“Make jokes. That’s great.”
Nick turned serious. “I told you before I have no intention of appearing on some television show.”
“Some television show, he says.” There was a pause and Ken took a drink. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Nick. Do you have any idea how many gray hairs you give me? This isn’t just some television show. It’s Diane Sawyer, for crying out loud. Every other track jock would give their right nut for this opportunity. Hell, they’d even give their left nut, too, if needed. Think of the publicity. Noble wants this. Bad. And you should too.”
“I said drop it.”
“Fine, but tell me this. You’re on the backstretch of racing. When it’s over, what then?”
Nick didn’t answer. He knew racing was a young man’s sport, but, hell, he was only thirty-four, definitely not ready for a walker. And besides, he wasn’t going anywhere until he clinched that eighth championship. There was no way he was going to give up before he’d conquered it all. He wasn’t on the final lap of his career, far from it. Besides, he had plenty of other interests in his life—even if he couldn’t remember them right at the moment.
Hope’s image chose that second to come back to him, how she looked standing on the boardwalk, in the moonlight, with tears running down her cheeks.
“Nick, damn it, you’re not listening again.”
“I need a favor.”
For the first time since the conversation had started, his business manager was silent. In all their years of working together, Nick had never asked for anything. It was obvious by Ken’s continued silence that the statement had thrown him.
“Anything,” Ken finally said with a sincerity and somberness that humbled Nick.
Hope flashed into memory again, but this time it wasn’t her sad green eyes he saw reflected in the moonlight, or her lips he’d kissed. A kiss that had been so feather-light it shouldn’t have had any impact on him at all but, in fact, the opposite was the truth. No, what he was remembering now was all her years of deceit. Of keeping his children from him. And there was the one horrifying thought that Nick tried to keep at bay but couldn’t. What if now, when he’d just found out about his son and daughter, he lost one of them? That knowledge churned in his gut.
Nick wasn’t going to listen to another word Hope had to say. He was done with her lies.
“I need you to do a background check on a woman named Hope Thompson. She’s also used the last name Montgomery.” Nick gave Ken all of the information he had—little as it was.
“Anything in particular you want me to look for?”
“Everything,” was Nick’s only answer. He didn’t bother to tell Ken to keep his inquiries discreet. He didn’t have to.
Ken gave a short laugh. “Why did I even ask? Or, can I ask?”
“It’s personal.”
“When did you develop anything personal that I don’t know about?”
“As much as you’d like to think differently, you don’t know everything.”
“Not for lack of trying.”
“More like prying.”
Ken laughed. “How soon do you need the information?”
“Yesterday.”
“Naturally. Now about—”
Nick cut him off. “Everything else has been taken care of.”
“And the race on Sunday?”
“I haven’t missed one yet.”
“Not even when you had cracked your ribs or busted your leg. Okay, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have the information. And this time, answer my damn call.”
No sooner had Nick disconnected the call than his cell rang.
“Nick, it’s Mark Brandt. I know it’s late but your message said to call the moment I got in.”
Nick had never been so glad to hear from the team’s private physician as he was at that moment. “Thanks for calling.”
“No problem. I gathered from your message that it’s a matter of some urgency.”
“It is.” Nick had always considered himself to be a man who could handle anything. But right now, what he needed to say nearly broke him. He cleared his throat and then said in a straight rush, before it truly did break him, “My son has leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant. I need to get tested to see if I’m a match.”
Silence. Then, “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t even realize you had a son.”
“No one does.”
“I see.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” Nick said honestly.
“You’re right. I don’t. But understanding isn’t a prerequisite for helping. What can I do?”
“I need all the information I can get on acute lymphoblastic leukemia. As soon as possible. Also my son”—the word son still tripped awkwardly from his mouth—“my son, Joshua, is being treated by”—Nick glanced at the card Hope had given him—“Dr. Thomas Parker at Mount Rainier Children’s Hospital. Find out everything you can about him and the hospital. I want Joshua being treated by the best and at the best.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“I’m near Seattle now and have put a call in to this Dr. Parker but because of the hour, I’m sure I won’t hear back from him until the morning. I don’t want to wait. I want this expedited.”
“Let me make some calls.”
Nick thought quickly. Fame had its benefits—like a highly skilled physician only a phone call away. But it also had its drawbacks. He wanted to spare his son the negative aspects for as long as he could. “To keep a lid on this, I’d rather you did the test.”
“I understand completely. Is your plane in Seattle?” Dr. Brandt asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be waiting as soon as you get here. In less than twenty-four hours we’ll know.”
It was exactly the answer Nick had wanted.
In five minutes he was checked out of the hotel and on his way to the airport. But no matter how fast he drove or how quickly he moved, he couldn’t shake Hope or their kiss from his mind.
Six
WHEN the doorbell rang at eight the next morning, Hope’s already accelerated heart rate turboed into hyper speed.
He was here.
She took a deep breath.
He was really here.
