by L. E. Rico
“Well, the new cyber woman in my life, anyway,” he replies with a wink and a grin that bring a rush of red warmth to my face.
Is he…? He is not flirting with me.
Is he?
Before I can let the thought grow legs, I clear my throat and press on.
“Uhhh…Yes, well, you wouldn’t be the first to fall for Siri’s charms. Anyway, when we have more time, I’ll show you how you can video chat with FaceTime. That’s really fun, calling people while they’re still in their pajamas or the house is a disaster. Just be careful about picking up those calls or you could be the one on the embarrassing end.”
“Warning noted,” he says with a serious nod.
“Okay, well, for now, we’d better get going. That’s Henny’s car in the driveway.”
I’m just about to get up when I feel his big, warm hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Jameson, I wasn’t kidding in that little practice text I sent you—I’m really grateful that you’ve been here to watch over my father. But I know you have a life…the pub, Jackson, your sisters. I can manage on my own if you’d like to, you know, put out some of your own fires today.”
I shake my head. “I know you can manage on your own, but you shouldn’t have to. Not today, anyway.”
“Well, I appreciate that,” he murmurs quietly, letting my arm go.
I smile and repeat myself. “I, uh, I guess we’d better go. Don’t want to miss Doc Douglas on rounds.”
I force my thoughts away from the way it felt when he touched me.
Get a grip, Jameson!
No men.
None.
Especially none that I’m related to. Sorta kinda. After my debacle of a marriage, I realized how naïve I’d been, how much I’d overlooked in the first blush of love. And now that I’m on my own, my only priority is Jackson. I will not, under any circumstances, subject him to another failed relationship of mine. So once again. No. Men.
“Everything okay?” Scott asks, peering at me curiously.
“Just great,” I assure him, squaring my shoulders and plastering my best smile on my face and getting to my feet. “Come on, let’s go see how Big Win’s doing today.”
Scott: “Testing. Testing.”
Siri: “I can hear you.”
Scott: “Holy crap you’re creepy!”
Siri: “Well, I’m still here for you.”
Chapter Six
Scott
Jameson catches me stifling a yawn as we pull into the hospital parking lot.
“How’re you doing with the jetlag?” she asks.
“Fine, really,” I assure her. “There’s only an hour’s time difference. It was all the travel craziness that kicked my butt.”
“I honestly never expected you to get here so fast. I was wondering if you’d be able to make it at all…”
She leaves the sentence hanging, but I know she’s not just talking about my travel plans. She wondered if I’d choose to make it back.
“It was good timing. I was close to the regional office, which is close to an airport, which happened to have a flight. Well, the first of a few flights, actually. And then there was the road trip with Fluffy the iguana.”
She snorts loudly and covers her mouth, embarrassed by the unladylike gesture. “Whoops! Well, I’m still not convinced you’re telling me the truth about the iguana.”
“Oh, I assure you, Jameson O’Halloran Clarke, I’d never fib about Fluffy. We’re good buds now, him and me. He and I. Whatever the grammar is when referring to oneself in conjunction with a reptile…”
She laughs that laugh that makes me want to do nothing but tell her jokes all day long just so I can hear it.
“Well, Fluffy or not, clearly everything fell into place. It was meant to be,” she surmises.
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
“What? You don’t believe in fate? Divine intervention—that sort of thing?”
I shrug. “Not especially, no. I’ve only ever ended up where I wanted to go, doing what I wanted to do. Nothing serendipitous about it.”
“That you’re aware of,” she says with a sly sideways smile.
“That I’m aware of,” I agree as we approach the sliding doors of the small county hospital.
When she stops, I follow suit and find those deep green eyes fixed on me.
“Scott, he looks…well, he doesn’t look like himself,” she says quietly. “But he’s so strong… I guess what I’m trying to say is that, no matter how serious it looks in there—and it is serious—I’m not giving up on your dad.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate you saying that,” I say with a purposeful nod. And I do. It’s clear that this woman genuinely loves my father. “Come on, let’s go see how he’s doing today.”
