Quilted by Christmas (9781426796142)

by Bailey, Jodie

  Taryn took a step back and eyeballed the branches. The girth was about right, just large enough to fill the space in front of the picture window without getting too close to the fireplace. “Think it’s the right height?”

  Justin ducked down to look at the trunk. “If it’s not,” his voice strained as he straightened, “there’s enough play in the trunk for me to take it down a few inches, but it’s looking good to my eye.” He stepped back until he was shoulder to shoulder with her. “I think you’ve found what you need without having to look any farther.”

  It sounded like a loaded statement. Taryn watched him. He was busy gauging the tree, double-checking the size while she studied his profile and maybe started to hyperventilate just a little. What if beside her was everything she needed and her eighteen-year-old self manipulated it right out of her life?

  “You’re thinking again.” He didn’t even look at her. He just knew.

  “About what I want for Christmas.” She cleared her throat against the tightness threatening to swallow her. “Got to get my request in before it’s too late, you know.”

  “And what did you decide you want? And it has to be something I can buy.”

  Nice, effective way to cut off the cop-out of Jemma being all better. “Fred.” Where did that come from? Taryn hadn’t thought of the truck in years until Justin showed up, but something deep inside her suddenly missed the old faithful pickup that disappeared with the last of her carefree self. With Justin around, she missed the girl who rattled around in a beat-up pickup singing old country songs with the lifelong best friend who’d eased himself into being her one and only.

  “Fred? Hm.” He had a deep look on his face again.

  It was a look she needed to wipe away. “What about you? What’s on your Christmas list?”

  “Legos.” He fired a grin at her and tested the pine needles to make sure not too many pulled off. None did.

  “You’re kidding.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? There’s not a lot you can’t build with Legos.”

  “If you’re twelve.”

  “I’m an eternal child at heart.”

  Okay, then. “So, Little Man Child, I’m wondering how you plan to mark this tree so you remember it when you come back.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “So you say now.” She swept her arm in front of her. “There are more lookalikes here than you think there are.”

  He looked sideways at her, and his eyes dropped to her neck. “If you’re so worried about my memory, you’ve got the perfect marker.”

  “You want me to stand out here and point at it and freeze my rear end off waiting for you to come back?”

  “Your scarf, McKenna.” He stepped between her and the tree and untied her scarf from its knot at the side of her neck. His fingers brushed her jaw line, catching her next breath. She was right. Being around him was dangerous. Too much of her heart still remembered how she used to feel about him, how much more they shared than he even realized.

  She was so deep in her emotions it took a second to realize his fingers had stopped moving and he was staring her straight in the eye.

  He looked exactly like she felt. He let his thumb drag across her jaw again, looking for something in her eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was looking for. “Know what I really want for Christmas?”

  Her voice choked in her throat, refusing to come out. She shook her head, no longer caring what she wanted . . . what she was about to get . . . was something she shouldn’t have.

  The chorus of “White Christmas” blasted between them, dropping his hand and stealing the warmth from the moment, letting the ever-increasing chill intrude between them. “My cell phone.” She took a step back. “I should get it. It might be Jemma.”

  Justin swallowed hard, nodded, and backed away, his face a mix of concern and disappointment.

  Before she could even get the phone all the way to her ear, Rachel’s voice came through. “Taryn?”

  “I’m here. What’s up?” Her voice sounded like she’d strangled on egg nog. It refused to clear.

  “Are you okay?”

  As a matter of fact, no, she wasn’t. She watched Justin pull a red strip of plastic from his pocket and drape it over a tree limb. Taryn pulled at the end of her scarf and swallowed disappointment. Guess he didn’t need it after all. Or maybe he didn’t want it after all?

  “Taryn?”

  “I’m sorry, Rach.” Turning her back on Justin, she took a few steps away and leaned back against the seat of the ATV. “I’m fine. Are you okay?” For the first time, alarm bells tripped. Rachel’s voice sounded just as strained as her own.