Yesterday Nick had been so adamant about seeing Joshua and Susan, but then they’d actually talked, touching on what it really meant to have two children—Joshua’s illness, the worry, the heartache . . . The Nick Hope remembered would have run from all that reality. There were too many things conspiring to tie him down to a small town far from the fame and adoration he so desperately craved. Part of her had been certain that after a night of thinking all that through, Nick would run as far and fast as he could. That he hadn’t shocked her (and scared her) more than she’d like to admit.
She walked down the hallway, slowed her steps. She would not hurry to the door, to the man who had left her with only his broken promises.
Maybe he’s changed.
Dana’s words came back to her.
She reached for the doorknob, turned it.
But it wasn’t Nick who stood on the other side.
“Dana,” Hope said, sinking against the side of the door.
“Well, you don’t have to look at me like I’m the Grinch who stole Christmas. Besides, I came bearing gifts.” Dana held up her arms. In one hand was a white paper bag with the logo of their favorite bakery, located on Main Street. In her other hand was a cardboard drink carrier holding two steaming, insulated cups.
Hope eyed the white bag. “Blueberry?”
“Is there any other muffin worth eating?”
Hope smiled and swung the door wide.
Together they made their way into the kitchen. Dana set the bag and drinks on the round kitchen table and, with a familiarity from years of friendship and shared meals, they had plates, knives,
and napkins on the table in moments. No sooner had they sat down when Dana said, “What’s the occasion?”
Hope smiled. “You tell me. You’re the one showing up on my doorstep with sugar and caffeine.”
“The perfect combination, so true.” Dana cut her muffin in half. “But what I was referring to was you. I know you work this morning at the grocery store, but this is the first time I’ve seen you put on makeup and curl your hair for the locals.”
“Just needed a pick-me-up today.” Hope averted her gaze and quickly took a sip of her tea. She winced as the hot liquid burned her mouth. “Mmmmmm, Earl Grey. My favorite.” She fought to change the subject. Cautiously, she took another sip, keeping herself occupied so she wouldn’t have to immediately answer Dana. Slowly, she lowered her cup and eyed her best friend. “Now it’s your turn. What gives?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dana lied horribly.
“Blueberry muffins. Earl Grey. With cream and sugar, I might add. And an early-morning visit from my very best friend who hates early mornings. What’s that saying? Beware of those bearing gifts?”
Dana laughed. “All right. I confess. But don’t play the innocent with me. You know why I’m here. Or, more accurately, who.”
Nick.
Before Hope could stop herself, her gaze went to the front door.
“So,” Dana prompted. “Did you find him last night?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
And I kissed him. Heaven help her, that was her first thought.
“Did you tell him about Joshua?”
At the sound of her son’s name, Hope’s thoughts were pulled right back where they belonged—right back to what was important. “Yes, and he agreed to get tested.” Saying the words aloud brought her a new sense of relief. Nick had agreed. Soon, they would have that match for Joshua and then everything would be okay.
“Thank goodness,” Dana said, echoing Hope’s own thoughts. “I was so worried . . .”
A frown wrinkled Hope’s forehead. “Worried? You, the eternal optimist?”
Dana smiled, took a bite, chewed, then swallowed. “Yeah, after I bumped into Mrs. Hingle at the bakery.”
“Mrs. Hingle? Mrs. I-love-to-gossip Hingle?”
Dana wiped her fingers on her napkin. “The one and only. After she told me that Nick had left town, I was worried that you didn’t get a chance to—”
“What?” Hope jerked forward. Her hand flung out and knocked her tea over. Hot liquid spilled across the table. She reached for the pile of napkins, grabbed a handful, and began to sop up the mess, but her mind was far from the task. “What did you say?”
“I said I was worried you didn’t get a chance to speak to Nick. When you left the hospital, you weren’t even sure where he was staying, so . . . Hope, are you okay? You look pale.”
Without answering, Hope abandoned the soggy mound of napkins and went into the kitchen. She flung cupboard after cupboard open until she found what she was looking for. She pulled it from under a stack of cookbooks. The words Tranquility Bay Telephone Directory glared back at her. She could have Googled the number on her cell but knew that would take longer. Quickly, she flipped through the thin paper pages, tearing some in her haste. Her eyes scanned the pages, slowing when she hit upon the Ts. She ran her forefinger down the page. In less than a minute, she’d found the number she needed and placed the call.
“Tranquility Inn,” the receptionist answered on the fourth ring.
“Mr. Fortune’s room, please,” Hope said.
“Who?”
“Nick Fortune,” Hope said slowly and clearly. “Could you please connect me to his room?”
“Oh. Him.” The female voice perked up. “He checked out sometime last night.”
Hope went completely still. “No, you must be mistaken. Please check again.”
“I don’t need to. It’s not like we get many celebrities here.”
“Are you sure?”
There was the distinct sound of gum being popped. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Nick was gone. Without a word. Just like that. Just like before.
“Ma’am? Are you still there? Did you need anything else?”
