by Amy Miles
“No, Charles. It’s never the right time to hear the truth, is it?” Claire presses. Hannah grins, hearing the fire in her aunt’s voice.
“Claire!” Helen gasps.
“No.” Claire stands her ground. “I’ve been quiet about this for far too long. Hannah deserves the right to choose what is best for her and I’m sick and tired of watching you walk all over her. She has every right to choose her own path in life, even if it’s in the opposite direction of both of you!”
If she wasn’t afraid of being seen, Hannah would pump her fists in celebration of her aunt’s boldness in this moment. It’s a rare thing for Claire to speak so frankly, and Hannah loves her all the more for it.
“I’m not going,” she says aloud. Claire rounds the curtain first with a knowing look on her face. Hannah offers her a tight smile before looking at her parents over her aunt’s shoulder.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” her mother protests, clutching her throat. “You need to be home…with us.”
“Precisely,” her father nods curtly in agreement.
Hannah takes a deep breath before speaking. “I appreciate that you want to take care of me, but I want to stay here. I like Dr. Martin. He’s been good to me, and I like the nurses here. They are very kind and I’ve grown fond of them. I don’t want to go to some new place. I feel at home here, with Claire and Uncle Andrew.”
Her father’s face reddens. “Your uncle is hardly in any condition to help care for you.”
She tries not to notice how her father’s words cut at Claire. Instead, she holds her father’s gaze in a way she has never done before. “It’s my decision and I’ve made it. I’m staying here.”
Her mother glances toward her husband, her face pale and her hands showing a slight tremble. Her mother has always had a weaker emotional state. She’s a crier and has learned the power of tears over the years, but Hannah has learned a thing or two about how to ignore them.
“Mom, I know that you want what’s best for me.”
“Of course we do, honey.” She sinks down beside Hannah on the edge of the bed. Her hair looks perfect in the light filtering in through the window. Her makeup is meticulous apart from the mascara that has smudged from moist tissues. Her clothing only bears a hint of wrinkles. Even in her grief, Hannah’s mother looks like she stepped out of a designer store.
“Then please listen to me this once,” Hannah whispers.
Her mother turns and looks up over her shoulder at her husband. His chin is set and his shoulders are pushed back. It’s the posture he adopts when he is unhappy with a turn of events. Hannah has seen it used countless times during her childhood and teen years.
Her father, Charles Green, is a hard man to please. He’s not the sort of man you want to cross or try to buck. He likes getting his way, plain and simple.
When he dad starts to speak, Claire interrupts. “Hannah looks like she could use her rest. Why don’t we go outside and finish this conversation?”
Claire steers her father out through the door before he has a chance to protest. Her mother rises and offers her a tight smile. She doesn’t give Hannah a hug or even squeeze her hand in encouragement. She just turns on her heel and leaves.
“Thanks.”
Claire winks at her. “Girls gotta stick together, right?”
Hannah smiles. “Andrew would have been really proud of you if he’d been here.”
A rosy blush warms her aunt’s cheeks. “Yeah, I think he would have.”
With a wave and a promise to kick butt in the negotiating ring with her father, Claire slips out of the room and gently closes the door behind her. Hannah blows out a breath and lets her head sink into the pillow. Well that went well!
TWELVE
Volunteering
Draven Young carefully pulls the kitchen door closed, wincing at the sound of the lock turning over. He glances around the darkened room and listens for any sounds from the bedrooms on the floor above. His step-father, Kevin, isn’t exactly the most laid back guy he has ever known. In fact, he’s the complete opposite.
Kevin Young is a stickler for the rules, especially the ones he sets for his own household. Coming in well after the appointed curfew won’t go over well. Neither will showing up smelling of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. That isn’t exactly his fault though. His taste in alcohol is far better than the stuff his latest conquest was consuming tonight.
After a moment of silence, Draven blows out a breath of relief. This went easier than I thought it would.
He steps around the granite island and casts a glance toward the clock glowing over the stove. 3:43a.m. He’s home earlier than normal. Kevin has to give him props for that at least.
“I suppose I should ask where you’ve been, but the truth is, I don’t really care,” a deep voice calls from the shadows that drape the sitting room off to his right.
Draven groans as a light flares to life beside his step-father and covers his eyes against the brilliant glare. “You really shouldn’t wait up for me.”
“I didn’t. I just got home from work an hour ago and noticed your car was gone again.”
Rubbing his neck, Draven forces himself to focus on something other than the drill boring through his right eye. “Can we play this song and dance after I wake up from my hangover?”
“No. Now sit down and shut up.” The tone his step-father uses leaves Draven little room to maneuver away.
Kevin has always been hard on Draven. From the time he married Draven’s mom when he was eleven all the way up till the time Kevin officially adopted him when he was thirteen. If Draven were in an honest mood, which doesn’t happen too frequently, he would admit that Kevin has been good for his mom. His deadbeat dad left them high and dry with more debt than his mom could ever hope to pay off. Kevin swooped in and saved them both...his mom more than him.
