Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

I break the kiss, and I immediately miss her lips on mine.

  “I’ll call you when I’m done.” Our foreheads touch. “I’d ask you to come. . .”

  “Brody, you need to be with your dad and sister. It’s your time. And I’d be an intrusion.” She kisses my cheek. “Go spend some quality time with them. I’m sure you have some catching up to do. And when you’re ready for me to meet them, I’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  “Well, it’s about time.” Avery wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek. “I thought I’d never see my big brother. I was thinking you’re avoiding me.”

  “Avoiding you? Never . . . This place on the other hand, yes.”

  The last time I was here, the man I call Dad, just stared at me then accused me of stealing his journals when I was bringing them to him.

  Being here angers and saddens me at the same time. I should want to come here, see how Dad is doing, but I can’t come to terms with watching this man wither away. The man I know so well, yet his eyes tell me I’m a stranger to him.

  So why do I come? For my sister. Her heart of gold still has hope that our dad’s brain will wake up one day. Finally see his children, chuckle, and tell us the joke’s on us. But that’s wishful thinking.

  Avery drags her hand through her hair and takes in a bolstering breath. “I know the last time you were here must have been difficult.”

  “Difficult? That’s a fucking understatement.” I slightly raise my voice at her and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. I rub my hand over the stubble of my jaw and shake my head. “So, what happened, Ave?”

  “Dad had a panic attack this morning, and they had to restrain him. Doctor Williams wanted us to talk to him. It’s been over a week since he’s seen either of us. Maybe it will calm him.”

  “I don’t think anything will work anymore.”

  “Brody, we have to try. We can’t give up on him.”

  “It breaks me to see him like that.” An image of his dark blue eyes staring back at me flickers in my head. I miss my dad. The baritone laughs. The stories he would tell me about his missions. And the cryptic riddles of advice that were nonstop, those brain teasers I rolled my eyes at, but make perfect sense now that I’m all grown up.

  “How do you think I feel, Brody? I have been coming here at least once a week so he won’t forget. But with the swimsuit line and the traveling, it’s getting harder to visit him. Now that you’re home, I need you. So, I figured if we both go in together, maybe he’ll remember us. It’s been too long since he’s seen us in the same room.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, draw in a breath, and try to shake the memories of the last time I saw my old man. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But don’t get your hopes up, sis. He may tell us to fuck off.”

  “Why are you such a jackass sometimes?” she snaps, and I deserve it.

  “It’s called being a realist.”

  Her optimism overwhelms me and yet I still manage to be an ass as she levels her glare at me.

  “I’m sorry. I just had one of the best days I have had in a while and to end it like this, wasn’t in my plan.”

  Her smile spreads wide as her eyes lighten the mood. “Who were you with today?”

  “I spent the day with Jerick.”

  Avery nods at the orderly passing us. “And Paula?”

  I laugh as I shake my head. “She’s engaged, remember?”

  “Then who else put that twinkle in your eye? Because I know it wasn’t just a twelve-year-old boy. Is it the date you’ll be bringing to the show?”

  “Maybe later . . . let’s go inside and see what we can do for Dad.”

  “Oh, now you want to go inside? Are you seriously shafting me again, Brody? Is she a secret you care about and don’t want to jinx? Or a fling you don’t care about and is pointless for me to meet?”

  “I care about her and when the time is right, you’ll meet her.”

  “At the show, right?” she chides with her hand on her hip.

  I kiss her forehead. “Yes, at the show. Now let’s go see our father.”

  A few steps in his room and the silence is deafening. The only sound is the hum of the air conditioner and Dad’s heavy breathing.

  His back is to us as he stares out the window at the view of the setting sun over the manmade lake outside the facility.

  Doctor Williams clears his throat. “Gerard, you have visitors.”

  Dad doesn’t move.

  Doctor Williams turns to us and whispers, “I administered a sedative several hours ago to calm him. It should be wearing off by now. Just speak softly and don’t bring up anything that may trigger a panic.”

