Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Christy pushed away the remains of her partially eaten lunch, leaned her elbows on her desk, and cradled her head as she closed her eyes. She’d barely slept the last two nights, ever since trying to prove the past had no hold over her. Clearly, it did, despite married men being off-limits. That was only one of the reasons she’d lied to Brenna about having a prior commitment so she wouldn’t have to join them for supper and meet Sven’s wife.
One touch of his skin against hers with a simple handshake had lain to rest the ridiculous notion that she was over him. He obviously hadn’t had any issues moving on with his life, although a grudge seemed to be set firmly in place where she was concerned.
The sweet boy she’d grown up with no longer had an easy smile for her or readable expressions—unless stoic and unapproachable counted. Only when he spoke to his daughter did his face soften.
Unlike my father.
His lips had always thinned and his frown lines had deepened when she was present. She hadn’t understood why until she’d accidently found a woman’s picture and a Dear John letter relinquishing her parental rights to him for a baby girl with no name.
What a way to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.
He must’ve seen her mother every time he looked at her, but it didn’t justify saying her mom had died during childbirth. He'd lied to her, blaming her for a death that hadn’t occurred, even as he raised her with no hint of affection.
He punished me for what she did.
Nothing in his desk, dresser, or nightstand had contradicted his behavior toward her or hinted at any love on his part. Why had he even bothered to keep her? Had she been nothing more than a convenient catalyst for his bitterness?
That bitterness had carried over into her life, in spite of her efforts to remain positive and project happiness. She had survived being in her childhood home this week, but seeing Sven had brought the opposite of closure.
All the more reason to leave as soon as possible.
Though Brenna would likely be disappointed, Christy didn’t belong here.
Her cell buzzed on her desk, alerting her to their afternoon session in thirty minutes. She mentally crossed her fingers that he didn’t plan to stick around for the hour-long appointment. The tension might drive her mad, and his daughter didn’t need an overprotective audience while she learned new skills and practiced old ones.
No motherly audience, either, while we’re at it.
Christy tossed the rest of her lunch in the trash and carried her work laptop to the modified kitchen down the hall. Her normal routine included a review of her new patient’s medical history. This time would be no different, in case something in the files hadn’t come up in conversation.
Standing at the adjustable counter, she logged in and clicked through to Brenna’s records. The details of her injuries amplified Christy’s admiration for the young woman who’d almost died. Her road to recovery over the last eleven months demonstrated her strength and a profound determination to not only live, but to excel in a world that presented challenges on a daily basis.
A brief vibration against her hip pulled Christy out of the pages and pages of documentation. Her phone showed a text message from her soon-to-arrive client.
“Goal #1: To not be a burden to my dad or my grandparents.
Goal #2: To live as independently as possible in my own house or apartment.
Goal #3: To learn all I can about how to advocate for myself and others with disabilities.”
The amount of respect she had for Brenna grew tenfold. Most of the people she worked with started out small, like preparing a meal or going on an outing by themselves—which were terrific achievements soon after life-altering injuries and illnesses. Seldom did anyone aim high at the beginning of their journey, let alone for the long term.
She savored an unexpected rush of pride as she responded. “I’m beyond impressed. Practically speechless. I have no doubt you’ll accomplish all of them.”
A row of red hearts appeared a few seconds later. “Aw, shucks. Will be there in five minutes. I was told I need to sign some forms.”
“See you soon.” As Christy closed out of the records tab, something niggled at her. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but she’d missed an important bit of information about the case. She had learned to trust that feeling as a child, and her intuition never failed her.
The cursor sat in the middle of the emergency contact page, waiting for her to move the arrow, click on a different tab, or change data in the current form.
She absently read through the listed names, phone numbers, and relationship to the patient while her brain figured out what didn’t add up in her mind.
Sven Carlsen. Father. Otto and Maggie Carlsen. Grandparents.
Mother. Why isn’t her mother listed?
Was Sven widowed? Or had he suffered a contentious divorce?
Or she could have a job that doesn’t make her a good choice for an emergency contact.
Her future with the boy she’d loved had perished the day Christy had saved herself, and no amount of yearning would bring it back to life.
“Here you go. Enjoy your first session.” With a bright smile, the office manager motioned for Brenna to enter the room.
