“Absolutely.” He took my hands and held them to his chest. “I swear.”
The sweetest feeling unfurled in my chest, only to plant deep in my belly. It stretched through my body until I swore my fingertips tingled.
“Take lots of pictures, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied, focused on the overwhelming emotion consuming me.
It had to be infatuation, right? Who wouldn’t crush on this man a little? That’s all it was, because there was no way in the world I was falling for Beckett.
Absolutely none.
He turned and high-fived Maisie, that little strip of white on his wrist screaming louder than my brain could deny. Because while my head had been panicked Saturday night, focused on forms and doctors and transfers, my heart had declared that this man was trusted. My heart had signed that paper while my head was consumed with other matters. This man was in my life, and in a way, mine. And Colt’s. And most definitely Maisie’s.
After all, that bracelet had her name written on it.
Oh God. I was in love with him.
Chapter Fourteen
Beckett
Letter #20
Chaos,
I feel like all I write to you about lately is Maisie’s diagnosis. Honestly, sometimes I feel like that’s all I think about. I’ve become one of those people with a one-track mind, and everything revolves around her.
So let’s try to snap out of that for a few minutes. Christmas is coming. It’s one of our busiest times of the year for guests, and as usual, we’re booked solid through the first week in January, which is great for business and referrals.
I moved the kids to the last cabin we had available and took it off the books. It’s the best way to keep Maisie safe when her levels bottom out, and so far it’s working. And there I go again, back to the cancer.
We put up a tree in the cabin, and Hailey, my receptionist, moved in with us to help at night when I have to run out. I’m beginning to think the kids like the privacy better, too. Colt even asked for a tree house out back for Christmas, but I told him he’d have to wait for my brother to get home. I’m pretty handy, but a tree-house maker, I am not. It would probably bust apart before he stepped foot in it. I’m also wondering if it’s a good idea to build him a tree house when we’ll hopefully be back in the main house soon-ish. Soon. Whenever. Truth is, everything feels like soon lately.
How are you guys holding up with the holidays? Do you need anything? I had Maisie and Colt send you a few pictures. They were worried that you didn’t have a Christmas tree, so they drew a few for you and helped me bake this weekend.
It’s hard to believe it’s already December and that you guys are coming home soon. I can’t wait to finally see the person I’ve been talking to all this time and show you around. Don’t freak out, but it’s definitely what I’m looking forward to most in the new year.
~ Ella
…
Problem solving was a skill I was particularly proud of. There wasn’t an issue I couldn’t fix, a puzzle I couldn’t piece together. I was good at making the impossible a reality. But this felt like beating my head against a brick wall just to see how it felt.
I flipped through the MIBG information for the hundredth time and cross-referenced what I’d found on my phone. What I wouldn’t give for my laptop.
It was ridiculous that Ella’s insurance didn’t cover the therapy, but mine would. Then again, if there was one thing the military got right, it was health insurance, which I still had since I’d gotten sidetracked and hadn’t signed Donahue’s declination papers yet.
“I wouldn’t have left the tower,” Maisie said from her bed, sitting up and bouncing slightly on the mattress. We’d been out of the ICU since this morning, right before Ella left for Telluride.
I glanced over at the movie—Tangled. Rapunzel. Got it. “You would if your mom was an evil witch.”
“But she’s not, so I would have stayed.” She tugged her cap down farther over her forehead.
“But look at that big wide world. Are you saying you really don’t want to see what’s out there?” I set everything down on the table.
She shrugged, twisting her mouth to the side and scrunching her nose.
“There’s a lot out there.” I pushed off the floor, rolling in the chair over to the side of Maisie’s bed.
“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I get to see it.”
There was no whine in her voice, just simple, accepted fact. It dawned on me how young she was, how much of her life she remembered, and how much of it had already been spent fighting. This had been a hellish seven months for Ella, but it must have seemed an eternity to Maisie.
“You will,” I told her.
She glanced my way a few times before finally turning her head and meeting my eyes.
“You will,” I repeated. “Not just the whole school part, either. That’s just the beginning.”
“I can’t even graduate kindergarten,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell Mom I’m sad. She’s already sad enough.”
It was like talking to a mini-Ella, already concerned about everyone else but herself. Even their eyes were the same, except Maisie hadn’t learned how to guard her thoughts yet.
“I have an idea,” I said.
Forty minutes, another hospital gown, and a quick run to the nurses’ station, and we were nearly ready.
“Ready?” she called from the bathroom.
“Almost,” I tried to say, my mouth holding the tape dispenser as I wrapped the string around the frayed edge of a strip of my undershirt.
I ran the string up to the top of the hat and then taped it. Arts and crafts were not my strong suit, but this would do. I knocked on the bathroom door, and it opened far enough for Maisie to stick a hand out.
“Your highness,” I said, handing her my creation. Thank you, God, for nurses and pediatric craft stations.
Maisie giggled and took it, shutting the door in my face. Man, she’d bounced back so quickly. The antibiotics were still pumping through her IV line, and she was still hospital-bound, but it was night and day from the day of the soccer game.
