Beguiling (Tempting #2) (21 page)

L
eo squeezed
my waist as I leaned over to grab my phone and I laid my hand on his. “Give me just a second,” I said to him as I slid my thumb across the screen.

“Hey mom,” I said on an answer, pushing Leo’s hands away with an easy smile as I sat up straighter.

“Honey. I hate to say this over the phone…” Her voice was thick, and though I’d only actually seen my mother cry a few times, I knew precisely how it affected her voice.

Knowing that, my heart flopped into my stomach and everything came to a standstill around me. “What is it?” I said, but I couldn’t tell you how I formed the words because already, in the anticipation of something I knew would devastate me, my limbs had gone completely numb.

“It’s your dad—” she began, before stopping to muffle a sob.

I pressed a hand to my mouth. In the back of my mind, I registered that Leo was saying something but I couldn’t concentrate on it. All I heard was my mom, crying as she told me news that I was sure would rock my world. A cold rush filled my veins as I waited for her to continue.

“He had a stroke.” She paused and I felt a small relief that it wasn’t something worse. “And in the process of having a stroke, he had a heart attack.” She cleared her throat. “He’s in ICU. We don’t know how bad it is just yet.”

“I need to come,” I said instantly.

“I’m about to book your plane ticket. But head to the airport anyway, see if you can fly standby in case I can’t book you until much later.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “I’ll leave right now.”

“I’ll text you the flight information,” she said before adding, “I’m sorry, Scarlet.” And then her breath hitched and I practically felt her tremble through the phone.

I closed my eyes, felt moisture build up behind my eyelids. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.” I opened my eyes as I pulled the phone from my face and slowly remembered where I was.

Leo was laying on the bed next to me, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on?”

I stared at him a moment, wanting nothing more than to fall completely apart. But I wasn’t that girl, the one who gave into emotions. Immediately, I snapped into action. “Shit,” I murmured, looking down at my bare chest. I put an arm around me as I searched for my bra first with my eyes before I trusted my legs enough to climb off the bed. “I need to go.”

“I got that much. What is it? Let me drive you.”

“No.” I held up a hand, halting him from getting up to join me. My eyes caught on my bra and I grabbed it, quickly putting my arms through the straps and trying to snap it behind me. My fingers fumbled on the clasp and Leo moved again like he wanted to help, but I couldn’t think about him helping me at that moment as my mind raced with everything going on.

I backed up and avoided looking at him. If he touched me, I knew I’d fall apart. And I couldn’t. There wasn’t time to allow my grief to manifest—I needed to get out, needed to be with my family. “My dad had a heart attack. He needs me right now.” My voice sounded hollow, robotic in its detachment. But I wasn’t detached; I was trying to keep control of myself before I dissolved into tears and the grief that I heard in my mom’s voice.

“Is he okay?”

“Do I look like I know?” I yelled, the anger that was slowly burning through my grief finally coming to the surface. “I just need to go. Right now.”

“Are you flying? Let me drive you to Logan.”

Once again I held up a hand, halting him. “No.” I searched for my shirt, but I felt like I couldn’t even think past getting myself to the airport.

“Let me help you,” he said.

I snapped. “Help me?” I asked, my voice several octaves higher than normal. “You’ve done nothing but distract me all summer, Leo.” I spied my shirt crumpled in a corner across the room and snagged it, yanking it over my head.

“I know you’re upset right now—” he started.

“Just shut up!” I yelled, throwing up my hands. “I considered not visiting my parents for you. I’m so stupid!” I grabbed my purse from the floor and swung the strap on my shoulder as I left the room, running down the stairs and out the door before Leo could catch up with me.

I was in my car and backing out of the driveway when Leo stepped out his front door, so I accelerated, needing distance from him as soon as possible.

My phone on the passenger seat buzzed and I picked it up, seeing a text from my mom with a flight time and airline. It was a few hours from now, so I knew I’d try to get standby on another flight to D.C. as soon as possible. I dropped my phone back on the passenger seat and then spied Leo’s cleats on the floor, caked in dirt.

Then, finally, I started crying.

A
fter my flight
landed at Ronald Reagan in D.C., I called my mom from baggage claim to let her know I was ready. I tried to do my best not to look at the name on my most recent call list: Leo.

The two-hour flight had done nothing but make me think, replay my last conversation with him over and over. I’d been mean to him, which seemed to be my knee-jerk reaction whenever I was upset. He’d called me around the time I got to the airport, but Logan was so packed that I hadn’t bothered answering, not when I was in a hurry to get on the soonest flight to D.C. It wasn’t until I was standing at the curb waiting to see my mom’s car that I realized I didn’t have anything with me besides the contents of my purse. No cell phone charger or even change of clothes.

