Chapter 30 #3
“I do, too,” he says, then looks down at the slight bulge in his jeans as if to prove the statement.
He gives her a wry smile when he looks back up.
“Trust me. But not here. Not with this.” He nods to the IV stuck in her inner elbow.
“And that.” He nudges his chin toward the heart monitor.
“Plus,” he says, then looks backward toward the half-open door to the room.
For a contemplative beat, he just stares in its direction, then exhales.
He looks at Grace and says, “My entire family is here.” The corner of his mouth lifts up, and he adds, “And you can probably guess how little regard they have for visiting hours.”
As if on cue—as if he carries some kind of brotherly homing beacon—the sound of heels clicking against tile starts to make its way to the room.
Crew doesn’t seem surprised by this coincidence, nor does he turn around when the door swings open and Caia walks in, backward, her arms full of various bags: a chic-looking leather tote; a pink, floral-patterned duffel bag; and a slew of large, overly full H-E-B bags.
When Crew doesn’t get up to help her, doesn’t even look at the haul she’s lugging into the room, Caia rolls her eyes. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
Crew hangs his head, then blows a dramatic raspberry before leaning forward to kiss Grace’s cheek and then leaving her side to help his sister.
He takes the H-E-B bags from Caia and stops on his way to deposit them on the little coffee table when she points at the one in his left hand.
“Give Grace that one,” she says, then turns to Grace and winks. “The boys helped with it.”
Crew sets the others down, opens the one in question, and huffs a laugh. He walks over to Grace and sets it gently on her lap. “Don’t go crazy,” he says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Confused, Grace reaches for the bag, and upon seeing what’s inside, her eyes go wide with delight.
Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. Ho Hos. Every flavor of Skittles you can buy.
And best of all, Reese’s. Three bright orange king-size packs, and then about thirty of the small, individually wrapped bite-size ones.
“Oh my God,” Grace gasps, digging her hand immediately into the sea of goodies. “Chocolate.”
Caia off-loads the other bags onto the love seat.
She gestures to the duffel bag and says, “I brought you some clothes and shoes.” In the middle of tearing open one of the packs of Reese’s, Grace pauses, her eyes drifting to the pink bag.
It’s practically bursting at the seams—all the clothes Grace owns couldn’t stuff a bag that much.
Probably wouldn’t even take up half of it.
She stares quizzically at it, then looks back to Caia.
The question must be written all over her face, because Caia levels her with a look, and Grace is starting to recognize the expression as her Here’s the deal look.
And whatever follows that look seems to have a way of ending arguments, complaints, and general dissent.
“All right, I bought you some clothes. And shoes. And toiletries.” She nods toward the remaining grocery bags. “Couldn’t have you using that watered-down crap they have here, and God knows the bunkhouse only has two-in-one.”
Crew smirks at that and does not deny the truth of it.
Grace’s cheeks have begun to bloom with warmth.
People buying things for her, things she didn’t ask for but desperately needs, isn’t something she has much experience with.
Most of the generosity she’s experienced in her adult life has been with the Caldwells, and it still baffles her how they can be so giving, so welcoming.
So genuinely concerned for her well-being, as though it’s an instinct rather than a task.
An evasive, rejecting response would be the natural way for Grace to respond, but she knows Caia will hear no protests, so she smiles and says, “That was so kind of you, Caia. Thank you.” It rings true and feels right coming out of her mouth, but it’s still a little wobbly, like a colt trying to find its footing.
“Not at all. It was fun,” Caia volleys back with a wave of her hand, and the shine from her dark blue nail polish reflects beneath the hospital’s fluorescent bulbs.
“I’m always happy to facilitate a makeover.
Although—” She stares at the large windowsill, big enough for multiple people to sit on, or, in this case, where Grace’s new skin care products are, neatly organized and mostly unopened.
“It does look like someone might have beaten me to the punch.”
“June,” Grace supplies, smiling down at the washcloth on the overbed table covered in mint-green goop. “She insisted I do something about the state of my…” Grace waves an encompassing hand around her face. “My skin, apparently, did not agree with the conditions at Braxton.”
Caia barks out a laugh and says, “Yeah, it was a real fucking wellness spa, that place. Years of dust, giant piles of exotic animal shit, and greasy, unshowered delinquents. You’re telling me you didn’t feel pampered?”
“I’d probably give it a negative star on Yelp,” Grace says, unwrapping a Reese’s and shoving it whole into her mouth.
“If that’s even a thing,” she murmurs around the chocolate.
Her gaze seeks Crew like a well-honed reflex, as if her eyes have gone too long without looking at him.
When she finds him sitting on one of the armrests of the love seat, he’s smiling at her softly, his eyes sparkling with quiet affection.
Even with her mouth stuffed full of candy and not a care in the world for whatever remnants of it might be on her lips, he looks at her like there’s nothing he adores more in the world.
Even in this baggy hospital gown, with her hair an oily mess and her skin still ravaged from days spent unprotected in the sun, she is still perfect, exactly as she is. Perfect to him—perfect for him.
Unaware of the loaded look being shared between the two of them, Caia claps her hands together and says, “I’m sorry you have to stay overnight.
That bed looks like it’s stuffed with packing peanuts.
But I figured, if you want…” Caia smiles, and for a brief moment, she almost seems nervous.
It’s a strange but endearing look on her, one that has Grace leaning forward, interest piqued.
“Maybe I can come back in the morning and help you pick out an outfit. Not that it really matters—I know you’re just going home.
But, you know.” She shrugs, that Caldwell confidence already back in full swing. “Might as well look cute doing it.”
Grace grins, touched by the sentiment and warmed by the idea of Caia wanting to help.
“Plus”—Caia throws her hands up—“if my mother sees you in those threadbare Levi’s you came in with, she might disown me for not properly initiating you into the ranks of Caldwell women,” she finishes matter-of-factly, a playfully fearful look in her eyes.
But Grace doesn’t think it’s funny—nor does she afford the proper attention to Caia calling her a Caldwell woman—she’s too caught up in the casualness of the statement, like seeing Renata is something she’s going to do as soon as the next morning.
Her eyes dart to Crew, whose expression has turned slightly more serious.
Caia looks between them, her brow furrowing. “What?”
Tears well in Grace’s eyes as she asks, “She’s all right? She’s—awake and talking?”
In a flash, Caia is standing at her brother’s side and whacking him in the bicep with the back of her hand. “You haven’t told her?”
“It’s been a chaotic few hours,” he says evenly, catching Caia’s hand when she tries to hit his other arm. He shoves it until it is stiff at her side and says, “I was going to tell her once things had calmed down a bit.”
Grace can’t see Caia’s face, but she knows the glare that Crew is receiving right now, especially considering the challenging look he gives in return.
Eventually, Caia relents, scoffing and turning around to look at Grace.
“She’s okay, honey.” She takes a few long strides toward Grace’s bed, and when she’s close enough, she reaches down to place her hand over Grace’s.
Her expression is sincere and kind, only the slightest hint of mischief in that ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Who do you think sent me out on the shopping spree?”