“He’s fine,” Kaye scoffed.
“Come in, come in.” Brenda stepped aside so Kaye could enter.
In the calm of Brenda’s house, Kaye felt her anger fade. She looked at the blanket on the couch and glanced at her friend. “Were you asleep, Bren? I’m sorry to wake you up.”
“No, don’t be silly.” Brenda led the way into her kitchen. “I’m just watching an old movie.”
“Really? Which one?”
“No idea,” Brenda replied as she reached for the remote and flicked off the TV. “It was just on in the background.” She moved toward the cabinet, then looked at Kaye. “Is this a wine problem or an herbal tea problem?”
“Wine.”
“Wow.” Brenda uncorked a bottle and filled two glasses, then brought them to the table. She sat opposite Kaye and waited.
“If you’re still planning to go on that artists’ trip next month, I want to go with you,” Kaye blurted.
“The trip to Asheville?”
“Yes. Exactly. That’s the one.” Kaye averted her gaze and sipped her wine. If Chase could live as he pleased, then she could too.
“When did you start sculpting?”
“I’ll learn.”
“That bad, huh?” Brenda laughed. “The workshop in Asheville is about technique and most of the day will be spent in the studio. You’d hate it.”
“I’ll stay in the room and meet you for dinner then. I don’t care. I’m sure there are gift shops I can browse in town while you’re working.”
“Without Chase?”
“Absolutely without him.” Kaye frowned. “It’s better without him anyway.”
Brenda set her wine glass on the table with a gentle tap. “What’s going on?”
“He wants to go back to work.”
“Of course he does. Did you expect him to sit around all day, doing nothing?”
Kaye pressed her palms to her forehead and closed her eyes, as if she could somehow blot out the image of her husband hooked up to machines. “I expected him to keep his promise.”
“What happened?” Brenda leaned back in her chair.
So Kaye told her the whole story: the party, the investment project.
“It’s going to happen again; I know it will. The doctors warned it would if he didn’t slow down.” Kaye drew a ragged breath. “I can’t go through it again, Bren. I can’t watch him work at that pace anymore knowing what it will bring.”
“How do you know he’s going to? And what makes you think that whatever he’s doing now will lead to a repeat of what happened three years ago?”
“I just know it.” Kaye shuddered.
“That’s the thing, Kaye: you don’t know.” Brenda left the table, returning with a soft blue blanket that she draped over Kaye’s shoulders. She squeezed Kaye’s shoulder through the blanket, then collected the wine glasses and took them to the sink. “Just out of curiosity, what would you have him do instead?”
“I don’t know—nothing. Retire. Get to know his grandchildren.”
“Okay.” Brenda shrugged. “Say he does that—sits around the house all day long. He gets to know his grandchildren, knows all about them—what they like, who their friends are. And then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘and then what’?”
“I can see this is going to be a longer discussion.” Brenda lifted the dish towel that had been draped over a cake container and unsnapped the lid.
“Are you still doing that?” Kaye snorted. “Hiding cake from yourself?”
“Yep.” Brenda reached into the cabinet and removed two hand-thrown ceramic plates.
“Does it work?”
“Not yet.” The silverware drawer rattled as she opened it.
“What kind did you make?”
“Coconut.”
“My favorite. Is that a Christmas plate?” Kaye peered closer at the design on the plate Brenda set in front of her. A reindeer with a bright red nose stood in the center, circled with alternating snowflakes and evergreen trees.
“It is, and don’t change the subject,” Brenda remarked, settling back into her chair. “Just so I’m clear, you’re angry at Chase because he’s not doing exactly what you want him to do?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” Kaye protested, stung at Brenda’s over-simplified explanation. “I’m annoyed because he’s not taking care of himself. He promised me he would and he’s not. He lied to me.”
“Really?” Brenda dragged her fork across the frosting. “Has he stopped the sale of his share of the company and decided to return full-time to work?”
“No, the sale was finalized in March.”
Brenda nodded thoughtfully. “And has he stopped going to the physical therapist? Or refused to see the cardiologist?”
“They both released him for the summer. Although he’s got appointments with both for follow-ups.” Kaye pointed her fork at Brenda. “I see what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”
“Then explain it to me.” Brenda set her fork on the plate and fixed Kaye with a pointed look. “What, exactly, is your husband doing that’s got you so wound up that you want to join me on a ceramic retreat in Asheville?”
Kaye swallowed the lump in her throat. She put her own fork down and drew a shaky breath. “It’s going to happen again, Brenda,” she whispered as she felt the breath leave her body. “I can feel it.”
“Oh, honey.” Brenda reached across the table for Kaye’s hand. “Lemme tell you something: you married a good man, Kaye. A good one. Chase reminds me of my Eddie, God rest his soul.” She squeezed. “And three years ago, you saved your husband’s life. You found the right specialists. You forced him to go to physical therapy, even though he didn’t want to. You scheduled his meds and made sure he took every dose on time. You saved his life, no doubt about it. But that doesn’t give you the right to run it now.”
