Wishes at First Light

by Joanne Rock

  The old man would be angry and stubborn to the bitter end.

  “I can make you another slice.” Clayton debated how much to help him, unwilling to let a bout of Pete’s temper derail whatever heart-to-heart they were supposed to be having today. “And if you’d like a hand getting back to bed—”

  “The home care worker is supposed to be here now, but she probably quit since I’ve had the same one for two whole weeks. The turnover is so high with those people, I get a new one every month,” he groused, using a blue-veined hand to grab onto the beige countertop and pull himself up to his knees.

  “Well, there’s no one here but me.” Clayton hauled his father to his feet and slung an arm around his waist to help him down the hallway lined with record album covers hung like artwork. They were all sixties and seventies rock albums, but the effort to decorate couldn’t have possibly come from Pete. “I don’t have all day to watch you battle gravity.”

  His father was shockingly light. Even more surprising? He didn’t smell like alcohol. There was usually a chemical scent Clay associated with his father—the smell of alcohol sweated out through his veins or something—that was noticeably absent today.

  “You always were a busy man,” Pete accused, a bitter edge to the words even as he clutched at Clayton like a drowning man holding a life preserver. “Too busy to see your father. Too busy to help your brother.”

  The hurt of that statement threatened to bring him to his knees.

  “And you always were quick to deliver a backhanded blow when I least expected it. Nice to know some things never change.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Not that they weren’t true. But he hated letting his father’s bitterness affect him.

  Clay huffed out a breath as he settled Pete onto the hospital bed and regarded his father warily.

  The old man looked like hell. Pete lifted his foot without the slipper onto the mattress and took his time—a long time—lifting the other to join it. How long did he have left in this world with that yellow hue to his skin and the weakness of a much older person?

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Pete said with a sigh as he laid his head against the white pillows and closed his eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “Last I knew, you needed toast that wasn’t charbroiled.” Without waiting for commentary on his intention, Clayton shot to his feet and moved into the kitchen. The act of putting bread in the toaster and waiting for it to heat would calm him, damn it.

  He took his time finding the multigrain loaf and dropping a slice in the slot, calling on deep-breathing exercises to take his pulse rate down a few notches. He hadn’t expected some kind of heartfelt reunion with his old man, so today’s greeting was no surprise. He just needed to find out why Pete wanted to see him and get out of here.

  Simple.

  The sooner the two of them moved past the sniping, the faster he’d get his answers and be on his way.

  Except that by the time he had the toast buttered and his temper under control, an odd chime started ringing in the living room. Clayton stepped up the pace, jogging down the short hall to see what was up.

  Only to discover Pete twisting and flailing on the hospital bed, in the grip of a seizure while his heart monitor blared.

  * * *

  I can meet you at Peachtree at four o’clock.

  Gabriella reread the text Mia sent her earlier in the afternoon as she stood just inside the main entrance to Heartache’s newest restaurant, the Peachtree, owned by Mack Finley and Nina Spencer. Nina was the nice woman with the amazing cupcakes who’d hosted the Salon Night at The Strand the night before. Amy Finley had told Gabriella about this place while they were having their toes painted in side-by-side lounge chairs at the pedicure bar.

  Apparently the Finley family had all been here Saturday night to watch their sister Heather perform. Zach must be so proud of his new fiancée. Gabriella knew she needed to make more time to spend with Heather and get to know her better, but right now she just wanted to find Mia and shake off the chill of a harrowing day.

  Sitting in on the first day of Jeremy Covington’s trial had been hellish, even if she’d never looked him square in the face. She counted it a victory that she had been present in the courtroom, and for now that had to be enough. But she wasn’t sure she would have even walked into the building if Clay hadn’t been by her side, drawing her steadily forward. Her counselor had said that this trial had the potential to undo some of the progress she had made in past years to overcome the old guilt and fears following the attack. Judging by the negative emotions swirling inside her now, that had been a massive understatement.

