Small-Town Girl (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (Mills & Boon Superromance)

by Carmichael, C. J.

  For the first time since the accident, Ben’s features rearranged themselves. The grimace could have been the result of pain or confusion; it was impossible to tell. With hope fluttering in her chest, Julie signaled for a nurse, all the while watching desperately for another sign her son was finally waking up. But nothing else happened for the next interminable hour.

  First the nurse on duty, then Dr. Assad questioned Julie and Russell carefully about what they had seen. Both held out cautious hope more improvements would follow soon.

  And they did. That evening Ben’s eyes fluttered. At one point he even opened them briefly. The next day he started muttering, flailing his arms. Russell kept playing music; Julie continued reading. On the fifth day of his coma, Ben finally spoke.

  “I’m so tired…of that song.”

  In an instant, every tightly held muscle in Julie’s body relaxed. Tears flowed down her cheeks, splashing unheeded onto her blouse. Her hands trembled as she put one on her husband’s shoulder; the other, on her son’s head.

  Ben was back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Four months later

  AT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW Julie played with the gold band of her watch, pushing it back and forth over her wrist bone. Her laptop computer sat open on the ottoman next to the armchair where she’d been editing a column for next month’s edition of West Coast Homes.

  More honestly, trying to edit.

  She couldn’t concentrate. It was four months today, and she knew she ought to be grateful. Ben was alive, better, and life in the Matthew residence had returned to normal. Well, sort of normal. She and Russell were back at work part-time and Ben’s rehab, as of today, was over. Soon Ben would be back in school, and their lives would resume their usual, predictable rhythms.

  Normalcy. It was all she had craved since that dreadful day.

  She twisted her watch again, then adjusted the blinds to the perfect angle. She fluffed the pillows on her antique love seat, then ran a hand over the polished ebony surface of the grand piano. Not so much as a flake of dust clung to her fingers.

  “Should we wake him, Russell?” When Ben’s naps went over an hour, she became nervous. She’d already checked on him and he appeared fine. But she couldn’t contain her irrational fear—what if he didn’t wake up this time? Or what if he suffered a seizure. His medication was supposed to prevent them, but what if one happened anyway?

  Russell surfaced from the textbook on his lap, Contemporary Literary Criticism. He removed his dark-framed glasses in order to check the time on the clock above the mantel.

  A sweet memory snuck up on her. The first time they’d met, in the University of British Columbia library, she’d asked him for the time. He’d removed his glasses then, too. His mop of brownish-red hair had desperately needed a trim, and she’d longed to reach over and tug one of those curls as he’d glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “It’s almost noon,” he’d said in answer to her question. Then he’d asked, “You’re English?”

  “From London. Islington.” Her family had been in Canada for only a few months and already she’d found her accent an asset in drawing the attention of men. “And rather hungry at the moment.”

  “May I offer tea? Cucumber sandwiches?” He’d mimicked her, but not unkindly. And as he spoke, he’d snapped shut his textbook and risen from his chair. She remembered thinking he had the warmest smile she’d ever seen.

  Ah, Russell… The memory faded as quickly as it had arrived, landing her back in the living room with her husband of ten years. Ten very good years. Only, lately… Well, they’d been under a strain.

  “Ben’s always tired after therapy,” Russell reminded her.

  In his tone she heard the effort of strained patience. She’d always liked things just so in her house and her life. But lately, well, since the accident, she’d been unable to let anything slide. Everything had to go according to plan, like clockwork, or she couldn’t cope.

  She knew her behavior drove Russell to the brink of his patience—which said a lot, because Russell was one of the most patient men she’d ever met.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  “I’m so glad we’re finished with therapy.” Julie wanted to believe the nightmare was now behind them. Those two months of Ben in hospital, then these last two, where he’d received outpatient treatment. According to his neuropsychological assessment he was ready to reengage in regular life.