  “Jemma’s fine, but you probably want to come up here. She’s going stir-crazy. Like off her rocker stir-crazy, and she won’t listen to reason.”

  Taryn sank deeper into the seat and glanced at her watch. It was nearly 3:30. Rachel was right. She should get back. Here she was, gallivanting around like everything was hunky-dory while Jemma lay up in the hospital with nowhere to go. “I’ll be there in less than an hour. Do you need anything?”

  “Tranquilizers.”

  “For you or for Jemma?”

  “Maybe both. Are you at Jemma’s by chance?”

  “I am.”

  “Would you look in the freezer? Jemma froze some chicken and rice soup. Do you mind heating some up and putting it in the thermos in the cabinet under the microwave?”

  “Will do.”

  “You can have some too.” Rachel chuckled.

  Taryn almost gagged. Ever since she was a kid and came down with a stomach bug after some of Jemma’s county-famous chicken and rice soup, she couldn’t even stand to smell the stuff. “You know not. It’s bad enough I have to smell it heating up.”

  “I know. I’ll see you in a few.” Rachel clicked off the line without a good-bye.

  “Jemma?” Justin crunched up behind her in the fresh snow.

  “Rachel. Jemma’s craving some of her own cooking and generally being Jemma.” It took a second to face him after what had almost happened, but she turned and prayed they hadn’t broken the friendship just as it was being restored.

  “Can’t say I blame her.” He threw a leg over the quad. “Your chariot? I’ll take you back, then come back to get the tree. If you leave the back door unlocked, I’ll drop it off and lock up behind me.”

  Taryn climbed on and laid her hands at his waist, too scared of reigniting something she couldn’t put out if she got too close to him again. “Thanks. Again.”

  “Anything for you, McKenna.” He gunned the engine and took off, though the pace was much slower on the return trip.

  13

  Taryn rode the elevator to Jemma’s floor alone, sipping on a surprisingly rich cup of hospital coffee. If she’d known it was this good, she would have stopped campaigning for a coffee shop in Hollings years ago. Guess somebody somewhere decided to pity the poor folks sitting up with loved ones and at least give them good caffeine.

  When she rounded the corner on Jemma’s floor, Rachel was in the hallway tapping her forehead against the wall. Taryn stopped for a second to watch. Either Jemma had gotten worse, or Rachel needed a psych doctor on the fourth floor. The behavior wasn’t unfamiliar. Rachel had done this before, when one of her counselees positively refused to surrender to common sense. Jemma must be feeling better and bossing the doctors around, definitely a good sign.

  “Rachel?”

  Rachel brushed soft blonde hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, glanced sideways at Taryn, then went back to “banging” her head against the beige wall.

  Taryn stopped about four feet away, just out of reach. “I’m not coming any closer until you tell me what’s set you off. You scare me.”

  Forehead against the wall, Rachel sighed, gaze on the floor, curtain of gorgeous hair hiding her face. “Yeah, I scare me too.” She lifted an arm listlessly and aimed a finger at the door to Jemma’s room. “See for yourself. It’s like herding a presch
ool class through a field trip at the zoo when the monkeys have just gotten loose. If there are less stressful things than a bored Jemma, can you please tell me what they are?”

  Taryn patted the top of her head and pushed open the door to Jemma’s room, stopping so short her coffee almost splattered all over the floor. “What are you doing?”

  “See?” Rachel’s voice floated in from the hallway.

  Jemma was up, wearing the red satin pajamas Taryn had sent her after an Easter break missions trip to Cambodia.

  Then again, to say Jemma was “up” would be wrong. She was on her knees, hooked up to her IV and monitors, dusting the baseboards. She looked over her shoulder at Taryn, rump up in the air.

  Taryn pounded her free hand against her forehead and sank to the edge of the bed. “Jemma? The baseboards aren’t clean enough for you? Do you know what will happen if your doctor comes in here and sees this or if, heaven forbid, the incredibly by-the-book nurse you had yesterday pops in here and catches you?”

  Jemma turned and settled herself on the floor on her bottom. “Look at my face, Taryn. Do I care what they think? They need to just let me go home. I’m not going to die here like an old lady.”

