Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Millikin

  His words run together for a few seconds, until the fuzziness clears from my head and I can hear again.

  “…Are you still in Sugar Creek? Can you come back?”

  “Yes.” The word is so mixed with salty tears I can barely choke it out.

  “Claire and I are here, at the hospital.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Drive safe,” Isaac says. “Don’t rush. He’s stable. The mountain didn’t kill him, but if anything happened to you, that would.”

  “I’ll be there soon. Please give Claire a hug for me.” Suddenly all I want is to hold my baby girl, feel her soft, sweet warmth and smell the top of her head.

  We hang up and I drive. I’m safe heading down the mountain but I go faster than normal. I’m no doctor, but I think right now my elevated heart rate probably matches the number on my speedometer.

  And my mother is the very last thing on my mind.

  The hospital is a flurry of activity, and it takes a few minutes for the people at the front desk to tell me what floor my dad’s on. My outfit distracted them almost as much as the night clerk at the hotel.

  The elevator lets me off on the third floor. I creep past rooms, reading the numbers, until Claire yells, “Mommy!”

  I find her down the long, white hall, footsteps thundering. Isaac’s a few feet behind her.

  Hurrying forward, I gather a leaping Claire into my arms. “Baby,” I breathe, the tears springing back up.

  “Grandpa is hurt, Mommy.” Claire’s tone is solemn, her small hands coming to rest on my cheeks. Eyes wide, she continues. “His leg is in a soft cast, and I’m not allowed to touch it. And his face looks funny. It’s a different color.”

  “Bruised,” Isaac clarifies, reaching us.

  I shift Claire onto my hip and step into him. I want his touch, his smell, I want everything he can give me.

  His arms wind around me and Claire, holding us both.

  “Hi,” he whispers into my ear.

  I press my face harder into his chest. “Isaac, I’m so sorry. The way I left—”

  “Shh, it’s OK. I know.” The rumble of his voice in his chest comforts me.

  “Aubrey, what can we do for you? Food? Coffee?” A woman speaks up behind Isaac. Lucia?

  I peel myself off Isaac, and he steps and turns so he’s beside me, but his left arm stays around my waist. Lucia and Paul wait for me to say something.

  “You guys…are here?”

  “Where else would we be?” Lucia smiles, and I know her question isn’t one that needs answering. “Here, let me take Claire so you can see your father.” She steps forward, hands out.

  I hand off my daughter, turning to Isaac. He knows what I’m asking. Grabbing my hand, he leads me four doors down to my father’s room. He kisses the top of my head and says softly, “You’ve got this.”

  I step in, terrified of what I’m about to see. My dad the ex-Marine, my dad the mountain lion hunter, the man who stepped up when my mother ran.

  The bed seems too small for his large frame, or maybe it’s his presence that’s too large for this small room. Either way, he looks out of place. His eyes are closed, a blanket covers his lower half, but one side is bulky. Claire was right about his face. The left side is swollen, the reddish pink on his cheek beginning to change to dark purple.

  I step closer until I’m beside his bed. Bandages crisscross his arms, and more bruises darken his skin.

  “Daddy,” I whisper, shocked. How many times have I seen him come in from the garage and calmly tell me he’s running out to grab a splint because he hit his thumb with a hammer? I’ve never even seen the man take a sick day.

  “Aubs,” he says, opening his eyes. His left eye twitches with the effort.

  “Dad.” My arms rise automatically, but I don’t know if I can hug him, so I drop them and place a kiss on the right side of his forehead. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you know, took a tumble down a mountain.” He grumbles. “Not anything I haven’t done before.”

  I take a deep breath and try not to picture my dad falling. “How did you get help?”

  “Another hunter came along after a while. Neither of us could get a signal because we were down in the bottom of a dry creek bed, so he hiked to the top and called for help.”

  “What did you do while he was doing all that?”

  “I stayed put.”

  I lift my eyes to the ceiling and laugh. “Obviously. I mean, did you take care of yourself? Stop the bleeding on your arms?”

