Single (Stockton Beavers #1)

by Collette West

  "Ma! Don't move! I'm coming!"

  I glance up to see Mrs. S. perched precariously on the ladder that's hanging against the side of the house, the one Luke was using to repair the leaky rain gutter for the millionth time. She has something in her hands, some kind of book that she's ripping pages out of and letting them float away on the breeze.

  "Fly, butterflies! Fly!" she cries as she lets go of another page.

  Butterflies? My heart stops. No, God, no…not my journal.

  "Luke!" I utter a strangled cry.

  "I know…I know." He tries to steady the ladder beneath her, but when he starts to climb up, it begins to sway when she leans to the side, narrowly avoiding his grasp.

  They're going to fall, is the first thing that goes through my mind. The two of them are going to fall. And with a burst of speed I didn't know I possessed, I reach the ladder and hold on to it with all the strength I have in me. But their combined weight is too much. It's starting to go. I dig in my heels and bend my knees to brace myself, struggling to keep it upright as Luke climbs up another rung.

  "I've got you, Ma," he shouts up to her. "Let the journal go."

  She laughs as she flicks the cover away from her like she's tossing a Frisbee. The ladder shakes and sweat drips down my brow as it creaks underneath my fingers.

  "Take a step down," Luke commands, grabbing the back of her nightgown. "I'm right behind you."

  His arm, the one that was paralyzed after his injury, is dangerously exposed. If the ladder tips, it's going to take the full brunt of the impact. I can't let that happen, not after how far he's come. But I don't think I'll be able to hold on for much longer. He has to get her down—now.

  I grind my teeth and the back of Luke's feet start to descend, one rung then two rungs then three. And Mrs. S. is right behind him, taking each rung with a lot less care than he is. When his foot is practically in my face, I step aside and he hops off, bringing her down on top of him as the ladder clatters onto its side.

  She stares at me, sitting atop Luke's chest as I stand there, trying to catch my breath. When Luke groans, I hurry over, extending my hands to her to help her up. But she doesn't take them. She continues to stare at me instead.

  "You're the keeper of the butterflies, aren't you?" she asks.

  I nod. "Yes, but you have to get up now."

  "You keep the butterflies. But now, I set them free. I let them soar out into the world." She stares down at her son. "Now you have to let me go, Lukey. You have to let me soar with the butterflies too."

  Luke's head turns to the side, his gaze landing on her, and I feel like crying because not making the Kings may not have broken his heart, but realizing the state his mother's in crushes him like nothing else can. He tried so hard to keep her with him, but it's like she's giving him permission to do what needs to be done, like she's setting him free.

  I take hold of her hands, and she lets me hoist her up. And I'm surprised when she gives me a big hug. "You're a good girl. And that's what I want for my Lukey, a good girl." She smiles until that absent look steals across her features again as she wanders aimlessly over to the chair her husband made for her and sits in it.

  I kneel down next to Luke as he sits up. "Are you okay?"

  He gives me a half smile. "Yeah, I just got the wind knocked out of me. That's all." He curses under his breath as he gets up and starts bending over to retrieve some of the pages that are littering the lawn.

  "Don't," I insist, grabbing his arm. "She's right. Just let them go."

  He looks down at the smudges of indecipherable ink, the pages all wet from the dew on the grass. He screws up his face in consternation. "She ruined everything. She—"

  But I place my hand on his face. "Don't be angry with her. She didn't know what she was doing." His eyes sadden, but I keep going. "Luke, it's better this way. It's not like I need my journal anymore. It was just a means of keeping my regrets alive."

  He takes my hand from his face and presses it to his heart. "And what if I can't let go of the dream of her, that daughter you write to all the time?"

  I take a shaky breath while clutching the front of his shirt. "She doesn't exist, Luke. She'll never exist. What about that don't you understand?"

  "Well, I'm not giving up on her. She's out there somewhere, just waiting for us to find her," he says so ardently, my heart throbs anew within my chest.

