Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2

by Lisa Ricard Claro

  Maddie sniffled and drew another tissue from the box. “Caleb never told me any of that.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their moment. Edie and Sada poked their heads into the room.

  “Everything okay? You three disappeared and—oh, whatever is wrong?” Edie’s eyes widened with concern.

  Sada’s brows flew upward. “Oh, my. Did you and Caleb have a squabble? Whatever happened, honey, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “Of course, it will,” Edie cooed and waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “Men are just big ol’ fools, bless their hearts.”

  “It’s true,” Sada said. “Poor things, they just can’t help it.”

  “Sage advice from the matriarchs.” Brenna grabbed another tissue and said to Rebecca, “Is it any wonder we’re both thirty and still unmarried?”

  Rebecca nodded. “We should start a club.”

  “Everything’s fine,” Maddie assured her two mothers-in-law. “Rebecca just told us how I got her grandmother’s ring.” Her eyes welled again as she looked first at Edie and then at Sada. “How did I get so lucky, twice?”

  “Oh, you sweet girl.” Sada sat on the edge of the bed and drew Maddie into a hug. “You’re one of the best people I know, Madelyn Rose Kinkaid soon-to-be-Walker.”

  “It’s true, honey. We’re the lucky ones.” Edie’s eyes met Sada’s and they both teared up.

  “Jesus.” Sean’s voice sounded from the open doorway, his face draining of color as he regarded the scene. “What the hell’s happened?”

  “Nothing,” Rebecca told him, wiping her eyes. “We’re just happy.”

  Sean narrowed his eyes. “Then why—you know what? Never mind. I drew the short straw and was sent to hunt you ladies down. Dad told me there’s red velvet cake somewhere, and the men are ready to be served. Swear to god—” He held up his hands. “—it’s not my fault. That’s what he told me to say.”

  Edie raised her brows. “Tell your father, last time I checked he had opposable thumbs. He can get his own damn cake.”

  As his gaze moved over the roomful of tearful women, Sean’s expression became at once bemused and horrified. “Uh, you know what? No worries. I’ll just pass that comment right along.” He swung an about-face and took off down the hall.

  Chapter 3

  “Rebecca! Where the hell’s my Thermos? How am I supposed to drink coffee outta this pink thing?” Big Will lumbered from the kitchen and across the office to stand at Rebecca’s desk, his concrete-splattered, size-thirteen boots anchoring him like an oak. In his hand he dangled a ceramic mug the color of Pepto Bismol that sported a picture of a fluffy yellow bird wearing a hardhat and a mini-skirt, holding a nail gun, and standing over the words “Construction Chicks Nail It.”

  “I don’t know where your Thermos is, Dad.” Rebecca looked up from the spreadsheet filling the screen of her laptop. “The coffee tastes the same no matter what it’s in. You know that, right? Besides, real men drink from pink.”

  “Don’t get sassy with me, young lady. Where’s my Thermos?”

  Rebecca drew on her patience and adjusted her tone. “I didn’t use your Thermos, Dad. Maybe Cal borrowed it, or maybe Mom took it to help you cut back on your caffeine. The doctor told you to switch to decaf or stop drinking it altogether, didn’t he?”

  Big Will sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “We aren’t talking about the doctor. We’re talking about my Thermos.”

  “Which I didn’t take.” At his continued stare, she pushed her chair back, stood, and came around the desk to give his arm a fond pat. “C’mon, Daddy. I’ll help you find it. Where’d you have it last?”

  The second she called him “Daddy,” he melted and regarded her through eyes now soft with paternal love. Rebecca had learned the trick before she turned two, and she had no qualms about using it.

  “Aw, I don’t know. Sorry I fussed at you, little britches. I just get frustrated when I can’t find things around here. It’s because I don’t come into work every day anymore, that’s the problem. I don’t like being out of the loop.”

  “You aren’t out of the loop.” Rebecca squeezed his arm. “You’re just taking a much needed break, that’s all. You’ll be back to work full throttle in no time, stomping around here and driving me crazy all the time instead of every few days. Go check your office for the Thermos, and I’ll hunt around in the kitchen. One of us will find the damned thing.”

