by Claire Adams
The whole evening had been sweet. I knew that I shouldn't be thinking of things that way, but I couldn't help it. I could only imagine what it would be like to date the man.
Eric was silent on the drive from Helen's house back to my place, and I would have given anything to know what he was thinking. But I didn't dare ask, not with Emma in the back seat. She might be falling asleep back there, but I didn't need her to overhear us talking about my mother's cancer or whatever else might be weighing on Eric's mind.
It wasn't my place to ask, anyway.
I turned toward him as we reached my front door. I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face. “You didn't have to walk me to the door, you know,” I told him softly.
Eric reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. Then, he shook himself, looking embarrassed. He glanced toward the car. “I think Emma's already out,” he said.
I hummed an agreement, trying again to figure out what he was thinking.
“I'm sorry I upset you earlier,” he finally said.
I shook my head. “I'm glad to know that you care about my mom,” I told him. “And thank you for being so kind to me. Sorry I went to pieces on you like that.”
Eric waved away my apology. “Talk to your mom,” he finally urged, his voice gentle but earnest. “Soon.”
“I will,” I promised. I gave him a lopsided grin and held up a pinky. “I pinky promise I'll talk to her soon.”
Eric snorted but dutifully linked his pinky with mine, just as we'd watched Emma and her Nana do a little while earlier. “I didn't mean to scare you,” he said. “But cancer is a very serious thing. I should know.”
“Well, I would hope you would know,” I said mockingly. “Since you're a doctor and all.”
Something flickered across Eric's face, but whatever that feeling was, he didn't say anything about it. Instead, we lingered there in silence, each waiting for the other person to make a move.
I wanted him to kiss me, I realized. I knew that this hadn't actually been a date, but there had been moments where it felt like one, and right now was one of those moments. We were close enough that our breath was mingling in the crisp spring air, but he didn't move to close that gap, and I wasn't sure whether I could. Instead, I was frozen there, transfixed, waiting.
When Eric finally moved, though, he didn't kiss me. Instead, he pulled me into his arms for a quick but tight hug. Then, without saying anything, he hurried back to his car, lifting his hand in farewell before slipping inside and driving off into the night.
I slumped against the door, breathing out a heavy breath. I headed inside, feeling a tad disappointed by the lack of a kiss. But I felt better about all of this, as though a weight had lifted from my chest. Mom might have been getting worse still, but we had a plan of action. I needed to talk her into doing the chemo treatments.
Easier said than done, but if you really want something, you just have to push until you get it.
The next day, I went over to Mom's house, under the guise of helping her weed her extensive gardens.
“You know, I had dinner with Dr. Jones last night,” I said slowly, as we moved through the pepper plants, retying them to stakes as needed.
“Did you?” Mom asked, waggling her eyebrows at me.
I grinned. “It wasn't like that,” I told her. “I mean, it sort of was. He took me to this nice Italian restaurant over in Kingsfield, and he looked sexy in a suit. We had a good night. But it wasn't a date. I wanted to talk to him about those test results.”
Mom frowned, her earlier good humor gone. “Those test results,” she scoffed, viciously pulling a weed from the ground.
“He says that the only treatment option is for you to start chemotherapy right away,” I told her. “He thinks that would slow down the progression of the cancer.”
“Of course he does,” Mom said, rolling her eyes. “Olivia, do you have any idea how expensive those chemo treatments are? I barely have insurance anymore, and my supplier won't foot the full cost of the treatments. Nowhere near the cost of them, probably. I live on a meager pension and what little savings I could scrape together, with all my years of being a teacher. You know that.”
“Mom, if it's just the money that's holding you back, I'm sure we could figure something out. There are plenty of websites where you can ask for funding for things like this. We could at least talk about our options with Dr. Jones.”
“I just can't afford it,” Mom said stubbornly. “And I'm not going to take other people's well-earned money to do so.”
“You can't afford not to, though,” I said softly. “Mom, think about it. You could be...” I swallowed hard, unable to say the word.
“I'm not dying,” Mom said exasperatedly. “I appreciate your concern, but it's really nothing to worry about. Tests have been wrong before.”
“But what if it isn't wrong?” I pressed. “Mom, I moved here from Chicago because you were diagnosed with cancer a while ago. You haven't done anything about it, and now we hear that the cancer has progressed. It all seems to make sense. And Eric doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would be scamming you out of your money. He seems like he genuinely cares.”
“You worry too much, sweetie,” Mom insisted. “I haven't felt anything wrong with me since the initial lung discomfort that sent me to the doctor's, to begin with. I'm sure that this is just allergies, and it'll all blow over soon enough.” She grinned. “Don't you think your old Ma knows a thing or two about this sack of bones that she's been dragging around for years?”
“I'm sure you do, Mom, but I also think that Dr. Jones, as a trained medical professional, might know a thing or two about it as well,” I sighed, but I could tell that I was losing the battle.
“You're just blowing things out of proportion,” Mom said firmly, clearly meaning to end the conversation there.
I wasn't quite ready to let it go, though. “Mom, I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost you,” I said softly. “You're my best friend. I want you to be around to see all the things that I get up to in my life. I want you to be there when I eventually get married and have children of my own. I don't want to lose you to this.”
