in his mind as he drove home. She cared enough to call. Enough to pray.
But Jessica also knew who his mother was . . . what his mother was. And she still prayed for her. It was one thing for an innocent little boy like Scotty to pray for his mom—an unknown woman who’d been in a car accident. He was sure Jessica had whitewashed the details. Leaving out words like driving under the influence and drunk and police when explaining the situation to Scotty.
What did it matter, anyway? It wasn’t like he was going to see them again. The air conditioner was fixed. The washing machine, too. And there was no need for him to pick up the leftovers, no matter how good a cook Jessica was.
Her words were laced with concern—not judgment. She’d prayed for him, and encouraged her little boy to pray for him, too. For all the history he had with Caron, he fought against calling Jessica back. Just to hear her voice. To lean into the calm understanding she offered. Maybe she’d pray for him again . . . something he seemed unable to do.
Pulling up outside his parents’ house, Alex turned off the engine, palming his keys. And just sat.
The crisis, like so many others, was past. If Caron were in town, he’d call her. Tell her what had
happened. She’d understand, having been through countless other crises with him. She knew the routine. Knew his secrets. And it wasn’t the first time his mother had gone the drinking-and-driving route. It was just the first time in a long time. Years.
Alex pressed speed dial for Caron’s number. Yes, it was late, but he’d woken Caron up before—
“Hello?” Caron’s greeting was whispered.
“It’s me, Alex. Were you sleeping?”
“No, I’m up. Working.”
“I don’t think Kade Webster is paying you enough to go without sleep to stage that home—”
“Alex, I’m two hours behind you. It’s only eleven o’clock here.”
“Are you working this late every night?”
A sigh preceded her answer. “What’s wrong, Alex? You didn’t call me because you thought I might be working late. Is it your mom?”
Alex tugged at his collar, the cab of the truck too hot. He shoved open the door, but that only allowed the humidity to seep in. “My mother’s in the hospital.”
“What?” Caron’s voice sharpened. “What happened?”
“She wrecked the car driving to the liquor store. She’s got a broken nose and wrist and a concussion.”
“Oh, how awful.”
“That’s not the worst of it.”
“What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat, forcing the words out. “The accident made the evening news.”
“Oh, Alex—”
“You can imagine how thrilled my dad was about that.”
“I’m sure he’s more worried about your mom—”
“No. No, he was more concerned about ripping me apart. Asking why I didn’t stop her from leaving the house.”
“Were you there?”
“No, but that doesn’t stop my father from blaming me.”
“Alex, you know this wasn’t your fault.”
Did he? When was the last time he didn’t feel responsible for his mother?
“The accident wasn’t your fault, Alex.” Caron’s voice broke through his doubts. “I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry. I wish I was there.”
“I wish you were here, too.” Right now he ached to hold Caron. To be held.
“Where are you now?”
“Sitting outside my house in the work truck.”
“Enough talking.” Caron’s voice lowered as if she was reading him a bedtime story. “You need to go inside. Go to bed. You’ll feel better after you get some sleep.”
“I’d feel better if you were here.”
“I’ll be home soon. Go on now—get some sleep.”
“I love you, Caro.”
“I love you, too. Everything’s going to be okay, Alex.”
Everything’s going to be okay. He clung to the assurance of Caron’s words as he lay in his darkened bedroom. How many times had she told him that, her words the promise he believed when his mother’s headaches ruined yet another family meal? And how many ways had he redefined what was okay so that life could include his mother’s behavior?
TWENTY-SEVEN
It was a good thing Kade couldn’t dock her pay based on what her office looked like.
Caron shoved her chair away from the desk that was obscured by magazines piled one on top of the other, as well as pages torn from various ones that flowed from the desk onto her office floor. A tumbler half full of sweet tea sat near her computer, where at least a dozen tabs were open—diverse images of lamps, carpets, floral arrangements, and children’s bedrooms.
Miriam, Mitch, and Kade had left hours ago, but they weren’t staring down a calendar of disappearing days trying to stage Eddie Kingston’s house. She’d get back to an organized life—one where she slept—when she got back to Florida. For now, it was back to making decisions. Tomorrow she’d be visiting another furniture store to see if they’d want to donate items for the family room.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
At the sound of Kade’s voice, Caron bolted to her feet, scattering magazine pages to the floor. “Stop!”
Kade paused in the doorway. “I wouldn’t think of stepping one foot into your office. It looks like the periodical section of the library exploded in here.”
“Very funny. It’s my decision-making process, thank you very much.”
“You need a bigger office. Why didn’t you go to the conference room?”
“Because my computer is here.” Caron rescued papers from the floor, mindful of her bare feet—and her high heels abandoned beneath her desk.
“Have you had dinner?”
“What?”
