Righting a Wrong (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella) (2 page)

Cambri nodded. “Thank you, Suzie. For everything.”

The door closed behind her, and an almost eerie silence engulfed the house. The blinds were closed, making it feel dark and stuffy. And the smell—wow. The house could definitely use an airing out. But at least the inside didn’t look as though it had been stripped and left forgotten like the outside. The piano was still in the living room next to the old floral couch, and all the family pictures still hung on the wall.

The old hardwood floor creaked as Cambri walked toward the kitchen. She dropped her purse on the counter before making her way toward her father’s darkened room. He lay in his bed, looking thinner and older than a nearly seventy-year-old body should look. His bald head had wrinkled with age, and the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. A heavy feeling filled Cambri’s chest. It shouldn’t have taken six years to return.

“Hey, Dad.”

Without looking her way, he said, “I told you I don’t need a sitter. I’m not some feeble, sick person.”

Cambri cocked her head to the side. “You had a heart attack. I’m pretty sure that makes you at least a little feeble for now.”

A grunt sounded, and her father folded his arms the way a small child would do when throwing a tantrum. Cambri almost smiled. Almost. The reminder that she’d nearly lost her one remaining parent kept it away.

She would have gripped his aging hand in hers, but her father would have none of that. Harvey Blaine didn’t believe in sympathy. To him, it was a sign of weakness, and he was anything but weak. The fact that he’d survived a massive heart attack attested to it. According to doctors, it was a miracle he was still alive.

Now it was Cambri’s turn to perform a miracle by getting her stubborn father to take his meds, rest, get to his appointments on time, and adjust his high-cholesterol diet to something rich in vitamins, fiber, and heart-healthy protein. With his arms still folded and a slight pout on his lips, Cambri had her work cut out for her.

A recliner sat in the corner, and Cambri plopped down on it, tucking her legs under her.

“What about your job?” her father said. “Don’t they need you there?”

Cambri shrugged. “I had some vacation time coming, and my boss agreed to let me do some work from here and telecommute on the days he needs me. Looks like I’m all yours for a few weeks.”

His mouth fell open. “A few weeks! What willy-nilly doctor told you I’d need anyone for that long? Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back on my feet.”

“Let’s wait and see what the doctor says at your next appointment. Until then, you’re going to get plenty of rest, take your medicine, and eat whatever I make for you.”

“I don’t see how that will help—unless your cooking’s improved since high school. I’ll probably starve.”

Cambri sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks. She mustered a perky tone and changed the subject. “What’s happened since I left?”

Breathing heavily, her father flopped back against his pillow. “Catching you up on six years will take longer than a few weeks, that’s for sure. Maybe if you’d called once in a while, you wouldn’t be so ignorant.”

Cambri refused to let him get to her. It wasn’t as though he’d picked up the phone either. “Other than Suzie, who’s still around? The Clements?”

Her father nodded.

“Engersolls?”

Another nod.

“Whitakers?”

He huffed. “Good riddance.”

“Suttons?” Cambri kept her tone flippant, but she listened hard for his answer.

“As if Cal would ever leave. He’s too loyal for that—not that you know what that means.”

Cambri disregarded the gibe. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Sutton? They still around?”

He huffed again. “They took off not long after you.”

It was on the tip of Cambri’s tongue to ask about Jace, but she bit back the question. If his parents were no longer around, chances were that he wasn’t either, especially since Jace used to have his sights set on bigger things than Bridger. Which was a good thing. As difficult as it was to face her father, bumping into Jace would have been ten times worse.

“Speaking of the Suttons, do you still fish with Grandpa Cal?” Cambri asked, reverting to the name she used to call Jace’s grandfather years earlier. Her father had been forty-three when Cambri was born, making him about the same age as Jace’s grandfather. The two had always been great friends, though Cambri had never figured out why. Grandpa Cal was all warm fuzzies whereas her father was a prickly pear.

“He’s not your grandpa. And yes, I do—when I’m not in the hospital or in bed.”

His comment hit a tender spot, and a lump formed in Cambri’s throat. What if he hadn’t made it? What if she was here for a funeral instead of caring for him? She needed to remember that when he started getting under her skin, which he would.

Cambri rose from the chair and paused with her hand on the doorjamb. “Is there anything special you’d like me to make for dinner?”

“Aren’t you going to kill the fatted calf?” he said sarcastically.

“Haha.” But the barb hit its mark. Cambri knew before she came that she wouldn’t get the best reception, but she’d hoped for a
little
more warmth. For most people, a close call with death would make them grateful for what they had. But not so with her father. If anything, he was more of a curmudgeon than ever.

Cambri left the darkened room behind and walked straight to the nearest window, where she lifted the blinds and opened it. Sunlight and fresh, early spring air drifted in, lifting her spirits.

She could do this. She could get through these next few weeks, whip her father’s body back into shape, and return to her peaceful and happy life in Charlotte.

“Morning, Dad.” Cambri walked around his bed and twisted open the blinds, allowing warm rays of the morning sun to stream into the room. “Sleep well?”

“What in tarnation are you doing?” he spluttered. “If I’d wanted those shades open, I would have done it myself.”

