Sea Glass Winter

by JoAnn Ross

  Refusing to worry about whether she embarrassed him, Claire threw her arms around her son.

  “I was so worried,” she said, clinging to him as she’d once wanted to cling when he’d first begun growing up and moving beyond the safety of her home.

  “I’m okay,” he insisted. And then Matt did something she’d feared she’d never experience again.

  He hugged her back.

  63

  Sax and Ethan stood side by side in front of the nursery window, looking at the two infants, one bundled in pink, the other in blue.

  “You realize, of course, that our wives are already planning to marry these two off,” Sax said.

  “I suppose there could be worse things,” Ethan said. “Your daughter’s very beautiful.”

  “And your son’s handsome,” Sax said, returning the compliment.

  They fell silent as they continued to study the babies.

  “Who are we kidding?” Sax said. “If you tell Kara I said this, I’ll call you a bald-faced liar, but I think they both kinda look like aliens.”

  “That’s because of their pointed heads,” commented Ethan, who’d been through this before. “From the birthing. That’ll change.”

  “That’s a relief,” Sax said. “Although I’ll love her whatever she grows up to look like, I was worried I might have to reprogram my head around having a Conehead for a daughter.”

  “After I lost Mia and Max,” Ethan said quietly, “I never thought I’d ever be given another opportunity to be a father.” He sighed heavily. Not, Sax thought, with pain. But with pure, unadulterated happiness. “This is the greatest gift. Ever.”

  The nurse behind the glass brought Sax’s daughter over to the window and held her up so Sax could see her more clearly.

  As he looked into the wide blue eyes of his daughter, something in his heart opened, allowing a wealth of love like nothing he’d ever expected to feel for this red-faced, cone-headed infant that he and Kara had made together to rush in, filling the last of those few remaining painful places that too many years in too many war zones had left him with.

  “Fucking A,” he agreed.

  64

  “Can you find Aimee?” Matt asked as he finally let go of Claire. He looked frantic, which wasn’t surprising, given what he’d been through. “They took her away on a different ambulance and no one’s been willing to tell me a thing.”

  “Things are a little confusing right now,” Dillon said. “But I’ll see what I can find out while your mom fills out all that paperwork. Then we can spring you.”

  “I’m not leaving.” The little boy who’d needed his mother was gone. In his place was a young man who stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. “Not until Aimee gets the hell out of here, too.”

  Wanting to get him back home, where he belonged, Claire couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “There’s nothing you can do for her, Matt,” she began. “She’s in good hands, her parents are both here, and—”

  “I’m not leaving without her,” he insisted on a flare of heat. Then apparently realizing that anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere, he softened his tone. And his attitude.

  “I was a total jerk, Mom. I hurt her. That’s why I went on this damn trip when I didn’t even want to learn to ski, to try to apologize, but she refused to even listen to me. If anything happens to her before I can make up for the shitty way I treated her, I’ll never, ever be able to forgive myself. As long as I live.”

  Although the circumstances were not remotely the same, his heartfelt words had Claire thinking of another man, one who’d turned his back on responsibility without so much as a backward glance. Even at fifteen, her son was a better man than his birth father would ever be.

  She exchanged a look with Dillon. Help me out here. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have been able to ask. Matt, it seemed, wasn’t the only one who’d changed since coming to Shelter Bay.

  “How about a compromise?” Dillon suggested. “We check you out—”

  “No. Way.”

  “Let me finish,” the former EOD tech said with the calm, can-do attitude Claire had been witnessing since she’d received the call. “Just because you’re no longer a patient doesn’t mean we can’t hang around in the waiting room until we know for a fact she’s okay. And hopefully it will let you say what you need to.”

  Matt processed that for a long time, as if looking for the trick.

  “Okay,” he said finally.

  The news was not good. But it could have been worse. The scrubs-clad doctor who’d come out briefly to talk with them had informed them that Aimee had suffered broken ribs, a head injury, a possible broken back, and a spiral break on her left leg, all of which required surgery.

  Together, Dillon, Claire, and Matt waited with her parents. Claire watched Aimee’s father calm his distraught wife, his quiet strength reminding her of how Dillon had calmed not just her, but all those frantic parents. Which, in turn, gave her a glimpse into the older man Dillon would someday become.

  Although the public cafeteria was closed at night, Dillon located a vending machine, but the coffee tasted like battery acid and the sandwiches could have been made from sawdust.

  Not that any of them had an appetite anyway.

  The food went uneaten. The coffee was drunk only in lieu of something stronger.

  The nursing shift changed. New nurses, their scrubs clean, their manners brisk and efficient, came on duty. The waiting room became more crowded as the storm created more and more accidents from the coast to the mountains.

  And still Claire, Matt, Dillon, and the Piersons kept their vigil.

  65

  It was early in the morning when Dillon invited Matt to go with him to the chapel.

  “I can pray here,” Matt had insisted. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “If there’s any news, I’ll come get you,” Claire assured him.

