.jpg)
I was silent a moment. “Because I like you. A lot. I think I could develop…feelings for you. Perhaps I already have. But in order to protect myself, I have to be careful about who I let into my life, into my heart. And unless you are willing to do what it takes to heal yourself, to find your confidence and strength, I cannot allow myself to get involved with you.” I swallowed hard, hating the taste of honesty. “I want to, I really do. But you’re…you’re still wallowing in toxicity, though you are not drinking any longer. The toxicity remains, and it will win in time, if not addressed. And I can’t…I just can’t, Lucas, no matter what my heart may want.”
“Just your heart?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It all starts with the heart, and leads back to it,” I answered, knowing I’d correctly divined his meaning. “For me, there is no separating my heart from my mind or my body.”
He stared at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. “I see.”
“I want to be your friend, Lucas.”
“But that’s it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
He hissed, frustrated. “I think I need time to…to figure things out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Lucas.” I met his eyes. “Literally or metaphorically. I am your friend. I want to hike with you, paddle with you. Have lunch.”
“But not dinner, or breakfast?”
I frowned, trying to parse his meaning. “Lucas…”
“Meaning, dinner as a date, and breakfast the morning after.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I knew better how to answer. “I…I told you. I can’t separate my mind or my body from my heart—despite parts of me wanting something deeper with you, I can’t go there unless I know I’m getting all of you. I won’t settle for leftovers, Lucas.”
He hissed again, and then groaned. “No, you won’t. And you shouldn’t.” He looked at me, sad beyond expression. “I need to think.”
“Lucas…”
He smiled at me. “I’ll be okay.”
I watched him walk away, and felt a heaviness. A reaching of my heart. A yearning of my body. I wanted to comfort him, and to be comforted.
I longed to be able to have dinner with him…and even breakfast the next morning, someday. But I knew I’d done the right thing. I just hated how much it had hurt him to do so, when he’d already suffered so much.
I went home, pretending it hadn’t hurt me as much has it had Lucas.
“Mom?” This was Cassie, my second-oldest daughter, when I answered the phone Monday morning at 2 a.m.
“Cassie? What’s going on, baby? It’s two a.m., here.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just…” she sounded shaken.
I sat up in bed, turned on my bedside lamp. “Cass, baby girl. Talk to Mama.”
“There was a wreck, Mom.”
My heart stopped. “Oh no, oh god. Who—”
“Rick, my fiancé. He’s in a coma.”
I blinked, trying to be fully awake process what she was saying. “Wait—Rick…your fiancé?”
“Yes, Mom. Jesus.”
“I’m sorry, I just…” I shook my head. “He’s in a coma?”
“Medically induced. But now they’re not sure he’s going to be able to come out of it. Or if he does, that he’ll…that he’ll be…” She couldn’t finish. “He proposed three weeks ago. We were going to come up and visit you and tell you in person. That’s why you don’t know, yet. No one does.”
“God, Cassie, I’m so sorry.” I let out a breath. “Are you hurt? Physically?”
“I broke my leg.”
Oh. Oh no. Oh god, no. “Cassandra, no.”
“Shattered it in three places. I’ll need plates and screws.”
“Cass—”
“I’ll never dance again. Not professionally.”
Cassie was a dancer—she’d gotten a full ride to Julliard, had graduated with honors and had been hired immediately by a dance troupe which toured internationally. Dance was her life. It was her—who she was, and who she had been since she was a little girl.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“You don’t need to come, Mom. You have clients and things.”
Silly, silly girl. She’s always been the tough one, the show-no-weakness one. “Cassandra Danielle Goode, you don’t really think you could stop me from being with you right now, do you?”
“Mom—” her voice broke, and that was, for Cassie, the equivalent of a body-racking sob, an ear-piercing scream. “I…I—”
“First flight out, Cass. Where are you?”
A long, long pause. “Paris.”
“France?” I asked, stupidly.
“Yes, Paris, France.” I heard her gathering her strength, her courage. “That’s why you’re not coming. You don’t need you to spend that kind of money on a ticket all the way here. I’m getting the surgery the day after tomorrow, and I’ll be on a flight home to New York once I’m cleared for travel. You can meet me at the airport. Okay?”
She wasn’t the only one with a spine of steel—where did she think she’d gotten it from? “Cassandra, you will have your mother in that hospital with you.”
“Mom.”
“Cass?”
“Don’t. Please.”
“Stop, love. Just stop.” I quieted my voice, knowing with Cassie the only way to get through to her was with gentleness; aggression would only stiffen her pride and stubbornness. “I’m coming. I’m your mama. This is what mothers do, Cassie-lassie.”
She groaned a laugh. “Cassie-lassie? You haven’t called me that in like ten years.”
“First flight I can find, baby girl. Hang tight and be tough. Mama’s coming.”
She sniffled. “Mama, I…” she cut off with an audible gulp.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Keep it together a little longer. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Mom, flights here are, like, thousands of dollars. Plus a hotel—”
“Let me worry about that. You just stay strong.”
“I know I’m supposed to be the tough one in the family. But I…I’m scared.”
“You don’t have to be tough all the time, Cass. We’ll figure this out together.”