  Taryn shook her head and hazarded a sip of coffee, not quite sure what else to do. Long ago, she’d learned not to try to boss Jemma around. It was the only reason she hadn’t yanked her grandmother off the floor and tucked her back into bed. Jemma was like a child sometimes and needed to think something was her own idea before she’d cooperate.

  It was ironic one of her grandmother’s biggest fears in life was losing her sanity. Seemed like the years only sharpened her memory while they honed the razor’s edge of her stubbornness. With behavior like this, it was a wonder they hadn’t tested her for dementia. They might if they caught her cleaning baseboards with a spare toothbrush.

  “Besides.” Jemma held up her good hand and Taryn set her coffee down, then hauled her grandmother to her feet, careful not to snag the IV line on anything. Jemma took a moment to steady herself on her feet, then settled into the chair by the window. “There’s a ton of dust around there. How am I supposed to get better if they give me a lung infection?”

  “You’re not going to get a lung infection.” Taryn sat back on the bed and let her feet dangle as she scanned the baseboards. “And there’s not any dust there.”

  Jemma dropped the toothbrush into the trash can by her chair. “Because I cleaned everything.”

  “You are so lucky I love you.”

  Taryn sighed, and when she opened her eyes, Jemma was smiling. The imp knew exactly what she’d done. “I know, sweetie.”

  “Rachel might not love you so much anymore. How many times did she tell you to stop?”

  Jemma waved her hand toward the door in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, she’ll get over it.”

  “She’s out there beating her head against the wall.”

  “She’ll stop when she gets a good enough headache. And then she can have one of the aspirin I keep in my purse.”

  Taryn rolled her eyes. Time for a change of subject. “Has the doctor been in today?”

  “He’ll be around soon. I’m going to tell him it’s time to let me go home.”

  “He’ll let you go home when he’s ready.”

  Jemma shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he can’t keep me here if I don’t want to be here.”

  “And I’m pretty sure your family gets a say so too.”

  “You think so?” With a flick of her free wrist, she pulled and straightened the sleeve of her pajamas. “Is Rachel coming back in before she leaves?”

  Rachel’s purse sat on the floor by Jemma’s chair. “I’m guessing yes. And you’d better behave when she does.” Sliding her feet to the floor, Taryn crossed to Jemma and knelt beside her, careful to set her cup on the table so she didn’t dump it all over the freshly cleaned floor. “You have to listen to the doctor, Old Woman,” Taryn teased gently with the nickname she gave her stubborn grandmother years before.

  Jemma smiled as Taryn stood. “I should. But I don’t have to.”

  “This is true.” Taryn patted her grandmother’s knee and looked down at her, hoping it would buy her some sort of illusion of authority. “But Rachel and I and a whole lot of other people would like to have you around for a while. You can live a million more years, but you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  “And is it living if all the most physical movement I can have is lifting the remote off the end table and changing the channel between Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy?” She was getting angry. It was evident on the portable heart monitor attached to her IV pole. Plus, Taryn knew what Jemma’s angry looked like. It was quiet and clipped. And it didn’t get much quieter or more clipped than this. “I’ll have you know, young lady, I took care of myself before you were born, and I can take care of myself now.”

  “And I’ll have you know it was thirty years since I was born. Time’s passed, Jem.”

  She huffed a breath and looked away. “I’m not going into seclusion, Taryn.”

  “Nobody asked you to. But I’ll bet if you agree to some of the doctor’s conditions, he’ll let you go home a lot sooner.”

  “Which conditions?” Jemma was finally ready to negotiate.

  “No hiking around the field. No climbing up to the roof. Definitely no rickety old wooden stepladders.” Taryn tipped her head toward the wall behind her. “And absolutely no scrubbing floors on your hands and knees, okay? I’m surprised the nurses didn’t head in here to see why your heart monitor was going wacky.”

  “They probably headed this way and got distracted by your cousin and her head injury in the hallway.”