“But—”
“Let me finish.” Brenda’s eyes were sharp, though her tone had softened. “A man like your husband needs something to do. More than just reading the newspaper or walking to the duck pond with his grandchildren. He was a titan of industry, as the expression goes. It’s who he is, who he’s always been. It’s why you married him.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Wait until the next heart attack? Because I can’t do that.”
“God forbid,” Brenda answered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She straightened. “You know I love you like a sister, Kaye. I really do. But when you decide you’re right, you dig in your heels and no one can convince you otherwise.”
Kaye was silent, so Brenda continued.
“Chase has done everything you’ve asked. You’ve taken very good care of him and he’s gotten better. Now you both need to go out and find a new normal, a new way to live. That’s the only fair thing to do.”
If Kaye were being completely honest, she didn’t care about being fair; she cared only about keeping Chase well. She’d spent the past three years in a state of readiness, watchful for signs of something amiss so she could prevent catastrophe this time. The tools she used to dampen the hum of anxiety weren’t working anymore and she didn’t know what to do.
Brenda rose and took the blanket from Kaye’s shoulders. “You need to go home and talk to your husband. Be honest about what you’re feeling and he’ll understand.”
Brenda was right.
Kaye allowed herself to be led down the hallway and shuffled out the door.
“Call me later.” Brenda waited for her to reach the sidewalk, then turned off the light.
Twenty-One
Fueled by their excitement, the first week of work was productive and passed quickly. They stuck to the schedule Stacy had set: Billy writing new pages during the day and Stacy editing the pages at night. As promised, Ryan took care of the kids every day, and if he didn’t always hear Sophie waking at night, that was okay. Stacy was up anyway and could put her back to sleep.
The second week was more challenging. Billy dissolved into a puddle of d
espair several times and once threatening to give up entirely. But they pushed past that and ended the second week with almost three hundred pages completed and ready to go.
Now, the second morning of the third week, Stacy could see light at the end of the tunnel, however dim. As was her habit, she started her day by walking across town toward Billy’s room, carrying edits from the night before and a cooler of food for Billy’s day. Though it wasn’t the sort of food he was used to, or even liked, he seemed grateful to have it. As their work progressed and he seemed to be running out of steam, she’d added bars of dark chocolate and cans of double-shot espresso drinks, which seemed to do the trick.
She crossed the weedy yard and made her way to his room, knocking sharply on his door. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer; they were both exhausted. She pulled out her key and swiftly unlocked the door then dropped the cooler on the floor with a thud. “Good morning, Billy.”
“Go away.” He buried his head under the pillow.
“I’ve got good news today.” She snapped open the drapes, letting in shafts of weak sunlight across the dull brown carpet.
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll care about this.” She slipped a cup of strong black coffee from the carrier. “Emmerson likes what you’ve written so far.”
“You showed him?” Billy poked his head up, like a meerkat.
“The first few chapters, yes.” She set the coffee on the nightstand and clicked on the bedside light.
He buried his head back under the pillow. “If Emmerson likes what you showed him, he’ll like the book.” His voice was muffled. “Tell him to extend our deadline. I can’t take this pace anymore.”
Stacy suppressed a surge of exasperation. Of course he was tired—they both were. But she would not let him give up.
She pried the lid from her coffee and settled into his desk chair. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”
Sitting up, Billy pulled back the sleeves of his ratty denim shirt and thrust his arm toward her. “Do you see how pale I’ve gotten?” He massaged his throat with his fingertips. “And I think I’m coming down with something. My vitamin D levels are dangerously low, probably because you keep me in this dungeon without any sunlight at all.”
“I’ll bring vitamins tomorrow.”
“I’m tired.” Billy turned over and stared at the ceiling.
“We’re both tired, Billy.” Her voice broadcast a calm she didn’t feel, but it would be useless to take her frustration out on him. She needed him to focus on the work. “I’ve had the same headache for a week and my left eye started twitching two days ago.” Setting her coffee down, she rose from her chair and stood next to his bed. “You have four chapters to write and three days to do it. You can sleep when we’re finished—the whole day if you want to. But right now, we have to get to work.”
With a dramatic sigh, he rose from his bed and crossed the room. He accepted the flash drive with her corrections and plugged it into the computer. “Fine.”
Stacy took the shortcut back to the house, her mind on the day ahead. She’d left Billy working and was optimistic about their ability to finish. It would be tight, but if they stayed on schedule, Emmerson would have his book by Friday’s deadline.
Once home, she followed the front path to the gate, knowing it would take a firm push to open it. That gate had always been temperamental; the wood swelled in the summer’s humidity, and the springs rusted in the winter snow. There was a trick to opening it, depending on the weather of the day. This time, however, the gate opened smoothly, without effort. It seemed that someone—Brad, no doubt—had fixed it. It looked as though he’d replaced the hardware, sanded and repainted the wood too. Stacy ran her fingers across the join and was impressed with her brother’s work.
In the yard, she heard the tinny sound of a portable radio mixed with the occasional clink of tools. Curious about what her brother was up to, she crossed the side yard and headed for the workshop. Brad was seated at the workbench, a pool of yellow light shining on a collection of rough sketches.