Spying the black SUV my mom drove, I moved down the arrivals line to where she was pulling in. The moment her arms circled me, I sagged in relief. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. She wasn’t crying, but from the look on her face as she’d approached me, I was sure that was because she’d spent so many hours crying that she didn’t have any tears left.

Her floral perfume was comforting and I gripped her tighter, thankful to be reunited. When she pulled back, she brushed my hair from my face. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said, a sad smile on her face.

“Just a few weeks,” I quipped.

“Come on,” she said, gripping my wrist and leading me toward her car. “Let’s go to the hospital and see your father.”

I waited until she was buckled before asking, “How’s Dad?”

“Well,” she sighed, signaling and then pulling out into the traffic. “He’s stable. That’s about all we know at this point. He had some scans and tests and we’ll find out soon how…” her voice drifted and I could tell she was doing her best to stay strong for me.

“Okay,” I said, deciding not to make her finish her answer. I still had a dozen other questions, but I didn’t think it was fair to ask them right then, since she had just recently seemed to stop crying.

“Tell me something good, Scarlet. What have you been doing all summer? We have fifteen minutes before we’re at the hospital, and I want to just be a mom talking to her daughter about normal things right now.”

What could I tell her, really? “Classes have been remarkably easy,” I began, nervously playing with my cell phone in my lap. “I’ve been working at the shelter, of course. Hanging out with Liza a bit.”

“Oh, that’s good.” My mother may have thought Liza was a little wild, but she had liked how Liza always managed to pull me from my shell. “How’s Liza?”

“Good.” Even though I hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks. “She’s busy at the bar.”

“How’s Leo?”

I nearly choked on my own saliva at that before remembering that my mom knew about our rides into the city several times a week. She didn’t know about … the other stuff.

“Leo’s fine. Busy.”

“Mrs. Madsen mentioned you two have been hanging out together a bit more. That’s nice.” She turned her head to me and smiled a genuine smile—nothing curious or questioning about it. I often forgot that Mrs. Madsen and my mom were friends, so it wasn’t surprising that they talked while my mom had been away.

“Yes. We’ve spent some time together.”

“That’s great, Scarlet. I’m really glad.”

I wasn’t sure how to take my mom’s answers. Was she lightly questioning me? Was she giving me her approval? Surely, she wasn’t. As much as my mother liked Leo, I couldn’t see her approving of our arrangement as it were.

“Well, it’s my first summer where I’m not studying a lot, so it’s been nice being able to see people a little before vet school starts.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. My father had just suffered a stroke and heart attack and I was talking about leaving my parents to go to a school across the country in less than two months.

“I know, honey. You’ve worked so hard for this. It’s good to see you fighting for what you want.”

Again, I wasn’t sure if my mom’s responses were veiled advice or not—because they seemed to be speaking right to my heart. “Well, I just want to make you both proud.”

My mother made a sound that sounded like a tsk, but when she looked at me, her eyes were watery. “Oh honey,” she said, reaching a hand over to touch my cheek. “Going to vet school doesn’t make me proud; I’ve always been proud of you.” She dropped her hand and turned back to the road as the street light changed color. “I just don’t want to see you work yourself so hard all the time.”

I was confused. I’d worked so hard, my whole life, to live up to the expectations my parents had—I was a preacher’s daughter who didn’t fit into the typical mold, so I’d made up for my shortcomings by throwing myself into my studies with an almost punishing work ethic. I’d gone into the veterinary field because I loved animals, yes, but also because I wanted my parents to be proud of the woman they raised. I didn’t mess around in college, never dropped a class or even skipped one, all to make them proud.

“Listen, Scarlet,” my mom said, interrupting my thoughts, “I can practically see the wheels in your brain cranking and turning over and over. I’ve often wondered if we were a little too hard on you with our hopes for your education and future success. You’re your father’s daughter, and so I assumed that your hard work and tenacity was a good thing. And now,” she glanced at me, “with your father in the hospital—I’m afraid.” Her voice was a whisper. “He’s had high blood pressure for years and hasn’t slowed down once—for anything. I don’t want that to happen to you too.”