  “Doc, have you been able to figure out what triggers these attacks?” I ask as I glance at Dad, oblivious that we are in the room.

  “It varies,” Doctor Williams continues with a low voice. “But the one common question he asks and gets upset about is your mom. When he asks for her and she doesn’t show, he gets belligerent. I’m hoping with you two here, he’ll be less quarrelsome, maybe it’ll calm him some.” He gives us a resolute nod and a concerning smile before he leaves us in the room.

  This visit differs greatly from the last time I stepped foot in this room. On the other side, I can see the journals on the desk, one is open. I can only assume he read them.

  I wish I knew what he wrote in them. Were there words of how much he loved Mom? How much he loved us? Were they of his missions? Or how life was when he got back?

  The navy left me with some scars. But as I study the man before me, I realize his Alzheimer’s has left me with a greater scar that runs so deep I don’t know how to heal from it and unsure if it ever will. I miss my dad and the way things used to be.

  Dad continues to stare out the window as I slowly move further into the room. Avery sits in a chair opposite Dad and I lower myself to the chair next to her, so we are both facing him.

  Dad is a shell of a man. He’s not a man full of life and happy to see his children.

  I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat.

  Instead, Avery speaks up, her soft whisper fills the space between us. “Hi, Dad.” She rests her palm on his forearm. “I brought you something.”

  Avery holds up a white paper bag that I didn’t notice she was holding before. She pulls out a single clear wrapped loaf of banana bread.

  Dad’s gaze slowly moves to her face as a slight tug pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Stella?”

  I study Avery and can see how Dad could be confused. She is the spitting image of Mom with the same caramel hair, green-hazel eyes, and high cheekbones.

  I press my lips together, wanting to correct him, but I don’t say a word and let Avery take the lead. This is not her first rodeo with him and I can tell she’s all too familiar with this routine.

  “Dad, you are such a jokester, aren’t you?” she says softly, easing the blow as she unwraps the treat. “How many times have we played this guessing game?”

  Avery’s eyes dart to me, silently letting me know this is not the first time Dad’s mistaken Avery for his wife.

  Dad clears his throat, squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then opens them. “You’re Avery, right?”

  My sister’s smile widens. “Yes. You remember.” I can hear the sadness in her voice as she clears her throat and smiles. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to . . . Brody, this is Gerard Reinhardt. I bring him banana bread every time I visit. Gerard, this is Brody.”

  “It’s nice to meet you . . . Mr. Reinhardt,” I say with emotion, as I swallow the lump in my throat.

  I stretch my arm out as does he and we shake. I hold on a fraction longer than I should as my heart gets heavier and the lump in my throat grows thick with emotion. The firm handshake is still the same, but the touch of his hand is alien to me.

  “So,” Avery speaks up, breaking the silence, “what have you been up to, Dad?”

  He turns to face Avery. “The ducks are at it again.” Dad points to the open
window.

  Avery and I look out to see a raft of ducks at the edge of the pond. The female duck, I assume, has wings out as if she is protecting her ducklings behind her. My dad chuckles and I miss that laugh.

  “How long have the ducks been at it?” I ask.

  “For a while,” he answers.

  We continue to watch the ducks as they wobble into the pond.

  “Why did the duck cross the road?” Dad blurts without warning.

  To prove he’s no chicken.

  “To prove he’s no chicken.” Dad’s baritone laughter fills the room.

  Avery and I laugh in unison.

  “Dad, that’s a good one,” Avery speaks up and her shoulders relax. “You got more jokes?”

  Dad angles his head as he scrutinizes me. “Brody, where’s your cast?”

  My cast? What the? Fucking hell . . . he thinks I’m thirteen years old.

  My head jerks back as my eyes immediately dart to Avery, then back to him.

  Dad’s back. He remembers. But for how long?

