A Summer to Remember

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Not much of a white knight now, huh, Em?”

  Chapter 12

  Every muscle in her body hurt.

  Fia lay in her bed, too aware of the emptiness on the other side. Even though Elliot had been spending the night for only the last week, she allowed herself a moment for self-pity. She ached, her headache hadn’t completely given up its grip on her brain, and something miserable and tight had lodged in her chest, making each breath difficult.

  The evening had been going so damn well. Nothing could have made it more perfect: the food, the music, the dancing. Even Elliot’s run-in with Brian the bastard had reinforced her appreciation for his character, his honor, his plain and simple basic goodness.

  And then her body had ruined it. Ruined everything.

  A tear seeped from her eye, and she raised one hand to dash it away. The muscles protested, as if she’d overdone it on the weight bench. Spasms always left a bit of pain behind even when they were nothing but a memory.

  The bedroom door was open, dim light shining from down the hall. Mouse was stretched out on Elliot’s side of the bed, head resting on his pillow. Just like a person, he’d said once, and she had scoffed. Of course she’s a person. The clock showed it was nearly 5 a.m., and the house was still. She was pretty sure someone was there—she had a vague memory of Patricia crooning to her—but she was just as sure it wasn’t Elliot.

  Hey, the man came over expecting incredible sex, not nursemaiding her through a crisis. No wonder he’d taken off, right? Wasn’t that what she’d been afraid of?

  One more tear sneaked out, the pain around her heart in liquid form. She let it slide, leaving cool damp in its wake, then mentally squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. Elliot might be gone, but she was here, and she had things to do. Hurt feelings wouldn’t stop her.

  Cautiously she sat up and assessed her body again. A little nausea, nothing threatening. A lessening throb behind her eyes. Her head felt like a pumpkin stuffed with cotton, heavy and too dense for easy thought. Her bladder was functioning just fine, though, reminding her it was past time for a trip to the bathroom.

  She eased to her feet, but before she turned down the hall, she looked out the window and confirmed what she already knew: Elliot’s truck was gone. Patricia’s car and her own were the only ones in the driveway.

  Disappointment turned her walk into a shuffle, her feet too clumsy to work normally. After peeing, she slipped down the hall to the living room, hoping against hope that she would find both Elliot and Patricia there.

  She didn’t.

  She went back to bed, curled under the covers, and let one more lonely tear slide down her face before dozing off again.

  * * *

  The sun was shining bright when Fia awoke again, thin slivers of light showing at the edges of the windows. She still felt like a pumpkin head, but an experience like last night’s could, and usually did, do that to her.

  She thrust out one arm, feeling cold sheets where Mouse had lain. She wasn’t surprised the dog had abandoned her. A person could only lie in bed sleeping for so long. By now, surely Mouse had moved on to lying on the couch sleeping.

  But Fia wasn’t alone. Without opening her eyes, she felt Elliot’s presence. Smelled his cologne. Heard his slow, steady breathing. Waking with him nearby stirred such sweetness inside her, warmed her in that spot around her heart that had been cold for so long.

  Then memory returned. Her body declaring war on itself. The fear in his eyes and his voice when he’d found her on the floor. The worry, the trembling hands. The waking up without him. Where had he gone? How long had he stayed away? Was he back now only to pick up Mouse and say good-bye? Worse, would he look at her with pity and say, I’ll stand by you, when all he really wanted was to run far, far away?

  It took all her courage to open her eyes and see.

  He sat in a chair he’d brought in from the dining table, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, his clothes from last night rumpled, his jaw stubbled with beard. Wherever he’d gone, it hadn’t been to shower or, judging by the weary lines etched into his face, to sleep.

  The desire to close her eyes again, to feign sleep, was intense. The longer they could put off this conversation, the longer she could believe the fantasy: that she’d found a wonderful guy, who thought she was pretty wonderful, too. That she could have another happily ever after, one that would last more than a few short years. That her heart wasn’t going to break.

