by Kayla Perrin
Jill took a deep breath and steadied herself. No, she wasn’t sure. She wanted more than anything to stay with him and make love again and again. She looked at the clock. 3:47. She had to get home. She couldn’t believe it was so late. “I’m sorry,” she said. The words sounded inadequate to her, but she couldn’t think of what else she could say.
He sighed, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, give me a minute. I’ll take you home.”
Jill started to wrap the sheet around herself so she could go retrieve her clothes, and then dropped it. She’d just spent the last few hours allowing this man to explore every inch of her body, covering it up now seemed ludicrous.
She could feel Grant’s gaze on her as she dressed. He didn’t move until she pulled the dress up over her shoulders. Then he came behind her and slowly raised the zipper while nuzzling the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. “Last chance,” he murmured.
She moaned, sorely tempted. Would a few more hours be that bad? “Sorry.” There was that lame expression again. “I don’t want Rachel to worry,” she added, feeling the need to offer more of an explanation. Surely, he’d understand. He’d seen how frantic she’d been when Rachel hadn’t come home that night.
She leaned back against Grant, pushing away all thought to savor a last few moments of bliss.
He wrapped one arm around her abdomen and hugged her close. “Rachel’s probably not even home.” His voice was low and hoarse, and it took her a few seconds to comprehend what he’d said.
She swung around to face him. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t she be home?”
Obviously startled, Grant abruptly stepped away. As if suddenly uncomfortable with his nudity, he picked up his jeans, keeping his back to her as he pulled them on.
“Grant, look at me! What did you mean when you said ‘Rachel’s probably not even home’?”
“What I should have said is she’s not likely to be worried about you because she knows you’re with me.” Grant turned to face her.
“But that’s not what you said.” She wished he’d put a shirt on. His bare chest was too distracting and she had the feeling she needed all her wits about her now.
“No,” he said carefully. He seemed to be considering his options, which heightened her concern.
What was he keeping from her? Was Rachel sick again? Was she at the hospital? She’d been overly helpful in getting Jill ready for the dance, almost pushing her out the door. Jill recalled Rachel’s parting words: Don’t hurry home. “Is she okay? Is it the cancer? Has it come back?”
“Oh, God, no,” Grant said quickly. “No, I’d never let her keep something like that from you. Rachel is fine.”
“What would you let her keep from me, then?” Jill’s initial sense of dread was turning into anger. It was obvious he was hiding something. She thought they were a team where her daughter was concerned. He said he’d help keep an eye on her—keep her safe.
“It’s not a big deal.” Grant ran his hands through his hair. He looked guilty and defensive. “Let me make you a coffee before you go.”
“I’m very wide awake right now. Stop stalling.”
“I’m not stalling. I think this is something Rachel should tell you, herself.” He took a step toward her, but her glare stopped him. “It’s not a bad thing.”
She waited. She’d never seen Grant look uncertain before.
“Okay, fine,” he said, exasperated. “She met this guy. I think it’s getting pretty serious.”
A guy?
“When did she meet him?” Jill was impressed that she managed to keep her voice calm despite her desire to scream at him. If Grant saw her losing it, he’d adopt his vet-delivering-bad-news persona and she’d lose her advantage over him.
“She met him that night when she didn’t come home—”
“You mean she slept with him the first night she met him?” Jill was appalled. She thought Rachel was smarter than that.
“No. They spent the night talking. She was upset and said he helped her work through things. She said it was refreshing to be with someone who didn’t treat her like a cancer patient.”
Jill had no idea her daughter felt she was treated differently because of her illness. “Does this guy have a name?”
“His name is Austin.”
“Have you met Austin? What does he do? How old is he?”
“He’s been around a couple of times. He graduated from teachers’ college last spring. I think you’re making too much of this. He’s a nice guy. He makes her happy.”
How could Grant possibly know what made Rachel happy? She’d only been working with him for a few months. Jill had known her daughter her whole life. She’d been there when Rachel had giggled at the wonder of blowing bubbles for the first time, seen her smile from ear-to-ear after she’d successfully ridden her bicycle to the end of the street and back, and snuggled with her as they’d read all four books of the Twilight series and then watched each of the five movies—go Team Edward. Jill had helped her dress for her first date and dried her tears after her first heartbreak. She’d been to every school concert, ceremony, and commencement. They’d stood together as Calvin was laid to rest and they’d fought together to beat this horrible disease called ovarian cancer. How dare Grant presume to know her daughter better than she did?
Rachel was still in denial about so much of her future. Did Grant know that? She’d bet her last dollar that Austin didn’t.
“Look, she’s an adult,” Grant said. “You can’t keep protecting her. You need to let her experience life. Live it.”
“And yet, this adult feels the need to hide the fact she has a boyfriend from her mother?”
“She’s worried about your reaction. She just wants to spend some time with the guy—get to know him without the pressure of …” He let the sentence hang unfinished.
“Without the pressure of what?” Jill knew what he’d been going to say: without the pressure of a crazy cancer-obsessed mother.
