Sweet Tomorrows (22 page)

“He's a widower…his wife died of cancer the same year as Paul was killed. He works…”

“If you don't mind, I'd rather not hear about him.”

“Right,” she said, and looked guilty as sin. “I don't mean to be insensitive.”

“It's a little late for that.”

“Mark, you're the one who left me; you're the one who insisted you weren't coming back.”

I barely heard her. All I could think about was Jo Marie, my Jo Marie, with another man. “How serious is it?” I barked the question, surprised I had the strength to raise my voice.

“I…I don't know yet. It's all rather confusing.”

“You're confused?” I asked and nearly laughed out loud. What a cliché.

“It's been a year, Mark. A year. I'm not the same woman you left behind. I've changed and so have you.”

“No,” I argued. “I'm exactly the same man I was when I left Cedar Cove. If anything, I'm a better man.”

“Okay, fine, you're a better man, and now you're telling me you've taken some kind of deep, dark secret assignment with the government that might mean…anything, but I wouldn't know because you can't talk about it. I don't know how much more you intend to ask of me…you can't or won't talk. Am I supposed to just sit by and…wait to find out if you're dead or alive?”

Her words hung in the air between us like a tightrope walker suspended above the Grand Canyon.

“I don't remember asking you to give up anything,” I said.

“You're right, you didn't. You assumed that I would.”

“I made no such assumption,” I insisted, and I hadn't. My hope was that given time we'd work everything out together. That was what a couple committed to each other did. What I didn't know, which was naïve of me, I realized now, was that Jo Marie had met someone else.

Neither of us spoke for what seemed like an eternity. I was the one who ventured first. “What was his name again? Gary?”

“Greg.”

I purposely asked when I knew full well what his name was. “You talk to him often?” Being that Jo Marie had been spending the majority of every day with me, it wasn't likely they were seeing each other, at least not lately.

“Yes.” She admitted this with some hesitation.

“Good. Give him a message from me.”

Her eyes darted back to me. “What kind of message?”

“You explain to Gary…”

“Greg,” she said heatedly.

“Whatever. You tell Greg that I'm not giving you up. Tell him he has the fight of his life on his hands. I didn't come this far to let another man steal you away. You got that, Jo Marie?”

She nodded.

“You hear me?”

She nodded again.

That message wasn't just for Greg. It was for her, too.

It was almost a week since I'd last seen Nick. We talked every day, though, often for hours on end. I heard him at night sometimes, walking around the inn, but I made a point of not seeking him out. His nighttime wanderings told me he still had trouble sleeping. I knew he wanted me to sit in the dark and talk the way we had before. I resisted. Becoming his crutch wasn't part of the plan.

I urged him to see a counselor and promised to go with him if that would help make it easier. At first he shrugged it off, but then, to my surprise, he agreed. I knew he meant to show me that he wasn't looking to use me. This was his way of letting me know he was willing to make an effort to deal with the panic attacks.

It was important that I protect my heart. It would be far too easy to fall in love with him. I was halfway there already. We were both wounded souls, and the intensity of the attraction was like swimming against an ocean current.

Saturday morning I got a text message from Nick.

What's your day look like?

I stared at the text for a long time, trying to assess what he was really asking. It shouldn't be hard to decipher. He wanted to see me.

Not much. What are you thinking?

Can you stop by the house?

I stared at the message for a long time. Long enough for him to send me an additional text.

You were right.

Right about what?

The paint in the kitchen. Come see for yourself.

I exhaled as I tried to think how best to respond. While I wanted to help him get past the trauma of the car accident, I felt he needed to get outside of the house. The renovations were an excuse he used to hole himself up.

Take me out to lunch first.

I waited after typing the words for what seemed like an eternity before he responded.

Okay.

All at once I realized I'd been holding my breath. And then I grinned.

You sure you want to do this?
He texted next.

Already he was having second thoughts.
Yup.

Afraid of that.

I sent him a smiley face. We agreed he would pick me up at the inn at noon, and on my recommendation he chose a local Mexican restaurant.

