Chapter 4
“So what’s the story on the lady you saw at the wharf tonight?” Gramp tossed the question over his shoulder as he filled a glass with water at the kitchen sink. “I got an earful when I went to kiss Isabel goodnight a few minutes ago.”
Aaron frowned. Took another stab at threading the needle.
Weird how she’d gotten fixated on a woman she’d never met.
“What did she say?”
“That a pretty lady who looked sad was standing all by herself near Charley’s trailer. Isabel seemed worried about her.”
“I got the same impression. She mentioned her half a dozen times over the past couple of hours, before she went to bed. She seems to think the woman may have lost someone she loved too.”
“Don’t discount her instincts. Kids have keen intuitive powers.”
If Gramp was right, Isabel may also have discerned the tension in her parents’ marriage despite their efforts to shield her from it.
He pushed that nagging worry aside for now and squinted at the eye of the needle as he made another attempt to thread it. “I don’t know why she’s obsessing over a stranger.”
“Could be she sensed a kindred spirit.” Gramp took a sip of water and motioned to Isabel’s jacket. “Button come loose?”
“Yeah. And mending isn’t my forte. These fingers are used to handling logs, not tiny needles.” The thread went through the eye. Finally. “How was your dinner?”
“Very pleasant. We solved all the world’s problems over pizza at Frank’s. Not that any movers or shakers care to hear our opinions.”
Aaron knotted the thread and picked up the jacket from his lap. “I’m not a Washington power broker, but I’ll be happy to listen to your ideas.”
“I appreciate that. But I have more important news to share that hits closer to home. I stopped to get gas on my way back and had a chat across the pumps with Steven Roark. Did you know Helping Hands is planning to do another musical this summer as a fundraiser? Oklahoma, to be specific.”
“No. Who came up with that idea?” Likely not Steven. The ex–Delta Force operator who’d taken the job as the charitable organization’s director a few years back didn’t come across as the musical type.
“Someone on the Helping Hands board. He didn’t name names. I got the feeling he was leery about the whole idea until his wife convinced him it would be a wholesome summer activity a lot of locals could get involved in.” Gramp leaned closer. “Including kids.”
Ah.
“You’re thinking Isabel might be interested in joining the cast.” Aaron looked up, missed the hole in the button, and stifled a rude word as the sharp point of the needle pierced his finger.
“If we encouraged her. I might even sign up myself.”
Aaron sucked off the blood beading on his thumb. “You haven’t been on a stage in years.”
“But I enjoyed it back in the day. And anything Helping Hands does is worth supporting, with all the charity work they take on. Besides, Isabel may be more interested in getting involved if we volunteer too.”
“We?” Paying more attention to his aim this go-round, he poked the needle through the hole in the button.
“You helped out with the last show a few years back.”
“Behind the scenes.”
“You could do that again. Make it a family affair.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” And try to figure out how to squeeze another commitment into his already overloaded schedule. “Who’s in charge of the production?”
“Katherine Parker agreed to direct it.”
“That makes sense.” A former Hollywood actress was the perfect person to take the reins. “But I imagine juggling the logistics of putting on a musical with the demands of her booming chocolate business will be a challenge.”
“She strikes me as an organized woman.”
“Who else has been recruited?”
“No one, near as I could tell. The board only gave the stamp of approval to the idea at its meeting on Tuesday. They’re trying to fill the key positions before they say too much or put out a general call for volunteers.”
“You really think Isabel would go for something like that?” Aaron finished the button and tied off the thread. “She’s always been on the shy side.”
“I have no idea, but there’s nothing like a rousing show to coax people out of their shells. And after the conversation we had the other night about finding a new activity for her to focus on, the opportunity almost seems heaven-sent.”
Hard to argue with that.
“I suppose I could bring it up to her once it’s definite. I’d hate to get her hopes up and have the whole thing fall through.”
“Steven said the board is committed to the idea. But I imagine we’ll know for sure soon. If they want to pull this off by early August, they’ll have to shift into high gear on the upfront piece. A musical requires a ton of rehearsals.”
Aaron hitched up one side of his mouth. “You sound pretty excited about this yourself.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I had fun doing shows in my younger days. No reason I can’t again. Unless . . . do you think I’m too old?”
“Do you?”
“Well, I don’t have the energy I once had, but my heart is younger than springtime.”