Raising his arm, Kade shook the brown paper bag in his hand. “Food? Have you eaten?”
“No. I lost track of time.”
“That’s what I figured. Can’t have one of my employees starving to death. So, dinner is served. Get your stuff organized here and meet me in the break room.”
Kade disappeared before she could argue with him, leaving her to shut down her computer and stow everything else in her desk drawer. She ran her fingers through her hair, debating whether she should take the time to touch up her makeup. But Kade had already seen her end-of-the-day disheveled. No shoes. He was being nice to her, but that was no reason to primp.
She’d keep it real.
Kade had set two places at the table in the break room, and put a plate with several deli sandwiches in the center, a variety of chip bags beside it.
“I didn’t buy drinks because I figured sweet tea would suffice.”
“You figured right.”
“Go ahead and pick what you’d like.” Kade removed the pitcher of tea from the fridge. “But I did get a ham and Swiss cheese with lettuce and tomato, light on the mayo and mustard, in case you’re interested.”
Her favorite.
“Thanks.” Her tummy rumbled. “I guess I was hungrier than I realized.”
“When I called in earlier, Miriam mentioned you’d skipped lunch.”
“Part receptionist, part intel asset.” Caron accepted the glass of tea with a nod as she settled into a chair across the table from Kade. “I see how it works now.”
“Every good receptionist keeps the boss informed about what’s going on around the office, you know that.”
“True. Sometimes I wondered if my father really needed three receptionists or if he just wanted more access to office intel.”
“You have a point. Your father definitely believed the boss needed to have his finger on the pulse of his business.” He chuckled. “Pardon the cliché.”
“I’ll overlook the cliché, but only because you brought me my favorite sandwich.”
“Oh, I see—you can be won over with ham and Swiss cheese, is that it?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” A wink accompanied another chuckle. “Anything else?”
“Chips, of course.” Caron selected a bag of salt-and-fresh-ground-pepper potato chips. Had Kade remembered she preferred those, too?
Caron fought to open the chip bag. Kade remembering her favorite sandwich and chips didn’t mean anything.
“Need some help?”
“No.” The bag refused to open. “Yes.”
“Allow me.”
When Kade’s fingers brushed hers, Caron refused to be tripped up by an electricity-tingled-through-her-hand moment.
Talk about a cliché.
Still, she couldn’t help but remember the times Kade had held her hand. Twined their fingers together, his skin warm against hers. The evenings he told her to stretch out on his couch at the end of a long day, rest her head in his lap, and then ran his fingers through her hair until she’d fallen asleep. And then he’d woken her up with a trail of light kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth, whispering, “Dinner’s ready.”
“Voilà!” Kade rattled the bag. “Your chips.”
“Thank you. I always have a problem opening those things and I end up spilling half the chips all over the floor.”
“We
ll, your chips are saved this time.” Kade put a roast beef sandwich on his plate. “So, do you want to share any details about the Kingston house with me?”
The house. Safe ground. Much better than remembering Kade’s kisses.
“I’m focusing on the children’s bedroom tomorrow. And I’m meeting with Lacey at the house in the afternoon so we can talk about possible photographs.”
“Sounds great.”
“Yes. Thanks for suggesting her.” Caron savored a bite of her sandwich, washing it down with a sip of sweet tea. “I’ll be meeting with a florist next week to see if they’ll donate flowers during tour week. And yes, I’ll offer to mention them in our advertisements.”
“Speaking of flowers, I suppose I have you to thank for the arrangements that have shown up on Miriam’s desk?”
“It’s no big deal, Kade.”
“I wanted you to know I noticed them and appreciated them, too. Quite honestly, it’s not something I’d thought about.”
“Well, now you have—and you can have Miriam keep it up after I leave.”
“I’ll do that. You’ve reminded me that our clients appreciate little things like flowers in the reception area.”
The brief sense of satisfaction at Kade’s praise disappeared. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d said.
Our clients.
It shouldn’t matter that much that Kade noticed something as insignificant as her putting flowers on Miriam’s desk. She shouldn’t be trying to earn his approval. And any clients were his and his alone.
• • •
She either had come up with a brilliant idea or Kade was going to remind her that he was paying her to stage Eddie Kingston’s home—and nothing else. Not even floral arrangements.
The only way she’d know was by presenting her proposal to him, and then waiting for his reaction.
“Mr. Webster just pulled up.” Miriam leaned into Caron’s office, her dreadlocks framing her smile.
“Thanks. His morning’s free, right?”
“No appointments on his calendar. I triple-checked.”
“Okay. Well then, I’m going to wait in his office for him.”
“You want me to hold his calls?”
“Unless it’s something urgent, yes. This won’t take long.” Caron slipped past Miriam. “Wish me luck.”