I'd just put away my phone when Jo Marie came into the kitchen. She was dressed and ready to leave for the hospital. She hadn't mentioned how Mark fared in the last few days, and that left me to wonder if all was well.

“How's it going?” I asked.

Her eyes shot to mine as if I'd asked something shocking. “Okay.” She continued to stare at me.

Something definitely was up and my guess was that it involved Greg. “Want to tell me what's going on?” I asked. It went without saying that spending all her time at the hospital had put a physical and mental strain on her, but this was something more. We hadn't had a chance to talk all week, and I was beginning to suspect she'd been avoiding me.

“I'm fine,” she snapped.

Obviously she wasn't. I arched my eyebrows at her.

Her shoulders sagged. “Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that.”

She appeared apprehensive and restless. Something was definitely not right. “Problems with Mark?” I asked, and I wasn't referring to his medical issues.

She shrugged and avoided what I was really asking. “He's doing great, even better than expected, driving himself harder than he should.”

I'd assumed as much, but that wasn't what I wanted to know.

She looked away as if gauging how much she wanted to tell me. Making her uncomfortable wasn't something I wanted to do, nor did I intend on pressuring her into sharing confidences.

“It's fine,” I assured her, and because I felt she needed it, I gave her a quick hug.

Stepping toward the kitchen counter, Jo Marie reached for a mug and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I made a mistake.”

“Oh?” I didn't want to pry, but if she wanted to talk, I had a ready ear and a solid shoulder.

“I told Mark about Greg.” Her gaze remained focused on some distant point, as if she was deep in thought. “I wish now that I'd waited. It was too soon and now he's pushing himself way too hard.” She sipped her coffee and I knew that was an excuse to keep the emotion at bay. “Mark started talking about our future and I had to stop him because I don't know if we'll be together…or if that's what I want.”

Frankly, I was stunned. Ever since we'd met, Jo Marie had been all about Mark. I knew from the moment she first mentioned his name that she loved him. Yes, she'd dated Greg, and I also knew that the two of them had hit it off. It came as a shock to realize her feelings for Greg had intensified to the point that they might take precedence over Mark.

“You're in love with Greg?” I asked, although it wasn't really my business. I was surprised and unable to hide it.

She looked like she was about to break into tears. “I don't know…but I'm unwilling to break it off with him, especially when Mark might be required to return to the Middle East.”

“What?” This was the first I'd heard of this. My breath caught in my throat. “He's not going, is he?”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don't know…I as good as told him that if he did I was done. I refuse to sit at home and worry about him coming back. I can't do it. I won't.”

Stunned, I hardly knew what to say.

Jo Marie looked utterly miserable. Her eyes were shadowed and I doubted she slept more than a few hours at a stretch. “Greg and I talk and he knows something's bothering me, but not what. I don't want to lose him, but I don't want him to think I'm using him.”

“Greg knows about Mark, though, right?”

“Yes, of course. I told him even before I knew Mark was alive.”

“And when he learned Mark was stateside he decided he still wanted to be part of your life?” Although I asked, I knew he had. “He was willing to risk losing you, so I have to believe all he wants is for you to be honest with him.”

“I meant what I said to Mark,” Jo Marie reiterated.

I had to agree; it would be unreasonable of Mark to ask Jo Marie to wait.

“This wasn't a line in the sand,” she continued, “it's one drawn across wet concrete. Once it dries there's no going back.”

I could see she was determined if the look in her eyes was anything to go by.

“It'll work itself out,” I said, playing the role of the optimist.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, but she didn't seem convinced.

She left for the hospital soon afterward and I served breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, and then tackled changing the sheets and getting the inn ready for another set of guests.

By the time I finished and changed clothes, it was noon. I waited on the front porch, expecting Nick to stop by any minute. After fifteen minutes I realized he wasn't coming. A text from him confirmed it. I studied my phone for several moments, doing my best to read between the lines. All he said was that something had come up. I didn't believe him.