“I’ll never dance again.”
“Cassandra, put that out of your mind. That’s not your priority right now. And don’t you dare put limits on yourself. Neither you nor the doctors nor anyone knows anything for sure. Right now, you just breathe like I taught you.”
She did as instructed—took a deep breath to the count of four, held it for four seconds, and let it out for a four count, and she did this four times: it was square breathing, which I had learned from a yoga teacher as a way to combat anxiety and panic, and I had taught it to all of my girls.
Once done, she was steadier. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Nope. Not a word of that.”
“But you don’t know—”
“I don’t care. You can tell me when I’m sitting there with you.”
“Okay. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Cassie-lassie.”
Once the call was ended, I tossed my phone aside on the bed and did some square breathing myself. Calmer, I snagged my phone up again and looked up flights. The soonest one was tomorrow—or rather, today—at five a.m., but it was a flight with several long layovers, so it ended up being fastest to take a flight at nine-forty, but which only stopped in Seattle and went directly from there to Charles de Gaulle airport. And it cost almost seven grand for a round trip. Yikes.
But this was my daughter, and I’d have given her a kidney, or my very life if needed, so a few thousand dollars was a small enough price to pay to be there for her when she needed me. I booked the flight, checked in, saved my boarding pass to my phone, and set about packing. There would be no more sleep tonight, so I may as well get busy.
By first light I was packed for a month. Once it was a decent hour, I began calling my clients, explaining that I had a family emergency. In a couple o
f cases, I emailed them my designs and an invoice, and told them they could either wait for me to return, or take my design proposal and let their contractor create things from there. I suppose it was a testimony to my clients’ loyalty to me that they all chose to wait until I was able to return.
I called a cab to take me to the ferry to the airport but, on the way, we passed my favorite hardware store.
“Excuse me,” I said to the driver. “Could we stop here for a moment?”
He glanced at me over his shoulder, puzzled. “The hardware store? On the way to the airport?” He shrugged laconically, and pulled over into the parking lot. “Whatever, lady. Keepin’ the meter running, though.”
“Thank you. My friend works here and I need to speak to him before I leave. He doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“Who the shit doesn’t have a cell phone, these days?” I heard him mutter, but it was to himself rather than to me, so I ignored his comment as I headed into the store.
I was greeted by Bill. “Hey-a, Liv. What can I get for you this fine morning?”
I smiled back at him, but it was strained. “I actually need to see Lucas.”
Bill’s eyebrows raised a tiny bit, but then lowered again. “Sure. I’ll page him.” He grabbed the phone, pressed the intercom button, and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Lucas to the register, please. Lucas, to the register.”
Lucas arrived in a minute or so, wearing an apron, carrying a handful of boxes of screws. He was sorting through them as he walked, not really looking up. “What’s up, Bill? I never work register, so—” He saw me, then, and halted, mouth clicking closed. “Liv. What’s up?”
I glanced at Bill, simply because this was a pretty private conversation—fortunately, Bill caught the hint, and muttered something about getting more coffee from the break room.
When he was gone, I shifted from one foot to the other. “So, my daughter, Cassie, the second oldest. She’s a dancer with an international dance troupe, and she got in a car wreck in Paris. Broke her leg, and her fiancé is in a coma. They’re not sure if he’ll wake up. So, I have to go to Paris.”
He cleared his throat. “Paris, like, France?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Her troupe dances all over the world.”
“She must be pretty talented.”
“She is.”
“Broke her leg, huh? Not good, if she’s a dancer.”
I let out a long breath. “No, it’s not. She says she needs plates and screws and things, which is probably going to be the end of the line, as far as professional dance goes.”
He shook his head. “God dang, Liv, your girls are goin’ through it, ain’t they? Sorry to hear.” He fiddled with the boxes. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Check on your condo?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any pets or plants, so there’s nothing to really check on, but thanks. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be gone…I’m not sure how long.”
“Appreciate the heads-up. Have a safe trip, yeah?” He shuffled his feet, fiddled with the boxes of screws, making them jingle as they shifted. “Liv, I…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Nah, not the time. You gotta go be with your girl.”
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
“Just that I appreciate you being there yesterday. That was rough, and unexpected, tellin’ that story like that, in front of all that family I barely know. You being there, not judging me…” He rolled a shoulder. “It meant a lot to me. More than you know. So…thanks. That’s all I wanted to say.”
“You’re welcome, Lucas. That’s what friends do, you know.”
“Well, I want to be there for you like that, if you ever need anything. So please, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”
I felt something inside me melt a little further, and I leaned forward, into him, wrapping my arms around him. I buried my nose in his neck, and felt his arms close around my shoulders, enveloping me in warmth and strength. For a moment, I just enjoyed the feeling—the feeling of being sheltered like that…something I missed dearly. More than I had known, I realized. I inhaled his scent—hardware store scent, soap, and something woodsy and male. Heady. Dizzying.
I backed away, unsteady on my feet, my heart doing flip-flops. “I needed a hug. Thank you.”
He cleared his throat, a gruff, blustery sound. “Yeah. Well.” He rubbed his nose. “You smell amazing.”
