Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  Tess’s smile bloomed. “Josh came with you?”

  “Josh and Taylor. They’re in the waiting room. The nurse okayed her to come on back, but I wanted to see you myself first.”

  “I don’t want to scare her,” Tess said.

  “She’ll be more worried if she doesn’t get to see you,” Matt said.

  “Is she still having nightmares?”

  “Mom, I told you, the kids are fine. Both of them.”

  “Is Allison with them?”

  Matt tensed. Hell. His mother liked Allison, liked the thought of him paired up and moving on with his life. He did not want to upset his mother. Visits should be brief, quiet, and pleasant, the guidelines for visitors said.

  “No.” He cleared his throat, prepared to lie. “She couldn’t get away. Her parents paid her a surprise visit this weekend.”

  “That must be nice,” Tess said, still watching his face. Whatever else had broken in the crash, her mother’s instincts had clearly survived without a scratch. “You be sure to thank her for the books. And the lovely card.”

  Allison had sent his mom books?

  Of course she did. She was thoughtful that way, generous in body and heart.

  “I’ll tell her,” he said.

  It’s over, he’d said. That didn’t mean he’d never see her again. That she wouldn’t speak to him. Did it?

  “Did you get a chance to meet them?” Tess asked.

  “Who?”

  “Her parents.”

  They were checking out tomorrow. He could hardly wait.

  “Babe,” Tom said. “The kids are waiting.”

  “Oh.” Tess blinked, looking momentarily lost. Confused.

  Old, Matt thought, his heart lurching.

  “I’ll get them,” he said.

  “No.” Tess’s voice strengthened. “I don’t want to be in bed when they see me.”

  “Mom, it’s okay. They know you’re…”

  “Recovering,” Tess said firmly. “Which will be a lot easier for them to accept if I’m sitting in a chair like a normal person.”

  Tom scowled. “The doctor told you not to overdo it.”

  “The doctor also said I am making wonderful progress, and that the more I move around the less chance I have of developing blood clots. So.” She pinned him with the Don’t-mess-with-me-mister look that had kept them all in line for as long as Matt could remember. “You better call a nurse and get me to a chair.”

  Matt watched, helpless, as his father and the nurse maneuvered, braced, and supported Tess in stages from lying to sitting to standing.

  She froze, rigid with pain and effort.

  Tom held out his arms and smiled into her eyes. “You and me, babe,” his father said. “Like dancing.”

  Matt’s eyes stung.

  He remembered once—he must have been seven or eight—watching his parents get ready to leave for some function on the base, his dad, tall and formal in his dress blues, his mom, unfamiliar in a dress that glittered and clung. The look of pride on his father’s face, the secret shining in his mother’s eyes. The same look they wore now, as if they were the only two people in the room, in the world. Matt had felt, well, weird seeing them that way for the first time, two grown-ups, two strangers, two characters in a story, as if he and his sister and brother were only spectators, minor participants in their parents’ fairy tale.

  It still felt weird. Weird and good.

  “Thatta girl,” his father said. “I’ve got you.”

  And his mother stepped forward.

  Matt’s muscles clenched in sympathy as she battled her way across the linoleum, one step, two.

  “Easy,” said the nurse.

  Three steps. Four.

  By the time Tess lowered, panting, onto her chair, a trickle of sweat ran down the small of Matt’s back. She closed her eyes.

  “Good job,” Tom said.

  “Oh, please,” Tess said. But she was smiling.

  “NICE CAR,” TOM said as he and Matt stood in the parking lot. The kids were in the lobby, grabbing snacks from the vending machines for the long ride home. “You done good, son.”

  Matt moved his shoulders, unaccustomed to his father’s praise. “No problem. I changed the oil and the fluids, checked the belts and tires. She’s good to go.”

  “Polished her up some, too,” Tom said. “You must have been up all night.”

  Another shrug. The truth was, Matt had slept less in the past three nights than when he’d been dividing his time between two beds. He’d jerk awake at two in the morning, craving the curve of her neck, the small of her back, the smell of her hair. Or lie, stiff and lonely, in the dark, waiting for his alarm to go off.

