A Kiss to Dream On

by Neesa Hart

  “I’m not on anyone’s side, Mother.”

  “Yes, you are. You believe your father. You think I’m crazy.” She looked around the room. “You put me here.”

  “You were sick. You needed help.”

  “So you locked me up with a bunch of crazy people. That must be very convenient for you. Tell me, does Durstan enjoy telling the world they should vote for him because his wife is a lunatic and his daughter is a cripple?”

  Jackson wanted to throttle her. He wanted to grab Cammy’s hand and get her away from the venomous fury that hung in the room. As if she sensed his unease, Cammy gave him a quick glance that made him hold his tongue. She was assessing him, he realized, making mental notes on how he was handling the situation. He made a conscious effort to ease his tense posture as he gave her a reassuring smile.

  She met her mother’s gaze once again. “Mother, do you know that Durstan is dead?”

  Only a vacant look registered in Laura Glynn’s eyes. Cammy waited several seconds, then leaned closer to the bed. “Do you know that he’s dead?”

  Nothing. “Do you?” Cammy persisted.

  Laura finally looked at her with anger-filled eyes. “The bastard wouldn’t give me the satisfaction,” she ground out. “He’d never die and let me be free of him. He’s too selfish.”

  “He’s dead, Mother. He’s been dead a long time.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I?”

  “You’re taking his side. You always do. Never mind that he treats you like dirt. I don’t know why you do it, Cammy.”

  She shut her eyes. “I don’t. You know that isn’t true.”

  “It is. And I want you to leave.”

  “I wanted to stay with you a little longer. Has Doctor Philpott been to see you lately?’’

  Laura turned her head to stare at the pale green wall. Cammy tried again. “He was going to bring another doctor this week. Did you like him?” Nothing. The silence expanded. “Did he tell you anything?”

  Laura still said nothing. Cammy exhaled a long breath and patted her mother’s hand. “It’s all right. We’ll talk about it next time.” She rose to go. Jackson couldn’t get to her fast enough. He looped his fingers beneath her elbow and walked with her to the door.

  When they stepped outside, she refused to meet his gaze. “Was it everything you expected?” she prompted.

  He stopped walking. “I hated it.”

  That got her attention. She turned wounded eyes to his. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

  “What am I supposed to say? That it was easy for me to listen to that? It wasn’t. I hated hearing it. I hated watching you hear it.”

  “I warned you.”

  He closed the small space between them to cradle her face in his hands. “I hated it because you have to live with it. Every day. I hated it because I don’t like to think of you listening to all that anger and bitterness. Not now, and especially not as a child.”

  “It’s worse lately.”

  “I don’t care. I hate thinking of you agonizing over it. I hate that your father made you cope with it alone.”

  “Jackson—”

  He gently tightened his hold. “And I hate that you still don’t think you can trust me with how it makes you feel.”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Which is more than you’ve ever given anyone else?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Welcome to a shift in thinking. You’re not scaring me off.”

  Before she could respond, someone called her name. “Cammy?”

  She turned to face the man making his way down the hall. “Bruce,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Good. I’m good.” Tucking his clipboard under his arm, he greeted her with a warm hug. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “You too. I’m sorry I missed you the other night.”

  “I’m sorry I had to call you.”

  She shrugged. “I’m glad you did.”

  The man’s curious gaze turned to Jackson. He extended his hand. “I’m Bruce Philpott. Cammy’s mother is my patient.”

  “Jackson Puller.” Shaking the man’s hand, he assessed him and the decidedly warm way he looked at Cammy. People, he realized, were naturally drawn to her. She had an uncanny ability to give affection without demanding any in return. What was offered, she rarely accepted. As he reached for her hand, he added that observation to his emerging portrait of the woman he loved. Lacing his fingers through hers, he ignored her not-so-subtle efforts to shake him loose. “Cammy and I were just visiting her mother.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve admired your work—especially the series you’re doing on Cammy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was on my way in to see Laura,” Philpott told them, “but I’m glad I caught you. Have you got a minute to talk, Cammy?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He slid Jackson a curious look. “Do you, uh, want to talk in my office?”

  She paused, then shook her head. “No. It’s all right if Jackson hears what you have to say.”

  Philpott nodded. “She’s not doing well. You know I had a geriatric specialist over to look at her chart, do a few tests.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s bad, Cammy. Her blood toxins are up, her white count is low. Her liver has never been good, but it’s gotten significantly worse. Her heart is weakening.” He laid a hand on Cammy’s shoulder. “She’s giving up.”

  “Is there anything you can do?”

  “I don’t think so. We’ve increased her pain medication, and I’m keeping her fairly sedated most of the time.”

  “I don’t want her to be in pain, Bruce.”

  “No one does. We’ll do the best we can to control it.”

  When Cammy’s fingers fluttered in his, Jackson felt it throughout his body. She showed no other signs of distress. “How long do you think she has?”

