by Nicola Marsh
Three weeks later and their relationship was still fraught with an unspoken tension that nothing he said or did could break.
“Not hungry,” Olly muttered, not looking up from a hand-held computer game Jake had bought him not long after they’d first arrived.
“It’s your favorite, macaroni and cheese.” Jake had learned to perfect it in the hope it would impress Olly. It hadn’t. Nothing he did worked.
“I’ll have it for dinner,” Olly said, his thumbs flying over the game console, the tapping annoying Jake as much as the rudeness.
“No, you’ll have it now.” Jake never raised his voice. He hated it, memories of his father’s yelling ensuring he never wanted to be like that.
But Olly must’ve heard the frustration in his tone because he glanced up from his game with a frown.
“Come on, Olly, your food’s getting cold—”
“Don’t wanna.” Olly returned to his game and flopped onto his stomach, knees bent, kicking his feet, effectively dismissing him.
In that moment, Jake knew they couldn’t go on like this.
He’d tried the soft approach; it hadn’t worked. Cilla was right. Time to get tough.
“Sit up and look at me when I talk to you,” Jake said, his tone so firm that Olly startled.
To his surprise, Olly obeyed.
“It’s bad manners to ignore someone when they’re talking to you.” Jake folded his arms then realized how defensive it looked, so he lowered them and tried like hell to keep his tone even and non-confrontational. “We have rules in this family and respecting each other is one of them. I’ve cooked a meal for you. We’re going to sit down together and eat. Now wash up and let’s go downstairs before it gets cold.”
Olly stared at him in wide-eyed wonder before scrambling to his feet and bolting for the ensuite attached to his room.
“Well I’ll be,” Jake murmured, wondering how on earth his sister did it, raising a little person.
The best decision he’d made since taking custody of Olly was asking Cilla if they could stay. If he hadn’t, he would’ve barely lasted a week. Which made him re-evaluate the stress Rose must be under. Not only was she raising Olly, she was holding down a job and trying to make ends meet while doing it.
While he did his best to support her, he’d been AWOL the last six months, dealing with his own demons. That made him feel guiltier, the possibility that Rose’s increased alcohol consumption could’ve been a coping mechanism because he hadn’t been around.
“I’m ready,” Olly said, holding up his hands for inspection. “All clean.”
“Great. Let’s go eat.” Jake’s fingers curled into his palm as Olly passed, resisting the urge to ruffle his curls.
The kid was so darn cute. He was a good kid too. But Jake couldn’t seem to get through to him and he hoped what had just happened would be the breakthrough they needed.
However, they’d barely finished forking the last macaroni into their mouths when Olly fixed him with a baleful glare. “When can I go home?”
It seemed like Jake had answered this question a thousand times over the last few weeks. He hated how trite his answer sounded, even to his own ears.
“When your mom’s better,” he said. “You saw her email. She’s doing really well.”
But not well enough for visitors yet, apparently. Jake had no idea if taking Olly to see Rose would be a good idea, but it couldn’t be any worse than this. A kid needed his mom and he hoped that when Olly did see Rose, it would help him cope with their enforced absence from each other.
“When can I see her?” Olly’s bottom lip thrust out. “I really want to see her.”
“I know you do, buddy. It’ll be soon—I promise.” The moment the platitude slipped from his lips he wished he could take it back.
He wasn’t in a position to make promises, not when he had no idea if Rose could relapse at any time or her privileges could be revoked.
When Olly’s face lit up, he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. The fact that the kid had not objected to being called buddy proved how keen he was on the idea of seeing his mom.
“I miss her,” Olly whispered, and Jake had to lean down to hear him.
“Me too,” Jake said, meaning it.
He’d shut himself off from everyone since the crash: his colleagues, his friends, his sister. In the weeks since he’d been here, bonding with Cilla again, meeting Sara, spending time with Olly, he had realized how much he’d been missing out on.
