Back Forever

by Karen Booth

  The sound of the ocean rushed in as I opened the glass door out on to the terrace and stacked back the accordion doors, leaving that one wall of the bedroom open to the sea air. “It’s been so cold at home. I’ve been looking forward to sleeping with the windows open.” I took my place next to her on the bed and kissed her tenderly. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry. You know that.”

  “How the tides have turned.” I placed another kiss on her forehead and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I’ll find us a snack and bring it back.”

  “No, I’ll come with you. Let me grab a t-shirt.”

  “You realize you don’t need to wear a thing.”

  She gleamed. “You know I don’t really do a lot of nudist activities.”

  “I think we should try as much of that as possible while we’re here. It might be our only chance.”

  “True. Very true.”

  “Come on.” I took her hand and led her out of the bedroom to the kitchen. “Food. Then more sex.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The morning sun brought the realization that Chris had done something he’d never managed to do before, which was saying a lot—he’d worn me out. My whole body was sore, especially my legs.

  I rolled to my side and watched him sleep, his mouth slack and kissable. He was so peaceful, and who wouldn’t be peaceful after the night we’d had? Five times? Six? I’d lost count. It was more than an impressive showing for a man his age, it was Ripley’s Believe It Or Not-worthy.

  He opened one eye, closed it, and smiled. His hand dove under the blue and white blanket and caressed the bare skin of my hip. “Morning, Mrs. Penman.”

  The corners of my mouth turned up, the only logical response. “Good morning husband of mine.” Echoes of the waves crashing against the rocks below swirled around us.

  “I like the sound of that.” He opened his eyes again, shocking me with electric green. “Husband.”

  “I love it. I love you.” I still can’t believe we’re married. The shadow of stubble along his jaw was so inviting. It made me hungry for him, not breakfast, even when my stomach was growling so loudly that it was audible above the din of the ocean.

  “Sounds like we need to get you and the nipper some breakfast.”

  “Is it okay if I wear clothes?”

  He shook his head in dismay. “Party pooper.”

  “Hey. I don’t really want to make scrambled eggs in the nude. Sorry if that doesn’t do it for me.”

  He climbed out of bed and found his boxer shorts on the floor. “This is all I’m wearing and I feel as though you shouldn’t wear much more.”

  I tiptoed to our suitcase, pulling out one of his t-shirts. “How about this?”

  “No knickers. It’ll just slow us down later.”

  “It’ll be a miracle if I don’t develop a significant limp by the time we leave the island.”

  We ate breakfast by the pool—eggs, toast, fruit, and of course, bacon. Lots and lots of bacon.

  “There’s something wonderfully hedonistic about pigging out on bacon with your pregnant wife. I should have my own court jester.” Chris sat back in his chair and rubbed his belly.

  I had to admit that it was fun for the second time in my life to not worry too much about what I ate, although after five pieces of bacon, I did have concern for my cholesterol levels. “What should we do today?”

  He sat up and leaned closer, looping my hair behind my ear, which I instantly undid with a shake of my head. “We could play farmer and the milkmaid.”

  I snickered. “Rock star and groupie?”

  “Too far-fetched.” He folded his napkin and placed it on the table before picking up our plates. “We could go to the beach. Do a bit of snorkeling.”

  “You want to hike to Colombier again?”

  “I think that’s better kept for another time. It’s not a good idea for you to be up on that steep incline. If anything happened, we’d be far away from help.”

  I followed him into the kitchen. “A nap after that?”

  “Followed by a rousing game of nurse and brain surgeon.”

  “You get to be a brain surgeon?”

  “Don’t be so sexist, Claire.” He kissed me on the nose and slid his hand up the back of the t-shirt, caressing my bare bottom. “I’m the nurse. You’re the brain surgeon.”

  Sure enough, we didn’t make it out of the villa for several hours. The temptation to enjoy our privacy was too great, so we left behind a sink of dirty dishes to go skinny-dipping, ultimately ending up in several compromising positions on a chaise lounge. Thank goodness for cushions.

