Boardwalk Summer

by Kimberly Fisk

  But that was where the problem lay. Last night hadn’t been with just anybody, it had been with Hope. Life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

  His phone vibrated, alerting him to a text message. It was from his business manager. Nick ignored the first part of the text—obviously Ken had just learned Nick wouldn’t be at qualifiers or Sunday’s race and was pissed as hell. The second part of the text drew his attention.

  Full report on Hope Montgomery Thompson complete. Awaiting instruction.

  Nick turned and looked down at Hope. Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing her in its soft glow. Blond hair spilled across the pillow in a sexy rumpled mass. He felt a stab of desire as he remembered just how her hair had gotten to be such a tangled mess. And he remembered a lot of other things too. Like the feel of her, the way she’d moaned his name when he was deep inside her, and how she was the only one who could make him lose complete control.

  In sleep, she looked . . . peaceful. And younger. Gone were the worry lines that creased the corners of her green eyes, drew her mouth down and erased her smile.

  He felt a familiar ache for all she’d endured, but he also felt a stab of admiration. She had endured a lot—more than most people could ever imagine—but instead of crumbling under its oppressive weight she’d risen above it, become stronger.

  For years he’d thought he’d forgotten her, but now he knew what a farce that had been. He knew that last night was going to change everything between them. And while they knew a lot about each other from their past, there was a lot to discover about the people they’d become during their years apart. But those discoveries were going to be a hell of a lot of fun and nothing he wanted to learn from the pages of a report or especially from someone else.

  Without thinking twice, Nick typed out a text to Ken: Burn it, then hit Send.

  He set his phone back on the nightstand, then rolled over and faced Hope. Her dark eyelashes fanned out against her pale skin. Her lips were puffy and more red than normal. Nick had no trouble understanding why. He knew he shouldn’t reach for her, knew he should let her sleep, but even knowing all that, it didn’t stop him. All he wanted was to find his way home again in her arms.

  Leaning forward, he kissed her, slowly. Her eyes fluttered open and she stirred awake. She was looking at him like she never wanted him to leave, and before he lost himself once more in the magic of her, he said the two words that he’d meant to say earlier, when he first arrived.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I believed her.”

  Sixteen

  SOMETHING woke her. Hope fought against the intrusion. A dream, a wonderful dream, floated just beyond her grasp and she knew if she could fall back into that peaceful sleep she could recapture it. Peaceful sleep. Two words she hadn’t put together in a long time. She’d slept, she’d actually slept. A smile curved her mouth and she stretched languorously under the covers only to realize that her body wasn’t as peaceful as she was. Muscles she didn’t even know she had protested at the early-morning workout. She squinted her eyes, tried to block out the morning sun.

  The phone rang—again. With a start, she realized that was what had woken her. Still more than half asleep, she fumbled around on the nightstand. Her hand bumped into the phone, knocked it off its base. Grasping and finding the cord, she pulled it toward her and held the phone to her ear. But the ringing didn’t stop. Confused, it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t the hotel phone ringing. Before she could wonder where else the noise would be coming from, the bathroom door opened, and out walked Nick.

  Steam billowed behind him and it was obvious by the towel slung low on his hips and the one he was using to dry his hair that he’d had a shower. “Mornin’.”

  Surprise hit her almost the same moment embarrassment did. For some reason, she’d thought she’d wake up alone. She tugged the covers tighter. “Good morning.” Her voice was thick with sleep and memories.

  He walked over to his jacket, which was slung across one of the hotel chairs. Reaching into the pocket, he pulled out his cell. “Hello?”

  His deep blue eyes were still on her as he talked, and the burning desire she saw in them made her feel wanted. Loved.

  Her mind came to a sudden halt. Where had that come from? Loved was definitely not a word she’d use in the same context as Nick. What they’d shared last night was amazing. But no matter how wonderful it had been, it had been a mistake. Nick didn’t love her and she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes she’d made when she was younger. She wasn’t going to fall in love with a man who couldn’t love her back. Last night had been . . . a momentary lapse. A release. What mattered now was Joshua and getting him well and getting her family put back together again.

  She turned away from the look in his eyes, fussed with the covers, brushed the wrinkles away. She needed to get to the bathroom, where she could close the door behind her, shut out the rest of the world—shut out Nick—and think. Sort her feelings. She looked around, tried to find something she could slip on because even though he’d already seen everything, he’d only seen it in the soft darkness of night. Bright morning light was a whole other story.

  “Thank you for the call, Mrs. Roseburg.”

  Mrs. Roseburg. Hope’s pulse sped up. Her mother’s neighbor. That could only mean one thing.

  “Your mom is back,” was all he said.

  * * *

  LESS than thirty minutes later they were packed, dressed, in the car, and on their way. Hope pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them over the bridge of her nose. Even though it wasn’t even nine, a hot morning sun was already making its presence known. But the sunglasses served another purpose, too. They weren’t just keeping the light out, they were also keeping her feelings in. Too many times since the call, she caught Nick staring at her and she was afraid her eyes revealed too much. Not only about last night but about today. She was going to see her mother for the first time in sixteen years and ask her for a favor. The irony of that would have made her laugh if the situation weren’t so dire. Ask Claire—a woman who had never done a kind act in her life. A deep-seated uneasiness blossomed into a full-grown panic as the miles between the hotel and her mother’s house shrank.

