Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
The smell of antiseptic and bleach hit Lily the moment she and Rush stepped into Canalside. Sharp and sterile and fighting to cover the lingering trace of last night’s dinner. Instinctively, she tucked herself closer to Rush’s side, but the brush of her shoulder against his made him even stiffer.
The ride into town had been strangely tense too.
The closer they got to the nursing home, the more Rush seemed to withdraw.
Lily had asked if he still wanted her to meet Pop, thinking he’d changed his mind, but Rush had just looked at her, unsmiling.
“Of course,” he’d said, but the morning’s intimacy had faded the closer they got to town.
Riggs trotted ahead, his nails clicking on the linoleum as they followed him into the nursing home’s lobby, which was lit with a little Christmas tree in the corner, its twinkle lights doing double time to make the space cheerful.
They passed a cluster of residents chatting near the nurses’ station.
A woman rocked a swaddled baby doll as tenderly as if it were real.
A man dozed in a chair in front of a gas fireplace.
The place was trying for holiday cheer—there were garlands strung over the doorframes and paper snowflakes taped to the walls, but the sadness of the place was unmistakable.
No amount of tinsel could disguise the fact that these people were waiting.
Lily absorbed it all quietly, tucking the feeling somewhere she wouldn’t forget.
Riggs padded straight into a large dayroom with a sitting area in the center and tables surrounding it and wove his way to a man in a wheelchair by the window. A plaid blanket was tucked over his knees, and his eyes were closed; his chin dipped to his chest.
Riggs put his long nose in Pop’s lap and snuffled under the gnarled hand sitting loosely in his lap.
“Pop,” Rush said, crouching down beside his chair.
The old man’s eyes opened, softening when he saw Rush. “Boy,” he said gruffly. “Merry Christmas. Hi, Riggs.” He gave Riggs a rub on his head.
“Merry Christmas, Pop.” Rush’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
“And who’s this pretty thing?” Pop’s bushy white eyebrows rose as he caught sight of Lily.
She stepped forward quickly to shake his hand. “Hi, Mr. Callahan. Lily Hart. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Don’t ‘Mister’ me,” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “Call me Pop, the same as he does.” His smile turned sly. “It’s about time he brought a girl like you around.”
“Pop,” Rush started, his own cheeks flushing a bit.
Lily smiled, undaunted by a little family teasing. She was a Hart, after all. “I’m glad to be here.”
Up close, she noticed other similarities between them. Both were large framed, although Pop’s frame was much thinner, devoid now of the powerful muscles of his grandson. Both had the same square jaw, Pop’s covered in white bristles and Rush’s in black.
Rush reached into his coat pocket and set a small package in Pop’s lap. “Brought you something.”
Pop’s gnarled fingers opened the paper until the top of a green bottle peeked through. His eyes lit up. “Bay rum,” he said with a smile. He uncapped the cologne and inhaled deeply. “Joanie always liked it when I wore this out to dinner.”
Rush nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I remember.” He helped him cap the bottle. “Figured you might be due for a new one.”
“How are the girls? Rachel still bossing everyone around?”
Rush’s mouth curved slightly. “She tries. She’s good. Sarah’s good too. They’re both good. They’re on a ski trip, but they’ll be here with me next week.”
“I remember,” Pop said, patting Rush’s hand. He turned to Lily. “He did right by those girls, you know. Raised them up steady when he was just a boy himself.” His eyes went a little wet at the corners. “His mom would’ve been proud of the man he is.”
Rush’s jaw clamped, but he gave Pop’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Pop said, but his eyes were distant now, slipping into the past. “I’m taking Joanie out to dinner tonight. Can you give me a shave?”
Rush’s throat worked, but he just nodded. “Yeah, Pop.” He didn’t look at Lily, but he answered her silent question. “Joanie’s Gram. She’s been gone almost ten years, but in Pop’s mind, she’s still right there,” he said quietly.
Lily nodded, but the lump in her throat kept her silent. She doubted Rush would’ve wanted anything from her anyway. He was practically humming with tension, even as his hands were gentle when he tucked the blanket more securely around Pop’s knees.
He pushed the wheelchair toward Pop’s room, holding the door with Lily following. When he held the door for her, her fingers brushed his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t hold on either. The small space between them suddenly felt wider than the room itself.
She sat in one of the two chairs while Rush settled Pop by the window then grabbed a shaving kit from the bathroom. He set it on the nightstand and lathered the brush, the motions automatic while Pop seemed to drift in and out of awareness.