  It was the day Kyle and I were popping wheelies off the makeshift ramp we made. I came running into the house, covered in scrapes and scratches, holding my arm as Kyle trekked right behind me. Dad was on the deck while Mom painted on her canvas next to him.

  Granted, I was in a whole lot of pain, but to watch my parents scramble was comical. Mom splashed paint on the deck to get her purse and the newspaper went flying in the air as Dad ran to grab the keys off the hook.

  I was in that cast for two months. And I was waited on hand and foot by them both and took advantage of my parents. I remember Avery rolling her eyes at me every time I fake-whimpered about my arm so Mom would make me my favorite sloppy joes.

  Thinking quickly, I respond, “My cast? I went to the doctor’s this morning to get it off.” I stretch my elbow. “See? Good as new, Dad.”

  “I was supposed to take you. So, Mom took you instead? I thought she had to work.” He pivots his body and looks toward the door. “Is she here? Stella! Stella!”

  “Dad, she had to rush back to work,” Avery steps in. “She told me to tell you to make sure you eat your banana bread. It’s your favorite, remember?”

  “Will she be coming home for dinner? Or will she be working late again?”

  “She didn’t say,” Avery answers.

  “She seems to work late when I’m back from my deployments.” He rises from his chair as he blows out a breath and slams his hands together. “Should we order pizza for dinner? Or do you want grilled cheese? How about mustard fries?”

  Childhood memories flood my thoughts. The experimental dinners when it was only us three while Mom worked late at the office. Mustard fries, mayo sandwiches, and Nutella pizza. The carpet picnics in front of the television and the blanket forts we made only to fall asleep in them. These are the memories I cherish.

  “Well, Dad,” I speak up, “I think Avery and I would love to have your mustard fries. I have been craving those.”

  “And can we play fortress? I have got some new ways to hold the blanket up,” Avery says.

  He sits back down and scrubs his face. A ghost of a smile changes Dad’s expression and then it turns into a blank stare.

  “Mustard fries? Fortress? What’s that?” There’s confusion in his dark blue eyes.

  And just like that, he’s gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Delilah

  “Delilah . . . Earth to Delilah on cloud nine!”

  The voice shocks me away from the vase full of sunflowers resting on the small round table. My cheeks warm from being caught daydreaming and my smile comes naturally as I refocus on my boss.

  “Mrs. Cole!” I stand and question myself on how long I had been daydreaming about Brody.

  Her large barrel curls cascade down her shoulders as she gracefully enters wearing a royal blue fitted dress that flairs at the ends just below her knees. I really need to know where she shops.

  “I’m not my mother-in-law.” She gives me a stern look at my formal greeting.

  I smile. “Catherine, please come in.”

  “That’s more like it.” She hands me a folder and I open it. “I came to check on how the Evergreen campaign is going?”

  “On the homestretch of things. My flight leaves Thursday morning from LAX and I should be there before noon. I will survey the grounds before my meeting.” I sit down, open the folder she hands me, and skim the pages. “So, Lindell Investments is the official owner of Evergreen.”

  “Yes, they are. They’re in the business of buying companies. Usually they dismantle and rebuild them.”

  I type two words on my keyboard. Lindell Investments. “Hmm, says here CEO, Charles Lindell, bought the company from Stella Saint Clair before she passed away from cancer.”

  “Kayla informed me they are not tearing down the resort.” She taps her manicured finger on the back of my laptop. “As long as she’s the resort director, the Lindells can’t take it apart and build a new hotel on the property.”

  “I wonder why her parents didn’t just hand her the business?”

  “I’m sure they have their reasons.” Catherine leans back in the chair. “Are you ready for your meeting with Kayla?”

  “I am. This time I won’t forget my designs.” I laugh, remembering the job interview with Peter. “They’re on my laptop and ready for her to see the vision we have. I have even mocked up a commercial.”

  “From what I have gathered, Kayla is the decision maker for which firm will represent the resort. Us or Anchor Marketing Group.”