  Russell, reading again, didn’t add any comment. She surveyed the world through the flattened slats of the wooden blinds. Late August, and the city was lush with its abundant greenery. In the distance, the ocean sparkled like a band of platinum in the setting sun.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. I suppose I can just keep the chicken warm.”

  “If he isn’t up in fifteen minutes, I’ll prod him a little.” Russell didn’t lift his gaze from his book this time; still, Julie heard the sigh behind his words.

  Relax, Julie. He’d said the words to her so often these past months he didn’t need to utter them anymore. They rang in her ears like a mocking refrain. Because relaxing was something she’d never been good at. And now…

  “I’ll check on the food.” She left the room and went down the hall to the kitchen. But there was nothing to do there, either. The counters were clean and the table set. A chicken-curry casserole warmed in the oven. The rice steamer was on hold; a garden salad waited in the fridge.

  She brushed a hand over Ben’s dinner plate. Closing her eyes, she could picture him here, talking and eating at the same time, tipping his chair back on two legs, barely swallowing before putting more food into his mouth.

  Habits she’d once hated, and now missed desperately. Since the accident Ben ate so carefully, struggling to control his fork, not to spill his milk.

  She turned to the fridge, where for years she’d kept a calendar posted with Ben’s homework deadlines, after-school commitments, play dates with friends.

  Now the only writing in the clean, white squares were the times for his scheduled rehab therapy, ending with today’s. All that loomed was the September 3 back-to-school day. Would Ben be ready to face those academic and social challenges? More important, would his friends and teachers be ready for him?

  Not many of the guys he chummed around with had called since he’d been released from hospital. Even Jeff, his best friend, had come around only once. Though to be honest, Ben didn’t seem to want to see his friends, either. Was he self-conscious about the changes in himself? Or was he still too weak to play?

  Julie didn’t know the answers. Not to these questions, or any of the hundred others she’d had since Ben’s accident. The doctors were no help. They’d adopted a “wait and see” attitude that drove her nuts.

  She’d waited too long already, damn it! Hadn’t Ben suffered enough—hadn’t they all?

  Despite the hours and hours at therapy, Ben’s speech was still slow—he had to search for the words that had once spilled out of his mouth like the froth from a shaken soda can. His balance was shaky; his memory, unreliable. Worst of all were the headaches and his frustrated anger.

  “It’ll be okay, Ben,” she promised her son every night, but as the days passed into weeks and months, she’d begun to feel like a liar. Ben wasn’t okay, at least not yet.

  She’d memorized the chapter on traumatic head injury in the book she’d bought on brain disorders, as well as every word Dr. Assad had ever spoken to them. Her acquired knowledge offered as much cause for worry as for hope.

  Every brain injury was unique. Outcomes were unpredictable. So far they’d been lucky. Ben had emerged from the coma. That was the biggie, wasn’t it? She tried to be grateful, but it was hard.

  If only…

  Biting her lip, Julie opened a cupboard door at random and began to clean.

  “SALAD?” JULIE ASKED rhetorically as she passed the crystal bowl from her husband to her son. Ben, using the silver tongs awkwardly, portioned some of the greens onto his side plate.


  Once the highlight of Julie’s day, the dinner hour at home had turned into an ordeal—and not just for her. Ben sat quiet and withdrawn—usual for him since the accident. His hair, so like his father’s, had grown to cover most of the scar tissue on his forehead. While he’d regained some weight in the past month, he remained five pounds lighter than before the accident in April, and Julie struggled not to urge him to eat more.

  All three of them had lost weight. Her waistbands were loose and Russell had dropped at least ten pounds. Naturally thin, now he appeared almost gaunt.

  Of all of them, he made the most effort to keep dinner pleasant, filling the conversation that had once been centered on Ben’s school day and recess antics with stories about the university.

  “Can’t say I’m sorry there are only two weeks left in the summer session,” he said. “This has to be the most boring batch of students I’ve ever had. Even Weasel has been quiet lately.”

