by Mia Sheridan
She nodded, still smiling. “The biggest burrito you’ve ever eaten.” She paused. “Have you eaten?”
“I must have. I don’t feel hungry.” I was sure they’d been pumping me full of glucose or whatever all the tubes attached to my body were for. All I knew was that the burning ache of hunger was gone.
I adjusted my arm, wincing slightly as the bandages shifted—the ones I’d investigated as Gail wheeled me down the hall. They started at each side of my neck and went under each arm and around the back of my shoulders. Audra frowned, pushing back the collar of my hospital gown and peered inside at the bandages, her face still confused for a moment.
“It’s nothing, just some skin irritation,” I said, downplaying the deep abrasions that cut into my skin on both sides of my body, the places where the strap I’d used to drag her had dug into me.
Audra’s eyes moved to mine, understanding dawning as tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, Dane.” She leaned her head down and kissed the spot at the side of my neck where the bandage started. For a second she lingered there, her warm breath on my skin.
I kissed the top of her head. “It’s nothing,” I repeated.
“You saved me. You saved us. How . . .”
“A house. There was a house. And a man.”
“A man?” she whispered.
I nodded, the hazy picture of coming through the break in the trees returning. There’d been a man, a pile of wood in his arms. He’d turned toward us just as I’d collapsed again. “A prepper,” I murmured, moving my eyes to the wall behind her, trying my best to grasp the memories, the few words I recalled him saying.
“A prepper? What’s a prepper?”
I moved my gaze back to Audra. “Someone who’s preparing for a catastrophic disaster. Moves off the grid and stockpiles food and supplies.”
“You don’t say,” Audra breathed out.
I smiled. “That small wisp of smoke.”
“It was real.”
“Yeah. It was very real.” I furrowed my brow. “I think I remember him using some sort of radio to call for help. And then . . . there was a helicopter . . . the sound of one anyway, and that’s all I remember.”
We stared at each other, the moment full with the miracle of our survival, all we’d been through, and all we’d endured. I wanted to tell her more. And I wanted to hear her voice, speaking to me, reassuring me she was all right, but my eyes were so heavy, my body so languid, lying beside her on a soft mattress, a pile of blankets keeping us warm. And her eyes were closing too, her lips still curved into a soft smile.
Outside the window, I could see soft snowflakes hitting the glass. I drifted back to sleep, only woken momentarily by whispered words from the doorway. “No, don’t move them. Let them stay together. Let them sleep.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Audra
Dane and I were discharged on the same day. He had been up and walking around—albeit slowly—for days, but I think the hospital staff knew he wouldn’t leave without me, so they kept him until I was ready to go home too.
They’d finally moved another bed into the room when Dane had refused to leave mine, and Dane had pushed them together to create one big bed for the both of us. We still ended up huddled on one, sleeping in the familiar way we’d come to know, each other’s solace when life as we’d known it had ended. Perhaps it was just temporary, maybe we’d drift to our own sides of the bed as life moved forward. Or maybe we’d always come back together at the end of each day, into each other’s arms, sharing warmth, rekindling hope, meeting at that familiar place in the middle. I liked to believe the latter.
Jay came to visit every other day, hugging me tightly, the look on his face incredulous as I recounted the story. He’d kept himself from going crazy, he’d said—even when it was reported that our situation was hopeless—by keeping the business running as best as he could. His own wisp of smoke that I was still alive, that I’d return. He’d even contacted another florist who agreed to take over the events that would have been left without flowers had it not been for him. “You’ve been such a good friend to me,” I told him, tears in my eyes as I hugged him again. “The best.”
Dane’s mother, along with Luella, were the first ones at the hospital when we’d arrived. Dustin and Dalila had flown to Denver the moment they’d gotten word that we were found. They were at the hospital continually, and filled in the gaps about what had been going on since our plane went down.
The storm had kept rescue planes from going out in the first few days, and when they finally got clearance, they had searched the area where the signal from the black box was coming. It was as Dane had guessed, and though Dustin had worked tirelessly around the clock, hiring private helicopter companies, and experts who were familiar with the area to try and locate the plane, in the end, nature had just been too ruthless and the search area too vast.
And yet, somehow, Dane and I had done what no helicopter, no expert, no room full of a hundred volunteers could accomplish. We’d survived, and we’d gotten ourselves out of there. Alive . . . barely.
All told, Dane had pulled me through miles and miles of snowy, rugged terrain while in severe septic shock, his organs beginning to fail one by one. His body had given out just fifty feet from the prepper’s house. Yet even then, he’d rallied, dragging me those last precious inches.
Some would call it luck. I called it a miracle.
My legs would heal, and so would my arm. The experience had changed me forever, in ways I was still sorting through—mostly with Dane in whispered words during the dark of night as we held each other close, revealing our secrets and fears as we’d learned to do.
There was a short knock on my hospital room door, and Dalila peeked her head in, smiling. “You decent?”
I laughed. “Finally,” I said, glancing at the altered sweatpants and T-shirt I was wearing. If I never saw another hospital gown that opened in the back, it would be too soon.