  Nick turned the car off the main road and onto her mother’s street. His jaw was rigid and his knuckles all but white as he gripped the steering wheel. Obviously she wasn’t the only one affected by the thought of seeing Claire.

  He pulled into the driveway and parked.

  “She’s here.” He motioned toward the front of the garage where a Lincoln Town Car was parked.

  Hope drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t worried that her mother would refuse to help Joshua; that she knew was inevitable. What was tying her stomach in knots right now was the inevitable confrontation to come. Because with or without her mother’s consent, Hope was taking Claire to the doctor’s office today.

  Nick went to open his door, and without thinking, Hope placed her hand on his arm, stalling his motion.

  He turned and looked at her.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “For being here. For making the arrangements with the doctor. For everything.”

  “I don’t know how glad you’ll be in a few minutes.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Nick let go of the door handle and sat back. “Your mother lied. To you. To me. To our children. When I think about—”

  “Don’t.” She heard the tremble in her voice, fought hard to stop it. She couldn’t think about the what ifs or the what could have beens because if she did, if she allowed herself to go down that path, she’d lose sight of what was important. Who was important. And it wasn’t her, and it wasn’t Nick. “Believe me, we’re going to have it out one day, but right now, I can only focus on Joshua and what he needs. Let me talk to her. Please.”

  “Afraid of what I might say?”

  “No . . . Yes.”
She tried to smile, but really, there was nothing to smile about. “I need to be the one to do this.”

  Several moments passed in silence and then, without saying another word, he exited the car, came around to her side, and opened her door.

  As they walked up the path that led to the front door, Hope knew Nick would respect her request that today be only about Joshua. But one quick look at Nick, and Hope also realized that at some point—and in the not-too-distant future—Claire Montgomery was going to have to face her past lies.

  They reached the front door. Claire answered on the first knock.

  For a moment Hope couldn’t say anything. Her mother looked smaller, somehow, even though that didn’t make sense. Older, obviously. Her hair was still dyed the same light auburn it had always been, and she was still dressed as if the pastor or God himself was going to come calling at any moment, but there were changes, too. Subtle things, small differences. A few more lines, a few more wrinkles. A stoop to a person’s carriage that hadn’t been there before. Changes that happen slowly, week by week, month by month, that didn’t add up to much unless you weren’t around to see them. Then, years later, taken as a whole, the difference was startling.

  “Hello, Claire.”

  Her mother’s expression didn’t alter, and if Hope hadn’t seen the almost imperceptible tightening of her clasped hands, she would have thought her mother was unaffected by her daughter’s return. “This is a surprise.”

  “May we come in?”

  “We?”

  Hope moved to the side, giving Claire an unobstructed view of the man standing next to her.

  Claire’s face tightened. “You,” she said in disbelief.

  “Claire.”

  Hope didn’t know who was more surprised. Always before it had been Mrs. Montgomery. But that had been when they were teenagers, and the tall, strong man standing next to her wasn’t a boy anymore.

  Her mother made no move to invite them in, and Hope knew it was up to her to take the initiative. “I need to talk with you.” She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she walked past her mother and into the house.

  The house, in contrast to her mother, hadn’t changed one bit. Sage-green carpet still covered the floor, the same nondescript wallpaper still hung in the foyer, and the floral living room sofa and two mauve chairs were in the exact spots they’d always been.

  Hope sat in one of the chairs.

  Nick chose the chair opposite Hope, which left her mother with the sofa. Somehow Hope found that appropriate. Her mother all by herself on that large, hard sofa.

  “I’m here about Joshua,” Hope said without preamble.

  Her mother had to force herself to stop looking at Nick and focus on Hope. “I thought as much.”

  “He needs your help.”

  Claire balled her hands in her lap. “I don’t see why you found it necessary to bring him along.” She made a motion with her head in Nick’s direction.

  Nick leaned forward and Hope knew it was only a matter of seconds before he let loose on Claire. Hope looked at him, tried to catch his eye, and when she finally did, she silently pleaded with him to let her handle this. “Nick is Joshua’s father, a fact I don’t have to remind you of. So yes, he needs to be here. But the truth of the matter is, Mother, neither of us should have to be here.” Her voice had become a blade of steel.

  “Nobody asked you to come,” Claire said.

  “No, you’re right. Nobody asked me to come. You forced me to. I have a sick child at home. A child I didn’t want to leave. Joshua needs that bone marrow transplant, and as much as I hate to admit this, and as much as you probably hate to hear it, right now you are his best hope for a match.”

  “I already told you, Hope, I don’t see what I can—”

  “Don’t,” Hope all but yelled. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you can do. We both know what you can do. What you will do. We’re going to the doctor’s, where you’ll get tested.”

