James all but beamed. He lifted two fingers to his brow in casual salute. “We set sail Friday, ma’am.”
* * *
THE WEEKEND SPENT on James’s catamaran passed by far too quickly for Adrian’s taste. It had been so long since she’d been on anything resembling a vacation.
Friday afternoon they had set sail for the Florida Panhandle, reaching Fort McRee close to dark later that evening. They anchored the sailboat in the channel and made camp on the beach. As James and Kyle fished in the rushing gulf surf, Adrian lounged on the beach, basking in the warm, salt-tinged air.
A thunderstorm gathered as evening passed into the thick of night. They raced to the old fort to take shelter. James kissed Adrian as Kyle went around the cavernous walls of the fortress, making ghostly noises and flashing his lantern light to make shadows. As thunder rattled the old stone structure around them, Adrian lost track of time and space, giving in to James’s long, hard form and opening her mouth to his.
It was Kyle who interrupted, as stunned to see them embracing as they were by his sudden reappearance. Minutes later, the storm crashed away into the night and they walked back to camp. James squeezed Adrian’s hand and assured her, “I’ve got this.” Reluctantly she watched James and Kyle settle by the fire with marshmallows before retreating into her tent.
In the morning, she found them nestled together on a pallet close to the dying fire, their heads cocked in the same direction in sleep and both their mouths open in twin poses. When they woke, Kyle was as chipper and full of energy as ever. James winked at Adrian when she asked if her son had taken the news well.
They’d spent the rest of the weekend fishing, swimming, surfing and sailing without pause. When it was time to return home, they did so regretfully. But Adrian couldn’t think of a better way to end the weekend than by standing at the helm of the catamaran, James close at her back, watching the bow of the boat sail toward the sunset hanging low over the western shore of Mobile Bay.
By Monday, it was back to the Eastern Shore and reality. Which meant another big wedding for her and Roxie. Monday weddings were a rarity, but the couple had wanted their date to coincide with the anniversary of the bride’s parents. Since Kyle was still on spring break, she drove him with her to work so that he could fish with Gavin and Cole at the inn.
“Hey, Mom?” he said as they pulled onto South Mobile Street. “I think it’s kind of cool that you and James are together.”
Adrian turned her head to look at him. Kyle hadn’t broached the subject since his talk with James at the campsite. And, truth be told, she’d been hesitant to bring it up. She licked her lips and turned back to the two-lane road. “You do, huh?”
“Yeah,” Kyle added with a shrug. Adrian’s brows drew together. She and Kyle had had a few conversations about James and the fact that he was Kyle’s father, also about her own history with him and why things hadn’t worked out. “What did he say to you on the beach?” she asked curiously.
“He said he was sorry,” Kyle said thoughtfully. “He said that I was the man of the house and I had a right to know who you’re spending time with.” He wrinkled his nose. “And sucking face with.”
Adrian choked back a laugh at the disgust coating his expression. “What James and I have is more than just sucking face. You know that, right?”
“Sure. And it’s okay. I guess it would be kind of neat if things worked out,” Kyle said.
Adrian pulled the car into Flora’s parking lot and stopped, then reached for Kyle’s hand. As he faced her, she saw the light of possibility in his eyes. “It’s lovely that you think so,” she told him. “Thank you for telling me. I want you to always tell me how you feel, especially if anything makes you uncomfortable.”
Kyle made a face. “The sucking face does a little.”
Fighting a smile, Adrian nodded. “Noted. But things between James and me have never been easy. And I don’t want you to put all your hopes in this working out. Nothing’s set in stone. Okay?”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “He’ll still live next door to us, though, right?”
“I wish I could say,” she told him.
“But I’ll still get to spend time with him, even if he doesn’t?”
“Yes,” Adrian promised, smoothing a hand over his arm. “If there’s one thing I have learned over the past few weeks it’s that James will never not be a part of your life again if you want him to be.”
“I do want him to be.” Kyle bit his lip. “I’ve been thinking about something else, too.”
