In This Moment

Chapter Sixteen

Graham’s folks had landed in Atlanta on the seven-thirty flight Monday evening, and rented a car to drive the ninety minutes toward Vallantine. He’d introduced them to Rebecca this morning at the office, where she insisted she’d cover the fort so he could take them to lunch. They’d spent the majority of the day hanging out at the Gazette listening to his parents tell stories from his youth, and Rebecca laughing. While working, he’d not noticed one lapse in conversation, nor had things gone stale.

They liked her. They genuinely seemed to like Rebecca.

Through the years, as girlfriends or lovers had come and gone from his orbit, his folks had appeared mostly indifferent. Mom, especially. They’d been pleasant, if not distanced. Cordial. Their parenting style was not invasive, allowing him to make his own choices, and offering advice when warranted or requested. Essentially, they’d stayed out of his love life. If they’d known his previous relationships wouldn’t work out, they’d kept mum.

This was different. Entirely. He wasn’t certain what to make of it since it was new territory. On one hand, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded his system that they got along with her. Enjoyed her company. Were as smitten by her as he seemed to be. On the other, he felt like he’d been dropped in a ‘Mayberry’ episode of ‘The Twilight Zone.’

Alone, while his parents tuned in to something on the living room TV and doted on the dog, Graham stood at his kitchen window, watching Rebecca in her backyard. She’d bowed out on their dinner offer, too, claiming she needed to get caught up on gardening. Not once since she’d moved home had he spotted her doing anything of the sort. He figured it had been a paltry excuse if not for the fact she was actually…well, gardening.

Their modest quarter acre lots didn’t allow a lot of leeway for landscaping, and hers had a slight incline toward the rear. Mavis had installed a three-tiered layered wooden garden box that ran the length of the backyard long before he’d moved next door. Up until this evening, it had been overgrown with weeds.

Rebecca had made quite a bit of headway since leaving her shift at the Gazette. Not that he was surprised. Blasted woman could work circles around ten men. Regardless, the weeds were gone and overfilling a garbage can near the house. Empty disposable pots were strewn about the yard, a result of her having planted the top two tiers with varying bushes or flowers. More than twenty bags of mulch were piled on her other side.

He wondered how she’d gotten all that in her car. Maybe the nursery had delivered. If not, that was easily five trips.

Her blonde locks were up in a messy knot and her have-mercy pink shorts were molded to her perfect ass. She also had on a white tank top which, had she been facing him, might have resulted in him ditching his folks to slip next door. Peel off her layers. Get dirty in the figurative sense versus literal.

Vast oranges and reds of sunset played with the mood’s lighting, casting her in romantic hues which belonged at the end of a camera lens. Or a poetry collection. A punch of emotion hit him out of nowhere and smacked his chest, creating reverberations. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was, other than fondness, but damn was it profound. His throat grew tight, and he attempted to figure out the mystery of his lil southern belle.

Lovely and funny. The obvious. Smart, creative, and patient. More duh. All reasons he’d be interested or attracted to a woman. But what made her different? What was it about Rebecca Moore that rendered him putty? Smitten by a smile? A sarcastic comment? A sigh? Hell, just by her breathing?

Normally, he liked puzzles, wading through the deets to get to the heart of a subject. Except, this mystery was driving him to the brink and back, coupled by the fact that he had no clue where they were headed in the relationship.

Uncertainty was not his favorite bedfellow.

At any given moment, one or both of them could get an employment offer outside of Vallantine. She’d mentioned not wanting to leave again, that she’d preferred home. In turn, he hadn’t known how to reply. The only home he’d ever known was hundreds of miles north, and that had stopped feeling less like comfort and more like a safety net over time. He’d failed there. In every sense. And Vallantine wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned for himself. He may never climb out from under the scandal, but was that a reason to settle?

“You’re going to burn a hole through the glass watching her that hard.”

Smiling, he glanced at his mother’s profile. Shoulder-length black hair, pointed jaw, and round cheeks. It had seemed like eons since he’d seen her last, but she looked the same. Age was beginning to show in the creases around her mouth and eyes, a testament to a life lived in laughter and love. One couldn’t ask for more.