  He nods. “My backpack was clipped across my chest, so it stayed on when I fell. Before the guy left to get a call out, he gave me the first aid kit from my pack.”

  “Where is the person who helped you?”

  “I don’t know. The last time I saw him was from the inside of the helicopter. He was standing back aways and waved at me.”

  Helicopter… I didn’t even think about how he was rescued. Tears spring to my eyes again as I imagine my dad lying helpless in a creek bed.

  “Dad,” I say, my voice breaking.

  “I’m fine, Aubs. Really. They’ve got me here, and I’m all doped up. Can’t feel a thing. Isaac’s been making sure they take real good care of me.”

  Isaac. The fixer. He was here. And I wasn’t. All because I was chasing a ghost.

  “Isaac told me where you went. Sounds like I wasn’t the only person hunting in the past twenty-four hours.” My dad gives me a look.

  I nod slowly, remembering my mother’s open face and friendly disposition. It doesn’t hurt though. Not like I thought it would.

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “No. I saw her though. At a church picnic.”

  My dad scoffs, and I laugh. “Church welcomes sinners and saints.”

  Dad nods. “They sure do.” He tries to adjust himself, but there’s really not another position for him to move to. He grimaces and gives up. “So, did you go there with a plan?”

  “In my head I had a lot to say. But when I saw her, the words disappeared. Maybe if she’d looked sad, or regretful, it would have been easier to lay into her.” In my mind I’m seeing her pulled back shoulders, her easy step, the way her fingers gripped the basket she carried. No sign of a past life anywhere on her. “She looked carefree. Happy. After everything she did, everything she took from me, you’d think I could’ve been strong enough to take a piece of that happiness from her by confronting her.” My shrug feels heavy. “I couldn’t.”

  My dad leans his head back, so the pillows support his neck, but his eyes remain on me. “It’s not in your nature to be vindictive. Children are born loving their parents. It’s automatic. Biological. You love her, Aubrey, and that’s why you couldn’t confront her. Deep down, you don’t want to hurt her.”

  I turn my head, not wanting to absorb his words, but I know he’s right. Through all the layers of betrayal, hurt, and anger, there was yearning and warmth. That feeling you feel when you love someone.

  “Well, now you know where she is, so you can go talk to her when you’re healthy.” I clear my throat, needing desperately to move this conversation off me.

  “Oh, I’ll be up there, somewhere in the mountains, but I won’t be seeking her out. Maybe I’ll hunt with someone else from here on out though.”

  “You’re going to keep hunting? Dad, that’s ridiculous. Look at yourself.” I gesture from his head to his toes.

  “Of course I’m going to keep hunting. It was one bad fall. Do you think I should never go out there again?” He makes a disbelieving sound. “Can’t let falling down keep you from getting up.” He levels me with another pointed look.

  “I’m getting the feeling you’re not just talking about hunting.”

  “You need to let him in. If he’s not the one for you, then fine. But I think he is. And I think you know it too.” His words are slow, measured.

  “When did you start thinking so much about this?” And when did he get so wise?

  “I had a lot of time on my hands in the
past day.”

  “Oh, Dad. I can’t stand thinking about what you’ve gone through.” I push down the great big heave my chest wants to make. At this point, I’m certain that would embarrass both of us. Isn’t it enough to know the feeling is there? Do we really have to show the emotion to feel it?

  “Everything’s all right now, Aubs.” His fingers brush the hand I’ve laid on his bed.

  “Excuse me?” A women’s voice speaks up behind me. My dad peers beyond me, smiling, and I follow his gaze.

  “Hi, I’m Cheryl.” A middle-age woman in scrubs approaches me, her hand out. “I’ve been with your dad since he came in last night.” I shake her hand and introduce myself. Cheryl has shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a round, inviting face.

  She steps around me, smiling warmly at my dad. “My shift will be ending soon. Is there anything you need right now?”

  “No, we’re good,” I say.

  At the same time my dad says, “Actually, I’m ready for a nap.”

