Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  “Olga, you watch the phones for Bunny so she can go now and get this taken care of. No reason to wait for lunch.” Abigail picked up her floral tote, muttering to herself all the way to her office.

  Olga scooted around to Bunny’s side of the desk. “In Abigail’s book, the Devil hisself has more goodness in his heart than Deena-Hobbs Strickland. You have heard about the big petition?”

  Bunny picked up her purse, thankful that she could get this business done now. “What petition?”

  “To cut funding to Nature Center. She has proposal to build new shopping center on Lake Emerson. Many people make the jokes, but lots of truth in joking, that she has plans for statue to be erected in this shopping center if gets built.”

  “Statue of what?”

  “Herself, of course. Like I say, it’s the joking, but who knows, eh?” Olga hopped up into Bunny’s rolling chair. Her legs dangled, not touching the floor. She made a shooing gesture at Bunny. “Make the skedaddling.”

  The restraining order—or protection order as the form called it—was simple to get. Nothing more was required than an application and approval.

  Once they were done, Daddy had a piece of paper to protect him from Deena’s attempt to remove him from his apartment. The nice courthouse clerk said the order would protect him from any of Deena’s tricks in the short term.

  With the protection order in his hand and a new pay-as-you-go cell phone from the electronics store, Daddy felt in control. “I want to go back to my apartment now,” he said.

  “Are you sure, Daddy?”

  “I’m very sure. Not gonna let her keep me scared. Learned my lesson. Gotta talk to my buddy Walter, anyway. See if his son can represent me in this whole mess.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Nah.” He patted her hand. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

  “A grown man that somehow let his daughter hold him hostage against his will?”

  “I said I learned my lesson.”

  Bunny tried not to pout. “I like having you around.”

  “Jeezy Lou, Bunny Cakes,” he said, “You’d get tired of me just as fast as I’d get tired of you.”

  He was probably right, Bunny thought. With his new obsession for video games, it would be like having another teenage boy in the house.

  Yet, he had been a savior the day before, helping the boys and girls paint sets in Tate’s garage. He’d seemed to enjoy himself.

  She got out of the car and walked with Daddy to the lobby of Whispering Pines. “Daddy,” she said, “I could use more help with the sets for the play. My friend might be gone for a few more days, and even when he gets back I think he’s going to be occupied with other things. Would it be okay if I told him you and I could help out—take over if necessary?”

  Daddy nodded. “That’s a great idea. And maybe some of my buddies could chip in. Harry was a contractor. Should I talk to him?”

  “That would be great.” She hugged him tight.

  Nice Nancy’s eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets when she saw them approach the desk.

  Bunny’s father slapped the official document onto the shiny granite counter top. “Get Dan Baker here. I want him to see this right now.”

  Nancy shifted her eyes back and forth between Bunny and her father. She leaned over the desk and whispered, “She’s here with the police.”

  As if on cue, Demon’s voice echoed loudly from around the corner at the end of the large foyer of Whispering Pines. “My husband, Randall Strickland, and I are very concerned and expect the Rustic Woods Police to make sure my father is returned safely, Officer White. You understand that my father, Douglas Hobbs, is highly respected in this community. He once owned all eight Peppy’s Pizza restaurants in Fairfax county and sat on the Rustic Woods Homeowners Association board for three years.”

  Bunny watched Demon, the police officer, and Dan Baker all round the corner. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that fact several times now,” the officer said to Demon.

  Demon shouted and pointed when she spotted Bunny and her father standing in the lobby. “That’s them! Arrest her officer! She put my poor sweet father in danger!”

  Daddy snatched the paper from the desk and held it in the air with both hands as if he were holding up a poster at a protest rally. “I got a protection order. You’re not arresting anyone today, sir!”

  “That’s correct,” the police officer said, strolling their way, a hand resting relaxed on his holstered gun. “We aren’t arresting anyone today...Mr. Hobbs, is it?”

  “That’s right. And this is my other daughter Bunny who rescued me from confinement on Saturday. I’m not the one with mental problems here.”

  “No one is accusing you of having mental problems, Mr. Hobbs.”

  The officer gave Bunny a tip of the head and small smile that made her relax the tiniest bit. “You are Ms...” he looked at his note pad. “Ms. Bergen?”

  She nodded. She felt the lump in her throat that often made her voice quaver when she got nervous, but she made a conscious effort to think that lump away. “Yes,” she said, pleased when her vocal chords obeyed. “I am Ms. Bergen, Douglas Hobbs’ younger daughter.”

  “Can I see that paper in your hands, Mr. Hobbs?”

  Daddy handed it over reluctantly. “Make sure I get it back.”

  Demon made an attempt at running toward them, but her large bulk didn’t move too quickly.

  Officer White gestured her back. “Don’t come any closer, Mrs. Strickland.” He continued to inspect the document.

  Demon didn’t seem to care about being ordered to stay back. “It’s Hobbs-Strickland, and—”

  Officer White turned back to her. “Halt now, or I’ll be forced to place you under arrest.”