I kicked myself for the hundredth time for not noticing while I’d carried her to and from the car. There had been no fever then, no redness, nothing, but I’d known she was off, that she was overtired.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I checked my watch. They would be walking across their little stage any minute now. “I am if you are.”
“Give a speech,” she ordered with the door between us.
“You know normally you wouldn’t be in hiding, right?”
“You’re not supposed to see me until you call my name.”
“That’s for a wedding,” I told her, trying not to laugh. “The bride and groom aren’t supposed to see each other until they meet at the altar. Not this.”
The door opened, and I caught it so she could walk through, bringing her IV pole with her. She stepped around the door, and my smile flew so wide I thought it might split my face.
She wore a solid-colored hospital gown over her normal one, courtesy of the nursing staff, and on her head was my god-awful graduation cap. Those suckers were awkward to make. Her tassel, streaming from the side, was thick on the fringe, but I’d been under a little pressure. Not my finest work, but it would do.
“Please be seated,” I ordered, moving to stand at the far side of the room at the foot of her bed.
Head held high, she walked over and took a seat at the table.
Motion from the door drew my eye, but when I saw it was just the two nurses who had helped me hunt for supplies, I threw them a quick smile and turned back to my one-girl audience.
“Speech,” she reminded me with a serious nod.
“Right.” I quickly grabbed the rolled-up paper that served as her makeshift diploma that I’d scribbled
on. “Today is the start of your journey.” What the hell was I supposed to say next? People weren’t my strong suit, let alone kids.
She tilted her head, nearly losing the hat, and quickly righted it. “Go on.”
“Okay.” An idea popped into my head, and I ran with it. “I’ve heard it said that the greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Well, I read it, but we’re going to use it.”
Maisie stifled a giggle and then nodded in all seriousness. “Go on.”
“And the story I read was about a fierce princess who wanted to fight for her kingdom. When all the men were called to war, she was told that as the princess, she had to stay behind and care for her people. She argued with the king that she could care for her people by fighting for them, but he ordered her to stay behind—to stay safe.”
“He wanted her to stay in her tower,” she said, leaning forward.
“Hey, at graduations, the graduates don’t interact with the speakers,” I teased her.
She grinned but sat back in her chair and made the motion like she was zipping her lips.
“Now where was I? Ah, the princess. Right. So the princess, being as smart as she was, knew she was needed. So she dressed like a man and snuck into the army camp, riding out to battle with the men.”
Maisie’s eyes lit up, and her mouth dropped open slightly. “What happened?”
“What do you think? She ran into battle in full armor, swinging her giant sword, and she struck down the Naz…uh…dragon, slaying it in one mighty swipe and defending her kingdom. She was the leader her people needed, because she was brave enough to fight.”
Maisie nodded enthusiastically, and I almost forgot I was supposed to be giving a graduation speech…for a six-year-old.
“Right. So, as you embark on this journey of your education, you must remember to be brave like the princess.”
“And tell all the kings they’re wrong!” She jumped up.
Oh, this was not going the way I’d intended.
“Kind of. When you’re…you know, big enough to swing a sword.”
She seemed to ponder this for a second and then nodded with all seriousness.
“So,” I continued. “You have to fight for what you know to be right. Stand up for the people who need your protection. Never let anyone tell you that you’re anything less than a warrior because you’re a girl. Because in my experience, girls are the strongest warriors. Maybe that’s why all the boys try to keep them out of battle. They’re scared they’ll get shown up.”
“Makes sense,” Maisie agreed. “Is that it?”
“It is. Speech over.” I tried to recall any graduation I’d ever had and failed, because I’d never had one. I’d shipped out for basic the moment I finished my senior year, the day before graduation. But I’d seen plenty in movies. I cleared my throat. “The time has come for you to leave the childish, carefree days of kindergarten and embark on your journey in elementary school. When I call your name, please rise and accept your diploma.”
“Beckett, you know I’m the only one here, right?”
I shushed her. “I haven’t said your name yet, graduate.”
She gave me the same look Ella did when she was ready to call me on my crap, and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Margaret Ruth MacKenzie.”
She stood, regal as that princess, and walked toward me with her head held high, bringing her IV pole with her. When she arrived in front of me, I crouched down to her eye level. “Congratulations on your graduation.” I handed her the diploma with one hand and shook her hand with the other.
“Now what?” she whispered.
“Now you flip your tassel to the other side.”
She did the mouth and nose scrunch thing again and moved her tassel to the opposite side.
“I now pronounce you graduated,” I said in the most official tone I could muster.
She grinned and laughed, pure joy radiating from her like sunshine. Then she launched herself into my arms as the nurses in the doorway began to clap.
I held her, careful not to squeeze too tight, but she didn’t have that same issue, and hugged me to the point of near strangulation. Man, I loved this kid. Loved her strength, her tenacity, her kindness. She was one of a kind, and I hope she knew how precious she was, not just to her mom, but to the world.