  “It’s the weekend. Doctors’ offices aren’t open today.”

  “I’ve taken care of that,” Nick said.

  Claire raised her chin a notch and looked down at Nick from the top of her nose. “I just bet you have. Just like you took care of things when Hope was no more than a child.”

  “Mother—”

  Claire snapped her head in Hope’s direction. “I’ve waited a lot of years to say my piece, and I’m going to say it.”

  “Please do.” Nick’s voice was deadly calm.

  Claire was a kettle ready to boil. “You had no right to do what you did. No right at all.”

  “Just what exactly did I do?”

  Claire gave a self-satisfied grunt. “Still only as smart as your old man, I see.”

  The muscle in Nick’s jaw began to tick.

  “You got my daughter pregnant, that’s what you did. Got her pregnant and then skedaddled out of town without a word to anyone. She had her whole life ahead of her. Her whole life. And then you ruined it.”

  “I’ll admit I made mistakes,” Nick said.

  “You bet you did,” Claire answered.

  “But the mistakes I’ve made have nothing to do with Hope or my children.” He sat forward, locking his gaze on Claire. “Joshua and Susan are one of the few things I’ve done right. The biggest mistake I made was listening to you.”

  “You never listened to me. If you had, you would have stopped coming around here.”

  “I listened to you.” Nick looked at Hope, and the regret she saw in his eyes was nearly her undoing. “The time when it mattered the most, I listened to you.”

  Claire’s brows knitted. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the phone call. The call you never told Hope I made.”

  “If you think your calling—”

  “No more lies, Mother.”

  Claire glared at both her and Nick.

  Hope couldn’t take any more. She knew Claire had a lot to answer for, but she also knew that right now the only thing she could deal with was getting Joshua well. “We are here because of Joshua. Let’s not forget that. We need to go to the doctor’s.”

  Nick looked at Hope. By the look in his eye she knew he still had a lot more to say to her mother, but he would wait for another time. He stood. “I’ll go start the car.”

  “But I can’t—” Claire began.

  Hope got out of her chair, grabbed her coat and purse, and marched over to her mother. “You have two choices, Mother. Either you walk out of this house on your own two feet or I’ll carry you out. What’s it going to be?”

  Without saying another word, Claire got her coat and followed Hope outside.

  * * *

  THE trip to the doctor’s was almost anticlimactic. When they’d left her mother’s house, Claire had tried to insist on following them in her own car, but Hope had squashed that idea. She wasn’t taking any chances. She could see her mother getting “lost” on the way and then they’d never be able to find her.

  Nick, true to his word, had had everything prearranged. In less than twenty minutes, they were seated in an office, facing Dr. Arnt, who was seated on the other side of the desk. The usual generic pleasantries had been exchanged when the doctor (a young man with bleached blond hair and a dark tan) had unlocked the office’s double glass front doors and led them back to his office.

  The office building was new and tastefully furnished, but other than that, Hope didn’t notice much except that they were the only four people in the building. No other support staff were present. She wondered how many strings Nick had needed to pull—how much money he had spent—to make this appointment happen. And then she wasn’t wondering any longer as the doctor continued speaking.

  “As I was saying, due to the circumstances, we’re proceeding differently than we normally would in a case such as this.”

&nb
sp; How fully Nick had explained their circumstances remained a mystery to Hope but by the doctor’s approach, he was obviously aware that Claire was a less-than-enthusiastic participant.

  “Normally, we would have a potential bone marrow donor complete a medical history questionnaire before we proceed with the initial testing. In many cases, that initial questionnaire can rule out potential donors, but as time is of the essence, we will be combining steps to expedite matters.” The doctor withdrew a several-paged document from a folder and handed it across the table. When her mother didn’t reach for it, Hope leaned forward and took the questionnaire, shooting a glance her mother’s way.

  Claire hadn’t moved one inch since taking her seat. She sat on Hope’s left, Nick on Hope’s right. Her mother sat stiff and erect, her purse braced on her lap, her hands wrapped tightly around the short, hard curve of her purse’s handle. She neither smiled nor frowned; if anything, her expression was one of resignation.

  “Mrs. Montgomery,” Dr. Arnt said, waiting until Claire looked him fully in the eyes. “It’s not uncommon for potential donors to be apprehensive and to have questions. I am here to address whatever concerns you may have and to walk you through the next few steps in this process. A woman of your advanced age—”

  “I’m fifty-eight,” her mother snapped. It was the first bit of emotion she’d shown since leaving her house. “Hardly advanced.”

  The doctor smiled understandingly. “True, but medically speaking, you are at the upper limit for a bone marrow donor. A harvest is seldom performed on anyone older than sixty. But be assured your age does not automatically rule you out,” the doctor quickly added. “If these initial tests come back showing you are a match, your health history and physical exam will be the determining factors as to whether the doctors can proceed. Normally, after I or another doctor had reviewed your history we’d start with a cheek swab for the initial donor screening process, but again, to facilitate faster results, I’ll be doing not only a cheek swab today but drawing blood.”