As promised, Wren stayed with him while they admitted him, and she learned a lot about Curtis in the process. He was forty-seven, even though he looked to be about seventy. He had a sister named Doris who lived in Opelousas. He’d tried AA before, but he’d never done an inpatient program. His drugs of choice were alcohol and crack.
The part that made Wren’s heart ache was when Curtis answered the question about occupation.
“I used to work for the university in the student union,” he said sadly. “I was a fry cook in the Cypress Lake Dining Room. Fried fish. Fried chicken. Fried okra. You name it, I fried it.”
“I’ve eaten there before,” Wren blurted, unable to help herself. “Awesome fried catfish.”
Curtis gave her an amused frown. “When was you there?”
His surprise didn’t faze her. Wren never looked much like a co-ed — even when she had been one.
“About four years ago.”
Curtis’s eyebrows bobbed. He was becoming more alert as the conversation progressed, and Wren hoped that he wouldn’t have a change of heart before he was officially admitted.
“I was still there four years ago…”
“Really?” Now, she was the one surprised. She’d met Curtis on the streets three years ago. How had he gone from a steady job as a cook at the university to homeless and addicted to crack in such a short time?
Laurie had been a mess her whole life, and Wren found a strange comfort in that. If Curtis could become an addict virtually overnight, did that mean it could happen to anyone? To her? Wren shuddered and pushed the questions from her mind.
When it came time for Carl and another man to escort him toward the dormitory, Curtis turned to Wren and offered his trembling hand. She took it.
“Thank you, Song Bird…” His voice seemed to get lost on her nickname. “Nobody’s kept after Old Curtis the way you have… I don’t know if this gonna work, but I’ll try not to let you down.”
Wren squeezed his hand, but no words came. Let her down? Curtis owed her nothing, and yet he worried about letting her down. Laurie hadn’t even done that — not until it was too late. She managed a nod, but before he disappeared around the corner, she whispered, “Good luck.” And then she was left standing in the lobby as Lily-with-the-pink-scrubs watched.
She looked down at her phone. It was only 10:45. What was she supposed to do for the next hour and fifteen minutes?
Lee Hawthorne, I can’t have a moment’s peace, and it’s all your fault.
Rather than think about him again — and, strangely, she yearned to tell him about her triumph with Curtis — Wren turned to the receptionist.
“Do you have a program for volunteers?” Yes. Volunteer work. That would keep her busy.
Lily beamed again. “Yes, we have Safe Play.”
“Safe Play?” The name sounded weird. What did that have to do with recovery?
“It’s a childcare program for outpatient parents,” Lily explained. “While parents attend meetings or have appointments with their counselors, their kids stay in Safe Play with our volunteers.”
Wren felt stunned. “Parents bring their kids to the recovery center?”
Lily nodded. “Addiction affects everyone in the family. Especially kids. They know the recovery center is a safe place. A lot of them have suffered neglect and abuse.”
The blood drained from her face. To Wren, it felt like every drop of it left her head and filled her stomach.
“For some of the younger ones, Safe Play may be their first interaction with adults they can trust,” Lily continued, her speech sounding polished and practiced. “Would you like to fill out a volunteer application? Of course, we do have to perform a background check—”
“No,” Wren muttered, backing away. “Not today.”
“Well, just think about it. We do need volunteers every day and—”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Wren called over her shoulder as she pushed open the door and caught a gust of fresh air into her lungs.
She passed up the Mustang and realized she couldn’t make herself get in. The space was too small, so she turned right and started walking up Vermillion Street instead. Wren saw trees across the street, so she sped through the crosswalk to reach them, a young willow, and a younger elderberry, not even big enough for a child to climb.
Crossing South Washington, she headed for the lawn of the federal courthouse where a row of live oaks shaded the green. They weren’t fully mature, but their branches were low enough to grab. Wren stepped into the grass, reached up to the lowest limb, and gripped it with both hands. She closed her eyes and felt the veins of bark against her fingers. The touched centered her and allowed her lungs to fill.