  “Don’t cuss,” he said.

  Rebecca did a mental eye roll and headed for the kitchen.

  “I heard from Howard that we had trouble with zoning at the job in Athens,” he called from his office a few minutes later.

  “I took care of it,” Rebecca called back. “We’re on schedule.”

  “Cal said you hung some drywall at the Brumbill job,” he hollered, rummaging through the desk. “I don’t want you doing that. How far behind are we?”

  Rebecca strode into the inner office, planted her booted feet in front of the desk much the same as her father had done in the outer office, except that her sable boots had a four-inch heel and were made of supple leather. She set her father’s monster Thermos down with a thump. He looked up and she crossed her arms over her chest. “We’re not behind. Brumbill is on time. I’m meeting the inspector on Monday to go through the interior. We’re good, Dad.”

  Big Will straightened up and nodded at the Thermos. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Next to the coffeemaker, where it belongs.”

  “Huh.” He sniffed. “Wasn’t there when I looked.”

  “Can I get back to the month-end reports now? I’m supposed to meet Nate for dinner, and I promised him I wouldn’t be late.”

  “It’s only three-thirty. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Famous last words.”

  She went back to her spreadsheet and settled in to focus. Big Will tromped out after her and stood beside her desk. At six-six and weighing in at two-hundred-seventy-five pounds—the maximum he would admit to—he was tough to ignore.

  Rebecca sighed and looked up. “Yes?”

  “Don’t be working alongside the crews at the job sites. It was one thing when you were sixteen and working it as a summer job, and I was on site, or your brother, to keep an eye on you. You’re a lady now.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t need to be hauling drywall or swinging a hammer. And I know Cal has you running around meeting the inspectors and handling the zoning meetings, bidding clients and such, but sometimes it takes a man to grease the wheels.” He held up his huge paw when Rebecca bristled. “That’s not a slam. I know you’re smart and capable. It’s just the way the world works. Sooner or later Walker & Son is going to come up on the short end of a deal because some yahoo doesn’t like dealing with women and wants his handshake to be with a man.”

  Yahoos like you? It burned on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. It slid down her throat like bile. This old argument never lost its caustic edge.

  Caleb was wrong. He’d been so certain that her job performance would be enough to make their father admit she could manage the business, but it mattered little how competent she was or what she did to prove it. She could be the Donald Trump of the construction world and it wouldn’t matter one iota to William “Big Will” Walker. She’d been born without a penis, and her father would never accept her in a primary role for Walker & Son without one. The operative word being son, she reminded herself.

  She frowned. “Okay. So, don’t hang drywall, don’t use a hammer, don’t go to meetings, write proposals, submit bids, or close a deal. I should limit my job duties to answering the phone, ordering office supplies, making coffee, and keeping the books. Anything else?”

  “Now, don’t go getting all huffy.” He dropped his bulk into one of the two chairs opposite her desk. “I know you’re working hard, and doing a good job, too. But—”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Dad.” Rebecca met his gaze. “But the fact of it is, I’m not just doing a good job, I’m doing a
great job. You need to have this conversation with Caleb. He’s the one who put me in charge and—”

  “He had no right to do that.”

  “He had every right. You were recuperating from a heart attack—hell, you’re still recuperating—and he can’t run his business and this one, too. There’s no reason why I can’t handle things for now. It’s not forever. Just until you come back. Okay?”

  Big Will pursed his lips. “I’m ready to come back now.”

  “And that is a conversation you need to have with Mom.” Rebecca glanced at the time on her laptop. “I have to finish these reports, Dad. It’s the reason I’m here on a Saturday.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said, but made no move to leave. Instead, he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. He drew his thick brows into a vee, lost in thought.

  Rebecca’s chest tightened, and she suppressed first the urge to scream and then to cry. She’d worked at Walker & Son Construction her whole life, taking breaks first for college and then grad school. This was all she knew and—crazy as it sounded, even to her—it made her happy. She loved the construction business, the smell of sawdust and paint, the feel of a tool belt slung low on her hips, watching a building grow from foundation to roof, and taking pride in the knowledge that what Walker & Son built would stand the test of time and that she had a hand in it. She stared at the numbers on the spreadsheet. So why had she spent time earning her MBA and CPA instead getting a degree in architecture and construction management like Caleb?