  “Hey, you.” His voice sounded rusty, hoarse.

  “Hey.” So did hers. She rolled onto her back, sat up, scooted until the headboard was behind her. Her calf muscles protested when she bent her knees, and her biceps did the same when she tucked the sheet under her arms.

  “It’s after eleven. You ready for some lunch?”

  Throwing up was one of her least favorite things in the world, and her gut was already tied in knots, so good sense said skip the food for a while. She shook her head, clasped her hands together, and swallowed. “You have questions?”

  “Patricia answered a lot of them. She spent the night here.”

  “I know.” Where were you? Were you afraid to stay? Did you not want to? Are you angry?

  She would be pissed if she were him. She’d known chances were good she’d have a serious episode when he was around. She had prepped the margarita girls so they would know what to do, but she hadn’t had the courtesy to do the same for Elliot. But prepping him would have meant telling him everything, and she’d wanted so very much for him not to know. For the way he looked at her and touched her and felt about her not to change.

  “You should have told me.” His tone was flat, but there was a hint of disappointment, maybe hurt, wavering in there.

  “I know. But I didn’t think it was much of an introduction to say, ‘Hi, I’m Fia Thomas, I’m twenty-four and widowed, and I have an ailment that doctors can’t diagnose that turns me from totally normal to totally disabled in seconds.’”

  He conceded that with a nod. “You didn’t owe me your life history when we met.”

  But she’d pretty much given it to him, except for her medical issues.

  “But at some point…”

  What point? By the time she’d realized her mistake in hiding it, there’d been no easy way to bring it up. No good lead-in, no guarantee of an outcome that wouldn’t break her heart and probably his, too.

  And honestly, there’d been that part of her that didn’t want to deal with it. That just wanted to be with Elliot.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  She pressed her lips together, and her palms, and her knees. Her toes curled beneath the sheet, but this time it was voluntary because she didn’t think he was going to like her answer.

  “I accepted a long time ago that a relationship was out of the question for me. I can’t hold my regular job. I can’t drive without risking my own safety and everyone else’s. I have to depend on people in ways I haven’t since I was eight years old. I’m no prize in this shape.”

  He didn’t argue with her—didn’t say anything at all. Though she hadn’t said it in hopes of him denying it, pain twinged anyway.

  She shook her head, trying to focus on getting out what she had to say in the best way possible. “Before I could possibly get involved with someone, I needed answers and successful treatment and, aw, what the hell, maybe even a cure. I wouldn’t be a burden. I couldn’t. But that night we met, I realized I could have a few good times, make a few good memories, without a chance of anything permanent. Without requiring a huge lifelong commitment. I could quit worrying, quit being the center of everyone else’s worry, and pretend I was okay, that I was an everyday average woman doing everyday average things like flirting with a gorgeous man. Having dinner with him. Hanging out with him for a few hours. For just a little while, I wanted to be the woman I used to be, before the illness crippled my life.”

  Elliot sat still, stoic, his gaze locked intensely on her. She loved his intensity, but she loved
it more when it was soft and aroused and full of warm, gooey emotion. “So I went to Sonic with you, and I had such a good time that I couldn’t say no to the next time or the next. Then I didn’t know how to tell you everything because I knew one or both of us was going to get hurt, and I couldn’t bear that.” She said the last part on a rush of breath, then inhaled deeply. Even with the six or eight feet separating them, his scents teased and tempted her.

  Finally, he moved, shifting position, crossing one booted ankle over his knee. “You never gave me a chance.”

  “No, I didn’t, and I apologize for it.” The sentiment was way too inadequate, but it was the best she could offer. “But I learned a lot about you that first night, Elliot. I knew you had a sense of honor and responsibility and integrity that’s rare today. I knew you lived by your own code: loving your family and your friends and your country; protecting anyone more vulnerable than you; being responsible; living up to your commitments; saving the world for everyone in your part of it. I knew…”

  Her spine was aching from the slumped position, and a lump was forming in her throat. If she wasn’t such a warrior girl, she’d think she was about to cry, but she never cried. At least, not in front of men.

