Sterling

by Foster , Delaney

  Sydney pursed her lips while she clicked a few keys on her keyboard then looked up at me and grinned. “Yes, Mr. Sterling. We booked his return flight for tomorrow.”

  “Great. Cancel that flight. And get him on the line, please.” I slid my ID badge across the black magnetic plate on the wall. I pushed the door open then held it with my foot. “And cancel my morning meetings. I need to see Frost first.”

  I barely dropped a pod in my coffee maker when line one on my desk phone was flashing red.

  Sydney’s voice echoed through the room as I hit the remote on my window shades. “Mr. Sterling, I have Mr. Frost on line one.”

  Perfect.

  I took a seat in my Italian leather chair and kicked my feet up on the desk in front of me. The shades stopped rolling, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee surrounded me. I leaned back and smiled as I looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sun-kissed sky. Life was good. I was happy.

  “Good morning, Garrett. Meet me at my office in an hour. I think I have something you’ll want to hear.”

  “The hardware store usually sponsors the fireworks, but this year George just doesn’t have the funds,” Mrs. Abraham said with sad eyes.

  The island top in Gram’s kitchen was covered with fabric samples and samples of different finger foods and samples of samples. Printed recipes and pictures of decorations were scattered across every inch of granite. The Fourth of July had officially thrown up in Gram’s kitchen. Mrs. Abraham and I had been going over ideas for nearly an hour, and it was all starting to run together.

  “We can’t have Fourth of July without fireworks,” Mrs. Abraham said. She brought the ceramic coffee mug to her lips and blew to cool the liquid.

  She’d said the words like the universe would decide to jump straight from July 3rd to July 5th just because Clover Creek didn’t have a firework display.

  I rubbed my hand over her back then started collecting everything from the countertop. I picked up each piece of paper and every fabric sample until there was only one thing left—a photo of the front of the B&B.

  “This is all we need to get started.” I placed everything back in the canvas tote bag it came from. “And don’t worry about a sponsor for the fireworks. I just so happen to know a guy.” I took a pig-in-a-blanket and popped it in my mouth. “Mmmm,” I moaned. Then, I pointed at the plate of croissant-wrapped sausages. “We’re definitely having these on the menu.”

  Mrs. Abraham’s tight expression relaxed into a smile, and I swelled with pride. For the first time in… well, forever, I felt like I was doing something right.

  Until my mother showed up.

  “I brought chicken salad.” She set a loaf of bread and a Tupperware container on the now cleared off kitchen island. “Oh, what’s this?” She nodded toward the canvas tote.

  “I’m helping Mrs. Abraham with the Fourth of July festival.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and she cleared her throat. “Are you sure you can stay that long? I mean, David must be missing you by now.”

  If by missing me, you mean sleeping with his twenty-one-year-old hairdresser and humiliating me in front of the whole town, then I’m sure he’s miserable.

  I wasn’t having this conversation. Not here. Not now. “David is fine, Mom. I’m not leaving Gram.”

  My mother pulled back the Tupperware lid then grabbed four plates from the cabinet. “Well, it’s your life—”

  “Yes. It is. Now, can we just have a peaceful lunch?”

  “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with Jayce Sterling.” She spit her words like they were venom.

  I spread the chicken salad across slices of bread then cut the four sandwiches in half. “This is about me making up for lost time, time I can’t get back. This is about me being here for someone I love. And in the meantime, I get to help Mrs. Abraham and do something good for Clover Creek. That is what this is about.”

  That was my mother. She always had a way of making me feel like I was a witness in her courtroom. I was done defending myself. I opened a bag of Lay’s potato chips and handed everyone a sandwich plate.

  “Myra,” Gram said as she filled her plate with potato chips. “Would you say the blessing please?”

  I knew she wasn’t intentionally changing the subject, or maybe she was, but I could have leaned over and kissed her face right then.

  Mrs. Abraham spent the rest of the morning visiting with my mom and gram while I let the siren call of Pinterest seduce me with its mesh bow tutorials and cupcake recipes. A sneak peek turned into a love affair. One pin, then two. Those things multiplied like rabbits. By the time everyone left, I’d pinned two-hundred and twenty-seven Fourth of July ideas to my Party Up board.

  I washed my mother’s Tupperware while Gram watched me from the breakfast table by the bay window. “You know, I always hated when your mother put celery in her chicken salad,” she said.

  I hated that too. The cranberries were weird, but I could handle them. But I’d always hated the celery.

  “I thought we could work on your flower beds this afternoon,” I offered. I wasn’t sure if Gram knew what kind of shape the beds were in, but I knew working in her yard was her favorite hobby.

  “I’ve been wanting to get in my flower beds for weeks. But that housekeeper…” she leaned across the table and spoke in a whisper, like she was worried someone else might hear. “I think she’s hiding my things. Nothing is ever in its place anymore. I can’t find my gardening gloves.”

  “I’m sure Annie would never hide things from you, Gram. I can check the closet by the stairs just to be sure.”