She leads us into the central lobby and along a series of corridors until we hit the elevator that takes us up to the third floor. I pause for just a second before we go into his room, taking a deep breath and steeling myself for whatever lies behind that door. I give a small nod when I’m ready and follow Jameson inside.
It’s a private room, thankfully, and right now the only sounds are the respirator and the heart monitor. The overhead fluorescents have been turned off so it’s dim, save for the ghostly glow of all the monitors. Jameson immediately busies herself, turning on a small bedside lamp that casts a gentle amber light across the room. She moves to the windowsill where I see she’s placed a small radio. When she turns it on, the soothing sound of classical music fills the air. And that smell…
“Lilacs?”
She looks up from where she’s straightening the blankets.
“Mmm-hmm,” she confirms with a nod toward a vase sitting atop the radiator. “From your backyard. I thought he might like the familiar smell.”
As I absorb all of this, I’ve been moving closer to the bed, one step at a time, slowly taking in the sight of my father. When I’m at last standing directly over him, I just stare. His face is so pale and his tremendous frame has somehow become lost under the cover of the hospital blankets and sheets.
“Here, sit down,” Jameson says, pushing a seat behind me. I sink into it, looking carefully at the man who raised me. Big Win. Winston Wallace Clarke. Senior.
“You can talk to him, you know,” she says gently.
The problem is that I don’t know what to say. And hasn’t that always been our problem? So many secrets (his). So much resentment (mine). I mean, isn’t that one of the reasons I’ve stayed away for so long—because I don’t know how to start this conversation? Or maybe I do… I’m just not sure I want to hear what it is he’ll have to say once we open the dialogue.
None of it matters, I realize in yet another earth-shaking epiphany. Not our words, not our fights, not our past or our family’s skeletons. The only thing that matters is that my father is here, in this hospital room, looking more small and frail than I’d ever have thought possible.
I drop to my haunches at his bedside, taking his large hand in mine. I’m surprised by how warm and soft it feels. I’m not sure what I was expecting…that he’d be cold, like a corpse, maybe? And that’s when it occurs to me…in a way—a really twisted way—my father has been dead to me all these years. Only now that I see him and feel him, now that I hear the steady rush of air to his lungs provided by the respirator, I’m no longer able to sustain that ridiculous bit of psychological trickery I’ve been playing with myself. My jarring little detour into self-awareness is cut short by the comforting sound of Jameson’s soft voice close by, a reminder that instead of thinking about talking to my father, I should just open my mouth and do it already.
“Hey there, Big Win,” she murmurs from the other side of the bed as she leaves a gentle kiss on his forehead and then strokes his hair back. “Little Jackson keeps asking for his ‘Goppa.’ You’d better hurry up and get better so you two can have another picnic on the lawn.” She pulls up a chair on her side and continues chattering away to the unresponsive man in between us.
“Everyone’s
been asking about you. Oh! Guess what? Our Bailey is going to be Princess Mary of Midwestern Dairy! I’m so proud of her! Now, if only she and I could stop butting heads… Anyway, Hennessy is going to stop by later. She and Bryan are doing great. That law firm in Boston keeps trying to lure her away, though. I know what you’d say to her. You’d tell her not to let her head be turned by the shiny stuff, right? Because, more often than not, the shiny stuff is just glass masquerading as diamonds. And we both know she’s finally got her diamond, don’t we, Big Win?”
