Boardwalk Summer

by Kimberly Fisk

  “A car is being sent for me. There’s no need for you to come.”

  Hope’s mounting frustration only continued to climb. She and her mother had a strained relationship at best. But that didn’t mean Hope wanted that to always be the case. What her mother was doing—the gift she was giving—was of such depth, there were no words, no expression of gratitude great enough. Hope’s thoughts were still whirling as she pulled under the hotel’s porte-cochere.

  Before the SUV had even come to a full stop, her mother was reaching for the door handle.

  “Mom.” Hope reached out and gently rested her hand on the nubby sleeve of her mom’s coat. Her mom paused, didn’t move for the longest time, and then slowly looked over to Hope.

  “I wish there were a way I could express how much what you’re doing means. Maybe as a mom you can understand just how very much?”

  Silence.

  Hope plowed forward. She needed to say this. For both of them. “Since Joshua was first diagnosed, I’ve asked myself a million questions. Mostly ‘Why.’ Why him? Why not me? And if my baby boy had to have this—why wasn’t I a match? But now maybe I have an answer, or at least a partial one. I think by my not being a match—or Susan or Nick or anyone else—I think by it being you, we’ve been given a second chance. I’ve been given a chance. To say I’m sorry. Sorry for the years of silence, of pain and resentment. Sorry for things that have been said, and I’m especially sorry for the things that haven’t been. Maybe because of this we will be able to find our way to a new beginning. I’d like that very much, and I’d love it if you got to know your grandchildren. I don’t know why you never told me about your phone call with Nick, but I think you were trying to protect me. Now that I’m a mother, I can see that. We . . . withhold things from our children to spare them pain. But I now see how wrong I was to do that to my own children. I’ve made many mistakes with Josh and Susan, but no one ever tells you how hard being a parent can be. Especially not how hard being a single parent can be.”

  If Hope hadn’t been looking closely she would have missed the barely perceptible widening of her mother’s eyes.

  “It is hard,” Claire said. “Almost impossible raising a child on your own. Raising two on your own has to be . . . difficult.”

  It was the largest olive branch Hope had ever been handed, and she accepted it gladly, gratefully.

  “Here, I have something for you.” Hope reached into her purse and withdrew a letter and two pictures. “This is Joshua and Susan.” The photos were candid shots Hope had taken of the kids only a few months before Josh’s diagnosis. “And this is a letter from Joshua. He was worried when you saw him this afternoon he’d be asleep or not feeling well, so this was his backup.” Hope smiled. “He’s always been my planner, my thinking-ahead child. Maybe tomorrow or one day soon you’ll be up to meeting them.”

  With more hesitation than reluctance (or that was what Hope chose to believe), her mother took the pictures and letter from Hope.

  “Thank you,” Hope said one last time, and before her mother could stop her, she leaned across the seat and gave her mother a hug, letting her tears fall silently onto her mother’s coat.

  * * *

  NEARLY twenty-four hours later, Hope sat by the head of Joshua’s bed, in the same spot, in the same chair, she’d spent countless hours before. But tonight, instead of feeling only anxiety and despair, she felt something that was as foreign as it was welcomed: she felt happy. Optimistic. Hopeful.

  Hopeful.

  The nickname Nick had given to her all those years ago. As she held her son’s hand and stroked his forehead with feather-light caresses, she finally understood the power behind that one word. Hopeful. Hope-filled. Yes, she was. She was hopeful, but she was no longer Nick’s Hopeful. She couldn’t be. Not when the only way she could be was if she was willing to live a life where she accepted that she could lose him at any moment. Living that life—one filled with constant fear—she could not do. She’d lived that way after her father had left. Then she’d lived that way again when Nick had left her alone on those courthouse steps. And then she’d experienced the biggest fear of all during these last several months right here next to this bed. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—live that way again.

  Joshua let out a soft snore, then rolled his head to the side.

  But Nick had been there for her today. For all of them. From the moment she, Susan, and Dana had walked through the hospital doors early this morning, Nick had been with them. He’d quietly and steadily offered Hope his support and strength when she needed it the most. And when the hours dragged and her worry blossomed, he’d let her lean on him, whispered words of comfort. And when worry weighted his shoulders and caused his brow to furrow, she took his hand in hers and returned what he’d given her. When Dr. Parker had finally appeared in the waiting room and told them that he was pleased and cautiously optimistic about today’s transplant, it had been the most natural thing to fall into Nick’s embrace after hugging Susan and Dana. And when he’d dropped a light kiss against her lips, she kissed him back. Today they weren’t Nick and Hope, but Joshua’s parents rejoicing in their son’s bright new future.

  “And my mother? Claire?” Hope asked the doctor. “How is she?” The only dark spot on the day had been her mother’s insistence that Hope not spend whatever time with her that she could.

  “I received a report from her doctor that all went well. Very well.”

  Hearing those words, Hope’s joy was complete.