He usually liked socializing. Liked having a few beers with the boys after work. Taking women out to dinner and a movie. Doing handiwork around Rose’s apartment.
Yet for six months he’d done nothing but wallow. Maybe having Olly thrust upon him had been the best thing that could’ve happened. He’d been forced out of his solitude. Been awakened to other people’s problems, not just his own. Been made to acknowledge that being swamped by guilt wasn’t the solution if he wanted to move forward with his life.
“Do you cry sometimes, Uncle Jake?”
Crap. He didn’t usually but he sure felt like bawling now. They’d already had this conversation in the early days, so for Olly to ask again meant it must be playing on his mind.
“Sometimes, when I’m really sad about something.” Like when his incompetence caused a plane crash that killed eighty-nine people.
That was the last time he’d cried, the night of the crash. He’d sobbed his heart out in the privacy of his apartment, after flinging the TV remote against the wall so he wouldn’t watch any more news reports.
He’d hit rock-bottom that night, had knocked back four whiskey shots in a row before his vision blurred and he was reminded of his father.
Jake didn’t drink because he didn’t want to be like Ray and that night, despite feeling like his life had been flushed down the toilet, he’d re-capped the bottle and put it away. That’s where he differed from his dad: Jake had limits.
“Are you going to cry now?” Olly laid a hand on his forearm. “Because you look really sad.”
Jeez, this kid was breaking his heart.
“We all get sad sometimes.” He patted Olly’s hand. “But you know what I do?”
Olly’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I think about my favorite thing in the world and it helps.”
Damn, Jake had inadvertently said the wrong thing again as Olly seemed to shrink in on himself. His shoulders slumped, he hunched over and his head hung low.
“Mom’s my favorite thing in the world.”
Jake heard a sniffle, another, before Olly flung himself into his arms and sobbed.
Blinking back tears, Jake hugged his nephew tight, rested his chin on top of his head, and hoped to God that Rose recovered fast.
22.
It took three days for Cilla to come down from her post-date high. Three days of acting like everything was completely normal in front of Jake and Olly, only to have them both bust her on separate occasions for grinning at nothing.
Three days of burying herself in her garden and stocking up on her remedies. Three days of avoiding town on the off chance she’d run into Bryce. Three days of not answering the phone in case it was him.
Crazy behavior, considering she’d vowed to see how things went between them. But whenever she thought about the possibility of them dating, she’d remember that kiss and what it had done to her. Or more precisely, how it had undone her completely.
She’d driven back to Redemption in a mental fog that night, grateful he’d been behind her to see her safely home. Otherwise she might have been tempted to pull over on the side of the road, close her eyes and replay the kiss in minute detail.
When she’d got home, she’d made some hot milk and taken a valerian tablet to foster sleep. Neither had worked. She’d lain in bed staring at the ceiling all night, sporting a grin bigger than the town itself.
She couldn’t think of the last time she’d been this happy. Marrying Vernon so quickly in her teens had been a rebound reactio
n while dealing with the sudden death of her folks. She’d liked him; he’d made her feel secure in a world turned topsy-turvy, so they’d got hitched. But she’d never had the euphoric dating bliss with Vernon, so to feel this carefree now, at her age, seemed plain wrong.
Until she remembered her motto since Vernon had died: she deserved to feel good about herself. If Bryce made her feel good, she’d be a fool to deny it.
Which meant one thing: she’d have to call Tam.
She’d been putting it off, hoping she could talk herself out of this ridiculous situation and avoid having to tell her daughter altogether. But with her mind made up to see Bryce again, she had to do it.
After the awkward run-in with Willow at the restaurant, she’d half expected Tam to call her, abuzz with the gossip. But her phone had remained silent and she knew it was time.
Swiping her sweaty palms against her pants, she mentally recited what she would say.
Hey Tam, remember Bryce? Turns out we like each other.
Tam, I’m dating your high-school crush.
How would you feel about your mother and Bryce getting it on?
