by Emily Childs
I want to scream. To sob and wail. But Rafe doesn’t need that. He’s hot-headed sometimes, but never with me. He’s calm and gentle and needs that from me tonight. Weariness is on his face, his shoulders slump as he picks up his phone call. By the sound of it the caller is August. Again. Poor Auggie, too.
“Are those forms done, baby?” A nurse with a soothing voice asks me.
“Oh, yes. Are they moving her upstairs now?”
The woman nods and smiles softly. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Sorry about your mama, but we’ll take good care of her.”
I wipe away a tear and grip Millie’s lifeless hand. “Thank you.” No point in correcting the untruth. Millie Whitfield is a mother to me and always has been. It’s no disrespect to my mother, simply a bonus in my life.
Rafe rakes a hand through his hair when the aides and nurses come to move us to the third floor. His face is hollowed when I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. His body relaxes against me, and he holds me close. “Thank you, Ollie. For being here.”
I wipe tears away and force a watery smile. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Rafe. She’s going to be okay, you know that right?”
“She’s too stubborn not to be.”
In the elevator we hold hands. We follow slowly behind the wheeled bed. My hold on him tightens as we wait for the nursing team to settle Millie and explain the next steps.
When we’re alone I sit with him on a stiff sofa near the window.
“The Big House is in an uproar,” I say showing him my cell phone. “Everyone’s been demanding updates. I’ve told them to give y’all some time before you get a mix of Cutlers, Arnie, and the boys down here. I’ve been updating Zac too. I figured you wouldn’t get back to his texts anytime soon.”
“Thank you,” he croaks. “I left a voicemail for Zac before I called you, but I’m glad you’re here. I’d never have been able to handle all those papers without you, my mind is a muddled mess. I had to talk August off a ledge. Lily’s about to pop, he can’t be coming out here now.”
“I bet he’s struggling. I can’t imagine feeling torn like that.”
“He felt better knowing you were here,” Rafe whispers.
Fifteen minutes later, Rafe’s eyes close and I stay there, holding his hand, hoping he can get some sort of rest. The door opening snaps me from my drowsy daze.
“Dalia?” I say, eyes narrowed. What is she doing here?
“Olive?” Her green eyes dart to Rafe, and there is something on her face a lot like regret. As there should be, but I’m polite and stay quiet when I’ve got nothing nice to say. “I got a call from Zac. What in heaven’s name happened?”
She cares about them, that’s all. Now isn’t the time to start a cat fight. I slip my hand from Rafe’s. He doesn’t move. I keep my voice down, not wanting to wake him, and go to Millie’s bedside. “Millie had a stroke. Thankfully, Arnie found her quickly. The doctors were able to thin the clot, but we don’t know what the deficits are, if any, yet.”
Dalia gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my. So they don’t know if she’ll walk, what about talking?”
I sigh, exhausted. “As I said, they simply don’t know. We can hope.”
“My granddaddy had a stroke, and he was bound to a wheelchair and couldn’t move without help until he died. Rafe’s twenty-three. That’s too young to carry such . . .”
A white hot burst of frustration spills through my veins. Must be clear on my face since Dalia shuts her flapping lips. I clear my throat, voice low. “Millie will pull through. She will.”
Dalia stiffens. “Thank you for coming, Olive.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. That must’ve been hard. Ever since Rafe confessed he broke up with Dalia because she couldn’t stand how close we are I’ve not been able to look at her right. I mean she actually told him he needed to pick between us, as if me, as his friend, has any skin in the game.
They broke up.
The fact that he’s single means he gave up love . . . for me. In a way. And knowing that does something to my heart, and all those feelings I’ve tried to keep bottled up start to leak out again.
Dalia and I could’ve been civil if jealous ultimatums were her worst sin, but then she had to go and mess around in Rafe’s house. That’s tacky, and just plain spiteful. My opinion of her changed and once my opinion changes, it’s hard to repair.
She glances at me. “Must’ve been a long night. Why don’t you go on home and get some rest.”
