A Home by the Sea (13 page)

When she had lost Samson, all the joy had been sucked out of her life. For weeks the world seemed to close in on her, and even her friends couldn't cut through her depression. Then Dr. Lindstrom had rescued her again.

This time her solace had come in a tiny package of white fur, wet nose and big clumsy feet. The Samoyed puppy had been hit by a car and left behind on an isolated road. The vet had operated and set a fractured bone, and after a slow recovery, the restless white ball could totter around awkwardly. But he was still badly frightened of people, and Dr. Lindstrom had warned her that the puppy would be a challenge.

Jilly never turned down a challenge. She kept her new friend active and trained him carefully. She had made him part of her busy life while she scouted locations for her future restaurant and products for her line of organic food. They had traveled up and down the coast by car a dozen times, and now her friend Duffy knew an impressive set of commands.

The puppy was outside in Jilly's SUV at that moment, chewing on his favorite rope toy while Jilly stood hospital duty. Every hour she snuck outside and took him for a wild run, crossing the road and sprinting along the beach to his delighted barking.

She stood up, stretching. Two interns walked by and eyed her tall, slim body.

Jilly was oblivious. Tough and cynical, she had no time for sex and she didn't believe in romance, which in her eyes pretty much covered all the possibilities. She wasn't elegant and smart like her friend Grace; she wasn't brilliant and dedicated like her friend Caro. Growing up as a foster child had left Jilly with few illusions. She was glad that she had found a foster home on Summer Island and happier still when she reached her majority so she could be off on her own. The only people that really mattered in her life were her friends, Dr. Lindstrom and the brilliant local chef who had been her career mentor during high school. Sally McGill could work magic
with French pastry and had a thriving career teaching expensive retreats at her cliff-side estate over looking the harbor. Throughout high school Jilly had helped at those weekend retreats and in Sally's big kitchen Jilly had found her first real glimpse of a family.

Sally didn't coddle her. She was rude, red-haired and had a razor edge to her wit. Her temper kept most people at bay, but she and Jilly had sized each other up as friends within minutes of meeting. Now they could work side by side for hours, never talking yet perfectly happy.

Sally had pushed Jilly to go to culinary school, and Sally had become her first investor, though Jilly had found half a dozen more, thanks to her contacts from cooking school. She pinched herself every morning, unable to believe that her oldest dreams were actually starting to take shape.

Jilly finished her thermos of coffee and pushed away thoughts of all the work that was building up in her absence. For one wild minute she actually thought about digging up the unfinished scarf she had been trying to knit for the past year.

Instead, she stood up and stretched. Her clumsy efforts would only leave her muttering in frustration.

Pacing the hall, she thought about the future. Grace was what counted now. Caro and Grace and their oldest friend Olivia had gotten Jilly through an
awful adolescence and a high school experience that rated somewhere between traumatic and agonizing.

Jilly could never repay them for that.

Friends always came first.

H
ER MOUTH BURNED
.

Someone was banging a pan near her head.

Grace sat up with a start, squinting at a bank of fluorescent lights. She was disoriented as an orderly pushed a cart of bedpans down the hall.

A hospital hall.

Her grandfather was here.

The memories fell like stones. She shoved off a pink afghan and looked around for Gage or her friend Jilly. Suddenly she saw the swing of long arms and the gleam of wild black hair.

Jilly waved at her, carrying a huge leather tote bag and a worn piece of rope. “My puppy is out in the car. We take a nice brisk run every hour.” Jilly ran a hand through her hair and gave up trying to smooth down its chaotic waves. “You look better after your nap. I think you'll survive.”

“Thanks to you.” Grace bit into a protein bar that Jilly had pulled out of her bag. “Has the doctor come by yet?”

“Not for another hour. And you won't be able to see your grandfather until he clears it, so you may
as well relax. We could go up to the cafeteria for coffee.”

“No, I'll wait. Thanks again for coming, Jilly. And for staying.”

They sat together, silent, remembering other times of loss and worry. Then Jilly turned, frowning at her friend. “Wait a minute. What happened with that big project you told me about? It was a digital cookbook, something to do with the White House, right?”

Grace nodded.

“Well, did you get it?”

“I'm not sure.” Grace hesitated. She didn't want to answer questions now, when her grandfather's illness changed everything.

