Chapter Twelve
"Good night, Z." Alara ran her hand over her daughter's dark, unruly curls where she rested her head on the pillow.
"Good night, Mom. Today was a good day, wasn't it? Grandpa Grape isn't sad anymore. And that's because you made the pictures that will sell his wines, and he loves them. Did you see his face?"
"Yeah, sweet pea, I did. He loved your coaster too."
"I know." Zia said it matter-of-factly. "He likes shiny things. He'd just forgotten that he does."
Alara thought that summed him up perfectly. "You're right. But for now, you need to get to sleep. And so do I."
"Are we working in your office again tomorrow?"
"I think so. Delaney might come by again." She really wanted to show Delaney the designs in person. The gold leaf she'd bought at the craft store was far from the real thing, but she believed Delaney would understand when she saw it—just like Charles had.
Zia made a face, and Alara had to ask. "What did you think of Delaney?"
Zia shrugged her shoulders all the way up to her ears and held them there a beat before letting them fall again. "She's not a maker," she said eventually.
Alara nodded, knowing it was the truest, kindest thing Zia could bring herself to say. "I know. She's a little different than we're used to. But she's a good person."
Zia's lip curled, and Alara decided to leave it there. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of her in the next few days. You might want to give her a chance."
"Okay. But only because you want me to."
"Thanks, Z. You know how it works. Sometimes you see the goodness before I do. And sometimes I see it before you do."
Zia grinned. "I saw Prince Daddy before you did. And Grandpa Grape."
Alara leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I know, and I'll be forever grateful to you. Now it's time to sleep."
"Okay. Goodnight, Mom, love you."
"Love you too, Z."
Alara left the door between their rooms slightly open before she sat down. She knew she should get ready for bed, even though it wasn't that late. If she didn't change into her pajamas now, she'd no doubt wake up fully clothed in the morning. She closed her eyes and let her chin fall to her chest.
Today really had been a good day. It had managed to keep her attention away from everything else. But now that she was finally alone and still, the exhaustion crept back over her. At least she didn't seem to be having as many headaches lately.
She reached for her phone, wanting to check the last time she'd had one.
She'd started keeping a little log for herself a while ago, trying to figure out if there was any pattern to them. But she didn’t get as far as her calendar.
Her thumb hovered over the screen when she saw a missed call and voicemail from Dr. Ambrose's office. She stared at the notifications.
It was Tuesday. Her appointment had been on Friday. Dr. Ambrose had said he'd see her again in a week—or sooner, if there was anything they needed to talk about. She checked the day at the top of the screen just to be sure. But yes, today was only Tuesday. Friday to Tuesday was not a week.
Friday to Tuesday was the or sooner. The words that had set alarm bells ringing in her head.
She got up and went to close the door to Zia's room, then took her phone into the bathroom and closed that door too, wishing like hell that she hadn't bothered to look at her phone. She'd have been able to sleep, then. Now… she'd no doubt lie awake all night, tossing and turning and wondering.
She pulled herself together. She didn't need to wonder about this first part. She could listen to the damn message and find out what it was about.
She pressed play, and Clara's voice—bright and cheerful—came through.
"Hi, Alara, this is Clara from Dr. Ambrose's office.
We have the results from your bloodwork, and if you can manage to come in the morning, we'll fit you in.
You might have a little bit of a wait, but it's quiet tomorrow, so call me back and let me know what time you'd like to come.
It'll have to be morning, though. He can't do tomorrow afternoon. "
The message ended, and Alara sat there staring. That couldn't be good news, could it? Doctors didn't slot new patients in between their existing appointments just for the fun of it. There had to be something.
She set the phone down and gripped the edge of the vanity, dropping her head as she took in deep breaths. Even if it was as bad as she feared, she'd cope. She had to. She had Zia. There was no other choice. No matter what Dr. Ambrose told her tomorrow, she was going to have to be okay.
When she lifted her head, she met her own gaze in the mirror. The woman who stared back at her looked terrified but determined.
She forced herself through the motions of getting undressed and washed and ready for bed.