Because he seemed hesitant about it, Adrian patted his hand. “What’s that?” she asked gently.
“Do you...do you think it would be all right if I stopped calling him James and started calling him Dad?”
Adrian’s heart gave more than a gentle squeeze. “Yes. I’m sure James would love that.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
That her child could be so considerate, so sweet to ask, made Adrian closer to tears than she had been all weekend. She lowered her voice, afraid it might crack. “Yes.”
Adrian spent the remainder of the morning arranging flowers in the chapel for the ceremony and at Tavern of the Graces where Olivia would be hosting the reception. Still, as the ceremony wound down and the herd of guests trickled into the tavern that had been strewn with fairy lights, she couldn’t get Kyle’s face or request out of her mind.
She was almost ready to skip out of the reception altogether and join him on the inn dock when Olivia caught up with her. “You’ve been quiet today. Did you have a good weekend with the guys?”
Adrian glanced down into her champagne glass. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for what happened in the tavern last week.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Olivia let out a laugh. “Watching you two go at it like that was better than watching the Starz channel on mute.”
Adrian’s blinked in surprise. “You watch Starz on mute?”
Olivia lifted a shoulder. “Gerald left for his book tour a few days ago. I’m lonely. Sue me. And you dodged my question. How was the sailing trip?”
Adrian sighed. “Wonderful. It was wonderful.”
Olivia smirked. “So, I take it the two of you made up.”
“Yes,” Adrian said. Sometimes, with Olivia, the truth was far less exhausting than evasion. “I suppose it is official now. We are seeing each other.”
Olivia snapped her fingers over her head. “Hallelujah!” When Adrian laughed, she lowered her voice and said, “Okay, now tell me something else.”
“What?” Adrian asked, smiling again. She was making a habit of the expression.
“Does he or does he not...steal kisses on the sly?”
Adrian’s eyes rolled back and she turned her face up to the ceiling. “Oh, no.”
“‘Does he take time to make time?’” Olivia started snapping again and swinging her hips. “‘Tellin’ you that he’s all yours? Learnin’ from each other’s knowin’.’”
“Stop,” Adrian begged, covering her ears. “Make it stop, Ms. Springfield, please!”
Olivia belted out, “‘Lookin’ to see how much we’re growin’!’” She stopped as several partygoers turned to see what the commotion was about. “I’m done.”
“Thank God,” Adrian breathed, reaching for another glass of champagne. “I’m having another one of these.”
“Yes, drink one for me,” Olivia told her. “You deserve it. One more question. Just out of curiosity. The beard.”
Adrian pointed at her in warning. “Let me stop you right there.”
“No, let me finish,” Olivia argued. A sly grin grew across her face. “I just want to know how it feels when he—”
“Oh, look, there’s Roxie,” Adrian said, spotting her other friend across the tavern. “Excuse me.” As Olivia
cackled in her wake, Adrian crossed the reception space to where Roxie stood alone in the corner with an empty champagne flute. “Looks like another hit.”
“Sure,” Roxie said, jerking a shoulder.
Adrian frowned at her. She was wearing a somber shade of black, extraordinarily uncharacteristic for Roxie. Her eyeliner was a bit smudged and her hair wasn’t nearly as neatly tucked into its business chignon as it usually was. “Are you okay?” Adrian asked cautiously.
“Yeah, fine.” Roxie frowned, giving in. “I hate weddings.”
Adrian stared, dumbstruck by the admission. “Um, no, you don’t. You love weddings. They’re your bread and butter.”
“Not today,” Roxie said, setting the glass aside. She hiccupped.
Adrian’s eyes widened, her voice lowered. “Roxie...are you drunk?”
“That depends,” Roxie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “If I were, would you judge me?”
The worry Adrian felt doubled when she read the grim light in Roxie’s eyes. Something was very, very wrong. Her friend had a strict two-drink maximum at her weddings. She was the picture of decorum day in and day out. This was the first time Adrian could remember seeing her anything close to down or disheveled. “How many have you had?” Adrian asked.