As the clapping subsided, I glanced over to see no less than half a dozen nurses watching Maisie’s graduation. The girl was magnetic—she drew people to her everywhere she went, and I was no different.
“How about a picture?” a nurse who looked to be about Ella’s age asked.
“Yes! Absolutely!” I handed my cell phone to her, and she snapped a few of Maisie and me. “Thank you. Now just the graduate,” I said to Maisie, turning the camera on her as she struck a pose.
“It was Aowyn,” the nurse said with a smile while the other nurses congratulated the graduate. “The princess who slayed the Nazgul. It was Aowyn.”
Busted. “Tolkien fan?”
“Movie fan. Kind of comes with the territory when you work in pediatrics.”
“Think she noticed?”
She shrugged. “It was a good speech. Little girls need more warrior queens.”
“I like warrior queens,” Maisie said, coming to stand next to me. “Is it time for Moana?” As quickly as her joy came on, she sagged a little against me, and I felt the tiredness take over.
“That sounds like a plan to me.” Putting my forearm under her, I stood, lifting her slight weight, and carried her back to bed, her IV in my other hand.
She scooted back, sitting upright, and took off her cap as the nurses left. “Thank you,” she said, playing with the tassel.
“I know it’s not the same—”
“It’s better.” She met me with a look that left no room for argument.
I sat on the edge of her bed, adjusting her IV pole so it was closer to her.
“It’s just the start, Maisie. You have so much ahead of you. The summers, the mountains, the sunrises. The choices you’ll get to make when you decide which college you want to go to, the second you take off on a trip to backpack across Europe. Those are the moments when you find out who you’ll be, and that’s just a glimpse of what’s waiting for you when you’re past this.”
“But what if this is all there is?” she whispered.
“It’s not,” I promised.
Her face twisted, her lips pursing, and tears welled in her eyes. “Am I dying? Is that what’s happening to me? Mom won’t tell me. Please tell me, Beckett.”
A vise gripped my heart, squeezing until I was sure it couldn’t beat.
“Maisie…”
“Please. Am I going to die?”
I thought of the MIBG therapy she needed, the countless drugs, treatments, operations, transplants. Everything that was standing between her and a disease-free body.
“Not on my watch.” I didn’t care what I had to do. I’d find a way for her to get what she needed. I wasn’t watching another kid die if I had the power to change her fate.
“Okay.” She relaxed against the raised bed and took my word like it was gospel. Then she grinned as she played with the strands of her tassel. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Before I lost my shit in front of her, I leaned forward, pressing my lips to her forehead in a quick kiss. When I pulled away, I forced a smile and blinked back the awkward wetness in my eyes.
“Me, too, Maisie. Me, too.”
…
“Gentry, I’m glad you’re here.” Mark Gutierrez met me as I parked the truck at the trailhead. He was in his early thirties, fit, with a full head of black hair and enough confidence to make him a good unit leader for our search and rescue operation, but he wasn’t arrogant.
I was good with confidence, but arrogance was a deal breaker. Arrogance got men kill
ed…kids, too.
Havoc jumped to the ground behind me, already wearing her work vest. That had always signaled her that play time was over, and I was relieved that our time in Telluride hadn’t changed that. Between the trips to Denver and the days I’d spent in Montrose with Maisie, I’d worried that she’d fall out of rhythm. I’d gone back to Montrose and brought Ella and Maisie home yesterday after being there for a week, and when the call came in this afternoon, Havoc had jumped right back into action.
“Hey, Havoc,” Gutierrez said, moving toward her.
“Nope. She’s in work mode.” I cut off his access. She was on alert and sensitive at the moment, and I really didn’t need to file an accident report that he’d lost a finger.
“Right. Sorry, we’ve never had a retired MWD.”
“No problem. Bring me up to speed.” Havoc stayed close to my side as we moved closer to the group of men. Half were in the Telluride uniform and others in the San Miguel County. “Why are we here if the county boys are, too?”
“They’ve been looking for hours, and the missing hiker is a VIP up at one of the resorts, so we got called in to add some manpower.”
“Gotcha.” The circle parted as Gutierrez and I joined in. Havoc was given a wide berth as she sat at my command.
The guy in the center, who was obviously in charge by the bullhorn hooked at his belt, shot us a glare as a greeting.
“As I was saying for you latecomers, Mrs. Dupreveny went out with her hiking guide this morning with her two daughters, ages seven and twelve.”
Not a kid. Please don’t be a kid. I refused to be responsible for the death of another child.
“When she fell, we believe breaking her leg, she sent the guide back with her daughters to call for help. Apparently they were surprised at the lack of service up on the Highline, so we can all assume the guide isn’t a local.”
A snort of exasperation went through the group. I sighed in relief that it was an adult out there alone.
“Guide returned at noon and called the county. We deployed search and rescue shortly thereafter with no luck. Rain was definitely not our friend.”
I looked up at the sky. The clouds were still gray but no longer the water-heavy version known for the quick-tempered thunderstorms around here. We should be in the clear to work for a while.
The Last Letter Page 19