He looked up as she approached. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Good job on the front gate.”
“Thanks.” Brad’s attention returned to the papers in front of him.
“What are those?”
“Mrs. Ivey’s friend hired me to build a gazebo. These are some ideas.”
“That’s really pretty.” Stacy reached for the lamp clipped to the shelf and adjusted it. The bulb was weak and needed replacing. “But you need more light. How can you see anything?”
Brad swatted his sister’s hand away. “This is Gramps’s lamp and the light is fine.”
“Fine.” Stacy took a step back, then spotted the kids playing in the yard. “Have you seen Ryan?”
Brad gestured to her old beach car. “He thinks he can get it working again.”
“You’re back early.” Ryan emerged from beneath the car and came over to meet her, his T-shirt smudged with dirt from the garage floor. “Did things go well over at Billy’s?”
“We’re almost finished. Billy’s doing his best, but he’s slowing down. I have pages of stuff to get through, then I’m going back to check on him. But first I need a quick nap. Everything okay with the kids?”
“Yeah.” Ryan wiped his hands on a rag and tucked it into his back pocket. “They’re playing in the yard. They’re fine.”
“They’ve been ‘playing in the yard’ a lot lately,” Stacy observed. “Maybe you should take them somewhere?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
Parking the kids in the yard and letting them play by themselves wasn’t her definition of caring for them, but even though she was annoyed, she was too tired to argue.
Stacy crossed the backyard and went around the house to the mudroom entrance. Inside, she stopped to kick off her shoes and shelve Billy’s empty cooler from the day before.
“Is that you, Stacy?”
“Yeah, Mom. I just got back.”
“Are you finished with the book then?” Her mother wiped her hands and draped the towel over the oven handle.
“Not quite yet.” Stacy brought her work bag in and set it on the stool.
“Are you sure you want to continue working in your condition?”
“Yes. I like working.” Stacy pulled a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator, popped the top, and sipped.
“I’m serious, Stacy.” Her mother frowned. “Ryan mentioned that he’s not working anymore. That he lost his job?”
“He didn’t lose it. He quit,” Stacy clarified.
Her mother frowned. “What I’m trying to say is that your family needs you. I’m not sure this is the right time for you to—”
“Mom.” Stacy matched her mother’s tone. “I don’t think this conversation is going to end well.”
“Stacy, all this hard work can’t be good for the baby. Connor and Sophie need you. I can see Ryan is trying, but a mother’s attention is different. Children always need their mother.”
“Is that all?” Stacy closed down the conversation by crossing the kitchen and tossing her bottle into the recycle bin.
“Stacy, think about what I’m saying—”
Stacy held her hand up, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. “No, Mom. I will not think about it. I want to do this. Ryan has agreed to support me by caring for his own children. End of discussion.”
Grabbing her bag, she left the kitchen and made her way upstairs without another word.
Once in her room, she pulled out her phone to set an alarm, then flopped onto her bed. In the stillness of the room, doubt bloomed. What if her mother was right? Logically, what she’d said didn’t make sense—Ryan had offered to watch the kids, and more importantly, he wasn’t exactly doing her a favor because they were his kids too. But her mother had a point. Ryan’s approach was much more relaxed, and Stacy worried they weren’t spending much time together. That her husband appeared more interested i
n her old beach car than he did his own children.
The debate continued in her head as she drifted off to sleep.
“Stacy, wake up.” Her mother’s tone was urgent, bringing Stacy fully awake.
“What is it, Mom?” Stacy sat up, blinking the room into focus. “Are the kids okay?”
“They are, but your father and I have to leave so you’ll need to watch them.”
“Where’s Ryan?”
“He went with Brad to the hardware store.”
As she pushed aside the cotton blanket, her heart squeezed. “And he left the kids alone?”
“He left them with me,” Kaye corrected. “But, as I said, your father and I are going out now and you need to get up.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.” Stacy rubbed her eyes, glancing up as her mother withdrew from the room. “Is Dad all right?”
“He’s fine.” Kaye’s tone seemed unnecessarily sharp. “But you need to hurry.”
After her parents left, Stacy set herself up at the kitchen table. Her plan was to let the kids play in the yard for a few more minutes until Ryan returned and could take over. Then she’d move upstairs to the quiet bedroom where she could concentrate and finish her work.
She didn’t account for the fact that Connor and Sophie had been playing in the yard all week and were tired of it. They came inside almost immediately and asked for things repeatedly. A popsicle. A drink of water. A hug. They asked Stacy to take them crabbing and whined when she refused. Their demands to be taken places were relentless—the swings at the park, the ducks on the salt pond, a walk to the candy store. Stacy refused each one, explaining she had to work, and feeling a wave of guilt each time. Finally, she bribed them with ice cream—any kind they wanted—if they went outside and let her work. They agreed, then clambered back inside a few minutes later.
“Mommy, we’re hungry!” Sophie stood at the back door, her shoes caked with dirt.
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 23