“Maybe,” he said through a sigh, casting his focus outside again. Rebecca had put the last of the plants in the bottom tier and was now staring at the mulch bags with her hands on her hips. Probably trying to work up the energy to begin. Worry cranked in his gut. “She’s going to put herself in traction.”

“A little yardwork never hurt anyone. Besides, she’s doing a great job. The garden looks amazing.”

It did look awesome. Rebecca had alternated red and coral rose bushes with white gardenia on the top tier, yellow jasmine and pink honeysuckle vines on the second tier with trellises, and purple coneflowers with blue delphinium on the bottom tier. All perennial, so they’d return every year. Smart of her because all she’d have to do from there was light weeding and mulch replacement. It was colorful and eye-catching. She’d mixed small, rounded holly bushes in between flowers on all tiers, assumingly to keep something growing year round in the off-season since they were an evergreen variety. The only reason he knew all the plant variations was because of his father’s green thumb, and by listening to conversation between Dad and Rebecca at the office earlier.

He wasn’t even surprised by how much had brushed off on him without him realizing.

And a “little gardening” might not be much for the average person, but it would hurt Rebecca.

He internally debated whether or not to tell his mother, and decided Rebecca wouldn’t mind. She wasn’t ashamed of her condition, not that there was a reason to be, and she didn’t use it as a crutch, which his mother would respect. Best he could tell, she was also very open about it when asked, indicating her diagnosis wasn’t a secret.

“She has fibromyalgia.” Crazy how quickly he’d learned the term, pronunciation, and definition in such a short span. It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “Ever hear of it?”

Mom nodded, her gaze out the window, a frown curving the corners of her mouth. “One of the paralegals in the firm was diagnosed last year. I never would’ve known had she not said something. Invisible illnesses are tricky and often ignored in the medical community.”

He grunted in agreement. “She mentioned that very thing. It took them forever and a litany of tests just to tell her there was nothing they could do.” Or almost nothing. “I mean, she looks fine.”

But she wasn’t. At some point, he needed to figure out how to cope with that. He wasn’t doing a very bang-up job of it yet. Like now. He was all but crawling out of his skin wanting to march over there and do the work for her. She’d crucify him for it. Rightfully so.

Another nod from Mom. “I had lunch with Janet a few weeks ago to go over a case. That’s the paralegal I mentioned. The topic of her condition came up, and she said something that stuck with me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She turned to face him, arms crossed, and the troubled weariness in her eyes had his gut sinking. “She said the level of pain she lives with every day would cripple most people, and no one has any iota there’s a thing at all wrong.”

Well…shit. Why didn’t she just pummel his face with a sledgehammer? That would’ve hurt less.

He pressed his forehead to the glass, closing his eyes. It didn’t help. All he pictured was his dear, feisty, affectionate Rebecca. In pain. It caused agony of his own. In his head. His chest. Every damn where.

“You know, Mom, I could’ve gone the rest of my natural life without hearing that tidbit, thanks.”

She carried on as if he hadn’t been split in two. “I asked her how she dealt with it, and she replied with the darnedest thing. Just shrugged and said, what other choice was there? She either lived her life or let the disease take it from her. People have jobs and hobbies and friends and family. If they focus only on the symptoms, then they’d never get out of bed.”

Yeah. “Sounds like Rebecca, all right.”

A warm hand settled on his back and rubbed in soothing circles. Her faint scent of rosemary knocked him back to childhood when she used to comfort him this way. “Remember a few years ago when your dad was having chest pains and they did all those tests at the hospital?”

He huffed a laugh. “I remember you threatening to sue the hospital into oblivion if he didn’t make it.”

“Not my best moment,” she mumbled, then shook her head. “My point is, when we love someone, their pain is our pain. Their struggles, their joy. Love isn’t always sheer bliss, but if you’re lucky, the good outweighs the bad. Sometimes, the best you can do is be there to support them, so they know they’re not alone, and offer to help when you’re able.”

A long-winded sigh, and he rubbed the grit from his eyes. “I don’t recall saying I loved Rebecca.”

“MmmHmm.”

“Didn’t imply it, either.”

“MmmHmm.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Is this one of those reverse psychology parent tricks? I know you like her, but that’s beneath you.”

Dad chose then to stroll into the room, the dog on his heels. He glanced out the window, around the kitchen, and back to them. He scratched his head, disrupting his salt-and-pepper strands. “We having a family meeting?”

