Upper Hand (Cedar Tree Book 5) (14 page)

-

“B
eth, phone!” Arlene yells, just as I’m finishing up with the last of my lunch tables.

Hard to believe three hours have gone by since I got here. From the moment I walked into an already packed diner and Arlene tossed my apron over the counter, I haven’t even had time to go to the bathroom. Not that I’d notice the discomfort of a full bladder now; my feet are demanding all the attention. Christ, I’m getting old.

Handing the customers their bill and telling them they can settle up at the cash, I make my way over to the counter where Arlene is holding out the phone.

“You okay?” she asks as I limp up to take the call.

“Just feel fucking ancient today,” I admit.

“Just today?”

“Kiss my ass, Arlene.” I smile, glad to be back, despite the beating my body is getting.

“Gladly, but first talk to Clint. He’s on the phone.”

First thing through my mind is that something’s wrong with Max, and I snatch the phone from Arlene’s hand.

“Hello?”

“Beth, it’s—“

“Is Max okay?” I blurt out, not letting him finish.

“Jesus, woman, give me a chance. He’s spiking a fever. Emma’s here and thinks he may be dehydrated.”

“You called Emma before you called me?” I have a slightly hysterical pitch to my voice as I’m pulling off my apron one-handedly.

“What? No. Just bear with me, sugar. Gus was here. He’s the one who called Emma ‘cause Max was burning up. I just—“

“Burning up?” I can’t help cutting him off again, but bits of information get stuck, and I can’t hear a damn thing after. “How high?”

“Hundred and three.” Clint’s resorted to only answering questions now.

“On my way and call Naomi, see if she can see us at the clinic right away.”

“Yes, but—“ he tries.

“Be there in a few. Gotta go.”

Slamming the phone down on the counter and dropping my apron next to it, I grab my purse that a worried-looking Arlene is holding out for me already. Smart woman, she doesn’t hold me back with questions, but simply says, “Go”.

It doesn’t even take five minutes to get to Clint’s house from the diner, but it’s long enough for me to imagine the worst possible scenarios. By the time I get there, I’m almost in tears. I don’t have time to question why someone who’s never been prone to panic when Dylan was young, would find it so hard to breathe now?

When I run up to the door it’s opened by Gus.

“Saw you coming,” he says by way of greeting, but my focus is further in the room where Clint is standing behind the couch with the phone to his ear, and Emma is holding Max. I drop down on the couch beside her and she immediately hands Max over.

He’s so hot. Like a little Coleman stove. His eyes are closed and his face is unnaturally pale, despite his obvious temperature.

Emma holds out a baby bottle of water and I take it, teasing it along the seam of his lips, but the only result is that he squeezes them together tighter.

“I know,” Emma says. “I’ve been trying to get him to take it for the past ten minutes, but I haven’t been able to get anything down. He’s likely dehydrated.”

“Right,” I mumble, and then again, “right. I need to take him in.”

Barely thinking straight for worry, I stand up and walk to the door with Max in my arms.

“Hold up, Beth. Where do you think you’re going?” Clint’s voice stops me in my tracks. I swing around, anger suddenly roaring up.

“A doctor, Clint. I should’ve known it wasn’t a good idea to leave him behind with you.”

I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth. The pained recoil I see on Clint’s face only confirms I’m way out of line, but I’m sick with worry: for my grandson, for his father. Things are slipping out of my control and it leaves me shaky and mean.

“Naomi’s waiting at the clinic,” Clint’s voice is flat as his eyes hold mine.

“I’ll drive,” Gus offers, and I’m not about to argue when he puts his hand in my back, leading me to his truck. He settles me in the backseat with Max, gets in and starts the truck. Just as we start backing out of the drive I see Clint and Emma making their way to my car. Clint is carrying a diaper bag.

“Emma’s driving your car, so regardless what happens, you’ll have some wheels. I’ll bring Emma back here to pick up hers.”

When I look at him in the rearview mirror, my confusion must be evident.

“Clint already sorted all of that before you walked in, Beth. He’d just finished packing a bag with a few things Naomi was suggesting. The different cars was his idea, too.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else. His point is made. I’m a total bitch, but the little shudder coming from Max has me shake it off and focus on the little guy.