  Dementia. It was a sneaky little devil that preyed on the minds of loved ones. It snatched them up and buried them deep within themselves until only traces of who they used to be were left behind. But sometimes, if you dug deep enough, unwrapped enough layers, you’d find just enough of the broken pieces to remind you they’re still there. Gram was still here. She had to be. I wouldn’t accept anything else.

  Just as I’d expected, Gram’s gloves were in the closet by the stairs. We spent the rest of the afternoon pulling weeds and turning mulch, and Gram was happier than I had seen in days.

  I had just gotten off the phone with Stella, explaining that I’d be staying in Clover Creek most of the summer. Stella completely understood and promised to take care of things back at home. I looked down at my screen then at the bright yellow sheet of paper on the nightstand.

  “If you decide you miss me.”

  I did. I missed the way his smile made me smile too. I missed the sexy southern twang in his voice when he teased me about things that I’d probably trip other people for. And I missed the warmth that spread across my skin every time he did magical things to my body.

  I dialed his number, and he answered on the second ring.

  “I thought you’d never call,” he said.

  “In case you didn’t notice, I’m kind of a hot commodity around here. It’s been a busy day. I even missed a call from Good Housekeeping. So, you’re not the only one with magazine cred,” I said through a grin.

  “Should I get with your secretary and make an appointment?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve already got you penciled in.” I settled on the bed, resting my back against the headboard.

  When was the last time I’d talked to a guy on the phone? Other than my attorney, and he didn’t count. But like, really talked to a guy on the phone? I couldn’t remember. Even with David, all of our communication was through text. Now that I thought about it, we barely talked in person. A blind person could’ve seen the divorce coming from a mile away. Talking to Jayce, though, was easy. It was effortless. It was nice.

  “Anything exciting happen in the corporate world today? Did the stocks rise? Did your limo driver get a haircut?”

  Jayce laughed, and I wished I could see the way it made his face light up. “I don’t have a limo. Or a driver. Stocks are long. And I bought a company.”

  I nearly choked on air, and that was hard to do.
“People buy shoes, Jayce. They don’t buy companies.” Who was this man and how was he the same boy who made me cut his hair because he refused to pay a barber?

  More laughter. “There’s this company we’ve been dealing with for years. The guy was in some financial trouble. I’m going to need an extra pair of hands around here if I plan on spending more time there. So, I bought him out, hired him, and we both win.”

  I only cared about seven of those words. The rest might as well have been gibberish. I plan on spending more time there. “Spending more time here, huh?” There was that warm feeling again.

  “I left you once. And I’ve spent almost half my life regretting it. I won’t ever do it again.”

  I looked down at the silver bracelet on my wrist. My fingertips ran across the etched detail of each stem and clover, and I believed him.

  It had been four days since I’d last seen Claire. We talked on the phone every day, all day. And when I was lucky, I got a few minutes of FaceTime before bed. But it wasn’t the same as being next to her, smelling her, touching her. Tasting her.

  I was meeting Bennett for lunch, and he was late, as usual. I sat at a high-top in our favorite sports bar and watched videos of goats jumping on trampolines on the big screen. This is all ESPN had to show in the middle of a Friday afternoon?

  Three commercials and one bad cat video later, Bennett walked in wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Anyone who looked at him, would never believe he consulted million-dollar companies on how to spend their money.

  “So, Claire Cunningham, huh?” Bennett asked as he slid onto the wooden stool. No beating around the bush with that one.

  I dunked a tortilla chip in a bowl of queso. “Yep,” I answered then stuffed the chip in my mouth.

  Bennett waved the waitress to the table then took a chip from the basket. “Does she know? I mean… she had to ask why you bolted.”

  “She knows.”

  “And?”

  “And, we’re okay. Ben, you have no idea how amazing this woman is—” I was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I held up a finger. “Hold that thought,” I said, then I swiped the screen displaying Claire’s name. “Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you.”

  “Jayce, I’m so sorry. It’s your dad.”

  There was so much pain in Claire’s voice. I felt the color drain from my face. I pulled out my wallet and slapped two, twenty-dollar bills on the table. Then I looked at Bennett. “I have to go.”

  The hospital room was dark. And cold. A framed picture of a field of cattails hung on the solid white wall beside the television. White walls. White floors. I understood now why people brought flowers to hospitals. Claire and her father stood next to my dad’s bed. The echoes of their quiet voices floated through the air. Dr. Cunningham looked so different in his pale blue medical scrubs—almost intimidating. Or maybe it was the room and the reason we were in it that intimidated me. I stood in the doorway, syncing my breath to the beeping of the monitor. My legs were numb. No matter how much I willed them to, they wouldn’t move.

  “Hey,” Claire said, simply. She met me at the door. Her hand reached out for mine, and it was the only sense of comfort I knew in that moment.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She squeezed my hand then pulled me inside. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  Claire’s father shook my free hand. “I’ve called the oncologist. He should be here soon.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  I had so many questions, but all I could seem to do was stare. I stared at the man in the bed that looked like my father but also like a stranger. At the monitors and the tubes. At the bleak, colorless walls. At nothing at all.

  Dr. Cunningham’s strong voice tore through the silence. “Claire called me as soon as it happened. Your father’s lucky he wasn’t still at work.”