“Counting that last one?” Roxie squinted to remember. “Like, six. Maybe seven.”
Ah, crap. Adrian touched Roxie’s arm. “In a minute, you’re going to excuse yourself from the reception.”
Roxie raised a doubting brow. “I am?”
“You’re going to meet me and the girls in Liv’s office, and we’re going to have a chat.”
A sad yet hopeful light wavered to life on Roxie’s face. Tears crested in her eyes. “Sounds good,” she agreed with a nod.
“Great.” Adrian patted her gingerly on the shoulder, then went to round up Briar and Olivia. “Okay, wedding planner down.”
“What’s going on?” Briar asked, concerned.
Adrian cleared her throat. “Roxie’s hammered.”
“What?” Olivia said, looking around for Roxie. “That’s not like her.”
“There’s something wrong,” Adrian told them. “I told her to meet us in the office.”
“Let’s go,” Briar decreed, leading the way as “Rock the Casbah” crashed out of the jukebox speakers and wedding guests crammed the dance floor. The noise dimmed as they headed out of the bar into the hallway. Roxie was waiting in the office, pacing the small space in her toothpick heels. “What’s going on?” Adrian asked, shutting the door behind them.
“I can’t breathe,” Roxie said, the heel of her hand pressed to her stomach.
“I’ve got it,” Olivia said, going behind her desk. “I stocked these when the nausea started.” Taking a brown paper bag from the top drawer, she shook it out and handed it over. “Breathe into that.”
Roxie took it, put it over her mouth and took a few deep pulls. The bag inflated, deflated, inflated.
“Good,” Briar cooed, rubbing her arm. “You’re doing fine. Just keep breathing.”
Roxie gasped as she pulled the bag from her mouth. “Oh, God. What’s happening to me?” she asked, waving both her hands frantically.
Adrian steered her toward the couch. “You’re having an anxiety attack. Just keep breathing. Liv, grab a soda from the fridge.”
Olivia went to the minifridge and pulled out of can of ginger ale. Adrian pressed it to the back of Roxie’s neck. “Does that help?”
After a moment, Roxie nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s good.” She reached back and grabbed the can for herself, holding it in place.
Briar patted her free hand. “Are you okay? Can we get you anything else?”
“No, I’m fine,” Roxie said with a faltering smile. “I just...something happened. I think...I think my life might be falling apart.”
“Why?” Briar asked.
“Because Richard’s sleeping with my sister, Cassandra,” Roxie blurted out on a sobbing breath.
Olivia gasped. “No!”
Roxie nodded, closing her eyes. “I caught them this morning. I went back to the house after I left because I forgot my planner and there they were, tangled up together on the Aubusson.”
“Oh, Rox,” Adrian murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
“That rat bastard,” Olivia spat.
Roxie nodded. “You’re right, Liv. He is a rat bastard. Men. They’re all rat bastards.” She glanced up at Briar and Olivia. “Sorry. But they are.”
“No, you’re right,” Olivia said with a sage nod. At Briar’s surprised look, she shrugged. “Pregnancy hormones. They make me want to jump Gerald’s bones one minute and punch every other man I see the next.”
“Maybe it’s lucky Gerald’s out of town, then,” Adrian muttered.
“Why do you think he didn’t stick around after I dropped the news?” Olivia asked pointedly.
Roxie gave a half laugh, half sob. She hiccupped again. “I should’ve throat-punched him. Richard. I should’ve throat-punched the both of them.” She rose and started to pace again. “You know what I did instead? I apologized for barging in on them. Then I ran like a little girl. How stupid is that?”
“It’s not stupid,” Adrian said.
“The next time I see him...” Roxie balled her hand into a fist. “Ooo, I’m just gonna...wham, right in the—”
At that exact moment, the office door opened and Byron Strong, one of the reception guests, walked in. “Hey, Liv, we’re running out of champagne—”
He was interrupted by Roxie’s small fist in his solar plexus. He grunted, groaned and doubled over as the others stared in shock.