Draven flops into a leather chair and throws his leg over the armrest. His stepfather’s frown tightens but he says nothing. He sits in a tall backed chair, his long fingers steepled before him. He still wears his work clothes from the hospital. “How many nights have you been going out? Three? Five?”
“Nine actually,” Draven yawns loudly, “but thanks for keeping track.”
His stepfather slips to the edge of his chair. “I’ve had about enough of you and your smart mouth. Things are going to change around here.”
“Yeah?” Draven rolls his head to the side. “How so?”
Kevin has threatened before. Usually he’s too busy to follow through with anything though. Sometimes he’ll give Draven a little slap on the proverbial wrist and he can go his own way. That suits him just fine. He’d rather not be here any longer than he has to be.
“You’ll start by showing your mother and me some respect while you’re under our roof. Next you’ll start coming home at a decent hour and your butt will be in that room when I get home each night.” Draven snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’m disgusted with this rampant desire to destroy your life. Deal with your guilt however you like, but from now on you’re going to be earning your keep.”
Draven’s leg plummets to the floor as he surges upright. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It’s no secret that Draven funds his extravagant lifestyle with Kevin’s money. He receives a stipend each month and with that money he gets to enjoy a life without responsibility or consequences. He stays out of his parents’ way and usually they do the same with him.
He has a place to crash with a friend if need be, a different girl on his arm each night, and enough cash in his pocket to forget the past. Just how he likes it.
He had his own place once, a real nice two bedroom set up down on the beach. It lasted only a couple of months before his landlord kicked him out for partying till all hours of the morning. After Draven moved back in, Kevin went out of his way to make sure no one else would rent to his step-son. At first being blacklisted by his own stepfather annoyed him, but Draven soon came around to seeing the benefits.
No
rent. No food costs. Unlimited access to the pool, boat and jet skis. Yeah, life with his parents isn’t too bad...most days.
“Starting tomorrow you’re going to be working for me. The hospital is short staffed and you’ve got nothing better to do.”
“No way!” He protests. He’s got a bad feeling about this. Kevin has threatened punishments like this in the past but this time feels different. The vein running the length of his stepfather’s forehead is throbbing. Maybe Draven pushed the limits a bit too far this time. “Why can’t I mow the yard or take out the trash?”
“Because we already pay people to do that. People who work hard for their money, I might add.”
Draven grits his teeth. “Fine. I’ll get a job at one of the shops near the beach. The tourists will begin filtering back in sooner or later.”
“That would hardly be a punishment for you. We both know you’d love nothing more than to spend your days watching girls strut around in bikinis. No,” he shakes his head, “this time you’re going to do real work for a real wage. It’s time you learn what the world is like.”
“Mom will never agree to this,” Draven threatens, knowing his mother is always the first to come to his aid. Although he would never admit to being a momma’s boy, he does have a special connection with her. And by connection he means his hand shoved deep into her purse.
When Kevin smiles, Draven’s hopes dwindle. “It was her idea. She thinks it would be good for you to spend some time helping someone other than yourself.”
Draven grimaces at the not so subtle insinuation his stepfather makes with that last statement. It’s true Draven likes to look out for number one. Who wouldn’t? He grew up knowing that the world can be yours if you have money and killer looks. It just so happens that he possesses both of those key ingredients. Is it really so wrong to use them to his advantage?
He works hard to keep himself in shape. Sometimes early in the morning, when he hasn’t been out partying all night, Draven will hop in his Viper and head to the beach for a run just to clear his head. He prides himself on his looks, in being able to confidently show off the chiseled abs and lightly stubbled face that girls fawn over. His hair spikes in the front and looks messy on the sides, as if he’s just arrived at the beach with a surfboard under his arm instead of pulling a late night partying.
Looking good comes natural to Draven. It’s who he is, or at least who he has created himself to be. Picking up women is an art, one that he has perfected over the past few years. His friends envy his confidence. When he walks into a room he knows that he can take his pick of the women present, but lately the thrill of that game has begun to wane. There’s no challenge to it anymore. Nothing to help numb his mind and shove away his guilt. He still has nightmares about the night of the crash. It haunts him, and with Christmas only a few short months away he knows it’s only going to get worse.
Draven has discovered that there is something missing from his life that a hot girl and full bottle of beer can’t fill. He wants a change, but working in a hospital is definitely not what he has in mind. That place gives him the creeps. He can’t stand the smell of urine and vomit covered over by gallons of bleach.
“I’m not going.”
Kevin’s lips peel back into a slow smile. “That is your choice, of course, but if you’re not standing in my office in five hours I will place a freeze on your credit card and a clamp on your tires so you are stuck here. No cell phone. No Wi-Fi. Nothing.”
“You’re grounding me?”
His stepfather pushes up from his chair. “Think of this as an intervention.”
“An intervention is held by people who love you,” Draven shouts at his back.
He stares at the salt and pepper sprinkled through his stepfather’s hair as he turns in the doorway. “Contrary to what you think, I do love you Draven, but it’s time you man up, one way or another.”