My chest ached from the breath I held as I stared at her. I’d never really thought of myself as being like my father, but now that my mom was saying this, I couldn’t stop comparing us. He worked every single day—if he wasn’t ministering to the congregation at large, he was advising couples on upcoming marriages or marriages in turmoil. He worked both youth group nights and helped out at the church-sponsored soup kitchen. He had a hand in every single thing in his church, because that was who he was. And while I wasn’t an active member of the congregation, I had thrown myself into my studies for three years straight—not once taking the easy way. If there were extra credit opportunities, I took them. Not because I needed to, but because I could. I could count on two hands the number of parties I’d attended in three full years of school, which worked out to less than one per month. I’d been an atypical student, pushing myself to be the best, the hardest worker. And now my mom was essentially telling me to slow down.

“I’ve worked so hard,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

“You have, Scarlet. And I worry. I worry you’ve worked yourself so hard that you went from being a child to being an adult immediately without enough fun in between.”

“I can still have fun in vet school,” I protested, but we both knew that wasn’t true. Vet school would be a different atmosphere, in a different state, and as introverted as I was, I wouldn’t spend the next several years attending social gatherings.

“I’m just saying that I don’t want you to feel pressure from us. If you want those things for yourself, then great—I’ll be proud of you. But if you don’t want those things and you change your mind, I’ll still, forever and always, be proud of you.” The unshed tears finally spilled over and down her cheeks and I blinked to keep my own at bay.

A couple minutes later, we were walking down the hallways of the hospital to room one-fourteen. I was shocked by how quiet the hospital was, and felt like I was disturbing the peace as my mother opened the door and I followed her. After we washed our hands in the small sink, she led me past the curtain to his bed.

My father was pale, eyes closed and hands placed one over the other on his stomach. It was a pose I’d seen thousands of times—my father napping on the couch, usually. The main difference here, besides the location, was the fact that a half dozen machines surrounded him, with wires coming from places all around his body. The steady beeping of the machines around him reminded me of exactly where we were and I joined my mom in a chair she pulled up for me beside hers, right next to his bed.

“The doctors think he’ll wake soon,” she whispered and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were cold against mine and she squeezed them tight. “We should talk to him, so he knows we’re both here.”

I nodded, swallowed past the thick lump in my throat. Seeing my dad so frail and motionless was alarming. He’d always been a loud, jovial man. It was part of what made him an excellent pastor—his voice reached every single person in his congregation and he made sure to shake the hands of everyone as they left, giving them a smile of encouragement for whatever it was they were going through.

“Switch me spots,” my mom said, standing up and leaving the chair closest to my dad. “Talk to him.”

“Hey, Dad,” I said, my voice creaky. “It’s Scarlet. I’m here.”

“Mrs. Jennings,” a voice called from the doorway. We both looked up and I saw a doctor in a white lab coat, motioning for my mom to follow him into the hallway.

“The good news is we believe that your husband suffered a mini-stroke.” I picked up my dad’s hand in mine, immediately missing the reciprocating squeeze he gave me every time I grabbed his hand. I strained my ear toward the door.

“The chance of having a cardiac disturbance is elevated after having a stroke. Typically, any cardiac complication happens within three months following a stroke, but in your husband’s case it was minutes.”

I heard my mother say something, but I couldn’t make out exactly what. I squeezed my dad’s hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles.

“It may take us several days to get a better picture on how big the heart attack was, but his brain scans are encouraging—we didn’t see any abnormalities. We’ll know better when he wakes up, the extent of damage caused by the stroke and heart attack. But this is reassuring right now.”

At the same time that my mom sagged against the door, I sagged in my seat. I felt as if I’d been awake for a hundred hours at that moment and all I wanted was a nap. I heard my mom thank the doctor and then she returned to the room. I stood to give her a hug as she approached the bed and did my best to keep my own emotions in check. I wanted to be strong for my mom and, as she silently cried in my arms, I kept it together, patting her back and hair.

“I’m going to go find the hospital cafeteria,” I told her. “Want a coffee?”

She nodded, and I left the room as quickly as I could, letting out a breath and feeling the stress of the last few hours tighten its hold on me. I asked a receptionist to point me in the direction of the cafeteria and then, on my way, I pulled my phone out of my purse. I had two missed calls, one from Liza and one from Leo. I wasn’t ready to call Liza back and tell her everything that was going on. And after how unkindly I’d treated Leo, I wasn’t ready to call him either.

I moved to my texts, seeing two from Leo and one from Liza. I opened Liza’s first, figuring that would be easier to read.

I debated texting her, telling her I was in D.C. and my dad was in the hospital. But that didn’t feel like something I should do over text, so I put the thought aside and moved onto Leo’s, taking in a deep breath.

That one was sent first, with another following it ten minutes later.

I rolled my thumb over his words and felt my face grow warm. For the second time that day, Leo had been the one to cause me to cry.