“You're not going to lose me to this,” Mom said. “Like I said, I'm sure it's just allergies, nothing more. I'm in better shape than most people my age, you know.”
“I know,” I agreed tiredly. No matter what I said, I couldn't seem to get through to her. She refused to believe that the cancer was real, and I wasn't sure how to proceed in that situation. It was something that I should have mentioned to Eric the previous night, but I'd been too busy pretending that I was on a date with him.
I felt a stab of guilt, wondering if I was letting my feelings for him cloud my ability to rationally assess the situation with Mom.
“So tell me more about this dinner with Eric,” Mom said, emphasizing his name rather than calling him 'Dr. Jones'.
I shook my head. “There's not much more to tell,” I told her. “We had a nice time. I met Emma's Nana, too.”
“Mrs. Beal is a lovely woman,” Mom said. “I'm surprised that he took you to meet her already, though. But then again, I suppose I already know him.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning. “Mom, he and I aren't dating,” I said firmly. “I only met Helen because we stopped by to pick up Emma on the way home.”
“You may not be dating, but I can tell you're interested in him,” Mom said, grinning right back at me. “I can't remember the last time you went to dinner with a man. And watching the two of you interact the other night was something, too. You seem happy.”
“I am happy,” I said, knowing that I needed to change the topic of conversation before I said something that I might regret. As soon as she started thinking there might be a possibility that Eric and I would start dating, I would start to get my own hopes up.
I gave her a hug, heedless of the dirt covering both of us after a couple of hours in the garden. “I am happy,” I repeated. “I get to see you all the time, and I
'm settling into the new daycare. Things are going well for me right now.”
“Are you really happy, living here in Tamlin?” Mom asked, sounding uncertain, and I wondered if maybe that wasn't part of her refusal to admit that she had cancer. Maybe she didn't want to admit it was serious because she didn't want me to feel like I had to be there.
“Mom, I like it here,” I told her firmly. I frowned, knowing that she would expect more of an answer than that. “I love it in Chicago. You know that,” I admitted. “But it's a good change of pace, to come here for a little while. It's been a while since I was able to relax. The other day, I sat down with a book and did some reading out on my porch. Do you know how long it's been since I did any reading?”
That finally got the conversation changed over to what book I was currently working my way through, and I breathed a mental sigh of relief.
All I could think about, though, was that I was happy here, and Eric was part of the reason I was so happy. I swallowed hard and plucked a few last weeds from the ground, using the manual labor in a futile attempt to distract myself.
Chapter Seven
Eric
Emma stood in front of the popsicle case for nearly five minutes, debating what she wanted. To be honest, she didn't deserve a popsicle that day, but I'd used it as a bribe to ensure her good behavior for the past half hour while I did a little shopping at the general store, and I knew what would happen if I reneged on my promise.
To be really honest, I didn't need anything from the general store, but I'd needed to distract Emma and had hoped that getting her out of the house for a little while might do the trick. That day had been temper tantrum after temper tantrum, as though Emma was making up for the week apart while she'd been at daycare.
Not for the first time, I felt bad that I couldn't devote more of my attention to her. I spent as much time with her as I could, and we were practically inseparable on the weekends, but I knew she needed more attention than what I was giving her. It was hard, being a single dad. Harder than I ever could have expected.
I scooped Emma up into my arms, kissing her on the temple. “All right, kiddo, what's it going to be?” I asked.
“I don't know, Daddy,” Emma whined. I wondered if maybe she was getting sick and that was the cause for all of this crankiness. But she hadn't made any complaints about feeling yucky, and her temperature seemed normal. I'd have to keep an eye on her over the next few days. Maybe I could trick her into coming into the office for some tests if she thought that we were playing a game of pretend.
I had become a little overprotective of Emma since her mother's death, but although I recognized that in myself, I couldn't help it. If anything happened to Emma as well, it would ruin me.
The bells over the door chimed, drawing me away from my thoughts. I glanced over to see who it was and grinned immediately. “Hi Olivia,” I said, waving at her. “Look, Emma, it's Ms. Olivia.”
Emma didn't wave, and her face settled into a pout like she was upset that my attention had turned away from her for two seconds. She started to squirm a little, so I bent down to set her on the floor. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off, running into another aisle.
Olivia looked shocked, and I grimaced, imagining what she must be thinking about my parenting ability at the moment. “Emma's a little cranky,” I apologized. “She's been riled up all day, and she hasn't been down for a nap yet. Don't take it personally.”
“I wonder if it's something in the air,” Olivia said, managing a small, crooked smile. “I've been feeling pretty cranky myself.”
I hummed, guessing I knew the source of Olivia's crankiness. I knew I shouldn't ask about how things were going with her mother, not so soon. I didn't want to harp on how important it was that she start chemo right away; I knew Olivia already understood the severity of the situation. I had no desire to ever see her cry like she had the other night. But the topic was important, and I couldn't just ignore that elephant in the room.
“How is your mother?” I asked gently. “Have you reached any resolution regarding treatment?”