  Seeing Mia would help. She was glad to have something else to focus on. And after remembering all too clearly how difficult her teen years had been, Gabriella was even more committed to making sure Mia didn’t face her demons alone.

  The restaurant was quiet, but then it was an odd time to be seated—after lunch and before dinner. The Peachtree had a tea service, so a handful of tables were full of mostly women and a few men. White linen cloths covered bistro-size tables in the center of the room while booths lined two walls. The other two were floor-to-ceiling windows, and with the black metal rafters exposed in the revamped historic building, Gabriella could see where those glass walls could retract in warmer weather, rolling up like garage doors. Now, with the wind beating against the panes, the weather made an impressive spectacle while a fire burned in a central stone fireplace. The scent of wood smoke and barbecue emanated from an unseen kitchen, and a couple at the bar was toasting an older woman in a party hat while an upbeat Patsy Cline tune played softly over the restaurant’s speaker system.

  “How many in your party?” a smiling blonde hostess asked, hurrying to Gabriella’s side with a stack of black, leather-bound menus in her hand.

  “Two. I’m meeting a friend—”

  “Ellie?” A rush of cold, damp air preceded the feminine voice Gabriella recognized well.

  “Mia!” She turned to find a more petite girl than the one she’d envisioned, but she recognized her friend’s face from social media photos.

  Glossy brown hair in a ponytail peeked out from the hood of a plain black sweatshirt. Without a stitch of makeup, Mia Benson was a lovely girl. Her wide brown eyes and dark eyebrows were her prettiest feature, but a quick smile made her face come alive.

  “I’d hug you, but I’d drench you!” Mia laughed as she tugged off the sweatshirt, her hair clinging to the hood with static attraction.

  The lack of jacket revealed womanly proportions that Gabriella knew were the bane of the girl’s existence. It had to be difficult to look like a twenty-year-old knockout at sixteen. And, to hear Mia tell the story, she had awoken like that one day shortly after her thirteenth birthday when her Year from Hell began.

  “I don’t even care,” Gabriella assured her, drawing her close for a quick squeeze. “It’s so good to meet you in person.”

  “Would you like to sit near the fire?” the hostess asked, stepping forward with her stack of menus pared down to just two.

  “Definitely.” Gabriella followed the woman to a private table near the hearth and felt the warmth of the crackling blaze right away.

  Fifteen minutes later they had their tea service ordered and a small pot for each of them on the table—Ginger Peach for Mia and Cinnamon Apple for Gabriella. Mia balked at Gabriella’s insistence on buying their meal, but reluctantly agreed to a shared tray of dainty sandwiches as long as Mia could pay for her own tea. Their server poured their first cup into charmingly mismatched china cups and left them to their visit.

  And left Gabriella to her reservations about her role in telling Mia about her half brother. Gabriella wished she knew the right approach.

  “So I went to the coolest store today.” Mia launched into a story about Last Chance Vintage, the secondhand shop on M
ain Street owned by Erin Finley.

  Another Finley business owner. Zach’s fiancée had a large family with deep roots in Heartache.

  And while Mia was clearly excited about the new wardrobe pieces Erin helped her choose, a few of which she’d carted into the restaurant in a shopping bag, Gabriella couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t been in school.

  “Didn’t Crestwood have classes today?” She sipped her tea, grateful for the heat inside and out after an emotionally draining day.

  She missed the warmth of Clayton’s hand on hers, a strong tether that had helped her get through the day. She hoped his meeting with his father was going well.

  “They did have classes.” Mia took a sip from her own cup, clutching it like a mug with both hands. Her short nails were painted dark purple. “But after my date last night, I figured it was a good day to let the gossips have their fun. I’ll go back tomorrow when they’re not as giddy with a new story.”

  “You don’t feel like that leaves you a step behind in your classes?” Zach would have had a fit if she’d missed school—before and after they left Heartache.

