And again, when I’d walked in and seen them all together, the way Casey had been automatically welcomed into the fold made me feel out of place. This was a family. Her family. And things with her mother were complicated enough without my being there to make it more awkward.
But then she’d looked over at me and smiled through her tears. And I could see her relief, the easy way she stood beside her mother hand in hand. Something between them had obviously changed. And on top of that, she was happy to see me. I no longer wondered if I’d done the right thing in coming. I knew I had. And there wasn’t a single thing that could get me to leave her side.
We stood and talked for a few minutes, listening to Cathy describe her accident. A drunk asshole ran a stop sign. And not just any drunk asshole. Danny Hart. It was rare for me to get pissed enough to consider violence—another product of peace and love as my childhood mantra—but Danny tempted a guy. My fist itched to connect with his face.
Although, judging from Dean’s and Casey’s reactions, my anger was secondary. Unnecessary. Cathy had a small army ready to fight for her if needed. Even Summer’s tears had dried by then and she looked mad enough to spit nails. I wondered what sort of damage she’d do right about now, defending a newly reconciled mother. She was a force, that was for damn sure.
The curtain swayed as a nurse came in to check Cathy’s vitals. Dean moved aside but Summer hovered, chewing her lip as the nurse recorded all the readouts. “Is everything okay?” Summer asked when the woman finished.
“She’s doing great,” the nurse said with a smile. Summer’s relief was visible.
“Oh, I have a question,” Cathy said before the nurse could slip away. “The young man that hit me, is he going to be all right?”
The room went quiet. Even the beeping from the machine seemed muted. The nurse shifted, uncomfortable. “He’s ... stable.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say she sounded disappointed.
“Thank you,” Cathy said and the woman left.
No one commented for a long moment. Finally, Dean looked to each one of us and said with a solemn nod, “I guess we’re all thinking the same thing. If the Lord doesn’t leave him with a broken leg, I’ll consider it my holy duty to do it for Him.”
“Dean.” Cathy swatted him.
Casey and Summer snickered. The tension broke.
Frank arrived a few minutes later, and the story was retold amidst curses and promises to avenge Cathy’s injuries. It was admirable, the love this family had for each other. It made me miss my own.
I waited until the conversation wandered to less explosive topics. In the middle of a story from Dean about Casey’s pant leg getting stuck in the harvester last week, I caught Summer’s eye and nodded for her to follow me out. Cathy tracked our exit but she didn’t comment or stop us.
“Hey,” I said, catching Summer up in my arms as soon as the curtain fell closed behind us.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said.
“I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.” I inhaled with my face buried in her hair, enjoying the way all my senses filled with her scent. At my words, her grip on me tightened. Her shoulders shook and she suddenly sobbed against my shoulder. “Whoa, hey.” I tried to pry her away so I could see her face but she clung to me, shaking silently.
I shuffled us to an empty waiting area and pulled Summer onto my lap in the nearest chair. Still, she kept her face hidden against my shirt. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close and hanging on while I waited. She’d talk when she was ready.
A nurse passed, her brows rising when she heard Summer’s sniffles. A minute later, a box of tissues was thrust at me. I took it and dipped my chin gratefully before the woman disappeared around the corner.
Summer’s sniffles became intermittent and her breathing evened out. When she finally pulled away to meet my eyes, her lashes were lowered and her cheeks pink. I handed her a tissue and waited while she wiped her eyes.
“Here’s another,” I said quietly, handing over two more. She blew her nose.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I just ... It’s been a long night.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“But I ruined your shirt.”
I looked down to the sleeve she’d cried on. It was wet and stained with mascara. “I’ve always wondered what this shirt would look like black.” I shrugged. “Not bad.”
She smiled through watery eyes. I took that as a good sign.
“How’re things with you and your mom?” I asked.
“Pretty good, actually. We talked when I got here and ... we worked it out.”
“That’s great. Do you feel better?”
She grimaced. “Yes and no. I feel awful that I was mad for so long. That it took something like this happening for me to get over it and let it go.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. I think it’s more like, it took this for you to realize you’d already let it go.”
“When I saw all the EMT’s standing outside her room, I thought—” She sniffled. “It hit me that she could be gone so easily and I’d never have the chance to tell her I love her again. And the love is so much more important than being mad. I was terrified I wouldn’t get to say all of that to her.”
“She already knew.”
“I know, but I needed to voice the words to make them count. For me. I needed to say it out loud. Even if we were both already thinking it.”
She was staring at me strangely, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were no longer talking about her mother or their fight. My chest tightened at the thought of where this was going.
Me leaving. It always came back to that. I hadn’t told her I’d thought of staying more often than not lately. I couldn’t say something like that on a whim. I’d have to mean it. And I didn’t know what I meant anymore—except that I loved this girl something fierce.