“I thought you had a big interview coming up.”

“I did.” The lie came before Grace could think. “I…haven't heard yet.”

“Well, you've got my vote.”

Grace shrugged. “It will be very hands-on, and you know I like lots of freedom to follow my research.” She studied her friend critically, noting the circles under Jilly's eyes. “You've been working too hard. You're not smoking again, are you?”

“That's one bad habit I finally kicked. But things are hectic. I'm finally looking for restaurant space and it's a pretty heady experience. I warn you, I'm going to pick your brain clean about layout, suppliers and overhead models.”

“Pick away. I'll help you any way that I can. And congratulations on making the big leap.” Grace
squeezed her friend's hand. “You always wanted to have a restaurant, ever since that day in fourth grade when you made us all line up, put on aprons, and copy you while you made pretend chocolate chip cookies.”

Jilly rolled her eyes. “What a little ass I was. How could you three stand me ordering you around?”

“Because we were friends. Always and ever, remember? The girls of Summer Island.”

“I remember. It's the one
good
memory I have of growing up.” Jilly frowned. “Are you really okay—I mean about James?”

“It's getting easier.” Grace didn't want to talk about that, either. Anxiously, she glanced at the wall clock, calculating how long until the doctor made his morning rounds. She needed answers.

“Stop worrying. Gage said your grandfather looked good last night. He recognized Gage, too. That's a great sign.”

“I can't relax until I've seen him. I want him to know I'm here, that he's not alone.”

“He won't ever be alone. Too many people on Summer Island love your grandfather.” Jilly handed Grace a bottle of orange juice from the nearby vending machine. “Drink that. All of it,” she ordered.

“Still giving orders,” Grace muttered. They both looked up as Gage stepped out of the elevator, hand some in a denim shirt and worn jeans with scuffed cowboy boots.

“That is one seriously handsome chunk of manhood,” Jilly said appraisingly. “Great biceps.”

Grace bit back a laugh. “Shh. Don't embarrass the man.” Then her breath caught as Gage's wife stepped off the elevator, pregnant and glowing.

“Caro, you didn't tell me!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Caro leaned against her husband, then slid one hand gently over her rounded stomach. “I'm eating everything in sight that isn't nailed down. Last night I actually got a craving for capers and chocolate milk.” She shook her head. “I get tired at the strangest times now. But Gage has a tight rein on my nesting urges at the new house.”

“What new house?”

Caro smiled. “We bought the Dragon Cottage. We got an amazing deal or we couldn't have swung it. Unfortunately, it's in pretty bad shape.”

“You always loved that old cottage,” Grace mused. “I'm so glad for you. Can I come visit while I'm here?”

“Absolutely. I may assign you some paint scraping, I warn you.” Abruptly, Caro cleared her throat. I'm so sorry about your grandfather, Grace. He hasn't been sick a day before this. None of us saw this coming.”

The words helped to heal Grace's guilt just a little.

She turned as the elevator chimed again. A doctor moved past, speaking quietly on a cell phone. Caro
nodded to Grace and they followed him down the hall toward the intensive care unit.

 

“Y
OU'RE HIS GRANDDAUGHTER
, correct?”

Grace nodded, gripping Jilly's arm.

“I'm glad you're here. I'm afraid you can only have five minutes with him. He may not be conscious.”

“I understand. But my grandfather didn't have a history of high blood pressure or heart disease. I don't understand what happened.”

“We're still doing tests to see if there is evidence of a stroke. Meanwhile, he has a punctured lung and two broken ribs. They have to heal completely before he is mobile again.”

“How long will that take?”

“Time predictions are always tricky, Ms. Lindstrom. If everything goes well and if he responds to our treatment, it could be a month or it could be three months. That will be up to his body and his will to recover.”

Grace nodded slowly. It was going to be a long process.
This changes everything,
she thought.
He needs me right here beside him.

She waited impatiently for the nurse to finish inside. “Remember. Five minutes and no more,” the doctor reminded her. “We can talk when you're done.” Then he strode off to answer a page.

Grace took a breath and walked inside the small room.

Equipment beeped. An IV line hung from a pole near the bed. Her heart squeezed when she saw her grandfather. He had always been the healthiest man she knew, tall and tanned, outdoors every moment he could find.