  Hours later, after they’d all spent time with a groggy but happy Josh, Dana and Susan had headed home. Nick had stayed, sitting on the other side of Joshua’s bed, holding vigil just as Hope had. She wasn’t sure what time he’d taken off; she’d been too consumed with fussing over Joshua to notice.

  Mary, the nurse, walked in. Her newly acquired tan looked good against her sunny yellow scrubs. “How’s our boy?”

  Hope smiled broadly. “Wonderful. Perfect. Sleeping.”

  “He’ll probably sleep the whole night through,” Mary said as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Josh’s arm and then hit a button on the machine. The cuff filled with air, then began to tick down as it took the pressure reading.

  “I can’t believe he sleeps through that,” Hope said in amazement.

  “Good meds,” Mary said, smiling. “And a peaceful mind for the first time in a long time. I bet Josh won’t be the only one getting a good night’s sleep tonight.” She gave Hope a knowing look.

  “He won’t be. Especially since I won’t need to leave tonight. My friend Dana is staying with Susan.”

  “I know how hard it has been for you not to stay with him every night. I’m glad you get to be here tonight. But you’ve been sitting in that chair for hours.” Mary removed the cuff. “Why don’t you go grab a bite to eat or a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I—”

  “Go. Stretch your legs. I’ll sit with Josh, fill him in on my trip to Hawaii. He’s what my husband would call a captive audience.” She laughed softly. “Go,” she said again. “Shoo.”

  “All right. But only for a minute. I did want to check on my mom. Last time I looked in on her, she was still sleeping.”

  “You go along. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  Hope brushed a kiss across Josh’s forehead, sanitized her hands using the dispenser on the wall, and then slipped out of the room. She was closing the door, reaching for her cell in her back pocket, intent on calling Susan, when she barreled into someone. She would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t held her up.

  “Nick!” His arms felt so right around her and she felt bereft when, after she’d steadied, he released her. “I thought you’d left.”

  “I’ve been down the hall, in the waiting room. You and Josh had both dozed off so I stepped out for a bit. I didn’t want to disturb you two, you both needed to sleep.” He ran the pad of his thumb u
nder her eye. “I was worried you were going to collapse when I saw you this morning, you look so tired.”

  Her skin came alive under his touch. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  He gave her a small half smile, tucking his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I know that. I know you, remember?”

  “Nick, I . . .”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to worry. Today isn’t about you and me, it’s about Josh. But, Hope, we are going to talk. Soon.”

  “I—”

  “Am overwhelmed with the day, and rightly so. So I’m going to say good night to my son and then head out.” He reached for the door handle to Joshua’s room. “And Hope?”

  “Yes?”

  “While you’re trying to make up your mind, remember this.” His arms snaked around her waist, swept her off her feet. She landed with a delicious thud against his chest. His mouth crushed against hers. This kiss was anything but comforting. It was hands and tongues and mouths and hot and sexy and carnal as hell. It was completely inappropriate for the hallway of a hospital and over all too soon.

  He set her down just as quickly as he’d swept her up. Without another word, he walked into Joshua’s room, shutting the door behind him.

  Hope stood there dazed, her body still vibrating from his touch. She wanted him. Whatever else was true and not true—that was one fact she couldn’t deny.

  A nurse walked by and smiled at her, knocking Hope free from the spell Nick had cast around her. Knowing she was a chicken, she turned and hurried down the hall. The last thing she wanted was to still be standing rooted to that spot when Nick reemerged.

  * * *

  HOPE went to her mother’s room only to find her still sleeping. As she turned to leave, her gaze landed on the small nightstand next to her mother’s bed. In a place where her mother could easily see them were the pictures of Susan and Joshua and the letter he had written, the envelope unsealed.

  Her mother had read it.

  Hope found herself smiling as she made her way back to Joshua’s room.

  Twenty-four

  TWO weeks later, Hope sat across from Dr. Parker.

  “Joshua’s prognosis is very good,” the doctor said. “His body is accepting the new marrow with very few complications.”

  “Does that mean he can come home next Wednesday as planned?”

  “As long as everything continues as it has been, I don’t see any reason why not. Naturally, he’ll need to come in fairly often for blood work and office visits, and he’ll have to stay on the antirejection medications we’ve prescribed, but that can be managed at home.”

  Hope couldn’t believe it. After everything they’d been through, Joshua was coming home. It was a miracle. She only wished her mother had stayed at the hospital long enough to meet her grandchildren, but she’d insisted on checking herself out as quickly as possible, refusing Hope’s offer to pamper her while she recovered. But a nurse had confided in Hope that her mother had held up her discharge to double-check that she’d remembered to pack the twins’ pictures and Joshua’s letter. That was as much of a sign as Hope could wish for.

  Hope got up from her chair and walked around to where Dr. Parker sat. He looked startled and surprised when she enveloped him in a hug. She didn’t care if she was breaching a professional protocol. Nothing could dampen her joy. Joshua was coming home!

