by Emily March
Josh briefly closed his eyes. His heart aching for her and her family, he pulled her into the house and into his arms. Sobbing, she collapsed against him. He held her, letting her cry, stroking her back up and down, and murmuring soothing sounds. She babbled against his chest, but he couldn’t make out the words. Slowly, he guided her toward the big chair sitting in front of the fireplace. He sat, pulled her into his lap, and let her fall apart.
She cried until she had no more tears to shed, and when she finally quieted, he asked, “Can you tell me about it, honey?”
In fits and starts interrupted by hiccups, she did. Josh’s stomach sank as he pieced together her tale. ALS. Oh man, that’s tough. “I’m so sorry, Caitlin. That’s frightening. Waiting is the worst thing, and to have to wait six months … that’s gnarly.”
“I knew something was wrong. I knew it and I asked them and asked them and they lied to me.” She squirmed out of his hold and sat up. With accusation in her voice, she added, “Like you lied to me. Lies of omission are still lies.”
Josh considered his response. He needed to have an honest talk with Caitlin, but now was not the time. She’d come to him for comfort and support. This moment was about her.
“Don’t be too hard on your parents, Cait. I don’t doubt that they wanted to spare you worry. They protected you. That’s what you do for those you love. Plus, I imagine they needed time to come to terms with the situation themselves. This is your father’s journey. He gets to decide the route. Don’t beat him up over the choices he made. Now is not the time.”
“You’re right.” She sighed and snuggled closer to him. “Now that I know what he and mom were going through, I understand what I was seeing when I sensed something was wrong. They both have been tense and on edge. Stressed. But something has changed, with Dad at least, and it’s happened in the past week or so. He’s mellowed.”
“Acceptance.”
She considered it, then nodded. “Yes, I think he has come to terms, at least in part, with what is happening to him.”
“I would imagine he’s been going through a grieving process. Acceptance is the final stage.”
Sounding like a little lost girl, she said, “I’m just beginning the journey. I have to tell you, Josh. It sucks.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
She cried a little more, her tears softer this time, more sorrowful than devastated. When she finished, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Josh was content to hold her. He’d be happy to hold her from now until her family’s wait ended with Mac’s appointment on the first day of spring. He wanted to be her rock. Be her support. To do for her like she’d done for him in the aftermath of the accident.
Because that’s what people do when they love one another, and Josh loved Caitlin—whether he wanted to or not.
She didn’t stir for almost an hour, and he spent that time watching her, studying her face and features like he would a masterpiece hanging in a museum. She was a masterpiece to him, an exquisite combination of beauty and emotion and heart.
He was about to doze off himself when Caitlin finally stirred. She sat up and gave him a sleepy smile, and Josh couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.
It was a stupid thing to do. A selfish thing to do. Certainly not in keeping with the guidelines by which he was trying to live his life.
But then she kissed him back, and his craving for her eclipsed any other hunger he’d ever known. No medicine could treat this need. No amount of therapy. The only twelve steps that would satiate this desire were those it would take to reach his bed.
Josh simply wasn’t strong enough to resist Caitlin Timberlake.
Journal Entry
Love is patient, love is kind.
It is not jealous, it is not pompous,
it is not inflated, it is not rude,
it does not seek its own interests,
it is not quick-tempered,
it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing
but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things.
—1 Corinthians 13:4-7
For the first time in my life, I get it.
Chapter Twenty-One
When the fog of lust finally cleared, Caitlin went from limp as a noodle to strung tight as knotted fishing line. What in the world had she done?
She’d gone crawling to Josh like a needy child, that’s what. And what had it solved? Nothing. Her father was still sick, and she’d thrown her righteous resistance under the bus.
Caitlin was ashamed of herself. She’d used him. That was poorly done of her.
Not that he likely cared. He was a man, after all. Pity sex was still sex and he’d been in a dry spell. With his ribs healed, he had probably been pretty itchy and glad to have it scratched.
Now what? Was there a way to get out of this with her pride intact? How should she act?
What did it matter? Daddy is dying. That’s all that matters.
Despair returned with reality. Without looking at Josh, she rolled out of bed, retrieved her clothing, and fled to the bathroom to dress. Tears had welled up inside her again and she desperately wanted to hold them back, but she couldn’t stop the flood. She felt cold both inside and out, so she turned on the shower and stepped beneath the steaming spray.
Her gaze immediately fell upon her shampoo and her conditioner and her heart gave another twist. She’d forgotten all about those two bottles. Why hadn’t he moved them? Had he always believed she’d come back? She’d given him no reason to think so. She hadn’t spoken to him once since he threw her out. Did he think that all he needed to do was snap his fingers and she’d come crawling back?
He didn’t even have to snap his fingers.
The truth of it made her feel raw. She wished she could dissolve and disappear down the drain right along with the soap, the shampoo, and her tears.