From the time she was six, Wren could climb up the live oak in Simon Mouton’s back yard and into his treehouse. The platform might have only been sixteen square feet, a mere five feet off the ground, but to Wren, it was a castle in the clouds. Simon and Wren and Janie Bell, who lived across the street, spent summer afternoons playing fort or sea explorers or spaceship up in that treehouse.
The first time Wren scrambled up the tree in the dark of night, her heartbeat and choked breath had drowned out the screech of cicadas in the humid air. She climbed barefoot in nothing but her nightgown…
Her panties were under a cushion in the couch where Darryl had stashed them.
It was the fifth time. The fifth time he’d left Laurie in the bedroom. The fifth time he’d anchored her down as she lay on the couch. The fifth time he’d pulled off her cotton underwear.
But this time, before his fingers could creep between her legs, Laurie made a noise that scared him. Darryl shot off her and into the bathroom faster than a lightning flash. And Wren ran. But quietly. As quietly as she could.
She padded down the wooden steps of their apartment, flew through the wet grass of Mamaw and Papaw’s backyard, and scrambled over the fence into Simon’s. Lying on her belly on the floor of the treehouse, she saw the door to the apartment open. The light from the streetlamp cast a glow over its front steps, and Darryl crept outside, His undershirt was back on, and his jeans were zipped up. She watched him peer over the edge of the railing, looking left and right for her. She watched him light a cigarette and lean against the banister, running his thumb and forefinger over his scratchy blond moustache. She watched him swat away a mosquito at his shoulder, and that’s when she felt the first bite on the back of her calf.
But Wren didn’t move.
Darryl must have thought she’d come back because, after he finished that first cigarette, he lit another. And then another. While he smoked, mosquitoes landed on her and bit. Bite after bite. When he finally went back inside, Wren slapped and slapped at her arms and legs. She tucked her feet into her nightgown, drew her hair around her face like a scarf, and pulled her arms into her sleeves.
They still bit her forehead. Her nose. Her neck.
But it was better than Darryl…
“Wren? Is that you?”
Wren opened her eyes, dropped her hands from the oak branch, and spun around.
Oh God, no.
“Wren? Are you okay?” Lee Hawthorne shouted to her from his white Jeep, which was stopped in the middle of Vermilion Street. In the next instant, he wedged the Jeep into the parking space in front of her, facing the wrong way.
She started back for her Mustang before his feet hit the pavement. But in seconds, he was in front of her on the sidewalk blocking her path. “Wren, wait.”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Wren pulled her pepper spray out of her bag and held it up to him. His eyes went wide, and he stepped back.
Lee’s hands flew up. “I won’t. I promise. Just give me two minutes.”
She didn’t mean to, but her eyes followed the cut of his light blue dress shirt at his trim waist and the way he filled in his charcoal slacks. She forced her gaze back to his. “No. You shouldn’t be talking to me. You’re with Marcelle.” She spoke the name with acid, and inside she cringed at how juvenile she sounded.<
br />
What the hell is the matter with me?
“No, I’m not. We broke up two weeks ago.”
Her mouth fell open in shock, and words tumbled out. “Because you kissed me?”
One side of Lee’s mouth turned up in a smile, and his dark blue eyes glinted. He was laughing at her yet again. “No… because we were wrong for each other, and Victor helped us see that.” Then he cleared his throat and smiled wider. “And, for the record, you kissed me back.”
Wren’s eyes narrowed and she started walking again. “Your two minutes are up.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HE CUT IN front of her a second time, and though he wanted to, Lee didn’t touch her.
“In what universe? That was like twelve seconds.” He walked backward to stay ahead of her, hoping he wouldn’t trip and fall on his ass. “I still have at least a minute and a half.”
Wren stopped and glared. She seemed angry, but the flutter in his gut told him it wasn’t really anger. She was on guard, and it was his fault. But before she’d seen him, Wren had clung to the tree branch wearing a look of torture. What the hell was wrong? And why was her Mustang parked outside the drug treatment center?