“Great” She came in, glancing at my bag, packed and ready by the door. “What time are you getting sprung?”
“The doctor’s supposed to be in with my discharge papers in about an hour.”
“Awesome. I’d ask if I could cook you and Dane dinner tonight, but I kinda figure you’ll want some alone time.” She gave me a kind smile, but I didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes at her own words.
I smiled. “Thank you, Dalila, but . . . I think we’ve had plenty of alone time.” I laughed softly. “We’d love to have you over.”
She grinned, putting her hands together as she gave me an excited glance. “Really? I don’t want to bombard you on your first night out of the hospital. But”—she shook her head, her eyes tearing up—“I’ve missed you, Audra. I’ve missed you a lot.”
I opened my arms as she moved into them, hugging me, both of us laughing and crying a little. “I’ve missed you too. So much.” Dalila had always been like a real sister to me. She’d tried to stay in touch after Dane and I divorced, but I’d rejected her attempts. It was just too painful to have contact with any of Dane’s family members. And it felt wrong to keep anyone who I felt rightfully belonged to Dane. But really, I’d cut myself off from everyone who might potentially make me face the deep well of pain I kept locked inside. I saw that clearly now. I saw a lot of things more clearly now. Being a whisper away from death could do that for a person.
Dalila pulled away. “So when’s the wedding?”
I laughed, wiping the tears from my eyes. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Our big plans are working our way through the fast food restaurants of Laurelton.”
Dalila laughed. “Good, you’re both skin and bones.” She paused. “Dane told me he’s moving here, though.”
I nodded. “Yeah. He’ll be transferring to the new industrial park.”
Dalila nodded. “Good. He really does love his job.”
“I kn—”
There was a knock at the door and after I called out, “Come in,” it opened slightly
, Luella Townsend peeking inside, looking strangely uncertain, strangely small as if she’d shrunken in some elusive way.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dalila, I didn’t realize you were here. I can come back.”
She turned to leave, but I gave Dalila a small smile and a nod and called, “Actually, Luella, I was hoping to speak to you for minute.” Luella had come by a few times over the past week, but she’d only really ducked in and out, and always while other people were visiting, so I hadn’t had a moment alone with her, nor had she made any effort to speak to me privately or in front of Dane. He’d told me how and what he’d yelled at her when he first woke up. I think it shocked both of them.
Dalila smiled, patting my hand. “I need to get going anyway. Audra, see you tonight? Six thirty-ish.”
“Sounds great.”
She breezed out the door on a smile, stopping reluctantly to kiss her grandmother on the cheek. We hadn’t caught up fully, but she understood the gist of how Luella’s actions nearly cost our lives. I almost felt sorry for Luella. Many in the family, who had previously respected her, felt angry toward her now. I suspected it would take some time to heal that rift.
Luella stepped into the room and I nodded to the chair sitting next to my bed. She took a seat, her fingers moving over the hem of her short, silk jacket. Nerves raced along my spine, but this talk was one both necessary and overdue.
“You were in love with my grandfather,” I stated bluntly.
She lifted her head, her eyes filled with shock. “I . . .” She paused, a myriad of emotions flitting over her face before she took a deep breath, sitting back in the chair, and looking over my shoulder for a moment before meeting my eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I found a letter in the attic right before I left for San Francisco.” I turned, reaching into my purse on the table next to the bed. I’d asked Jay to retrieve it for me a couple of days before. “He broke your heart.”
She regarded me for a weighted moment, her gaze flitting to the paper in my hand, and suddenly I saw that that frosty stare also held a well of hurt. She looked down to where her fingers continued to play with her hem, ceasing their movement when she realized what she was doing. “Yes. I met him on the street on my way to lunch with a friend. My hat flew off and he”—she smiled a sad smile, her eyes staring off behind me, into the past—“ran after it. He brought it back to me and we talked, he insisted on walking me to the restaurant. I fell in love. It only took four blocks.” She smiled again, though it wavered, and helplessly, my heart squeezed. “He was all wrong for me. A welder who barely made ends meet. My parents never would have approved. We met in secret after that, planned to run away together. I waited that day by the pond on my property, my suitcase in my hand, and he never showed up.”
She took a deep breath. “I waited for hours, thinking he must have been delayed . . . but, no, he never showed.” She sat up straighter, clasping her hands in her lap. “I thought . . . there must have been an accident . . . some explanation. I went to his job the next morning. He was outside the factory with some other men and he saw me”—she took a shaky breath—“and then he . . . turned away.” She was silent for a long moment, her gaze cast downward. Finally, she looked back at me, straightening her shoulders. “I was determined to put him out of my mind after that, to move on. I began dating the man my parents had been pushing me toward. We married that same year.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I did come to love him. Not with the same fiery passion of that first love, but I was very fond of Dane’s grandfather. He was a good man.” She tilted her head. “I suppose there’s never another love like that first one, is there?”
“No, I suppose not,” I said, my chest hollow as I pictured her waiting alone next to the pond, a suitcase full of clothes, a heart full of hope that slowly drained away as the sun moved across the sky.
