For Better or For Worse

by Debbi Quattrone

  “How do you take your coffee?” she asked as she opened the refrigerator door and realized there was no cream.

  “Black.” He used his chin to indicate the cupboard where the mugs were kept. “There’s some powdered creamer in there if that’s what you’re looking for.

  Annoyed that he knew the kitchen better than she did, Jenny got down the creamer and two mugs. She placed them on the oak table that had been in the family since before she was born, then stopped when she realized her father hated powdered creamer. If you didn’t have the real stuff, it wasn’t worth drinking the coffee, he used to say often enough.

  Dr. McAlester pulled out one of the chairs, and she looked into his gentle smile. “He switched to the powder because it was cheaper. You know your dad, always practical.”

  Jenny blinked away the threat of tears and sank into the chair he continued to hold for her. She cleared her throat, hoping her voice was still serviceable. “What happened?” she whispered.

  When he didn’t respond right away, she figured he hadn’t heard her, but he sat across the table from her, finding and holding her gaze, and she knew she was about to hear the unvarnished truth.

  “A year ago, your father had a balloon payment due on the farm. It took most of his savings to pay-it off.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not possible. He owned the farm free and clear.”

  Surprise flickered in his eyes. “He took a loan out against the property five years ago.”

  “But he would have told me.”

  Dr. McAlester didn’t say anything. He looked away, then got up to get their coffee.

  She didn’t jump up to help as she’d normally do. She was too numb. Why hadn’t her father confided in her? Five years ago, she had been in a good position to help financially. She’d sent him money, which he’d tried to turn down, and when he ripped up her checks, she’d resorted to money orders. If she’d known he had a big loan to repay, she would have forced him to accept more.

  “I don’t have to tell you what a proud man your father was. I’m not totally surprised he didn’t tell you about the trouble with the farm.” He poured the strong black brew into their mugs and then reclaimed his seat. “He didn’t tell me, either, for what it’s worth. I found out by accident.”

  It was silly for her to be relieved. Childish, really. She should have been glad her dad had such a good friend, a person with whom to share stories and pass the time. But she was comforted, too, that her father hadn’t chosen to confide in someone other than herself.

  She shook her head. Childish and selfish.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and you’ve got to stop beating yourself up.” The sternness in his voice brought her thoughts up short.

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking or feeling.”

  “Guilt. Relief. Uncertainty. Numbness.” He took a sip of coffee. “Anger.”

  “All a natural part of the grieving process. So, you got an A in psychology.” She looked at her hands. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he was right. She felt all those things and more.

  “I know, because I experienced all those emotions when my wife died.”

  Her gaze came up to meet his. “I’m sorry. I had forgotten about—Dad told me what happened. I’m really sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s been eight years.”

  Her loss hit her full force, and she whispered, “Does it get better?”

  He reached across the table. “Easier,” he said quietly, covering her hand with his large one. “Not better, just easier.”

  Jenny focused on the way his hand totally devoured hers. Her fingers barely peeked out from his grasp. He could have lied with the intention of comforting her, but he hadn’t—he’d told her like it was. Not better. Just easier. Someday she would surely appreciate his honesty. Right now she was too numb.

  He squeezed her hand. “You’ll have reactions you would never have imagined, distraction will likely be a problem, but most of the time you’ll be fine, and then a wave of sadness will unexpectedly knock you off your feet. But you’ll pick yourself up and move on. Just do it at your own pace. No one can tell you how to grieve.”

  “Thanks, Dr. McAlester. I, uh—” She cleared her throat and withdrew her hand.

  “Dr. McAlester?”

  She looked into his amused eyes.

  “No one calls me Dr. McAlester. Well, some of the older folks still refer to me as Doc. Call me Alex.”

  “Okay. I’ve just always called you—” She shrugged, wondering how old he was. Probably close to forty by now.

  “You were a kid then.”

  She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I still were a kid.”

  He smiled. “Everyone does.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me.” He winked and picked up the carafe. “More coffee?”

  His remark brought a smile to her lips—the first one since she’d received that horrible phone call. Her father. Dead of a heart attack. No warning.

  Oh, God, how could this happen?

  “Hey.” Alex refilled her cup even though she’d barely touched it, and then his. “We have to get practical. I hope you aren’t planning on staying here.”

  She cast a glance around the kitchen. It wasn’t in too bad shape. “I was...”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Why?

  “Besides the obvious?”

  She stiffened at his frankness. “My father lived here. It was good enough for him.”

  “These old houses eventually require work. Not just for cosmetic reasons, but to keep them safe. Your father didn’t have the resources, and the house really started to fall apart this past year or so. But he knew where the physical pitfalls were and he avoided them.”

  The truth made her shudder. She didn’t want to hear this. None of it. She knew Alex was trying to help, but the guilt was already too strong.

  “But I’m more concerned with you facing old memories.” His voice was kind, gentle. “Tomorrow’s the funeral. You don’t want to be an emotional wreck by then.”

  She took a deep breath, hoping to suppress the hysterical laugh bubbling inside her chest. Emotional wreck? Her? Been there, done that.

