11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
E mma
A distant bird call has me opening my eyes.
I blink a few times to clear my vision and center myself before rolling over to check my phone.
Shit. It’s 10:30.
"Grandpa," I call out. "I'm late. You didn’t wake me up."
Nobody answers and for a second, I think he must have gone out for an early start on the water.
Then, it hits me like a bolt of lightning, at the same time as the phone rings beside me.
Grandpa isn’t here.
He’s in the hospital fighting for his life
I jerk up in bed and glance around. Even from this distance, I can see the remnants of chaos in the living room and the abandoned teacup shards on the ground. I didn’t clean up when I got home, too exhausted to do much more than collapse on my bed.
But now I wish I did because I hate the reminder of what happened yesterday.
Grandpa holding his chest, gasping and falling to the floor…
I try my best to block out the memory as the phone continues to ring.
I reach for it and answer it without glancing at the caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Hey." Tate’s breathless voice emits from the receiver, but it's surrounded by heavy construction sounds. "My mom just called and told me about your grandpa. He's in the hospital? I’m so sorry, babe. I wish I could be there with you. How are you holding up?"
I sigh. "I don’t know. It almost feels like a dream. And then I woke up this morning and he wasn't here."
"I can imagine. I’m so sorry."
"It’s okay. He’s stable now and they’re going to schedule him for surgery soon so he should be fine." I pause for a second taking in more of her labored breathing. "Are you jogging right now?"
"Something like that."
That gives me pause. Despite being active, like me, Tate isn't big on organized exercise. She finds jogging in particular needlessly stressful and painful on her knees.
"I’m running late and if I don't get there in five minutes, Rico is going to chew my head off," she explains.
"Oh," I answer. Tate is currently in New York completing a PT fellowship, under a naturopathic guru, Rico Hernandez.
But, as she's told me, for a naturopath the man can be a real fussy jerk, albeit a very passive-aggressive one.
A loud horn shatters the atmosphere, followed by Tate yelling, "Alright! I see you, asshole. Middle finger to you too. Yeah, I hope you kiss your mother with that mouth. Jerk."
I press my lips together to hold back my giggle. Tate is always so calm, usually the picture of Zen and control. It's hilarious to see her cursing some stranger out.
"Sorry, you had to hear that," she says. "I swear to God everyone in this city is insane. It's starting to drive me crazy too."
"I hear New York City can induce insanity in even the best of us." Now that I think about it, it makes sense that Declan is from New York. He's as insane as they come.
"You got that right. I almost don't recognize myself anymore. One of these days, I'm going to-"
Her voice cuts out abruptly, and I hear a clatter, followed by some other commotion.
The silence is so abrupt it has alarm shooting through me.
"Hello?" I call out after nearly a minute passes. I glance at the phone to make sure I'm still on the line and try again. "Tate? Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Her voice comes from far away and then closer as she says. "Sorry, I just bumped into someone."
"Someone, you know?"
"No," she says. "Anyway. I need to go. I'll try to get some time off so I can fly back maybe next weekend, even if it's just for a couple of days."
"Aww. That's sweet, but you don't have to just for me."
"Oh, it's not just for you," she answers pointedly. "I really do need to get away from this place, at least for a few days. Or I'm just going to lose my mind."
I chuckle. "Hang in there. I'll talk to you later. Love you."
"Love you too."
My next call is to the hospital where they tell me that Grandpa is still asleep. According to Gracie, the nurse who picked up, he was awake for a few minutes during the night but wasn't lucid and didn't say much.
Guilt pricks me when she tells me that.
I should have been there.
He's probably confused and doesn't know why he's in the hospital. I shouldn't have left him in there alone.
"Don't beat yourself up honey," Gracie tells me when I reveal my guilt. "He really wasn't aware of anything that was going on. And he won't wake up again for the next few hours. Doc has him on some sedatives. How about you come in around two-thirty? That's when visiting hours start."
"Alright, I will. Thank you."
That's three hours away. Which gives me enough time to return Lou's car and help Rick at the bar if he needs it.
As I get myself out of bed and ready for the day, my mind drifts back to last night, the less sucky part of it that is.
Declan.
And mind blowing, world-altering sex.
I can still remember how good it felt when his finger penetrated me. His harsh breath against my neck, his intense gaze on mine…
God.
I never had an orgasm quite like that one. At this point, I'm not sure I've ever had a real orgasm period. If I have, the one last night put all of that to shame.
And you’ll never have another like that either because we agreed that you wouldn’t do it again, right?
The reminder is like a bucket of cold water to the face. I can't say it doesn't sting that Declan doesn't want a repeat of last night, but it’s probably for the best. And at least this way I’m sure that he doesn’t have any ulterior motives for covering Grandpa's hospital bill.
He just did it because he's a nice guy.
Which is the oddest thing, because two days ago, if anyone had told me that, I would have laughed in their face.
I guess this is my lesson: never judge a book by its cover.
During my meeting with Declan last night, we arranged a schedule that included me watching Amelia on certain days of the week, alternating with the babysitter.
I had to find times when it wouldn’t interfere with work at the bar. Today is the first day, and I'm supposed to go over in the evening to spend time with Amelia.