Now Peter Lindstrom was pale, his eyes closed, and Grace realized she had never seen him at rest. Her grandfather had always been busy working at the shelter or tending the roses that he loved or helping a neighbor in need.

Never like this, spread out beneath white sheets, motionless and pale.

Another nurse gave her an encouraging smile and then moved outside, pulling the curtain closed behind her to give them some privacy.

“Grandpa, it's Grace. I'm here. Caro called me in D.C. and told me you were hurt.”

There was no answering sound. No flutter of his eyelids.

No sign of life.

Grace sat down slowly beside the bed and took his cool hand in hers. She stroked the callused fingers, fighting tears. “I'm not going away. I'll keep an eye on the clinic, so don't worry about anything. Just rest. All you have to do is get well again. You
have
to get well.” Her voice broke, despite all efforts to stay calm. “We—we all need you, Grandpa.”

O
VER THE NEXT TWO DAYS
,
Grace haunted and paced, roamed and stalked. She got to know the unit nurses, the orderlies and the night cafeteria workers. Old friends from Summer Island came to offer their heartfelt wishes for her grandfather, assuring her that the shelter would stay running, the animals cared for by staff, as well as volunteers, until her grandfather returned.

Peter Lindstrom still had not regained clarity. He slept on, connected to beeping meters and IV lines that were constantly monitored. New tests confirmed that two of his ribs had been broken, but there were no signs of a stroke or cardiac arrest.

His attending physician assured Grace that this was excellent news. Ribs could and would heal. She tried to be happy with the news, but all she could think of was that he hadn't awakened. All she could see was his pale, gaunt face against the sheets of his hospital bed.

Restless, she roamed the halls, dozing for several hours on the nearby couch when she had to. Around midnight on the second night, Caro came to keep her
company, ignoring Grace's protests. Later that night Jilly returned, sending Caro off to be with Gage.

After Caro left, Jilly pulled a sample-size bottle of her newest chipotle-mango salsa creation out of her big leather tote bag.

Grace had to admit, the combination was a knockout, sweet and spicy, with layers of roasted pepper and big chunks of ripe fruit. “I think that you're going to make a mint with this,” Grace muttered, scooping more sweet crushed fruit onto the blue corn chips that Jilly had produced. “What does Sally think?”

“She's backing the rollout. We're going fifty-fifty.”

“You always knew what you wanted in life. Even back in high school all you thought about was food and recipes and cooking tools.” Grace took another mouthful of salsa and whistled softly. “You're definitely on your way.”

“So are you,” Jilly said firmly. “Three highly praised food books in five years and a profitable restaurant consulting business.” Jilly's eyes narrowed. “It is profitable, isn't it?”

“Good enough.”

“And you still have the apartment in Paris, right?”

Grace shook her head. “I let it go last year, right after James…” She stared down the shadowed corridor. “It felt like the right time.”

“You had your own bank account and your own
cash, right? When James died, it didn't leave you tangled up or in debt?”

Leave it to Jilly to stab right to the bottom line, Grace thought. “My accounts are fine. We were going to make all those decisions after we were married.” Grace rubbed her shoulders. “I only wish I had spent more time here in Oregon. I might have prevented this from happening to my grandfather,” she said quietly.

Jilly rounded on her with a stormy frown. “Would have, could have, my ass. Don't turn into a martyr here, Grace. Your grandfather is the most stubborn person I know, and that includes me. You couldn't have changed one thing by being here.”

“But maybe—”

“No buts, Lindstrom. He's a tough customer. The man will keep working eighty-hour weeks until his walker breaks,” Jilly said. “And he'll be happy as a lark doing it. So suck it in and stop trying to blame yourself.”

“Don't soft-pedal this. I should have been here more often. I should have paid more attention, no matter
how
stubborn he was.”

Jilly made an exasperated sound. “Maybe you should have. But you did everything you could without stepping on his toes. In hindsight everyone sees 20/20, remember?” Now it was Jilly's turn to pace. “You're here right now. That's what matters. You'll stand by him until he's well. We all will. Even if he hates the help.”

Tears burned at Grace's eyes as she looked at her friend's flushed, determined face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I forgot how much I counted on all of you.”

