by Nan Dixon
She’d foolishly thought they were adding months with each treatment, not just nausea and burned skin.
“It means she needs more help now that she’s returning home,” Dr. Laster said. “Don’t panic. The six months is only the Medicare guidelines. Your insurance company has more leniency on the timelines.”
Not six months. But her mother wasn’t safe on her own.
“The hospice teams are excellent. I want you to give them a chance.” The doctor reached for Carolina’s hand so they were all connected. “This is a good thing. Going home is all your mother has talked about since she arrived.”
“I know.” Carolina needed to air the house. Clean and move furniture. And be here for the hospice meeting. “Do you know when this meeting will take place?”
“I wanted the go-ahead before I had my staff working on authorization.” The doctor squeezed their hands. “Are you ready?”
Rosa nodded. “Oh, fine. We can have the meeting.”
Dr. Laster smiled. “We’ll get moving on the insurance company approvals.”
“Will there be any additional costs?” Carolina shouldn’t care, but she had to ask. She was just starting to see the light at the end of her mother’s debt.
“I don’t know what kind of plan your mother has,” Dr. Laster admitted. “But my staff will help in any way they can.”
“Thank you.” She added talk to insurance company to her list of to-dos.
“Is there any chance a clinical trial would be available for Mamá?” she asked. One that could offer a cure.
“I’ve looked and I’ve asked my partners,” the doctor said. “Rosa, you don’t qualify for any, but I’m keeping my eye out.”
The idea of taking her mother home should make her happy. But with the talk of hospice care and no possible clinical trial, her hope was dimming. She hated that her bright, vivacious mother was going through this. Hated that she might not be around much longer.
“I’ll get the ball rolling.” Dr. Laster slapped her legs and pushed out of the chair. Pointing at Mamá, she said, “You keep doing what you’ve been doing and no more seizures.”
“Aye, aye, Doc.” Her mother gave her a sharp salute.
The doctor tipped her head to the door and Carolina walked her into the hallway. “Let me know if you need help with anything. Insurance, hospice, interpreting the bills. If I can’t help, someone on my staff can.”
“Thank you.” Carolina swallowed. Her sense of isolation evaporating a little. “Thank you for what you’ve done for Mamá.”
“I’ll make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.”
Comfortable. The word sent a chill through Carolina’s heart.
* * *
SAGE PUT HIS back into scraping Rosa’s railing. He wanted to get everything painted before his next doctor’s appointment. He expected to get the all clear to return to work.
But the weather wasn’t cooperating. He glanced at the storm wall in the distance. He wanted to finish the railings before the skies broke open. The forecasters predicted this tropical storm was going to head north, but he’d probably lose a day or two of work to the rains.
He stretched and cranked up Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying.” What would his father have done if he’d known he was going to die? Would he have taken the leave he’d accumulated to be with his family or stayed with his unit?
Sweat stung his eyes. Had to be sweat and not tears. When he’d been five, his granddad had told him not to cry about his father. Dad had lived an honorable life. There was nothing better than that.
A car engine broke through the music in his ears. He waved as Carolina pulled into the driveway.
Yanking out his earplugs, he met her as she stepped out of the car. “Checking on my work?”
“Oh, no.” She chewed her lip. “I wouldn’t do that. I trust you.”
“Hey.” He stroked his thumb across her lip to stop her from worrying it to a pulp. “I was joking. What’s wrong?”
She inhaled. Then let out a deep breath. “My mom’s coming home.”
He pulled her in for a hug, then remembered he was all sweaty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you smell like me.”
“I don’t mind.” Tears filled her eyes, making them sparkle.
He stroke his thumb on her cheek. “I thought you wanted your mother to come home.”
“The doctor’s talking about hospice. It’s so...final.”
“Ah, honey.” This time he didn’t care whether he was bathing her in sweat. She needed a hug. “I’m sorry.”
“I... I got in my car and drove. I guess... I should air out the house. When we were here last week, it smelled...” Her shoulders sank.
“You could have called me.” He wrapped an arm around her back and led her up the stairs.
Carolina stopped and looked at the house. “You’ve gotten so much done.”
“I’m trying to beat the rain.” And it was good to be back doing something.
Surprise crossed her face. “Rain?”
At the top of the steps he turned her to face the clouds over the Atlantic. “You missed the forecast?”
“I guess.”
“Are you sure you were capable of driving?” His voice crackled with worry.
“I wasn’t looking at the sky.” Confusion clouded her face. “Or listening to the weather.”
He wished he could drive her home but, for the first time in months, he was driving again and they had two vehicles. It wasn’t practical to leave one in Tybee.
She unlocked the door and they headed inside. “You can smell it, right? That smell of...no one living here?”
He nodded, even though the smell wasn’t that bad. Of course, as an FBI agent, he’d been in some nasty places. “Do you want me to open windows even though we’ll have to close them soon?”
“No. I’ll do it.”
