Lakeside Reunion (3 page)

She laid her head on Grandma's shoulder. “I'm a big girl, Grandma. I can stay by myself.”

Grandma slid her arm behind Lindsey and gathered her close. “Oh, I know. It's just…well, going home may be a little difficult.”

Getting a loan for her inn was a little difficult. Finding a certified contractor on a Sunday was a little difficult. Going home was…well, that was beyond difficult. She had to suck it up and do it.

“Thanks, but I'll be fine hanging out here until Mom is out of surgery.” Lindsey stood and adjusted the butter-yellow cardigan she wore with her yellow-and-lavender floral skirt. Her open-toed heels were killing her feet. She longed for a hot bath and comfy pajamas.

“While they're prepping Gracie for surgery, I'm going to see if Granddad wants to go to the chapel with me to pray. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thanks. I'll wait here until I can see Mom before her surgery.”

“They gave her a pretty strong painkiller. She may sleep for a while.”

“That's okay. I just, well, I need to be here. In case she needs me.”

“I understand.”

Grandma gathered her yarn. Lindsey touched her shoulder. “Grandma? What if…” Lindsey hesitated, not wanting to go there, but a girl had to face reality. “What if something goes wrong? Like with Dad.”

Taking Lindsey's hands into hers, Grandma squeezed them lightly. “Honey, you are not alone. Remember that. We're here with you. And so is God. One of my favorite verses from Psalm reminds us, ‘When I am afraid, I will trust in You.' The Lord will guide the surgeons and keep your mom safe. Put your trust in Him.”

Lindsey tugged on the cuff of her sweater. “Where was that guidance five years ago? How can I trust a God who takes great people like Dad, yet lets his killer roam free? Praying would be a waste of time. God tuned me out years ago.”

 

Stephen rested his head against the back of the vinyl chair and shifted Tyler in his lap. The kid was supposed to be lying on the bed, but comforting his son was more important than following hospital protocol.

Ty whimpered and snuggled closer, cradling his head in the crook of Stephen's arm. “I wanna go home.”

“I know, partner. As soon as the doctor finds out what's wrong with your wrist, we'll be out of here.” Stephen adjusted the ice pack on Tyler's left wrist and prayed the ibuprofen started working soon.

Ty didn't fight the nurse who took his vitals or gave him
pain meds, but when Dr. Warren touched his wrist, the kid let out a scream that sliced through Stephen like a scalpel. More than anything, he wanted to fix it. Take the pain away. Make his son happy again.

His ears still rang from Tyler's screams upon entering the emergency department. Stephen wasn't sure if he was in pain or if the hospital brought back memories. Maybe a little of both.

Ty cried every time they visited. The beeping monitors scared him. He complained about the smell. His childhood needed to be filled with baseball games, skinned knees, climbing trees—not death.

Bethany's face swept into his head. Her final days, lying in the bed, struggling for her next breath as the melanoma ravaged her frail body. Skin stretched across bone, she had become a shell of the woman he cared about. Her strawberry blond hair had been destroyed by chemo and radiation. Even her freckles appeared as washed-out as the hospital bedsheets. Not even thirty when she died, but she appeared closer to sixty.

Stephen brushed the curls off Tyler's forehead. The kid needed a haircut. Bethany had been so good with all that. Even when she felt like crud from the chemo, she made sure Ty was well cared for. He could barely remember to check Ty's homework, let alone make hair appointments. But he'd do better. He had to. Ty depended on him. He wasn't going to let his son down.

He counted the ceiling tiles for the second time and made it to twenty-eight when someone knocked on the door before pushing it open. Dr. Warren entered the room. Over her shoulder, Stephen caught sight of a woman with honey-blond hair and wearing the same yellow sweater as Lindsey.

Oh, right. Grace Porter's fall.

Ty's injury had pushed aside this morning's events, but seeing that hair brought everything back in a rush.

Should he go after her? Check and see how her mom was doing?

No, he couldn't leave Ty. Plus, it could have been someone else. And then, he'd look like an idiot.

“Officer Chase.”

Stephen looked at Dr. Warren and realized the middle-aged physician had been talking to him. And he hadn't heard a word she said.

“I'm sorry. My brain was in left field. Mind repeating that?”

She gave him that pitying “I know you're a single dad now, so I'll treat you with kid gloves” look he'd seen so often in the past year. “Good news. Tyler's wrist is not broken. He does have a grade two sprain, though. Because he's such an active kid, I'd like to splint it and keep it in a sling for about a week. It will help with the pain and minimize further damage.”

