CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Day one without Jessie around went surprisingly well, if Malcolm said so himself.
Estelle had been called by her agent with rumors of an Atlanta Hearts reunion special, and he wanted to gauge her interest. Unsurprising to either of the Smith men, she was very interested—like embarrassingly so.
“They might not even want me back, you know?” Estelle had huffed and puffed as she paced around his house. “I’m so old now, practically a dinosaur.” She patted down her frame as if inventorying everything that had aged, shifted, and sagged since the show went on hiatus.
“Darling, your agent wouldn’t call if they weren’t interested.” Craig had looped his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek, adding, “And who are you calling a dinosaur?”
“Oh, Craig,” she’d cooed, melting into his embrace and not panicking for ten whole minutes. Her two moods of the day were anxious over her career and anxious over her son. Fortunately for Malcolm, her career concerns took the brunt of her focus.
After lunch, when his nurse visit and PT exercises were complete, Malcolm and his dad sat out on the deck while Estelle doom scrolled through social media, desperate for updates and public comment on anything Atlanta Hearts related.
Malcolm had managed to keep Jessie from his mind for a few hours when his dad asked, “You hear from Jessie today? Everything okay at her mom’s place?”
“Can we not do this?” Malcolm sighed. He would rather sit through another Estelle Winters meltdown than tiptoe around feelings with his old man. Pushing himself off the lounge chair, he shuffled over to the railing and peered out into the pine trees. For a few minutes, his father let him ruminate.
“Have a seat,” his father instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. He dragged the lounger closer so all Malcolm had to do was plop down. “Oh boy,” Malcolm muttered. His father crossed his arms, the furrow in his brow on full display.
When Malcolm was a kid, he could always tell how stressed or upset his father was based on how many lines creased his face.
The first time Estelle had lost her daytime Emmy, those lines threatened to take over Craig’s entire person.
Then there was the time Malcolm had his first accident on the job.
Granted, it had been minor, but his father had aged a decade when he saw Malcolm covered in gauze and burn salve.
Now though, these worry lines felt different. They felt weather-worn and tired—much like Malcolm’s heart. “Spill it, Dad. In addition to a lower pain tolerance, I have very little patience.”
Craig thrust his hands on his hips, his feet shoulder-width apart. “Easy now,” he said, although his lips quirked with a smile. “I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Malcolm toyed with the handles of his walker, pushing the blasted device back and forth in front of him. “Peachy keen.”
“This,” his father said, pointing at the walker, “is temporary. But this,” he said, pointing to his own chest, “is a more serious issue.”
Another worry line appeared, and Malcolm had to look away. “We don’t have to have this conversation.”
Craig took a step closer, moving the walker aside so he could sit down next to his son.
The chair creaked in protest, and Malcolm had to steady himself.
“I won’t pretend to be an expert on love or,” he hesitated, flapping his hand in the air like love was all around them, “feelings. But I know that whatever you and Jessica have can be fixed. You two need to talk it out.”
Malcolm’s stomach roiled, the thought of rehashing his horrible love life with his father too much to bear.
“I don’t know. I feel like we’ve been talking it out forever.
Maybe we’re not meant to be together?” He asked it as a question, but Malcolm knew the truth.
He and JJ were done, and he’d made the right decision.
Much like his broken body, he needed to take care of his heart.
“Oh,” Craig said, voice low and sad. “Then don’t listen to me.” He rested his hands on his knees, taking a moment to study his cuticles before offering more fatherly advice. “Just in case there’s a sliver of hope, let me give you some advice.”
Not wanting to be rude, Malcolm simply nodded, focusing on the fact that his father still cared about him to say his piece. He understood how much both Trevor and JJ mourned their daddy, and he wouldn’t take these moments for granted. “Yeah?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.
“If you love someone,” his father started, clearing his throat, “you need to love them with your whole heart. They should love you in return with such force that it knocks the wind out of your lungs. You might not always agree on things, but you should always crave the other. It’s more than chemistry.
Once you find that connection, you need to nurture it.
” For a moment, Craig’s eyes lit up as he discussed love, and Malcolm barely recognized his stoic old man.
Malcolm playfully nudged his father’s side, striving to lighten the mood. “Like you and Mom?”
Craig raised a hand and waffled it back and forth.