  We arrived at the beach known as Petit Cul de Sac around three, once the sun had started to abate. One thing I’d learned about being on the island was that the middle of the day wasn’t good for much more than sleeping, eating, and hiding from the constant barrage of the sun.

  Chris had snorkel gear, so we didn’t have to worry about renting anything. We grabbed our things from the car and started in from the beach. Into the warm, calm sea, a few dozen yards from land, the fish became more plentiful. It was so serene, floating along with the occasional kick of my flippers, following Chris and watching the marine life with the measured sound of my breathing in my ears. At one point, a sea turtle passed within a few feet of us, diving down, and Chris followed him. I stayed on the surface and watched as he and the massive creature had a playful interaction before Chris headed back up for air with a swift kick.

  Chris took the spot next to me when we were back on the beach, sprawling out on his stomach. He collected my hand and rubbed the tips of my fingers with his thumb. “It felt great to get back in the water. We need to meet with the pool people first thing in January. As soon as it’s warm enough, I want to get that hole dug.”

  I smiled—anything to make him happy. “Sounds like a plan.”

  As recently as a few weeks ago, most mentions of the long list of remaining house projects stressed me out. Throwing together a wedding in a few short months had seemed like such a monumental hurdle, that one more thing on our shared to-do list was frustrating brain clutter. Now we could concentrate on things like a swimming pool while we waited for the arrival of the baby.

  “Oh.” I clutched my bare belly. “Baby’s moving.”

  Chris’s hand flew to my stomach. “Oh, wow.” He pushed his silver aviators up onto his forehead watching my stomach in utter fascination, placing his hand in different places and reacting to virtually every kick. “So cool.” He pressed a kiss to my stomach then gazed up at me. “Have I told you lately how happy I am?”

  I nodded, finding it almost unnecessary to reply with words. I knew exactly how happy he was because I could feel it from him every day. It radiated from him, pure and true. “Me too. I’ve never been happier.”

  “And you feel good about everything with the baby?”

  “Yes, of course.” Why would he ask that? “I’m excited. I can’t wait for that first time the three of us can snuggle in bed together.” My eyes began to mist. “It’ll be incredible.”

  “Do you think Sam is going to be okay with everything?”

  “I do. She’s old enough to appreciate the little things about a baby that are so cool.”

  “Like the first smile?” His face lit up.

  “Yes, or the first laugh, the first word. There are a lot of firsts ahead of us.” I twined my fingers with his. “The best part is we get to experience them together.”

  “As hard as it’s been for me to wait to become a dad, the timing couldn’t be any better. I wouldn’t have wanted to be on the road, knowing that I was missing out on all of the fun at home.”

  “What about Graham’s plans for the band? Touring is pretty much a given at this point, isn’t it? How’s that going to work?”

  He sat up and faced me, sitting with his legs crossed at the ankle. “We would have to have to figure that out. Place a strict limit on it. That’s if I agree to it in the first place.”

  �
�The clock is ticking.”

  “Tell me about it. He was all over me at the wedding. He wants a decision now.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Actually, he wants a yes now. He’ll be gutted if I say no.”

  “What about recording?”

  “If you ask me, we should be the first band to make a record at my studio. We’re only three months or so from it being ready. It’ll be perfect. I won’t have to miss any time with you and the baby.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t actually thought about that, but that could work. If you can convince the guys.”

  “I have a feeling that they’ll find the price pretty damn appealing.”

  “Sounds to me like you have a yes in the works for Graham.”

  He nodded. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

  The prospects were thrilling, even if it meant more for us to juggle. “Of course. As long as the touring thing doesn’t get out of hand. I can’t watch you walk out the door for months at a time.”

  “No worries. That’s not going to happen.” Chris looked out over the water. “Looks like we’re in for a beautiful sunset.”