  That stopped Demon. She was rarely confused or off-balance, but that’s exactly how she looked now. “I don’t understand. What’s happening here?”

  Officer White handed the paper back to Daddy and stepped back toward Demon. “Your father has obtained an emergency protection order against you, Mrs. Hobbs-Strickland.”

  “Against me?” she shouted. She pointed to Bunny. “She’s the one—”

  “I will walk you outside of the premises, Mrs. Strickland.”

  “Hobbs-Strickland,” she protested.

  “I will walk you outside of the premises and explain the law, as it applies to you currently.” He put a hand near, but not on Demon’s back, guiding her toward the automatic doors.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward Dan Baker, who had been observing the hubbub with nearly the same amount of confusion as Demon. “Mr. Baker, please see that Mr. Hobbs returns safely to his unit and that you do due diligence in seeing that order is enforced.”

  Dan Baker nodded.

  Demon could be heard shouting threats to Officer White all the way out those sliding glass doors, and Bunny wondered if her sister wouldn’t manage to get herself arrested anyway.

  Bunny smiled. Not because she was happy to see her sister brought to heel (although that did give her momentary pleasure), but because she had stood strong. Things, she thought, were beginning to turn around for her.

  At least, she hoped this was just the beginning of good things to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MONDAY AFTERNOON, TATE DECIDED THAT Willow shouldn’t miss any more school, so May agreed to drive her back to Rustic Woods. May would go back to her job in Washington, D.C. and then drive back to Virginia each night to stay with Willow until Tate and Samuel were able to bring Morton home.

  By Wednesday morning, Tate was tired of the small hotel room, the bad food, and the restless nights. The static air that still hung between he and Samuel wasn’t pleasant either.

  Neither of them seemed very good at starting conversations, or once some words were exchanged, they couldn’t seem to keep the momentum going.

  Tate did learn that Samuel, like May, had never married or had kids. Samuel blamed the overwhelming nature of his business life, but Tate
posited that their own circumstances growing up certainly hadn’t been a valuable lesson in how to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.

  Samuel also admitted that he knew Tate had married. He said he had even talked once with Jill on the phone when they lived in California, but had chickened out at the last minute and pretended to be a telemarketer. That, he said, was the one and only time he had tried to contact Tate.

  Samuel was waiting for Tate in the hospital lounge when he walked in.

  “Have you seen a doctor yet?” Tate asked him.

  Samuel shook his head. “No. I just got here. You should be the one to talk to them.”

  Tate nodded, tucking the leather portfolio filled with his father’s medical documentation and insurance notes under one arm. He was hoping that the doctors would finally agree to let Morton go home. His fever had come down the previous day, and his pain was being managed with drugs.

  Upstairs, far enough from the room so Morton couldn’t see or hear, the doctor reviewed Morton’s case with Tate and Samuel. “We have been talking with both the oncologist on site as well as your father’s doctor and oncologist back home. Your father continues to reject a chemotherapy option that could possibly extend his life another three, possibly four months.”

  Tate nodded.

  “At this point,” the doctor continued, “your father has seen some improvement, but the pain needs management, and he should be on oxygen. There’s some incontinence as well. We will recommend release to hospice care in his home, but suggest that he be transported by ambulance with a team on board to maintain his comfort for the long distance.”

  “What will that cost?” Tate asked.

  “I’m going to have you work with a woman in our administrative office. She’ll put you in contact with the company and they will discuss cost, insurance, billing—all of the particulars.”

  Tate dropped his head in frustration. That meant another day of paperwork, waiting on hold for a “health care advocate” who was never an advocate of anything but insurance company policy. The advocate would probably get on the phone, and then transfer him to five more “advocates.”

  Samuel rested a hand on Tate’s shoulder. “You’re tired. Let me handle this.”

  That would be nice, Tate thought. Nice for someone else to manage this bloody crap for a while. He smiled at his own inner sister. “I don’t know...”

  “Is everything I need in there?” Samuel pointed to the portfolio in Tate’s hand.

  “Yeah.” Tate considered the offer. He did need to call into work, check on things, and let Bunny know what to tell everyone. He handed the portfolio over, thankful for the reprieve. “I’ll be outside. I need to call work and check in. Text me if you need anything.”

  It was a cold March morning, and a misty rain made the air feel even colder. Tate had come outside to give a grieving family some privacy.

  He dialed Bunny’s cell phone. He didn’t want to deal with someone else who might pick up the Nature Center phone if she happened to be away from the desk when he called.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Hey. It’s me.”

  “I know.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and that made the rain feel less depressing. “I’m at the front desk,” she whispered, “so I’m trying to sound very business-like.”

  “You’re doing a good job of it.”

  “How is your dad?”

  “Better. We’re working out a way to get him home right now. I don’t know what that entails. I might be back today or tomorrow...or who knows.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  Tate couldn’t help but smile just hearing her voice, but also her tone. She always seemed to be looking for the positive. “I think so. I’ll call when I know more, but for right now, obviously I’m not coming in today.”

  “I’ll tell everyone. They’re worried about you, and Lydia and Ross wanted to send flowers to the hospital. Can I give them that information at least?”