I couldn’t help a grin. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
He scratched his beard. “Ramsey got me some sorta oil to put in my beard, makes it softer and smell good.”
“I…it’s nice.” I felt so stupid, feeling so off-kilter and heady just from a hug. “I have to go. Flight is in a couple hours and I need to be on it.”
“Go. Be with your girl. It’ll all work out, okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure it will. She’s a tough girl.”
“She’s got a great mom.”
I backed away, breathing slowly and deeply through the flutters in my stomach. “Thank you, Lucas. Hopefully I’ll back soon, and we can…talk more.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll catch up whenever it works out. Go mom the hell outta that girl.”
I smiled at that turn of phrase, and then waved as I headed out the door and climbed back into the cab.
The whole way to the airport, through security and check-in, and while I sat waiting to board, all I could think of was how his arms around me had felt, how his scent had made my stomach tight. How being in his arms had just felt…right.
Then finally my flight started boarding, and I did my best to put Lucas out of my mind while I started researching places to stay near the hospital—Cassie had texted me the address of the hospital, so I should be able to find a room close by.
Charlie had broken up with her boyfriend and was likely going to quit her job, Poppy was likely going to quit school without a definite plan for the future, and now Cassie was facing a career-ending injury, and a comatose fiancé…and I had not known they were even engaged.
God, please, can we make sure Lexie and Torie avoid any life-changing crises? Thanks.
11
Lucas
A week turned into two, and then Liv sent me a postcard from Paris at the start of week three, telling me Cassie’s surgery had gone well and that she was healing and going through physical therapy before attempting the journey home. Cassie’s dance troupe was paying for Liv’s stay in Paris, while insurance was taking care of the medical bills.
I was working out with Baxter six days a week, resting Sunday and treating myself to a cheeseburger and fries; the rest of the week, I was working out, intermittent fasting from eight in the evening until noon, eating clean, lean foods, consisting mainly of salad, turkey and chicken, brown rice, sweet potatoes, fish, avocado, eggs, and berries. Funny part of it was, I felt better than I had…pretty much ever, even as a young man. The fat was melting off, and I was getting stronger by the day. My limp was gone, and that leg was back to full strength. My gut was vanishing by the day, my muscles were gaining shape and tautness, and my confidence was soaring.
I’d even taken up running every morning with Zane who, it turned out, lived in a converted warehouse just down the street with his wife Mara and their son Jax. Zane was an early bird out of habit from his years as a Navy SEAL, so we met outside his warehouse at five every morning, ran three, four, or five miles, and then I would shower and go into work, meet Bax at his gym for an hour of torture known as HIIT workout and weight lifting, and then I’d usually spend the evening at home.
Alone.
Sometimes, Roman, Remington, or Ramsey would come by and hang out with me, or take me to dinner. Occasionally I’d go hiking with Ramsey, and those hikes turned into one of my favorite things.
It was halfway through the third week of Liv’s absence, and I was on the trail with Ramsey, hiking up in the wilderness off-trail near Deer Mountain. Ramsey was ahead of me a wa
ys, out of sight but within shouting distance—we’d hiked together enough by this point that we had a system: he’d lead the way in a general direction, and we’d hike that way separately but always within shouting distance of each other. He’d long-since gone beyond the need to stay on maintained trails, preferring instead to head into the real wilderness, trusting in his knowledge of the terrain and a compass, while I trusted him…
And my own recurring memories.
Lena, Liam, and I had spent endless hours in these woods surrounding Ketchikan, and while the terrain had obviously changed somewhat, the basic landmarks were the same, and even some of the older trees I’d used for specific landmarks were still there.
I caught up to Ram as he topped a rise, pausing to sit with his back to a tree, sipping from his canteen.
He glanced at me, a long, speculative look. “You know, Dad, I gotta admit, I was kinda skeptical there for a while, but it really does look like you’ve turned your shit around.”
I pulled a small pocketknife from my hip pocket and picked up a stick, whittling at the end of it. “You got every right to be skeptical,” I said, slowly. “But yeah, this ain’t a fluke. I feel good. I like being sober and healthy. I like working out, feeling myself getting stronger, looking less like a tubby fuckin’ walrus and more like I used’ta look.” I laughed. “Well, used to look, plus forty years of hard living.”
“You look great, Dad.” Ram grinned at me. “Honest answer, though—how much of this is for yourself, and how much of it is about Olivia?”
I sighed. “Honest answer is complicated, son. I’m doin’ it for me, and for her.”
Ram frowned. “Want to elaborate on that?”
“Well, she’s sort of the motivation. I want to look good, feel good, be good, for her. I want to be able to go on hikes with her and not be out of breath in less’n a mile. I want to be a man she’d be proud to be seen with and, the truth is, I wasn’t that when I met her. I was a sad sack of self-pitying shit. And yeah, she was the motivator to get my shit figured out, because I like her, and I want to see more of her, but she’s too wary and too proud to be sucked into the mess that is my life, and with reason, damn good reason. So, if I start havin’ some pride in who I am and what I look like, maybe she’ll let herself like me more, and we can be more than just friends.”