  “So I was thinking,” he continued. “Maybe you ought to stay at my place. I have two extra rooms, and you’d have your own bathroom. Then we could go to the funeral together. Make sense?”

  She hesitated, though it made more sense than he knew. Staying with him would save her the cost of a room at Twin Oaks Bed and Breakfast. And saving as much as a dollar was no small blessing these days.

  But as she stared into his kind gray eyes, some crazy instinct told her to run the other way. “Thanks, but I’ll be staying at the bed-and-breakfast.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  NUMB AND SHAKING, Jenny watched as they lowered her father’s casket into the ground. The wad of tissues she clutched in her hand had shredded some time ago. She should have accepted Maureen Cooper’s linen handkerchief before they’d left the bed-and-breakfast.

  But of course Jenny was too much like her father. Proud and headstrong and determined to handle everything on her own. Like him, she didn’t need anyone’s help, and now she was burying him. And her life was so screwed up she didn’t know which way to turn.

  God, she’d cried so much last night she thought for sure there’d be no more tears left. But they burned her eyes and slid uncontrollably down her cheeks. Her head had grown so light she prayed she wouldn’t pass out.

  “Here.” Maureen pushed a folded square of linen into Jenny’s hand.

  Another of her dad’s friends, Maureen had encouraged Jenny to drink a cup of tea and eat a piece of toast earlier this morning. Right now Jenny wasn’t sure that had been such a good idea. Her stomach was coiled
in knots, and she struggled to keep the nausea at bay.

  Maureen had driven her to the funeral service at the Church of the Good Shepherd and then on to the cemetery. Alex had offered to pick her up, but she had declined. He was being nice, and she appreciated his concern, but something about him unsettled her.

  Maybe it was because he knew her father so well. Alex had been Ed Taylor’s closest friend since Jenny had left Cooper’s Corner. If her father had felt deserted, Alex would know. And he would blame her.

  She stared at the casket, her knees growing increasingly weak, until Maureen nudged her.

  “The rose,” she whispered.

  Jenny looked blankly at her.

  “They’re waiting for you to throw in the rose.”

  Jenny looked at her hand. She’d forgotten she held the single yellow bloom. It seemed glued to her palm. She didn’t want to throw it on top of the casket. She wanted someone to wake her, tell her she’d been having a nightmare.

  God, this was so final. No more denial. No more thinking she’d go home and see her dad sitting on his recliner. She tried to pry her fingers from the stem, but she couldn’t seem to manage it.

  People began to murmur softly. She wouldn’t look up to see the censure mixed with pity in their eyes. Let them think what they wanted.

  “Jenny?”

  She heard Alex’s voice close to her ear, felt his hand at her elbow.

  “Jenny, let me help you.” He took her hand and unwrapped her fingers from around the rose.

  She’d bent the stem halfway down so the bloom hung. But what did it matter? In seconds it would be covered with dirt. Just like her father.

  A sob caught in her throat, and she tossed the rose on top of the polished cherry wood. Alex slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her against him as two men shoveled dirt on the casket.

  She wanted to turn her face into his chest and wipe away the image of her father being buried. But she forced her gaze to remain on the workers and concentrated on taking deep even breaths.

  “Come on, Jenny.” A few minutes later Alex tried to steer her away from the gravesite, and when she demurred, he whispered, “Everyone is waiting to offer their condolences.”

  Oh, God. The sea of faces seem to blur together. Why didn’t they all just go away? Leave her to mourn alone, in peace.

  “I know you want them to disappear,” Alex said quietly so that only she could hear. “But they’re mourning him, too. Come on, it won’t take long.”

  Ashamed that he’d read her selfish thoughts, she gazed at him. But she found no condemnation or disapproval. Only understanding. He had gone through this, too. He knew how she felt. It was both comforting and disturbing as she let him walk her toward the clusters of mourners, dabbing at their red eyes and even redder noses.

  Two vanloads of flowers had been delivered earlier. Scarlet roses. Pink and white carnations. Lilies, spider mums. The arrangements were everywhere, their fragrances blending to fuel her queasiness.

  “Isn’t it odd?” She hadn’t realized she’d murmured out loud until Alex dipped his head.

  “What was that?”

  “The custom of sending flowers to a funeral. They’re so cheerful, and this is such a somber occasion.”

  Alex smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “Ready?”

  She looked again at the expectant faces. They were so close. So stifling. The air seemed to grow thicker. She nodded.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” Phyllis Cooper was the first to step up and clasp Jenny’s cold hands in hers. “Your father is going to be sorely missed. He was a good man. Always the first one to offer a helping hand in times of trouble.” She smiled fondly at Alex. “He and the doc here.”

  Her husband, Philo, urged her to move on. Behind him, a line had formed. Most of the people had known her father for fifty years. Alex was right. This was difficult for them, too.

  “Thank you,” Jenny said, forcing a smile. “For coming. For being his friend.” Her voice broke, and Phyllis started to cry again as she was ushered away by Philo.