Aaron ran the familiar phrase through his mental database. “Isn’t that a song from a show?”
“Yep. Want to guess which one?” A twinkle appeared in Gramp’s irises.
“No. My knowledge of musical theater would fit through the eye of this needle.”
“South Pacific.”
“You know your shows.”
“Only the old ones. Or I should say, the classics.” He drained his glass and stood. “I won’t embarrass you if I audition, will I?”
“No.”
“Can I convince you to join me?”
“No.”
“Then it will just be me and Isabel on stage.”
“Assuming she wants to do this.”
“I think we should nudge her, if necessary. From my youthful adventures on stage, I remember how all-consuming and exciting it can be. Lights, costumes, scenery . . .” His expression grew wistful.
“Those are happy memories.” He set his cup on the counter.
“If being involved in a lively musical doesn’t perk her up, I’m out of ideas. ”
“I agree it’s worth a shot. In the meantime, are you game for a tidepool picnic on Saturday?”
“Count me in. I’ll put sandwiches together and bake a batch of Elizabeth’s snickerdoodles.” He yawned. Stretched. “I’m turning in. All the carbs in that pizza did a number on me. You finished with your mending?”
Aaron examined his handiwork. “Yeah. I won’t say it’s good as new, but it’ll get the job done. Don’t check the back, though. It’s not pretty.”
“Practical is better than pretty—except maybe when it comes to a woman.” He winked. “But I got lucky with Elizabeth. She was both. See you tomorrow.”
As Gramp exited the room, Aaron smiled.
Gramp’s remark about women would probably be considered sexist in today’s world, but for better or worse, the first thing most men noticed in a woman was looks. And pretty women got second looks.
Like the one on the wharf today.
He stilled as an image of her materialized in his mind.
“Pretty” hardly did her justice. With that long blond hair and willowy figure, she’d draw third looks from most men, despite the slump in her shoulders.
But not from him.
His mouth flattened.
There was no room on his overflowing plate for worrying about strangers or admiring pretty women.
Yet as he gathered up his sewing supplies and stood, the picture of her alone on the wharf refused to disappear despite his best efforts to erase it.
“Devyn?”
At the summons, Devyn swiveled back toward the elevator on the ICU floor to find Dr. Sherman hailing her from down the hall.
She reversed course and crossed to the neurologist. “I’m glad I ran into you. I was hoping for an update before I visited Lauren.”
“I saw her a few minutes ago, and her progress is remarkable. She’s tired and is having a little difficulty finding words, but that’s not unexpected. I plan to move her out of ICU later today. If she continues to improve, we could release her in another couple of days.”
“Wow.” Devyn took a moment to digest that. “From everything I read about brain injuries, I was thinking a rehab place would be in her future at least short-term.”
“That would be a more typical scenario, but as I said a few days ago, the brain is often hard to predict. All indications at this point suggest a faster-than-usual recovery. Are you planning to stay in town awhile? Availability of in-home assistance will factor into our discharge recommendations.”
Devyn hesitated. “I’ll stay if she wants me to.”
“You two can work that out—but it would be beneficial. And in case you’re wondering, the agitation and belligerence have subsided since yesterday. I think you’ll find her much closer to normal today.”
In light of their less-than-warm relationship, the doctor’s assurance wasn’t altogether comforting. Normal for them wasn’t close to chummy.
Nevertheless, Devyn called up a smile. “That’s encouraging.”
“You look more rested today.”
“I slept like a log for twelve hours.”
“Just what the doctor ordered.” The neurologist flashed a grin. “Go on in and see her. We’ll regroup in a day or two to discuss plans after we do more tests and evaluations.”
While the doctor continued on her way, Devyn walked down the hall to the ICU, pulse picking up as she pressed the button for entry and the doors swooshed open.
If Lauren was unreceptive to assistance, pushing to stay could be a mistake. Yet leaving without making an attempt to lay the groundwork for a new start between them would also be a mistake.
Until she got the lay of the land, she’d have to play this by ear—not a comfortable strategy for a woman whose hectic life was as intricately choreographed as the ballets she danced. But if improvisation was called for, she’d have to rise to the challenge.
When her sister’s room came into sight, she slowed . . . then straightened her spine and picked up her pace. Delaying the inevitable was foolish.
At the glass door she paused and gave the space a sweep.
Most of the heavy-duty equipment and machines had disappeared since yesterday. The room looked more like it had on her first visit.