And I'll probably see Declan again and try not to think dirty thoughts.
I sigh and shrug on my satchel.
I check that I have everything, and then I head out.
The problems begin when Lou's car refuses to start. Her Volkswagen sedan is kinda funny in that whenever the gas reads lower than quarter-tank it starts to act up. Sometimes it just makes weird sounds when I drive. Other times, it refuses to start entirely until you put a little gas in it. Not sure if it's a problem with the car, or Lou just rigged it like that so no one uses up all her gas.
I sigh.
The Tiki Bar is only a fifteen minute walk from me, but I decide to take the bus anyway, slightly exhausted from everything that happened yesterday.
A bus comes around once an hour, a little away from our front door, right by the mailbox. I get to the mailbox right as medium-sized yellow bus turns into the street. I wave at the driver and he pulls to a stop.
"Hey there little lady." Clifton, the cheerful plump driver, calls out as I climb on. "Sorry about your grandfather by the way. Real damn shame."
I sigh internally. Does the whole town know about the heart attack?
"He’s doing better, thank you," I say and take an empty front seat. I smile politely at the half-dozen people on the bus before I sit down. "They stabilized him at the hospital."
"Great," Clifton says and jabs his finger to the back. "Carol over there was worried sick all night. Says your grandpa used to come to the park and play mahjong with her group sometimes."
I turn and smile at the elderly lady who gives me an encouraging look.
"We'll pray for him at church," she says.
"Appreciate it," I respond and turn back around.
The conversation doesn't end there. In the short, three-minute ride, several people on the bus come up to me to extend their condolences and speak a little about their relationship with my grandpa. It's not a surprise. My Grandpa has apparently touched a lot of lives in his time on earth.
And hopefully, he'll be able to touch a lot more.
At my stop in the town center, I step off the bus and head into the Tiki Bar just as Rick is waving goodbye to a customer.
He frowns when he sees me coming. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I would help you a little this afternoon. Carly isn't in, right? She has classes today."
"Yeah, she's not here. But I don't need help. I got it. Besides, you've got a lot on your plate. Speaking of which..." He holds up a finger and does a little jog behind the counter, searching for something in the drawers. When he returns, he gestures for me to extend my hand palm open.
I do and he presses something into it.
After he retreats his hand, I see a wad of cash.
"For the hospital bills," he says. "And don't worry, it’s coming out of my portion of the profits."
"Rick–"
"Don’t mention it," he says with a warm smile. "Seriously, don't. You know I hate when these things get sappy."
I smile warmly at the man who has been like a second father to me. "Thanks, but it's not necessary. The hospital bills are covered already."
His eyebrows rise in surprise. "Insurance came in clutch?"
Part of me wants to say yes and end it there but I don’t want to lie to Rick. "No um… someone helped me pay for it actually."
"Someone?"
"Yeah. You know the new guy in town, the one that bought the Pink Hotel?"
A look of displeasure passes over Rick's face. "The five-burger guy?"
"Yeah him. Anyway, he was at our house when Grandpa had a heart attack. His daughter came over earlier because she wanted to talk to Grandpa about the Pink Hotel but then Grandpa had a heart attack and Declan, five-burger guy, helped me get him to the hospital. And after that, a nurse told me he cleared the bills too." I skip a lot of vital details, but the true story makes even less sense than what I tell him.
"That’s nice of him," Rick comments, scratching his beard. "But I don’t see why he paid for it. Was he responsible for the heart attack?"
"No," I say immediately. "He wasn't. But I think maybe he's just a nice guy."
"Maybe," Rick sounds doubtful about it. "But anyway, I'm glad it's covered, even if it's by the likes of him."
"Yeah." I check my watch. "I'll just hang around for a few hours and then go see Grandpa. Hey, can I give some of the money to Lou to cover her gas? And pay you back later?"
Rick makes a face but ultimately relents.
"Knock yourself out, kiddo." He ruffles my hair fondly and then returns behind the counter to balance the books.
A few hours later, I'm saying goodbye to Rick and heading to the hospital.
Grandpa has been admitted and the internal medicine waiting area is way more active today. Just as I'm arriving at Grandpa's room, I nearly bump into a familiar figure leaving.
"Poppy?"
She squints a little before she recognizes me. Poppy does own glasses but hardly ever wears them. "Ah, Emma."
"Yeah, it's me." I cock my head. "Did you come to visit Grandpa?"
She frowns but I could swear she was blushing. She sticks a stern finger in my face. "Now don't get any strange ideas. I was just making sure the old man hadn't croaked is all."
I try not to smirk. "Sure. I believe you."
She nods firmly and then walks off with brash, long strides, a small force of nature.
I shake my head and head inside.
The tart smell of disinfectant hits me, accompanied by an artificial linen fragrance that isn’t enough to deodorize the bitter scent of blood in the air. I shiver at the cold air that fills the room, even colder than in the hallway.
Cold as a morgue. The thought has fear spiking through me and I swallow it down fast.
Grandpa is lying in bed so quietly, the only motion on the monitors that beep by his bedside.