  And even if it hadn’t been for his perfectionist ideals, Gabriella knew she’d never meet the town’s expectations of the Chance family if she didn’t attend school every day. She needed help from her teachers to stay on track.

  “I’ll be fine.” Mia set her cup down and straightened her shoulders. “I wouldn’t have learned a thing today anyhow with all that drama. Some days at school are just about surviving the social scene.”

  “That’s sad.” Gabriella wished she could help. “You don’t want to try virtual school? I think you can go full-time and take all your classes online now.”

  She had participated in a pioneering program in virtual high schools when she left Heartache. And the fact that she could stay home to take her courses after the attack and suicide attempt had been a saving grace. Thanks to that program, Gabriella received her diploma on time.

  “The only thing more depressing than my school life is my home life.” Mia shook her head. “The last thing I want to do is spend more time listening to Pete’s machines beep while he swears about how incompetent his health care workers are.”

  She made a dramatic eye roll. Before Gabriella could press the school issue, however, the waitress returned with a three-tiered tray of finger sandwiches, petit fours, mini cupcakes and scones with cream and jam. Gabriella helped herself and urged Mia to do the same. Thankfully the lure of warm scones and homemade raspberry jam were too much for Mia to resist and she dug into the treats.

  Was now the time to tell her that Gabriella had just come from Pete’s house?

  “Do you get along with your father?” Gabriella had been so concerned with Mia’s dating that she hadn’t asked her much about Pete before. But hearing how much Clayton resented his dad gave her a new perspective.

  Besides, how much parental supervision could Mia be receiving if her father’s health had declined to such an extent?

  Mia took her time spreading jam on each corner of the scone with the small knife, laying it across her floral china plate when she finished. With the glow of the firelight behind her dark hair, she could have been a model on the cover of any fashion magazine. It made Gabriella sad to think the girl’s beauty—something most of the world coveted and spent small fortunes to achieve—had cost Mia so dearly.

  “I’m grateful for Pete,” she said carefully, repositioning the white linen napkin on the lap of her dark-wash jeans. “He gave me a home and freedom from social worker visits, which I do not take for granted.”

  Gabriella waited, sensing a whole lot more sentiment beneath that answer. “But?”

  “As a sober alcoholic, he’s been in a bad mood every day since I met him. I don’t mind making food and stuff for him, but he gets weaker all the time and I worry every day that he’ll—you know—not wake up.” Retrieving the knife she’d just set down, Mia cut a small corner off the confection and then stabbed it with her fork.

  Things were worse than Gabriella thought.

  “Do you talk to your mother much?” Gabriella poured herself more tea, wishing she could warm up inside. “Is she any better since she lost custody?”

  “Mom is still a train wreck.” Mia lowered her voice. “She brings a lot of guys home, and I don’t trust her to keep them in line. She passes out hard when she goes down.”

  So her mother regaining custody once Pete died wasn’t a good option. More than ever, Gabriella needed to share the news that Mia had more family than she realized, starting with Clayton.

  The news hovered on her lips.

  “Gabby!” A feminine squeal from the far side of the restaurant caught Gabriella’s attention.

  Heather Finley, her brother’s fiancée, rushed toward their table, her arms open wide and her red curls bouncing on the shoulders of a bright green dress half covered by a thick gray cardigan.

  Gabriella stood, setting her napkin on her chair to return the greeting. The hug.

  “You’re out of court early,” she said. “I thought the trial would go on for another hour or so.” She double-checked her watch.

  “I didn’t go in today. My testimony won’t be until later in the week since the prosecution is building the case chronologically. I stayed in Heartache to finish packing my things since Zach and I rented a place in Franklin for the week. I wasn’t sure how draining all this might be for me, so we thought it would be nice to be close to the courthouse. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of being in town with all the break-ins lately.” Heather glanced down at Gabriella’s dining companion. “So sorry to interrupt your tea. I just saw Gabby and had to say hi. I’m Heather.” She extended her hand to Mia.

