by Loree Lough
But her ire vanished as quickly as the wisp of smoke from a spent match, and in its place, raw, unbridled grief. The tears came fast and hot, and with them, rib-racking silent sobs. Why such an extreme reaction, she wondered, to a few simple words!
The answer hit like a second punch: because every rounded a, each curlicued g—whether penned in blue or red, black or green—served as a harsh reminder that the diary was all Brooke had left of her little sister.
Connor stirred, and she willed herself to stop crying. Something the preacher had said at Beth and Kent’s funeral chimed in her memory: One day at a time, one step at a time, our heartaches will heal and our mourning will lessen. We never forget those we’ve lost, who touched our lives in innumerable, immeasurable ways, for they will live in our hearts and minds forever.
She forced a cheery smile and walked over to the playpen. “Hey, little guy, did you have a good nap?”
His empty expression concerned her far more than his tantrums and pouting. “You poor little thing,” she said, scooping him up. “You don’t know how to feel, do you?”
He snuggled close and exhaled a big sigh.
“One day at a time,” she whispered, “one step at a time.”
She carried him into the kitchen, and as she clicked the high chair’s safety belt into place, Brooke admitted that if not for Connor, the ache of her loneliness might be overwhelming.
Her cell phone buzzed again as she sprinkled Cheerios onto the tray. She couldn’t avoid him forever.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself. What’s up?”
“Just feeding Connor an after-nap snack.”
“Let me guess. Cheerios.”
She heard the smile in his voice, and it inspired one of her own.
“Mind if I stop by for a few minutes?”
“We’ll be here all afternoon.”
“Great,” he said, and hung up.
He hadn’t said why he wanted to come over. Didn’t say how long he’d stay. Maybe if she could keep Connor occupied, she’d write Hunter a check and explain yet again why she needed to…why he needed to let her.
Connor offered her a damp O.
“Why, thank you, sweet boy. You are the most adorable kid in diapers.”
“Kid,” he echoed.
She leaned both elbows on the tray. “Soon as you’re finished, we’ll change you into an outfit that’s as cute as you are,” she said, sticking a wet Cheerio to his cheek, “so you’ll look handsome for your—”
Three soft raps at the door drew Connor’s attention.
He must have been in the driveway when he called. “Come in, Uncle Hunter,” she said. “It’s open.”
Connor squealed and bounced up and down in the chair as Hunter strode into the room.
“Thanks, Aunt Brooke,” he said, shoving a brown paper bag into the freezer. Bending at the waist, he kissed the top of Connor’s head. “How’s my buddy?”
He sat beside the high chair and let Connor feed him a Cheerio. “Man, it’s good to see you, kiddo.”
“Guess it’s true what they say—time flies when you’re having fun.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning one minute you’re on the phone, and the next you’re here.”
His lips slanted in a half smile. “I was just around the corner when I called.”
“There’s iced tea. And the coffee’s hot….”
“Tea sounds good.”
She’d barely delivered it when Connor fused his gaze to hers, and then, gripping the arms of his high chair, he looked frantically around the room. “Mama?” Straining against the safety belt, he said it again. “Mama?”
Brooke’s heart clenched as she remembered what Dr. Rosen had told her to say. “Mama is gone,” she said around the lump in her throat.
He sat quiet and motionless for several seconds, no doubt processing the information.
“Mama all gone?”
“Yes, sweetie. Mama’s all gone.”
He picked up a Cheerio and looked at Hunter. “Daddy?”
“Daddy’s gone, too, kiddo.”
Eyebrows drawn together in a frown, he stared at his cereal-littered tray, then heaved a heavy sigh.
“Uncle Hunter?”
“Yep. That’s me. Uncle Hunter.”
He pointed at Brooke. “Aunt Brooke.”
She kissed the chubby fingertip. “Yes, sweetie. Aunt Brooke.”
Nodding, he filled both hands with cereal, tossed it into the air and grinned slightly as Os rained down around him. Giggling, he did it again.
“First time he’s asked about Beth and Kent?” Hunter asked quietly.
“Yes. And I have to admit, your timing is perfect.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how well I would have handled…that…without backup.”
It had been surprisingly easy to admit. Brooke was searching her mind for ways to rationalize it when Hunter gently plucked an O from her hair. Not knowing what else to do, she reached for the broom.
“Told you weeks ago. That mess isn’t going anywhere,” he said, taking it from her, “and neither am I.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DR. ROSEN SCRIBBLED something on the top page of Connor’s file, then put down her pen. “I have to hand it to you two,” she said, nodding approvingly. “He’s come a long way in just two months.”
Hunter leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “I’d originally thought about making major changes to the house,” he said, clasping his hands in the space between, “since it’s all torn up anyway. You know, to better reflect Brooke’s tastes.”
He cut a glance in her direction, but she was too busy watching Connor through the floor-to-ceiling window between Rosen’s office and the playroom to notice.
“But she dug in her heels. Wants me to put it back exactly the way it was before. Or get as close as I can, anyway. Less for Connor to adjust to. What’s your take on it, Doc?”
“I guess that depends on how drastic your changes would be.”