He doesn't wake up for the whole visit but I sit and hold his frail, cold hand that feels small and weak in mine. I talk to him the entire time. Mostly I chatter on about nothing, simply reiterating happier times, and how much I wish he was awake and fishing right now.
And then, when I run out of things to talk about, I simply close my eyes and pray he gets better after the surgery.
The sun seems to set quickly which means visiting hours are over.
Then I head over to the Marriott, a forty-five-minute bus ride away.
The Marriot is one of the fancier hotels we have in town. It's not quite as large as the ones in California or any other major city, but it boasts six floors of art deco-style elegance, with brown wooden accents to give it the feel of a large lodge.
The waitress at the front desk has a wide smile for me, and when I introduce myself, she buzzes me up after a simple glance at my ID.
I suppose Declan informed her I would be stopping by. Or maybe I just have one of those trustworthy faces.
Either way, I smile my thanks and head on up.
In my little experience with hotels, the higher you go the fancier the rooms get. Declan is on the topmost floor, which is ornamented with decadent Moroccan rugs, gold trim on the wooden accents, and the scent of fresh eucalyptus in the air.
I walk down the wide hallway, to the large oak door at the end of the hall, far away from all the other doors, suggesting just how huge the room on the other side of it is.
As I knock, I feel my heart racing.
The door pulls open and Amelia stands there with a smile. "Hey, Emma! I was waiting for you. How is your grandpa?"
"He's great...are you going somewhere?" I notice that she has a sparkly pink suitcase at her side.
"Yeah." She rolls her eyes. "I have to go to my mom's. She's going to Fashion Week and I need to be there to show support." She glances back to her father for confirmation. He follows behind her with a steaming mug.
Declan nods as he sips his coffee.
"Oh ok," l say feeling a little disheartened. I was looking forward to spending time with Amelia. "When are you coming back?"
"Next week probably." She turns back to her dad. "I'm going to take this down to the lobby first."
“The valet should have pulled the car up front for you if you wanted to put it there,” Declan says. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay.” Amelia walks past me rolling the suitcase behind her. Her departure allows me to see more of the room, the wide lounging area, the ceiling-to-floor windows and adjoining patio, and what looks to be a state-of-the-art coffee machine.
Wow.
"Don't you think you should have told me that she wouldn’t be here for a week, so I didn’t come over?" I ask Declan, a little peeved at having wasted my time coming.
"It skipped my mind," he says but his eyes are laughing. "I can drop you off on the way to the airport if you want. I’m heading to New York too, tomorrow on a day trip."
Somehow, the thought that he’s leaving too makes me even sadder, but I refuse to dissect that feeling.
I shake my head. "No need. I'm just bummed out. I wanted to spend time with Amelia, you know talk about Madam Thornley's diary and stuff."
The laughter in Declan's eyes dies an instant death. "By the way, I want to talk to you about that diary nonsense, and the whole story you fed Amelia."
"Which story?"
"The one with the hotel and the lovers and the thieves and the ghosts," he continues. "It's amusing and all but Amelia is taking it way too seriously. Last time, I caught her nearly crying over a page in the diary. She thinks this is all real."
"But it is real."
He raises an eyebrow. "Really? Three thieves pulled off the heist of a century and escaped into the night with a gem that no one important outside this town has ever heard of. And they were never seen again?"
"Just because it's improbable doesn't mean it's not true."
"Right." He takes another sip of his coffee, but his dismissive nature annoys me.
You know what your problem is," I say. "You lack imagination."
"Really?" His lip quirks.
"Yes. You think life is as boring as you are."
Instead of taking offense, he smiles. "I'm a grown-up. I'm supposed to be boring."
"Is that you're a way of calling me a child?"
"No, but you're acting childish feeding into this argument."
I glare at him.
I hate being called a child, especially by him. I hate that he thinks he knows everything. "I wasn't a child yesterday, was I?"
That wipes the smug look on his face. Heat appears in his eyes.
I resist the urge to push him further in that direction.
"I can stop talking to Amelia about it," I say. "If that will make you happy. But that doesn't mean the stories aren't true. And just because I believe they're true doesn't make me a child."
He sighs heavily. "I'm just trying to protect her."
"And I get that. But you don't have to make her hate you in the process. There's a big difference between protecting someone and controlling them. Or respecting someone and fearing them."
He doesn't say anything to that, but I can tell the strike landed by the way his lips tighten.
"I'll tell Amelia bye on the way out," I say.
And with that, I turn around and leave before I say something else I regret.
When I get home, the restless energy from my conversation with Declan still hasn't left my body.
Ugh, why does he get under my skin so easily?
Just when I start to like him, he gets condescending again.
Why did I agree to work for him?
Why did I think we were becoming friends?
And why the heck am I still so attracted to him?
I pace up and down wondering what to do with all of it. It's too late to go out for a swim or a walk. Besides, without Grandpa here, it feels odd to be on the lake.
Left with no other options, I storm up to my room and throw open my closet. There's an old empty canvas there that I've had since high school and some watercolors lying around. I take them all out, setting it up in the space of a few seconds.
And then, for the first time in nearly three years, I start to paint.