Draven grits his teeth and rushes to the doorway as his stepfather begins to climb one of the two sides of the sweeping staircase that fills the entry hall of their home. It is larger than most in the area. Kevin comes from a line of wealthy businessmen. They are ruthless with their money, protecting it and investing it with diligence. His stepfather broke that tradition by becoming a doctor. Although that is hardly a profession to snub your nose at, his grandfather has made it all too clear what he thinks of Kevin not entering the family business.
Guess we can’t all make our fathers proud.
“Fine! You win, but don’t think I’m going to paste on some stupid smile or wear one of those ridiculous candy striped hats.”
When Kevin turns back, Draven is annoyed to see the look of victory in his eyes. “That’s a shame. You’d look so cute in one.”
Draven growls and stomps off. He plops down on the couch in the den and turns off the light to stew in the darkness, with every intention of not going to the hospital the next day.
The bright morning light wakes him a few hours later. It streams in through the floor to ceiling windows over his shoulder. The thick velvet drapes have been tied back, letting the blinding light.
“Martha?” He groans, rising to a sitting position. He holds his head in his hands, propped up on his knees, willing the room to stop spinning. “Martha!”
The whisper of feet announces the approach of their housekeeper. “You called?”
“I need coffee. Lots of coffee.” He glances up to catch her smirk before she shuffles back out. “And aspirin. Just give me the whole bottle, will you?”
Martha Rupert has been part of their wait staff since he was first starting out in middle school. Her plump grandmotherly figure is a fixture in their home. Although Martha has never been so forward as to express her disapproval of his actions, he knows her to be an opinionated woman. She also happens to highly value her job.
Draven drags himself off the couch and stretches. His back is sore and his neck is stiff from resting on the armrest all night. He can still remember a time when he could stretch out fully on the couch and barely touch either end. Those days ended long ago. Now his six foot three frame spills over.
He shuffles out into the entry hall and up the stairs, feeling as if he’s climbing a mountain instead of a single flight. He pads down the carpeted hall, past his parents’ open bedroom door, and slams the door to his own room. He strips, dropping clothes along behind him and then closes the shower door.
Twenty minutes later he emerges into a room thick with steam. Brushing his hand over the mirror, Draven leans in close and prods at the bags under his eyes. That’s not a good look, he muses as he steps back into his bedroom and his attention is drawn to the plate of food that has been placed on the sideboard. He ignores the eggs and smoked ham, instead going straight for the coffee and pain meds. He’s never been much of a breakfast eater. That’s probably because it’s rare that he’s actually awake at this time of the morning.
Towel drying his hair, Draven wanders into his walk in closet and grabs a white V-neck t-shirt and pair of jeans. He dresses slowly, downing large gulps of coffee in between each item he dons.
The scent of the ham calls to him, and he crosses the room and grabs a slice. He’s about to take a bite when his gaze lands on the glowing red numbers of the bedside clock. 8:23am.
He tosses the ham back on the plate and licks his fingers before walking casually out the door and down the stairs. He startles Martha as he pushes through the swinging door into the kitchen. “Have you seen Kevin?”
Martha frowns at his blatant refusal to refer to her boss as dad or father. It’s an ongoing battle in the Young household and Draven has no intention of giving in any time soon. “Your father left for the hospital nearly an hour ago.”
Draven rustles around on the center island, peeking under this morning’s paper and around piles of mail left over from the day before. “That’s odd.”
“What are you searching for?”
“My keys. I could have sworn I left them here last night.” Martha’s lips press into a thin l
ine and Draven stops. “I know that look. You know something, don’t you?”
“Now, Draven you know it’s not my place to get between you and your father.”
He steps close and grabs onto her arms. “Martha?”
Her face falters into a look of reluctant acceptance. “He hid them.”
“He what?” Draven shouts.
“What have I told you about yelling in the house?” His mother scolds as she enters through the back door. Her well-worn gardening gloves are coated with newly turned earth. Not long after the doctors discovered his mother’s delicate sensitivities, they recommended that she take up a hobby. For whatever reason, gardening was her choice. Draven would rather eat worms than spend his days on his hands and knees weeding.
“Did you know he was going to do this?” Draven demands, lowering his voice only slightly.
Helen Young nods as she pries her gloves from each finger and tucks them into the pockets of her apron. “I did. He felt that it was a necessary action to ensure that you understood the gravity of his decision.”
“But this is insane. How does he expect me to get to the hospital now?”
His mother smiles and places a frail hand on his arm. He can’t help but notice how much weight she has lost over the past year. It has been a slow progression but over time her unsettled nerves have stolen away her appetite. “You can do what everyone else does, dear…walk.”
THIRTEEN
A New Friend
Hannah sits on a chair near her window, her eyes closed as she soaks in the early morning sun. It’s the same each day. After breakfast, Art Mendosa comes to collect her for physical therapy. He always arrives with a wide smile and a new joke. Many of them she has already heard dozens of times before, but she never grows tired of hearing him tell them.
Art is a kind man. His dark skin and coarse graying hair stand out among the other men who work in the basement therapy center. Most men his age would have retired and moved south to spend their final years enjoying a warmer beach, but not Art. He loves his work. He’s got a kind soul and a big heart, something that Hannah fell in love with the first time she met him.