  “No. Morton could care less. It’s a nice idea, and tell them I said thank you for the thought.”

  “I think they just want to show support for you.”

  “I know.” He closed his eyes and imagined Bunny in her chair talking into the phone. Maybe she was twisting a pen between two fingers like she did when she was on the phone handling business. Or tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning her chin in her hand the way he had seen her do over the last couple of weeks.

  Then he pictured her lying in his bed next to him and could almost feel the touch of her soft skin against his.

  He opened his eyes at the sound of the hospital doors opening. A couple walked past him, opening their umbrellas to the rain. “How are you?” he asked Bunny.

  “Good. I was able to reach everyone on the set crew like you asked. They’ll be moving everything from your garage to my garage on Saturday. I have everyone’s email addresses now, too.”

  “That’s great. And you’re sure about this?”

  “Are you kidding me? Daddy is very excited. He’s been recruiting some guys from the Pines. I’ll have food there, and they’ll just take over where you started. One less worry on your plate. Charlie said he’ll tell Ms. Steffler that everything is being taken care of.”

  “I think I’ll owe you at least a dinner out when this is all over.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  “Oh, you don’t owe me anything...” She seemed to be hesitating. “But that would be nice anyway. Should I check in on Willow for you?”

  “May texted me last night. They changed her work schedule so she’s home today.”

  He didn’t want to get off the phone, and yet he did. He didn’t like talking, and yet he could talk to her all day long. He heard the Nature Center phone ring in the background, and he knew he didn’t have a choice. “I hear your phone—go ahead and take that. I’ll call when I know more.”

  “Okay. Have a good...” she stopped herself midway through her usual sign-off. “I mean, take care.”

  By late afternoon, all plans had been made for Morton’s transport home. A hospital bed had been rented and would be delivered Thursday morning, about the same time that Morton would begin his ambulance ride back to Virginia. A nurse would arrive Thursday afternoon to meet Morton and the family.

  Samuel went back to the hotel to get some work done while Tate sat down with Mort to explain.

  The old man reached for his cup of water.

  Tate helped him, taking the cup and holding it so his father could drink from the straw. He was weak, and Tate could see that even sucking on the straw was taxing his energy.

  When he’d had enough, he pushed Tate’s hand away, not bothering to say thank you.

  Tate would have been shocked if Morton had uttered any appreciation. It would have been a sure sign that Tate was in the wrong room or that a pod-Morton had been put in his place. “Good news,” Tate said. “You’re going home tomorrow.”

  “Why not now?”

  “You’ll be going by ambulance, and you’ll have a comfortable hospital bed there waiting for you.”

  “How’s that gonna happen?”

  “May is letting them in.” That, in fact, was a lie. He and Samuel had already decided that since May had to work, Samuel would fly up early in the morning and get the house ready.

  Morton winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He was pale, and his eyelids looked as thin as rice paper.

  “You okay?” Tate asked him.

  “Feel like shit.”

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  “I suppose you’re doing everything you can.”

  Tate shrugged. “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?”

  “Nah. I feel a sleep coming on. No need.”

  Tate gave a light pat to the side of Morton’s bed. Morton had never been much for physical shows of affection, so Tate was pretty sure he wouldn’t be up for a supportive pat or squeeze now. “I’ll head out then. See you tomorrow morning.”
>
  Morton didn’t open his eyes or otherwise acknowledge the goodbye.

  Tate was walking through the door to leave when he heard his father’s weak voice. “Where’s the girl?”

  He stopped and turned. “You mean Willow?”

  Morton’s nod was faint, but observable.

  “She’s with May back home. I thought I told you.”

  “She’s going to be in that play, right?”

  Chalk one up to Morton for throwing Tate a curve ball. He wasn’t sure he’d even said anything to Mort about it. Maybe Willow had told him. “Yeah.”

  His father swallowed. “Good.”

  When Tate was pretty sure the conversation had ended, he left the hospital for the night.

  Tate was resting on his hotel bed, propped against the headboard with pillows, and clicking the television remote when he heard a knock on the door. Reluctantly, he rose and padded to the door in his stocking feet.

  The hotel near the hospital was a far cry from five-star quality, and the door handle required some jiggling to get it work. Such a door was not the safest in the event of fire, he thought.

  When he finally managed to get the door open, Samuel stood with a large pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of bottled beer in the other.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Tate’s mouth. “Dos Equiis?”

  Samuel shook his head. “Asahi.”

  “Asa-what?”

  “Asahi. It’s Japanese. You have a problem with that?”

  Tate stepped back, making way for his brother to enter the small room. “I’m many things, but not a beer snob. I am a pizza snob though. What kind of toppings did you put on that thing?” He grabbed the remote and clicked the television off.

  “Grease. They appear to have put a lot of grease on it. That, and sausage, mushrooms, and hot peppers.”

  Tate let a furrow crease his brow. “How did you know?”

  “I called Willow. She claims you won’t touch a pizza with any other toppings.”

  “I don’t.”