She explained to Tyler what was going to happen and gave him time to ask questions. Stephen appreciated the way she included his son in the conversation.

Thirty minutes later, Stephen hugged a now-smiling Tyler goodbye, being careful not to jostle his splinted arm. “You're going to hang out with Papa until I get home. Take it easy with that arm.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, too, buddy.”

Giving his dad a one-armed hug, Stephen said, “Thanks for keeping him. I'll grab him after work.”

“No rush. You should have called sooner. We're here for you, son. This rain kept me in the house instead of at the construction site, so I'm glad I could help. I'll keep the little guy entertained.”

They headed out the door. If he paid a nickel every time
his parents bailed him out, he'd be a poor man. Thank God for them. Otherwise neither he nor Ty would have made it this far.

He returned to the nurses' station and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the discharge form his cousin, the E.R. nurse on duty, put in front of him. He slid it across the counter to her. “There you go, Roxanne. Thanks.”

She scanned the form and then smiled. “Looks like you're good to go, Stephen. I hope Ty feels better soon.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Fishing the keys to the cruiser out of his pocket, he headed for the emergency-entrance parking lot. He rounded the corner and about knocked over a woman coming from the opposite direction. His chin grazed the top of her head. He gripped her upper arms, dropping his keys in the process. “Whoa, easy there.”

The woman's purse sailed out of her hands and landed upside down on the floor. Loose change clattered against the tile. A metallic tube rolled under the water fountain.

“Sorry.” The woman looked up and stared at him with stormy green eyes.

Lindsey.

Judging by the thinness of her lips and clenched jaw, she wasn't happy to see him. She glanced at him, then down at his hands. Her focus seemed to be centered on his left hand. On his wedding band. His heart took a nosedive.

Stephen released his hold, wanting to hide his hands in his uniform pockets. “You okay?”

She nodded. Without a word, she bent down to clean up her stuff. She tried to hide her fingers, but he noticed a slight tremble. So, he wasn't the only one affected by their collision.

Stephen retrieved the tube under the water fountain and realized it was her lipstick. He scooped up two dimes, a quar
ter and a few scattered pennies and jingled the loose change before handing it back to her.

She didn't want to take it—didn't want to touch him. He could tell by the way she hesitated before opening her hand and allowed him to drop the coins into her palm.

The tips of his calloused fingers caressed her skin. Baby soft. An electric charge pulsed through his hand.

Lindsey tossed the change in her purse. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stood, shielding her purse over her heart. “Sorry for bumping into you. I wasn't watching where I was going. If you'll excuse me, I need to check on Mom.” She tried to brush past him.

“Hey, Linds, hold on a second.” Stephen cupped her elbow. “Sorry for barreling into you like that. How's she doing?”

She closed her eyes and backed out of his reach, bumping into the wall behind her. “I really need to go.”

“Lindsey.” He spoke in a soft, patient tone that warned she wasn't going to win this one.

“Stephen, why are you here? Why do you even care? We're history. Remember?” Her voice cracked on the last syllable. She cleared her throat and looked at him.

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a half smile that his grandma used to claim could charm the gruff off a goat. “I'm not stalking you. My son fell and hurt his arm. And what happened between us doesn't mean I don't care…about your mom.”

“I'm sorry about your son. I hope he's okay.”

“Thanks. He's a tough kid.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if I can help. With anything.”

Lindsey shrugged off his hand. Eyes blazing, she glared at him as if he was something disgusting she found on the bottom of her shoe. “You can help by not touching me! You have no right. You lost it the day you chose her over me. I'm
sorry she d-died. No one should have to deal with that. But still…you have no right.”

Her words ping-ponged off the walls in the corridor and hovered over them like dust-covered cobwebs. Heat scorched his cheeks as if she had physically slapped him. He was only trying to help. Problem was, she didn't want his help. He needed to get that through his thick head.

Lindsey clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, but not before he saw the welling tears. She sagged against the wall.

Stephen shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out for her again. Her vulnerability sucker punched him in the gut. Seeing her was an answer to many whispered prayers, but he had hoped for different circumstances. Grinding his teeth, he prayed for strength. For years, he fought to keep her memory from crippling him. Now he was going to be tested?

He forced himself to breathe. He had to fix this. Make it right. Rubbing a thumb and forefinger over his eyelids, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You're right. I'm…sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“No, I shouldn't have said that. It was mean and hurtful.” A tear squeezed between her lashes and drifted down her cheek.