My God, she’s so easy with him. Is this what their relationship is like all the time? This woman who—by all rights—should be distancing herself from her ex-husband’s family, has just waded right in to care for him. To love him. And if she can do it…
“Dad?” I whisper before I can help myself. “Dad, I’m here. It’s Scott. You wanted me to come, and I’m here, Dad. I—I’m sorry that it took me so long.” I pause, half-expecting to hear his quiet, thoughtful response. Because that’s what Big Win Clarke is known for in the courtroom though not, apparently, in the hospital room.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, Dad,” I continue quietly while Jameson makes a point of stepping into the tiny bathroom to wash her hands. “So…I need for you to hang on, okay? You wanted me to come back, and I’m here now. I…I have questions, and you’re the only one who can answer them for me. About you…and me…and Mom. Please, Dad…”
“Oh, Win! How long have you been there?”
I don’t see him. But I do hear her. So I give my father’s hand another squeeze and get to my feet, turning to find my brother standing just behind me.
It’s been easy to be apathetic about Win all these years, letting him remain a vaguely annoying memory just collecting dust in my subconscious. But now that he’s here, in the flesh, it all comes back to me in crisp, high def, Technicolor clarity.
Years ago, when he was a lawyer-wannabe, Win used to torment me day and night. Everything was a debate. I can’t say we’d fight, exactly. It was more like we had one long, ongoing argument. And he was exceptional at it—learning how to push buttons and manipulate and flip any defense on its ear and figuring out how to work the loopholes to his advantage. The thing about a debate is that it’s not always clear who the winner is.
And now, as I stand in the path of my brother’s icy stare, I know he’s thinking about it—that night, ten years ago, when I walked out the front door without so much as a glance back over my shoulder. But does that make me the winner…or the loser? I’m not sure. And, clearly, neither does Win, because he looks as if he can’t decide whether to gloat about his victory or lash out in his defeat.
In the end, he chooses to do both.
Chapter Seven
Jameson
When I came out of the bathroom, Win was just standing there in the doorway, watching his brother at their father’s bedside. Scott gets to his feet, and I move closer to the two of them, not quite sure where this is going.
“Hey, man, it’s good to see you,” Scott says quietly.
“Yup.” The three letters are the most Win can muster for the sibling he hasn’t seen in a decade.
Scott tries again. “I, uh, I met Jackson this morning. He’s a great kid.”
I see my former husband’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” I suggest. “Dr. Douglas is going to be by on rounds in a few minutes.”
Win doesn’t budge. “Why should I? He made you the healthcare proxy, after all,” he sneers at Scott like a jealous child.
Scott holds up his hands in a “no harm, no foul” gesture.
“Dude, this is Dad we’re talking about here. He’s in trouble, and we need to figure this out. I’d really like it if you’d help me…but I’ll do it without you if I have to. So can we stop with the temper tantrum already? We’re not ten years old anymore.”
I’m impressed by the direct, no-nonsense way Scott handles Win. I’m not impressed by the petulant, menacing way Win responds.
“You know, you’ve got some nerve showing up here like this,” he hisses, nostrils flaring and fists tight by his side. “I’m the one who’s been here, working with him, having him in my home, helping him deal after Mom died. You ran away like a scared little kid. Oh, but here you are, the prodigal freaking son. Let’s have a party and serve up that fatted calf!” Win says this with unnecessary drama, spreading his arms wide.
“Win, please,” I intervene, trying to break the intensity between them. “Scott’s come a long way to be here—to be with your father. And this very well might be the last opportunity either of you has…do you really want to spend it like this? Fighting? And in front of him, no less?”
They both look toward the hospital bed where Big Win’s chest rises and falls with every whoosh and whirl of the respirator. It’s a sobering sight, even to hot-headed Win, and I watch as his face—a face I know very well—softens. Then I make my move.
“Win? Why don’t you let me cook dinner for the two of you tonight? Jax would love to see you, and you and Scott can talk this all out over a bottle of wine. I can even do it at your dad’s house so my sisters won’t interrupt us. How about it? Please?” Win looks at me for a long moment and then his brother. I can see he’s considering it, so I decide to sweeten the pot. “I’ll make your favorite roast chicken with the little potatoes…” I offer with a coy smile.