“Thanks for the concern, but I’m staying.”
“You really don’t need to. I can take care of Rafe too.”
“No need,” I say, trying hard to not be petty. “I’m here for Millie, Rafe, and August. As long as the Whitfields need me. They’re my family, Dalia.”
“No, they worked for your family,” she says under her breath. Bold. Dalia’s true feelings were slipping through, and I’m losing patience. She takes a step closer. “I might’ve made mistakes, but I plan to rectify them. I belong with him more than you, Olive.”
I clench and unclench my fists.
“Ollie’s not leaving,” Rafe’s grumbling voice interrupts. He scrubs his face and narrows his gaze at Dalia. “She’s staying, and I want her here.”
Dalia goes to his side, she hesitates, but hugs him. Rafe is stiff, but nice enough he doesn’t push her away or anything.
Good on him. I would’ve.
Dalia schools her glare on me. “I’m glad she was here. I’d like to be too. Whatever you need, Rafe.”
We all know what she’s doing. I start to feel sorry for her. She is trying, and we all make mistakes, right?
Rafe comes to my side. “Thanks for the support. I’d like to be alone with my mom.”
For a second I think that’s his way of excusing both of us, and I didn’t expect it to be a knife to my heart. But then he drapes his arm over my shoulder and says, “And Olive. She’s been there and helped and I need her to stay. I’ll keep you updated though. If you want.”
Dalia is defeated, and I do feel sorry for her now. She nods and asks him to do just that, then leaves. I lean against Rafe’s side when he doesn’t take away his arm.
I’d always be here.
The Whitfields are part of my life.
They’re part of my heart.
Chapter 20
Rafe
I’m late. Mama will burst if I leave her in, as she puts it, her prison for another second.
Olive must be on the same page. A text from her asking if I’m on my way shows up on my screen. I fib and say I’m on my way since it’s half true. I am on my way out the door.
I’ve worried about my house being suitable for months. Safety, comfort, all the things I ought to worry about. Having Olive has made it bearable. She helped with everything. The bedroom, bathroom, making sure Mama’s favorite chocolate bars are reachable. Everything.
The therapist and physicians tell me my mom has surpassed expectations. She’ll likely need a cane, but hopefully in the future she’ll walk unassisted. The left hand is another issue. She’s starting to twitch her fingers, but not much more than that. Another reason I’m thankful for Olive. She’s realistic, but always brimming with hope and optimism. Makes me want to be cheerful about everything.
I’m halfway to my truck when my stomach twists sour. A white Porsche pulls behind me on my drive. I glare at his pompous, smug face as he gets out and sort of snarls and sneers all at once.
I don’t need this today. “What are you doing here, Beau?”
“Hey there, Rafe.” He never says my name. Beau grins. “Where you off to so quickly?”
“Remind me when my business became yours?”
“Since you decided to sully my cousin.”
My blood feels like it’s boiling. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
“I always knew Olive had some twisted crush on you, I just never thought there would come a day when I’d be disgusted by my own blood.”
I’m go
ing to punch the man and then I’ll really be late getting to the facility.
Instead I rip open my truck door, trying to be more reasonable like Olive would demand right now.
“Here’s the thing, Whitfield,” Beau says, coming ever closer. “I’m giving you an out. My aunt and uncle are blind to Olive’s wrongly placed affections for you. When they find out, trust me, it won’t be pleasant. As much as you think Uncle Lon likes you, he’ll have your hide. You think he wants his baby girl with you?”
“You need to get off my property, Beau.”
“I’ll leave, after you promise that you’ll leave Olive before she ends up hurt and losing the people who love her most.”
“You don’t know anything about her, Beau,” I say, calmer than expected. “You keep your nose in the air, thinking you’re above everyone else. Olive is a hundred times better than you’ll ever be. You think she’s intimidated by you?”
“No,” he says with a cruel smile. “No, I’m not a fool to think Olive would come to her senses because of me. Staying in the good graces of her folks? That’s a different story. Will you honestly ask her to give them up?”