“Don't worry about it.” He lifted his hand, then hesitated, not sure if she'd slap his hand away again or not, but she looked as if she needed a friend. He thumbed away her tear and let his finger linger a second longer than it should have.

Lindsey turned her face away from his hand and took a step sideways. She tripped over a large potted plant next to the water fountain.

Stephen grabbed her before she fell. Before common sense could kick in, he drew her against his chest. “Take it easy.”

He breathed in the fruity scent of her shampoo, craving the fragrance like a junkie desperate for a fix.

They belonged together.

Only they didn't.

He had no claim on Lindsey anymore. He chose another woman. They shared a child.

The overcooked coffee he drank while waiting for Ty's X-rays to come back soured in his stomach. A yearning for the past tangled with regret and blew through his veins, nearly dropping him to his knees.

He shouldn't be hugging Lindsey. For a moment, though, it felt so right. Holding her for even a brief moment edged out a sliver of longing.

She leaned against him. Then, almost as if she realized what she was doing, she stiffened and pushed out of his embrace. Her warmth evaporated, leaving him with a sudden sense of loss.

“Thanks for your help, but I—I just can't…can't deal with you right now.” Without a backward glance, she fled down the hall.

A viselike grip constricted his chest. He didn't want her pity. Or her gratitude. He wanted something she would never trust him with again.

Her heart.

S
tupid. Stupid. Stupid.

How could she have let him get under her skin like that?

Of all the…

No.

Stop thinking about him.

As if she could.

She needed something, anything to take her mind off this morning's fiasco in the hallway. But like a thief in the night, images of him crept through her thoughts. Why did he have to be so nice? Made it harder to hate him. She sighed. She didn't hate him. She couldn't. But still, her heart couldn't take being around him so much.

Lindsey snatched a worn
Ladies' Home Journal
off the low table in front of her and flipped through it. Not caring about another diet tip or fashion secret, she tossed it back on the table. The nubby fabric of the cushioned chair embossed the backs of her legs. She shifted positions and grabbed a different magazine. Halfway through, she realized she had no interest in learning how to land a tarpon or tie saltwater flies.

Dropping the fishing magazine on the empty seat beside her, Lindsey stood and paced. The wall clock showed ten minutes had passed from the last time she checked.

Grandma peered over the top of her bifocals at Lindsey. “You're going to wear a path in the carpet.”

Lindsey stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. “How long does it take to operate on a broken leg?”

Grandma clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Patience, dear. These things take time.” She dropped her knit ting in her purse and rubbed her joints. Standing, she smoothed her pink sweater over her hips. “I'm going to see if Granddad wants to take a walk. Why don't you come to the cafeteria with us? It'll take your mind off the surgery for a little while.”

Lindsey's stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten anything since last night's slice of cold pizza and a couple of slurps of tea left from the lunch she set down and forgot about. But she couldn't leave. Just in case. “Thanks, but I'll wait here in case there's any word.”

“Okay, then. Can we bring you anything?”

“Good news about Mom?”

“All in due time.”

“I'd trade my favorite designer handbag for a chai latte and fresh blueberry muffin.”

“Not sure if the cafeteria has any of that fancy tea, but I'll check.”

“Thanks. If not, I'll be fine.”

Grandma pulled Granddad away from the sitcom he was watching. They left the surgical lounge, arm in arm.

Now that she was the only one in the room, the canned laughter from the wall-mounted television sounded too loud. Lindsey snatched the remote and shut off the TV.

Her thoughts roamed free as the conversation with Stephen replayed itself for the hundredth time. Then her klutzy trip over that blasted planter landed her in his arms.

She breathed in the faint scent of his cologne that lingered
on her sweater. It signaled memories—sunrise picnics at the lake, long walks in the park, stolen kisses in her backyard.

What was she doing? Acting like a sixteen-year-old with her latest crush. Ridiculous. She had more important things to worry about.

Her cell phone chimed. She dug it out of her purse. The low-battery signal flashed. Great. Her charger was back at the inn.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Lindsey. Hello. I'm sorry I didn't answer when you called. The Andersons called and asked if they could come in a day earlier, so I was making up their room.” Rita, her assistant manager at the inn, sounded out of breath.

“Where's Amanda?”

“She called off. Her daughter has strep. Poor thing. I called in Cheryl and Lynn to help for the rest of the afternoon. Hope that's not a problem.”