“No. Our son thinks I’m using ploys to get him to fall in love with Rebecca.” She smiled at Dad, weaving her arm through his, and winked.

“That would be a feat. Besides the fact that one cannot make a person fall in love with another, he was already in love with her before we got here.”

She raised her palm in emphasis. “Exactly.”

“Really, son. Your mother is an amazing specimen, but you give her too much credit.”

Sighing, Graham eyed the ceiling. “Y’all are a barrel of laughs.”

“Oh boy.” Dad cleared his throat. “He’s been in the south too long. He ‘y’alled’ us.”

Crap. Had he? Graham rolled his response around in his head and…yep. He had.

Whatever. When in Rome…

“I think he’s been here just long enough.” Mom’s grin had slid from cheeky to endearing. She searched Graham’s expression, nodding as if she’d found what she’d been looking for, and him being no wiser in what the quest had been. “Indeed.”

Blowing strands of hair out of her eyes, Rebecca glanced at the five remaining bags of mulch, then at the tiered garden. Dang, it looked so much better. But, geez. Her body was irrevocably pissed off right now. Tightness and tension had a chokehold on her shoulders and neck. Thighs and lower back, too, proving she’d done too much. Exhaustion weighed on her from a bone-deep level. Fatigue forced her to hunch over or faceplant on the lawn.

It had to be done, though. Gammy’s gardens had looked sad for too long. Rebecca was sick of being sad. The sight of color and life again would’ve made Gammy so happy. Plus, it was, for the most part, self-serving once Rebecca got finished. She wouldn’t have to consume this kind of effort again.

Twilight had fallen, stars aplenty, as a cool breeze wafted across her skin. Scents from the roses, gardenia, and vine blooms scented the humid air. She was worried if she sat down or stopped, even for just a quick rest, she’d never get up again. Five bags seemed like five hundred with her current pain level.

Giving herself a mental peptalk, that there were only five bags left, and they were for the garden’s lowest tier, she bent and cut a bag open. A deep breath, and she hauled it to the garden.

A screen door clacked from the direction of Graham’s house, and she glanced over.

His mama walked toward Rebecca, a smile curving her lips. Not for the first time today, she spotted a resemblance to Graham in the eyes, the shape of the woman’s chin. Rebecca had thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with them for a stint today. His folks were funny, warm, and down-to-earth people. They’d been by the office earlier, and not wanting to be a third wheel, Rebecca had declined lunch and dinner. It was also supposed to rain the rest of the week, so she’d wanted to get the garden finished. She hoped his mother hadn’t taken offense.

That, and Rebecca looked like hell warmed over right now. Sweaty, dirty, and in clothes not fit for company.

“You did an amazing job. It’s lovely.” Mrs. Roberts bumped her head toward the new plants, making the last legs of her trek, and stopping beside Rebecca.

“Thanks.” She grinned, eying her progress. “Quite the workout, but I think Gammy would’ve approved the choices. Coneflowers were especially her favorite.” She sighed. “How was dinner?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. I’m so full.”

She laughed. “Pizza My Heart’s put me in a food coma more than once. I can relate.”

Mrs. Roberts nodded, her expression whimsical. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“Thank you. Me, too.”

“Do you have any other family to help you with things?”

Rebecca knew his mama meant well, and judging by the way she eyed the garden, Graham had probably told her about the fibromyalgia. It felt like a get-to-know-her fishing expedition, though, which Rebecca understood. She was dating the woman’s son, who’d up and left home a handful of months ago. Mrs. Roberts probably just wanted to make sure the person he was dating lived up to par.

“I don’t, no. My parents died in a wreck when I was young. Gammy raised me. I’m an only child.”

Any hints of whimsy that had been present dissolved. Mrs. Roberts pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide and beseeching. It was like looking at an older, more feminine version of Graham. “I’m so very sorry. Graham hadn’t mentioned it.”

“That’s okay. Vallantine is like family, and I’ve known my besties since birth. I’ve had nothing but love in my life.” Except when she’d left home. It felt, sometimes, that she’d abandoned all forms of love from her rearview while chasing dreams. Not for the first time, she wondered what had taken her so long to return. Sheer stubbornness, she supposed. It was actually downright pathetic how accustomed to being alone she’d become while in the city. Everybody needed a someone, but she’d had no one. Not close by, anyhow.