  “Well, I will give it my best shot. I have numbers to prove from season to season against the P&L. There’s no way they can say no to us.”

  “I have seen what you have done. I think you may be right. Your marketing strategies are stellar.” Catherine pauses, then clears her throat. “So, who’s the lucky guy?” Her chin motions to the bouquet.

  “Brody.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, and I’m sure she noticed the giddy smile on my face. “We have been dating for the last several weeks now.”

  “Oh, yes, puppy love. The best feeling.”

  “I wouldn’t call it love quite yet. But I really like him.”

  “And why do you like him?” she asks as she sits in the chair in front of my desk. A twist of my lips forcing myself not to smile, because I know I will. “When I first met Jackson,” she giggles, “I couldn’t stop smiling either.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Obvious? Just like the sky is blue.”

  “It’s still very new.”

  “What color are his eyes? That’s what attracted me to Jackson, among other things. But we’ll start with his eyes.”

  I let out a sigh. “His eyes are . . . hypnotizing. The most beautiful color of brandy, with a hint of green. And when he looks at me, I melt.”

  “Go on . . . what else?” She lifts her perfect brows and meets my gaze.

  “Well, he . . . he’s not just breathtaking, he’s oh-my-god-sexy . . . he’s got this boyish thing about him, yet he’s all man. Broad shoulders, defined arms, great body . . . He must work out every day. He surfs.” I take in a breath and laugh. “He tried to teach me how to swim, but that was a complete fail.”

  “Tell me about his arms.”

  With my elbows on my desk, I plop my chin on my open palms. “I feel safe. When I’m wrapped in them, it’s as if he doesn’t want to let go. They say he wants to protect me.”

  “Hmm . . . It’s a man thing.”

  “The thing is . . . I’m not used to that.”

  Catherine angles her head. “Did your last boyfriend cheat on you?”

  I glance out the window for a beat. Why is it that my past seems to creep into my present life? But for some reason, I feel more at peace to talk about it. It’s because of Brody that I feel even stronger, more me and Todd invading my thoughts doesn’t scare me anymore.

  “I was in an abusive relationship. He was one of the reasons I moved to California.”
/>
  Catherine reaches for my hand and the warmth from it comforts me. “Oh, Delilah. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “It’s okay. I’m in a good place now.” I smile shyly. “Time away and finding this new me, working here, meeting Brody, who has been absolutely amazing, has really helped a lot.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that you found yourself.”

  A baritone cough sounds just outside my office door. A large bouquet of sunflowers and daisies covers half of the person’s body, only revealing a pair of jeans and sneakers. “I have a special delivery for a Delilah Marshall.”

  Catherine and I stand with wide eyes.

  “You have come to the right place,” Catherine says then turns to me. “Where would you like these, Delilah?”

  I point on the round table where the others are. “Over there is just perfect.”

  The delivery guy coughs. “These flowers are perfect”—he sets the vase on the table—“just like you.”

  My hand goes to my mouth as my breath catches. “Brody, I . . . uh, what are you doing here?” My cheeks warm and a smile widens my face.

  “So, you’re the lucky guy.” Catherine wiggles her brows as she smiles.

  “Yes, I am,” Brody says, stretching his hand out to Catherine.

  “Brody, this is Catherine Cole . . . my boss. Catherine, Brody.”

  “Catherine Cole? You’re married to Jackson, right?”

  “Yes. How do you know Jackson?” she asks. “Wait, don’t tell me . . . you’re the new guy. Brody Reinhardt. From Mark’s office?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, isn’t this a coincidence.”

  Catherine’s eyes volley between Brody and me as we stand in the small space of my office. “Well, I’ll let you two be.” She nods, then winks at me. “Delilah, let me know how your trip goes,” Catherine says before closing the door behind her.

  I take in the sight of Brody. The dark gray T-shirt that practically looks like it’s painted on his body, his biceps stretch out the sleeves and the fabric fits snugly around his torso. I bite my bottom lip, knowing all too well what his abs look like.