  The chapel was mostly empty. A few people were sitting in the front pews, and an elderly man was down on his knees, totally oblivious to the others around him. The smell of burning wax wafted from the bank of candles set in red votive holders.

  Gesturing Matt into a pew in the back, Dillon joined him on the wooden seat. “I want you to know something,” he began.

  “Is this about my mom?”

  His tone did not sound encouraging.

  “Yeah. I want to marry her.”

  “Marry? Like in husband and wife and till death do you part and all that stuff?”

  “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk with you first.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to marry her whatever you say about it, because I figure if you’re not with the program, I can eventually change your mind. But it’ll be a lot easier on her if you’re on our side.”

  “I’m on her side,” Matt said. “So you really love her?”

  “I really, really love her. And hey, you’re not so bad yourself.”

  “What do I call you? Coach? Or Dad?”

  His tone was teenage nonchalant, but Dillon would’ve had to have been deaf not to hear the need.

  “My dad died when I was younger than you,” he said. “I still miss him. So you can decide for yourself, but I’d be honored to be your dad.”

  Matt was silent for a long moment.

  The elderly man pushed himself to his feet and shuffled back down the aisle between the pews. Dillon hoped that whatever prayers he’d been sending up would be answered.

  “I guess that works for me,” Matt finally decided.

  “Great,” Dillon said, keeping his own tone casual, when what he wanted to do was shout hoorah to the heavens.

  Now all he had to do was convince Claire that they belonged together. Forever.

  Piece of cake.

  He hoped, sending up a prayer of his own, just in case, because even hotshot EOD guys needed backup sometimes.

  66
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  Dillon and Matt had just returned to the waiting room when the doctor arrived, looking every bit as exhausted as Claire was feeling. But as bad as Claire felt, she couldn’t imagine what Aimee’s parents were going through.

  “Aimee’s going to be fine,” the surgeon assured them as Major Pierson immediately stood up when she entered. “She’s still in recovery, but when she comes out of the anesthetic, we’ll be moving her to ICU, where we can keep a close eye on her.”

  “What about her injuries?” Mrs. Pierson asked, her voice strained. Her husband sat back down and took both her hands in his.

  “We fused the broken vertebrae together.”

  “Will she be able to walk?” her father asked.

  That question had Matt flinching.

  “Yes, but she’ll need physical therapy for a time. Especially for that leg, which we put a plate in and essentially screwed back together.”

  At that, Mrs. Pierson made a sound like a whimper.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” the doctor assured her. “The good thing was that her head injury, which we were originally the most worried about, turned out to be fairly minor and shouldn’t leave any lasting effects, other than a possible loss of memory of the accident.”

  “Which wouldn’t be so bad,” Matt said.

  The doctor smiled at him. “From what I heard, that’s true.” She turned back toward his parents. “One thing I learned early in my practice is that kids are resilient. And tough. You can’t ever count them out.

  “Since it’s going to be a while until she’s ready for company,” she said, directing her words toward Matt again, “why don’t you and your parents go out for something to eat while I take the Piersons up to recovery. There’s a place about two blocks away that serves a breakfast buffet that’s not all that bad. And definitely better than cafeteria food.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Matt insisted yet again.

  “We’ll bring you back something,” Dillon said.

  “Thanks.” They were at the door when he called out, “Hey, Coach.”

  Dillon glanced back over his shoulder.

  Matt’s grin was the first Claire had seen since they’d arrived at the hospital as he flashed Dillon a two-thumbs-up sign.

  “What was all that about?” she asked as they walked out of the hospital. The sun was coming up, splitting the now clear blue sky into dazzling shades of lavender, pink, and gold. In the distance, the snow on the mountaintops glittered like the sugar crystals Sedona would sprinkle on her buttercream cupcake icing.

  “I’ll tell you in a bit,” Dillon said. “Once I get like a gallon of coffee that isn’t going to rust out my stomach.” He stretched, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked around. “God, it’s a gorgeous day.”

  “A good one,” she agreed.

  “Hell,” he surprised her by saying.

  “What?” She stopped and looked up at him, wondering what could possibly be wrong now.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. About our situation.”

  “Okay.”

  “I had it all planned.”

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  “But I didn’t want to say it in a parking lot. Or over fried eggs in a greasy spoon.”

  “I’d rather have mine scrambled,” she said.

  “You’re playing me.”

  “Only because it’s so easy,” she agreed, her eyes laughing as she took his hand. “It’s a beautiful day. My son is alive and well, his girlfriend is going to be well and hopefully will have pity on him and forgive him for whatever youthful male mistake he made.”

  “I have a feeling Taylor Bennington might have been involved in that.”

  “From having watched her at the crabfest, I suspect you’re right. But Matt’s a good kid, Aimee’s a smart one, so I figure they’ll work things out after she makes him grovel a bit.”

