by Toni Blake
“Then...get Suzanne to go with you.”
“What?” Meg said again, just as aghast. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“To make it less awkward. And because someone has to do it since I can’t.”
Or won’t. Perhaps the ferry wouldn’t run again today, but it sounded like Dahlia wouldn’t come back even if it did.
As Meg stood, speechless, trying to make sense of all this, Dahlia continued to beseech her. “Please, Meg. Just get Suzanne and go, and call me, the three of you together, after he’s seen the doctor.” And when she still said nothing in reply, Dahlia added, “Meg, no one wants to be alone at a time like this.”
Hanging up, it was impossible to ignore the old feelings fluttering around her like the blowing snowflakes, along with the guilt. Dahlia had always made her feel guilty about Zack, about not wanting to put up with his neglect, as if she should have. About breaking up with him, as if he’d ever even made their relationship official. But now she felt like the neglectful one—even if that was silly because it wasn’t her place to do what had been asked of her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come to his aid in the first place.
When Seth had spotted someone out the window lying in the snow, she’d come to look, and even at a distance, even though he was the last person she’d expect to have an accident, she’d known in a second: “It’s Zack.”
“Maybe we should call somebody?” Seth had asked. “Or you want me to go see to him?”
Her heart had felt ripped down the center. Because Zack would detest having Seth’s help, having Seth see him that way. And probably she should have just called someone, but instead she’d said, “I should go.” And she’d thrown on her snow boots and parka before Seth could blink—or protest. And maybe that had been wrong of her. She wasn’t sure right now. Right and wrong seemed forever shaded with gray when pulled between these two men.
Now she texted Seth that she wouldn’t be home just yet, then walked through the snow to Suzanne’s cottage around the corner, soon banging on the door. When Suzanne answered, wide-eyed, saying, “Well, this is a nice surprise,” Meg stopped her in her merry tracks.
“Don’t be too happy to see me until I tell you why I’m here.”
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER A FEW X-RAYS, Dr. Andover had ruled out breaks and fractures, presented a pair of crutches, and had Zack fumbling and stumbling around on them. He trundled out into the waiting area expecting to see Dahlia—only to find Meg and Suzanne sitting there instead.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” He knew he sounded snarly, but didn’t care. He had plenty to feel snarly about, and what was with Meg’s about-face? “And where’s Dahlia?” He sagged on the crutches as he spoke.
Both women looked uncomfortable. That makes three of us. “She asked us to meet you and to call her when you came out,” Meg said, appearing unable to meet his eyes for some damn reason. Maybe the awkwardness from when he’d fallen. He wished he’d hidden his feelings better.
As he slumped onto a nearby chair, she rushed to dial her phone, putting it on speaker in time for Dahlia to say, “Zack? Are you okay? What did the doctor say?”
“That I’ll live,” he answered shortly. That got no response, though, so he’d have to go on. “Uh, short version is—the numbness and tingling probably means a nerve injury, but since I have feeling in my leg and can put a little weight on it now, the doc doesn’t think it’s serious. Kinda wanted me to see a specialist on the mainland for an MRI, but I don’t want to get stuck there for the winter, so he didn’t push it. Biggest problem is it’ll probably be a week or two before I can get around on my own, and the doc said I’ll need somebody with me around the clock ’til then, so...you on your way back yet?” The situation sucked, and he didn’t like trashing Dahlia’s plans—but things could be worse. At least he’d be ready to take to the water again by the time the ice melted.
Dahlia replied, “Well, nephew, that’s a big relief. You had me worried.”
“Yeah,” he said, “guess it seemed worse than it was at first. You on the ferry back?”
When she didn’t answer right away, his chest tightened slightly. “About that,” she began. “Suzanne, are you there?”
Though the three of them had avoided eye contact so far, now they all exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Suzanne said cautiously. “Why?”
“I need your help,” Dahlia told her.
Suzanne’s eyes went wide. “My help? With what?”
Dahlia took another moment answering. “I wish I could be there for Zack right now, but I can’t. So I need you to take care of him for me.”
Zack just gaped at the phone in Meg’s hand. Was Dahlia serious? She was the only person he had to rely on and she was leaving him now, like this? “You’re still going?”
“I’m sorry, Zack. But you’ll be fine before you know it, and this trip is important to me.”
He wanted to yell at her—but he didn’t have the strength. And what it came right down to was: she owed him nothing. Maybe it was crazy to have assumed she’d cancel her trip for this. After all, he’d be back on his feet soon enough.
He hated himself for letting it sting, though. Hated himself for assuming she’d put him first. Just like Meg—she was one more person he’d taken for granted, one more person who wasn’t gonna be there when he needed her. Even if he couldn’t quite blame her.
When everyone stayed quiet, she added, “I really just need this time away.”
He still said nothing. Even if he wondered what the hell it was she needed time away from. She loved this place—summer and winter alike. She was this place. She was the reason Summer Island had become his home.
“I would think you, of all people, might be able to understand,” she told him calmly. “You need time away each summer. You need as much time away as the weather allows.”
That was different and she knew it. She was a people person—he was the opposite. She knew how to be a part of a community; she thrived on that stuff. He never had.
