Felicity wasn’t sure what to make of that, so she picked up the original thread of conversation. “Anyway, he’s trying to track down anyone connected with Amber. With the reading of the will coming up, it’s important to have Matt’s…Jack’s family present.”
The elevator doors opened, and Charity stepped out, pulling the cart behind her. But Felicity froze. There was nothing right about this. Nothing.
“We’re in and out,” Charity said, holding out her hand. “You can do this, sis.”
Felicity stared at her sister. “I can.” But it was more a question than anything else.
Charity nodded. “Totally.”
Felicity blew out a deep breath, took her sister’s hands, and let Charity pull her down the hall to the door that read 503. She froze again, staring at the gilded numbers on the door.
“Let me.” Charity pried the keys from her fingers, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. “I’ll go first.” She paused. “If you want, I can get everything, Filly—”
“No.” Enough. It was just a room, an empty space. She had to stop letting the past affect her. Especially now that everything was different. “This is ridiculous. I’m fine.” Still, it was hard to walk over the threshold.
“Holy shit.” Charity was already hurrying across the completely white living room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Talk about a view.”
Felicity was too busy wondering how they managed to keep everything white with a toddler running around. There were no toys, no babyproofing, no books—no sign that a toddler lived here. It was gorgeous, in a stark Architectural Digest sort of way. High ceilings. Open concept. A massive abstract painting over a fireplace—a white marble fireplace. “It’s very white,” she murmured. And cold.
Charity laughed. “It’s sophisticated, Filly.”
Felicity shrugged and headed into the kitchen. The kitchen was the heart of her home—the place they all congregated on stools and around her beloved wooden farm table. This was all clean lines and chrome. It looked pokey.
She pulled the cart behind her, opening cabinets and drawers, pulling out all the child-size utensils, bowls, sippy cups, bottles, and bibs she could find, filling one grocery bag to the top. The refrigerator was empty, minus a few jars of organic baby food and some almond milk. Was the almond milk for Jack? Did he have digestive issues? Matt didn’t. That left Jack. Or Amber.
“Charity,” she called out. “We need to find Jack’s vaccination records. And any medical stuff—his pediatrician’s name would be even better.” The steel front of the refrigerator was blank, no magnets, no notes, nothing. “His birth certificate. All that stuff.”
“Maybe in her office?” Charity called back. “Looks like she worked from home a lot. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you.” She already felt like she was trespassing. Digging through Amber’s things, learning about Amber and Matt’s life—thank God Charity was here. She flipped off the kitchen lights and tugged the wagon down the hall. The exterior wall was mostly windows, giving her a clear view of the outside world. A world she didn’t belong in. She hurried along, eager to find the nursery.
Considering how very white everything was, the grouping of photos on the interior wall stopped her. Amber and Matt on some snow-covered mountain somewhere. They’d gone to Paris and Italy… A picture of Amber pregnant. And one of the three of them. She knew Matt’s smiles like the back of her hand. These were real smiles. He’d been happy in this new, whitewashed world.
It hurt like hell. It shouldn’t matter that he’d worn that same happy smile for her. But, dammit, it did. There had been so many smiles and special moments and fun travels and real-life struggles they’d made it through together. Seventeen years, a substantial length of time, and there wasn’t a shred of evidence here that those years had existed. They’d been erased, leaving his past as blank as these walls. How empty that would feel to her. Whatever pain he’d caused her, their children deserved his presence in their lives. So she’d refused to take down family pictures or, as her mother pleaded, to physically cut him out of them. She couldn’t pretend they’d invested that time, love, and energy into a life that never existed. It had, and she treasured those memories.
Holding on to the hurt and blame and anger now didn’t make any sense. Whatever had happened between her and Matt was done. She wanted to let go. She needed to—so she could move on.
“I found a box with Jack’s name on it. Amber must’ve had OCD; you should see her office. Upside, she was super organized.” Charity peeked out of the room and saw her staring at the pictures. She joined her. “Ugh. Filly, don’t. Do you honestly think he was going to stay with her? Forever?”
“I don’t know.” Felicity took the picture of Jack and his parents off the wall. He’d want to know who his parents were. “I never thought that way, you know. Matt was gone. If he had come back—how would I have been able to live with him? There’d always be this fear he’d leave again…” She took a picture of Matt and Amber and tucked the photos into another bag. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
“You know what I think?” Charity asked, joining her in the hall.
Felicity glanced at her sister, smiling. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“You do.” Charity nodded. “You really do.”
“Go on.” She could hardly wait.
“First, I know she had a boob job.” Charity leaned forward for a better view of Amber’s perky chest.
Felicity laughed. “Charity…”
“That was mean, so sue me. But it leads me to number two. Which is, you’re gorgeous—natural boobs and all. I think it’s time you started to act like the beautiful, amazing single woman you are. You need to put yourself out there.” She stared her sister right in the eye. “Date.”
“Sure.” Felicity shook her head and walked down the hallway, peering into each room, searching for the nursery. “We’re not having this conversation right now.”
