Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Frankie
We rode in silence, but if there was one thing I’d learned from Lou, it was how silence could speak volumes.
He pushed the speed limit, but it was the drum of his thumb on the wheel that shouted we couldn’t get there fast enough. The pulse of his jaw screamed unrest.
I tried to focus on the blur of our surroundings—the thick of the trees growing denser as we drove inward from the coast and into the blanket of forest. Backroad after backroad until a discreet hand-carved sign labeled Edgewood Estate marked the entrance to drive that tucked back through the trees to a large colonial manor house with several cars parked in the lot.
At first, I thought this was his mom’s home; I guess, technically, it was, but it wasn’t hers alone. We parked, and when we made it to the front porch, there was a young nurse in scrubs helping an older man up from one of the rocking chairs dotting the covered porch .
His mom lived in a nursing home.
Again, my questions would have to wait because the door opened and we were greeted by a middle-aged woman wearing the same sage green scrubs as the other nurse. Her name, Cathy, was embroidered underneath the Edgewood Estate logo.
“I’m so sorry, Chandler.” The woman ushered him inside. “I thought talking to you would help.”
My head tipped and swiveled. A stone-crusted reception desk. A massive living room, couches and recliners, a large central fireplace holding a TV stationed on the Hallmark channel, and tables dotted with groups of elderly people.
By the time my gaze searched for Chandler, he was already halfway across the lounge with Cathy. I picked up my pace to catch theirs, smiling at everyone I passed. By the time I reached them, they were halfway up the staircase and knee-deep in a conversation that made Chandler’s shoulders look like a thousand-pound weight rested on them.
“I have to warn you, Chandler, it’s him she’s been asking for…”
Chandler jerked. Not a lot. Maybe hardly noticeably. But it reminded me of those scenes in spy movies when two characters get close and then one stabs the other. That moment when the betrayal registers first before the life-threatening wound. And that was this moment for Chandler. The betrayal that startled him.
Who was Cathy talking about?
Curiosity got the better of me, and, eager to hear his response, my foot caught on the carpet on the last step and sent me tumbling forward.
My small cry fizzled when Chandler’s big hands gripped my shoulders and steadied me. How he’d heard—realized what was happening when there was obviously a situation weighing on him—was crazy.
Or it was until my eyes connected with his. He didn’t look like a collected businessman but like a man preparing for battle.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Wait downstairs,” he ordered, his voice vacant. “I’ll be back.”
He’d ordered me to come with him, only to leave me at the staircase? I didn’t have an opportunity to protest before he was gone. His feet fell heavier with each step, and the way his spine stiffened…like he knew this was a battle he was going to lose.
“Come with me, Miss…” A hand touched my shoulder, and I faced the woman who’d welcomed us inside, noting the worried expression she tried to cover up with a warm smile.
“Just Frankie.” I smiled back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Frankie. I’m Miss Cathy. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, it’s just Miss Laura…”
“It’s not a problem,” I assured her with a smile, even as my eyes continued to dart in Chandler’s direction. He stood talking with another woman who worked at the home based on her uniform, his hand resting on the doorknob of the very last door in the hallway, poised to enter.
“I’ll bring you back downstairs.” With gentle pressure, she guided me back down to the main floor. My head craned back until I could no longer see him, and when I looked back at Cathy, she gave me a sad smile and added, “I’m glad you came with him. I always hoped Chandler had someone other than Mr. Tom for support.”
My well-honed skill in pretending came in handy. I pretended like I knew what was going on. I pretended like I knew more about Mr. Tom other than the familiar name of Chandler’s business partner and the warm way Chandler had spoken of him. And I pretended like I was really… what she thought I was. His support.
“I’m glad, too.” And because I couldn’t help myself either, I asked, “Is she all right?”
“I haven’t seen her get upset like this before.” The woman’s face fell. “There are days she doesn’t remember who I am, but never like this.” She shook her head and then seemed to recollect herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Chandler will make it okay.”
I didn’t have a response. Not to the revelation she’d left me with. It was a miracle I managed to keep a straight face.
I took another look around the room. The soft decor. The discreet-looking nurses. The small table of brochures by the desk.
The Edgewood Estate. Long-term care for those struggling with dementia and Alzheimer’s.
“Would you like some water while you wait?
“No, thank you.” My throat constricted. “I’m fine.”
“You let me know if there’s anything you need,” she said, and then left me to return to her post.
I stared at the brochures and then looked back to the staircase. Wait downstairs were my instructions, and I should obey them. God knew this was well outside the bounds of anything that was my business, and I shouldn’t get involved. But…he’d brought me here. Some part of him wanted me here—wanted me to know the truth. And it was the part of me that had confessed the real history behind my candle business.
I couldn’t wait here.
Maybe if I were someone else—someone wholly different from the person who injected herself in situations whether she was asked or not, welcome or not, and with her whole heart. I wore my best intentions like my finest dress even if it was a little too bold and a little too flashy for some. I couldn’t not try to help.