  “Probably a lot.” From what Dillon had witnessed the day they’d set off the cannon on the beach, the kid had a lot of s’plaining to do.

  “It’ll be a character-building experience for him.” Claire said. “Meanwhile, the sun is shining and the sky is blue, and if you’ve brought me out here to propose, I can’t think of a more beautiful time or place to accept.”

  His heart hitched. “You do realize that you’ve stolen my game plan.” Because his hands had gotten suddenly sweaty, he shoved them into the front pockets of his jeans. “One I’ve been working on for the past week. Longer,” he admitted.

  “Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. Her bold, teasing smile was one he knew would still have the power to thrill him when they were old and gray and watching their grandchildren shoot off cannons on the beach.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said. “I thought I was in love once—”

  “You were all of eighteen.” And although he was sorry she’d had her teenage heart broken, he couldn’t deny that he was grateful to that guy who never realized what he’d walked away from.

  “True.” She’d told him the story, not holding back her fairy-tale dreams, which had only made him admire her more. “And while that admittedly left me gun-shy when it came to men for a while, I didn’t not give my heart to anyone else because I was afraid of becoming emotionally involved. It was because I was unwilling to settle for any man I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Bad enough you stole my game. You just stole my line about waiting for the perfect person to spend my life with,” he complained without heat.

  “Proving that once again, we’re on the same page,” she said. “So, since I’ve never been one to play games, and I know you’re as crazy in love with me as I am in love with you, what would you say to getting married? And living with me in my little house by the sea? Forever?”

  It wasn’t the way he’d planned it. He’d intended candlelight, a romantic dinner he’d already figured out with Chef Maddy, a night right out of one of those romance novels his mother had always loved to read.

  But sometimes, even on the most carefully thought-out mission, you had to ditch the plan and just go with the flow.

  “What the hell,” Dillon said. “Since you put it that way—”

  He took his hands out of his pockets, bringing with them the small box he’d been carrying around for weeks. The one he’d planned to give her on Christmas, but just in case she decided that she couldn’t be engaged to her son’s coach during the season, he’d reluctantly decided to wait to propose until after the final game.

  After some consultation with her new friends, he’d booked a three-day weekend at a private cabin at Rainbow Lake that included a wine tour, which the women assured him she’d enjoy.

  When she drew in a sharp breath as he slipped the aquamarine ring the jewelry designer she’d mentioned being friends with in Cannon Beach had designed especially for her, Dillon realized that he hadn’t been so predictable after all.

  Claire might have guessed his game plan.

  But she’d misread his winning move.

  He shoots! He scores!

  “Yes,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Absolutely I’ll marry you, Claire Templeton. And live with you in your little house by the sea.”

  His mouth lowered to her smiling one. “And forever’s a damn good start.”

  67

  Eight weeks later

  Unlike the championships held for every other high school sport in Oregon, basketball championships took place in nearly every geographical region of the state.

  As he paced the sidelines of what could be the most important basketball game of his life, Dillon decided it was a good thing that the 4A division had been assigned the famed Gill Coliseum, because from the noise practically raising the roof, it seemed nearly all the 10,400 seats were filled with Shelter Bay fans.

  Surprising everyone, most of all him, the Dolphins had played the last half of their season as if they’d been drinking rocket fuel. Oh, they still couldn’t shoot as well as their opponents, something he’d have to w
ork on next season, but their passing skills were right up there with the best in the league, and they’d developed what some players never learned—a sense of reading the floor, knowing where not just the opposing players, but also their teammates, were at all times.

  They also drew more fouls than any team he’d ever seen. A fact that had not escaped the fans of their opponents over the past weeks and had drawn criticism from other towns’ newspaper sports columnists and even the occasional editorial.

  But Dillon didn’t care. Because they’d accomplished what he’d hoped for. They’d meshed as a team, playing as a unit. Each had the others’ backs, and together they’d proven unstoppable.

  The score had been seesawing back and forth all evening. With less than five seconds to go, they were tied with the Klamath Falls Pelicans. As the crowd roared and stomped their feet in the bleachers, drowning out the sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished wood, Dirk Martin drove down the court, managing to power past his defender, only to be double-teamed.

  He passed to Matt, who, feinting left, suddenly went right, revealing that the lesson Dillon had taught him that first day had sunk in.

  When he, too, found himself facing a wall of defenders, he switched hands and, on the run, passed the ball to Johnny.

  Who dribbled right in front of a charging defender, who crashed into him just as he went up for the shot.

  The ball bounced off the rim as Johnny landed on his butt on the floor.

  The opposing coach was apoplectic. Dillon wasn’t sure whether the guy was more furious with his own player, or the Dolphin’s number six, Johnny Tiernan-St. James.

  “He’s going to stroke out if he doesn’t chill,” Dillon told Don as the coach began yelling at the ref who’d called the foul.

  “He’s not the only one,” the assistant coach said as he glanced up at the clock. There was one second left. “This makes me really glad baseball doesn’t have a time clock.”