  Because you love business and numbers as much as you love construction, the little voice in her head reminded her. And thanks to Caleb’s faith in her, she’d spent the last five months tapping into all her talents.

  She blew out a breath and glanced at her father. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked up, straightened his furrowed brow, and offered a crooked smile before hefting himself out of the chair.

  “I’m getting out of your hair now. Your mother is probably ready to send out the cavalry looking for me.”

  Rebecca tamped down her emotions and forced a smile. “Be careful driving. The back roads are still icy from the storm last night.”

  “Back at you. Have a good dinner with Nate.” He shifted on his feet and his expression brightened. “Nice party for Cal and Maddie last night. Those Kinkaids sure do it up right, don’t they?”

  Rebecca nodded. “They’re as happy for Cal and Maddie as we are.”

  Big Will mirrored her nod. “They sure are. Yep. They sure are.”

  An awkward silence ensued until Rebecca stood and slid her arms around him for an affectionate hug. “I love you, Daddy, even when you infuriate me.” She felt the tension in his body ease before he squeezed her hard.

  “I love you, too, little britches.” He kissed the top of her head. “I gotta run, cinnamon bun.”

  “Out the door, dinosaur.”

  They exchanged grins. Rebecca watched him leave, fixed herself a strong cup of coffee, checked the time, and focused on completing her report. She still had to go home and change for her dinner date with Nate, and showing up late was not an option.

  ***

  Rebecca congratulated herself for leaving the office on time, pleased to note the time was ten till five when she turned into the narrow driveway alongside her house. She allowed a moment to admire the glow of the Christmas lights strung along the porch rail. She had rigged them to come on at dusk and congratulated herself to find they had done just that. She frowned at the inflatable Santa that refused to stand upright on her front lawn. There was no time to fix it now if she wanted to squeeze in a shower and shave her legs, lotion up, and tame her hair. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, noted the wild curls, and sighed. Maybe she’d save herself the trouble and wear her hair up tonight.

  Humming, she grabbed her purse and laptop from the passenger seat and strode up the short walkway to her porch. She wondered about the restaurant Nate had chosen, Chez Eloise, and if the food tasted as yummy as the website boasted.

  Rebecca slid the key in the front door and turned around when Vern’s voice sounded along with his pounding footsteps. “Rebecca, you have to come! My mom cut herself! There’s blood all over everything!”

  The boy skidded to a stop at the base of her porch stairs. Impervious to the cold, he stood barefoot, and his skinny legs stuck out of sagging basketball shorts topped with a T-shirt bearing a faded logo. His shaggy hair skimmed the upper rim of his glasses, and behind the lenses his brown eyes darted in wild distress. The multicolored Christmas lights bathed him in a colorful glow, a cheerful contrast to his anguished expression.

  She slipped her laptop inside and loped down the stairs. “What happened?”

  “I dunno.” Vern ran beside Rebecca toward his house next door. “She was fixing dinner. Chopping onions or something.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “She told me not to, but then she got white as a sheet and passed out.” Vern’s voice caught and tears bubbled out. “Blood gushed everywhere. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came to get you.”

  “She’s in the kitchen?” Rebecca raced through the front door. She knew the floor plan because it mirrored her own, what she called a single-story cracker box—living room, eat-in kitchen with sliding doors leading out to a small patio, then down the hall to a bathroom, two bedrooms, and a closet big enough to house a washer and dryer at the end of the hall. She found Etta Badgio sitting with her back against the dishwasher and a bloody wad of paper towels wrapped around her hand.

  “Mom!” Vern pushed around Rebecca and dropped to the floor next to his mother. “I thought you passed out!”

  “Blood makes me queasy.” Etta managed a rueful smile through white lips. “I’m not sure how bad it is. I’m afraid to look.”

  Rebecca dropped to a squat next to Etta, noted the woman’s pale skin and the beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. “Close your eyes, Etta, and let me take a look, okay?”