“I’m not going to let up on this.” Charity trailed behind her. “I’m worried about you.”
“And dating will make you not worry about me?” She groaned. “It’s not like I’ve had to fight off all the interested men.” Which was a relief. Just thinking about dating terrified her.
“You’re not exactly giving off ‘available’ vibes.”
“What does that even mean?” She shot her sister a look and pushed open a door on the right.
“Do you go anywhere without your kids? Other than PTA meetings or church or the family business? You know, places single men go?” Charity paused. “Wait, this is Pecan Valley we’re talking about. Tell Widow Rainey. She’ll have a screened list of interested, respectable men in no time.”
Find a single man herself, or put her fate in Widow Rainey’s hands? She wasn’t sure which option was more terrifying. The last door opened into the nursery. “Finally.” She blinked, eyeing the less-than-warm room. “What did Amber have against color?”
The nursery was just as white as the rest of the apartment. White curtains with a black-and-white-checked border hung in the window. A black-and-white-checked rug lay on the floor in front of the crib. Above the crib, Jack’s name was stenciled in bold block print. A white rocking chair sat in the corner, complete with one black throw pillow. And his toys were stored in black-and-white bins on white painted shelves. Even his linens were white.
Except one. Felicity’s lungs deflated at the sky-blue blanket shoved into the corner of the crib. Tiny gray sheep leaped over white fluffy clouds. She didn’t have to touch the blanket to know how soft it was—it was exactly like the blanket Nick had when he was a baby. How many times had she and Matt scrambled to find the thing that soothed Nick when he was teething? Or washed it until it was threadbare, only to stitch the beloved blankie together for just a little bit longer. Retiring it had been a milestone for the whole family.
Seeing tha
t blanket, knowing Matt would have had to search for it, tugged at the thinning strands of her self-control. She gripped the blanket in her hands and stared at the oh-so-familiar print. This meant something—but she’d never know what.
Because Matt was gone. Not with Amber, not traveling or off living a new life…but gone. Forever. And the reality of that crashed into her. She’d hoped there was time. Not for her, but her kids. He’d come around again, miss them, want them back in his life—she’d believed that. And when that happened, he would have done whatever it took to make amends for the damage he’d caused. But now…
Matt’s gone. The words pressed in on her, the piercing grief sudden and undeniable. It hurt to breathe. Gripping the crib, blinking back angry tears, swallowing down all the sadness and frustration she’d been battling since leaving Matt’s hospital room was nearly impossible.
How could she ever make this better? For Nick and Honor and now Jack?
“Maybe Amber was color blind?” Charity asked.
Felicity jumped, staring at her sister.
“You okay?” Charity’s gaze fell to the blanket she was holding to her chest. “Oh, man…” She sighed. “I remember that thing.”
“It’s not Nick’s.” She cleared her throat. “It’s like his…but… Grab a bag and help me.” She folded the blanket and tucked it into her bag.
Charity didn’t argue, thank God. Maybe she could sense just how close Felicity was to falling apart. Her sister was more like their father in that department—avoiding uncomfortable conversations and honest, awkward emotional sharing at all costs.
The two worked in companionable silence for the majority of the morning. She put the toys from Jack’s crib into a separate bag, hoping they had special meaning to the baby—enough to help him through the shock of waking up, anyway. Once his closet and drawers were packed up, they loaded his tubs of toys onto the cart and took apart the crib, using tie-downs to keep it together.
“You should have asked Dad to come.” Charity helped her carry the crib down the hallway to the front door.
“If Dad had come, Mom would have come. And that would have made this unbearable.”
“Do the kids know yet?” Charity’s blue eyes met hers. “That Jack will be a part of your family until things get sorted out?”
She shook her head. “Sorted out” made things sound simple—easy—the opposite of the situation. But then, her sister knew nothing about Matt’s request. If she told Charity, it would be out there, real and scary. Besides, saying it out loud was tempting fate, so sharing wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until she had no choice.
Hopefully, Rob-with-the-white-teeth would locate some of Amber’s family. She hoped they’d be wonderful, big-hearted people who’d eagerly welcome Jack into their family, not just because that would make their lives infinitely less complicated but because that’s what the little boy deserved.
“You don’t think they’ll figure it out? With this?” Charity patted the crib. “Or the mountain of baby crap we’ll be toting into the house. Or the fricking awesome convertible that will be in your garage, which you are going to let me drive home tonight, since all of this won’t fit in your car?”
Felicity didn’t have it in her to argue. “I’m taking it minute by minute here, okay?” She pointed at a panda bear sitting in the corner. “Can you grab that?”
Charity lifted it. “Oh my God, do you know what this is?”
“A panda bear?”
“Smart-ass,” Charity shook her head, turning the toy over. “It’s one of those nanny-cam things.” She opened the Velcro down the back. “It’s got one of those SD cards in it. Right…here.” She pulled the small computer card from the back of the toy. “Guess they didn’t like their babysitter?”
