“It does seem strange. It was probably a dream.” Norma nodded decisively. “Listen, I really do think you should see somebody professional. Not because I think you have schizophrenia, but because I think you’re struggling with a lot of things. And depression affects a lot of women. You could be headed down that path, and there are great medications that can help with it.”
“Seriously? You think it’s just my depression coming back?”
“You had it before?”
“Just a mild form, when I was a teenager.”
“Then yes. That would be my guess.” Norma shrugged. “If that. You could be just a little overwhelmed by your life right now. Happens to a lot of people.”
Rita came power walking toward them along the blacktop path, her face pinker than ever. “Should I take another lap?”
“No need.” Yasmin patted the seat beside her, feeling like she was one hundred pounds lighter. Mild depression or simply being overwhelmed, those she could cope with. She’d make an appointment with her doctor when she got back to the office.
But for a professional, Norma, to tell her it was unlikely she had the major mental health issue she’d feared made the whole world brighter and clearer and more beautiful.
Rita perched on the edge of the bench. “I’m not going to pry into what you talked about,” she said.
“Pry away.” Yasmin leaned back and let out her breath in a huge sigh. “She thinks I probably don’t have what my brother has.”
“Oh, honey,” Rita said. She pulled Yasmin into sweaty arms for a quick hug. “That’s what I thought, too, but she’s the professional.”
Yasmin looked over at Norma. “Thank you. I feel worlds better.”
“And you’re going to see someone?”
“Yes, Mom.” She wrinkled her nose at Norma.
The older woman laughed. “I never had kids, but I’ve mothered a bunch of them. Welcome to the family.”
Rita stood up. “If we’re done here, I really need to get home. Need to take a shower and clean up.”
Norma raised her eyebrows. “What’s your hurry? I didn’t think you had anything to do today.”
“Now I do.” Rita gave Norma a pretend glare. “And it’s not your business what it is.”
“Whee,” Norma crowed. “Someone has a date!”
Rita put her hands over her face, laughing. “There is no keeping anything from you. Yes, I have a date with Jimmy.” Her face went serious. “And I have a feeling it’s going to be a make-or-break one.”
As they walked through the sweltering heat, as they parted to go their separate ways, Yasmin’s heart felt full.
Maybe she wasn’t terribly, terribly sick as she’d feared.
And maybe she had a couple of good new friends.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THAT NIGHT, RITA opened the door to her apartment and swallowed hard.
Jimmy stood there, pretty much filling the doorway. He wore a light blue dress shirt tucked into jeans, sleeves rolled up. With his dark complexion and brown eyes, he was...devastating.
“I brought wine,” he said. His voice was extra husky. And the way he was looking at her warmed her down to her toes.
“Come in.” She felt like a high school girl. “I...should I open this?”
“I’ll have a glass if you will,” he said. When he handed her the wine, his fingers brushed hers.
She could barely catch her breath.
They’d had a rough stretch, she and Jimmy, after he’d gotten jealous that night at the Seaside Villages event. He’d acted cold at work for a couple of days, and she’d ignored him, too, because she didn’t like him acting like she’d done something wrong. To her, that smacked of a kind of control she hated.
But he’d caught her after the lunch rush one afternoon and told her he was sorry for walking out that night, had admitted his jealousy in a charming way and also admitted he had no right and had acted immature.
There was nothing like a man who could apologize. She’d forgiven him instantly. And accepted his invitation to go out with him that same night.
Now, she was trying to gather the courage to tell him the truth about herself, but maybe there was another way this night could go.
“What’s cooking?” he asked. His eyes lingered on her, increasing the vibe between them, but he didn’t bring it to the surface or make a move.
“Come on back to the kitchen.”
He followed her, closely enough that her cheeks went pink. She leaned down to open the oven and came up with the casserole dish of potatoes, her face hot from the oven and from his attention.
He smiled, but didn’t make a comment, and his smile got broader when he saw what she’d cooked. “Are those scalloped potatoes?”
She nodded. “I know, it’s too hot. But I have good AC. And I felt like comfort food.”
And I know that meat and potatoes are the way to a man’s heart.
“Just like my mama used to make,” he said.
“Uh-oh. I can never live up to Mama.” But as she put the casserole down on the trivet on the counter, a question stabbed into her.
Did her boys have any memories of the foods she’d cooked for them?
Jimmy pulled up a stool at the counter and took over the wine-opening for her while she got out the salad she’d made. He poured them both full glasses and then handed one to her.
“Salud.” He clinked his glass against hers, his eyes warm.
Her heart fluttered like a bird, beating its wings in the cage of her chest.
She and Jimmy worked together most days of the week, and they’d gotten together a few times outside of work.
Tonight seemed different, though. She could get lost in those soulful eyes. But there was something she needed to focus on, something she was forgetting...