“Well, yes and no. Estelle and I make no sense on paper. She’s an extroverted actress who loves the attention.
” He pinched the bridge of his nose, chuckling softly.
“I think we have a prime example of that happening right now.” Malcolm couldn’t hold back his own laughter.
“While I’d rather work on planning cities and bridge expansions from the quiet of my office.
Yet we balance each other out and complement each other.
At the end of the day, I know your mother has my back, and she knows that I have hers. ”
“You make it sound so simple,” Malcolm moaned. “This isn’t Mom worrying about a part or your job moving you to Tennessee. JJ and I are complicated.”
That got a true smile. “You can say that again, son. But be real. Have you seen your mother and me? It’s hardly easy, but the effort is worth it.
I can’t imagine not having your mother in my life, and I have a feeling that’s how you feel about JJ.
” He paused a moment, rubbing his hands together as he collected the rest of his wisdom.
“And considering she flew halfway around the world to be at your bedside, then I’d say there’s something to salvage. ”
Malcolm let his father’s words wash over him, praying they’d buoy his hope at a reconciliation. But the sensation was fleeting, as reality hit him like a tidal wave. “She wants to leave Pinegrove, Dad. She has plans for a promotion, you heard her. JJ’s done with Pinegrove.”
Craig stood at the admission, his gaze not quite meeting Malcolm’s. “Well, if that’s the case, you have your answer. But there’s something else you need to consider.”
“What’s that?” Malcolm was skeptical at best.
“Maybe you need to find out why Jessica is so hell-bent on leaving. What is keeping her away from here, from you? If you get to the bottom of that quagmire, you might have some answers and a path forward.”
Sighing, Malcolm pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the tears not to fall. “And what happens if our paths don’t go in the same direction?”
After walking to the screen door, Craig pulled it open slightly and sucked on his teeth. “Then at least you have your answer, and you can move forward.”
Before Malcolm could absorb his dad’s advice, Estelle swept onto the patio.
“There you boys are!” She closed the distance and carefully hugged him, her Chanel No.
5 making him cough. “I think today we need to clean your wounds, but I wanted to see what you wanted for dinner.” And with that, Malcolm fell back into the role of needy patient.
––––––––
Estelle smoothed down the front of her shirt, pulling herself back to rights after cooking supper. “I was thinking about going to the farmer’s market tomorrow.”
Craig tossed the dirty placemats into the basket, narrowly avoiding toppling Malcolm’s cup to the floor. “Is this the farmer’s market on that old farm?” He nudged Malcolm carefully with his elbow. “You know what I mean? You used to go there with Jessie all the time.”
Malcolm’s dinner turned to cement in his gut, the sweet tea he’d finished threatening to revisit. “Hog Hollow?” he asked, voice tense.
Snapping her fingers, Estelle beamed. “That’s the one. I thought it might be nice to buy some produce so I can make more salads.” She turned her full attention on Malcolm, who squirmed uncomfortably. “You boys ate all the beets.” Craig paled, and Malcolm crunched down on an ice cube.
“I’m happy to drive you, darling,” Craig offered. “Son, if you’re not feeling up for the trip, you can rest at home.” Lowering his voice, he suggested, “You might even like the hour or two alone.”
The last thing Malcolm wanted to do was walk—or in his case hobble—down memory lane. “I dunno,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in the edges of his bandages. “That might be nice, a few hours alone.”
Estelle brought her hand to her heart and frowned. “Will you be all right by yourself?”
Craig topped off Malcolm’s glass of tea and patted Estelle’s shoulder. “We’ll wrap the boy in bubble wrap before we leave. He can’t get into that much trouble.”
Their planning was interrupted by the doorbell, and Malcolm’s traitorous heart leapt at the thought that Jessie was mere feet away.
“I’ll get it,” Estelle announced, plodding over to the door in her slippers. A moment later, her squeal alerted the Smith men that it wasn’t Jessie, but rather her new favorite person. “Oh, Javi, you’re too kind. I happen to have some leftovers if you’re hungry.”
Malcolm scowled. He’d been looking forward to eating those leftovers later.
Javi strode into the kitchen wearing a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Smithy,” he greeted, shaking Craig’s hand before offering Malcolm a fist to bump. “Thought I’d swing by after work and make sure you’re still living the dream.”