He shrugged. “Beth was big into bright colors and bold designs, and Brooke’s tastes are more…subdued.”
She looked at Brooke and smiled. “Then I’m inclined to agree. At least for the time being. As we’ve discussed before, the fewer drastic changes, the better. He’s already coped with moving into the apartment, so…”
Hunter had a feeling that’s what Rosen would say. But he’d also sensed that Brooke wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with her decision. Now, with the doctor’s opinion on the table, he hoped she could relax.
Dr. Rosen leaned back in her chair and, balancing the file on her lap, clicked her ballpoint. “So tell me a little more about these ‘mom and dad are gone’ discussions Connor has been initiating. Has he pressed you for more detailed explanations yet?”
Brooke was quick to answer. “No, the few times he’s called out for them, he seems satisfied with simple answers.”
“Good.” The doctor removed her glasses and looked directly at Hunter. “Have you spent any time alone with him since the crash?”
“Well, ah, sure. A little.” Fact was, Brooke had Connor pretty well locked up. Except for the few occasions when he’d stepped in so she could attend meetings with patients’ families or her boss, she’d always been present when he and Connor were together.
“Could you be a little more specific?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Brooke sit up taller and cross her legs away from him. He understood enough about body language to know what that meant: she didn’t trust him to answer in her favor.
“Brooke chose a job that lets her work part-time,” he began, “so naturally, she’s with him more. I’m over there every chance I get, though.”
Spectacles back in place, the doctor added that bit of information to the file. But where would his response take her next?
“I envy you, Brooke,” Rosen said. “You must have the most understanding boss on the
planet.” She tapped her pen on the desk. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask. How are you doing financially? The reason I ask…being cash-strapped can be a major stressor. And you’re under enough pressure maintaining an ‘everything’s fine’ environment for Connor, all while adapting to a new job and managing your own grief.”
Brooke scooted to the edge of her chair and planted both feet flat on the floor. “I’m fine. Really. I have money in the bank, some from the sale of my town house, some inherited from my grandfather, and some investment income. I’m not making as much as a patient advocate as I did as a trauma nurse, but it’s enough. And the hours are flexible.”
Rosen jotted that down, too.
“How are you sleeping?” She looked at Brooke, then at Hunter.
A shudder passed through Brooke. It lasted all of a nanosecond, but he wondered if Rosen had noticed, too.
“I’m fine. Eating, sleeping, working, spending every spare minute with Connor. Speaking of whom…correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor, but aren’t these sessions supposed to center around him?”
Rosen smiled. “Yes. They are. And to keep the focus on him, you know why I need to look closely at anything—and anyone—who has a direct impact on his life.” She glanced from Brooke to Hunter and back again. “If you two are a mess, naturally, it’ll spill onto Connor.”
He heard Brooke’s soft sigh of frustration. Knowing her, she was probably wondering why the doctor had decided to zero in on her instead of him. “I also have to understand your relationship better.”
“Oh, Connor and I are very close.”
“I was referring to you two.” Rosen used her pen to draw a line between Hunter and Brooke. “Are you a couple? Good friends? Help me understand.”
He read the terror in Brooke’s eyes. Hopefully, he didn’t have the proverbial “deer in the headlights” look, too.
“Brooke and I have known one another for years,” he began, sitting up straight. “Slightly more than fifteen years, to be precise. Her sister and brother-in-law were like family to me.”
“Interesting.” Rosen wrote on her pad and without looking up said, “I sense there’s a whole lot more here, and a certain hesitancy to get into it today. So we’ll table it for now and address the details at a later date.”
She let her challenge hang like a mallet in search of a nail to pound.
Hunter tensed, wondering if Brooke would fill the silence by telling Rosen how—and why—they’d met.
Brooke cleared her throat. “You’re right. There are—were—issues.” Lifting her chin a notch, she added, “But for Connor’s benefit, we’ve set them aside.”
“Temporarily?”
“For as long as Connor needs us to present a united front.”
He would have said “good answer” if not for that DVD.
Rosen tapped the pen against her chin. “And this was a mutual decision?”
Together Brooke and Hunter nodded. “Yes.”
They exchanged a quick glance.
“You seem surprised,” the doctor observed, “to be in agreement on that.”
Now Hunter and Brooke sat quietly, staring straight ahead. After a moment, Rosen asked, “Tell me. Were these…issues…set aside as in avoided? Or as in resolved?”
Brooke looked up, as if the answer were written on the pocked ceiling tiles.
“Avoided, I suppose.” She crossed her legs, this time toward Hunter. “For the time being, anyway.”
“Seems pretty normal to me,” Hunter said, “for two people who’ve known one another as Brooke and I have to have a few unresolved issues.”
Dr. Rosen folded her hands on the desk blotter. “I agree.” Then she checked her watch. “Well, we have about five minutes. Is there anything more you’d like to address today?”
“Thanks,” Brooke said, getting to her feet, “but I think we’re through.”
Hunter couldn’t think of anything more he wanted to say, but it irked him that Brooke had ended the session without even checking to see if he had more questions or concerns.