  “I’m Mia. Who’s Gabby?” Mia looked from Gabriella to Heather and back again.

  Crap.

  Heather peered at her questioningly. Mia’s dark eyes searched Gabriella’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Mia. I meant to explain that to you today. I legally changed my name years ago when I was worried that my stalker might look for me. Ellie is my legal name, but since I’m from Heartache, everyone here knows me by my birth name. Gabriella Chance.” It seemed strange to have her worlds come together this way, but now that Jeremy Covington was on trial, she didn’t have to be afraid anymore. “My older brother is the mayor and Heather is his fiancée.”

  “Gabriella.” Mia nodded thoughtfully, her ponytail sliding along her arm. “So you are Gabby and Ellie both.” Her quick smile came as a relief. “I like it.”

  The tension in Gabriella eased as she realized Mia was okay with the name confusion even though Gabriella hadn’t been more up front about it. She’d gotten a free pass this time, but it made her realize she needed to tell Mia about her connection to Clayton sooner rather than later or the girl’s trust could be lost for good.

  They spoke easily for a few more minutes when Gabriella mentioned Heather’s connection to Erin, the owner of Last Chance Vintage. Mia raved about Erin’s store and explained her commitment to work there for a few weekends to earn some extra clothes. All the while, Gabriella wondered how to turn the conversation to Clayton. Clay knew Heather, after all. He’d been her bodyguard the week before.

  But it didn’t seem fair to learn you had a half brother in front of a virtual stranger.

  Gabriella’s phone vibrating against the bistro table distracted her for a moment but she ignored it to finish her conversation.

  “I’ll let you go,” Heather rushed to say, backing up a step. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your tea. I just stopped by to pick up the guitar I left after performing here the other night, but I’m not sure I want to bring it out in this weather, even in the protective case.” She stared out the window with a frown. “But let’s get together soon. I know Zach is anxious to see you. And you have the alarm code for the house anytime you want to go ove
r, right?”

  As if she had any desire to set foot in the childhood home where she’d tried to take her own life. Although she did, indeed, have the app for the alarm system on her phone.

  “Yes. But I’ll call Zach tomorrow if I don’t see him in court and we’ll get together soon.” Gabriella needed all her emotional resources to get through the trial, so it made sense to touch base with her brother—the very best of her family.

  So why did she long only to drive back to her motel and see if the light was on in Clayton’s cabin?

  Her phone vibrated again as Heather walked away. There weren’t many people who had her private number. What if someone else in their support group needed help?

  “Mia, I don’t mean to be rude, but I should see who that is just in case it’s important.” Concerned, she was already flipping the device over to check the screen.

  “Take your time,” Mia urged, reaching for a pink cupcake decorated with a frosting daisy. “I’m going to try one of these delicious-looking things.”

  While Mia peeled away the decorative silver paper on her cupcake, Gabriella returned her attention to the phone.

  Her gaze dropped to the first of two short texts from Clayton.

  Pete had a seizure. I am following ambulance to hospital.

  She gripped her phone tight, her heart hurting for Clay. And Mia. The teen was already worried about her father and now this.

  Gabriella scanned down to the next message. And her chest squeezed even tighter.

  Tell Mia. She can meet us at the hospital.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MIA WATCHED ELLIE—Gabriella, she reminded herself—read her messages and knew something was wrong. And judging from the way Gabriella looked up from her phone with something like panic in her eyes, Mia got a weird suspicion it somehow involved her.

  After her time in foster homes and all those years living with an addict mother, she had a sixth sense for predicting when the shit was going to hit the fan. That instinct went bananas now...screaming a warning. She shoved aside the rest of the strawberry cupcake she’d been eating, knowing the day had been too good to be true. Free clothes, no school and a meal in a nice restaurant? Ha! That had never been her life. She should have known the universe would make sure she wasn’t that lucky.