Almost Like Being in Love (26 page)

After a few minutes of silence, Jessica had another question for him. “So, any more ideas about proposing?”

Alex choked on his sip of water. “No . . . no. Haven't had the time. I thought I'd, uh, take her looking at rings like you suggested.”

“Like I suggested?”

“You said to make sure I knew what kind of ring she wanted. I figured the best way to do that was to take her ring shopping.”

“You've known her for how long?”

“Since I was eleven. Seems like forever. And before you say anything, I mean that in a good way.”

“And you've dated . . . ?”

“Two years.”

“And you don't know what kind of ring she likes?”

“It's not an everyday topic of conversation.”

“What's her favorite color?”

“I don't know . . . blue, maybe.”

“Does she wear gold or silver jewelry?”

“Both?”

“When you buy her flowers, does she like tulips or roses?”

“I buy her roses.”

“But what does she
like
?”

“Why all the questions?”

“After all this time, I would think you'd know some of these things. And that you'd know your future wife well enough to know what kind of ring she wants. Even if you do take her ring shopping—”

“I just told you that I was going to take her looking at rings—”

Jessica shook her head. “You can still surprise her with the ring you choose for her. That's why you need to plan something fun and creative.”

“If you say so.”

“What about a treasure hunt?”

“A treasure hunt?”

“You know, plant little notes that she has to find and follow the messages . . . maybe they lead to special places that mean something to both of you . . . and then you meet her at the last place and you propose there. Where do you spend most of your time?”

“At her parents' house. We eat there just about every Sunday.”

“Well, that's not very romantic. Don't you have a favorite restaurant or—”

He needed to figure out some way to change the topic. Ask her about her job. Or compliment her on the spinach.

“Mommy, what happened to that car?”

Scotty was swiveled around in his chair, his attention riveted on the silent TV screen. Some sort of breaking news played out across the screen. A car accident.

“Oh, my gosh. I thought I turned that thing off. I must have hit the mute button by mistake.” Jessica jumped up to grab the remote. “I don't want him seeing that.”

Alex stared at the scene. An older-model four-door black sedan in the middle of a grocery-store parking lot, rammed into a line of parked cars, shoving them all akilter. The camera zoomed in on the woman sitting in the driver's seat, blood streaming down her face into her neck and the collar of her . . . black bathrobe.

“Wait.” His voice was too loud. Harsh.

“What?” Jessica stopped, the remote control aimed at the TV.

“I need to see this . . . I . . . I know the woman in that car.”

“What?” Jessica stepped in front of the TV. “Scotty, honey, go to your room.”

“But, Mommy, I haven't finished eating . . .”

“Go to your room—”

“It's okay, Jessica.”
Alex shoved his chair back, the wood scraping against the floor. “I need to leave.”

“I don't understand. What's going on?”

He lowered his voice so Scotty wouldn't hear him. “The woman in the car . . . she's my mother. I need to leave. Now.”

H
ow could you let this happen, Alex?” His father's words assaulted him like a verbal slap as the two of them waited in the hushed hospital hallway.

“Me?” Alex jerked to attention. “Why is this my fault?”

“I was out on an emergency call, you knew that.” His father's boots thudded as he paced the corridor. Six steps to the left. Turn. Six steps to the right. Turn. “Why weren't you home?”

“I was on a repair call—”

“There was nothing on the books—and don't say there was. I checked.”

“I was helping a client . . . who's also a friend . . . with a broken washing machine.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “And just because I live at home doesn't mean I have to tell you where I am at all times.”

His father motioned to the room where his mother lay, medicated into a fitful sleep. “If you'd been home, this wouldn't have happened.”

“You can't
expect me to stay home twenty-four hours a day just because something might happen—”

“A broken nose. Fractured wrist. Mild concussion.” His father continued on as if Alex hadn't spoken. “Not to mention being ticketed for the accident and a DUI.”

“Look, I'm sorry this happened, but Mom is the one who chose to get in the car and go buy more alcohol—”

“Don't you realize how this could affect the business?” His father scrubbed his hand down his face, which was shadowed with a scattering of dark whiskers flecked with gray. “The news channels have already linked your mother to me and the business. What will our customers think?”

“So that's what this is really about, huh? Your reputation? How this affects business?” Alex stepped in front of his father, forcing him to stop pacing. “For once I thought you might actually care about Mom.”

“Hey!” Alex's father poked his finger in his chest, pushing Alex back against the wall. “What kind of talk is that? I love your mother.”

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it. You're always asking me to check on her. For your information, I am not Mom's babysitter. You're gone so much there were times I wondered if you had a girlfriend—”

His father took a step closer, breathing heavy, hands fisted. At that moment, a nurse exited the room where Alex's mom rested, and stepped in between them. “There is an injured woman in there, in case you've forgotten. I suggest both of you quiet down. And you—” She moved Alex's father toward the door. “—go sit with your wife. Your son can go get some coffee.”

Without another word, his father disappeared into the hospital room. Alex shrugged off the nurse's hand. He needed fresh air, not coffee.

As he stepped off the elevator, his cell phone buzzed—a number he didn't recognize. Great. Another customer who couldn't make it through the night without air-conditioning. What did it matter that his mother was in the hospital?

“Emerald Coast Air-Conditioning and Heating, Alex speaking. How can I help you?”