And to think that she’d awakened this morning happy as a clam and looking forward to the weekend. If the weather held, she had planned to do some cross-country skiing. Gliding through a silent, snow-covered forest offered the perfect opportunity for thinking. After weeks of avoiding the subject, she had planned to do some serious thinking about the state of her relationship with Josh.
How quickly plans change. Angry at herself, her parents, the world, she twisted off the water. She dried herself with one of his fluffy brown towels and dressed. Then, she could delay no longer. At least I’m not crying anymore. Hoping against hope that he’d gone for one of his walks, Caitlin left the bathroom.
He was wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt he’d yet to button and sat on the side of his bed facing the bathroom door. Her gaze dipped to his scar. It looked better. A lot better.
He spoke her name, steady and strong, and then asked, “What do you need from me?”
Love. Support. Honesty. Your heart. Your soul. Your everything. Because that’s what I’ve given you. She cleared her throat and cut to the heart of the problem. “Tell me about J. B. Trammel.”
* * *
Josh didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. He’d been thinking about Mac and the Timberlake family. Trying to find ways he could help them navigate these troubled waters. He did have one idea, but he needed to do a little research before he brought it up.
Nor was he ready to talk about J. B. Trammel. He wasn’t prepared. It was one thing to admit his problem to a physician, but something else entirely to do it to the woman he loved.
The woman he loved.
He loved her.
And he knew her. She wouldn’t let him get by with hitting the bullet points like Rose had. He’d have to tell her the whole ugly truth, the parts she wouldn’t find by googling.
Could he do it? Even in rehab, he’d never told anyone the entire story. And he wasn’t far enough along in his twelve-step journey to manage it today. “I can’t do that, Caitlin.”
She held his gaze for a long minute. He thought she might push him on it, and maybe a part of him wished she would. But then she shrugged. Silently, she walked past him and a moment later, he heard the kitchen door open—Josh waited, holding his breath—and close. He shut his eyes and fell back onto the bed.
That afternoon, he took a walk. He walked a lot these days. The cold air and physical exertion cleansed his mind and sapped the energy from the demons that continued to plague him. The walks also helped fill up the empty hours and days without Caitlin.
First he walked north and south, up Aspen Street and down Spruce and up Pinion and down Cottonwood. Then he walked east on the odd-numbered streets and west on the evens until he walked the entire grid of Eternity Springs. After that, he crossed the footbridge over icy Angel Creek to the grounds of Angel’s Rest. He didn’t know he intended to talk to Celeste until he knocked on the door of her office. She looked up from a computer monitor and smiled. “Hello, Joshua. What a nice surprise.”
“Do you have a few minutes, Celeste? I need some advice.”
“Of course. Please come in and have a seat.” She gestured toward an occasional chair upholstered in cabbage roses. “I’m thrilled to have a distraction from this pesky bookwork. It doesn’t matter how many people I hire to help me with this business, there are still things no one but I can do. What can I help you with, my dear?”
Josh took the seat she indicated, but almost immediately popped back up onto his feet. “I need you to do your wise-woman thing.”
She sat back in her chair and steepled her hands in front of her. “My wise-woman thing?”
“Yes. You know.” He made circles with his hand. “I’ve heard about it ever since I came to town. People say that time and time again whenever someone is in crisis, you have an uncanny way of showing up and saying exactly the right thing that they need to hear. Then they solve their problems and you give them a necklace and everyone lives happily ever after.”
Her ice blue eyes twinkled. “People say that, do they?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re in crisis?”
“Yes.”
“Crisis over what?”
“Well, it’s complicated.”
“Most crises are.”
Pacing the room, Josh raked his fingers through his hair. “Caitlin wants something from me that I can’t give. Not with the way things are now, anyway. That’s where you come in, I hope.”
“Where I come in?”
“I need you to give me that perfect sound bite of wisdom that I need to hear to get past this fear of mine.”
“You’re afraid of something.”
“Terrified. I’m a spineless, gutless, sissified coward.”
“So says the man who dove in front of a moving car to save a child.”
“Yeah, well, that’s different. Physical bravery is easy compared to putting yourself on the line emotionally. There’s no pill I can pop for this. That’s what gets a person started down this path, you know? Somebody lets you down and makes you feel terrible so you take something to feel better and it’s a vicious cycle. I don’t want to feel terrible. I don’t want to be ashamed. I don’t want to fake my way through life. Been there, done that, have the star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”
“What do you want, Joshua?”
“I want real. My life here in Eternity Springs is real. Caitlin is real. What I feel for her is real. What wisdom do you have for me, Celeste? Give me something like you gave Brick or Cam Murphy or Lucca Romano. People around here talk about it all the time. Tell me to leap like a lunatic. Tell me to forget the past and decide who I am today and discover who I will be tomorrow. Remind me that my trials have made me stronger, that I’m not a walking disaster, that I will triumph over my demons. Tell me that nothing defeats a valiant heart. Or how about the one about peace being a process? Or love being a miraculous medicine?”
“I said all those things?”
