Chapter 38
good, big, beautiful heart
Hannah
Shocker: Mom is ten minutes late.
We’ve spoken every day, but I haven’t seen her since she showed up to the VFW almost a week ago. She’s been reveling in her time with Richard while encouraging me to do the same with Rowan. Once she found out he’s leaving soon her insistence that we “have fun” only amplified.
Fun.
The kissing is fun. And the laughing is fun. My five-zero chess record against him is a pretty fun time, too.
But everything else? Not sure fun is a sufficient word.
His careful hands that began as practice, have left me in a nearly constant state of need.
His hand between my thighs on the bike yesterday and again last night, pressed up against the kitchen counter, and again this morning in bed before the sun came up.
The whispered words of praise in my ear, the soft encouraging kisses he plants over my skin that make me feel safe, the intensity of his fingers that are neither dominant nor submissive but…
gently claiming. All while never demanding reciprocation.
I’ve not done enough good in this lifetime to deserve the level of patience he’s shown me.
No, it’s so much more than fun. It’s healing.
When Mom steps into Jelly and Jam, all thoughts of fun come to a screeching halt.
Smile, Hannah. You knew this was coming and so did she.
Mom’s eyes are as alight as they always are, but I can’t reconcile them with her physical appearance. More weight, gone. Skin, pale. She’s out of breath but tries to hide it when she lowers into the booth.
I muster a plastic grin. “Hi, Mom.”
“Haddy girl.” She reaches for the menu as if we both haven’t memorized it cover to cover.
I pretend not to notice the bone rattling cough in her chest while she pretends not to notice that I’m pretending.
Our conversation is light, surface-level, until the waitress arrives and Mom orders cottage cheese and a bowl of fruit over her usual omelette. I force another smile while our coffees are topped off and our server walks away.
“Not hungry?” I ask, hoping I sound casual enough.
She shrugs, but her gaze lingers. A long sigh. “I know what you see, Hannah.”
I trade her stare for a sip of coffee. “And what do I see?”
“Nothing you need to worry yourself with yet.”
Yet.
Only it’s not a matter of yet. I’ve been in the worried trenches for the better part of eight years. And as I sit across from her now, I’m worried about her alone at home, driving herself around, taking care of the house.
“Mom, I’m not sure you should be alone right now.”
That signature, infuriating Lydia James smirk tugs one side of her face. “I’m not.”
I run my forefinger and thumb over my eyelids. “Let me guess, Richard?”
She pumps her brows over her mug and I groan. Sure, she’s not by herself and that makes me feel a little better, but I don’t need the mental image of them—nope. Not going there.
I attempt a more logical, mature line of thought by reminding myself he’s a doctor. She’s in good hands—nope. Not thinking about Dr. Adelson’s hands either.
“Oh my god, Hannah. Your face.” Mom’s laugh tumbles into another cough that makes my own ribs rattle. Apparently, my expression shows too much concern. “I don’t need that face either.”
An eye roll from me and a wink from her later, she sets her mug down, mood sobering.
“All jokes aside, it’s not like that with Richard.” I narrow my gaze, cock my head. Liar. “Okay, it’s a little like that. But he’s also my friend and he’s looking out for me.”
Damn the flicker of jealousy I can’t force down. I should be the one looking out for her. “And what about me, Mom?”
She smiles softly. A long pause stretches across the table before she answers, “You’re my ride or die, baby girl.
When the time comes, you’ll be the one I want most by my side.
But for now, I want you to enjoy the time you have left with your soldier man and just know that I’m okay. I’m happy and I’m cared for.”
Happy.
With so little time left, I think I’d move heaven and earth to bring her as much happiness as possible.
That’s when it hits me. The numbered days she has to stock up on her own happiness are the same numbered days she has left to witness mine.
I messed it up royally before when I almost married Gerald.
I settled for the wrong reasons and it blew up in my face.
But I have real happiness this time. The bone-deep, flip-my-world-upside-down kind.
The kind I don’t have to fake. It doesn’t matter how temporary it is or that I’ll be a weeping mess when Rowan leaves. It’s happiness, pure and unfiltered.
“I’m happy, too,” I confess.
Mom beams. “I can tell.”
“Rowan’s coming to the gala with me.”
She flashes another smirk, the punchline incoming. “That’s wonderful, Haddy. We can double date.”
We giggle simultaneously, bursting into a fit of laughter that carries us through the end of brunch.
As if the god of awkward encounters had a direct line to our earlier conversation, Rowan and Richard approach at the same time when we step outside. My soldier from one side, Mom’s situationship from the other.