“None at all. Sorry to leave you with one more thing to deal with. I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Don't think about that for a single minute. We'll manage. Your mama needs you. Have they discharged her yet?”

Lindsey shouldered the cell phone and straightened the magazines on the table. She told Rita about her mother's surgery.

“Gracious sakes, Lindsey. Don't you worry your pretty head about a thing. Paul and I will take care of everything. Stay with your mother and help her to get better.”

“You're a lifesaver, Rita. I'd be so lost without you. Don't forget the Topliffs are arriving later this afternoon. Mrs. Topliff is allergic to flowers, so be sure to switch out the fresh flowers with silk ones from the supply closet. Ask Paul to fill the birdfeeders with that new sunflower mix I bought last week.” A beep sounded in her ear. “My cell phone is about to die and the charger is in my office. Is there any pos
sible way you could call Tony at the garage and find out about my car? Depending on what's happening with Mom, I may be able to swap cars this evening if my convertible is done. Call Mom's house and leave a message, if you don't mind?”

“Oh, not at all, doll. I'll do it right awa—” The rest of Rita's words were cut off as the phone died. Lindsey tossed it into her purse.

She strode to the window that overlooked the parking garage. Kicking off her pumps, she dug her toes into the nubs of the industrial-grade berber carpet. How long before she could take that hot bath, put on warm pajamas and crawl into bed for about twelve straight hours of sleep?

Scalloped clouds crowded out the September sun. What there was of it. As the afternoon wore on, rain had returned and assaulted the sidewalks with a raging force. Rivulets raced down the pane and bounced off the window ledge. Lightning slashed the sky like an impatient sword as thunder echoed between the buildings, rattling glass and brick.

Lindsey closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Come on already. She needed some news. Any news.

Someone tugged on her skirt. “Lindsey?”

She turned. A woman sitting in a wheelchair smiled at her.

Lindsey dropped to her knees and threw her arms around the woman's bony shoulders. “Aunt Claire! When did you get here?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. I met Mom and Dad in the hall and chatted with them for a few minutes. I would've been here sooner, but work was crazy today.”

“Well, that's what happens when you own the trendiest boutique in Shelby Lake. Loved the pictures you emailed. And the fab website. Not bad for being open a year.”

“Yes, I've been blessed. Enough about me. How are you doing? Honestly.”

Lindsey tucked her feet under her and shrugged. “Tired of waiting.”

“I know, hon.” Aunt Claire reached for Lindsey's hand. “Waiting is the toughest part. I'm sure there will be news soon. In the meantime, keep praying. Your mom's in God's hands.”

“Right.”

Aunt Claire laughed. “Could you be any less convincing?”

“Dad was in God's hands, remember?”

Aunt Claire smiled and finger-combed Lindsey's hair behind her ear. “When I lost Ben to that drunk driver and learned I'd never walk again, I hated God. He took my fiancé. Bound me to a life as a cripple. I wanted nothing to do with Him. In fact, I threatened your grandma that if she prayed over me one more time, I was moving out.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But you've been preaching to me for years that God is in control. What changed?”

“Twenty-five years of prayer. But it wasn't always that way. When I first learned I'd never walk again, I had to attend therapy sessions to learn how to use my upper body. I met a woman—Kathy Armstrong. She lost both legs to infection. She wheeled over to me, invited herself to my pity party and told me something I'll never forget for the rest of my life.”

“What's that?”

“She looked at my lifeless legs, back to where hers used to be and quietly whispered, ‘At least you can wear shoes.'”

“Reality check is the worst guest at a pity party, isn't it?” Here Lindsey was feeling sorry for herself while Mom was in surgery, her aunt in a wheelchair and that lady went through life without legs. Oh, yeah, and now Stephen's son may have broken his arm. Great reality check.

“Yeah, I realized how fortunate I was to be alive. Little
by little, those tough times drew me closer to God. It was no walk in the park, mind you, but He softened my heart. I realized others had it worse. I could move my hands and arms, so I put them to use.”

“Your sewing.”

Aunt Claire nodded. “Faith and trust, hon.”

“It's not easy.”

“Oh, girl, no one said life was easy. Give it time.”

“Time. The healer of all wounds.”

Grandma and Granddad returned to the surgical lounge. They stood in the doorway talking to a silver-haired man. Maybe he was the doctor with news. Lindsey's heart picked up speed. Until she realized how he was dressed—jeans, a light blue polo shirt and a distressed leather jacket. Not exactly surgical garb.