Cilla grimaced. Nothing she could say would sound remotely plausible. Ugh. How had she got herself into this situation?
The phone rang and she jumped. Darn, she was so not ready for this.
She picked it up, holding the receiver like it was radioactive. “Hello?”
“Hey Cilla, remember me? The guy who has been sitting by the phone for the last three days hoping you’d call.”
Cilla released the breath she’d been inadvertently holding. Bryce, not Tam. She wasn’t sure if he was the lesser of two evils.
“I’m an old-fashioned gal. Actually, I’m plain old. Which means I expect the men to do the calling.”
He chuckled. “I was trying to stick to your ‘let’s see how this goes’ plan and not push you.”
She liked the fact he’d listened to her and respected her enough not to push. She didn’t like how she throbbed with longing at the sound of his voice.
“I appreciate that,” she said, squeezing her legs together. “How are you?”
“Busy at the clinic and the hospital.” He paused. “I haven’t seen you around there the last few days either. You’re not avoiding me?”
“No,” she said, crossing the fingers of her free hand for her little white lie. “Been busy making up new batches of my remedies.”
“Do you have a remedy for a broken heart? Because I’m pining away for you.”
She snorted. “Your heart’s just fine.”
“Maybe you should visit tonight and check it out?”
Cilla’s legs wobbled, then gave out, and she sank into the nearest chair. The thought of seeing Bryce’s bare chest, which looked hard and broad beneath his clothes, was enough to make her lightheaded.
“Cilla, you still there?”
She fanned her face. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to come over tonight? I’ll cook.”
The thought of having a man cook dinner for her was as foreign an idea as seeing said man naked. Not naked. Bare-chested. Yeah, like that’s what he meant with his flirting.
Get a grip.
Which unfortunately only served to make her hotter, the thought of gripping anything anywhere on Bryce’s body.
“I make a mean pasta carbonara.”
Carbs. Cream. Cheese. The man sure was playing hardball.
She found herself nodding. “That sounds lovely. What time and where?”
“Eight. I’m at 8132 Honeysuckle Lane.”
She knew the place, a cozy cottage on a dead-end road not far from the hospital.
“See you then.” She was about to hang up—considering the man was cooking for her tonight, she definitely had to call Tam ASAP—when Bryce said, “Cilla?”
“Yeah?”
“Dessert’s going to blow your mind.”
He hung up, the dial tone loud in her ears as she tried to decipher whether he’d meant he could satisfy her sweet tooth or would satisfy her craving for dessert.
In desperate need of a cool-down, she drank two glasses of water. Steadying her resolve, she picked up the phone and pressed 1 on speed dial.
As usual, Tam let it ring for an eternity and Cilla hoped she wouldn’t get the answering machine. What she had to say couldn’t be left as a garbled recorded message.
When the phone picked up, Cilla didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry.
“Tamsin Mathieson speaking.”
Her heart gave a little buck as it always did at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She missed her so much and hated that their relationship had waned to the point of the occasional brief phone call only.
“Tam, it’s Mom.” Cilla always added that, knowing it was stupid, but terrified if she said “It’s me,” one day her daughter might say “Who?”
“Hey Mom, everything okay?”
Another thing Cilla hated: the guarded tone that crept into her daughter’s voice whenever she discovered her mother on the other end of the phone.
“Fine. I just wanted to touch base.”
A lie Tam would definitely pick up on, considering they only called each other on birthdays or holidays.
“I’m actually in the middle of something, Mom.”
Tam was always in the middle of something at the busy law practice on Wall Street. She was the youngest senior associate at the firm and worked eighty-hour weeks. She had no boyfriend, no kids and no life beyond work as far as Cilla knew. Then again, she doubted Tam would tell her if she was seeing someone.
“I’ll make this quick,” Cilla said, gripping the cordless phone tighter as she paced. “You remember Bryce?”