He brushed a kiss on her lips, but her confusion didn’t clear. A chill scuttled down his spine.
Was something else going on?
Back outside, he picked up the pace. What if, now that her mother was out of the hospital, Carolina didn’t have time to be with him? She’d said she loved him, but was that the truth? She hadn’t told him the truth about her father.
He took his confusion out on the old paint. The windows squealed as Carolina opened them. Then a vacuum buzzed.
She had a lot on her plate. Her mother. Her sisters—and didn’t the fact that she’d kept that from everyone still stick in his craw. Now her mother needed hospice. It couldn’t all be about him. About them.
The first fat raindrops began to fall. He worked until he finished the last two spindles. Then he stuck the scraper, wire brush and stiff broom he’d used under one of the carports. He’d better see if Carolina needed help inside.
After kicking off his wet sneakers, he tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbed a towel and went in search of Carolina.
She was scrubbing the main floor bathroom.
“It’s raining. Do you want me to close the windows?” he asked.
She brushed back her hair with her shoulder. “Could you?”
“Sure.”
Scary. Carolina was oblivious to what was going on around her.
A couple of the windows complained as he powered them closed. At least they were clad in vinyl and wouldn’t need painting.
When he headed back to the bathroom, she was dropping cans and sponges into a plastic bucket.
“Done?”
“For now.” She picked up the supplies. “I have to bartend tonight.”
He took it from her. “Is this going in the kitchen?”
She nodded, not looking at him.
He couldn’t read her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m cleaning.” She headed into the living room.
He barely stopped f
rom rolling his eyes. “I know that. Why are you upset?”
She leaned against the arm of the black leather sofa. “I want my mother to come home. It’s all Mamá’s talked about since her first seizure. But I want her to come home stronger, better. When Dr. Laster talked about getting hospice, it hit me. She’s not getting better. Eventually, I’ll be alone.”
Her blue eyes filled with tears like a flash flood in a gully.
He dropped the bucket and hugged her. “What about me?”
“You have your own family.” Her chest shook as she cried.
His words hadn’t come out right. “You have me. You’ll always have me.”
His words were a promise they were going to be together—always. A warmth spread through him. He wanted to spend his life with her. Didn’t he?
She sobbed into his wet shirt. “But what if I lose you, too?”
“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
* * *
“HEY, MOM.” SAGE sat below the step he’d just painted. Luckily, the rain hadn’t soaked everything. He angled his phone so he could see the video.
“Hi. Happy Thursday!” His mother blew him a kiss. “Where are you?”
“I’ve been released to drive, so I’m helping Carolina and her mother out by painting her porch and steps.”
“Fantastic! How are you feeling?”
Sage rubbed at the dull ache in his head, but at least it wasn’t pounding. He hadn’t taken a pain pill in over a week. “Better, but I’m still not cleared for work.”
“It’s a start.” Mom brushed back her sun-streaked hair. She wore a blue work shirt over a gray tank top. Her ranch uniform. “How is Carolina?”
Too quiet. “I was able to take her mother to her opening night last weekend. But her mother is still in the hospital.”
Mom frowned. “But how is Carolina?”
He didn’t know how to answer.
She broke the silence. “Did something happen?”
“She lied about...” He paused. “Well, she didn’t exactly lie, but she never told me she was related to the Fitzgeralds.”
“What?”
He explained the whole situation. As he talked, his mother’s face grew more and more solemn.
He pushed back his hair. “She never told me. And the Fitzgeralds’ mother was screaming at Carolina to leave.”
“That’s horrible.”
He sighed. “I’m not sure what to make of Carolina’s actions. They don’t exactly live up to the Cornell honor code.”
“Why would you think that? She was honoring her mother by not telling her half sisters that they were related.” Mom rubbed her head like she had a headache. “Why is honoring her mother’s wishes not living honorably?”
“Because she didn’t tell me.” His words vibrated in the air.
Carolina hadn’t told him. She’d said she’d loved him, but hadn’t told him this monumental thing.
“Don’t you think you’re being too hard on her? Her mother’s dying. Where’s your compassion?” Mom pushed on her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I thought I’d raised you right. I thought by keeping your father’s memory untarnished, you would become better men. I failed.”
“You didn’t fail. You instilled in me a great moral compass.” His breath heaved out like he’d run a marathon. “I just want to make Dad proud, even if he never knows.”
“Sage.” Mom’s lips formed a straight line.
“I’m having trouble getting past Carolina not telling me. I thought we had something special.”
“Sage,” Mom groaned again.
“If my ethics were...flexible, Dad would be disgusted,” he said. “Honor is black-and-white. There is no gray. I wouldn’t be living up to his example.”
“He was just a man,” his mother choked out.
“An honorable man.”
“Your father was human. Very human.” Mom’s lips pinched together.
Why was she so upset? “His whole life was devoted to service.”
“He was just a man. Not a god. Hehadanaffair!”