“You do tend to be a little over-protective,” Grant said, lightly. When she didn’t respond to his attempt to break the tension, he became serious again. “Jill, it’s not a bad thing to worry about your daughter—especially after what you’ve both been through. She just needs a little space right now.”
“First, you say you know what makes her happy, and now you presume to know what my daughter needs? How could you? You don’t know what she’s been through—what we’ve both been through.” Heat flared in her face. So what if he thought she was a cancer-obsessed mother? “Do you know what it’s like to look at your child—your baby—lying in a hospital bed and not know if she’s going to live or die? To watch her become weaker and weaker from the treatment that’s supposed to help her? To pretend to be strong for her while inside you’re terrified you’re actually going to outlive your child?”
“No, of course, I don’t.”
“You said you were going to look out for her. You told me you’d tell me if anything was going on with her.” Jill should have known better than to rely on someone else for something this important.
“I’ve been telling her she needed to tell you,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It hurt to think that, once again, Rachel had confided in Grant rather than her own mother. “I trusted you.”
Grant sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “I didn’t think it was my place. Her relationship isn’t related to her health.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jill was incredulous. How could he be so insensitive? “Of course it is. How can she have a relationship when she hasn’t even come to terms with everything she’s lost because of this disease? She needs to be mentally strong to keep up the fight. What’s going to happen when it all falls apart? When this Austin leaves her?”
“You don’t know it’s going to fall apart.” He walked over to her. “Look, Jill, isn’t it just possible that the reason you’re focusing so hard on protecting Rachel is so that you don’t have to
move on with your own life?”
There was no point trying to talk to him about this. She walked into the bathroom to calm down. She rinsed her face and stared into the mirror. Who was this woman who’d just made love to someone she’d known only a few months? She’d allowed this to happen—encouraged him, even. First kissing him and then asking him to bring her to his place after the dance. He had been so loving, both passionate and tender.
He was wrong about her. She had been prepared to move on with her own life. Tonight had proven that. She squeezed her eyes closed to try to stop the pain of his betrayal—and Rachel’s. They’d kept secrets from her. Important secrets. How did someone move on from that?
“I’m going home,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No. I’ll take a taxi. I don’t want to spend even five minutes more with you.”
*
Grant watched the taxi’s tail lights disappear around the corner. She’d stood outside, in the chilly middle of the night, for thirty minutes waiting for that damn cab. That’s how much Jill hated him.
He’d stuck his foot in it big time. Rachel was probably going to be pissed with him, too. Well, she shouldn’t have been keeping secrets from her mother. That was the problem with secrets. They led to lies. His ex-wife had taught him that.
Grant strode to the kitchen, picked up each of the half-finished glasses of Pinot Grigio and downed them one after the other. No point letting it go to waste. Then he grabbed the bottle and wandered into the living room.
He plunked down in his recliner, and took a few swigs of the wine. It would never replace his Lagavulin.
His mother had taught him to be considerate of guests, so he’d asked Rachel what her mother liked to drink. Now he had a half-case of Pinot in the cellar that he had to figure out what to do with. It wasn’t like he’d ever be able to share Jill’s wine with another woman.
Why not? They’d only had one night together. Wasn’t that his usual operating procedure? No strings. No commitments. Have some fun and then move on. Of course, usually the terms were mutually agreed upon—both parties knowing the parameters before they began. He’d foolishly forgotten that step with Jill.
Except he hadn’t forgotten. He’d known from the beginning that she wasn’t that kind of woman. Hadn’t he told himself he needed to keep away from her?
So why was he upset that she was using Rachel’s illness as an excuse not to move on with her own life? It wasn’t like he was in a position to be a part of her future. But damn, how he’d wanted her. Still did. He took another pull on the bottle. It was good that she hated him. Then she’d stay away. God knew, he couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing where she was concerned.
Chapter 8
Somehow, Jill had managed to fall asleep after she’d returned home in the early hours of the morning. She awoke groggily to find the pot of coffee Rachel made had gone cold because she’d slept in far later than the programmable hotplate allowed. Rachel had left a note saying she’d gone out with friends and would be home late.
Friends? Friend? Austin.
Rachel had been sleeping soundly when Jill checked on her. There’d been a couple of telephone messages posted on the refrigerator door—including one from Mae—so she’d obviously been home last evening rather than sneaking around with her boyfriend while Jill was out with Grant.
Okay, so maybe Jill had over reacted. A lot. She shuddered at the memory.
Why had she done it? Was Grant right and she was using Rachel’s illness as an excuse to push him away? It had been so long since she’d thought of herself as anything but a wife and mother, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be a woman—to feel the pull of attraction to a man and know he was feeling the same way.
Grant had called her beautiful. They’d made love and it was wonderful. The things he’d done to her … what she’d done to him …
What would Calvin think? The thought came to her suddenly. It hadn’t even been two years since he’d died and she’d already been intimate with another man.
But Calvin had died. He’d left her all alone to deal with Rachel’s illness, and with a lifetime to remember all the dreams they’d never realize. She massaged her temples. Still, that was no reason to throw herself at Grant like a wanton woman. She was no different than that Mary-something from the dance.