  Better to stay up with the car, to do something physical, tangible, right.

  “How’s Allison?” Tom asked.

  Matt set his jaw. “She’s fine.”

  They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the white and glass façade of the hospital.

  “Appreciate you bringing the car,” Tom said.

  “Maybe now you’ve got your own transportation, you’ll actually grab some sleep at the motel.”

  Tom grunted. “I don’t like to leave her alone. You think I’d be used to it, all those years overseas. But I don’t sleep so well without your mother.”

  Right there with you, Dad.

  “How much longer is she in for?”

  “Barring complications, the doctor says maybe a couple of weeks. They’ve got a rehab program here to teach her how to get on.”

  “Weeks,” Matt repeated. They stretched ahead of him, echoing and empty. “That’s a long time to be away from home.”

  Tom grunted. “I am home.”

  Matt glanced at him sideways.

  Tom’s eyes twinkled. “It’s okay, son. I’m not losing it. You know she grew up in Chicago. Your mother. All the Saltonis, all in one neighborhood, the same church, the same schools, the same friends. Then she marries me, and we’re moving all over, living on bases in enlisted housing, never a place to call her own.”

  “I remember,” Matt said.

  “I know you do. Your sister, Meg, she loved it, a new school, a fresh start every year. Luke, he doesn’t remember much about it. He was eight when we bought Pirates’ Rest. But you and your mother, you liked to put down roots. The moving was harder for you. I said to her once early on I was sorry I couldn’t give her a home like she had growing up.

  “And your mother, she says to me…” Tom blinked. Cleared his throat. “Your mother says, ‘Wherever you are is home, Tom. Anything else is just a house to put it in.’”

  Matt squinted at the hospital building because, Jesus, if he looked at his dad he’d start bawling like a baby. “Mom’s going to be okay,” he said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Tom sniffed mightily. “Isn’t that what I’ve just been telling you? Your mother’s been looking after us all her life. Me. You kids. It’s time for me to take care of her now, that’s all. As long as I’ve got her, everything else will work itself out.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Matt said.

  He remembered the way he’d felt with Allison, the way she made everything better at the end of the day.

  As long as I’ve got her…

  Except he didn’t have her anymore. And that was his own damn fault.

  TAYLOR SAT ON the curb outside the high school building after school on Monday, waiting for Josh.

  She was totally old enough to walk home by herself. But when Uncle Matt decided he was right about something, he was stubborner than a donkey, as Mom would say.

  Taylor swallowed the familiar lump in her throat when she thought of Mom. Things were better now that she knew she could stay on the island. Uncle Matt said so—Whatever it takes, he’d said—and she believed him. She didn’t want to go back to Grandma Jolene’s. But she missed her school and she missed her friends and even though Fezzik was the best dog ever, she still missed Snowball. It sucked being the new kid, especially at a school w
here everybody had known everybody else since forever. And this weekend had felt all mixed up, no Allison and no Aunt Meg and talking or not really talking to her dad—to Luke—on the computer and then crying all over Uncle Matt before they piled into the truck and drove to the hospital to see Grandma.

  Taylor stared at her sneakers until the laces blurred, feeling tears behind her eyes. That had been the worst, seeing Grandma Tess in the hospital.

  Like Mom.

  What if Grandma died like Mom?

  Taylor swallowed again, hard, but it didn’t stop the tears from burning the back of her throat. It was like once she started leaking she couldn’t stop.

  Some of the girls from Taylor’s class came by, Rachel Wilson and Madison Lodge, walking with Rachel’s big brother, Ethan. Josh’s friend.

  Taylor tugged down the brim of her hat so they wouldn’t see her sniveling.

  Madison was okay. Her mom had helped out at the inn this weekend. Mrs. Lodge’s cookies weren’t very good and the way she tied up her shirt to show her stomach when she thought Uncle Matt might be looking was kind of gross. Call me Cynthie, she said. As if Taylor would. But she wasn’t mean. Madison wasn’t mean, either.