Olivia's smile turned pained and brittle. “She and I had a good talk,” she said. “We're moving toward a decision.” There was something about the way she said it that made me wonder how genuine she was. But then again, she didn't seem like the kind of person to lie to me. She had been up front the last time the conversation hadn't gone well. I had to assume that we were making progress.
I smiled at her. “That's great to hear,” I said.
Olivia looked vaguely uncomfortable, fueling my further suspicions that things might not be going as well as she was trying to tell me they were. But before I could say anything in response, there was a loud crash from the next aisle over, and Emma's unmistakable wailing sounded.
We both hurried toward the noise and found Emma lying on the floor, surrounded by boxes of cereal. She was holding her knee, her face contorted in pain. “Emma, what happened?” I asked frantically. She clung to me, continuing to wail. “Where does it hurt, baby?” I asked. It was kind of a stupid question; I could tell from the way she was holding her knee that that was what hurt. But in my frantic state, it was the first thing that I could think to say.
“Emma, honey, can you tell us what happened?” Olivia asked gently. “Use your big kid words, please.”
“I wanted the chocolate cereals, but when I tried to reach them, I fell,” Emma said tearfully.
“Did you get a boo-boo on your knee?” Olivia asked, still just as calm as before.
Emma nodded tearfully, and I took that as my moment to step in. “Do you want Daddy to kiss your boo-boo all better?” I asked. When I received another nod, I didn't hesitate to do just that. “How's that, sweetheart?” I asked.
“It still hurts,” Emma said, but she wiped her eyes.
“When I came in here, it looked like you guys were looking for ice cream,” Olivia said, an encouraging smile on her face. “And ice cream is the best thing when it comes to making boo-boos feel better. Even better than kisses.”
Emma climbed hesitantly to her feet. “Daddy?” she asked.
“We were looking at ice cream, weren't we?” I asked her, standing up and scooping her into my arms, trying not to let on how badly she had worried me with that cry.
She nodded solemnly, and I carried her back toward the previous aisle. Olivia trailed behind us. “What's your favorite kind of ice cream, Emma?” she asked.
“Strawberry,” Emma told her.
“Oh, yum,” Olivia said. “I love strawberry ice cream. Especially when it has chocolate chips in it.”
Emma's eyes grew wide. “Daddy, can we get strawberry ice cream with chocolate chips?” she asked shyly.
I smiled. “I think we could do that,” I said, thankful to Olivia for solving the question of which frozen treat we'd be taking home. I could see how great she was with Emma, and there was something about that, coupled with the fun that we'd had the other night, that made me want nothing more than to invite her out for another evening.
I couldn't date her; I knew that would be wildly inappropriate. But maybe we could meet up and discuss what we were going to do about her mother. She must still have questions.
I turned toward her, about to open my mouth, but before I could say anything, the bells above the door chimed again, and Georgia Witherspoon waltzed into the shop. I grimaced, but there was no hoping that she wouldn't see me; we were pretty obvious, standing right there at the front of the aisle. I heaved a mental sigh and braced myself.
Georgia Witherspoon was a nice enough woman, and beautiful to boot. She could have been a model if she'd wanted to. Maybe she was; I didn't know enough about her to really know. She was blonde and rail-thin, with big blue eyes and a sweet smile. And she'd been chasing after me ever since Emily died, making no attempts to sugarcoat her interest in me.
I was no longer quite as bothered by her advances as I had been right after Emily had died, but I didn't exactly welcome them, either. She sh
owed absolutely no compassion when I was mourning, and I didn't want to dishonor my former wife's memory. But it seemed like the more I held Georgia at arm's length, the pushier she became until the whole town knew that she was interested in me.
In light of those advances, I had begun to actively avoid her as much as I could. Of course, some run-ins were inevitable, given what a small town Tamlin was. But why does it have to be here, when I'm with Emma and Olivia?
The thought came unbidden, and I frowned. I wasn't asking Olivia out; we were discussing specifics of her mother's health. It didn't matter if Georgia overheard that.
Georgia made a beeline toward us. Well, toward me, rather: she didn't even bother to introduce herself to Olivia, even though I was sure that the two hadn't met before. In fact, her eyes barely even grazed over the other woman. She was fixated on me.
“My good Dr. Jones,” she said breathily. “How lucky that I ran into you here. See, I've been having this pain in my shoulders, and I was hoping you could look at it. It's not a sharp pain, but I've had it for a few days now, and I'm starting to get worried about it. What do you think it could be?”
I barely resisted rolling my eyes, wondering how anyone could be quite as forward as her.
Forward wasn't the word that I wanted to say.
“Georgia, I'm off-duty now; you know that,” I told her. “I only deal with emergencies on the weekends.”
“But what if it is an emergency?” Georgia asked, feigning real worry. “For all I know, I could have cancer.”
I wanted to slap her, hearing that. As much as it hurt to hear her say something like that, though, my immediate thought was to look toward Olivia. I was sure it couldn't be easy to hear someone so flip about the idea of cancer, not with everything Olivia was going through with her mom at the moment. But Olivia's face was carefully neutral.