Naomi steps off the porch when we pull up and starts opening the door on my side before Gus has even turned the engine off. With a quick smile at me, she reaches for Max.

“Let me take him.”

I reluctantly hand him over and slip out of the car to follow behind her into the clinic, which is attached to her house.

“Burning up is right. Huh, baby?” she coos at Max, as she puts him down on the examining table in one of the treatment rooms. She undresses him expertly and carefully runs her hands over his body, pressing here and there. Then she listens to his heart and lungs and all the while, the little guy barely blinks his eyes.

“Not sure what caused the fever, but he’s severely dehydrated.” She points out as she slightly pinches the skin on his hands together and it takes a while to regain its shape. “I’m gonna see if I can get an IV in him and hopefully get him a little more responsive. You may want to sit down.” She turns to me. “You look about ready to fall down.”

I know it’s Clint when I feel an arm come around my shoulders,  guiding me to a row of chairs. Exhausted, scared, and running low on resistance I turn in his arms and plant my face in his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I mumble through the unfamiliar tears dripping from my eyes and clogging my nose. “I didn’t mean—“

His big hand covers the back of my head as he whispers close to my ear.

“It’s okay. I think I get it.” Which only serves to make me cry harder. Yup, I’m a bitch.

-

A
fter ensuring Gus and Emma they didn’t have to wait, and Naomi’s promise Max would be fine once she gets his fluid levels up, they take off in Gus’s truck with a vow to call them with updates. Clint isn’t moving from my side, despite my attempts at sending him home with them.

“Forget it,” he says again. “Not leaving without you and Max.”

-

F
our hours later, with a much cooler and more alert Max and with assurances he hadn’t suffered anything major, Naomi lets us go with a sample pack of liquid antibiotics, just in case he has an infection that caused the spike. Although she thinks it’s the loss of fluids from when he was tossing the dog food all through the night. Poor kid, that’s a hard lesson learned.

Once home I head straight to Max’s bedroom to drag his cot into mine, so I can put him down for the night. Been a long-ass day, the little one has some recharging to do and I want him close to me for the night. By the time I leave him asleep in his cot, I find Clint puttering about in the kitchen, cleaning some dishes and putting them away. A strong smell of melted cheese draws my eyes to the oven, which is on.

“What’s that?”

“What? Oh, in the oven? Frittata.” He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to the sink.

“I had no idea you could cook.”

This time when he turns back around a slightly embarrassed smile lifts his mouth.

“I get by. I like it better when I’m cooked
for
, but I can handle basic stuff when I need to.”

“Well, you can color me pleasantly surprised.” I smile at him. Seeing the tightness in his responding one reminds me of the elephant in the room.

“I should—“

“I’d like to—“

“Let me go first,” I ask. “I have no excuse for what I said. Well, I do, albeit a weak one, but I’ve learned that when you apologize the only way to do it is without reservation. So I first want to tell you I’m so sorry for saying that to you. You’ve been so great with Max—helping me look after him—I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Clint sees me hesitate and nods in encouragement.

“Truth is, I’ve been worried sick about Dylan and what he may have gotten himself into. I’m hurting for my grandson, whose mom was able to just up and leave him, and to top it all off, I’m a little bit out of my depth with you.” My last words linger in the air as I look from under my eyebrows at the clench of his fists holding the kitchen towel.

“How so?”

For a minute I consider pretending I don’t know what he’s referring to, but the truth is I know exactly what he wants to know. With a deep breath in, I bite the bullet.

“I like my independence. Like having control of my life. But I can feel it slipping around you and I’m letting it. Letting you in with your—at times—overbearing personality, and take control. I find myself liking it, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Clint moves slowly closer as I’m talking, to where he can reach out and take my face in his hands.

“Maybe it’s more a question of how you feel about me?” His voice reverberates through me while his eyes seem to search mine for the answer. “Besides, the only time I’m interested in taking over control is the bedroom,” he adds with a tiny arrogant tilt of his mouth.

Oh boy, I’m in trouble.