“Hi, Christy.” Brenna wheeled her chair into the room past her escort, her coat and gloves on her lap. “I know I’m early, but I had a book to pick up at the library and my dad has a two-o’clock appointment. It was easier for him to drop me off than reschedule.”
Relegating her pointless speculations to the part of her brain with a padlock, Christy waved the young woman forward. “No worries. I was just catching up on your medical history. Are you ready to get started?”
“Ready and willing.” Using the more efficient arm motions they’d talked about when they met, Brenna crossed to the fully functional kitchen. “How does this work? Am I learning to use normal counters first?”
“Today we’ll be practicing with standard-height countertops since you need some training until you have ADA-compliant counters.” Christy pressed the down button on the control pad and released it when the main unit reached its lowest setting. “I’ll also introduce you to the lower ones you’ll have after your renovations are done.”
“Wow! This is so cool.” Staring toward the setup of a built-in stovetop, accessible sink, and a dozen other top-of-the-line features that raised and lowered, Brenna backed up, withdrew her cell from her purse, and snapped several pictures. “I need the name of the company where I can order the whole setup. I’ve missed cooking so much.”
“Of course. I’ll get the printout with information on this manufacturer and a few others while you hang up your coat and see what’s in all the drawers and cabinets. Be right back.” The trip to the front desk gave Christy time to shove her feelings about Sven and the past a little deeper into their locked box. She had a job to do—a job she loved.
The next two hours passed quickly as she guided Brenna through several methods to adapt and be proficient in a typical and a chair-friendly kitchen, as well as helping her practice wheelies. Nothing seemed to be too much of a challenge for her all-time favorite client.
Christy retrieved the vegetable and cheese trays and the batch of peanut butter no-bake cookies they’d prepared from the refrigerator and placed them in a bag. “Great job. What’s your most useful takeaway from today’s session?”
“Bigger isn’t necessarily better.” Brenna’s wide grin and giggle-snort lit up her face. “I had a lot more leverage when I was cutting at the table than I did at the higher counter. Oh, and taste-testing is always allowed when making cookies.”
The young woman’s witty sense of humor drew a laugh from Christy. “And at least half of tonight’s supper is ready.”
“Actually, I was thinking… I’m in the mood for Mexican food, and there’s this place on the other side of town that has amazing fajitas. Are you busy tonight?” Brenna looked up at her with a hopeful smile.
“I don’t want to intrude if you and your family have plans.” Fishing for information wasn’t her style, but the words came out before Christy could control her mouth. She absolutely did not want to know the specifics of her former boyfriend’s personal life. Interacting with him during the walk-through of her late father’s house had already caused enough conflicting feelings and unwanted thoughts.
“You won’t be intruding. I promise. It’s just Dad and me. I don’t have a mom or any brothers or sisters. Well, I have a biological mom, of course, but she and my dad weren’t dating anymore when she found out she was pregnant. She planned to give me up for adoption, but he wanted me. So, long story short, she’s not in the picture. Never has been, which is totally okay with me. One awesome parent is better than a hundred bad ones. Do you have any kids?”
Christy’s vision wavered and she clutched the table to keep her balance. Brenna had one parent, like she had, but the similarities evidently ended there. Sven had willingly accepted his role as father and supported his daughter in every way.
Just Dad and me. Funny how that can be the best or the worst possible thing.
She sucked in a slow breath to steady the shifting floor and shook her head. “No. No husband. No kids.”
I have no one.
“That’s too bad. I bet you’d make a terrific mom.” A chirp sounded, and Brenna flipped over the phone on her lap. “My ride’s here. Please say you’ll come. I’ll text you the details.”
“I…” Still feeling a little woozy, Christy sank into one of the chairs. “I’m not sure what’s on my calendar.”
Brenna’s eye-roll sparked a guilt trip, because the excuse didn’t fly with either of them.
“What if I need your advice on how to handle an accessibility issue?” Brenna maneuvered toward the corridor and glanced over her shoulder as she made the turn to head to the waiting room. “Thanks for the great session. See you at La Cocina at five thirty.”