“Aunt Claire, who's that guy talking to Grandma and Granddad? He doesn't look like a doctor.”

“That's Max, silly.”

“Max who?”

“What do you mean, ‘Max who?'”

“I have no idea who you're talking about.”

Aunt Claire stared at her as if she had just announced she was going to perform her own lobotomy. “Oh, honey.” She lowered her gaze and twisted the diamond ring on her right hand. “I didn't realize Grace hadn't told you about him.”

“Tell me what?” Judging by Aunt Claire's expression and tone, Lindsey knew—beyond a shadow of doubt—she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

“Max has been courting your mom for the past six months.”

“Courting?” A dull throb pounded behind Lindsey's eyes. She massaged her forehead. “She's been dating him for six months? And never told me? Unbelievable.”

Really, Mom? Not a single “By the way, I met someone.”

“I'm sorry.”

Lindsey waved away the apology. Tears scalded her eyes. “Don't be. Not your fault.” She laughed without finding humor in the situation. “This day keeps getting better and better.”

 

Stephen grabbed a clean tack cloth and wiped it over the curved headboard of the red oak cradle. A puff of sanding dust sailed to his nose, making him sneeze. The Christian radio station blared in the background as he worked, competing with the noise of the rain pounding on the garage roof.

A gift for his soon-to-be niece or nephew, the cradle needed to be ready for Melissa's baby shower next week. He'd promised Ma.

At one time, his promises were empty statements used to entice until he got what he wanted. But he was a man of God now—a man of honor who kept his word.

The cradle would be ready. Even if he had to stay up late to finish it.

Satisfied that the cradle was clean and dust-free, he ran a hand over the wood, checking for any rough spots. Finding none, he stroked the finish. Smooth as a baby's cheek. Or Lindsey's skin.

No, don't even go there.

But thoughts of her were embedded in his brain. The pain and anger in her eyes as she told him to leave her alone sliced through him like a band saw.

Why hadn't he apologized and kept on walking? Or at least kept his hands to himself? Seeing her again was like giving a thirsty man salt water to drink.

He'd keep his distance like she asked.

If only it were that easy.

Stephen ripped a section of a faded blue cotton bedsheet with more force than necessary, folded it into a small square
and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. As he uncapped the shellac, the acrid scent rose from the can like an escaping genie. It singed his nostrils and glazed the back of his throat. He took a quick gulp of lukewarm Mountain Dew to wash away the bitterness.

He applied shellac to the folded pad. Beginning at the bottom of the cradle, he slid the pad along the surface in long, uniform strokes, appreciating the way the liquid seeped into the wood and brought out the rich reds of the oak.

Tires crunched the gravel in the driveway.

Probably Dad bringing Tyler home.

Thunder cracked again. Soccer practice was canceled, so there was no rush bringing Ty home. With his bum arm, he may have to sit out the rest of the season. That would be the icing on the kid's cake. He had aspirations of being the next Beckham.

A door slammed. Stephen paused, expecting to hear two doors, but the second one didn't come.

Someone rapped on the door frame. He looked up. Oliver Kendall, his partner and friend, stood in the doorway, shaking rain out of his gelled hair. Kendall dried his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Hey, man. 'Sup?”

“Working on the cradle. Waiting for Ty to come home.”

With the first layer finished, now was a good time to stop. He had to wait a couple of hours for the cradle to dry anyway before starting the next step. He dropped the used pad into a jar, tightening the lid so it wouldn't dry out.

Stephen peeled off his gloves with a snap. Grabbing his Mountain Dew, he wandered to the open doorway to where Kendall leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “You can come in. Want a soda?”

Kendall shook his head. “No, thanks. Can't stay. Amy and the twins are waiting for me to get home so we can head to
Mel and Nate's. Heard about Ty. Sorry, man. Just dropped by to check on things…and give you some news.”

“I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? What's the news?”

“Dude, don't play me like that. You were engaged to the chick. You see her for the first time in five years and you're fine?”

“How'd you hear about Lindsey?”

“Duh. Your sister is married to my brother? Remember that?”

“Right. What's this news?”

“Fine. If that's how you want to play it—”

Stephen held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want me to say, man? Just as I was getting my life back on track, seeing Lindsey knocked me to my knees? Okay, fine. I can't get her out of my mind. You know how that makes me feel?”

“Human?”

“My wife hasn't been gone a year yet, and I can't stop thinking about Lindsey.”