“Rowan,” Mom croons.
He wraps her in a hug. “Bestie.”
I look to Richard. “Dr. Adelson.” Cringe.
“Hannah,” he answers with a kind smile. “Nice to see you again. And call me Richard, please.”
My nod is polite, though I’m not sure the Tom Selleck circa Richard Burke mustache he’s sporting these days helps me unsee the doctor magician who once calmed my pre-appendectomy nerves by pulling a quarter from behind his ear.
The men make their own introductions before Mom tugs Rowan back to her side, whispering like they’re two old crones spilling the latest tea. Rowan says something, dimples flash, Mom slaps him across the arm and laughs. It’s as if Richard and I aren’t even here.
He’s older than I remember, but the kindness in his face has never left. It’s a kindness a young girl never forgets.
I find Mom again offering up that infectious joy of hers to Rowan like confetti shot from a cannon.
Only someone who knows my mother—the woman she’s always been—could look at her now, fully aware of what’s killing her on the inside, and still muster up the same joy she always seems to find for herself.
Richard’s smile as he watches her is proof of it. Suddenly, I don’t care if their relationship is romantic or not as long as she’s happy.
“I’ve got her,” he says, voice soft.
I cast a sidelong look at the doctor, neither of us quite ready to take our eyes off Mom. “Thank you.”
Night falls again, finding my soldier and I curled toward each other in the middle of the mattress.
His dog tags hang around his neck as they always do, but tucked beneath is a tattoo of three more tags layered on a single chain. I haven’t had the courage to ask about it yet because I recognize the names there. Shaw.
“Your mind’s working overtime. Just ask,” Rowan says.
I offer a sheepish grin and outline the edge of the tattoo with my finger. “Will you tell me about this one?”
He blindly taps each tag inked a few inches beneath the hollow of his collarbone. “Great grandfather, World War II. Pops, Vietnam. Dad, Afghanistan.”
Eighty years worth of Shaw men—a legacy of service. “Would you want your kids to serve?”
Rowan considers me for a moment. “My kids will do whatever they wanna do. I know what four generations must look like, but the military was never forced on me. Encouraged, maybe, but never forced. I chose it for myself.”
“What are you gonna do now?”
His cheeks puff out on a long breath. “Nothing. At least not right away. Nana and Pops left me with quite a bit. I have space to breathe for a while and figure out things with Mom before I need to make any long term decisions.”
Between the two houses and this property alone, I can imagine what type of nest egg Rowan has inherited. “You’re really lucky.”
He blinks slowly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I know.”
My eyes catch on a patch of rough skin on his shoulder opposite the anchor tattoo. I don’t know how I haven’t noticed it before tonight, perhaps the light is hitting it just right only now.
A lump forms in my throat as I touch it. “What’s this?”
Rowan’s hand covers mine, setting my palm flat over the two inch scar. “I’m not sure you wanna hear that one, baby.”
“You were shot.” Someone with a gun aimed it at him, pulled the trigger with the intent to kill. I can’t stop looking at it, picturing it.
He tilts my chin up with his thumb. “I survived.”
Emotion clenches my vocal cords, but I have to know more. “When?”
“About four years ago.”
It happened after we met. While I was spending time with his grandfather. And Norm didn’t tell me. I have no right to be mad because I asked him not to tell Rowan about me so why would he tell me about Rowan?
It’s for the best I didn’t know. Probably. Otherwise, I’d have been terrified out of my mind and over what? A man I’d known for half a day? It would have been nonsensical. Yet I’m certain, had I known, I’d have stolen Norm’s phone and called him myself, begged him not to go back.
“You went back.” Not a question, but a painful truth. One that makes my eyes sting.
His only reply is the curl of his fingers around mine—a light squeeze to remind me he’s here. Safe. I may not get to keep him in Colorado with me, but at least I know he won’t have to go back there again.
Before he can see me cry, I lower my lips to the scar. I hate that it happened at all but, more than that, I hate how close it came to his heart. His good, big, beautiful heart.
I kiss him there before wordlessly lifting and pressing my mouth to his.
Hiding the tears was futile, he brushes one away with his thumb.
I should stop. Think of something else to say, another question to ask, find another tattoo to inquire about.
But my heart, my mind, my soul only screams three words—an anthem bellowing from every part of me.
I love you.
Maybe I can’t say them out loud, but I can kiss them into his lips, tunnel them through his hair with my fingers, brand them on his skin like invisible ink under my palms.
And perhaps it’s delusion or hopes I’ve let soar way too high, but, I swear, I feel the words right back.