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying our daughter, a child we can love with all our hearts, can still come into our lives," he whispers, running his thumb lightly across the back of my hand.

  "Do you mean—?" I stutter. "Are you talking about—?"

  He smiles at me with his whole heart. "Adoption? Yes…I am."

  I shut my eyes tight. "But she won't be yours. She won't be—"

  "She'll be ours."

  He cups my chin, stretching out his fingers until I turn my cheek into the warmth of his palm.

  "Do you really mean that?"

  "Family's everything to me." He lowers his head. "It's why I felt so strongly about keeping Mom at home, why I went through so much trouble when most people wouldn't be bothered."

  But one word in particular jumps out at me. "Felt?" I question him.

  "I can't ask you to do this anymore, Roberta."

  Luke has that look on his face. I recognize it because I've seen it on so many family members. There comes a moment of revelation in every family when the condition of an Alzheimer's patient goes downhill so rapidly there's no longer any denying that things are only going to get worse instead of better. It's a sobering reality having to admit defeat in the face of a disease that has no known cure. No one wants to give up on someone they love, and no one loves deeper or truer than Luke. He's a man who loves with all his heart, and it breaks mine to know that this moment has come for him.

  He glances over at his mom as she stares off into space, lost in her own little world. Dropping his gaze, he slowly raises his eyes to mine. "It's just…have you seen some of those places?" He lowers his hands from my face, stepping aside. "People walking around like zombies, herded into rooms like cattle."

  "Not all nursing homes are like that. I worked in one, remember?" I respond softly, and when I draw closer to him, he stops pacing. "Luke, I was only able to give you a temporary solution. There was always going to come a time when her needs would become greater than the level of care I'm able to provide. And after today—" I bite my lip. "It's something you can't put off much longer."

  "How long are we talking?"

  "It could be years, months, weeks. I don't know." I place a hand on his arm. "She was originally diagnosed with Alzheimer's…when was it, about two years ago?"

  His mind's reeling, and he starts rambling. "Yeah, right around the time I saw you in—"

  "You saw me?" I exclaim. "Where did you see me?"

  "In Arnold Heimlich's office." I stare into his eyes that are alive with a memory I wish with all my heart I could recall. "It was only for a moment. But I don't know…the way you took care of him? That's what I wanted for Mom."

  My heart responds to him, recognizing a part of itself beating outside my body, making my connection to him seem even more special than it did before.

  I cast a guilt-ridden look at him. "I'm sorry I don't remember. There was just so much going on in my life at that time—new job, new boss, new place to live, new…everything. At that point, I probably couldn't even have told you my name if you had asked me."

  He laughs it off, like the last thing he wants is for me to feel guilty about anything. "It's okay. You inspired me, that's all that matters."

  I whisper, almost to myself, "It's just funny."

  "What is?"

  "How you can make an impact on someone and not even know it."

  "You did…" He pauses, his voice starting to crack. "I just thought that everything was going to be okay once you arrived in Stockton. That somehow you were here to save the day." He bends his head. "But I guess what you're trying to get through
my thick skull is that in the end, neither of us has what it takes to keep Mom out of a nursing home—and it's just devastating to have to come to terms with that."

  Gently, I touch his face. "Luke, listen to me. I promise you that we're going to find a good place for her. I give you my word." I run my thumb over his cheekbone as he struggles to hold on to his composure. "Okay?"

  His eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he nods back at me. "Okay."

  If he's willing to give me the hope of a daughter I never thought I'd have, I'll stop at nothing to find a good place for his mom. I may have inspired him then, but now he's the one inspiring me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Luke

  Eight months later

  "This wasn't what I had in mind when Landry said he'd pick up the tab on one of our date nights," I tease Roberta as she cuddles up next to me.

  "So what did you have in mind?" she murmurs, brushing her lips against my ear. "A long weekend at the ranch?"

  "Well, it certainly didn't include the row of wheelchairs lined up behind us."