  I rubbed my stomach. “You’re going to think I’m sounding like a broken record, but I’m starving. What are we going to do for dinner?”

  “I made arrangements with Jean-Luc. There should be some cold salads and a big meat and cheese plate waiting for us back at the house.”

  I scooted forward and went in for a kiss. “Seriously. You are the most perfect man ever.”

  “I try.” He dug his hand into my hair and kissed me, pressing his forehead into mine when the kiss was over. “You are seriously rocking the pregnant in a bikini thing.” His eyes traveled down to my chest. “Tomorrow we go for pregnant and topless.”

  I shook my head. What a goof. “Let’s pack up the car, Penman. We can talk about pregnant and topless on the way home.”

  Bouncing over the rocky, dusty roads in the jeep, sun setting, wind in our hair, I couldn’t imagine any more perfect a picture. I died a little on the inside when he turned to me and unleashed his electric smile before returning his sights to the road. Please, somebody pinch me.

  Chris dropped the beach bag on the teak bench outside our room and we went inside to change and clean up a bit before dinner.

  “We probably should’ve taken our phones.”

  “No way. We’re on our honeymoon.”

  I plucked mine from the bureau. The display lit up. “I have two missed calls from Sam. I hope everything is okay.” I pressed the button for voicemail and set it to speaker.

  “Mom—” Panic tinged Samantha’s voice. Fire bloomed in my stomach, becoming worse when Chris rushed to my side. This is bad. “I know you and Chris just got there, but something is wrong with Grandpa. He fainted or something.” Fainted? In the background, there were voices and commotion. Chris wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t really know what happened. Bryce and I just found him on the bathroom floor. We called an ambulance. We’re at the hospital with him right now. Bryce’s family is coming to be with us. Oh my God, Mom. I need you to call me back right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” Claire stared out the window on the car ride from the airport to the hospital. She reached for my hand. “Tell me he’s going to be okay.”

  I didn’t want to make assurances that might later prove untrue, but I hated seeing her suffer. “I’m sure they’re taking great care of him.” I should’ve said what I was thinking, that I wanted to think that it wasn’t serious, but that at his age and with the way he’d been acting over the last several months, it could be anything and it could be serious.

  The sum total of the reports we’d been able to get out of Sam was that Richard was awake, confused, and that the doctors were doing a lot of tests. She told Claire that they’d put him in “one of those big machines” and that the doctor said she would know more by the time we got there. Julie was on her way from Virginia.

  Aside from my worries about Richard, my bigger concern was Claire and the baby. She was a ball of worry. The thought of that kind of stress and strain on her body and mind was unnerving. It had to have an effect on the baby.

  I wrapped my arm around her as we walked across the pedestrian bridge from the hospital parking deck into the main building. We’d come straight from the airport, both wearing flip-flops in December. Neither of us had had the presence of mind to pack anything else when we’d left on our trip, not that anyone ever anticipated it would be cut short by a trip to the hospital.

  We took an escalator up one flight and got on an elevator up to the sixth floor. Two nurses took the ride with us, chattering away about prospects for college basketball. I listened, mostly because I’d developed a taste for the sport, partly because thinking about what might be waiting for us when the elevator doors slid open was too much.

  We checked in at the nurse’s station and they directed us to Richard’s room. What condition would he be in? Tubes in his nose, half-coherent, hooked up to countless machines? Intense dread came over me as I followed Claire into the room. Silly, but it felt as if I should go first, somehow shield her from what was coming.

  There he lay in a pale blue hospital gown, cheeks flushed, what little hair he had in disarray. My shoulders dropped from relief.

  “Dad.” Claire rushed to Richard’s side, took his hand.

  Sam bolted out of her seat next to the bed. Julie turned to us, perched on the opposite side of the bed.