“It won’t come to that.” I’m not sure if I’m convincing myself or Beau.
“Funny that she hasn’t told them. She didn’t even tell me. I simply had the displeasure of seeing you two swapping tongues outside the house. Think about that, Rafe. Why hasn’t she admitted she’s not pretending anymore?”
“Get out of here, Beau,” I say in a kind of growl. “I’m leaving and you’re in my way.”
Beau holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I hope you walk away, Whitfield. You know I’ll make sure it happens one way or another, but it will be Olive who gets hurt in the end. Be a man and let her go now.”
Fury burns through me like a matchstick as I get into my truck. Beau has some sense and leaves. My knuckles pull white, like plastic stretching to the max, as I grip my steering wheel. I take a deep breath, recount the times I’ve told myself this would happen, but I made a promise to Olive that I wouldn’t listen.
And I won’t.
Still, Beau made a promise he’d interfere. I store the threat away, making a note to talk to Olive. Beau is a dog to a bone. He won’t quit.
We’ll need to be ready for when he bites.
***
The confrontation in my driveway is nearly forgotten as I watch Olive jabber with my mom in the backseat. Both women haven’t stopped grinning since we left the rehab facility. The therapists, administrative staff, and nurses supplied packets overflowing with information. Everyone keeps telling me not to worry, but I think worry is all part of the territory now.
“So what are they doing for you when you leave school next week, sugar?” Mama asks, straining to turn her head to Olive, though her muscles aren’t as flexible as before.
“Ms. Fry and the staff are all being rather sly about things,” Olive says. “I don’t want a fuss, but I wouldn’t mind if cake is involved.”
“I’m so proud of you for all you’re accomplishing. You’ll be a wonderful teacher, Ollie.”
“Thanks, Millie. I’m excited to have my own class someday without worrying if I’m doing anything right. I’ll do it right because it will be mine, does that make sense?”
“I think I’m most proud that you didn’t listen to what everyone wanted. You did this for you. I bet it’s satisfying.”
“I think after two years into school Mama gave up trying to convince me of going into finance or business.” Olive laughs.
Olive’s parents put their cares in different things. Lon cared more about Olive’s well-being, at least it seemed to me. Bernadette worried about the manners, the appearances, before Olive’s wants. Truth told, if I’d never witnessed a softer side to Bernadette, which I have, I might not care for her much. But I’ll never forget when my own dad showed up at the Big House years back. Bernadette was the one who kicked Jed Whitney’s sorry hide out after he made my mom cry.
I’ll always admire Ms. Cutler for that.
And for helping Lily and August stay together when Lily’s dad needed to move.
I grin at the memories as we pull up to the house. “Well, we’re here. Welcome home, Mama.” I expected her to be relieved, but she’s rubbing her weak hand, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She tries to smile, but I know by now when my mom is uneasy. “I never wanted to be a burden on my children—”
“Mama, you’re not a burden,” I say. “Trust me, I’m going to make you clean to earn your keep.”
“I’ll smack his mouth for you later, Millie,” Olive teases. “Don’t you think those things, though. You did everything for Auggie and Rafe, even me. You could never be a burden.”
“I’m leaps and bounds above what I was at first, but I still feel weak sometimes. You’ve got to promise me, Rafe, you won’t spend all your time thinking you need to babysit me. I can manage just fine. There are a lot of people who only have one hand. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself, you understand?”
I slip out of the truck, and tilt my head. “Yes, ma’am. Now, can we go on inside? I’ve got food waiting.”
“Come on, Millie,” Olive says. “Wait until you see everything Rafe’s done to the place—and your room. I might have added a few womanly touches.”
“Thank the Lord above,” she sighs.
Olive is the beautiful difference between now and how concerned I was a few months ago. She’s eased the burden, first by agreeing to this charade even if I feel bad taking the money. Next, she brought half her apartment to decorate Mama’s bedroom and bathroom. Even the vase of snail shells made it to the room. More than anything, Olive loves Millie Whitfield like family.