Fine, then I'd go to him. I set off walking. As soon as I rounded the corner of Bethel Street, Nick's house came into view. I felt its welcome the same as I did the first morning.

Elvis, who was on the front porch, saw me first and barked a greeting. Almost right away, Nick stepped outside the kitchen door. Just from the way he stood I knew something was wrong. He leaned against the column with shoulders hunched forward as if he hated himself for having disappointed and failed me.

“Hey,” I said, walking up the concrete pathway.

“Hey.” He feigned a smile.

“You're late,” I said casually, keeping any censure out of my voice. “I thought we had a date.”

“You didn't get my text.”

“I got it. Doesn't look to me like you're too busy to keep our lunch date.” Something had happened between this morning and now. From his earlier text he seemed eager to see me.

I noticed that his hands had started to fidget, clenching and unclenching, and his legs shook. He was getting ready to have another panic attack.

“Nick,” I said softly, gripping hold of his hand. “Tell me what's happened.”

“You should go.”

“If you don't want to take me to lunch, fine, but I thought you wanted me to check out the kitchen. You painted the walls, right?”

“Come back another time.” His teeth were clenched.

I could see he was barely holding himself together. The shaking in his hands and legs continued.

“Please, Em, just go.”

“Don't think so. I want to know what happened.”

Nick sank into a chair on the porch and his knees started to bob up and down and his breathing went shallow. “Just leave.”

I squatted down in front of him and grabbed hold of his hands again. “Talk to me.”

He adamantly shook his head. His breathing went shallow, and he started to hyperventilate and seemed unable to get his breath. I saw the panic in his eyes. I'd had some experience with those with one of the children in my class.

“Look at me,” I demanded.

His shoulders heaved as he panted.

“Nick.” I squeezed his hands and forced him to look at me. “Count to five and then breathe.”

He didn't seem to be able to hear me.

“Nick,” I repeated firmly.

Elvis barked and that caught Nick's attention. His eyes were wide, wild, and frantic. Nothing I said seemed to make it through to him. For one crazy moment I feared he was about to pass out. He needed help, more than I could give him. The only thing I could think to do was call 911.

I grabbed my phone out of my purse.

He seemed to understand what I was about to do and cried out, “No.”

“Then breathe,” I demanded. “Hold your breath to the count of five and then breathe.”

I could see him trying, but by this time his lips were nearly blue. I could see his jugular vein throbbing in his neck. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I grabbed hold of him as I had before and hugged his upper body to mine. He was shaking so violently that he shook me, too, but I refused to let go. After what seemed a lifetime, he slowly relaxed and tucked his head against my shoulder.

I brushed his hair back from his forehead and whispered, “You're going to be okay.”

He snickered as if he didn't believe me. “I heard from my parents,” he whispered. His hand tightened painfully around mine. “I haven't seen them since the funeral. They called…They want to stop by the house.”

“Of course they want to see you. You're their son.”

His eyes flared with resentment. “Don't you understand, I killed my brother! How am I supposed to face them?”

I continued to brush the hair from his forehead. “Your parents have already lost one son; they don't want to lose you, too.”

His eyes shot to mine. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Those are the exact words my mother said to me.”

“They need you,” I whispered.

Nick shook his head. “I can't do it. I can't face them knowing Brad's death is on my hands.”

“You can,” I argued, knowing it wasn't really a choice. Nick would never have closure unless he reconciled with his parents.

He rolled his eyes as if in agony. I couldn't bear to see him in this pain and hugged him again. He wrapped his arms around me as if I was the only thing solid in a world that had spun out of control.

“Will you be here with me when they come?”

My breath caught.

“Yes, I need you, Em. I can't do this alone. I told them about you and that you'd convinced me to see a counselor and how much you'd helped me.”

“Oh, Nick, I don't know.”

“I can't do it without you,” he argued.

“But Nick, they don't know me…this is a private family matter.” I couldn't begin to imagine how difficult this would be for Nick and his parents. I was a stranger, and while I was willing to help Nick, I wasn't convinced my being with him while he talked to his parents was something I should do.