Her words ran together. Didn’t make sense. “Uh...what?”
A tear streaked down mother’s face. “He had an affair.”
“Mom?” Everything crumbled inside him. Affair? Not Dad.
She closed her eyes. Her chest heaved up and down.
“Talk to me.” He almost couldn’t push the words out.
“It was an interpreter.” His mother bit her lip. “She...your father. In Somalia.”
“No.” Not possible. His hands formed fists.
“She came to the funeral.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Mom.” Dad couldn’t have done that to his mother. To their family. He clutched the edge of the step. “I don’t believe it.”
“There were letters. In the things they shipped home.” Now the tears were a river racing down her face. “I didn’t want to believe it, either. But he was away for so long.”
“How could he?” His voice cracked.
“Your father was human.” Sobs racked her body. “For a while, I hated him. But I can’t deny what your father gave me. Love—and my three sons. I’ve forgiven him. I know that he loved me. Loved us. But he was weak. Human. He was at war. Life-and-death situations. I forgave him.”
“But...”
“Don’t let the false image of your father destroy what’s between you and Carolina. Honor is a cold bedfellow.”
His father was an adulterer. He couldn’t wrestle with the idea. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I’ve come to terms with it.” She wiped at the tears that had slowed. “We had plenty of good years. But the military isn’t an easy career. On any family.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.” Her smile trembled. “Your father wasn’t a saint. He was a man. Carolina shouldn’t be held to standards that no one can achieve. Please think about that.”
“I will.” It was all he would think about. “How would you feel if that...that woman had had a child and you ran into her?”
“Awful,” she whispered.
Now he had a different perspective on Carolina’s actions. How could he condone her decisions when he related more to the people she was hurting?
* * *
CAROLINA HUNG UP from her hour-long call with her mother’s insurance company. Some good news. Some bad. But at least she now had a contact to call at both Dr. Laster’s office and the insurance company.
Her mother was coming home Monday. Since it was Thursday, she had a few days to get everything cleaned up. She rolled her neck, trying to ease the kinks.
At least Abby would be happy to have her out of the apartment. She checked the time. Her shift started in twenty minutes. After changing into a Southern Comforts shirt, she headed to the restaurant.
Sage wouldn’t stop in tonight. He planned to stay late painting at Mamá’s. She pressed her fingers on the dull ache in her belly.
He’d said she would have him forever and then hadn’t seen her for the rest of the week. Sure they’d talked. Texted. But the connection between them was stretching thin.
She inhaled. No more stressing out. Entering the restaurant through the kitchen door, she ran into Abby.
Abby nodded, her face taking on that frozen look she got anytime they were near.
“Hi.” Carolina stiffened her back. “My mother’s being released Monday. I’ll move out of the apartment Sunday.”
Abby frowned. “That’s good news, right?”
“It’s...” Her lips trembled. God. No more tears. She was tired of crying.
Abby’s eyes went wide. She took Carolina’s arm and tugged her into her tiny office. “Sit.”
Abby left.
Carolina sniffed back the tears. She was so tired. Her emotions were out of
control.
“Here.” Abby handed her a glass of water.
“Thanks.”
“Talk.” Abby leaned against the desk, crossing her arms.
“The seizures are under control. That’s why she’s able to go home. But she’s now in hospice.”
“But they’re good.”
“Yes. I really liked the people we met,” Carolina admitted.
“So what’s the problem?”
“It means that there’s not much more they can do for her. That her doctor thinks she’s got around six months to live.”
“I’m sorry.” Abby reached over and touched her hand. “I knew she was going through cancer treatment and having seizures, but I didn’t realize it was terminal.”
Carolina nodded, numbness making the action slow and heavy. “She’s the only family I have left in the world.”
Abby pulled her hand away. Shutters closed off her face.
Damn. Carolina was sitting there with her half sister. Family. Except she was the dirty secret. The bastard. That was enough to dry her tears.
Carolina stood. “Do you want Ella to move out of the apartment, too?”
“I hadn’t thought that far.” Abby pushed stray hairs back into her ponytail. “I’ll let you and Ella know tonight.”
“Sure.”
Carolina rushed out of Abby’s office. Everything was closing in around her. She needed to pack her clothes, clean out Poppy’s study so they could move the hospital bed in on Saturday, and restock the food in Mamá’s house. And she should probably look for a new job.
She took a breath. Then another. One step at a time.
Ella was already playing for the pre-happy-hour crowd. Maybe this shift would take Carolina’s mind off everything she had to get done.
At the bar, she forced her lips into an imitation of a smile. She needed tips tonight. She needed this job. “Hey, Naomi, how’s the crowd?”
“Happy hour hasn’t even started and it’s crazy. I think they’re celebrating that the last storm missed Savannah.”
Carolina wrapped an apron around her waist. She filled a server’s drink orders, checked with the patrons seated at the bar and topped off bowls of sesame sticks.
“Are you the singer?” a blonde woman asked.