  Rachel was mean.

  “Hey, Taylor,” Madison said as they walked along the curb.

  Rachel sniffed. “Why are you talking to her? She’s a stupid dingbatter.”

  Taylor raised her head. “Fuck off, Rachel.”

  Ethan laughed.

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “You can’t talk to me that way. Nice girls don’t talk that way.”

  “Guess you talk like that all the time, then,” Taylor said. There was a certain wretched satisfaction in baiting Rachel, who was pretty and popular with long, dark hair that her mother French-braided every morning. “Since you’re not nice.”

  “At least I’m a girl.” Rachel smiled, going in for the kill. “At least I don’t dress like a boy in a stupid baseball jersey and a stupid army hat.”

  Red hazed Taylor’s vision. She jumped to her feet, fists bunching at her sides. “Take it back.”

  Rachel tossed her head, the French braid switching from side to side. “Why should I? You do dress like a boy. Everybody says so.”

  “Hey, Rache, take it easy,” said her brother.

  “Does everybody say you’re a bitch, too?” Taylor asked.

  “At least I’m not a boy,” Rachel said.

  Taylor couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t breathe. Rage and misery balled together in her chest, squeezing her lungs.

  “Come on, Rachel, leave the kid alone. Maybe she doesn’t dress like a girl because she lost her mom.”

  Rachel sneered. “She probably died of shame.”

  It was the last straw.

  With a howl of grief and fury, Taylor flung herself at Rachel.

  Only Rachel’s brother stepped in the way, and she tripped over his feet. She went down, pain exploding in her knees, ripping across her palms.

  Rachel tittered as Taylor swayed on hands and knees on the ground.

  “Shit,” Ethan muttered. “Chill, would you? Both of you.”

  He tripped her. Taylor lurched to her feet in a welter of blood and snot and tears and punched him as hard as she could in the stomach.

  His breath whooshed out. “Oof.”

  Rachel screamed.

  “Hey.” Warm, strong hands. Warm, calm voice. Joshua, grabbing her shoulders, pulling her back. “Knock it off.”

  Taylor almost sobbed in relief.

  Madison hopped from foot to foot. “Here comes Miz Nelson.”

  The vice principal.

  “Shit,” Ethan said again.

  “I’m gonna tell,” Rachel said.

  Joshua threw her a hard look. “What? That your brother got beat up by a little girl?”

  Josh’s scorn withered Rachel as nothing else could have done. Josh was one of the lucky few, the golden ones who sauntered through the halls of Virginia Dare a head taller than their other, lesser, pimpled peers. Taylor clutched his arm, clinging to his protection, her head spinning, the pain in her knees almost blinding.

  “Okay, man?” Josh asked Ethan.

  Ethan nodded, red-faced and admiring. “Sure, Josh.”

  “Cool. Come on,” Josh said to Taylor. “We got to get you outta here.”

  Nineteen

  ALLISON DROVE TO the Pirates’ Rest to say good-bye to her parents. They were leaving.

  And not a moment too soon, Allison told herself. If her parents hadn’t shown up, she would still be with Matt. She wouldn’t even be thinking of updating her resume, considering another move.

  She passed through the center of town, charmed as always by the mix of new and old, bright kayaks standing up beside lichened gravestones, flower planters spilling under stunted oaks, pleasure boats floating as sleek and white as gulls on the timeless waters of the harbor. Like the Outer Banks themselves, the population of the island was shifting. Renewing itself.

  Was she really considering moving on? Running away.

  She didn’t know if she belonged here, but she wanted to find out. She wanted to stay. With or without her parents’ blessing. With or without Matt.

  It was her life. Her choice.

  Two figures trudged along the sandy shoulder of the road, one tall and broad-shouldered, one short with an uneven gait. Allison slowed the car, her heart thumping as she recognized the tall one’s tawny mop, the Marine cap tugged over the short one’s head. Joshua and Taylor.

  Allison frowned. Was Taylor limping?

  She steered wide and pulled in front of them, coasting to a stop by the side of the road. Unrolling her window, she leaned out. “Are you guys all right?”