V
oicing her worry about her son convinces me to say nothing about the information Gus shared with me earlier, but that doesn’t absolve me from feeling guilt for keeping information from her. Still—after a day like today, I don’t want to add to the stress. I almost chuckle aloud when I realize every day seems to bring a new challenge, keeping me from opening up with her completely. Her admission that I affect her in such a way toys with my resolve though. Never been one to want to show the back of my tongue, but somehow Beth is different. Tough, resilient, and so damn stubborn, she’s lodged herself under my skin so deep, I just know there’s no way to get rid of her. Even if I’d want to.

“You’re staring at me,” she whispers, interrupting my musings. “Are you still mad?”

“Fuck no.”

She tilts her head, as if waiting for me to say more. When I don’t volunteer, she takes in a deep shaky breath and looks away.

“Okay. Good. I really am sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, Bean.” The use of my nickname for her has her eyes flick up to mine. “It’s all good.”

“So when can we eat? I’m starving,” she announces, and I gladly grab on to the distraction.

“Now. Sit down. I’ll grab us some plates.”

We spend the next ten minutes or so quietly eating—the silence not an unpleasant one. After putting the leftovers in the fridge and hand-washing the few dishes we dirtied, Beth makes us some decaf, and we sit down in the living room. Instead of sitting on the couch beside me she picks the chair. A moment later I understand why she wants a bit of distance.

“I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll move Max and my stuff back home.”

“Is that right?” I try to curb the urge to demand she stay here. There really is no good reason to; other than needing the all clear from the doc on Tuesday. I’ve just effectively proven, by managing to prepare a meal, that I can manage fine on my own. Slapping myself upside the head for that now. Only reason would be that I don’t
want
them to leave. Trying to force Beth to stay would probably only cause her to run in the opposite direction harder.

“I just think the sooner we get back into our regular routines, the better it is.” She makes her voice convincing, but her eyes betray her. If I’m not mistaken, she doesn’t want to go as much as I don’t want her to leave.

“If you think so.”

“Why? You don’t agree?”

I can hear the uncertainty in her voice and suddenly I don’t want to play this guessing game anymore. I’m too fucking old not to be clear about what I do and don’t want. I think Beth is too.

“Cards on the table.”

She looks at me with what I swear is an odd mix of hope and fear in her eyes. “Okay?”

“I’m way past beating around the bush like this, Beth. I don’t think I need to point out that I care for you—fuck, you’re beautiful, capable, smart as a whip, and even though you like to show off that hard shell, I fucking know you have the softest underbelly.”

A slightly embarrassed blush starts creeping up her face, but she doesn’t look away from me.

“I reckon you noticed too that there was a brief period there where I wasn’t sure it was worth the fight, but I was wrong. It most definitely is worth the battle. I agree there’s a lot going on—” Before I have a chance to finish my thought, she sits up straight.

“Exactly,” she jumps in. “That’s why I think this is for the best. Hard to get a good read on what is possible with all that is happening around us. I’m thinking a bit of space wouldn’t hurt.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” I point out and with a little move of her hand she indicates for me to finish. “Not ‘exactly’ at all, in fact. What I was going to say was that the shit that happens in life, whatever it is, will always be there. If not this, then something else. Life isn’t lived in a bubble, Bean, you should know that better than some. Every day there is more bullshit to face and let me ask you—doesn’t it feel better not to have to face it alone?”

I didn’t expect tears to pool in her eyes, but they’re unmistakable, hanging onto the edge of her eyelids for dear life. The moment the first one rolls down her cheek, I reach out my hand. “Come here, sugar.”

Hesitantly she gets up and when she touches my hand, I grab on and pull her down on my lap.

“I’m too heavy!”

“Shut it. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

Settling a little against me—but barely—she starts talking.

“I just don’t know what you want. Hell, I don’t know if what I want is even possible.”

“First off, anything is possible, but you’ve gotta open up to it. And as for what I want? I can’t rightly tell you, but what I
can
tell you is that I don’t want you to go. I’m not gonna keep you; it’s your right to do whatever the hell you want, but I really just want you to stay here. I like you here. I like Max here. And it’s gonna be lonely as hell with both of you gone, but I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.”