“Well, start remembering,” Jilly snapped. “And if I hear any more talk about you being at fault in all this, I'm going to work you over with the heavy-duty spatula I keep in my tote.”

Grace forced a smile.

“Do you really have a spatula in there?”

“Damned right I do.”

“Anyone ever tell you you're a bully?”

“Not to my face,” Jilly shot back. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Because that nurse down the hall is waving at you, and it looks important.”

Grace immediately headed toward the nurse. “Is my grandfather awake?”

“No, I'm afraid not, Ms. Lindstrom. But there's a delivery for you at the main reception desk downstairs. A cell phone, I think. You need to sign for it.”

Grace fought a wave a disappointment. “Mine was broken, and the replacement was delayed. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No more long faces.” Jilly ran her arm around Grace's shoulders and guided her toward the elevator. “I'll go with you.”

“Your puppy isn't out in your car, is he? It can't be comfortable out there.”

“Nope, he's with Sally tonight. She pretends not
to care, but deep down she loves him.” Jilly soon had Grace laughing at some of the more outrageous objects that the puppy had chewed on or consumed in the last month. They were laughing as Grace picked up her package, signed the papers and opened the box.

The unit was partially charged, and as soon as Grace hit the power button, a string of unread text messages flashed onto the screen. Three were from her publisher. The rest were from Noah.

A wave of heat filled Grace's cheeks as she scanned the messages.

 

Hope your flight was good and your grandfather is doing better. Call me once your cell is working. At least give me a number where I can reach you.

 

Two hours later:

 

Snowing again. Lucky you, there at the ocean. Call me.

 

Five hours later:

 

Hope you are there. How is he?

 

At the bottom of the screen was another message.

 

Hello?

 

Grace had to smile, feeling a little giddy as she scanned the final lines.

 

Don't make me come out there and find you, Lindstrom… Because I will. You know I will. We have some unfinished business, you and I.

 

“Whoa.” Jilly leaned over Grace's shoulder, trying to read the messages. “Who sent all of those text messages?”

“Just a friend.”

“Sure. And that's why your face is the color of an heirloom tomato right now.” Jilly's eyes narrowed. “You're seeing someone, aren't you?”

“What if I am?”

“I'll dance a jig, that's what.” Jilly made a little snort. “Maybe it's bad to speak ill of the dead, but I never liked James. He was a stuffy little arse, holding forth about the
only
right way to drink Bordeaux and the
only
right way to cook an oyster. Blah, blah, blah. You let him walk all over you. The time I visited you in Paris, you wouldn't even go to the yarn store there because James considered it a waste of time.”

“That's not true,” Grace said hotly. “I went twice.”

“After James left for Malaysia,” Jilly pointed out. “You love to knit, Grace. You should have told him where to go jump.”

Grace had a sudden, uncomfortable memory of Jilly's visit and James's lukewarm reception of her
friend. It had angered her at the time, but somehow over the succeeding months she had forgotten. “He was edgy then. He seemed anxious to get away. But maybe you're right…?.” She ran a hand through her hair, wondering if James had had an inkling that his deceptions were about to become public. The last day before he left, he had been more short-tempered than Grace had ever seen him. Strange. Why had she buried that memory?

Not that it mattered now.

But it was important that she not repeat her mistake. Would that ever happen with Noah?

Impossible, a voice whispered. Because Noah was different. And because she and Noah had no chance of a future anyway.

“Aren't you going to answer that?”

“What?”

Jilly gestured to the phone, where a new text message had just appeared. “From Mr. Can't-Get-Enough-of-You,” she muttered. “Why didn't you tell me you had a big, torrid love affair going on?”

“Because I don't.” Grace cradled the phone, shielding the screen from Jilly, who tried to push in closer. “Back off.”

“Whatever. Unless it's phone sex, I'm not interested.” Jilly's eyebrow rose. “It isn't phone sex, is it?”

“Idiot. Just go away.”

“You're blushing, Lindstrom. Direct hit.”

“Go away.” Grace felt her cheeks flush even more.

“It is a torrid love affair,” Jilly whispered. “Why didn't you tell me right away? Dish, Lindstrom.”