  Richard smiled at Claire. “Hello, Ladybug.” He looked up at me and shook his head. He was hooked up to an IV of clear fluid and what looked to be a heart-rate monitor. “I am so sorry you two had to cut your honeymoon short. I feel like an old fool right now.”

  I stood next to Claire. “What are the doctors saying?”

  “Dr. Lesley should be in soon to go over the test results,” Julie said. “For right now, the official diagnosis is dehydration.”

  Dehydration? We jumped on a plane for dehydration?

  “I’d been at the studio all day and I hadn’t brought any water with me. Hadn’t had a thing to eat all day either. I was preoccupied and forgot about it.”

  Bugger. Once again, he was working too hard, on my project no less.

  “What is Dr. Stevens saying? Did anyone call him?”

  Just then the door opened. A petite woman in a long ponytail wearing a doctor’s coat and holding a chart stood in the doorway, talking to a nurse. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She strode in with a second doctor, a tall man in his twenties. The door closed. “Hello, everyone. I’m Dr. Lesley. This is one of our residents, Dr. Taylor.” She scanned the room and zeroed in on Claire, reaching out to shake her hand. “You must be the other daughter.”

  “Claire.”

  “And you must be the son-in-law.” She shook my hand. “Richard certainly is fond of you. I heard all about the big recording studio you two are working on. Sounds exciting.” She stepped closer to Richard and clasped her hands behind her. “How are you feeling, Richard?”

  “Honestly? I feel fine.”

  “Good.” She brought out the chart and again scanned the room. “I’m ready to talk about these test results. Would you prefer if it was just us?”

  “This is my family. They can stay.”

  “Okay then. All of the blood work came back normal for the most part. Your cholesterol is elevated, especially your triglycerides. We need to take care of that.” She took a deep breath. “The more concerning part is the result of the MRI.” She flipped open the chart and showed it to him. Both Claire and Julie craned their necks to see. My height allowed me the perfect view of a series of brain images on a single page.

  Dr. Lesley took out a pen and circled a large white spot in the center of one of the images. She spoke, but I couldn’t make sense of it or of the white spot.

  Richard’s face blanched, but he otherwise didn’t react. He nodded, staring at the chart as the doctor talked.

&nb
sp; “Cancer?” Claire asked in a whisper, her voice shaking.

  “We don’t know that. We’d have to do a biopsy to determine that. There’s a good chance it’s benign, but we won’t know for sure until we get in there. Unfortunately, the surgeon who really needs to see this is away for the holidays, but I’ve already got a call into him. He’ll be able to better guess whether we can safely get to where the mass is.”

  I squeezed Claire’s shoulder and she shook beneath my touch. What a bloody nightmare.

  “I guess it was a lucky thing that you collapsed Mr. Abby. Otherwise, we might not have found this.”

  Lucky.

  “I don’t want anyone to get too overly alarmed right now,” the doctor continued. “He’s in good hands and worrying doesn’t accomplish anything.”

  “He’s been tired a lot.” Claire looked up at the doctor. “He sometimes gets confused or forgets things.”

  “Now, Claire—” Richard started.

  “That’s normal. The mass presses on certain areas of the brain, which can affect cognition or make someone unusually tired. Brain tumors are much more common in people over age sixty-five, but so are those very same symptoms. They don’t always indicate a serious condition.”

  “So what now?” Julie asked.

  “Since it’s so close to Christmas, as long as he’s feeling well, he can go home tomorrow. We’ll discuss a course of action in a few days. My biggest concern right now is the location of the mass. A lot of key body functions are controlled by that area of the brain.”

  “I don’t want to do that.” Richard shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of anybody going in there and messing around with all of that.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Abby. Let’s wait and see what the rest of the team says.” She made a few notes in his chart and closed the folder.

  The doctors left. A deadly quiet fell on the room.

  Claire looked at me, so helpless, clearly holding back emotions that were too much to let go in front of her father. “I need to use the bathroom.” She squeezed my hand before she stepped in and closed the door.