  I glance back at the handicapped section of Beaver Field, and there's Mom snuggled in a blanket and proudly sporting one of Dad's old ball caps on her head. The other Alzheimer's patients around her are showing varying levels of interest when it comes to the preseason exhibition game the New York Kings are playing on our field. One is concentrating on a plane flying overhead, while another is licking her lips at the cotton candy the little boy in front of her is eating. I'm impressed that Mom's attention is on home plate, like she doesn't want to miss Dad stepping out of the dugout and into the batter's box.

  On a night like tonight, I could swear she remembers all of the games she's attended here over the years. Memories like that don't just leave their mark on the mind, but on the soul as well. She loved Dad. She stuck by him through thick and thin. It couldn't have been easy for her, being forced to stand by and watch his dream of making it to the majors slip away. But she didn't allow any bitterness to dampen her outlook on life. She may not have been as vocal as Dad was in telling me I could do anything I set my mind to, but she was always there to support me, whether she agreed with my decision to follow in Dad's footsteps or not.

  Like Dad, I may never reach the lofty heights of the major leaguers we're watching tonight, but I'm fine with that. Two nights from now, I'll be on this very same field when the Kings' three-game series against the Titans concludes and the Beavers' regular season gets underway. I've made my peace with it because, deep down, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Stockton's where my heart is, and the lure of New York and the big leagues just can't compete with what I have here.

  Roberta smiles at me. "You can't fool me, Luke Singleton. You wouldn't want to spend tonight any other way…and neither would I."

  I tip my head in Mom's direction. "But I see now how stubborn I was being, how scared I was to ask for help. Without you, none of this would've been possible."

  "Are you kidding? I live for stuff like this," she teases, resting her head on my arm. "And once I found the perfect Alzheimer's residence for your mom, there was no way I was going to let you turn it down when you thought you wouldn't be able to afford it."

  "I wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving her anywhere else," I whisper. "I would've done anything for her to be able to stay there. Even sell the house."

  She reaches up to kiss my cheek. "I know. I'm just glad you didn't have to."

  Last year, Roberta and I went looking at various nursing homes in the Stockton area, and we weren't pleased with what we saw. Stepping through their doors did nothing to ease my fears. Either we were bowled over by the smell of unwashed bed linens or assailed by the number of residents groaning from their beds as we walked by their rooms, watching them futilely ring their call buttons for assistance.

  Good impressions were hard to come by, and I was just about to give up hope when we came across the Guardian Angel Senior Center, a private, ten-bed facility that had just opened, the brainchild of a local woman, Gloria Walker. After her mom succumbed to Alzheimer's, Gloria went back to school in order to become a registered nurse. Having gone through what we were going through, Gloria knew there weren't many viable options in and around Stockton. So she decided to open a facility of her own in order to provide those with Alzheimer's a safe and compassionate environment in which to live.

  But it was still hard. When Mom left home, we were both heartbroken by how much we missed her, but the transition turned out to be a lot harder on Roberta than I expected. Every time visiting hours were over, I had to practically drag her home with me. The guilt over not being able to care for Mom anymore was eating away at her. She kept telling me she felt like she'd failed her somehow.

  And I felt the same way. Although I liked everything about Gloria's facility, I knew when I checked Mom in that she wouldn't get to stay there indefinitely. The long-term cost was well out of the range of my budget. Mom's insurance didn't cover the whole thing, and unfortunately, I just didn't make enough with the Beavers to make up the difference. All I had was the house, and I thought I had no other choice but to put it up for sale.

  Then unbeknownst to me, Roberta went and talked to Gloria and they worked out an arrangement where she could come and work for her in exchange for what I owed for Mom's care. By doing so, I wouldn't have to sell the house, and Mom's future would be secure. Before I met Roberta, I thought finding the perfect situation for Mom was virtually impossible—but Roberta not only delivered, she made it happen.

  I only wish I had the same amount of confidence right now as I reach into my pocket for my phone. There's something I want to ask her. Now that Mom's squared away, we're ready to take the next step in our journey together.