“It isn't serious and there will not be any phone sex happening today.” She swallowed as two orderlies walked past, giving her quick, appraising looks. They looked back at her and then gestured in her direction to another orderly, who crossed toward Grace.

“Ms. Lindstrom?”

“Yes?”

“There's a package for you down at the first-floor information desk.” His lips curved. “Flowers. A whole box of them. I'd say that someone is thinking about you a lot right now.”

 

"F
LOWERS
? A
WHOLE
boxful?” Jilly snorted. “Not serious? Yeah, right.”

“Shut up,” Grace hissed, trying to ignore Jilly's laughter. “It isn't serious. I only met him a few days ago. We barely know each other.”

“Yeah, just keep saying that.” Jilly caught a breath as she saw the big florist's box perched on the information desk. “A whole box.” Four colors of roses spilled in mounds against green florist paper, filling the air with perfume. Jilly whistled. “Probably six dozen roses in there. That's even better than phone sex.”

Grace shot her an irritated look. “How would you know?”

Jilly gave a smug smile. “Life holds more than
cooking, my friend. I keep busy in Arizona. In fact, there's one firefighter who—”

“I don't want to know the details. TMI.”

Jilly laughed and pushed Grace toward the desk.

“She's the one for the flower delivery,” Jilly announced. “I'd say it's serious, wouldn't you?”

The petite, gray-haired attendant at the desk nodded. “Only one piece of advice. Scoop him up and marry him fast.” She grinned. “But if you are going to throw him back, then please give me his phone number first.”

 

G
RACE SENT
J
ILLY
off for whatever passed for hot food in the cafeteria between meals, and once her friend was safely gone, she settled down to answer Noah's messages.

 

Just received my new phone a few minutes ago. Things are pretty hectic, but I'm glad to be here.

 

Grace stood up, stretched and walked the shadowed hallway. Moments later her new cell phone chimed an incoming message.

 

Glad you got the phone. How's your grandfather doing?

 

Pale. On a lot of machines. Didn't have a
stroke. Not a heart attack, it appears. Dr. says that is all good news.

 

It is. Give it some time. How are you holding up?

 

Grace considered for long moments, then typed an answer.

 

Okay. My friends are here. Sad to be at hospital, but great to see them. Should have come home sooner.

 

No point in regrets. Take care of him. Take care of yourself too.

 

Grace smiled, gnawed at her lip and then typed an answer.

 

BTW I just got a package. A very big package. I must have a secret admirer somewhere. Whoever he is, the man has excellent taste. All the nurses are swooning. My friend wants to know when the phone sex is starting.

 

Flushing a little, Grace reread the message. Then she hit the send button. She paced restlessly, watching the phone.

But no answer appeared.

Deeply embarrassed, she closed her eyes, rubbing
her face. Why had she written that? Maybe it was exhaustion—and the heady perfume spilling from the roses on the table beside her.

Abruptly, her cell phone chimed.

 

All the phone sex you want, honey. Day or night. Glad you liked the roses. But I still wish you were here. Remember, you have one week….

 

Grace's heart took a giddy little whirl as she read the words. Despite the giddiness, she forced herself to stay calm and focused.

 

He's going to require a lot of care and recuperating time.

 

What about the book project?

 

I don't know. The animal shelter will need someone to manage it while he's gone. So many responsibilities that he handled without help or even thanks. And I'm all he's got. It's going to be on me now. So…

 

Grace paced some more, watching the phone. Seconds passed. Then the return message came back.

 

So…I'll be here. Remember that.

 

Grace looked up as Jilly turned the corner, holding a tray loaded with plates and cartons. “Any phone sex yet? What did I miss?”

“Yeah, we've been burning up the wires here. Too bad you missed all of it.”

“Let me see—” Jilly made a lunge for the phone, and the two swung around, giddy with laughter. Jilly barely managed to get the tray down safely. “Go on. Do all the hot texting you want. I'll check out which of this stuff is edible.” With a last, knowing glance at her friend, she moved off to the little table next to the vending machines.

Grace's phone chimed again.

 

R u still there?

 

Yes, at the hospital. Are you at work?

 

Yeah.

 

Grace glanced at her watch and frowned.

 

It's late. Why aren't you home with your feet up, nursing a cup of Irish coffee? Rolling Stones on the stereo. Or maybe Gipsy Kings…