Beach Reads Boxed Set

by Marie Force

  “I don’t know if I could do it,” Kelly said softly.

  Ted glanced over at her. “Do what?”

  “Speak at his funeral.”

  “I’m hoping I’ll be able to get through it.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  He shook his head. “This is the first time I’ve been asked.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do a terrific job.”

  “I just hope I can do him justice.”

  “You will.”

  Her smile of reassurance helped, and Ted was glad he had asked her out. He was looking forward to their date.

  Ted watched the miles fly by out the window. “Imagine how many times Joey and his parents must’ve made this drive.”

  “Hundreds.”

  “I never think about what people go through to get to us. As if the disease isn’t hardship enough, they have to travel, too.”

  Ted’s pager interrupted his thoughts. Before they arrived at the church, he handled two minor crises at the hospital. Since he was on call, he’d had to arrange for backup so he could attend the funeral. He turned off the pager and his cell phone and stashed them in his suit coat pocket.

  They joined the streams of somber people going up the stone stairs to the large Catholic Church. At the top of the stairs, Ted shook hands with the Red Sox catcher, who had also been asked to speak. They were shown to seats close to the front of the church.

  A large photo of Joey from before his illness sat on an easel amid a sea of flowers on the altar. Ted stared at the photo, remembering his first meeting with Joey, when he’d still had hope that he could save the boy. His eyes burned with tears so he looked away from the photo. He hadn’t experienced a lot of failure in his life, but cancer managed to frequently remind him of his all-too-human limitations. The disease was a formidable foe, and Ted was overwhelmed with sadness at what it had taken from this family.

  The service began when four pallbearers—Joey’s uncles according to the program—carried the small casket into the church. A family friend, a cousin, and Joey’s fifteen-year-old brother John gave tearful eulogies. Next, the Red Sox catcher walked up to the microphone.

  “On behalf of the entire Red Sox organization, I extend my condolences to John, Melinda, and the Gaither family. It was such a pleasure for all of us to have the opportunity to know Joey and to be able to bring him into our family over the last couple of years. Because of what I’m lucky to do for a living, I receive mail from many, many kids who tell me I’m their hero. Well, I want you to know that Joey’s my hero. The Sox will dedicate the rest of our season to Joey’s memory, and each of us will wear an armband with his name on it in tribute to a young life that ended far too soon. God bless you, Joey, and God bless everyone who mourns your loss.”

  Ted swallowed a lump in his throat as he approached the pulpit. He gave himself a moment to get his emotions in check before he looked out at the sea of faces that filled the church and spilled out the open doors onto the stone steps.

  “I want to thank John and Melinda for inviting me to share in this celebration of Joey’s life. I know I don’t have to tell any of you how special Joey was or how courageous. Those of us at Children’s Hospital Boston who had the honor of caring for him will never forget his enthusiasm, his laughter, his great big smile, and his generosity to other kids who were just beginning their treatment. He had a way of making it a little less scary for them.” Ted paused and took a deep breath to compose himself. “I meet children and their families at the worst time in their lives. Yet I often find that crisis brings out the best in them, which was certainly the case here. John and Melinda, your dignity and grace were an inspiration to all of us and a source of great comfort to your son. Joey was much more than a patient to me. I loved him, and I’ll miss him.”

  John and Melinda stood in the front row to hug Ted.

  When he returned to his seat Kelly reached for his hand and squeezed it as he wiped his eyes with his other hand. Comforted by the gesture, Ted held on for the remainder of the service.

  They attended the burial and the luncheon Joey’s family held at the home of one of his aunts. Before he left to return to Boston with the others from the hospital, Joey’s parents thanked Ted again for everything he had done for them over the last four years.

  “Give me a call if you get to Boston.” Ted didn’t envy them the road they had ahead of them as they picked up the pieces of their shattered lives, attempted to reconnect with their other children, and dealt with the post-traumatic stress that parents who had seen their children through cancer often faced. “We can have dinner or something.”

  “We’d like that,” John said.

  Ted knew he might hear from them, and he might not. Often he also mourned the loss of the relationships he had formed with parents when a child either died or recovered to the point that he or she required only occasional visits with him. There were times, however infrequent, that he was glad to see the last of a parent. But he would miss John and Melinda.

  Ted was back at the hospital by three, and the first thing he did was check his e-mail for the results of Hannah’s blood work. He was relieved to find everything within normal range and picked up the phone to share the news with Peg.

  She broke down at the sound of his voice.

  “It’s good news,” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Oh, thank you!” she cried. “Thank you, God.”

  “Are you all right, Peg?”

  Her voice was small and sad when she said, “How long do you think it’ll be before I don’t freak out over every fever?”

  “You probably always will. But remember, the longer her remission lasts the better her long-term prognosis becomes.”

  “I know. I keep telling myself that, but then she has a fever and I go bananas. She hates that.”

  “Someday she’ll have kids of her own, and then she’ll understand.”

  “Do you think so?” Peg asked softly. “Do you really think she’ll grow up and have children?”