“Or they wanted to see what they were missing while they were at work? Hopefully the answers we need will be in the box you found. If not, you can do your sleuthing and see what’s on the nanny cam. It would be nice to hear from someone who knows the little guy.” She stared at the panda, wondering what he’d seen and heard in this room—and why he was here to begin with.
…
“Dr. Murphy.” Adelaide Keanon held the door wide in invitation. “I wanted to speak with you about Diana’s progress.”
Graham and Diana’s counselor had very different ideas about what “progress” meant. But Adelaide was his only glimpse into his daughter’s life, so Graham kept his opinions mostly to himself.
“She’s under quite a bit of pressure.” Adelaide sat in her overstuffed wicker rocking chair, leaving Graham the floral-covered loveseat.
“How so?” It was summertime. The only thing he’d asked of his daughter was a part-time job. And that was only to get her out of the house and away from the kids she’d been hanging around with. “We agreed leaving her unsupervised for long periods of time was a bad idea.”
“I think it’s gone beyond that point, Dr. Murphy.” She opened the drawer of the small cabinet beside her chair. “Between the cutting, the anorexia, and the depression, I think it’s time to readdress sending her to Serenity Heights for a short stay.” She held out the full-color brochure covered in smiling, well-adjusted-looking kids. Their absolute normalness was a slap to the face.
“I’m not sending her away for six weeks.” He stared at the woman.
She stared right back. “You need to go through her room again before you make that decision.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the roar of blood in his ears making it hard to think.
“She mentioned your prescription sleeping pills.” She paused until he was looking at her again. “Her depression has ahold of her right now. The boy, from the party? Apparently, he broke up with her.”
“You’re telling me she’s going to try to kill herself?” He didn’t say again. He didn’t have to.
Adelaide had come into their lives after Julia died. Diana’s hunger strike had put her in the hospital hooked up to a feeding tube—under psychological observation. Graham had been beside himself, completely out of his element. He’d lost his wife. He couldn’t lose his daughter, even if she wanted nothing to do with him. Dr. Adelaide Keanon was the only person Diana would talk to.
“I’m saying she’s in crisis.” Adelaide studied him. “How are you?”
He shook his head, studying his hands to keep his frustration in check. There was nothing worse than being completely and utterly helpless. This was his daughter, his baby, the person he loved above all else they were talking about. How was he? Was she fucking serious? “I don’t have an answer for you at the moment.”
Silence filled the office. What if he was wrong? What if Serenity Heights could help? If Diana needed this place… No. He couldn’t do it. If he deserted her there, she would never forgive him. He knew it.
“I need another option.” He cleared his throat. “Something. Anything. Give me something else?”
Silence returned as she studied him. “Take a leave of absence. Get away, have a vacation—find a way to connect with her. The two of you live under the same roof but, as far as I can tell, you are strangers to each other.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “But I’m not sure that will give any long-term solutions. When the vacation is over, and you come back, I worry she’ll slip into the same familiar patterns she’s set for herself.” She held the brochure out again. “Diana refuses to let go of her anger, Graham. You know that. If she does, she’ll have to deal with her grief and pain. Her anger gives her a sense of control—we’ve talked about it a hundred times.”
“We’ve been talking about it for three years.” He bit out. “Why the hell isn’t she getting better?”
Adelaide smiled. “It’s not that easy. The wounds to the human psyche heal when the person is open to it. Diana doesn’t want to because she’s not ready for the work it will entail.”
Graham pushed off the loveseat and shoved
the brochure into his coat pocket.
“Please make sure there’s nothing in her room she can harm herself with,” Adelaide said, unfolding herself from her rocking chair. “She’s upset—not thinking. Inclined to making foolish decisions.”
He nodded.
“Will you think about checking her in?” she pushed. “For her own good?”
“I’ll think about a leave of absence.” He swallowed, already making a list of what he’d need to do to make that happen.
Adelaide Keanon sighed. “As I said, there’s no guarantee that will change a thing.”
“You think locking her up with a bunch of strangers so they can talk about their problems and addictions will? She’s a child. I’m her father. It’s my job to protect her. I have to try everything before…before I consider what you’re suggesting.”
“Sending her there is protecting her, Graham. From herself.” Adelaide held the door open for him.
He left, considering his options: punch something, yell at someone, or drink enough to dull the constant ache in his chest. He may not understand his daughter—but he loved her. If there was the slightest chance he could avoid committing her, he would. It wasn’t like he’d have to close the clinic. The office Matt had opened in the city could send one of their docs. He’d schedule a conference call tomorrow and have things in place before the end of the month.
He pushed through the doors of the hospital, head down, lost in thought.
“Graham?”
He looked up, inches from slamming into Felicity. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Those green eyes swept over his face. “Everything all right?”
He forced a grin. “Long day.” And he still had to go home and dig through Diana’s room. God only knew what he’d find. He reached into his pocket for his keys. Nothing. He patted his coat, shoved his hand in, and pulled out his keys—the brochure for Serenity Heights, a pack of gum, and his hospital badge falling to the ground.
Felicity was stooping before he could stop her.
“I can get it,” he murmured, kneeling beside her to collect the gum.
Accidentally Family Page 4