Problem was, anytime I thought of doing something about it, something like staying, I thought of my dad. Of the things he’d had to give up. The life he could’ve had. The experiences he missed. I’d promised myself a long time ago that wouldn’t be me. Not for anyone. Not even Summer. My worst fear was that I’d stay and blame her later for holding me down. I didn’t want this to end like that—bitter and tragic. Better to make a clean—even if sad—break.
“Sometimes it should be said out loud,” I agreed, picking my words carefully, “but the words being spoken don’t always change the outcome. Sometimes, things just are what they are. Saying it out loud won’t change that.”
Her face fell and it pierced straight through me into my soul. I hated being the one who made her look like that, the jerk who disappointed her.
She sighed and leaned back, letting her head rest against my shoulder once again. “I know, Ford,” she said, her voice heavy. “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Summer
"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all."
—Helen Keller, The Open Door
The teapot sang softly at first, building to a crescendo before I snatched it off the burner. I poured two steaming mugs and dropped a Green Tea bag inside before carrying them both to the kitchen table where my mother waited. She sat in her usual spot by the window. I’d turned the chair beside her and propped her sprained ankle on a pillow over it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit on the couch?” I asked.
“For the eleventh time in as many minutes, no,” she said, taking the mug I set in front of her. “This is our spot. I like it here.”
“You’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable, though, right?”
“Summer.” She looked up at me with her no-nonsense expression. “Sit.”
I sat.
After so many months of ignoring her, my guilt had driven me overboard in trying to take care of her. She knew that and allowed it—to an extent. I’d spent the past three days basically attached to her hip. I think it was wearing on both of us. But we had so much time to make up for, I didn’t want
to waste any more of it.
“How’s the tea?” I asked.
“Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Good. Mazie always tell me I put too much sugar.”
“Mazie’s not as sweet as you.”
I rolled my eyes and gave a smile. “You sound like Dad.”
“Great minds think alike.”
Her smile faded as the comment hung between us. It was the perfect opening but I hesitated, afraid to cause a fight so soon.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
“About your father and me?” she asked knowingly.
I stopped twirling my mug and met her eyes. Her expression was relaxed, like she was encouraging me to continue. “What happened?” I asked softly.
She sighed and it seemed to drain something from her. “The answer to that goes back a long way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I ignored the feeling of rocks falling to the pit of my stomach. She’d been unhappy for so long ...
“You have to understand, when your dad and I met—Things were different then. Your grandparents, my parents, believed they knew best. And they chose accordingly.”
“Chose what?”
“Your father. For me.”
I gaped at her. “You had an arranged marriage?”
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I did the math, thinking back to what year that had been. Trying to picture how it would’ve happened. My mother’s parents presenting her like a trophy, a prize. I’d only met my maternal grandparents a few times before they’d passed away. My grandpa first from a heart attack, and my grandma a few years later. Cancer. They were both natives of Brazil, transplanted to Florida years ago. They’d rarely visited us here, and Mom always said they didn’t do well with change. But they’d seemed so ... normal. Not the type to marry their daughter off for goats or something.
“It wasn’t as awful as it sounds. I knew your dad through friends. Not well, but enough to know he was a good man. His parents owned this land and I knew I’d be provided for. I loved the idea of a farm. We got along and had fun together. We made a good team.”
I winced. Her description sounded painfully like my relationship with Aaron. I remembered my conversation with Ford, when I’d realized how much like my mother I’d truly become. But I’d had a choice. She apparently had not. Or if she had, she’d settled, and just like me, she’d finally had enough.
“I don’t understand. This is modern-day America. No one does arranged marriages anymore.”
“You’d be surprised, darling. It happens. Maybe not as much here in the States but my parents were born and raised in Brazil, remember?”
“And they still do that in Brazil?”
“In the rural areas.” She paused and tilted her head, patting my hand. “It’s not as awful as you think. Your father is wonderful. They didn’t force me.”
“But they decided it.”
“Yes, but I agreed. And I wouldn’t take it back. Not a single day.”
I didn’t answer. She’d had twenty-five years to come to that conclusion. Ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough to catch up.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry I never told you,” she said.
I stared into my mug, unshed tears blurring the line where the liquid stopped and the ceramic rim began. I thought back to the stories she’d told me about her and Dad dating and how sweet he’d been. “But what about the proposal story?” I asked. “You said he brought you here and got down on one knee with a bouquet of daisies in one hand and floor plans in the other. It was always so sweet the way you tell it.”
“It all happened the way I said. And by then, I’d grown to love him. But it wasn’t ... It’s a deep-rooted thing that will never die. But Summer, it’s not—” She broke off, pressing her lips together in a struggle to make me understand. “It’s not like how you look at Ford,” she finished quietly.