He’d noticed the unmistakable turquoise classic parked in front of ARC, and he’d slowed down on his way to lunch. He was meeting Dr. Garrett Spokes and Dr. Jem Yeng at Don’s Seafood & Steakhouse. They were going to discuss the position he’d take at the hospital after his residency ended in just three short weeks. It wasn’t the sort of meeting one could miss. But as soon as Lee saw Wren under the oaks at the courthouse, he knew the Chief of Medicine and the Chief of Obstetrics would have to wait.
“Go on, then,” Wren said, still glaring. She may have been on guard, but Lee knew he might not get this chance again, and he didn’t have time to waste.
“You’ve been on my mind,” he said, uttering the understatement of the century. Even before he and Marcelle had ended things, she’d been in the shadows of every thought. And after the breakup, trying to keep her image at bay had been pointless. No matter how much he fought it, she was there. “I don’t think two minutes is really enough. Can I call you?”
He watched her face change, like maybe her guard had slipped for a second — but just a second — before she secured it back in place. It was a ray of hope, and Lee smiled again. And then his smile triggered that same scowl, and he wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.
“I don’t think so.” Wren said the words with force, but she didn’t try to push past him again.
“Why not? There’s something between us.” He dared to take a step closer, almost certain that if he pulled her into his arms, she’d yield. And he really wanted to pull her into his arms. “Are you saying you don’t feel it?”
Her chin tilted up in defiance. “All I feel are warnings.” And this time, she did push past him. He chased after her, feeling about eighteen years old.
“Wait, beautiful Wren, I still have one minute.” He wasn’t sure she’d stop, but she did. Still, she eyed him with caution.
“Well, if you think I’m going to let you call me, we might as well cut this short.”
Lee changed course. “But you haven’t even asked about Victor.”
There it was. The crack in her armor. A hint of a softening beneath her scowl.
“Alright. How’s Victor?”
Lee felt his smile break open. “Victor’s great. I’ve taught him how to sit and come, but we’re still working on stay.”
Her left brow, which today sported a sexy little barbell, arched with sass. “Do you know how to stay?”
Everything in her look referenced the kiss he took from her, the one that violated his bond with Marcelle. She thought he couldn’t stay… that he wouldn’t stay with her.
“Oh, I can stay,” he vowed, the solemn promise deep in his voice.
“Good,” she said, her own smile breaking through now. She held up her hand. “Stay.”
And then she turned and headed for her car.
Despite every urge in his body, Lee did not let himself move. “I’m staying, Wren,” he said, hoping she’d turn and come back to him. “This is me staying.”
She kept walking, her long gray skirt hugging the curve of her hips and only hinting at the shape of her lovely legs. He watched Wren look both ways — and he looked, too — before she stepped into the crosswalk.
“I’m good at staying,” Lee called, just as a woman pushed a stroller around him. Lee realized he blocked the middle of the sidewalk. “Pardon me, ma’am.”
The young mother rolled her eyes at him as she passed.
“See, Wren? Another woman came along, and I didn’t stray!”
He shouted this down the street, and he could have sworn he heard Wren’s laughter echo off the courthouse walls. Still, she unlocked the door of her Mustang and ducked inside. The engine turned over a second later.
Lee willed her to look at him before she drove past. If she looks, he told himself, there’s hope.
Wren pulled away from the curb, facing straight ahead, her eyes averted. She didn’t even glance in his direction as the Mustang rolled past. Lee’s heart fell in his chest, and he turned on his heels to watch her go, feeling like a fool. And then, he saw it. Her eyes locked with his in her side mirror.
And Lee smiled.
EVEN WITH HIS unscheduled stop, Lee made it on time to his lunch meeting. Over fried crab fingers and seafood gumbo, Spokes and Yeng went through the details of their offer: attending physician in obstetrics and gynecology, six-figure salary, supervising three residents a semester. The best part, by far, would be his new hours, four, twelve-hour shifts per week — two a.m. and two p.m. — alternating holidays with the other attendings.