  “I don’t know,” Philpott conceded, “but not long. If her health continues to deteriorate at this pace, we’ll need to think about some serious decisions in the next few weeks.”

  Cammy nodded. “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are, Bruce.” Her smile was sad, and it twisted Jackson’s heart. “That’s why I picked you.”

  He glanced at Jackson. His eyes seemed to send a silent message that difficult waters lay ahead. “I’ll call if there’s any change,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Thanks,” Cammy told him.

  Philpott nodded at Jackson. “I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances.”

  “Me too.” He released Cammy’s hand, then slid an arm around her waist. He sensed the battle she was waging to keep her calm facade firmly in place. As clearly as if she’d said it aloud, he heard her begging him to get her out of there. “We’re on our way to another appointment,” he told Philpott as he guided Cammy toward the elevator. “Is there anything else we can do here?”

  “No. I’m going in to examine Laura, but I don’t expect to find any change. The night staff report didn’t indicate anything to be concerned about.” His gaze met Cammy’s. “I can page you if there’s a problem.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Philpott nodded. “All right, then. I’ll talk to you soon, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, Bruce,” Cammy told him as Jackson nudged her slightly forward.

  “My pleasure.”

  Jackson got her into the elevator before he felt the storm start to break. Her face was a rigid mask of conflict. When he sandwiched one of her hands between his, her fingers were cold and trembling. “Cammy—”

  A slight shake of her head stopped him. “Outside,’’ she said quietly.

  He took the cue and waited.

  By the time they emerged on the street, she was gasping for breath. She had virtually run the final few steps to the door, fled the inquiring glances at the nurses’ station, then bolted on
to the sidewalk. She leaned back against the brick wall and sucked in a deep breath of the warm air. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  He braced one shoulder against the wall and watched her. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “I hate that place. Have I ever told you how much I hate that place?”

  “No.”

  “It’s like a prison. It suffocates me.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “Every time I come out of there, I feel like I can’t breathe—like I barely escape with my life. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples.

  He resisted the urge, barely, to pull her into his arms. Inside him, a cold knot of anger still twisted when he considered the brutal onslaught of emotional stress that had formed the better part of Cammy’s life. He almost wished Durstan Glynn wasn’t dead. He’d like to have a whack at him. “Can I help you?” he said quietly.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s silly. I know it’s silly.”

  “Wrong again, Dr. Glynn.” He tapped her head with his knuckle. “There’s an awfully good brain in there. Put it to use.”

  The incredulous look she gave him helped calm his nerves. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, hell, Cammy. Anybody would be rattled by that. I’m rattled, and she’s not even my mother. She’s cruel to you—” Before she could interrupt, he pressed a finger to her lips. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass that you don’t think she’s responsible for what she says. She’s out of control, and you have every right to be angry and hurt. Just because you know a lot about what’s wrong with her doesn’t mean it can’t still piss you off.”

  She stared at him for the space of several heartbeats. “I don’t think—”

  “For what it’s worth, it pisses me off, too. Hell, I wanted to strangle the woman. I almost told Philpott he should go in there and smack her around a little.”

  “She’s ill.”

  “Yes. She’s also bitter and unreasonable and selfish.”

  “She can’t help it.”

  “Maybe not, but so what? Where did you get the idea that just because she’s got a mental illness means you aren’t supposed to resent what she did to you?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Funny.” He braced one hand near her head. “I know this really brilliant woman psychiatrist. She gives just about the best advice of anyone I’ve ever known. And she told me that anger is a very healthy, and sometimes necessary, part of the human experience.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Who says I was talking about you?”

  She frowned at him. “Jerk.”

  “Honey, listen to me. You are the smartest woman I know. You can figure this out.”

  Her eyes drifted shut. With her head tipped back against the wall, she looked impossibly vulnerable to him. “Come back to me,” he said softly.

  She met his gaze. “I’m here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “I think that a part of you is still smeared on the wall in her room.”

  “Maybe a few stray pieces. Nothing crucial.”

  He clasped her upper arms. “I like all your pieces the way they are. I don’t want to misplace any.”

  A shadow crossed her gaze. “Jackson—’’

  He shook his head. “It was a joke, honey. Maybe not a good one, but a joke. If you want to talk about this right now, I’m willing to stand here all day.”

  “But you’d rather not?”

  “I didn’t say that. I think there’s a storm brewing in you, and it’s got to come out sooner or later. I just want you to know I’ll lash myself to the mast and weather it with you. I’m not a quitter.”

  Some of her mantle of despair seemed to lighten. “I really love that poetic streak you have.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding. I’ve never known a man who liked words as much as you do.”

  “Then let me give you a few more.” He cradled the back of her head in his hand. “I’m acting on instinct here, sweetheart, so I’m not going to push you. I’m still a little giddy from last night, and I’m hoping to hold on to that feeling a little while longer.”