As they drift down the hallway, I think I could listen to Olive go on all day about the bathroom, the grab bars, accessible toiletries, then the room. She makes it seem like I’ve built a palace for my mother.
I lean behind Olive in the doorway of the bedroom and hug her shoulders, pulling her back against my chest. My mom studies the white drapes, the blue and yellow quilt Olive insisted on buying. She has her exercise equipment, weighted putty for her hand, all stacked neatly in a tote against the wall. Olive brought paintings of Angel Oak and Rainbow Row for the walls, knowing they are my mom’s favorite places.
Olive curls her hands around my forearm as Mama sits on the bed, taking it all in. Olive sighs and rests her head against my shoulder.
I brush her cheek with my lips, voice low. “You’ve made this better than I could have ever done on my own, princess.”
“She deserves it,” she whispers. “She’s like a mama to me too.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. Everything she’s saying, her sweet scent, her fingertips on my skin, grows tight in my chest until I can’t see straight. I bury my face in the soft nape of her neck, press small kisses against her skin, then clear the catch in my voice. “I love you, Olive.”
Her fingertips stop running over my arm. She slowly faces me, eyes bright and wet. She cups one side of my face, then kisses me. There’s longing, need, want. I’m wholly trapped under her spell. If someone offered me a door to leave this, I’d slam it back in their face.
“I love you too,” she whispers against my lips.
I kiss her again, but don’t miss it when my mom glances over her shoulder, grinning as best she can.
Chapter 21
Olive
I roll onto my side, curling against Rafe’s body in the back of his truck. It’s muggy and warm, and the sky is bright with stars. He draws little circles down my spine, our legs are tangled as we stare at the stars. I could fall asleep with my head over his steady heartbeat.
“You’re it for me, princess,” he says. I close my eyes to the rumble of his deep voice.
“I like that,” I whisper. “I’m there with you too. No going back.”
Rafe tilts his head to look at me. His brow furrows. “I think you should know, Beau showed up here today
.”
“What?” I prop myself onto my elbow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We were too busy getting Mama. It’s starting, Ollie.”
“What did he say? I’m going to slap him into next week.”
He chuckles and threads my fingers with his. “I handled it. He caught us kissing when we went to see your parents. He basically told me to stay away. Typical Beau.”
I trace Rafe’s knuckles, ashamed how my chin quivers. “I know it worries you, but I need you to know that what Beau thinks doesn’t matter to me. Don’t let it get under your skin, please. Believe me, not him. I love you, and he’s an arrogant jerk.”
Rafe plays with my hair as he curls my head back against his chest. “It’s not Beau I’m worried about finding out.”
My parents. I let my shoulders slump. “I’ll tell them, Rafe. I’m not ashamed, but let me find the right time.”
Rafe presses a gentle kiss to the center of my head and holds me tightly. He doesn’t say anything, and I promise myself tomorrow I’ll tell them. They’ll want me to be happy. Rafe is a decent, honest man and that’s what matters.
It’ll be enough for the Cutler’s. It has to be enough.
***
I thumb through a book while Rafe finishes primping as I call it in the bathroom. Millie is there, and I muffle a laugh. I’m not sure if she’s trying to get me to hear, or if her whisper simply isn’t what it used to be since the stroke. But I’m glad to overhear what they’re saying because it sends my pulse racing.
“You look handsome, son,” she says. “You should make it a habit of spiffing up so nice.”
“You’re required to say that,” Rafe says.
Millie laughs. “No, you know I’d never beat around the bush with you boys, I’d tell you if you needed to change your look. I enjoy seeing you like this, Rafe. Not all pressed, but you.”
Me too, Millie. Me too. I peek around the corner, and the angle I’m at, I can just make out Rafe’s face in the bathroom mirror. Millie stands with her cane at the doorway. Her curls are gathered in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing lipstick. Without the cane, I’d never suspect anything had drastically changed to Millie. It isn’t until she gets tired that her words start to slur, or her hand spasms.