  “Dad, I’m sorry,” Quickly I step back from his bed. “I didn’t know.”

  “Knock it off, Aubs. You’re never an imposition.” He raises his arms, and Nurse Cheryl frowns. How much pain does this one action cause him? According to him, he doesn’t feel much, but I’m not inclined to believe he feels nothing.

  Gently I fold myself into his waiting arms, careful not to squeeze. I only linger a few seconds. Pulling myself upright, I say “Let me know what you need. I can run home and grab stuff for you.”

  “Maybe some clothes.” He scratches his jaw. Cheryl is checking monitors and bags hanging on the other side of his bed. “I don’t think I can wear what I came here in.” He glances at Cheryl, and she smirks.

  “Not unless you can sew.” They laugh together at her joke.

  “I’ll bring you clothes. Shorts. For your cast.” I grab my purse from where I left it on the ground. “Anything else?”

  He shakes his head no. “Cheryl’s taking good care of me.”

  “OK. I’ll see you soon.” I go to leave, but he calls my name and I turn back. His eyes are on me, and they look full, with emotion or words or maybe some combination. They both live inside him, but they don’t often make any sort of grand appearance.

  “You’re a person worth loving, Aubrey. I’ve always known that.”

  I’m so overcome I can hardly manage a nod. His words deserve my full acknowledgment, but I’ve never been good at receiving compliments.

  “I love you too, Dad,” I say on my way out the door. The air I’m leaving on feels immensely different than the frightened, sad air I walked in on.

  I grabbed more than clothes for my dad. I took everything he would like to have but wouldn’t think to ask for. And I added cologne to the bag. Nurse Cheryl is cute.

  I took something from my old room, too, and traded it for the evening gown I’ve been wearing for too long. I don’t need just in case clothes anymore.

  I’m nearly to the hospital when I stop for coffee. After last night, I need the strongest blend they have.

  That’s exactly what I order, size large. I add the cream myself at their little station in the corner. Lips to the brim of the cup, I’m blowing across the top of the coffee when someone steps in front of me.

  I look up. Shock rolls through me.

  “Owen, hi.” I lift my bent neck from my coffee.

  His hair is longer now, blond waves that tuck behind his ears. He's dressed in navy blue slacks and a crisp blue-and-white gingham shirt with a sheep embroidered over the left breast.

  “Aubrey!” His arm goes around my shoulders as we navigate an awkward side hug. Coffee sloshes onto my hand. I use the napkin in my other hand to clean up, trying to ignore the burning sensation.

  “How are you?” I ask, pushing away the immediate bad feelings I have toward him. He broke my heart, but I wouldn't have Claire if he hadn’t. Or Isaac. Owen set that whole night into motion.

  “I'm great.” He nods and rocks back on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Working for the family business. Real estate,” he adds, like I may not remember. It's an unnecessary reminder. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful,” I say, momentarily forgetting about the current upheaval in my life. “I’m an underwriter at Bridgewater. I have a daughter. She's four.” Just mentioning Claire makes my cheeks spread into a grin. The barista calls out a complicated coffee order, and Owen spins to grab it from the counter.

  He motions to a nearby table. “Do you have time to sit?”

  “Um, sure.” I sit down with my drink while Owen grabs a sleeve from the counter and slips his coffee into it.

  When he sits, his eyes are soft with apology. “I'm really glad I ran into you. I’ve always told myself if I ever saw you again I would say this to you.” He sighs deeply while one hand spins the napkin on the table. “I shouldn't have broken up with you over the phone. That was shitty. I'm sorry.”

  With one finger I tap the wooden tabletop, evaluating his contrite expression. The apology is nice, but there’s something else I want. I’m never going to know why my mother left, but at this exact moment it’s possible for me to learn Owen’s reason.

  I nod. “Thanks, but… What I really need is to know why you broke up with me.”

  He twists his lips. Sips from his coffee. Squints his eyes.

  I lean forward. “Just tell me. It won't hurt my feelings. I need to know why. It's important to me. Please.”