How could I argue? Now that I’d experienced it for myself, I knew I’d never settle for less again. I opened my mouth and without a response closed it again.
I wasn’t even angry at her for keeping it from me. My brain was sick of being angry. I didn’t want to go back there again, no matter the reason. I was sad for her. For being so stuck for so long. For never experiencing the passion Ford had woken in me. “Were you ever happy?”
“Oh, honey,” she said, catching sight of my watery eyes. She squeezed my hand in hers. “Yes. I have you.” She took my chin in her hands and smiled through her tears. “And you are my reason for drawing breath. You give me purpose.”
“But you said ... You and Dad—”
“I love him—all the way into my bones and through my guts. I would do anything for that man. He’s my best friend.”
“But he’s only your friend.”
Her smile was sad. “Yes. And I’m his. And while we appreciate that about each other, we’ve both decided it’s high time we each found the courage to pursue more than that.”
“So, wait. The decision to break up was mutual?”
“Yes.”
I sat back and blinked. “Dad never said that.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. I made him promise not to. It would’ve only led to more questions and under the circumstances ... We didn’t want to upset you more.”
“I don’t think this would’ve made it worse.”
“I see that now,” she admitted. “But I saw how you already questioned everything and I didn’t want you to believe it’d all been a lie.”
Fresh guilt washed over me. At being angry for things I knew nothing about. Angry at her for deserting us. Angry at him for not caring. I was such an ass. An uninformed, smart-mouthed ass. “I’m so sorry, Mom. For everything. I didn’t understand. I thought—”
“It’s all right. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were hurting and you had to let it out. I’d much rather you hurt out loud than silently.”
“Wouldn’t most moms say you don’t want me to hurt?”
Her chin rose. “I hope not. Hurting comes from loving. If you didn’t care for anything deep enough to let it hurt you, what kind of life would that be?”
I softened. “Did it hurt when you left?”
“Some. Mostly it was scary. But your dad’s helped me a lot. And I’m happy.”
“Doing real estate?”
“Being my own person.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I was doing in the car at one am?” I shook my head. I’d been wondering about that. “Just driving. Seeing what the world looked like—or at least Grayson County—underneath the midnight moon. Because I had the freedom to do so. And it was amazing. Life is amazing.”
I let out a deep breath and smiled at her excitement. “I’m glad you’re happy, Mom.”
“Speaking of hurting and caring deeply, are you going to fill me in on that handsome herbalist you’ve got stashed in your father’s greenhouse or should I ask Frank for the details?”
“I do not have him stashed,” I said. “He’s growing medicine.”
“His ideas are brilliant. I love what he’s doing, making them edible. But I’m talking more about what he’s doing with you.”
“We’re just having fun.” I’d just given her the same answer I gave everyone who asked—and it was clearly not convincing her any more than it did the others.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Either you’re lying to yourself or to me, but it’s more than just fun.”
I stared at the counter across the room, not really seeing any of it while I debated an answer. Telling my mom the truth wasn’t the problem. It was admitting it out loud to myself that I didn’t enjoy.
“You’re right. It’s much more than fun. It’s everything. Ford makes me feel things I didn’t know existed. He fills the gaps, makes me the whole person I’ve been looking for, and I’m hopelessly in love with him,” I admitted.
“It sounds wonderful. What’s hopeless about that?”
“He’s leaving in just over two months for another work study program i
n South Dakota. And then that’s it. We’re over. He’s gone.”
“What makes you think he won’t come back?”
“I know enough about Ford O’Neal to know he doesn’t backtrack.”
We drank our cooling tea in silence for a while. I was grateful she didn’t press the subject of Ford leaving. The time was approaching too fast for me to prepare for. Talking about it like this, making it sound so final, only made it worse. The closer it got to October, the harder I had to fight against asking him to stay. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. Staying would have to be his choice. And so far, it wasn’t an option he’d entertained.
“You inspire me, Summer.”
I swallowed a gulp of tea. “How?”
“You’re pursuing happiness. You have passion. You’re experiencing and living even though you know this part of it is temporary. That takes courage.”
“So you think it’s worth the risk of getting hurt?”
“I think the only thing that makes it true love IS the risk.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ford
"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." —Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
I was leaving in four weeks. I needed to pack. To close up shop. To finalize plans to Dakota and close out things with Dean. I’d spoken to him already. He knew my departure date. It’s not like he thought I was staying. But the general feeling I got from everyone—Dean included—was that not a single one expected me to actually go through with it.
Hell, there were moments I wasn’t sure I expected myself to go through with it. Like anytime I looked at Summer or sensed her eyes on me. Or when I kissed her or especially when we made love. Those moments were so amazing and full of everything we had to offer each other I couldn’t imagine actually walking away from that girl.
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