The doctor walked around her desk and stopped beside his chair.
“How much time would you say you spent with Connor before the accident, Hunter?”
Why did he get the feeling it was a loaded question?
His grandfather had taught him that to win at chess a player needed to think three, four, even five moves ahead: if he told Rosen that as owner of Stone Contracting, he set his own hours and could spend all day with Connor if he wanted to, she might deem him cocky. If he told her that Brooke was the one making all the rules, he’d sound uncooperative. Or worse, confrontational. And he couldn’t afford to rile the woman who might be called as a witness in the adoption hearing.
“It’s important that you spend as much time with him now as you did before.” She gave Brooke a stern look, then faced Hunter again. “One. On. One.”
“Will do,” he said. “Anything for that kid.”
Rosen rewarded him with her best therapist’s smile. “I believe you.” She walked with them to the door. “You know how to reach me if anything comes to mind.” She shook his hand. And, shaking Brooke’s, she said, “Same time next week?”
“I’ll have to get back to you. My schedule is flexible, but the hours change week to week, depending on patients’ needs.” She went on to explain that her grandmother had agreed to keep Connor afternoons and that Deidre’s friend Felix would take the morning shift. “But if you have evening hours, or better yet, Saturday, we can put something on the calendar right now.”
Hunter was thunderstruck by the revelation. Deidre? And Felix? He would gladly have taken care of Connor anytime for as long as she needed…if only she’d asked him.
Rosen flipped through her appointment book. “How’s Wednesday, seven o’clock?” She looked to Hunter for an answer.
“I’m not the one with the inflexible schedule,” he said, then turned to Brooke. “Does Wednesday evening work for you?”
She grabbed her purse from the hall tree. “I’ll make it work.”
But she hadn’t met his eyes to say it, he noticed.
At the door, she asked, “Is it all right if I take Connor home now?”
She’d excluded him. Again. Why wasn’t Rosen scribbling that in the file?
Because with Brooke being next of kin, even the doctor thinks she’s a shoo-in to raise Connor.
“Sure. I’ll talk with my assistant and watch the tapes later. If anything stands out as troublesome, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll see you next week.”
As they exchanged thank-yous and goodbyes, Hunter made up his mind: he needed to stop finding excuses to put it off. First chance he got, he’d call Harry, find out where he stood with the courts, whether or not he’d need to subpoena the doctor’s file on Connor, or Rosen herself.
During the drive home, Brooke seemed more fidgety than normal. Her voice shook a little, too, when she admitted that she couldn’t wait to curl up on the sofa with a good book and a cup of herbal tea as soon as Connor had a snack and a bath, and she’d tucked him in for the night.
Snack, bath, bed. Three more Connor-related decisions she’d made without asking his help or his input.
Hunter made his mind up about something else: he’d hang around while Connor had something to eat. Then he’d carry the boy to the apartment. Bathe him. Put him to bed. Then he’d find out what made her think she got to call all the shots. She’d been in Richmond for most of Connor’s life, spent a couple of hours with him during her monthly visits, while he’d been an almost daily part of the boy’s life. By that measure, shouldn’t it be the other way around?
“Good news, bad news,” he said once they were inside. “Which do you want first?”
She eyed him warily. “Might as well get the bad news out of the way.”
He eased Connor into his high chair and said, “I’m not going home yet.”
A guarded grin prefaced her response. “Oka-a-ay. And the good news?”
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br /> “You are hereby relieved of bed-and-bath duty.”
Brooke continued cubing cheese and slicing apples for Connor’s snack. “Is that so?”
“It is.” He took some leftover ham out of the fridge. “You said yourself that you’re exhausted.” He slapped the meat onto a paper plate. “There’s no shame in asking for help.” I sure will, when I’m in charge of the kid.
“So what’s going on at Beth’s house?”
“Now that the walls are down and the floorboards are up, we’ll rip out all the old wiring and pipes.”
She put a few cheese cubes and apple slices on the high-chair tray. “Any closer to knowing how long—”
“Apple,” Connor said, and stuffed a slice into his mouth.
“Yes,” they said together, “apple.”
The whole scene seemed way too domestic, considering her attitude…and his plans. Twice in the span of an hour, they’d said the same thing at the same time twice. He could count on one hand—and have fingers left over—the number of times they’d seen eye to eye on anything. What was going on here?
“I’m guessing rewiring will take three, maybe four days. Same goes for the plumbing and carpentry, unless we run into problems.”
“Problems?”
“Like tree roots clogging the main drain. Rotting support beams. Damaged sills. Termites. Any one of a hundred things could be wrong in a place that old.”
She sighed, and he continued.
“But I’ve never encountered a problem that didn’t have a solution. If we run into a setback, we’ll fix it. Then it’s on to drywall. Reinstalling and refinishing the hardwood.” He glanced at the ham spinning round and round inside the microwave. “You know what’s gonna be tough? Trying to match stain and paint colors. I might need some help with that. But why am I boring you with all this? It’s all listed on your production schedule.”
“Nothing that gets us back into that house is boring,” she said, handing Connor a sippy cup of milk.
“Choc’late?” the baby asked.