“Even if it doesn’t make sense to you,” she went on, “it’s the only way I can explain.”
“I didn’t ask you to, woman,” he snapped, unplanned.
“But I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
I’m not a goddamn invalid. That’s what he almost said. But then he realized...that’s exactly what he was.
She went on—now talking about him to Meg and Suzanne as if he wasn’t even there. “Obviously he can’t stay in his apartment—up a flight of stairs. Suzanne’s place makes the most sense.”
Zack and Suzanne both objected simultaneously. “Her place?” “My place?”
Then he glanced at Suzanne to see the look of horror that had reshaped her face. She’d never liked him, and now her crystal blue eyes appeared downright icy.
Dahlia’s voice, however, stayed completely undisturbed and pragmatic. “You have a pullout couch and the bathroom’s nearby. And your house is near the café, making it easy to get anything he needs from his apartment, now or going forward. And Meg, that’s where you come in. I’m asking a lot of Suzanne, so can you help by going to Zack’s and packing up some clothes and toiletries while Suzanne gets him situated in her cottage?”
Suzanne stayed quiet, perhaps shell-shocked.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t blame you for not wanting to have me dropped on your doorstep. I’m not too crazy about it, either. So don’t worry about it—I’ll get by on my own.”
At this, however, she rolled her eyes and said, “I’d love to see how.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he grumbled. “Just buy me some groceries and I’ll drag myself up the stairs on my ass if I have to.”
And as the two women across from him exchanged looks, he realized his error—that he could barely get up on crutches at all, so taking care of himself really would be impossible. All o
f this was impossible. A goddamn impossible mess.
And then Suzanne dropped her gaze to the floor, her countenance suddenly changing—into something softer if even still stunned, as she quietly said, “It does come down to me, doesn’t it.” She looked toward the phone. “Dahlia’s gone.” And then at Meg. “And you’re living with Seth.” And then to Zack. “And you, apparently, have forged relationships with no other human beings on this planet besides these two. So by virtue of living alone and being Dahlia’s friend, it comes down to me.” She sounded acceptant—and maybe, at the same time, defeated.
“You’re also a nurse,” Dahlia reminded her. “An orthopedic nurse, in fact. That’s why I’m asking this of you.”
Zack sat up a little straighter, surprised. “You’re a nurse?”
“I was,” Suzanne told him. “In a former life.”
Still shocked beyond belief, Suzanne searched her soul. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want this at all. The only redeeming quality this winter had held for her was the freedom to hibernate for a while. She’d thought it would give her time to just...get over things. Over romantic hopes dashed. Over the fact that Beck Grainger would soon join Meg’s family, creating a possible disconnect from her friend when she needed her the most. Over everything that suddenly felt wrong. On her own. In peace.
She looked at Zack. The waves in his brown hair seemed more unkempt than usual, the expression in his gray eyes more belligerent. She’d once almost thought him ruggedly handsome—but the fact that he’d made her best friend unhappy had taken away any sense that he might be even mildly attractive. And since the breakup his general attitude had ensured that.
And yet she was a nurse. Once upon a time she’d taken the Nightingale Pledge. And even if that part of her life felt long in the past, for her, commitments ran deep. She had promised to help others heal, regardless of whether she liked them, whether she thought they were stubborn or stupid or difficult.
Of course, she’d never promised to do it in her own home, twenty-four hours a day. But in this moment of seeing no other choice, she tried to push that aside. And much as she loathed this idea, she also wasn’t sure how she’d live with herself if she refused.
“I’m doing this,” Suzanne announced, “because I’m a good person, I was and still am a good nurse, and it’s the right thing to do. And frankly, I hope some of you will take a lesson from that—about the right thing to do.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but she meant it—she thought it was wrong of Dahlia to abandon him, wrong of Zack to have not even considered care on the mainland, and wrong of Meg to...well, maybe Meg wasn’t at fault here whatsoever, but Suzanne felt a little mad at her anyway. Just because. Why did I ever encourage her to break up with him? If she hadn’t, this would be her problem, and she’d be handling it with complete devotion.
Suzanne could tell they were all taken aback, but she didn’t care. “Don’t look at me that way—I have the right to be pissed here. Now, we’ll need the snowmobile back to get him moved to my place. Meg, would you go to his apartment as Dahlia asked and gather up some things? And Dahlia...enjoy your trip, I guess.”
Dahlia’s sigh was audible through the phone. “Please don’t be mad, Suzanne. This is just something I have to do for myself.”
What was up with her? But it hardly mattered at the moment—all Suzanne could do now was throw herself into problem-solving mode, get this ingrate moved into her usually peaceful cottage, and hope he didn’t drive her out of her mind before he could walk again.
* * *
MEG SCALED THE stairs carefully, gripping the railing tight in one mitten. Then she let herself into Zack’s apartment.
While she’d never spent much time here with him—the inn being roomier and more pleasant—it was still jarring to suddenly be in his personal space. The whole place was messier than she might have expected—reminding her he’d been depressed lately. About her. One more reason that made it strange to be here.