  “As soon as what happened?” I finally found the courage to ask.

  “Your dad called me. He said he wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could pick him up from work early. We were in the car. One minute we were talking and the next…” Claire’s words dropped off as though they were too difficult to say out loud.

  “With the liver being in the stage it’s in, toxins get into the bloodstream. The brain loses certain functions. Memory loss, confusion… things like that. Sometimes, in a few cases, a patient can even become unresponsive. Which is what happened with your father,” Dr. Cunningham chimed in, sparing his daughter from having to relive the moment. “He’s having trouble breathing, so we want to run some tests. Make sure the cancer hasn’t spread.”

  Make sure the cancer hasn’t spread. Unresponsive. The brain loses certain functions.

  The words played on a loop inside my head until I could no longer stand still. Anger boiled within my chest. Why hadn’t Pops just let me help him? He could’ve gotten the best care money could buy, and none of us would be here right now. Anger turned to guilt. How could I be angry at a man that was lying in a hospital bed and letting machines breathe for him? Then the guilt faded to sadness, and the sadness threatened to consume me.

  I held my father’s hand. “We’re going to fix this. We’re going to get you out of here,” I promised.

  “I’ll let you know when the oncologist gets here.” Dr. Cunningham placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I promise. He’s in good hands,” he said. Then he gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek and left.

  I squeezed my dad’s hand then moved to the end of the bed, next to Claire. We silently stared at a heart monitor, an IV, and an oxygen tank all connected to Jared Sterling’s still, frail body. I circled my arm around Claire’s waist and pulled her against my chest. I needed to feel her close. I stood here and held her, watched my dad, and prayed for help until my mind cleared.

  I took in a deep breath then smoothed the back of her hair. “Thank you for getting him here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

  Claire tilted her head to look me in the eyes. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t ever talk like that. Everything is going to be just fine.”

  Maybe it was the way she was looking at me. Maybe I needed to feel like there was still something good in my life. Or maybe it was the harsh reminder that life is short, and tomorrow isn’t promised. But I couldn’t stop the words from coming. I took Claire’s face in my hands. “I love you.”

  Her mouth turned up in a warm, tender smile. “It’s about time.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “I love you, too. I’m not sure I ever stopped.”

  The next few days were a waiting game. Dr. Cunningham brought in an oncologist named Dr. Falk, and they ran tests while Dad remained unresponsive. I didn’t leave the hospital. Not even to take a shower. I’d been gone long enough, and that guilt alone ate at me until I could hardly breathe. For thirteen years, I’d lived and worked a little over an hour away, yet I never found the time to visit. I’d let my anger build a wall around Clover Creek. What kind of son does that?

  After nearly a week, my father finally woke up.

  Jared refused to let Jayce have him transferred to a bigger hospital in Houston, but he agreed to a home health nurse. Baby steps. His cancer had spread to his lungs, and it didn’t look good. At least that’s what I got out of eavesdropping on my father’s phone calls with Dr. Falk.

  Jayce did everything he could to convince his father to go for treatment, but Jared kept insisting he wanted to die with dignity and not by shriveling away in some cold, empty hospital room. As a matter of fact, that had kind of become his mantra. He repeated it to Jayce several times on the ride home from the hospital. I laughed at the way the two of them behaved when they were together. It was a constant power tug-of-war that Jayce usually ended up losing.

  Gram was with Annie, and the nurse was with Jared, so Jayce and I snuck away for lunch at the diner. I sat across from him at our favorite booth in the back. I stretched my legs as far as they would go and propped my feet on the
red vinyl cushion across from me while Jayce placed our order. A twinge of excitement rushed over me whenever I didn’t have to scoot down in my seat to reach the other side. Beside the booth, our initials were still carved into the wooden windowsill.

  Jayce glanced down at my feet sticking out next to where he sat and laughed. “You can finally reach my seat without looking like you’re hiding from the cops.”

  I glared at him. “You’re not funny.”

  He ran a single fingertip up the side of my bare leg. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I like you like this.”

  Tiny waves of heat shot through my body.

  His hand crept further.

  My lips parted while I waited for more.

  Then the waitress showed up with two milkshakes and doused the fire that had just begun to burn. Chocolate for Jayce and strawberry for me. Whipped cream. Jayce got two cherries. I got none. The running joke was that he took mine a long time ago. Boys.

  I glanced at the serving window between the front counter and the kitchen and saw Mr. Freddie Miller smiling back at me. He lifted his hand in a wave. Freddie had owned the diner my whole life, and he’d never missed a day in that kitchen. I waved back and thought to myself how good it was to be back. Not just back to Clover Creek but back with Jayce.

  The Fourth of July festival at the B&B was less than a week away, and I hadn’t asked him about the fireworks yet. Everything else was in place and ready to go, but with Jared just getting out of the hospital, I hadn’t wanted to bother him. I swirled the straw around the glass of my strawberry milkshake. Jayce always dove right in and licked the whipped cream off the top, but I liked using my straw to blend it in.

  “So, the Fourth of July thing… I was wondering if you’d want to be my date.”