  Moving slowly, she pushed back the covers and scooted to the foot of the bed, closing most of the distance between them. His chair was at an angle in the corner, and she faced the wall, but she still had a very good view of him. His scents were stronger, and heat radiated from his body as the fine muscles in his jaw twitched.

  “The unshaven look works for you.”

  “The rumpled look works for you.”

  His voice faded, and so did the lightness of the moment. What settled in its place was regret, resignation, despair. She knew all three well.

  “I figured there were two possible outcomes. You wouldn’t want to tie yourself down to a woman with as many needs as I have, or you would feel like you had a duty to finish what you started and stay with me.” Her smile was brief. “Duty holds one hell of a meaning to a guy like you.”

  “Yeah. And now it’s my duty to get some food into you and get a couple of pills down you.” He rose from the chair, walked past, then stopped, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. “You forgot the third outcome, Fia. That I would fall in love with you because you’re the sweetest, funniest, strongest, and most open woman I know, and that I wouldn’t care about your illness because it’s not your health I’m in love with.”

  Her throat swelled again, a lump forming so hard and so big that it might never sink down. If it did, it would probably crush her heart. She tried to smile but couldn’t, tried to sound casual but couldn’t manage that, either. “What are the odds of that?”

  He went to the door, pausing for one quiet question before walking out of the room.

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  * * *

  Elliot stalked down the hall to the kitchen, stumbling when Mouse circled around his ankles. He caught himself with one hand on the bar and snarled at her. Sitting politely on her butt, she snarled back, then gave him a look as if to ask what they would do next. Damn dog didn’t even blink when he scowled at her.

  You’re her rescuer, her protector. Why would she take a scowl seriously?

  Maybe it was time to hang up his white hat. This morning it seemed it caused him nothing but trouble.

  He nudged Mouse with his boot until she moved aside. She’d already emptied her breakfast dish and drunk half the fresh water Patricia had put out, but she was never so full that she would turn down a snack. Maybe not yet totally confident that her luck had really changed and that he would continue to feed her?

  He preheated the oven, buttered a half-dozen slices of bread, and slid them in. After tossing a slice of bread to Mouse—because the idea of anyone scared of being hungry sucked—he got two bottles of water and the pills Patricia had told him to give Fia when she woke up.

  Once the toast came out of the oven, he plated it, tucked the water bottles under his arm, and carried it all back to the bedroom. Fia had put on gym shorts that barely showed under the baggy T-shirt, straightened the covers, pulled back the drapes, and tilted the blinds to let light into the room. It was the first time he’d seen the blinds open.

  Damn, listening to her talk had been tough. Be careful what you wish for, Grandma had often warned, and she’d been right. He’d wanted answers, and he’d got them. Now he had to deal with them.

  He set the toast on the bed, gave her a water bottle, and grabbed a couple of tissues from the nightstand before sitting down. She swallowed the pills without comment, chose the least buttery toast, and took a small bite. She swallowed, waited, then bit off another piece.

  He waited, eating his own toast, until she’d eaten half the slice like that before he spoke. “Let me see if I have this straight. Your plan was to pursue the mutual attraction we felt for each other, have some fun, and then dump me before things got too serious?”

  She looked affronted. “Wasn’t that your plan, too?”

  “No. I knew there was a chance it wouldn’t go anywhere, that we’d have some good times and then it would run its course, but I always stay open to the possibilities. I didn’t go into it with the intention of dumping you.” Of using you, he almost said, but that wasn’t fair. There had been women in his life that he’d known he wouldn’t be with after a month or two weeks or, hell, even for a second date, but that hadn’t stopped him from enjoying the time they did have to its fullest extent.