  “Didn’t beg for any extra marks in last week’s assignment?” Julie asked.

  “Surprisingly, no. Though maybe he considered himself fortunate I’d been as generous as I was. He should have been, anyway.”

  Ben stabbed at his plate with his fork until he speared a piece of chicken. If he was paying attention to any of this, it wasn’t noticeable.

  Russell sighed and his forehead creased. Julie had seen a lot of that frown lately. Probably she sported one on her brow, too. Struggling to smile, she tried to tell a story about an aborted photo shoot at a new home furnishings store on Robson Street, but the story fizzled halfway through.

  “Anyway, it was quite a mess. But I guess you had to be there.” She forked a piece of lettuce, then another and another.

  “Can I be excused?” Ben asked. He pushed back from the table. In the past, he’d spent most evenings playing with Lego or reading with her and Russell in the living room. Lately he preferred to blockade himself in his bedroom.

  Julie set aside her plate, fighting an urge to hurl it at the kitchen window. Everything had been so perfect before the accident. Why did it have to happen? They were good people. They didn’t deserve…

  Hell. She forced her mind to go blank. That kind of thinking got her nowhere. And she knew it.

  The accident was reality. Ben’s injury was reality, too. Now, deal with it, Julie. You’re the mother here. So why couldn’t she say the right things, do the right things, to make this family whole again?

  “I’ve been thinking, Julie.”

  She’d almost forgotten Russell was still in the room. “Yes?”

  “This family needs a change.”

  Caution made her reply slowly. “What do you mean?”

  When her husband didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “If you’re suggesting a holiday, I’d been wondering if we might squeeze in a week at Saltspring before school starts now that Ben’s therapy is finished. Any chance you could get away?” She knew he was already busy preparing for the fall session.

  Russell drummed his fingers on the table. He was an academic, but he had hands that looked as though they could actually do something. Tighten a valve, unclog a sink, change the oil in a car.

  “We always go to Saltspring,” he said.

  Well, of course. They had a cottage on the ocean. Why wouldn’t they go to Saltspring? “What kind of holiday did you have in mind?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of a holiday. I’m proposing a real change—something permanent.”

  Oh, no. She didn’t like the sound of this. What she needed—what they all needed—was a return to normal. Not change. Especially not permanent change.

  Watching Russell, she experienced the disorienting sensation of observing a stranger. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking right now. When was the last time they’d talked—really talked—about something other than Ben?

  Actually, they didn’t even talk about Ben anymore. She hated seeing the strain on her husband’s face when she admitted her deepest fears. So she did her best to keep them to herself. If Russell had any anxieties of his own, she never heard them. Maybe he was protecting her? Or maybe his ingrained optimism protected him from imagining the worst. Nothing got Russell down. Apparently not even the near death of his son.

  She struggled to keep resentment out of her voice. “Sounds like you have something specific in mind.”

  “I do. I think we need to move.”

  She froze, certain she couldn’t have heard correctly. “Russell?”

  “I know how much you love this house. And you’ve done a beautiful job with it. But we’re in a rut.”

  “Russell, this house is perfect—and I’m not talking about the bloody furniture or the color on the walls, for heaven’s sake.”

  “But—”

  “We’re close to Ben’s school, and his friends…. And what about the ten thousand we just spent on landscaping?”

  She considered Russell’s long commute to work. “Do you want to move closer to the university, is that it?”

  “No. Farther. Much farther.” Russell cleared his plate and Ben’s from the table. Hunching his lean, large-boned frame over the sink, he rinsed them for the dishwasher.

  Julie sat, waiting for him to tell her exactly what he had in mind. Finally, he returned to the table. Gripping the back of his chair, he took a fortifying breath.

  “This may seem like it’s coming out of the blue, but I’ve been tossing around the idea for years now. Ben’s accident is only the catalyst.”