She resisted the urge to pick up after him—that wasn’t her job. Her job was to go digging through his private belongings and pack a bag for him to live from for a week or two. She blew out a sigh, the task suddenly looming larger than she’d expected. It had sounded like such a simple assignment. But it wasn’t.
Because everywhere she looked, she saw...herself. Her life with him. A framed photo of them together on Dahlia’s deck still sat on a bookshelf. Plastic containers in which she’d once given him leftovers appeared to still be in use, sitting dirty in the sink.
On the bedroom floor, she found the duffel bag he took with him on the Emily Ann, the fishing boat he’d named after his little sister who’d died young. And as she packed sweatpants and waffle-weave pullovers, she recognized them all, remembered washing them for him at times, snuggling up against them on his body at others. Sweatshirts were the same—familiar items she’d once felt were...almost hers in a way, just by virtue of having been close to him for so long.
She’d avoided looking for underwear, but it had to be done. She grabbed a stack of white boxer briefs from a chest and thrust them into the bag, trying not to feel anything. They’re just pieces of fabric, not memories. And yet, they were memories. Warm memories. Hot memories. But also memories of a longing that went beyond sex, which he’d been unable to fulfill.
Her relationship with Seth didn’t change the fact that she and Zack had split only a little over six months ago. And normally, she was busy building a new life with Seth, having fun with Seth, having sex with Seth, cooking and eating and sleeping and everything else—all with Seth. But right now, just like out in the snow this morning, she was forced to...feel things. She glanced at the unmade bed, glad she’d never slept here with him—again, all sleeping and other bed activities had taken place at the inn. And yet she could almost smell him in the sheets, in the room, in this whole place.
Quit standing here. Finish packing and get back to the life you chose with Seth. This is over. Finished. Yesterday’s news. She was simply surprised it was hitting her so hard, like a punch in the gut.
Socks—she’d forgotten socks. Back to the chest—she located the sock drawer and pulled out several pairs. What was it about a man’s socks? Maybe it was silly, but somehow she thought she could feel everything from a guy’s masculinity to his vulnerability in a simple pair of cozy winter socks. Maybe it was about warmth and comfort and cuddling.
Her chest tightened. You cuddle with Seth now. You love Seth.
In fact, she suffered the intense urge to be home with him right now, telling him everything that was happening, about Dahlia leaving and Suzanne getting stuck caring for Zack, and...well, maybe she wouldn’t tell him everything. It was normal to have old feelings for someone you used to love.
Or...did love really end just because you walked away and connected with someone new? After all, she hadn’t parted with Zack because she didn’t love him anymore—they’d parted because he didn’t love her enough. And Seth had. The wisest move would be to just forget about all these old feelings suddenly rearing their ugly heads as quickly as possible.
With a last look at Zack’s apartment, she exited back out into the cold, bag in hand, and pulled the door shut tight. It instantly felt like a safer place to be—despite the bitter wind and steps still slick with ice. Flipping the hood up on her parka, she carefully descended onto snowy Harbor Street, then made her way to Suzanne’s cottage.
Though she hesitated before ringing the bell. Suzanne was understandably upset. Zack was hurting and frustrated, too. And given that Suzanne hadn’t been his biggest fan even on his good days, this seemed, frankly, like a recipe for disaster. But she braced herself and pressed the doorbell with the tip of one mitten.
When Suzanne opened the door, her tension came spilling out. “Hey,” she said briskly.
“Hey,” Meg returned—then held out the bag. “Clothes and toiletries, as requested.”
&
nbsp; Suzanne took it, replying sullenly, “Thanks.”
Meg couldn’t see Zack from the door, but asked softly, “How is he?”
“Grumpy. Unpleasant,” she said. Then her blue eyes widened hopefully. “Do you want to come in for a few minutes?”
And Meg saw—felt—it was a cry for help. But she couldn’t—she just couldn’t. The whole day had made her realize she shouldn’t be around Zack. For her own sake. And for his, too. So she pointed in the general direction of the inn. “I...should get back to Seth.”
Suzanne’s eyes settled back into sullenness. “Okay.” Delivered with just the tiniest bite. So what Meg really heard was, I get it. Run back to your sweet new boyfriend while I’m stranded here with your angry, injured old one.
“I’m sorry. It’s...”
“What?”
Try to explain. Even if you’d rather not. “It’s more complicated than I expected,” she said, still keeping her voice down. “I hate that you’re stuck in this position—but I don’t think I should be around him. Because he still has feelings for me. And I still...”
Suzanne’s eyebrows lifted as Meg trailed off. “Oh, you still...too? I just thought... I mean... Seth.”
Meg bit her lip. Explain better now. She shook her head. “It’s just an old, residual thing, lingering memories. Half the clothes in that bag are things I gave him, you know? It’ll fade more with time, but right now...it’s still weird.” She met Suzanne’s gaze more fully. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. It’s not fair to you.”
“I understand,” Suzanne said, this time seeming more herself.
“Call me if I can get anything else, though. Or be of help in any other way.”
Suzanne nodded.
And Meg reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand, promising, “This will be over soon and life will get back to normal.”