So did Lauren.
She appeared to be sleeping, her breathing even, expression peaceful, her hand resting on the plush bear her office had sent with the balloons.
Rather than disturb her, Devyn tiptoed across the room, toward the bedside chair she’d occupied for countless hours over the past few days.
As she began to sit, Lauren’s eyelids fluttered open.
Devyn froze.
It took several seconds for her sister to notice her. A few more for recognition to dawn in her eyes.
Once it did, her eyebrows dipped into a V.
Uh-oh.
Bracing, Devyn managed a stiff smile. “Hi, sis.”
“So you are here. I wasn’t dreaming.” The aftereffects of ventilation were still evident in Lauren’s hoarse voice.
“No. I flew out as soon as I got the call about the accident.”
“I’m sorry . . . they bothered you.”
“It wasn’t a bother, Lauren. You’re my sister.”
No verbal response, but a faint hitch that sounded like a muffled sob broke the silence as she averted her head.
“Hey.” Devyn reached over and touched the back of her hand. “I wanted to be here for you. Like you’d be there for me, if the situation were reversed and I needed you.” Maybe.
“You wouldn’t need me. You have Mom.”
Devyn drew in a slow breath. “You want the truth? Mom was always more of a manager than a mother. We never had a bond like you and Dad had. I was envious of that.”
After a moment, Lauren turned her head back, sadness mingling with a simmering resentment in the depths of her eyes. “He was the best. But he worked too hard to pay the . . . billings. And he died too young.”
Thanks to you—because the stress of all those bills caused his heart attack.
Though unspoken, that message came through loud and clear—and confirmed the suspicions she’d always harbored about at least part of the reason for the rift between them.
“I know. And I’ve always felt guilty about the high cost everyone paid so I could follow my dream.” As well as the fact that this was a conversation they should have had years ago . . . if life had been less busy and Lauren had been more receptive when she’d tried to broach the subject.
At her quiet words, Lauren blinked, as if the admission surprised her. Then she swallowed. Bunched the sheet in her fist. “Do I owe you an . . . apolo . . .” Her brow knitted. “A . . . sorry . . . for yesterday? I think I said bad things to you.”
Her struggle to find the correct words was becoming more apparent the longer they talked.
“Don’t worry about it, Lauren. Post-traumatic amnesia is part of waking up from a coma.”
“What did I say?”
“It’s not important. What matters is that you’re making an excellent recovery. The doctor told me you may be released in a few days.”
“Then you can go back to North York soon.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m in no hurry to leave.” She kept her tone conversational. “Since the spring season is over, I could hang around for a few weeks, if necessary. You may need a bit of help at first. I love Hope Harbor, and it would be nice to spend some time there.”
“You don’t have to stay. I can call the casherole brig . . . brigade.”
“The what?”
“Casherole brigade. It’s a group in town that brings food and does . . . help.” Her eyelids fluttered.
“It’s not like having family in the house, though.”
“No.” Lauren released the bunched fabric. Smoothed out the wrinkles. “I walked this morning with the nurse. But my legs were . . . warbly.”
Walking was good. Wobbly wasn’t.
“All the more reason to have someone close at hand. I imagine it will take a few weeks for you to get your strength back.”
“Yeah.”
“I assume you don’t want me to contact Dennis?” May as well broach that subject. Lauren must realize she’d be wondering about his absence. Or she would soon.
Her sister’s features hardened. “No. He’s . . . hishory.”
Tempted as she was to probe for more details, now wasn’t the time. It was obvious her sister was tiring.
“No worries. I’ll be happy to stick around as long as you need me.”
Lauren hugged the bear tighter and closed her eyes. “I have to . . . seep.”
Within seconds, her respiration evened out and her features relaxed.
Slowly Devyn sank into the chair beside the bed.
While many questions remained, and she still had no clear game plan, Lauren had been cognizant enough to confirm why she never initiated contact. Why she’d always let calls go to voicemail and kept her text and email responses as short as possible.
She was carrying around a boatload of resentment.
Overcoming years of anger and bitterness in the hopes of establishing a more cordial relationship was going to be a huge challenge.
But the accident had given her an incentive to work harder to reestablish a connection with her only sister.
Whether Lauren would be receptive to her attempts remained to be seen.
All she could do was pray for strength and guidance as she set off on what would no doubt be a very rocky road.