  “Well, you know there’s always a chance the chemo damaged her reproductive organs, but nothing in her report gives me anything to worry about today.”

  “Then I’ll try not to worry, either. Thanks for rushing the results.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you in a couple of months for her regular checkup. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to call if you need me.”

  “Oh, you know I won’t,” she said, and they shared a laugh.

  After Ted hung up, he sent an e-mail to remind his friends about the party on Block Island. The guys had been to a few of the anniversary parties by then, not to mention numerous other parties thrown by one or both of the Duffy women, and Ted knew they wouldn’t miss it.

  He was working on his grant application an hour later when Smitty wrote back. Ted noticed right away that his friend had copied Caroline on the reply.

  “Looking forward to the party,” Smitty wrote. “Let us know the details. Black tie, right? Wasn’t the funeral today? How are you doing?”

  Ted stared for a long time at Caroline’s e-mail address, realizing he now had a way to contact her. Not that he would . . . But the e-mail address loomed on the screen, almost taunting him with how simple it would be to send her a message. But he didn’t do it. Instead, he replied to all of them.

  “Yes, black tie,” Ted wrote. “My mom said we can have the guesthouse for the weekend, so let’s go out to the island that Friday afternoon. The funeral was today, and they asked me to speak. My colleagues said I didn’t embarrass myself. Tough day, but then I returned to good news about one of my other patients. Life goes on, right?” He stopped typing for several minutes before he added, “How’s Caroline’s ankle?” and pressed “send” before he could talk himself out of asking the perfectly innocent question. Since he had been with her when it happened, no one would wonder why he was asking. Plus he was dying to know the answer.

  Ted would have deleted Smitty’s message along with the tempting address f
or Caroline, but it would have been pointless since he had already committed it to memory.

  He tried to go back to work on the grant application, but his concentration was blown, so he decided to go up to the in-patient ward to check on some of his patients. Two hours later, he returned to his office refreshed by the time he had spent with the kids. They had a way of making his worries seem trivial. Messages from Smitty and Caroline had arrived in his absence. Ted’s heart kicked into gear as he forced himself to read Smitty’s first.

  “They put her cast on yesterday, and she was in a lot of pain last night. She’s staying at my place, and I’m doing my best to dote on her. She’s on the sofa with her laptop, so you might hear from her. Don’t pay any attention to her complaints about my cooking! We’ll miss you this weekend. Hope you manage to get some sleep while you’re on call.”

  Ted was more bothered than he wanted to be by the image of cozy domesticity Smitty had portrayed. Another emotion blazed through him that was new since he met Caroline: jealousy. He was bitterly jealous of his best friend and couldn’t bear the idea of them spending the week together in Smitty’s Upper East Side co-op. In light of what had transpired over the weekend, Ted had hoped Caroline would end it with Smitty before his friend got more involved with her. Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. If anything, it sounded like the two of them had grown closer after her injury.

  Ted clicked on Caroline’s message.

  “Hi Ted, thanks for asking about my ankle. It’s been really painful (and getting the cast on was awful), but today was better than yesterday. I felt so bad when you left on Sunday. I hope you didn’t leave because of me . . . I know today was a difficult day for you, and I hope you’re holding up okay. Take care, Caroline.”

  She knows why I left. Why did his heart have to skip a happy beat at that thought? He sat back and closed his eyes, feeling as if she had given him permission to relive the powerful emotions she’d stirred in him.

  When thinking about her became painfully overwhelming, Ted pulled himself back to reality and replied to her message. “Caroline, I left because I had things to do at home, so no worries.” Desperate to protect his friendship with Smitty, he fought the desire to confirm her suspicions that he had, indeed, left because of her and what she made him feel. “Hope you can come with Smitty to Block Island and that your ankle mends quickly.” When he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he signed his name, hit “send,” and dropped his head to his desk.

  A knock on his office door interrupted Ted’s thoughts of Caroline.

  “Come in.”

  Kelly walked in with a shy smile on her face. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” Ted struggled to regain his equilibrium. “What’s up?”

  “I was just wondering if you’re okay.” She twisted her hands as if she were nervous. “After everything today . . .”

  If she only knew the funeral was the least of my problems right now, he thought. “Joey would’ve been thrilled to see all the guys from the Sox there.”

  “It was so good of them to come.”

  Ted nodded in agreement.

  “I liked what you said about crisis bringing out the best in people.”

  He shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Ted?”

  Her heart was in her smile, and Ted wondered why he had never noticed it before. Or maybe he had, and that was why he’d asked her out. Either way, an uncomfortable realization settled over him. She had a thing for him, and he had the power to hurt her. Badly.

  He got up and went around the desk.

  Her eyes widened when he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it.

  “I need to be honest with you.”

  “Okay,” she stammered, glancing down at their joined hands as the pulse in her throat fluttered.

  “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  Her blue eyes flickered up to his. “I understand.”

  “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Kelly smoothed her hand over his now-loosened Red Sox tie. “I’m a big girl, Ted. I can take care of myself.”