  Etta obeyed, and Rebecca eased the bloody paper towel away. Two of Etta’s fingertips gushed blood. They weren’t severed, but the blood camouflaged the wounds too much for Rebecca to ascertain the depth of the gashes. She swallowed back her queasiness, wrapped the bloody paper towel around Etta’s fingers again, elevated the woman’s arm, and applied gentle pressure in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. “Vern, get a couple of clean hand towels, and then an ice pack. And hurry up.”

  “We don’t have an ice pack,” Etta said.

  “A bag of frozen veggies then. Go, Vern,” Rebecca urged. “Be speedy.” She regarded Etta with a serious gaze. “I’m taking you to the ER, and no arguments. It looks like you just caught the tips of your fingers—I didn’t see any bone—but it’s hard to tell because of the blood. Vern and I will help you to the car and then he’ll apply pressure like I’m doing right now, okay? Just keep your arm elevated. It will help slow the bleeding.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Rebecca. God, I can’t even feel my fingers. Everything’s numb.”

  “You really did a number on yourself. You’ll get stitches for sure, and probably some really good drugs.” Rebecca flashed Etta a sympathetic grin. “And Vern will be responsible for cooking for a while, so I see a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in your future.”

  Etta’s lips curved in a weak smile. “He’s not much of a chef, but he knows how to dial Caravicci’s delivery.”

  Vern reappeared with the towels and, while Rebecca used them to wrap up Etta’s fingers and hand, he rummaged through the freezer until he came up with a bag of frozen mixed vegetables to use in place of an ice pack.

  “That’ll do,” Rebecca told him. “Now go change into some long pants and shoes, because the hospital will be cold, and put your jacket on, grab your mom’s jacket and purse, and let’s hit the road.”

  Because of the traumatic nature of Etta’s injury, the triage staff hustled her without preamble to one of the examining rooms while Rebecca
stayed in the waiting room and helped Vern fill out paperwork. She tried several times to phone Nate—no way around being late now—and when her call went to his voice mail for a fourth time she left a detailed voice message explaining her delay and promised to leave for the restaurant as soon as Vern’s grandmother arrived at the hospital.

  “Thanks for helping. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t home.” Vern pushed his glasses up his nose. “How’d you know what to do?”

  “I’ve taken a lot of first aid workshops. Knowing what to do for something like this comes in handy at the construction sites.”

  “Do your workers get hurt a lot?”

  “Not a lot, no, because we’re super strict about adhering to safety rules and regulations, but accidents still happen now and then.” She laid her arm around Vern’s skinny shoulders and drew him into a quick hug. “Your mom’s going to be fine. I promise.”

  “Do you think she’ll get stitches?”

  “Probably. It was tough to see how deep the wounds were because of the blood.”

  Vern frowned. “There was a ton of blood. It was gross. I got a bunch on me. You’ve got blood all over you, too.”

  Rebecca looked down and grimaced at the sticky splotches of red smeared on her sweater and jeans. So much for her plan to go straight to the restaurant after Vern’s grandmother arrived.

  She dialed Nate’s number again to let him know she had to go home to change her clothes, but his voice mail picked up. She left another quick message and clicked off the call.

  ***

  The cab pulled up in front of Chez Eloise, the swanky restaurant Nate had chosen for their date, and Rebecca opened the door to get out before the vehicle even came to a stop. She handed bills to the cabbie, a handsome Latino with bedroom eyes and a quick wit, who had spent the thirty-minute car ride flirting and making her laugh. She hurried into the restaurant, heart pounding. She wondered if Nate would still be here, and wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t.

  After leaving Vern at the hospital in the capable hands of his grandmother, a steel magnolia by the name of Lorna-Sue who possessed a strong resemblance to Dolly Parton circa 1980s, Rebecca returned home and stuffed ninety minutes of primping into a thirty-minute time frame. With no time to fuss with her hair, she twirled it into something resembling a messy chignon, slid into a dress and heels, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door. Two miles down the road she heard the familiar thwump-thwump-thwump of a flat tire, screamed every curse word she knew and made up a few, eased onto the shoulder of the road, left Nate yet another message—“Hey, you’re not going to believe this!”—and called a cab.