He would never build the kind of career that would lead to a beach house and a new Lexus every two years, but he would be able to take care of patients and still take time for himself. And his family.
If he ever had one.
Lee knew that his father would never approve of the deal, but he had no doubt that his mother would have if she were still alive. Before she got sick, his father had missed most dinners, virtually all of his Little League games, and even a few birthdays. Lee could remember having to wait to open his Christmas presents until after his father had finished rounds, which sometimes didn’t happen until past 11:00 in the morning. All the kids on his street would be playing with their new bikes or archery sets or remote control cars, and he’d still be waiting to find out what Santa had brought him.
He didn’t want that life for himself, and he definitely wouldn’t want it for his kids.
Spokes and Yeng really didn’t have to go to the trouble of taking him to lunch. He wasn’t seriously considering his other offers, though he had a few. He would have signed their contract over a turkey sandwich in the breakroom.
Lee left the restaurant with a sense of wellbeing. He knew what he wanted, and it was there for the taking. The job was perfect for him. A satisfied smile warmed his face as he crossed Vermilion Street toward his Jeep.
He thought about Wren’s backward glance as she’d driven away. If only he could get her to go out with him — or even talk to him for half an hour. Lee knew he wasn’t wrong. There was a connection between them, and it shouldn’t be ignored. He was sure she felt it, too.
He had come off-shift at six a.m., and he’d be back at the hospital at six that night. The lunch appointment had cut his sleep time short, and Lee had intended to go home again and nap before heading back to the hospital, but as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, another plan began to take shape.
Tapping on his phone, Lee searched for the address. If Wren was at work, he’d talk to her, and if she wasn’t, maybe he could get someone at the studio to give him her number. Worst case, he could go back to her apartment, climb the narrow stairs, and leave a note on her door.
HE PULLED OFF Johnston Street into the parking lot of the studio, and his heart broke into a gallop in his chest. If there had been a time in h
is past when he was this wired to talk to a girl, he couldn’t remember it. Wren was like a foreign language, one that was musical and enchanting. One he ached to learn.
She had shown him — more than once — that she could be sharp. Her words and the look in her eyes could carry barbs, but he knew, too, that there was a side to her that was soft, sweet. A sweetness that ran so deep, even the thought of it settled his spooked heart. Only someone thoughtful and tender would have made him those pies, and he longed to sit in a room, alone, with that part of Wren as much as he hungered to spar with the side that now pushed him away.
As he left his Jeep, he spotted her Mustang under the shade of two pecan trees at the edge of the lot, but a couple other cars were parked in front of the entrance. Lee braced himself as he approached the entrance. Inside the small studio, he was about to have an audience.
He pushed open the door and felt his eyes go wide. With her back to him, Wren knelt on a table behind a mammoth, shirtless man in motorcycle leathers. The heels of her ankle boots pointed up at him, and above those, the outline of her bottom under the gray skirt made the perfect shape of an inverted heart. At the sight, his own heart inverted.
Wren didn’t look up, even when the bell on the door jangled as he entered.
“Just take a seat. Be with you in a minute.” This came from the man at the opposite table. The exposed skin below his chin — neck, shoulders, arms — was a riot of color, a dizzying spread of tattoos. He looked to be in his early forties. Fit. Head shaved clean. Salt and pepper goatee. Lee guessed he was Wren’s boss, Rocky. With his ink gun in hand, Rocky bent over the midriff of a blonde woman who was dressed much like the shirtless man on Wren’s table. This woman’s top, a tattered, sleeveless tee, was hiked up just under her ample bosom.
Lee sat on the bench by the door and let his eyes drift back to Wren. From this spot, he could see past her to the biker’s skin. A lion — lifelike and highly defined — spanned the flesh of his right shoulder all the way to his spine and down the middle of his back. The lion’s mane fanned out past its ears as though the savannah breeze lifted it. The beast’s eyes honed in on unfortunate quarry in the middle distance. Lee would not have been surprised to hear the rumble of a growl come from his invisible throat. The tattoo was that good.
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