“Alex, it's Jessica.” Her words were rushed. “I hope it's okay that I called. Your number was on the business card you gave me.”

He was surprised at how hearing her voice seemed to calm some of the pounding in his head.

“Hey, Jessica. Don't tell me, I know. The unit fritzed out, right?”

“No.”

“The washing machine?”

“No. And even if they had, I wouldn't call you about that now.”

“Then why are you calling?” The hospital doors slid open, allowing Alex to step outside, the humid night air swallowing him in its grasp.

“I'm calling because I'm worried about you—and your mother.”

Her words tangled around his heart, making it difficult to breathe. To speak. Jessica was breaching invisible boundaries. Couldn't she read the
NO TRESPASSING
sign?

“Alex, are you still there?”

“Yes . . . I'm here.”

“And where is ‘there'? Are you at home or the hospital? I've been watching the news to get updates, so I know they took your mom to the hospital.”

“We're still here. My mom has a mild concussion, a broken nose—that's why she had so much blood on her face—and a fractured wrist.”

“Oh, how awful.
Did they admit her?”

“Yes, just overnight for observation.”

“I'm so sorry, Alex. Is there anything I can do?”

Anything she could do? Swear to keep his secret, maybe? If Jessica watched the news, then she now knew his mother had failed a Breathalyzer test and been ticketed for a DUI. No alcohol was found in the car, but only because she had been going to the store to purchase more wine before she crashed.

“No, but thanks for asking.” Alex paced the sidewalk. “For calling.”

“I'm praying, too. And Scotty prayed for your mom before he fell asleep.”

“Scotty?”

“Yes, he kept asking about the lady in the car accident. And when I tucked him in bed tonight, he asked if we could pray for her. Of course I said yes.”

Alex stared at the mostly empty parking lot, his grip on the phone tightening. He scraped the back of his fist against his dry lips.

“Alex?”

“Yeah.” His answer came out on a rough exhale that burned his throat. “Tell Scotty that I said thank you for praying for my mom.”

“I didn't tell him it was your mom.”

“It's okay. I trust you with that information. And Scotty, too.”

“You sound tired. I guess that's stating the obvious, huh?”

He slumped against the side of his car. “I don't think I thanked you for dinner.”

“No need.”

“Thank you.”

“I have some leftovers put aside for you.”

“Your mother raised you right.”

“That she did.” Jessica's voice softened. “Can you go home and get some sleep now?”

“Yes. My father . . . is staying with my mom tonight.” Jessica didn't need to know how unusual that was. “So I'm heading home.”

“Drive safely. And sleep well.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

The memory of his conversation with Jessica replayed in his mind as he drove home. She cared enough to call. Enough to pray.

But Jessica also knew who his mother was . . . what his mother was. And she still prayed for her. It was one thing for an innocent little boy like Scotty to pray for his mom—an unknown woman who'd been in a car accident. He was sure Jessica had whitewashed the details. Leaving out words like
driving under the influence
and
drunk
and
police
when explaining the situation to Scotty.

What did it matter, anyway? It wasn't like he was going to see them again. The air conditioner was fixed. The washing machine, too. And there was no need for him to pick up the leftovers, no matter how good a cook Jessica was.

Her words were laced with concern—not judgment. She'd prayed for him, and encouraged her little boy to pray for him, too. For all the history he had with Caron, he fought against calling Jessica back. Just to hear her voice. To lean into the calm understanding she offered. Maybe she'd pray for him again . . . something he seemed unable to do.

Pulling up outside his parents' house, Alex turned off the engine, palming his keys. And just sat.

The crisis, like so many others, was past. If Caron were in town, he'd call her. Tell her what had happened. She'd
understand, having been through countless other crises with him. She knew the routine. Knew his secrets. And it wasn't the first time his mother had gone the drinking-and-driving route. It was just the first time in a long time. Years.

Alex pressed speed dial for Caron's number. Yes, it was late, but he'd woken Caron up before—

“Hello?” Caron's greeting was whispered.

“It's me, Alex. Were you sleeping?”

“No, I'm up. Working.”

“I don't think Kade Webster is paying you enough to go without sleep to stage that home—”

“Alex, I'm two hours behind you. It's only eleven o'clock here.”

“Are you working this late every night?”

A sigh preceded her answer. “What's wrong, Alex? You didn't call me because you thought I might be working late. Is it your mom?”

Alex tugged at his collar, the cab of the truck too hot. He shoved open the door, but that only allowed the humidity to seep in. “My mother's in the hospital.”

“What?” Caron's voice sharpened. “What happened?”

“She wrecked the car driving to the liquor store. She's got a broken nose and wrist and a concussion.”

“Oh, how awful.”

“That's not the worst of it.”

“What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat, forcing the words out. “The accident made the evening news.”

“Oh, Alex—”

“You can imagine how thrilled my dad was about that.”

“I'm sure he's more worried about your mom—”

“No. No, he was more concerned about ripping me apart. Asking why I didn't stop her from leaving the house.”

“Were you there?”

“No, but that doesn't
stop my father from blaming me.”

“Alex, you know this wasn't your fault.”

Did he? When was the last time he didn't feel responsible for his mother?

“The accident wasn't your fault, Alex.” Caron's voice broke through his doubts. “I know you're upset, and I'm sorry. I wish I was there.”