My mom loved the candle.
I spun and beelined for the car. It wasn’t my Beach Bum scent, but maybe cinnamon would do the trick.
I felt Miss Cathy stare as I darted out and back past the desk. The stairs rose and disappeared in front of me as I reached the second floor. I hadn’t gotten much farther than that in my plan, but it didn’t matter. When I reached the second floor, I froze at the sight.
I heard the hysteria all the way at the other end of the hall behind a closed door that had three medical personnel standing in front of it. Doctors, nurses, and they were ready with a cart that looked prepared with sedatives.
It seemed like I blinked, and I’d made it to the end of the hall with them, my candle clutched to my stomach.
“Get out, Geoff. I want you out.” The cry was forceful but feeble, and my heart lurched.
Who was Geoff?
The older woman, who I could see now was a doctor, reached her hand out. “Miss, if you could stay back?—”
“I’m with Chandler,” I blurted out, shelving for later how natural the words sounded on my tongue. “I have to go in there.”
“Mom, please.”
The doctor and I returned our attention to the door, the sounds behind it becoming louder.
“Excuse me.” The doctor inserted herself and knocked on the door. “Mr. Collins?—”
“ Out!” Something crashed, and before I realized what I was doing, I’d grabbed the handle to open the door, only to have it yank me forward when it was opened from the other side.
“Just give me another—” He stopped short when he saw me, and my heart broke when I saw him.
He was nothing like the cool, collected billionaire who’d walked into the coffeeshop two weeks ago. His shirt was wrinkled like someone had crushed the collar in their hands, and there was a gash on the side of his head, blood oozing from the open seam of his skin.
Minutes in this room had turned him ragged in a way I recognized—it was the same pain we’d all worn when Kit came home from the hospital; it was the pain of loving someone so much and it not being enough to help them.
“Chandler…” I whispered his name, my racing heart climbing all the way into my throat.
His hardened gaze snapped to the doctor behind me. “I’m fine. Please, just one more minute.”
“Who is it, Geoff?” A fractured voice approached.
My brows lifted. She was calling him Geoff.
“Who—”
He moved to the side when she tugged on his arm. In the second I had to glimpse between them, I saw what caused the cut on his face: the picture frame holding a butterfly shattered on the ground. And then his mom appeared.
“Who are you?” Laura asked, her brow furrowed and her gaze skeptical.
There were three things I noticed instantly about her. First, she couldn’t be too much older than Mom, her hair was only starting to have natural gray. Second, she loved butterflies. It wasn’t just the one on the ground, but her lavender sweater was embroidered with them and matched the color of her slacks, and she wore a butterfly necklace around her neck that matched her earrings. And third, she shared the same eyes as her son, except Laura’s were foggy. Uncertain. Like the roadmap in her mind was only partially charted out.
“Hi, I’m Frankie. I make homemade candles, and I have one here as a gift for you.” I smiled and shoved the cinnamon candle in her direction, praying she wouldn’t throw it at Chandler’s head.
Like the record previously playing in her head skipped, his mom’s whole demeanor changed.
“A gift?” She blinked and took the candle. “From who?”
“Your son.”
Instantly, her expression filled with what I could only describe as a mother’s love. “Oh, Chandler. He’s such a sweet boy. So thoughtful.” She sighed and took a deep breath of the scent, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my, that is wonderful. Come in. We should light this.”
“I have a lighter,” I offered, keeping my eyes away from Chandler’s as I walked by him into the room.
I didn’t know what I’d find if I looked at him. Anger that I’d inserted myself? Relief that his mom was distracted from…whatever had upset her?
“You know, my son brought me another candle that I love. It’s over there on my dresser.”
“What does that one smell like?” I asked like I didn’t know.
“Happiness.” Her wrinkled cheeks creased even deeper with her smile.
“Well, wait until you smell this one.” I ignored the broken frame on the floor just like she did, leading her to the small sitting area away from the scene of their argument. The lighter touched the wick, drawing it to life.
“This is my favorite candle,” I told her, lifting the jar closer so she could smell.
“Cinnamon,” she exhaled.
“Warmth and comfort,” I countered with a smile.
“My Chandler got this for me?”
I nodded, desperately keeping my eyes from flicking to the man who commanded every room he entered except for this one; in this one, he hung back in the shadows .
“Yes, he did.”
She smiled. “Oh, he’s so good.” Her eyes flicked to mine. “And handsome. He’s going to be trouble for the ladies when he’s older.”
He certainly was. But I kept that to myself. It was obvious she was remembering Chandler as much younger than he currently was.
“Well, he certainly loves you.”
“Oh, you’re sweet.” She nodded, and her eyes fluttered a little quicker. “He does everything for me. Everything. Too much.”
Chandler didn’t move. At some moments, I swore he didn’t even breathe in case it might break her calm.
“He does too much,” she repeated softly.