  * * *

  JOSHUA’S hospital room looked bare. Posters that had covered his wall had been taken down, rolled up, and tucked under his sister’s arm for safekeeping. His iPad mini, laptop, gaming system, and a host of other things were also packed and ready to go. Hope couldn’t believe how many games Josh had acquired and knew they were all courtesy of Nick—just like all the electronics that had made Josh’s hours in here pass more easily. In Dana’s arms was a box full of pictures, cards, and get-well letters.

  “Now don’t take this the wrong way, kiddo, but I don’t want to see you around here again. Got it?” Mary bent down and gave Josh a hug. When she stood, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  Josh laughed. “Got it.”

  Hope gave the nurse a hug, too. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re more than welcome. Now get out of here!”

  Over and over this morning, Joshua and Hope had exchanged similar good-byes with so many wonderful people who had been such a vital part of Joshua’s life during his stay at the hospital. Josh had also spent part of the morning talking to the friends he’d made, telling them good-bye, that he’d stay in touch and he knew they’d be out of here soon, too.

  Josh had made a special visit to Maddy’s room. He’d given the little girl a hug so big and loving, Hope couldn’t hold back her tears. And when Josh ended his visit with promises to text and come visit when he could (and Snapchat, whatever that was), his grin had been so devastatingly charming, Hope knew she’d never see her son smile again and not think of Nick.

  Even with a heart full of joy, there was sadness too. Hope couldn’t help but ache for the children who would never walk out of here and the parents they’d leave behind.

  “Hey, Josh. I’m Darryl,” a young man said as he bustled in, pushing a wheelchair. “Are you ready to blow this joint?”

  “More than ready. But I can walk, I don’t need a wheelchair.”

  Her son was well enough to complain about a ride in a wheelchair. Could today get any better?

  As much as Hope wanted to avoid him, Nick should be here to see this. Even though both Susan and Josh had told her that Nick planned to be here today, he wasn’t.

  She knew Nick texted and called regularly, and when he called the home phone, Hope found it hard to resist answering just to hear his voice. But she didn’t. She’d only be torturing herself; there was nothing more they had to discuss unless it pertained to the kids. His calls to her cell went unanswered, and the only texts she replied to were ones specifically about the twins.

  “And deny me my favorite part of the job?” Darryl lifted the foot pedals and Joshua sat down.

  “Even when they’re as heavy as me?” Josh joked.

  “You’re light as a feather,” the young man quipped as he wheeled the chair out of the room. “Bet you’ll be glad to see the last of this food. What’s your favorite food?”

  “Pancakes and tacos.”

  Susan made a face.

  “I take it your sister isn’t a fan,” Darryl said, laughing.

  “He dumps this horrible-smelling stuff on his tacos. It’s gross.” Susan made another face.

  “Hot sauce doesn’t smell,” Josh said.

  “Does too.”

  “Does not.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Do our children always fight like that?”

  Hope batted the bundle of balloons out of her eyes. Nick. He was here. He’d made it. Her stomach did a little somersault, and she told herself it was only because she was happy for the children. She knew how much they wanted him to be here today. “Only when I’m very, very lucky.”

  “Hey, kiddo.” He fist-bumped with Josh. Hugged Susan, said hi to Dana. Exchanged handshakes with Darryl.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Hope said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Nick reached for the box she was carrying and the balloons. “Here, let me carry that.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Nick ignored her.

  “Fine,” Hope said, handing over the box. “But I can handle balloons.”

  Nick flashed her a half grin, then stacked Dana’s box on top of Hope’s.

  As they passed through the lobby, Hope found it almost impossible to believe she no longer would be coming back here every day. Their lives would return to normal and her son would be at home where he belong
ed.

  Hours later, when they were home and had enjoyed a lazy barbecue outside under the warm sun in their backyard, Hope found herself alone with Nick. She’d done her best to keep busy and keep them apart, but his measured glances had told her it would only be a matter of time.

  “Done avoiding me yet?” he asked, coming into the kitchen.

  Her hand paused, cling wrap half covering the bowl of potato salad. God, he smelled good and looked even better. “No.”

  He laughed. “I love your honesty. But I’ve given you your time or your space or whatever the hell you girls call it, and it hasn’t worked. By the way, remind me never again to take advice from our teenage daughter.”

  “I don’t know. Time and space sounds like pretty sound advice to me.”

  “Of course you’d think that. You’re a girl.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Hell, no. Not normally. But in this instance, yeah. I should have followed my gut weeks ago and done what I’d originally planned.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Kept you locked in a bedroom with me until you started thinking straight.” Her tummy flip-flopped, formed a knot of desire.

  “Ah, Hopeful. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Thank God. I was beginning to worry you didn’t like me.”

  “I like you too much and we both know it.”

  “Then stop running. You’re letting fear navigate, and fear has never steered anyone down the right track.”

  She looked up at him and wanted to sink into him, let his arms wrap around her, let his kisses chase away her fear. But she knew the moment he stepped away—the moment he left again—all of her fears would be right back, magnified. “What Joshua went through . . . What our family went through was—”

  “Hell,” Nick said simply. “But Hope, Joshua is better now and that’s what’s important.”

  “But what if . . .” She couldn’t finish the thought.