  The laughter couldn’t be helped. Jemma would be the death of her someday.

  Jemma cracked a smile. “Will you check and make sure she hasn’t given herself a concussion? I promise not to clean anything else while you’re gone.”

  The coffee sloshed in the cup as Taryn stepped toward the door, muttering, “I’m surprised you haven’t been diagnosed with OCD.”

  “I heard you. My old ears are better than you think.”

  Taryn stepped into the hallway, the door creaking lightly behind her.

  Rachel stood leaning against the wall, eyes staring blankly at a framed photo across the hall.

  Taryn leaned next to her cousin and held the cup of coffee in front of her nose. “Have some. It’s surprisingly good.”

  The scent of cooling coffee must have worked because Rachel gripped the cup and took a sip. Her eyebrows went up. “You got this here?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  She took a longer sip. “Hm. Who knew?”

  “Best-kept secret in town, apparently. Wonder if the food’s good?”

  “Could be Mark’s and my new date spot.” The words were meant to be funny, but her voice was too dull to lift a smile from either one of them.

  She tried to pass the cup back, but Taryn shoved her hand away. “Keep it. You look like you need it more than I do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Rachel was silent, cup useless in her hands, eyes still focused on the pastels across the hall.

  “Rachel, talk to me. Jemma couldn’t have been frustrating enough to make you mute.”

  Fabric scraped against the wall as Rachel almost doubled over. It was like Taryn had a front-row seat to the collapse of her emotions.

  “I just don’t think this is going to end well. And today was the first time I got a good idea about it.”

  “It’ll be fine.” The words came out even though Taryn didn’t mean them. She hoped they sounded more convincing to Rachel than to herself.

  “No. And don’t play Little Pollyanna to me.” The coffee cup rolled back and forth between Rachel’s palms. “You heard the list of restrictions, and you saw her in the room today cleaning as hard as she could go. She didn’t clean those baseboards because she’s got a dust vendetta. She did it to show the doctors and the nurses they
can’t tell her what to do. She’ll keep right on doing everything exactly like she’s always done and, one day, she’ll drop dead right in the middle of the back orchard. You watch.” She finally looked at Taryn. “And you’ll be the one to find her.”

  Her words were like a fist to Taryn’s diaphragm. It was like the time she fell off a friend’s trampoline in elementary school and landed flat on her back, knocking all of the air out of her lungs, the blow so hard she couldn’t inhale for what felt like forever. It was the same panicked, gasping pain.

  Rachel sighed. “You hadn’t thought about it.”

  Taryn shook her head, caught up in flashing images not fully formed, of her grandmother prone, helpless, and dying. It was like the worst nightmare ever, only there was no waking up from this one.

  Rachel tapped Taryn’s cheek with the side of the coffee cup. “Here. Now I think you need this more than I do.”

  * * *

  The screen door slammed behind Taryn, smacking her in the rear end and knocking her two steps forward. Yep. It felt more like a Monday than a Wednesday, and getting hit in the rear was a fitting end to the day. All day, she’d dragged six steps behind herself, exhausted from the emotions and too many nights of restless sleep. Her mind was muddled alphabet soup, jumbled with no coherent meaning.

  To boot, Jemma had been an absolute bear at the hospital. All she wanted was to come home, but the doctor insisted on two more days. They’d had to up her clot-busting drugs again, and this time the medication seemed to be working. The timing was perfect for Taryn because Friday was the first day of her Christmas break from school, but it was making Jemma downright cranky. Taryn hadn’t been in the room fifteen minutes before her grandmother decided she was better off alone.

  Taryn was frustrated, but her feelings were unimportant in the face of what Jemma was going through. She had swallowed her hurt at being kicked out, kissed Jemma on the forehead, and left, telling herself she was grateful for the extra time at home.

  Extra time at home. Taryn let her backpack slip to the floor in front of the fridge, dropped mail bloated by Christmas cards on the counter, and headed straight for the den. She’d crank up the fireplace and lie down on the couch. Maybe she’d be tired enough to actually fall asleep.