“It’s never too much when it’s for family.” I leaned forward and took a deep inhale of the candle, and then added wryly, “Trust me, you should hear the things I’ve done for my family.”
When I looked up at her, Laura had her head tipped to one side, an entertained smile on her face.
Crap.
“Well, now I think you have to tell me,” she declared, linking her hands in her lap.
Nice, Frankie. I didn’t plan on inserting myself into this situation, but I couldn’t deny her. Especially when her emotional state was on the line.
I slowly set the candle on the coffee table, taking a beat to steady the erratic pace of my heart…and feel the warm weight of Chandler’s gaze on my back. There were so many things I could say—so many stories—but for some reason, the only one I could manage was ours.
“Well, one time I pretended to be my twin sister so that she didn’t have to go on a date with this guy she’d just met,” I said, my head angling slightly because I swore I heard a low sound come from Chandler.
“Oh my.” Laura chuckled. “Why didn’t she want to go on the date?
“The guy…she wasn’t sure of his intentions.”
“Oh dear.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “So, she asked you to go instead?”
“Oh no, I volunteered.” I grinned.
“And what did you think of him?”
All my witty responses disappeared like dandelion seeds in the breeze.
“I thought he was…handsome. Charming. But a little too secretive.”
“Oh, secretive? Sounds dangerous.”
“Oh no.” I waved my hand. “I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”
That definitely elicited a soft growl from the muscled shadow clinging to the wall.
“So, how did it end?”
My mouth opened and shut. Was I really gossiping about my first fake date with the guy’s mother?
Yes, I guess I was. If that was what it took to keep her calm.
“He kissed me good night.”
“So, you determined his intentions were good, then?” she asked, and before I had to figure out an answer to that, she followed it with, “Was it a good kiss?”
I choked—again—on air, and I was pretty sure the fire department should be called for the flames licking at my cheeks. I didn’t want to answer either of those questions. The first, because I shouldn’t reveal that information to her. The second, because I shouldn’t reveal that truth in front of Chandler.
“You can always tell by the kiss,” Laura went on blithely, ignoring my near-death attempt to breathe and my lack of response.
“Tell what?” I probed—anything to get out of answering.
“If it’s going to be something special.” Her voice turned wistful, and her attention drifted to the frames of butterflies hanging on the far wall.
It gave me the second I needed to collect myself and gently put an end to the conversation.
“I don’t think we’re going to see each other again.”
“Oh, that would be unfortunate.” She reached out and gripped my hands, pulling them to her. “You should really try to see him again. If the kiss was good…if it was special.” Her hold was surprisingly strong, and so was her earnestness. Later, I’d claim that was why I didn’t correct her before she went on. “Take it from me. Don’t let a chance at happiness and love slip through your fingers.”
My jaw went slack, and I fumbled to reply, “No, I wouldn’t want to do that.” I gave her fingers a squeeze. “I have to get going back to my shop, and I think the doctor is here with your medications.”
I glanced at the crowd in the doorway, the doctor who’d stopped me taking the invitation to enter the room.
“It was lovely talking with you,” Laura said and stood with me. “Thank you again for the candle.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank your son.” My gaze darted to Chandler for the first time since he’d opened the door, and I found his expression unreadable.
“Please,” she begged. “Try to see him again.”
My head snapped back, and I had to remind myself she didn’t know that he was her son.
“Okay.” I nodded and told myself I agreed only because the doctor was waiting.
But I also couldn’t say no. Not when she looked at me like that. It was the same look Gigi had when she demanded I come to dinner. And it made me feel the same way. Like I’d do anything for my family.
I released her hands and moved back so the doctor could step in. When she did, Chandler moved from the shadows, his mouth in a firm line.
“Mom…”
Now, it was my turn to watch their interaction from a distance—from the doorway into the room, my hand pressed to the frame.
As soon as she saw him, the soft expression on her face soured.
“Don’t come back, Geoff. I don’t want you here,” she said, her mind slipping again.
Her words flayed him alive, but like the powerful man he was, he didn’t even flinch. He took every hit like he deserved it—like he’d withstand it all for her. For the few moments when she was lucid and remembered him again.
“Thank you,” I heard him mutter to the doctor and two nurses, the one helping his mom and the other cleaning up the broken glass.
And then he was heading for me, his gaze like a bottomless well; the deeper I went, the more pain I found.
We didn’t say a word as we left the building—not to each other, at least. Chandler led the way, exchanging pleasantries with Cathy, who gave me another warm smile on our way out. He held the door for me—both the one out of the building and the passenger door on his car.
This time, when he climbed in the seat beside me, the tension was different. The thread that had been pulled taut was now all tangled and loose.
“Chandler…”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice strained .
Sorry? I bit into my tongue to stop a cry from leaking through my lips. He shouldn’t be sorry. Why would he think he should be sorry?
“Who’s Geoff?”
He exhaled slowly, like it was all the life leaving him in one single breath.
“My father.”