  Besides, her intentions weren’t the problem. He wasn’t even sure exactly what the damn problem was. He’d driven out to the lake last night and spent hours hiking and staring at the stars and trying really hard to figure out what he was feeling. Betrayed was too strong a word, disappointed not strong enough. He’d thought she trusted him—had thought she was falling in love with him.

  Damn it, he knew she trusted him. Knew a woman who’d been raised the way she was didn’t let just anyone into her life. Knew she’d been as attracted to him from the start, knew she’d been hurt, knew she was wary.

  He knew she loved him. Knew her heart had recognized its tiny missing piece in his heart, just the way his heart had recognized its missing piece in hers.

  Hell, he wasn’t even really disappointed. He just couldn’t put his finger on what he was.

  But he had time to figure it out. They had time.

  Fia finished the toast and delicately wiped her fingers on the tissue. “I know you’re angry—”

  “I’m not angry,” he interrupted a little too angrily to be effective.

  “And I don’t blame you. I never wanted to hurt you. I never thought…things happened so quickly…you’re just so freaking special…” Her smile was unsteady, and as she looked away, the light glistened in her eyes.

  Or were those tears? Aw, man, don’t cry. I can’t handle crying.

  Her gaze came back to him. Definitely tears. “So now you know everything, and I can quit worrying, and you can start over. Move on. Find someone else.”

  His eyes widened, and his jaw damn near hit the floor. “Move on? Find someone else? You’re dumping me now? Are you serious?”

  She flinched at either the tone or the volume of his voice, but she managed to maintain some level of calm. “Elliot, I’m sick. I don’t know whether I’m going to get better or get worse or if I’ll even be alive a year from now. I don’t have a future to share with you!”

  Forgetting his hair was in a ponytail, he raked his fingers through it, snagging the band and yanking loose a half-dozen hairs in the process. He’d never met a woman who literally drove him to pull out his hair in frustration, but this one was doing a pretty good job of it. “That’s bullshit, and you know it, Fia. Remember what you told me? Life happens in an instant. No one’s guaranteed anything beyond this moment. The future can mean fifty years or twenty years from now, but it can also mean next month or next week or tomorrow. Everyone has a future. Maybe not as long as they’d like, but we all have one.”r />
  Yep, definitely tears. First one, then another, slid down her cheeks, catching at the corners of her mouth. That weakness he’d always had for a crying woman surfaced with a need to wrap his arms around her, stroke her hair, and swear to her on all that was holy that everything would be all right.

  But he didn’t know that for a fact. That big uncertainty was still gnawing in his gut, growing slowly but steadily, and he still didn’t know what it was.

  “You want kids, Elliot?”

  The abrupt change of subject gave the uncertainty a big growth spike. His impulse was to blurt out, Hell, yeah, but good sense clamped his jaw shut first, giving him time to choose his words carefully. “I would love to have kids. But you know, there are a lot of people that just doesn’t happen for. It wouldn’t be the end of my life.” Just the end of a few dreams.

  “I can’t have kids.”

  His gut clenched, and the tightness spread upward through his chest and into his throat before he realized what she was really saying. She would be open to both marriage and kids, she’d told him, so in this case, can’t didn’t actually mean can’t. “You mean you won’t.”

  “You saw me last night. Imagine if I were thirty-six weeks’ pregnant and that happened. What if I had a baby and fell while holding her? What if she choked and I was too dopey with my medications to help her?” A plea for understanding rang in her voice. “How could I take care of a baby when I can’t even take care of myself?”

  “They’re called babysitters. Nannies.”

  “You work at a bakery. I do office work for the gym. You think we could afford babysitters or nannies?”

  “They’re also called grandmothers.”

  “Really? Well, I’ve been out of those for twenty years.” Her forehead wrinkled, her look disbelieving. “Your parents live in Arizona. They’ve got lives there. You think they’d just pack up and move to Oklahoma to be full-time caregivers because their son’s girlfriend is a crappy mess who can’t be trusted with an infant?”