But then, back in the bedroom, all she could do was pace.
There was no way she'd be able to sleep.
If she hadn't turned her damn phone off while she was working, she would have heard the call.
She could have answered Clara and set an appointment, so that at least she'd have something to focus on. A time.
She went to the window and rested her hands on the sill, looking out into the night.
She loved the view from here. Her bedroom sat in the wing that ran out toward the front of the estate, so her window looked back along the face of the house—and at night, with the lamps lit, the old stone glowed warm and gold.
It made the whole place look homey. Welcoming.
Below and to the side, she could see the sweep of the front steps and the driveway beyond, and past all of it, the dark rise of the vine-covered hills.
Her breath caught when she spotted that Reaves's Land Cruiser was still there.
He must have stayed to spend time with his dad for a while, longer than usual.
She usually came upstairs with Zia and stayed here after she'd put her to bed.
Some nights she longed to stay and hang out with Reaves or Charles or both, but she loved—and perhaps envied a little—the bond that they shared.
It seemed only right to give them their space.
She was glad Reaves was here for Charles tonight. She knew seeing the designs had lifted him, but there was no missing how melancholy he'd been feeling today.
She gripped the windowsill tighter when a thought hit her. Reaves was so good at being there for his dad. He was good at being there for Zia. And when Alara let him, he was good at being there for her, too.
She straightened her shoulders. If ever there was a time when she needed someone to be there for her, this was it. And if ever there'd been a person who she’d want that someone to be, it was Reaves.
But she couldn't. It wouldn't… She caught herself doing it again—trying to deny it.
What was she trying to prove? Why was she trying to fool herself?
Reaves had made clear, from pretty much the first time they met, that he liked her—that he'd like to explore something more with her.
And when she'd put him off, he hadn't disappeared.
He'd stuck around, still being there for Zia and for her, and making clear that if all she wanted from him was friendship, then that was still on the table, too.
She'd been alone with everything hard for so long that the idea of handing even a piece of it to someone else felt less like relief than like stepping off a ledge. She let herself get as far as the thought—the possibility of actually letting him in—before it slammed shut.
No.
She could see him now, jogging down the front steps, heading for his Land Cruiser. If she left it just a few moments, he'd drive away, and the decision would be made for her. She started to slide the window up, still torn.
But as he crossed the gravel, Reaves took something from his pocket and pointed it at the Land Cruiser.
It beeped, lights flaring in the dark—and she saw the sparkle.
He'd kept it. Zia's ridiculous glitter keychain, glue and sequins and all, hanging from his keys where anyone could see it, where he'd have to carry it every single day.
He hadn't just been kind about it. He'd kept it.
Something in her that had been braced for so long simply let go.
She flung the window open and called down.
"Reaves!"
~ ~ ~
Reaves's stride faltered when he heard Alara call his name. He spun around, looking for her on the front steps. He felt foolish when she wasn't there. He might be tired, but there was no need for him to start imagining things.
"Up here."
He looked up at her bedroom window—of course he knew which one it was. He'd suggested his dad offer her and Zia those rooms, and he and Ollie had spent a long few days clearing out years' worth of accumulated clutter and dust before he'd brought her and Zia back here from Fort Bragg.
He raised his hand and grinned. "Is everything okay?"
She didn't smile, didn't nod, simply stared at him. His feet were carrying him back to the house before he knew the decision was made.
"Want to come down?" he called.
She nodded and closed the window.
He ran up the steps and forced himself to wait for her in the entrance hall. His dad had said he was going to bed when Reaves left him a little while ago, but the last thing he needed was Charles finding him dashing upstairs in search of Alara.
She appeared at the top of the staircase a moment later, wearing a simple, colorful, sarong-type thing that he figured must be a nightgown. He grasped the banister and waited.
"Want to come down and talk?"
She nodded, and with every step she took, his grip tightened. She looked pale. God, he hoped whatever was wrong with her hadn't taken a turn for the worse. But no—this pallor was different from the times he'd seen her dizzy and faint.
This was something else. He started up the steps when he finally understood. He couldn't help it.
She was terrified.