“Hold still, Pop,” Rush murmured, gently guiding the razor across the white bristles. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with the clean scent of soap, but Lily didn’t mind this time. It smelled of caring now. Like devotion.
While Rush worked, he talked about his sisters, giving Pop updates about their lives, patiently reminding him every time he asked who he was, who the girls were, who Riggs belonged to.
And he avoided Lily’s eyes.
Rush finished the last careful stroke and wiped Pop’s chin. “There,” he said quietly. “A clean shave for Joanie.”
Pop’s eyes cleared for a moment. “You’re a good man, Rush. Better than you think.”
Rush’s throat bobbed. “Learned from the best, Pop.”
By the time the words were out, Pop’s eyes were closed again, already drifting again in a world where Rush didn’t exist.
Emotions welled up and clogged her throat.
When they got back into the Chevy a while later, Rush turned on the heater and blew on his hands while they waited for the cab to warm up. Lily sat angled toward him with her hands in her lap.
“Rush,” she said. When he turned to look at her, she leaned in to press a warm kiss to his cheek.
His shoulders stiffened before he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Thank you for bringing me to meet him,” she said anyway. “I can tell he thinks the world of you.”
“He was—is—the best,” Rush said simply.
The truck’s engine grumbled, but eventually heat pushed through the vents, filling the cab with warmth.
“Here,” she said, taking a wrapped box from her purse. “This is for you.”
She set the tiny box in his palm. He looked at it for a beat before peeling the paper back with those rough, careful fingers of his.
A cowboy-boot ornament rested in his hand, tan with a little Texas outline stitched along the side.
“I saw it at the Christmas market,” she said softly. “Thought it might remind you of home… wherever you land.”
She tried to smile as she said it, even though the words tasted bittersweet.
A faint shadow crossed his face as he ran his thumb over the painted outline. “Thank you,” he murmured. His hand came to rest on her knee, warm and solid.
Lily turned to look out the window, wondering why she still felt so cold.
Annette’s big yellow Victorian glowed brighter than Rush’s Christmas tree when they pulled up.
Laughter and shrieking children spilled out of the house, along with the scent of garlic bread and the ever-present aroma of tomato sauce.
Mmm—lasagna—it was always lasagna and Italian sausages with peppers and onions on hard rolls on Christmas.
Lily’s stomach growled at the familiar mix of basil and simmering tomatoes.
Rush stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, the bottle of wine and bouquet in one hand. He raked his other hand through his hair, scanning the line of cars jammed into the driveway and spilling over into the street. “I didn’t expect so many people.”
“It’s just my family,” she said lightly. “You’ve already met most of them.”
True, there were a lot of cars parked outside. Sisters, spouses, kids, aunts, and cousins… the entire Hart crowd. After Canalside and the quiet in Pop’s room, she understood Rush’s hesitation.
Oh well. Too late now.
She looped her arm through his and tugged him straight into the noise.
Small children and dogs tore through the hallway in a blur of sound and motion.
Savvie zoomed past in her purple dress, only to be scooped up by Davis before she could collide with the banister.
“Careful, kiddo,” he said, giving Lily a quick grin before disappearing again with his daughter squirming under his arm.
Someone claimed every chair, every armrest, and even the floor. From the kitchen came the bang and crash of pans—and then her aunts came barreling out, Aunt Rosa armed with a wooden spatula, Aunt Giulia holding a fork with a meatball skewered on it, and Aunt Sophia with her glass of wine.
Lily sighed. Of course they would line up like generals in floral-print aprons.
“Lily!” Aunt Rosa swooped in first. Her sparkly sweater matched her eyes, which went straight to Rush. “And the sheriff. So nice of you to join us.”
“Thank you for having me,” Rush said somewhat stiffly. Lily gave his arm a reassuring, you’re doing great pat. This was the easy part.
When there was a pause, Theo appeared in the doorway. “Sheriff,” he said warmly, offering a hand. “Good to have you. Any friend of Lily’s is welcome here.”
“Indeed. Welcome, Sheriff.” Aunt Sophia lifted her glass, giving him a slow once-over. “No uniform tonight?”
A faint flush crept up Rush’s neck, but he merely smiled. “Not on duty tonight.”
“Shame.” Sophia shrugged. “Next time.”
Before Lily could die of mortification, Annette stepped forward, calm and composed as always. “Thank you for joining us for Christmas, Sheriff.” She offered her hand, which Rush took easily.