“A wonderful way to look at it.” Mrs. Roberts nodded as if Rebecca’s response had been a test she’d answered correctly. “I’d like to meet your friends one day.”

“That can be arranged. Just take Scarlett with a grain of salt.” She laughed at her own joke as a case of nerves rattled her. She wasn’t sure why.

“Graham said as much, that she’s Scarlett O’Hara made over, except with less selfishness.”

Rebecca barked a laugh, wiping her brow with her forearm. “If that ain’t a proper description.”

A hum in her throat, and Mrs. Roberts smiled. “And Dorothy?”

Interesting that she was asking about Rebecca’s friends. Perhaps she was worried about her? “Dorothy has all the courage in Oz, but the patience of a saint. She always does the right thing, even if it’s hard.”

“Ha. You three were aptly named by your parents, it sounds like. With a twist.” She tilted her head. “Tom Sawyer’s Rebecca was beautiful, clever, and resolute. You didn’t pick up her slightly prissy ways, nor are you prone to excessive displays of emotion. It’s as if the three of you chose the prominent parts of the fictional personalities and left out the less endearing traits.”

That was… Heck, that was extremely kind. “Not certain we had a choice, but thank you. I’ve never heard us described quite so eloquently before. Maybe you missed your calling as a writer.”

“Nah.” She waved her hand. “I’ll leave that to you and my son.” She pulled over a patio chair and sat like she was staying awhile.

Um… “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, but thank you. Go ahead and finish what you were doing. We can chat at the same time.”

Relieved, because Rebecca just wanted to get the task accomplished, she hefted the bag she’d cut. “When are y’all heading back to Minnesota?”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

Since there was no malice or barb in the question, she laughed. “No, ma’am. I like you two quite a bit.” A grunt, and she dumped the bag, spreading it around the plants with her feet. Her legs were itchy from the wood shavings, but she’d shower soon. “I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night? I can cook us dinner. I’m not as good as Graham or his daddy, but I haven’t poisoned anyone to my knowledge.”

A quiet chuckle rose from behind her as she grabbed another bag.

“I see why my son is besotted with you. We rather like you, too, Rebecca. We leave the day after tomorrow, and dinner sounds lovely. How about we order in? Not because you might poison us, but since you’ve been out here all afternoon and evening, you might be extra sore tomorrow.”

She straightened abruptly to look at Mrs. Roberts, and nearly lost her balance. Graham had obviously told her about the fibromyalgia, which Rebecca didn’t care about, but most people didn’t know a lot of what the condition entailed. Thus, either Mrs. Roberts was more educated than most, or she was hunting for a reaction.

Resolute sympathy and understanding stared back at Rebecca, and she wasn’t sure how to reply. It had been a severely long time since someone not in her inner circle had shown any kind of grace without suspicion looming on the fringes. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes welled.

Stupid fibro. Flare-ups made her more emotional, and she despised it.

Angry at herself, she turned and dumped another bag, clearing emotion from her throat. “We can order in if that’s what you prefer. I don’t mind cooking, though. I’ll leave it up to y’all. I appreciate you offering, nonetheless.”

“We’ll play it by ear, see how you feel. We’re adaptable people, and so is Graham. You can be honest with us. We’ll never judge you for it, or ask anything you’re not capable of giving. Should you ever need help with anything, all you ever have to do is ask.”

Halfway through the woman’s diatribe, Rebecca’s chest hitched, and her ribcage cracked open. Hot, outlandish tears fell unbidden onto her cheeks. She’d met these people mere hours before, had only tidbits of conversation with them, yet they treated her as if she was a part of their family.

And it hurt. So badly, it hurt. Yes, Vallantine and its townsfolk were home, and yes, she had her besties. But she had zero family to speak of left. They were gone. All gone. Buried in the Vallantine Cemetery with the town founders and everyone else who’d been a part of the community. Sometimes, the emptiness inside her was a cavern. Endless. Bottomless. Hopeless.

Overwhelming.

Arms came around her. Comforting. Just like Gammy’s had been. They absorbed the pain instead of taking it away or shrugging it off. The scent of rosemary surrounded her as sobs wracked her sore, tired, aching body.

