The First Kiss of Spring

by Emily March

  Caitlin sang along to songs on the Christmas music station during the two-hour drive home. Upon arriving in Eternity Springs, she stopped by the Trading Post for groceries and picked up Josh’s dog from the vet where she’d been boarded. At his house, she changed the sheets, made a pot of potato soup for their supper, and in deference to his sweet tooth, mixed a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

  She felt disturbingly like a housewife.

  Brick and Lili arrived with Josh at half past four. It quickly became apparent that his mood hadn’t improved with the drive. Brick helped him to his room and into his bed for a two-hour nap. When they sat down to supper, Caitlin was encouraged to see that his appetite was strong. He ate two bowls of soup—a half dozen cookies.

  The meal mellowed his mood, and she talked him into watching a Christmas movie with her. As the closing credits rolled, she glanced over to see that the furrows in his brow had deepened. She rose and walked into the kitchen where Lili had left a collection of amber pill bottles. She read the labels and returned to the media room with a glass of water and two tablets in the palm of her hand. “You’d better take your pain meds, Josh. Remember they told us it’s important to stay in front of it.”

  He stared at her outstretched hand for the longest of moments before taking the pills, popping them into his mouth, and swallowing them. Afterward, he rose and said, “I’m going to bed. I need to sleep. Caitlin…?”

  “Yes?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry I was such an ass to you today. You don’t deserve it. I’ll try to do better.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Josh.” She went up on her tiptoes and gave his cheek a sweet kiss. “Remember what the doctor said. You’ll feel better every day. By Christmas you will almost be back to new.”

  “Christmas. I’d forgotten. I’ve lost track of time.”

  “We’re less than two weeks away.” She tilted her head and studied him. “Since I’ll be staying here, do you mind if I do a little more decorating? The wreath on your door is lonely.”

  He shrugged. “I got shamed into Deck the Halls Friday decorating.”

  “Yes, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It was a pitiful effort, Tarkington.”

  “You’re welcome to have at it. I’m done for today.” He started toward his room, then abruptly halted. “Are you sleeping in my room?”

  “And risk elbowing you in the ribs? Not hardly. I’m in the guest room.”

  “Okay. That’s probably for the better. You’ll see to Penny for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. Good night, Cait.”

  “Good night, Josh.”

  He didn’t kiss her. She told herself not to be silly. The man hurt every time he moved. Kissing would be the furthest thing from his mind.

  Caitlin didn’t know how right she was. As Josh brushed his teeth and undressed and settled carefully into bed, he was thinking about one thing. Only one thing.

  He needed another Percocet.

  Journal Entry

  Every time I go to rehab, they make me journal. It’s supposed to boost my mood and lower my blood pressure. They tell me I’ll spend fewer days in the hospital if I write my feelings down. I don’t know if I buy that. I never did in the past.

  But I’ve changed. A lot of things have changed. Are changing.

  Dying does to that guy. Dying has given me a new perspective.

  I admit, I kinda liked it. It was surprisingly easy to do, and it would be even easier to do it again. The thought of floating away into that nice, warm blanket has a real appeal. Only, next time I’d do it right—somewhere far away from anybody who is ready with a snort of naloxone to pull me back.

  I could do it. The idea is tempting. It’s a craving. One giant craving that trumps all the others. I think about it. I think about dying a lot.

  Dying makes me think about living, too. It’s a choice. Die or live. Surrender or fight. Easy or hard.

  Coming back is a bitch of a trip. That I never ever want to do again.

  So I have to choose. I think about dying a lot.

  But when have I ever done things the easy way?

  This is my journal. This is my journey.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The first casserole arrived at nine the following morning. By noon, they had a dozen. By dinnertime, they could have fed every cadet at the Air Force Academy.

  Visitors began stopping by on Josh’s third day home. Brick and Lily put up a Christmas tree in the front window, and Claire brought so many decorations that Josh grumpily questioned if she’d emptied the shelves at her Christmas shop. Celeste dropped off a stack of vintage motorcycle magazines. Gabi and Flynn Brogan stopped by with a prototype model of a remote-controlled car Flynn had designed, and shortly before school was dismissed for the day, Hope Romano’s kindergarten class congregated on the front lawn and sang Christmas carols.

  Sarah Murphy dropped off a dozen Snickerdoodles with the promise of regular deliveries.

  Josh bore it all with a stoic smile and seemingly genuine appreciation. And when everyone left, he went straight to bed.

  Each day he grew more taciturn. Each day he became more withdrawn.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Caitlin said to Dr. Rose Cicero two days before Christmas when their paths crossed at the Trading Post grocery store. “He’s never been gregarious, but now, he barely talks. When he does talk to me, he’s as likely to snap at me as speak civilly. Sometimes I feel like the silverware are about to burst into song.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Beauty and the Beast. He’s not playing Gaston.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Do you think he could be depressed?”

  “First, I’m a doctor, but I’m not his doctor, so any opinion I express is purely conjecture. That said, post-operative depression is not uncommon. Feeling bad emotionally and physically often go hand in hand. How is his appetite?”