  Clint Cooper, Maureen’s brother, stepped up. “There aren’t any words that will make it better, Jenny.” He squeezed her hands. “If there’s anything I can do...”

  She nodded and gave him a faint smile. He was right. There were no words. But his warm hands were comforting, just like Alex’s strong arm around her shoulders. She swayed slightly toward him, glad he was there to absorb her unsteady weight.

  An older couple came after Clint. She didn’t recognize them. They’d moved to Cooper’s Corner five years ago, they explained, and often bought chickens from her father. She heard only half of what they said but just kept smiling. The scent of carnations and roses got stronger. More sickly.

  She used the handkerchief to wipe the dampness coating the back of her neck. How many more people were there?

  Alex tightened his hold on Jenny’s slim shoulders. She didn’t look well. Too pale and unsteady. The dark circles under her eyes had been there yesterday and were certainly understandable. But she was thin. Too thin. As if she’d been ill for a while.

  “You’re doing great,” he whispered to her, and she sank heavily against him.

  Maureen came to his other side. “I’ve got bottled water in the car. She looks as if she could use it.”

  He nodded. “I’d offer to go get it but—”

  “No, she needs you to stay here.” Maureen cast a concerned glance at Jenny before heading toward the parking lot.

  “It’s almost over,” he said quietly.

  Jenny shuddered.

  At least half a dozen people still waited to offer their condolences. He knew it was important to them to do so, but damn, he wished he could get Jenny out of the sun and sitting down. That she hadn’t once protested his self-appointed role as her guardian told him she wasn’t herself.

  Yesterday it seemed she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He didn’t know what that was about, but he never questioned anything that had to do with the grieving process. When Sara died, he thought he’d go crazy. Everything that had been important to him crumpled to insignificance.

  He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Even going to the clinic became a chore. If he hadn’t been the only vet in town at the time, he probably would have hibernated for a year. He never wanted to go through that again. Never.

  Maureen brought the water and handed it to him instead of to Jenny. Several people had given him speculative looks, probably because he’d practically stayed glued to Jenny. Most of them knew his close relationship with Ed, but there would of course be gossip. Unavoidable in a town this size. But if they didn’t understand his desire to comfort the man’s daughter, then tough.

  “Jenny?”

  She looked at him, her light brown eyes huge, haunted, her face still very pale.

  “Here, have some water.”

  She moistened her lips. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Just a little?”

  “Okay.”

  He uncapped the bottle and handed it to her. But something told him not to let go altogether as she tipped the bottle to her lips. She took a small sip. As he watched her throat work, noticed the moisture glistening on her lips, a totally inappropriate thought startled him.

  Disgusted him.

  He lowered the bottle and pulled away.

  Her eyes widened. Surprised. Disoriented. And then they drifted closed as she crumpled to the ground.

  * * *

  ALEX SAT IN the hospital waiting area, nervous as all get out. The sterile odor got to him, and he had to take frequent trips outside for fresh air. He hadn’t been here since Sara died.

  He checked his watch. Two hours. And all the doctor could tell him was that Jenny was sick. No kidding. That much he knew.

  Was this what the
owners of the pets he treated went through? Never again would he wait one minute longer than necessary to advise an owner of a diagnosis. Not that he ever made anyone wait, but he’d be a lot more conscious of time.

  He loosened the tie he was unaccustomed to wearing. He only had two, one blue and one green. That’s all he needed. He wore them to weddings and funerals.

  Settling back in the chair, he rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Ed Taylor was really dead. Unbelievable. Yeah, the guy had fallen on some tough times, but he was still in perfect health. Alex knew he ate well because they shared dinner most nights. He’d been careful not to let Ed think it was charity.

  It was easy to convince him that Alex was lonely and wanted the company. Ed was lonely, too. He missed Jenny. He talked about her all the time. Counted down the days when she’d promised to come home for a long weekend. Her visits had been too infrequent, especially over the past couple of years.

  But that was none of Alex’s business. What was important was getting her well. Maureen Cooper thought he’d overreacted by bringing Jenny to the hospital. A fainting spell wasn’t serious, especially considering the circumstances, but he had this bad feeling....

  “Alex?”

  He set aside the stale coffee he’d been drinking and stood to shake Dr. Werner’s hand. “Marvin, it’s been a while.”

  “Too long. How have you been?”

  Alex shrugged. “Hanging in there.”

  “You’re here for the Taylor woman?”

  Alex drew his head back in surprise. Dr. Werner operated in this hospital, so it wasn’t unusual that he’d run into Sara’s doctor. But how did he know about Jenny? “I’m waiting for her. Why?”

  “How well do you know her?”

  A sickening feeling came over Alex. “What’s going on?”

  The older man’s expression looked grim. “Why don’t we go to my office?”

  “Were you on call? Why are you involved? She only fainted.”

  “Please, Alex.” The doctor’s weathered face creased in a sympathetic frown. “It would be better to go to my office.”

  Alex muttered a curse. He started to sweat. “Sure. Okay.”