After she didn’t know how long, she straightened, mortified. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

Mrs. Roberts smiled, tucking Rebecca’s hair behind her ears, and wiping her cheeks with a tissue she’d produced from who knew where. “No need for apologies. You did nothing wrong. We all need a good cry now and then.” She took a step back to give Rebecca breathing room. “Besides, it was my fault, poking at wounds, and especially after you’ve exhausted yourself out here.” She glanced next door and back again. “I think I made my son freak out a smidge.”

Rebecca glanced over, and yup. There stood Graham at the property line, arms crossed, and expression wrenched between who-do-I-need-to-murder and oh-crap. The poor man.

She pathetically waved. “I’m good. Your mama is torturing me with stories from your early writing days. It’s terrible. Please take her home.”

Mrs. Roberts laughed, and patted Rebecca’s cheek. “Oh yes, you’ll do nicely.” She strode back to Graham’s yard, said something to him Rebecca didn’t hear, and then went into the house.

Moments passed. Long moments where he seemed so tense, a feather would snap him in half.

Finally, he shook his head and walked toward her. He studied her expression a beat, and shook his head again. “Go in the house. I’ll finish this.”

“But—”

“Go. Ten minutes, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I can do it.”

“I know.” A swallow worked his throat. “I’m fairly certain you could solve the energy crisis or relocate Stonehenge if you set your mind to it. Can and should are two different things, and in this case, you don’t have to. I’m here. I’ll finish.”

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. Guilt battled with pride until she realized she was too tired to care or act. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

“My hero.”

“And don’t you forget it, but let’s not go overboard.”

“I like your mom.”

“She’s fond of you, too.”

“And your dad.”

“Same answer.”

She chewed her lip, still hesitant. She was unable to read his mood. He seemed to be straddling angry, tired, and confused. “Are you mad at me?”

Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brows. A shake of his head, and he opened his eyes, emerald gaze piercing. “I am many things. Mad isn’t one of them.”

Anything more would be poking the bear, so she went inside. But instead of showering, taking pain pills, or warming her heating blanket to help her muscles later, she stood by the window to watch him.

And she fell in love with him.

Right then and there, perhaps weeks ago. She hadn’t a clue, yet she was consciously, vividly aware of it now. She was in love with Graham. No questions asked, he’d demanded to finish the garden, recognizing she’d been stretched beyond her means. He’d researched her condition so he could better understand her triggers. He’d given her a job and reins at the office to help them rebuild the once great newspaper. He got along well with her friends and shared the same interests. He was funny. He was sincere. He was smart. He was sexy. He was charismatic, brave, and honest. He made her chest burst with emotion whenever he was near, her girly bits zing with only a kiss or glance. He simultaneously took care of her while allowing her to stand on her own.

She’d never been in love before. It was kinda scary, actually. Enlightening, exciting, freeing…and terrifying. What was she supposed to do?

He came in the back door, locking it behind him. A once-over, and he sighed. “Did you take anything for the pain?”

“No.”

He nodded, eating the span of the kitchen in a few strides. Opening the cabinet, he shook out a pain pill from the prescription bottle and her antioxidant from another, passing them to her.

In a daze, she took them, swallowing them with the glass of water he held out.

“Wait here.”

He disappeared, and the sound of bathwater running filtered toward her. Moments later, he returned, wearing only his boxers.

“Up you go.” An arm behind her back and another under her legs, he lifted her and made his way through the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, where he carefully set her on her feet.

Be still her heart.

He’d laid out her pajamas on the vanity and put bubbles in the running bathwater.

Dang, but her chest hitched again, and she nearly sobbed. He was taking care of her. Like her parents used to. Like Gammy used to. Rebecca could take care of herself. If anyone knew that, it was Graham. But sometimes, it was nice to have someone else do it for her. Or care enough to try.

Through a watery haze, she stared at him. “Thank you.”

A solemn nod, and some of the tension eased from his features.

He undressed her, lifted her into the bath, shed his boxers, and got in behind her. It was a tight fit in such a small tub, but the intimacy threw her for a punch. As if she could handle any more surprises, he washed her hair, her aching body, helped her dress, and put her to bed, where he cuddled with her until she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.