  Cold dread pinned Julie to her chair. Years, Russell had said. And yet until this moment, he’d never even hinted he wasn’t happy living here.

  “I’d like us to move back to Chatsworth.”

  Her nervous tension snapped on a burst of surprise, then outrage. “You can’t be serious.”

  Russell had been born and raised in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. The small prairie town was lucky to boast five hundred citizens at most. Usually Russell and Ben went by themselves to visit Russell’s parents, but Julie had tagged along often enough to know exactly what life in that small town would offer her and her son.

  Nothing.

  Russell couldn’t be serious.

  “If you and Ben want to go visit your folks, that would be fine with me.”

  “I’m not talking about a visit.” Russell pushed away from his chair and strode to the window. “I know I should have discussed this with you, but…I’ve—I’ve tendered my resignation at the university.”

  “You’ve quit?” If he’d slapped her on the face, she couldn’t have been more stunned.

  “Our family needs something different, Julie. Something slow paced and more meaningful. This city is sucking it out of us.”

  “Sucking what out of us?” He wasn’t making any sense. Vancouver was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Russell had worked hard to become a full professor at UBC. And her job at West Coast Homes was a dream come true for her.

  “The happiness, the spontaneity, the…the joy.”

  This was too much. She got out of her chair and gave it a hard shove over the tile floor. Then she advanced on Russell, her voice angry but very quiet. “How the hell are we supposed to be feeling any joy right now? Our son was in a coma for five days. He almost died.”

  “Well, thanks for the news flash. Now here’s an update for you. Our son is alive. But did you see his face at the dinner table tonight? He’s floundering, Julie. We’ve got to save him.”

  She covered her mouth. Yes, poor Ben was floundering. Trust the English professor to come up with just the perfect word.

  “And you think moving to Chatsworth is going to help?” She knew she sounded scornful, but how couldn’t she? Russell’s idea was preposterous.

  “I do. And so do my parents.”

  Oh, no. Now he was dragging in Betty and Larry Matthew, two of the very biggest reasons she’d rather move to the Arctic Circle than to Chatsworth, Saskatchewan.

  “You’ve talked to your parents about this?”

  “Actually, the
y brought up the idea. Apparently the woman who used to teach grade five at the elementary school is moving—her husband wants to go to law school in Saskatoon. They’ve put their house up for sale. It’s small, but it’s lakefront, and it’s only blocks from the school.”

  This was sinking in. Russell had quit his job. He’d found a new job, a new house. “You mean this. You really want to move to Chatsworth.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Julie. I realize you love your career…but this way you could afford to stay home for a while.”

  She’d never wanted to stay home. When they’d discussed having Ben they’d both agreed on a nanny for the first five years, then day care once he started school full-time. “What about the cottage?”

  “We can keep the place in Saltspring. Come back for holidays.”

  But this wasn’t how their life was supposed to be! They’d planned everything before they’d married. Worked out every detail. And in ten years it had come together for them. They had it all, exactly what they’d wanted.

  “We need to enjoy each other more. Family has to be our focus now, Julie.”

  And it wasn’t before?

  In her stomach, she felt the familiar burning of guilt. If only… Were there any more bitter words in the English language?

  She wanted her life back, exactly as it had been. But maybe she didn’t deserve that. She knew Russell didn’t blame her for Ben’s accident. Such a thing would never even occur to him.

  But maybe it should. It had to her.

  And Ben? Did he blame her, too? Julie couldn’t answer that one. Because Ben suffered from retrograde amnesia. Their son couldn’t remember anything that had happened the day of the accident. Probably he never would.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LYING ON HIS SIDE of the king-size bed with Julie at least a foot away, Russell recalled the last time he’d made love to his wife. The Friday before Ben’s accident.

  The April night had been warm and Ben had had plans to camp out in Jeff’s backyard. With a rare evening to themselves, he and Julie had strolled down to the ocean and back, then he’d made pasta and they’d shared a bottle of wine out on their new deck.