After a moment’s pause, he gripped the door and wheezed, “Hell of a right hook you got there, Mrs. Levy.”
“Oh, God,” Roxie said, horrified. “Byron...I am so sorry!” The words trickled out on a sob. Roxie broke down, burying her face in the shoulder of Byron’s tuxedo jacket.
“Um,” Byron said, expression blank. When Roxie’s back heaved, he folded his arms hesitantly around her, looking to the others for answers.
Briar rose to pat Roxie on the back. “You’ll have to forgive her, Byron.”
“Yeah,” Olivia piped up. “She just found out her husband’s been bouncing on her sister.”
Byron’s brows rose but before he could comment, Roxie hiccupped and muffled, “Men. They’re such...p-p-pigs.”
His hand rubbed hesitantly over her back and he said, “I, uh, I’m sorry?”
“Oh,” Roxie said, stepping back enough to gaze at him. “Not you, Byron, I’m sure. Forgive me. I’m a mess. And I don’t even...have a...a handkerchief.”
Byron patted his pockets as she sniffled. Finding one, he lifted a white linen square to her empty hand.
“Oh, thank you,” Roxie breathed. “Thank you so much.” The words rose and died as she faded into sobs, pressing her face into the handkerchief and folding herself against Byron’s tall frame once more.
Taking pity on the confused, helpless man, Adrian took Roxie by the arm and said to Briar, “Maybe we should take her to the inn. Let her lie down.”
“Yes, of course,” Briar said, taking Roxie’s other arm as Byron stepped aside. “I’ll make tea.”
“Will she be all right?” Byron asked.
Adrian looked back at him and smiled at his genuine concern. “She will be. Liv, I’ll be back to help with the reception.”
“You guys take your time,” Olivia called, tucking her arm through Byron’s. “We’ll handle everything from here.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAMES CARRIED A bouquet of hand-tied, peach-tipped roses into the cancer center. Nerves crawled along his spine, chasing him as he went. He opened the door anyway and walked inside. Removing his sunglasses, he scanned the waiting
area before crossing to the reception desk.
The woman behind it took one long look at his plaid button-down shirt and tattoos and raised a discerning brow. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” James said, hooking the glasses into his shirt pocket. “I’m looking for Mavis Irvington.”
Before the receptionist could answer, a voice from behind him said, “James?”
He turned and straightened. His mother was wearing a T-shirt he had seen on her before, but it looked bigger now. She also had on sweatpants and tennis shoes, but none of her subtle makeup, and the lack highlighted the gray shadows around her tired eyes and the pallor of her skin, especially with her hair pulled back from her face.
James’s heart dropped as he looked at her. He swallowed and extended the flowers to her. “Here.”
Mavis frowned at the bouquet. “What are those for? And what are you doing here?”
“Stephen called when he couldn’t make it,” James explained.
Mavis’s mouth tucked into a firm, telling line. “Stephen.”
James jerked a nod. He wished she would take the flowers. “Neither of us wanted you to be alone for your first treatment.”
Mavis dropped her gaze from his face and rounded him to sign in at the counter behind him.
He waited for her, shifting from one foot to the other. When she took a seat nearby, he watched as she selected a magazine from the end table beside her and began flipping through it.
James inhaled deeply and crossed to her. As he sat next to Mavis she finally looked up. “What do you think you’re doing?”
James pursed his lips, nonplussed, and looked around the room, ignoring several curious glances. “Well, I take it we’re waiting.” When Mavis only stared at him, brow puckered, he added, “I’ve been doing some reading on chemo.”
Mavis’s lips parted. “You read?”
“When the mood strikes,” James asserted, nodding and ignoring the jab. He eyed the pillow and blanket folded together on the floor at her feet. “You’re going the intravenous delivery route, right?”
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