When he harrumphs, I know I’ve got him. Sex and food are the best way to a man’s heart. This man’s heart, anyway. And since I have no intention of going to bed with him ever again, food will have to be my weapon of choice.
“Fine. I can be there at five-thirty.”
I give him my sweetest smile.
Win considers his brother again. “You look good,” he mutters. “Where’ve you been?”
“South America mainly… Mexico for a couple of years now. Before that, Nicaragua, Ecuador, and Panama.”
“Well, you always did want to travel,” Win says impassively.
I seize the moment to jump in and nudge a little. “So I was just thinking I’d take Scott for some breakfast down in the cafeteria, Win. Can you join us?”
I can tell he wants to give in and give up the sulky attitude, but he’s been solitary for so long that he doesn’t seem to know how.
“No, I can’t,” he says at last. “I’ve got a deposition to prep for this morning.”
“You must be swamped,” Scott offers. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, running the firm now and all. Congratulations. I hear you’re a great lawyer.”
It’s an olive branch—one that Win accepts, albeit reluctantly.
“Yeah, well, I’d like to hear that from Dad. He busts my chops enough,” my ex-husband grumbles.
Scott snorts. “Hah! So nothing’s changed then?”
A ghost of a smile crosses Win’s face. “No, not much.”
I have to stop myself from jumping up and down. If Win thinks I’m especially interested in getting the two of them together, he’s going to suspect I have some hidden agenda. And I suppose I do. I just want us all to have a little peace. For once.
…
I spend the day shopping and straightening up Big Win’s house while Win works and Scott stays at the hospital. He’s the first to arrive, looking totally wiped when he finds me in the kitchen.
“Hi. How was the hospital?” I ask, handing him a beer from the fridge.
He accepts it gratefully, twists the top off, and takes a long swig before replying.
“Depressing. I hate hospitals. Nothing good ever happens there.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I had my son at a hospital,” I remind him.
“Point taken,” he agrees with a smile. “Where is the little guy?”
“Napping. You may have noticed Win’s bedroom has been turned into a nursery. Your father likes to have him here as much as possible.”
“I’m surprised Dad has the energy!”
&n
bsp; “Oh, he can keep up with Jackson all right. The two of them are always having little adventures around town. The park, the pie shop—Big Win takes that kid all over,” I explain, turning to pull down some dishes to set the table. But the shelf is a little too high for my short self, and I only brush them with my fingertips.
“Oh, here, let me help you with that…”
Before I can object, he’s standing behind me, reaching over me to get the dishes. For a brief second, his front is pressed against my back. His broad, muscled, perfectly sculpted front. I feel a wave of unwelcome warmth beginning under my collar and creeping up my neck.
“Thanks…” I murmur awkwardly, keeping my back to him for a moment longer in an attempt to quash my blush. When I think I’ve got it under control, I turn to face him again.
“Hey, are you all right? You look a little…flushed,” he says, peering at me with concern as he sets the dishes down on the island and steps back toward me again. I guess I’m not as under control as I’d like to think.
“No!” I say a little too loudly, holding up a palm in the international symbol for “hold it right there, buddy!” I take a deep breath, force a smile, and knock the volume down a peg. “No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just warm from working so close to the stove,” I lie.
“If you’re sure you’re all right…”
“Oh, I am. I’m sure. But thanks, Scott. I appreciate your concern.”
He nods. “Any other high elevation items I can get for you?”
“Uhhh…nope, but thanks… I just need to, uh, you know, turn the potatoes over in the oven. Over there. Where they’re, you know, roasting…” I’m babbling now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Okay. I’m just going to grab a shower before Win gets here, if you don’t mind.”
“Nope. Not at all,” I say quickly. “You go right ahead.”
Once he disappears around the corner, I silently smack my palm to my forehead.
What was that, Jameson? Why the blush? He’s just your ex-husband’s brother, that’s all. This is insane. I’ve got to stop this childish behavior. No. More. Men. Remember? No thinking about men. No looking at men. No fantasizing about men.