  Taylor raised her head.

  Tears, Allison thought. She got out of the car.

  “It’s okay, Miss Carter.” Josh dropped a hand on Taylor’s shoulder, supporting or restraining her. “We’re fine.”

  Allison looked at Taylor. Oh, God, her knees.

  “It is not okay. She’s not fine.” Allison crouched to inspect the damage, a fierce maternal instinct roaring to life inside her. Taylor’s jeans were split across, her knees crusted with dirt and blood. “Oh, sweetie.”

  Taylor’s chin wobbled.

  Allison turned over the girl’s palms. Scraped and raw. “Okay, that’s it.” Allison stood. “Get in the car.”

  Josh hesitated. “We’re pretty dirty.”

  Bloody.

  “Don’t worry. Leather cleans,” Allison said briskly. “In the car. Now.”

  She expected Josh to call shotgun, but he settled in to the backseat with Taylor. She watched the girl nudge him with her shoulder, saw his big hand drop casually on her head, giving her a quick rub like a dog.

  She lost another little piece of her heart to both of them.

  “So what happened?” she asked as she pulled on to the road.

  She saw the quick glance they exchanged in the rearview mirror, and her Teacher’s Spidey Sense went on alert.

  “She tripped,” Joshua said.

  “Really. Who tripped her?”

  They drew a little closer together in the backseat, a united wall of Fletcher silence.

  Allison sighed. Did she really want to interfere with that lovely family bond? “You do know fighting is against school rules.”

  “So’s bullying,” Josh said.

  Allison was shocked at her rush of protective anger. “Did somebody bully you?” she asked Taylor.

  “It’s cool,” Josh said. “We handled it.”

  Allison sought Taylor’s gaze in the mirror. “Taylor?”

  A stiff nod.

  “Okay. Well, if you need help hiding the bodies let me know,” Allison said, deliberately teasing, carefully light, and was rewarded when Taylor smiled.

  HER PARENTS’ CAR was still parked in front of the inn. Matt’s truck was missing from its usual spot out back.

  “Where’s your dad?” Allison asked.

  “I think he had a charter,” Josh said.
>
  Allison tried hard to feel relieved instead of disappointed. She wanted to see Matt, but she wasn’t sure she could face him. She didn’t need him to thank her for taking care of Taylor.

  She focused on Taylor. After the girl had changed into a pair of basketball shorts—carefully, because of her scrapes—Allison sat her down at the kitchen table and gently sponged the embedded dirt and gravel from her knees.

  Taylor hissed.

  Fezzik whined and thrust his head against her hand.

  “You’re doing great,” Allison said.

  The dog’s ears perked as sounds penetrated from the hall. Scrape thump, scrape thump down the stairs.

  “Really, I don’t understand why these people don’t put in an elevator,” Marilyn’s voice complained.

  Her parents. Allison stiffened. She’d completely forgotten them.

  “You don’t put an elevator in an old Craftsman house like this,” Richard said. “A competent bellboy would do.”

  Josh stood. “I’ll go help them.”

  “They’re fine.” Allison raised her voice. “Mom, Dad? I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Allison!” Her mother came through the doorway, radiating Chanel and disapproval. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you I’d stop by.”

  “Not here at the inn. Here.” Her mother waved her hand. “In the kitchen. Working.”

  “I’m not working, Mom. Taylor had a little accident.”

  Her mother stepped forward to squint at Taylor’s knees. “Good heavens.” Marilyn turned pale. “Is she all right?”

  Allison gave Taylor’s foot a reassuring squeeze. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Well, put a Band-Aid on her or something. You don’t want that to get infected.”

  Allison smiled. “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good.” Her mother blinked. “Why are you the one taking care of her? Where is her father?”

  “He’s in Afghanistan,” Taylor said.

  “She means Dad,” Josh said.

  “Mom, we’re fine. I’ve got this.”

  Marilyn’s brow puckered despite the Botox. “The children are his responsibility, not yours. We just don’t want to see you taken advantage of.”