“The steaks!” She’d put them on just before he came. She rushed out to her balcony, grabbed the spatula, and flipped them over, then switched off the electric grill. They’d finish up cooking from the heat. Hopefully, their one side wasn’t burnt.
“Want me to finish those up for you?” he asked.
“Sure.” She flashed him a smile. “I already know you look good in an apron.” She knew, because he sometimes threw one on and helped in the kitchen if they were busy or someone called off.
She admired that in him as a boss. He didn’t just order people around; he got his hands dirty.
And there was something about a man who cooked.
He kept his eyes on hers as she handed him an apron. As he looped it over his head. Then he laughed a little, the sound husky, and shook his head. “I’m out of practice with this,” he said.
“With what?”
He checked the steaks and then pointed from his own chest to hers and back again. “This. You’re the first woman I’ve dated in, oh, three years.”
So he considered them as dating, considered this a date. Interesting.
She didn’t know a lot about his romantic history, but once he’d mentioned a divorce three years ago.
She felt good that he wasn’t just running around with anyone and everyone. Especially since he could, if he wanted to. She’d seen how the ladies looked at him at the restaurant. He was a catch, for sure.
But she wasn’t sure she’d know what to do with him if she caught him.
For that matter, he just might throw her back if he found out the truth about her.
She turned away from his way-too-appealing smile and went inside to get the table ready.
Once they’d eaten—or at least, Jimmy had eaten, Rita had just picked at her food—and drank a glass and a half of wine each, she started to clear. When he stood, she waved a hand. “Sit. I’ll just get this off the table.”
“Nope.” He put a hand on her arm, and it felt like it left a warm imprint. “You work hard doing this kind of thing in your day job, yo
u shouldn’t have to do it at home while I sit there like a customer. I want to help.”
So he carried in dishes and put them on the counter, right beside where she stood at the sink, rinsing them off and putting them into the dishwasher. Once he reached around her, and the warmth of his big body radiated, Rita caught her breath, her body heating. It made her remember she hadn’t been with a man for more than two years herself, ever since T-Bone had gotten too sick for any kind of a relationship but that of a caregiver and patient.
Was she ready to start something up again, though? She enjoyed her freedom, not having to answer to anyone. Not having to reveal her deepest secrets.
Jimmy seemed to sense her ambivalence, and he didn’t push. Clearly, he wasn’t just helping with the cleanup to get physically close. He actually finished carrying in the dishes, put the extra food away and wiped off the table, so that the end result was a kitchen she wouldn’t have to clean later.
She was wiping her hands when he came and leaned against the counter, a good foot away from her.
In his hand was the bottle of wine and two glasses. “Should we finish it off?” he asked, his eyes steady on hers.
“I... I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” He let a little smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
She sought for words. “I want to be thinking straight,” she said, “but I’m a little nervous.”
He put down the bottle and glasses. “Come here,” he said. He leaned back against the counter, legs wide, and pulled her close.
She relished the feel of his body against hers, undeniably. But mostly she wanted the security of his arms.
She should tell him the truth about herself. Maybe he was strong enough to take it.
Or strong enough to push you away.
“What do you want to do?”
Or maybe they should just... She leaned against him a little harder and he lifted her chin and kissed her.
And then she wasn’t thinking anymore. She was just feeling his firm lips against hers, that male roughness of his skin, his obvious desire for her.
The fact was, he knew very well what he was doing. Despite any recent period of celibacy, he clearly had done his share of kissing. He was an expert.
Was she going to take him to her bed?
Was she the kind of woman who did that?
She pulled back a little and looked up at him. He was breathing hard and so was she.
“What do you want to do?”
“What I want to do and what I should do are two different things.” She let her fingers stroke the back of his neck.
He ran a thumb along her jawbone, making her shiver. “What do you want to do?” It was the third time he’d asked the question. The magical third time, like in fairy tales.
“Can’t you guess?” She couldn’t help but look at his face, his lips.
He nodded, paused a minute, ran a hand around the collar of his shirt. “It might be the same thing I want to do. But,” he added, “I can tell you’re not feeling sure about it. So the other question is, what do you feel like you should do?”
That was the joy of an older man, that he could restrain his impulses. She could, too. “I have something I should tell you. Before...we do anything else.” She stepped away from his warmth and all her fears came rushing back in.
Kissing him had been amazing, and she wanted to do more of it. And she’d really be bereft if Jimmy dumped her for what she was about to tell him.
She swallowed hard. “Come out onto the balcony,” she said, and headed out, her hand behind her, pulling him along.
The grill had cooled down and so had the air, on the front of a storm. They sat, and then Jimmy half stood and moved his chair closer. “I don’t want to be so far away,” he said, and her heart melted all over again.
She looked out over the town, letting the breeze cool her warm cheeks. The sun peeked through clouds on the horizon, pink and gold and orange.
His hand intertwined with hers, but loosely. “What do you need to tell me?”