Tam made a rude scoffing sound. “Is this about Willow? Don’t worry about it, Mom. Like I’d believe the crap she was implying about you and Bryce.”
Cilla stilled, a chill sweeping through her body and making her shiver. So her suspicions had been correct: Willow had blabbed to Tam before she’d had a chance to tell her daughter. But what made her cold, now, was Tam’s dismissive tone, like she found the thought of her mother and Bryce as a couple ludicrous.
Which it was, but to have Tam articulate her innermost doubts made Cilla question her own sanity.
“What did Willow say?”
“That she saw you and Bryce having dinner at a restaurant in Dixon’s Creek, and that Bryce implied you were dating.” Tam snorted. “As if.”
“What if we were?”
Silence greeted her murmured question and Cilla mentally counted to ten, hoping her daughter would understand.
“You can’t be serious?” Tam sniggered. “I mean, come on, Mom. You and Bryce? He’s eighteen years younger than you.”
“A fact I’m well aware of,” she said, a slow-burning anger she hadn’t known she possessed taking hold.
She was sixty years old and telling her daughter out of courtesy, because Bryce had been Tam’s teenage crush. But she hadn’t seen Tam in years; they weren’t as close as she would like and she didn’t owe her any explanations.
“Bryce is working as a locum in town for a few months. He asked me out. We’re enjoying each other’s company.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it’s so much easier to understand.” Sarcasm dripped from every word and Cilla gripped the phone so hard she thought it’d crack.
“Look, I just wanted you to know—”
“Why, Mom? So you can feel better about the fact you’re making a fool of yourself? So you can get my approval?”
That’s when Cilla’s anger really lit. “I don’t need your approval, Tam. In fact, I don’t need anything from you. I thought that, for once, my daughter might actually care what’s happening in my life rather than acting like I don’t exist.”
Cilla’s chest ached and she blinked back tears, surprised at how much Tam’s judgment hurt.
She was right. She didn’t need her daughter’s approval, but it would’ve been nice to have her support rather than be ridic
uled.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know you had a hard life with Dad. And I know you’ve been single a long time. But wouldn’t you be more comfortable dating someone your own age?”
Tam’s contrite tone did little to soothe her.
“Don’t you mean it’d make you more comfortable?” Cilla swiped at her eyes as a lone tear escaped. “You’re right, Tam, I had a hard life with your father. He wrecked my self-esteem, my ability to trust and my relationship with you. He took away my belief in happiness. And now that I have a chance to feel good for the first time in a long time, you want to shit all over it?”
Cilla never swore. She felt ashamed.
“Whatever, Mom. Just don’t be surprised when I say I told you so when this farce goes pear-shaped and you’re left broken-hearted again.”
Tam hung up, leaving Cilla staring at the phone, fury making her hand shake. She’d accepted long ago that they would never have a normal mother–daughter relationship, had come to terms with their irreversible rift.
But to have Tam berate her like that, to hear her derision . . .
Cilla slipped the receiver back into its holder. She’d given up depending on anyone for happiness a long time ago.
Time to start making her own.
Jake found her in the kitchen an hour later, freeze-dried herbs scattered on the bench, an empty pot on the stove, as she continued to replay Tam’s conversation in her head.
“I’m thinking of taking Olly to visit Sara.” He stared at her, concern creasing his brow. “You okay?”
Cilla gritted her teeth against the urge to unburden her soul and nodded. “I had an argument with Tam.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Usually, Cilla would shake her head and give Jake the brush-off. Her nephew had enough problems without listening to hers, which were trivial in the grand scheme of things.
But the ache in her chest hadn’t eased and despite her self-talk that she’d go to Bryce’s tonight and enjoy herself if it killed her, she couldn’t seem to move from standing on this spot in the kitchen.
“Sure you want to hear this?”
Jake nodded and propped against the island bench. “Olly’s playing upstairs. I didn’t want to get his hopes up about visiting Sara so thought it’d be easier if he wasn’t around when I called her.”