Cambri ignored his comment. She’d spent several hours the night before talking to Suzie and reading all the literature her father’s doctor had sent home, and one of the things she’d learned was that heart attack survivors were prone to depression during the weeks following the attack. Harvey Blaine had always been surly, but Cambri wasn’t about to let him become depressed as well. Sunlight was a natural mood lifter, and she would make sure he got plenty of it.

She moved to his nightstand and opened one pill bottle after another, collecting his daily dose. Then she held out a glass of water, along with the handful of pills. “Breakfast is almost ready. If you take these, I’ll bring it in.”

Her father eyed her hand with disdain. “I feel fine. I don’t need a bunch of medication to mess that all up.”

“No medication, no breakfast.” Cambri wriggled her palm.

“What’s for breakfast?”

Her eyebrow lifted. “I can tell you it’s not the fatted calf.”

Although he harrumphed, a twinkle of humor appeared. “I almost forgot how cheeky you could be.”

“And I almost forgot how ornery you could be.”

He rolled his eyes but grudgingly accepted the pills, swallowing them with a sip of water. Then he settled back against his pillow. “I always have sausage, eggs, and hash browns on Saturdays.”

“Believe it or not, I remember.” Cambri retrieved a breakfast tray from the kitchen and set it on his lap, mentally preparing herself for what would come.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Her father stared at the food in disgust.

“Oatmeal, whole wheat toast, and freshly squeezed OJ,” said Cambri smoothly. “Try it. You might like it.”

“Why isn’t there butter on this toast? Where’s my sausage and hash browns?”

“Your heart doesn’t want bacon and hash browns. It wants oatmeal.”

“Bullwinkle.”

Cambri had to bite back a smile at that. When she was a little girl, her father used to cuss at everything. One day, she’d repeated some of those words, and her calm, quiet, and usually sweet mother totally lost it. She told Harvey that if he didn’t stop cussing right then and there, she’d move back to Denver and live with her mother.

From that moment on, Harvey adopted a new method of cursing. He started using expressions like thunderation, son of a biscuit, or shiitake mushrooms—all of which earned him a chuckle rather than the evil eye from Cambri’s mom.

And now here he was, with his wife nearly nine years gone, still using her preferred method of cussing.

Moisture pooled at the base of Cambri’s eyes, and she had to blink it away. Emotion made her father uncomfortable, and she wasn’t about to let hers show. She drifted to the window where the overrun yard lay beyond.

She cleared her throat. “I was thinking I’d clean up your yard a little today, but I can’t find any of Mom’s old gardening tools. Do you know where they are?”

“I gave them away.” He continued to glare at the oatmeal as though it should know better than to show up on his breakfast tray.

“You
what
?”

“I hate yard work. Always have. Why would I keep a bunch of tools lying around that I don’t use?”

Cambri refrained from pointing out that he obviously didn’t hate yard work that much if he took the time to pull out all of her mother’s old plants, but she swallowed the retort, knowing it would only lead to an argument.

“I guess I’m headed to the hardware store then. Need anything while I’m out?” The doctor said he didn’t need constant supervision, and Cambri had no qualms about running a few errands. If she never got a break from him, he’d be in more danger of death by strangulation than a repeat heart attack.

“If I said a burger and fries, would you bring it to me?”

“No.”

“Then no,” he muttered.

“Enjoy your oatmeal,” Cambri said brightly before collecting her purse and walking out the door, where she inhaled the fresh, clean air that smelled of vegetation. In Charlotte, the air always seemed to be tinged with carbon monoxide and too many people living in close proximity to each other. It felt good to be back, and she realized with a start that she’d missed this place.

Familiar houses passed in and out of her peripheral vision as she drove, and before long, she pulled to a stop in front of Sutton’s Hardware—a place where she used to hang out often. For a moment, she allowed her heart to ache with a sense of loss, but then she squared her shoulders and left the car behind, ready to prove that she’d moved on with her life.

With confidence, she walked inside and breathed in the familiar smell of tools and lumber. She smiled at the woman behind the cash register, glanced at a display of home improvement magazines, and headed for the gardening area, only to be sidetracked by the small greenhouse attached to the side of the store.

Cambri walked into the small room and wandered up the aisle, looking at the plants. The selection was poor, and the quality even poorer. For the most part, the leaves were turning brown around the edges, looking so thirsty and pitiful that Cambri had to do something about it. Spying a hose with a sprinkler attachment not far away, Cambri turned it on and began spraying everything. When the pots were filled to overflowing, she grabbed a pair of the smallest sized pruning shears she could find that weren’t packaged in plastic. They were much larger than she needed, but they’d do the job.

Starting with the worst of the plants, she clipped away, trimming the dying limbs with the hope of inspiring new, healthy growth.

“What are you doing?” a deep voice said from behind her.

Cambri finished trimming the plant then turned around. “Just saving your—” The words died on her lips as she stared into the dark brown eyes of Jace Sutton. At least she was pretty sure it was him. Gone were his glasses, his lanky body, and the way he’d avoid eye contact at all costs. He stood tall, his shoulders wide, his bearing confident. His dark hair was no longer parted on one side and swept to the other. Instead it was styled in that disheveled, carefree way. The pruning shears dropped to her side as she stared.

Clark Kent had become Superman.

In Cambri’s life, mistakes were like boomerangs. She’d make them, regret them, and launch them as hard and far as she could to get away from them. Then suddenly, after she thought they were long gone, they would come sailing back to thunk her hard on the chest.