“I heard that Wallace married a couple of years later. I told my husband I was sick and cried in my room all day. I convinced myself I hated him, vowed to hate him forever.”
“And then I showed up.”
She nodded. “Yes, then you showed up.”
“To do to Dane what my grandfather had done to you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. I couldn’t bear the thought of looking at you at my dinner table, the product of his marriage to another woman, for the rest of my life.”
I tilted my head, trying to understand, trying to imagine the bitterness—the deep pain—that had festered for so many years, warping her heart so that she saw me as an adversary. “Is that why you’re trying to take my building? Because of what my grandfather did?”
She regarded me for a moment, before saying quietly, “I never tried to take your building. That was a ruse.”
I frowned in confusion. “A ruse? A ruse for what?”
Luella took another deep breath. “Last year, Dane came home to visit. I was certain he was going to ask for my diamond so he could propose to Winnie.”
I winced, biting my lip as I looked down, the thought of him marrying someone else still a tender bruise inside me.
She sighed. “But he looked so torn up when he arrived. There was no happiness in his expression, only . . . this look that reminded me . . .” She shook her head. “Anyway, he went out and when he returned, his face was so full of longing. That same longing he’d always had in his eyes when he looked at you. He said he’d changed his mind about marrying Winnie. I knew, I just knew he’d gone to see you. He didn’t deny it, told me he’d just caught a glimpse of you from across the street.” She paused and I remained silent as she organized her thoughts. “After that, I thought a lot about Wallace. I cried. I realized the part I may have played in the demise of Dane’s and your relationship, how very selfish and unfair I’d been.”
At that I shook my head. “It’s true you didn’t make things any easier, Mrs. Townsend, but Dane and I are the only ones responsible for what happened between us.”
She pressed her lips together, doubt clouding her expression. “Well, all the same, I wondered if there might be something I could do to bring you back together. I thought with a little push . . . But I knew you’d inherited Wallace’s stubborn streak, that annoying penchant he had for martyrdom.”
I laughed, surprising even myself, and she gave me a wry tilt of her lips. “I figured the only reason you might go to Dane is if I threatened your business, the one thing you seemed to care about once I looked into your life a little.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat. “You were right on the money.”
She smiled. “I’m good with money.”
“That you are.” I shook my head in amazement as I stared at her. “So that whole scene at your country club, that was all—”
“An act to light a fire under you, yes.”
“It worked,” I murmured. “I did exactly as you figured I would.” I thought about flying to California, confronting Dane . . . all a setup. God, my mind was whirling with a hundred questions, but one thing confused me. “Did you tell Dane’s secretary not to let me see him?”
She shook her head. “I told her not to let you speak to him on the phone. I suggested you were a persistent ex-wife who was trying to get more money out of him. After I heard how difficult she made it for you to see him once you arrived in California, I suspected she had her own personal designs on him. That difficulty wasn’t my doing.”
“Huh,” I said, still shocked. “Well, it turned out as you’d planned in the end.”
She looked down. “Yes, only my actions almost got both of you killed. When I heard your plane went down, I was horrified, devastated.”
I regarded her, noticing that her face had paled at the mention of our crash, and her hands were trembling slightly. “There was no way you ever could have anticipated something like that happening. It was just . . . an act of God. You can’t prepare for those,” I said softly. “You can only survive them.”
Her shoulders slowly lowered as if in a small measure of relief. “Still . . . I
would have blamed myself forever.”
I bit my lip, my mind whirling with everything she was telling me. “Mrs. Townsend—”
“Please. Luella.”
I gave her a small smile. “Luella, did you somehow set up those jobs I got at the country clubs and charity functions?” I’d been thrilled when I’d secured such lucrative jobs at events where my work would be on display for other potential big-spending customers, but I’d never been able to pin down exactly who had first heard my name and began spreading the word.
She nodded. “I figured you could use the work. It was mostly because of me you were struggling.”
“I wasn’t struggling that badly,” I murmured, feeling slightly defensive.
“Even so, I have plenty of friends with money just burning a hole in their gold-lined pocketbooks.” She shrugged. “And you do lovely work.”
I tilted my head. “Thank you. So . . . my building, it was never in jeopardy of being taken away?”
“No.”
“Huh,” I breathed, not helping the small laugh that bubbled up in my chest. The old bird wasn’t only a good actress, but she was cunning. It’d take some time to sort through my conflicting feelings for Luella Townsend, and I didn’t imagine we’d ever have the close relationship of a typical grandmother and granddaughter, but I couldn’t help the streak of respect and understanding that speared through me at the knowledge of her story and her plan to reunite Dane and me.
Remembering the letter was still in my hand, I held it toward her. “I believe this belongs to you.”
Her gaze landed on it, and her expression was one I hadn’t seen before. Nervousness. But she took it with a trembling hand, opening it, her eyes moving over my grandfather’s words. When she’d reached the bottom, she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Wallace,” she breathed. “You stupid, stubborn fool.” She smiled, though, a tremulous tilting of her lips and slipped the letter into the clutch on her lap.