She buried her face in her hands. Last night had been thrilling. Jill had wholeheartedly embraced thoughts of a new life … a new man. But in the harsh light of day she felt off-kilter, unable to recognize the woman who had laughed and danced and made love with Grant.
Why couldn’t she let go of her past? Of Calvin and Rachel, and who she’d been with them? How could Rachel find it so easy to move on?
Austin. The name ground into Jill’s psyche like a pebble lodged in a shoe, growing more irritating with every step. She needed to talk to Rachel about him—about why she’d kept him secret—but she wasn’t up for a big dramatic argument.
She might leave, a small voice cautioned. She has somewhere else she could go to now, someone else to turn to. No, this discussion would require special care.
She picked up the phone and called the one person she could talk to about this …
*
Jill slid into the familiar booth at the back of Ollee’s, away from the pool tables. Because it was the middle of the afternoon, the popular local restaurant and bar was almost empty. Only a few die-hard regulars had turned out to shoot a few balls and grab a beer to cap off the weekend.
Sally, the long-time waitress, put a glass of Pinot Grigio on the table in front of her. “Anything to eat hon?”
“Yeah,” Jill said. She wasn’t particularly hungry but it would be bad to drink on an empty stomach. “I’ll have a chicken quesadilla.”
Jill took a sip of her wine and then wandered over to the juke box to see if anything new had been added to the rotation. A lot of country songs about cheating lovers and broken hearts. Definitely not what she wanted to hear at this particular moment.
“Well hello there, sweetie.” Mae wrapped an arm around Jill and peered at the juke box list. “See anything you like?”
“Not really.” Jill turned to give her friend a hug. “I’m sorry it took so long for us to get together.”
“Well, we’re together now, so let’s have a time of it.” Mae motioned to Sally at the bar. “I’ll just be a sec,” she said to Jill and went over to the bar to chat with the waitress.
Jill envied Mae. In her sixties, she had the energy of someone half her age. Her gray hair was chopped short and she wore it spikey in a way that would have looked ridiculous on most older women. She loved makeup, bright colors, and big jewelery. She was like a steamroller when she wanted to get something done, and she had the biggest, most generous heart of anyone Jill had ever met.
“Here we are.” Mae slid into the booth across from Jill and raised a glass of something that definitely wasn’t her usual bourbon. “To us,” she said, tapping her glass against Jill’s.
“To us,” Jill repeated. “Are you trying out a new drink today?”
Mae laughed. “It’s plain ol’ orange juice, sweetie. Not as fresh as what I grew up with in Georgia, but a ray of sunshine from home, all the same.”
Mae didn’t say anything as Jill expressed her concerns about Rachel returning to school and how betrayed she felt by her daughter’s attempt to hide her relationship with Austin. “Doesn’t she understand how vulnerable she is right now?” Jill pushed away the half-eaten quesadilla and used her napkin to wipe the tears that were stinging her eyes.
“Oh, sweetie.” Mae reached across the table and took her hands. “I know you’re scared for her. You’re her momma and you’re always gonna worry. But you can’t keep her locked up like a fragile princess. She wants to go out and experience life—probably even more now, after the cancer, than before. She’s got a real appreciation of just how precious and precarious life is.”
“What if th
ey didn’t get it all and it comes back, or spreads? What if she gets sick again?” Only to Mae could she express her true fears for Rachel.
Mae smiled sadly. “Then you’d be happy she got all the livin’ in she could while she was feelin’ well. That will make her all the stronger to fight again.”
“Another round?” Sally asked.
“No, I think I’d better switch to coffee.” Jill was starting to feel the first twinges of a caffeine-deprived headache coming on.
“Hit me again, darlin’.” Mae handed Sally her glass.
“So what do I do?” Jill asked.
“Nothin’. If she thinks she’s ready to return to school, you let her. And she’ll tell you about her new beau when she thinks the time is right. Sweetie, you need to stop focusin’ on Rachel’s life and start livin’ your own.”
Jill rolled her eyes. Mae was starting to sound like Rachel—and Grant for that matter. Didn’t they understand that her daughter was all she had left now?
“I heard you were out with Dr. Delicious last night,” Mae said.
She should have known Rachel would blab to Mae about where she was. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Mae leaned back in her seat and waited.
For the first time since she’d arrived, Jill took a close look at her friend. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her cheeks had hollowed and her complexion appeared grayish under her heavy makeup.
And she’s not drinking.
“How are things with you?” Jill tried to keep her voice light to hide a gnawing fear. Hopefully, Mae had simply drunk too much the night before and was hung over. But what if it was something else?
Mae eyed her for a few seconds and then leaned forward. “Well, there’s no way to sugar coat this, sweetie. The cancer’s back.”
Jill felt the floor disappear from beneath her and she was plummeting down a long dark tunnel. “Oh, Mae!”
“Now, just stop right there! I’ve beaten this thing twice before and I’m goin’ for—what do they call it in hockey?—a hat trick. I’ve got my support team in place and you know if I need reinforcements, you’re top of my call list. I just wanted you to know, in case you needed me and I wasn’t able to get to you right away.”