Hope must have mumbled an appropriate response because the receptionist was saying “Good-bye” just a moment before the line went dead.
“Hope?” Dana’s soft voice came from behind her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Hope couldn’t move. “He left,” was all she managed to say a few moments later.
Less than twelve hours after learning he was a father, Nick had fled.
* * *
FOR the next eight hours, Hope didn’t stop long enough to catch her breath, let alone long enough to let her thoughts catch up with her.
Business at the grocery store had been booming. It was the height of the tourist season, after all, and combined with the gorgeous, bright, sunny day, it seemed as if everyone was out and about. Several friends and acquaintances had come up to Hope while she worked to wish her well and let her know that Joshua had been and would continue to be in their thoughts and prayers. Each heartfelt sentiment touched Hope more than they would ever know.
When she left work and it took her three tries to get her car started, she refused to let that get her down. And when she got home and collected the mail and saw that the bulk of it was bills—and more bills—again, she plunged ahead, fought for some of that optimism Dana seemed to come by so easily.
Once more she attempted to get in touch with her mother, and once more, failed. She also tried Nick. But the only number she had for him was his office, and it went to voice mail.
Silently she chided herself. How could she have forgotten to get his cell number? Or all his numbers, for that matter? Someone like Nick must have dozens of ways for people to get in touch with him. Next time she saw him she planned on rectifying her mistake immediately.
If she saw him.
How could he have just left without a word? But she knew how. It wasn’t the first time he’d vanished on her. But it would be the last.
A quick glance at the clock told her she had a little over half an hour before Susan was due home. Putting a pot of water on the cooktop to boil, Hope unloaded the bag of groceries she’d picked up after work. Chicken breasts. Lemons. Capers. Parsley. Linguine noodles and a few other essentials. All the ingredients she’d need to make Susan’s favorite dinner: chicken piccata. Hope had also picked up a box of brownie mix—a favorite of Joshua’s. Or they had been. These days he didn’t feel like eating much, but still she tried. Even if it was junk food from a box. At this point she’d be happy to see him eat anything. While she and Susan ate dinner, she’d put the brownies in the oven so they’d be ready to take to the hospital.
Hope had just turned the browning chicken in the pan when she heard the front door open. Drying her hands on a towel, she walked out of the kitchen. “Hi, sweetie,” she said when she spotted Susan closing the front door.
Susan turned. “Oh. Hey, Mom. I didn’t think you’d be home.”
“Of course I’m home. I told you I would be. We had plans to head in to the hospital together after I got off work. Remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. That.” Susan dropped her backpack on the entryway tile and made her way into the living room. Flopping down on the couch, she grabbed the remote off the coffee table.
“I’m just finishing up dinner. Ten minutes, tops.”
Susan flicked on the TV. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“It’s your favorite.”
Her daughter didn’t bother to look at her. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
A frown marred Hope’s brow. “Did you eat at Chelsey’s?”
“No.”
“Then you must be hungry. We’ll eat and then—”
Susan shot her a glare. “I said I
wasn’t hungry. And I’m not going to the hospital.” She turned back to the TV, began flipping through channels.
Hope stared at her daughter’s profile, a feeling of helplessness overtaking her. Over the last few months a rigidness had settled along Susan’s jawline, pulled at her usually bright and happy eyes. Her once-fashionista daughter who wouldn’t dare leave her bedroom without looking like she’d stepped out of the pages of a high-end magazine now, more often than not, wore sweatpants and old T-shirts of Josh’s no matter who she was with or where she went.
Determined to make some sort of headway with her daughter, Hope headed into the kitchen. She took the pan of chicken off the burner, turned off the heat, then returned to the living room. She stood next to the couch.
Susan refused to look at her, but Hope wasn’t having any of it. “Lift,” she said just like she’d said thousands of times before. With a roll of her eyes, Susan lifted her legs. Hope sat and with the gentle pressure of her hand, Susan lowered her legs until they were lying over Hope’s lap.
Channels continued to click by.
Hope smoothed a hand over Susan’s gray sweatpants. “Did you have a nice time at Chelsey’s?”
“Yeah. Great.”
Susan’s tone told a different story.
“It’s been a long time since Chelsey spent the night here. Why don’t you invite her over the next time you girls are going to hang out? I could make whatever you wanted for dinner. Pop popcorn. You could get movies. Whatever you want. A fun girls’ night.”
Susan’s thumb paused on the remote. “Chelsey’s leaving.”
“Well, not forever,” Hope said, baffled by her daughter’s fatalistic tone. “Chelsey’s mom stopped by the store today. She told me about their upcoming trip to Disney World. They’ll only be gone for two weeks. It’s hardly—”
“But she promised . . .”
“Promised what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Susan tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “I’m really tired. Night.”
Before Hope could respond, Susan was off the couch and down the hall. Her bedroom door closed behind her with a finality that let Hope know there would be no reaching her tonight.
Boardwalk Summer Page 7