  Her half-laugh warmed his blood. “Giddy? What happened to the man of steel?”

  “Wrong reporter, babe. That’s Clark Kent.”

  Her fingers toyed with the collar of his denim shirt. “I’ll bet there’s a super hero in here somewhere.”

  “I’m thrilled you think so.”

  “Tried leaping a building lately?”

  “Tripped over my coffee table last week.”

  “Hmm.” She laid her cheek on his chest. “Faster than a speeding bullet?”

  “I can run a forty-five minute mile.”

  She giggled. Dear God, he loved that sound. “More powerful than a locomotive?”

  He quit resisting the urge to gather her close. With her pressed against him, and the feel of her hair tickling his chin, the world seemed to right itself again. “Anytime you’re ready,” he assured her, “I’m willing to listen.”

  “What if I’m never ready?’’

  He considered that for a long minute. “You will be.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I never thought I’d tell Leo’s story to anyone, and you made it happen. When I’m with you, I’m stronger than I am by myself. I’m banking on that being true for you too.”

  Seconds ticked by. Finally, she nodded. “It is.”

  His heart swelled. “I’m glad.” He tightened his arms. “I’m very, very glad.” Savoring the moment, just like she’d taught him, he tucked it away for safekeeping. “Now, may I make a suggestion?”

  “Does it involve going back inside?”

  “No.” He stroked her back. “Amy’s appointment isn’t until three-thirty, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t we go pick her up and take her to the zoo? I’m sure she’s nervous. She could use the distraction.” And so could you, he silently added.

  “She’d love that.”

  “I would too.”

  fourteen

  Fighting a wave of sadness, Cammy burrowed deeper into her couch and tried, for the fifth time, to concentrate on the novel she was reading. In disgust, she set it aside to bury her head in her hands. Nothing had helped her shake the gloomy feeling she’d experienced since Jackson had dropped her off that evening.

  In fairness, she admitted, it had actually begun early that morning, but she’d managed to ignore it until her apartment’s cloak of silence had swallowed her whole. She’d almost invited him in, simply to delay the moment of her emotional reckoning, but, with his usual uncanny intuition, he’d recognized her need for privacy.

  “Feeling a little unbalanced?” he’d asked seconds after kissing her senseless just inside her doorway.

  She’d managed a slight nod.

  “Me too. You do that to me, you know?”

  “Jackson—”

  “It’s okay. I’m learning to like it.”

  She had known she was clinging to him but couldn’t seem to stop. “Thank you for everything you did today.”

  The trip to the zoo had been a stroke of genius on his part. Amy had enjoyed herself immensely, and the hours had quickly passed until her appointment. Cammy’s mind had refused to dwell on the darker events of the morning while surrounded by the warm glow of Jackson’s companionship and Amy’s uninhibited glee.

  By the time they’d reached the medical center, Cammy had managed to conquer the lingering depression she felt from the morning. Dr. Van Root had been professional and encouraging, if not conclusive, in his evaluation. He’d asked to take Amy’s test results back to his office for further study before giving them a definit
ive answer, but Cammy, and, more importantly, Amy felt positive about the experience.

  It wasn’t until she’d settled into Jackson’s car for the ride back to her apartment that the threads of panic began to re-form into a cold knot in her stomach. By the time they’d reached her door, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to beg him to stay or demand that he leave. Fortunately, he’d taken the responsibility off her shoulders.

  He had seemed to sense her confusion, so he’d kissed her lightly once again, then set her gently away from him. “I’m going to go home,” he’d announced. “Unless you want to ask me to stay.”

  At her hesitation, he’d nodded. “That’s what I thought. If you want some space, I’ll give it to you. But if you need me, all you have to do is whistle.”

  She’d glanced at the clock on her mantel. It had been barely after six o’clock. “What are you going to do for the rest of the evening?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m going to go home and stare at my phone all night, hoping you’ll call me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Shh.” He’d shaken his head. “No explanation necessary.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Hesitating, he’d taken her hand in his to kiss her palm. “Promise me that you’ll call if you need anything. It doesn’t matter what time.”

  “I thought I was supposed to whistle.”

  His lips had twitched at the corner, damn him. He had to know just what kind of effect that had on her. She practically swooned every time it happened. “Whistling works,” he’d assured her. “I like the puckering up part best.”

  “You would.”

  “You bet.” His expression had turned serious again. “I’m not leaving until you promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “You’re sure.”

  Nodding, she’d said, “I’m sure.”

  And he’d slipped through her door, leaving her alone in the cool silence of her home.

  For the past three hours, she’d tried to busy herself with something, anything, to take her mind off her confusion. She’d worked on her plans for the Wishing Star fund-raiser. She’d gone over case histories for several new patients. She’d called Macon for a recipe. She’d taken a shower.