  He sighs again. He's probably wishing he'd turned around the second he saw me today.

  “You were...so intense.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and scrunches his eyes. When he opens them, they look wary. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  My chin is propped on my hand, and I nod into it. “It's better than any apology.”

  Owen seems to understand I mean it, because he opens his mouth. “We were young, and you soaked up everything about me. About us. You were like a sponge. And the way you loved, it was so hard. You loved with force. It was too heavy for me.” One hand runs through his hair. “Is this what you want to hear? I feel bad.”

  My head shakes. “Don't. This is good. This is what I've been needing since the day your balls retracted into your body and you broke up with me by phone. On April Fools Day.” I sip from my drink, eyes on him, and smirk.

  He groans, but he's half-smiling. “I deserved that.”

  “You did.”

  “So you have a daughter? Four?” He sits back in the chair, relaxed. Suddenly his eyebrows draw together. I can almost see his brain trying to fit the puzzle pieces together.

  I sip my drink and let him sweat for a couple seconds. “Not yours,” I say as I lower my cup.

  He lets out a shaky, relieved laugh. “For a second there…”

  I shake my head. “Nope. No secret baby reveals happening today.” Once in a lifetime was enough for me.

  We talk for a few more minutes before Owen says he has a showing he needs to get to. “I'm glad I ran into you,” he says as he stands. “You look good. Happy. Different.”

  “Good luck at your showing today.” I smile up at him.

  “Thanks. Let me know if you're ever in the market for a house.” His voice turns eager, the tone of a sales guy.

  I lock my eyes in place so they won’t roll. “Will do. Bye.”

  He pats my shoulder as he walks past. For the first time since I saw Owen, my tense muscles relax.

  I love too hard. That was Owen's reason. And it says more about him than it does about me. It tells me he needs plain vanilla. White plates.

  But Isaac...

  He wants my color. He wants to take our hours and turn them into a life together. He's not afraid of my intensity.

  It’s not until I’m in my car and driving again that I realize something.

  Broken people love harder.

  So why does Isaac love the way he does?

  Four days after he was found, John was discharged from the hospital with instructions to rest. Aubrey is final
ly back at work after taking the week off to be at the hospital and then help him settle in at home. I don’t say anything to Aubrey about it, but I think Nurse Cheryl will be making some house calls. John morphed into a witty, personable man every time Cheryl came into his room, and she seemed just as smitten. I’m a big believer in fated outcomes, and both Aubrey and John finding love in a hospital isn’t a coincidence.

  We’ve all been working together to take care of Claire so Aubrey can be with John. At first she balked, unsure of what to do with a team of people ready to help her, but then she accepted the help without too much of a fight. This is a win for me, because just two weeks ago she would’ve insisted she was fine doing it all on her own.

  On Monday night when she came home from visiting John, she told me about her mom.

  Aubrey’s face doesn’t show much emotion, but if I keep my focus on her eyes, I can see it all, swimming just beneath the surface.

  I saw her confusion and her pain.

  I saw her choice and what it cost her to make it.

  I know she still wonders, even if she doesn’t admit it, about the reasons why.

  And I know she feels alone.

  That’s why I’m taking her there today. Because she’s not alone, and she needs to know that.

  Aubrey needs to know my ugly truth. She deserves to know why I was really at the bar the night we met.

  And now, with my mom’s blessing, Aubrey’s going to understand how we’re more alike than she could’ve ever imagined.

  Claire and I are waiting for her to come home. Last night Aubrey cooked a week of meals and this morning she took them over to John’s house.

  I’ve been keeping Claire busy all morning. I need her to fall asleep in the car this afternoon. I’ve just set her up with a smock and laid out her watercolor paint set when Aubrey opens the front door.

  “Mommy!” Claire runs for her like it has been days and not hours since she last saw her.

  Aubrey opens her arms. She doesn’t check to see if Claire has paint on her. She takes her and holds her tight. She buries her face in her hair.