  “Good. His sweet tooth definitely hasn’t been affected. The guy can plow through more cookies than a Little League team.”

  “Is he eating more than normal?”

  “Not really. He’s always been a cookie monster.”

  “Is he sleeping significantly more or less than before the accident?”

  Caitlin pursed her lips and considered it. “More. I guess. I mean, we weren’t living together before, so maybe he often took an afternoon nap.” And slept late. And went to bed early. “Is it his pain meds, do you think? Could they be making him drowsy?”

  “Possibly. I expect his doctor told him to walk. Is he doing that?”

  “Yes. He does take at least one walk a day, even when it’s snowing.” Alone. He didn’t want her coming with him. “But he watches a lot of movies. He has a media room and he sits in the dark and watches movies.” Again, alone. He didn’t want her sitting with him.

  That was one reason why she was loitering in the grocery store this afternoon. When he’d started the Lord of the Rings trilogy earlier, she’d popped a bag of popcorn, put it into a bowl for them to share, and sat down beside him to watch. He’d just about bitten her head off when her phone rang.

  She was seriously thinking about going home. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for nursing. Or dealing with cranky men. Grouchy heroes.

  Rose asked, “Is he going back to his physician in Gunnison or did he transfer here? When is his next follow-up appointment? Who is he seeing?”

  “Here. The appointment is tomorrow with Dr. Alvarado. Josh thinks the doctor is going to let him go back to work.”

  “He could probably do desk work. Counter work. That might be the best thing for him. Will he allow you to speak to the doctor?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Try. Be honest with him, Caitlin. Tell him he needs to be screened for depression.”

  “If he says no?”

  “Do you think he’s a danger to himself or others?”

  “No. Not at all. Well, except for his cholesterol
count. Those cookies can’t be good for him.”

  Rose laughed and gave Caitlin’s arm a comforting pat. “It’s still early yet. He probably simply needs a little more time to heal. Perhaps an increase in the amount of his pain meds. Alvarado is a good doctor. He will ask the right questions.”

  Reassured, Caitlin finished her grocery shopping—all she really needed was more aluminum foil and fresh fruit for breakfast because the casseroles were never-ending—then she headed back to Josh’s house, detouring long enough to check on changes at Gingerbread House. She found Jax in the three-year-olds’ room, checking the foot pedal on the sink. She asked, “Is it weird of me to think that those short little commodes are just the cutest things?”

  “Pretty much. Yep.” He slipped his wrench into his tool belt and grinned at her. “What are you doing January fifteenth at ten a.m.?”

  “I don’t know. What’s happening January fifteenth at ten a.m.?”

  “Final walk-through.”

  “Really?” Delight flowed through her. “You’ll be done?”

  “Barring a disaster”—he knocked on the wooden doorframe—“yes, we’ll be done.”

  Caitlin’s thoughts began spinning. She hadn’t spent much time thinking about her business since the accident. She’d been too busy worrying about Josh and, frankly, playing housewife. Not exactly the recipe for professional success. Idiot.

  “That’s fabulous, Jax. I’d better get my butt in gear if I’m going to be ready to open for business on March first.”

  On the advice of almost everyone who’d dealt with construction delays, she’d waited to order furniture. Undiscovered plumbing or electrical issues could easily set things back for weeks. As far as staffing went, she’d targeted the people she wanted as teachers and discussed the possibility with most of them, but she had no official employment agreements in place. She would need to take care of that—right after the holidays.

  “So, when can Claire and I sign up for a slot for Julianna? Nicholas also wants to attend your after-school program. We don’t want you to fill up before we can put down our deposit.”

  Caitlin waved away his concern. “I don’t need a deposit from you guys.”

  “Caitlin. Caitlin. Caitlin.” He chastised her with a frown. “A piece of advice from one business owner to another. Start as you mean to go on. Create policy and stick to it—friendship or not.”

  She gave him a two-finger salute. “Yes, sir.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “I’m still saving Julianna a spot, no matter what.”

  His chuckle followed her out the door and buoyed her steps as she crossed the yard to Josh’s house. He was asleep again when she arrived and her worries returned. She decided she’d definitely bring up the subject of depression at some point before his doctor’s appointment the next day. In the meantime, she had gifts to wrap. The area beneath the Christmas tree was looking sadly bare here a few short days until Christmas.

  In the guest room where she was sleeping, she went down onto her knees and pulled the gifts she’d purchased for Josh from under her bed. What to get him had been a major problem. How did one follow up a fabulous gift like the necklace he’d given her? It had been a darned near impossible task—until she’d discovered the stack of writing journals in his closet while putting away his laundry.

  Though tempted, she hadn’t snooped beyond opening one just long enough to confirm that they were written in Josh’s handwriting. She’d been both surprised and delighted with the discovery. Surprised because Josh didn’t strike her as the journaling type. Delighted because she finally knew what gift to give him for Christmas.