If he’d been at all patronizing, smiling, not taking it seriously, she wouldn’t have been able to continue. But Jimmy was a good man, and he respected her intelligence; he’d made that obvious. If something was of concern to her, it was of concern to him.
What a great partner he would be.
“It’s about Liam, and Cash, and Sean,” she said.
He frowned as he put the names together. “What about them?”
“I...look. Have you ever known anyone with amnesia?”
“Amnesia?” He tilted his head. “Man, I thought this was going in an entirely different direction.”
“Like...”
“Like, Jimmy, I have this STD...”
She snorted. “I’ve been with one man in twenty years, and he was faithful as the day is long. We’re good there.”
“I am, too,” he said, “just so you know. But back to amnesia.” He shook his head. “Nope, I know almost nothing about it. Well, wait. There was a guy in Vietnam who got knocked in the head. He had some short-term amnesia where he didn’t even remember his own name. It went away, from what I heard, a few months later.”
“It can do that,” she said. “Every case is different.”
He looked at her, eyes narrowing a little, waiting.
“Mine lasted twenty years. Has lasted. I still have it.”
His eyes widened and his hand tightened. “Tell me.”
So she did, starting from the time she’d woken up in Maine, and then going to everything she’d pieced together from what T-Bone had told her, and ending up here, now.
“I’ve been getting inklings while I’ve been here,” she said, “and I... I heard a few things from Abel.”
“Abel, our cook?”
She nodded. “He remembered me. From before.”
“Wow.”
She drew in a breath. Now or never. “And what he remembered was...that I had three boys with me when I came to Safe Haven. I’ve spent some time trying to piece things together, and what it all comes back to is the O’Dwyer boys.” She looked him in the eyes. “I think they’re my sons.”
“What?” He stared at her. “Your sons, but you don’t remember them? Do they know?”
She shook her head. “I have no memory of them. Zero. But I know they were abandoned in town by their mother at just about the time T-Bone found me, unconscious beside the highway outside of Safe Haven. Their ages are right for what Abel said.”
He shook his head slowly. “What a story.”
Did he mean he thought she’d made it up? But no, that wasn’t in his face or voice. She struggled on. “So you see, I feel like I have to know who I am before I can...” She did what he had done, pointing first at her own chest, then at his, then back again. “Before we can really be together. And Jimmy,” she added, putting a hand on his arm because he’d opened his mouth to speak, “you should know that I might have abandoned them, might have done something awful so that they were taken away from me.”
He ignored that, or seemed to. “Why don’t they recognize you?”
She shrugged. “I was a mess when T-Bone found me. I needed a lot of plastic surgery. I’m a redhead now, and believe me, it’s not natural. Plus, I’m twenty years older.” She frowned. “Abel recognized me, but he was an adult when he met me, and he’s the kind of person who really looks at you. Where kids... I don’t know. I think they feel Mom as much as look at her.”
“Wow.” He blew out a breath, leaned forward and took her hand in both of his. “I am so sorry that happened to you. Was there never any evidence about who might have done it?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, looking out at the sun as the last sliver of it dipped behind the horizon. “T-Bone didn’t stick around for me to look into it, didn’t even tell me the truth about where he found
me for years.”
“Why?”
“He thought I might have been a prostitute, or a criminal, or involved with drugs and dealing. And it’s true. I might have been.”
This time, he seemed to take in what she said. His lips pressed together a little and he held her gaze. Then, slowly, he started shaking his head. “No. That’s not the Rita I know.”
The idea that he’d simply believe in her, rather than question her character, brought a sudden tightness to her throat. She swallowed, unable to speak.
“I don’t think basic values change,” he went on. “You must have been desperate in some way, either that or you were the victim of some horrendous random crime.”
“You don’t hate me for it.”
His eyebrows came together and he shook his head, reached out to squeeze her hand. “No, I don’t hate you for it. Of course not. You can’t help what happened to you. I feel...not sorry for you, exactly, but a lot of sympathy.” He pulled out his phone. “But I do think you need to tell them.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“I’m inviting them all to get together,” he said.
“Now?” she squeaked out.
He shrugged. “Why wait?”
“No.” She leaned forward and put her hand over the one he held his phone in. “No, don’t.”
He stopped scrolling on his phone, looking at her steadily. “You want to stay in this limbo? You want them not to know?”
She bit her lip. “No. No, but I’m so scared.”
He nodded. “Sure you are. Anything hard is scary. But you can do it.”
Her heart pounded so fast she felt like it was going to jump out of her chest and fly away. “I... I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll be right beside you,” he said, “if you want me to be.” He turned his hand over, squeezed hers.
She drew in a huge breath. “Yeah, okay. And I want you to be,” she said. “But the text should come from me.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Liam walked into the Palmetto Pig and looked around for Rita. What could the waitress need, that had her finding his number and asking him—and Sean and Cash—to meet at the Pig ASAP?
Low Country Dreams Page 18