  I turn on my phone and a picture of a one-year-old with little blond tufts sticking out of her pigtail holders fills the screen. I take a deep breath before I hold it out to her. I swallow, getting choked up. "What do you think of her?"

  Nonchalantly, Roberta takes the phone out of my hand. "Aww, Luke. She's adorable. Whose is she? One of the Beavers?"

  "Uh…no." I clear my throat, realizing I need to explain things, and fast. "She could be… She could be ours."

  Roberta sits up to look at me. "Luke, what are you saying?"

  "Do you remember Danny talking about his date from the auction? A woman named Chrissy?"

  Wrinkling her forehead, she asks, "The mom with the cannoli?"

  And by the puzzled expression on her face, I can tell I'm really blowing this. Whenever I get nervous, I tend to talk in circles and the important details get lost coming out of my mouth. Probably because I'm scared to death she's not going to go for my idea. That's why I showed her the picture first. How can anyone say no to that face?

  I shove my hair behind my ears. "Yeah, the mom with the cannoli. She's a social worker at the foster care agency downtown." Roberta's jaw drops, and I just keep talking. "After that day in the backyard last summer, I went to her and filled out the paperwork that would register us to become foster parents. Once it went through, Chrissy started putting out feelers for us."

  "And you didn't even tell me about it?" she demands.

  "You were so busy getting Mom settled." I scratch my neck. "And Chrissy said it could take months to match us up with the right child. I didn't want to get your hopes up until she hit on something."

  Roberta props her elbows on her knees, and I give her a moment to let it all sink in.

  "Bobbie Jo," I say softly. "I know you didn't want to adopt a newborn."

  "Luke, we've talked about this," she cuts in. "You know why I couldn't do it. It'd be too hard."

  "I know…that's why I think Summer's perfect for us."

  She glances at the photo again, and her voice catches. "Her name's Summer?"

  "Summer Rose," I reply. Roberta's shoulders rise and fall with every breath, and I take it as a sign to continue. "Her mom can't take care of her anymore." And here's where it gets tough because what I have to say now is going t
o make or break what happens next. "Summer's mom died…"

  Roberta bends her head, concentrating on the photo. "How?"

  I glance down the row at Mom. I wish she could give me some advice on how to handle this. I'm just glad she's here because right now I need her more than ever. I've never been as scared as I am at this very moment. I want this child. This child needs us. But when Roberta hears about what happened, she may very well say no.

  When I don't answer right away, Roberta picks up her head, locking me in her steady blue gaze. "Luke, how did she die?"

  "In a domestic violence incident," I whisper.

  Roberta gasps as my phone falls off her lap and onto the ground. But I don't even reach for it. Instead, I reach for her hand.

  "The police found Summer in the next room, crying in her crib. She wasn't hurt," I'm quick to add when Roberta's fingers tighten around mine. "But she has no next of kin. Her mother's gone. Her father's in jail. And Chrissy said the sooner she can find love and kindness in a stable home, the least amount of trauma she'll suffer in the long run."

  My heart aches when Roberta lifts her tear-filled eyes to mine. "But Luke, we're not married. Why would they even consider us?"

  I reach for both of her hands, pulling her into me. "Because we will be someday."

  "But…"

  Leaning in, I kiss the top of her head. "I know that you're not looking to get married again anytime soon, and I understand why you feel that way. I'm not rushing you into something you don't want to do, but we can't lose her, Bobbie Jo. She's the one. She's the one who needs us."

  Slowly, Roberta nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Is it possible to love someone so much, so quickly?"

  "Yes," I whisper against her forehead. "Because it's the same way I felt about you."

  "Oh, Luke." She collapses into me, sobbing as Mom's fellow residents begin to take notice.

  "Why's she crying?"

  "Who's crying?"

  "She is."

  "Who?"

  "That woman down there."

  Upon hearing them bicker, Mom stares down the row and immediately gets out of her seat when she catches sight of Roberta's tear-stained face. Bypassing the line of wheelchairs, she doesn't stop until she's at Roberta's side, clasping her protectively from behind.