“Yes! And hearing them changed lives. Instilled courage. Look at the people in this town. Nobody goes through life without some bruises. Many of our friends have suffered real tragedies. But they healed. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it fourteen times. Eternity Springs is where broken hearts come to heal.”
“Well, that is true.”
“Yes. And broken hearts come in different forms, but most of them at one time or another are afraid of something. We’re afraid to leap in case we might fall. Afraid to risk in case we might fail. Afraid to reach in case we might miss. When you let fear be your guide, you don’t live a genuine life. You live a fake life. A Hollywood life. If you’re not content with fake, then you need to man up and suck it up and leap and risk and reach. Overcoming the fear will bring healing.”
“I see.”
“Yeah.” Josh stopped his pacing, shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That’s good. That makes sense.” He drew in a deep breath then exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Right.” He beamed a smile toward her. “Thank you, Celeste. I knew you’d have something for me.”
Dryly, she said, “I’m glad I could help, Josh.”
“Me too. Really. I owe you big time. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just let me know. A tune-up. Oil change. Autographs. Maybe a movie premier. I’m your man.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Great. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’d better let you get back to your bookkeeping.” He walked around the desk, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “You are an angel, Celeste. I adore you.”
As he sauntered from the room, he heard her say, “Oh, my boy. I adore you too.”
He was halfway down Angel Rest’s front steps when he snapped his fingers and turned around. A moment later, he ducked his head back into Celeste’s office. “Excuse me, Celeste? One more thing. Do you think I could have one of those necklaces?”
Her laughter floated on the air like feathers. She opened her desk drawer, removed one of the official Angel’s Rest blazons that she awarded to townspeople who learned to accept love’s healing grace, and tossed it toward Josh.
He caught it on the fly, brought it to his mouth for a theatrical kiss, then held it up and said, “I have a sneaky feeling that this is gonna be my good luck charm.”
An hour later, he knocked on Mac and Ali Timberlake’s front door. Mac answered, “Hello, Tarkington. Caitlin isn’t here. She and her brothers have gone snowmobiling.”
“I’m not here to see her. I wanted to talk to you. She told me about the family meeting this morning.” From the pocket of his coat, he removed a Tarkington Automotive business card and handed it to Mac. “The name and number on the back … you should call him. He’s a neurologist who has made a name for himself as a diagnostician. He’s—”
Mac read the name and interrupted. “I recognize the name. I tried to get an appointment with him. He couldn’t see me for eighteen months.”
“Um … you have an appointment with him next week if you want to take it.”
Mac’s head snapped up and he pinned Josh with a narrow-eyed look. “How…?”
“His son and I were in rehab together years ago. I helped him one time when he overdosed. Saved his life. We still stay in touch. You should go see him. I won’t say anything to anybody if you prefer, but you really should go.” He turned and started up the walk to his car.
Mac called after him. “Josh? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I wish you the best of luck.”
* * *
Caitlin was having a very realistic dream because she smelled bacon. She knew it was a dream because she was home and alone in her house. Her mother might be the Cooking Queen, but she drew the line at breaking into her children’s houses and cooking breakfast.
But darned if that didn’t smell legit.
Without opening her eyes, she felt along the top of her nightstand for her phone and picked it up. Checked the screen. Seven thirty-three on Sunday? “Why am I awake?”
&nbs
p; And why do I still smell bacon?
She sat up feeling a little uneasy. This was really weird. She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed where she’d left it, slipped her feet into the Minnie Mouse slippers Lori had given her for Christmas, and crossed to her bedroom door. Why was it closed? She’d left it open, hadn’t she? She always slept with her bedroom door open.
Her heart began to pound. It crossed her mind to call 9-1-1 but really, what would she say? Someone broke in and is cooking bacon? Truly concerned now, she quietly turned the knob, carefully opened the door, and gasped.
A flower bomb had gone off in her hallway.
Vases filled with cut flowers and potted flowering plants in a rainbow of colors lined a path down her hallway. Yellow daffodils and pink crocuses and white begonias and red geraniums. Pink calla lilies and orange tulips and blue hydrangeas. Carnations and chrysanthemums and peonies.
That was frying bacon she’d smelled. She could hear it sizzle. She stepped to the kitchen doorway and her mouth gaped. The hallway had been filled with flowers, but the kitchen was stuffed to the rafters with them. Almost every flat surface was occupied, if not by full flowers then by rose petals.
Josh stood at the stove wielding kitchen tongs. Seeing her, he smiled. Perhaps the smile was a bit nervous. Perhaps. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Caitlin didn’t feel beautiful at the moment. She really, really wished she’d detoured to the bathroom to brush her hair. And maybe pee. “Which of the obvious questions should I ask first?”
“Let me see if I can answer them without you having to bother. I need to talk to you. I wanted someplace private where we wouldn’t be interrupted. I figured the chances of getting you to my house hovered between slim and none. You never asked for your key back so talking here was an obvious solution. I thought that since I am here, I might as well cook breakfast. Why don’t you have a seat, sweetheart? Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes.”
And the flowers? What was the purpose of the flowers?