  She’d dug out the card of an artist she’d discovered at an arts festival the previous year and called to check his inventory. Yesterday the handcrafted leather journal with handmade paper and a vintage door-hinge closure had arrived via priority mail. It was even lovelier than Caitlin had hoped. She couldn’t wait to give it to him.

  She wrapped it, along with gifts for her family and friends, and placed them beneath the tree.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve arrived along with six inches of new snow, transforming Eternity Springs into a picture postcard. Josh had awakened that morning feeling mean as a hungry bear. He’d dreamt he was high—that euphoria of pleasure and well-being had ended in the crash of awakening to pain from head to toe. The need for relief was a rampaging force inside him, and it took all his energy to beat it back.

  The phone call from his mother shortly before noon didn’t help his mood any. She was drunk. It was an hour earlier on the west coast, and she was already high as a kite. Merry Christmas, Mom. Some things never changed.

  Josh hated the Christmas holidays. For as long as he could remember, his holiday season was one crisis after another, one disappointment after another, one lost stretch of time that he survived rather than lived. The only enjoyable Christmas he could remember was the lone holiday he spent with the Christopher family when he was sixteen.

  He sat in his office at the garage with a stack of paperwork in front of him. His right hand held his phone. His left massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said into the phone. “You deserve better than that from the men in your life.”

  “You’re one of the men in my life,” she accused in a quavering voice. “I deserve better from you! It’s Christmas and I’m all alone.”

  It was a waste of breath to attempt to defend himself. Never mind that up until yesterday when her latest lover dumped her, she’d planned to be in Hawaii for the holiday. Then there were the little details of three broken ribs and internal sutures and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to drive—not that he had any intention of sharing that little detail. She’d only twist things around to make it about her. Mainly, though, he wasn’t going visit his mother or invite her to visit because she was a pill-popping alcoholic and he couldn’t be around her.

  “I’m going to hang up now, Mom. This conversation isn’t helping either one of us.”

  “But … but … wait. There’s something else. I need … would you … Joshua, I need you to send me some money.”

  Of course. The real reason for this call. “I made your regular deposit last week.”

  “Yes, but I need more. You have it, Joshua. You can give it to me. Today, before everything closes.”

  “All right. Fine. I’ll make a deposit this afternoon.” And I’ll go to hell for being an enabler.

  Josh ended the call, telephoned his personal banker, and authorized a transfer. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but a man could only fight so many battles at one time, and he was hanging on by a thread as it was. The craving was a constant temptation pulling on his sleeve.

  He needed a distraction, so he called home to Oklahoma. Cindy sounded a little better, he thought. Her lingering cough didn’t interrupt their conversation every few sentences on this call like it had on the last. That was a definite improvement, and he felt that little knot of tension reserved for his foster parents’ health dissolve.

  “We’ll do our best to get up to see you in January,” Paul Christopher said.

  “No. I don’t think the winter mountain air could possibly be good for your lungs. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m able.”

  “Speaking of which,” Cindy said, “how are you managing your pain, Josh?”

  He hesitated. The Christophers knew his history, of course. Under other circumstances, he might have confided in them. But they were fighting their own fight right now. His mother, especially, had been seriously ill. He wouldn’t add another burden of worry on them. “Good. I’m doing really good. With all the wonder drugs around we forget how powerful a pain reliever plain old aspirin can be.”

  They wished each other Merry Christmas and ended the call. Josh decided he’d been sitting too long, so he rose from his chair and headed for the kitchen to raid Caitlin’s cookie jar. As he walked by the Christmas tree, his gaze snagged on the package that had arrived by messenger the previous afternoon. It had come gift-wrapped at h
is instruction, but he found he was curious to see what he’d bought. Careful not to tear anything, he peeled back the red foil paper, revealing a small jewelry box. He opened the box and silently whistled.

  The Sokolov emerald earrings matched the necklace he’d given Caitlin before the accident. He’d purchased them through an intermediary from his half sister, Arabella. He’d put the ring that completed the set, Amelia’s inheritance, and now his possession, in his safety deposit box. His half sisters both had been quick to accept the offer he’d made for the pieces. An ex-pat living in London, Arabella had expressed a desire to meet him the next time she visited the States. It was a vague enough request that he’d agreed to it. She’d said she’d bring Amelia along too. If it ever happened, his mother would blow a gasket.

  Josh studied the earrings. The emeralds in the triple teardrops glowed an appropriate Christmas green, the diamonds surrounding them twinkling like tree lights. They’d be pretty as a Christmas ribbon dangling from her ears, wrapping the perfect package.

  Caitlin had certainly been a gift to him. He’d needed help doing just about everything those first few days out of the hospital. She’d refused to let him hire a nurse and she’d moved right in.

  She was both his salvation and his damnation. He knew that for both their sakes he should send her away, but that was another thing he didn’t have the strength to do. Because even though he didn’t want to admit it, he liked having her around. He liked the way she fussed over him, and he didn’t want to be alone, even when the pain and craving turned him in on himself. He kept telling himself that after Christmas, he’d send her home, knowing if he had any honor whatsoever, he’d do it today.