  Ted saw the desire in her eyes and decided to find out if the reaction he’d had to Caroline was because he had gone without for so long. In one smooth move, he pushed the office door closed and leaned in to kiss Kelly.

  She wrapped her arms around him and uttered a sigh as her lips met his. Her fingers sank into his hair as her tongue flirted with his, her avid response telling Ted exactly what she wanted from him.

  His pager went off, and he drew back from her to reach for it on his belt. “They need me upstairs.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek.

  She reached up to kiss him one last time. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He watched her walk away, filled with regret and dismay. Kelly was everything he should have wanted in a woman. She was beautiful, fun, sensitive, caring, and sexy—really, really sexy—not to mention available. But when he kissed her, he’d felt nothing at all.

  Chapter Seven

  John Smith was a fraud. To the outside world he was fun-loving Smitty, a persona he had worked so hard to perfect over the years he almost believed it himself. Anything was better than the truth—that he had grown up in Newport all right, just not in the part of town they featured in the tourist brochures. Sometimes it was hard to believe how far he had come from the housing projects. The son of James King, the richest man in America, was one of Smitty’s best friends. Apparently, he had managed to impress James, and when James turned over the management of his personal fortune to Smitty, he had single-handedly guaranteed Smitty’s partnership at the brokerage house.

  He made his first million by the time he was thirty-two, and thanks to James and his referrals, he was closing in on his sixth million at thirty-seven. Looking out at the lights of Manhattan from the bedroom of his gleaming twenty-second-floor co-op, he felt like a total failure. He never talked about his childhood in the ghetto with a cocaine-addicted mother and a revolving series of “uncles” who only kept their hands off Smitty because he was bigger than most of them. What they paid his mother for sex fed her addiction. One of them had fathered him, but she had no idea which one.

  She hadn’t even loved him enough to give him a decent name. Instead he was stuck with the most boring, nondescript name in the world. People often didn’t believe him when he told them his name was John Smith, thus the creation of Smitty. Even his three closest friends had no idea what his life had been like as he had scratched and clawed his way to an academic scholarship at Princeton.

  For the last five summers, Smitty had returned weekly to his hometown where he assumed his mother still lived. But he never saw her, never called her, and never thought of her except when these fits of pensiveness struck, usually when things were going a little too well. He wondered if she ever thought about him. Would she be pleased to know what he had done with his life? What he had made of himself? Would she allow her son to improve her circumstances or would she snort whatever money he gave her up her nose?

  What would happen to the life he had so carefully cultivated if the people in his world ever found out about where he came from? Would James still trust him to manage his vast portfolio? Would Parker, Chip, and Ted, all of them from prominent, respected families, still think of him as a brother if they knew he was the bastard son of a drug-addicted prostitute? The luckiest day of his life had occurred at the start of his sophomore year at Princeton when he had been assigned to live with Ted and found Chip and Parker next door. They thought his parents were dead. Years ago he had shown them a big pretty house in Newport and told them he had lived there as a kid. They had believed him. Why wouldn’t they? What would his lies do to his nearly twenty-year friendship with the three men who meant more to him than anyone in the world?

  Their families had become his family. In particular, Smitty loved Mitzi and Lillian Duffy with a passion, and when people asked about his family, he thought of them. On Mother’s Day, it w
as Mitzi and Lillian who received two-dozen pink roses from him—not the cokehead hooker who had given birth to him.

  An economics degree from Princeton, a Wharton MBA, and a few million in the bank had put some pedigree between him and his shameful past, but it hadn’t been enough to keep his wife around. Cherie had left him when he told her the truth three years into their marriage. She couldn’t live with someone who lied, she said on her way out the door, but not before he saw the revulsion on her face. His friends thought he had pulled the plug on the marriage, and Smitty let them think he’d been as glad to see her go as they were. John, on the other hand, had been devastated by the loss of his wife and had vowed to never again give anyone that kind of power over him.

  And then along came Caroline and away went all his resolve to protect his heart. Would she leave him too if she knew? Smitty turned away from the window and went over to where she slept in his big bed, her injured ankle propped on a pile of pillows, her arm curled over her head. Pretty pink lips were slightly open as she breathed through her mouth. She had kicked off the sheet, and the T-shirt of his that she had worn to bed had ridden up to her waist, giving him an unobstructed view of her spectacular, toned legs.

  His heart contracted. He loved her but knew she didn’t love him—not the way he wanted her to, not yet anyway. Time, he told himself. Give it some time. They had only been together for a little over a month, and she thought he was too wounded from his failed marriage to commit to anyone else. That’s what he wanted everyone to think. It was better they not know how much he yearned for a wife who loved him, a real home, and children he could shower with everything he’d never had. Every day he went to work, played the market, hedged his bets, and built a small fortune as a down payment on the future he so desperately wanted.

  He leaned over to brush the hair back from Caroline’s forehead. In every fantasy he’d had lately about that future, she played the starring role. Somehow he had to make her see that she belonged with him.