Resting her crossed arms on the table and her forehead on her arms, Christy closed her eyes and sighed. Sven immediately appeared behind her eyelids—not as an eighteen-year-old boy with a heart of gold, but as an impassive forty-five-year-old man who radiated keep-out vibes. He’d matured into a tall broad-shouldered grump with salt-and-pepper scruff that suited his guarded personality. Spending time with him would be a mistake, especially since she was leaving again soon.
But how can I say no to his daughter?
Brenna would continue to ask after every brush-off, of that she had no doubt.
Can I survive one awkward meal with him? Thank god, I’m busy all day tomorrow with the Claus for a Cause fundraiser.
Her phone hummed near her elbow, forcing her to make the decision.
A pleading-face emoji followed the name and address of the restaurant and the time. Someone almost certainly had a lot of experience wrapping people around her little finger.
“I’ll see you then.”
It was the only response that wouldn’t result in massive self-reproach.
“Yay!!! I knew I’d wear you down eventually. Ha!”
A reluctant smile slipped free, warning Christy she had a major weakness where Brenna was concerned. Fortunately, no one and nothing could ever convince her to make Creekside her home again.
She toted the laptop back to her office to type up her observations and recommendations, based on how the first therapy appointment had gone. The habit of noting a patient’s starting point and progress distracted her from the past, the present, and what could’ve been until another text arrived.
“La Cocina is an 8-minute drive from the clinic and a 6-minute drive from your house with Friday traffic.”
Despite the reindeer flying in circles in her stomach, she managed a chuckle at the messenger’s persistence. As she shut down her computer, another message announced its arrival.
“Time to put your coat on—and your shoes, if you’re at home and took them off.”
This time she shook her head, but she did what she’d been told. She’d no sooner buttoned her wool coat than more instructions popped into the one-sided conversation.
“No time to go to the bathroom! There’s a nice one where you’re going. Grab your keys and purse and get in the car!”
A bark of laughter escaped, overtaking the case of nerves. Her dinner date evidently had no qualms about making things happen.
On her way to the parking lot, Christy tapped in a reply. “I’m going. I’m going.”
“Good. See you in a few!”
Skirting Creekside’s downtown, she arrived seven minutes later—right behind the pickup truck Sven and his daughter had driven to the house she’d inherited. She pulled into the closest empty space and used her rearview mirror to watch them park in an accessible spot near the entrance.
As Christy gathered her purse and adjusted her scarf, Sven retrieved Brenna’s wheelchair from the covered bed, rolled it to the passenger side, and locked the wheels to keep it from moving. His care and gentleness as he transferred her into the chair backed up her earlier assertion that he was an awesome parent.
Christy trailed them into the restaurant with her heart in her throat. If her father had ever treated her with such kindness, she didn’t remember it.
“Christy, you’re here! You already met my dad, so you two can chat while I go see about getting a table.” Brenna wasted no time excusing her way through the group of people in front of her.
Sven clenched his scruffy jaw, like he wanted to be anywhere other than here, and he didn’t look away from the direction his daughter had gone. “Thanks for emailing Bee with the answers to my questions about the house.”
She ignored his gruff tone since it seemed to be his default around her. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m working on lining up an engineer to checks things out too.” His voice softened somewhat, but his face remained unreadable. “Is it okay if I come over and inspect the roof on Sunday?”
“Yes. Sure.” Catching sight of Brenna waving them toward her, Christy stepped forward, glad for the inadvertent rescue. “Looks like our table is ready.”
A grunt carried to her ears and a heavy presence at her shoulders assured her that he trailed after her at close range. “I’ll be over at ten.”
“That’s fine.” She suppressed the urge to ask him what the hell his problem was. He’d rejected her, not the other way around.
“I’ll take the outside spot so I have plenty of room.” Brenna pointed to the chair across from her. “Christy, why don’t you go on that side? And Dad can sit between us.”
Well, this should be fun.
Christy settled into the assigned seat and tried to prepare herself for the most uncomfortable evening of her life.
Sven huffed out a sigh, suggesting he wasn’t any happier with the plan than she was. “Are you sure you fit okay there, Bee?”
“It’s perfect.” Brenna’s barely noticeable smirk outed her amusement. Suddenly, her intentions were all too clear.
A matchmaking attempt.