CHAPTER THREE
“Sugar, I’m driving as fast as I can.” Daisy huffed, merging into the fast lane as her daughter fidgeted in the passenger’s seat. “And you know how I feel about backseat driving.”
The warning look Daisy shot Jessie had her toes curling in her sneakers. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your journey?
That oughta distract you plenty.” Narrowly avoiding a semi in the middle lane, Daisy sped around him and settled into the right lane again.
Jessie surreptitiously checked the speedometer and saw she was going five miles over the speed limit.
For her mother, that was tantamount to a NASCAR race.
Jessie leaned back in the seat and sighed. “Not too much to tell. I was glad there weren’t any delays.”
That was a lie—there was plenty to tell.
While packing up her duffle at the Peace Corps headquarters, she broke down when a local asked why she was so upset.
As soon as she’d mentioned Malcolm’s name, the dam burst and she’d soaked the poor woman’s shirt with tears.
She’d admitted things to this stranger she’d dare not speak in Pinegrove.
Her lingering feelings for Malcolm, her fears over leaving home again, and most importantly, the possibility that following her heart home could cost Jessie her dream job.
Yeah, there was certainly a lot to tell.
In the taxi that took her to the airport, she broke down again when the driver turned on the radio to an American station that played pop songs from the 2010s.
“Love Me Like You Do” by Ellie Goulding had played, and she’d nearly wept herself dry.
That had been the first song they danced to at their senior prom, the scent of cheap body spray and floral corsages heavy in the air.
If she concentrated, Jessie could still feel the polyester blend of her lacey dress, the pinch of her mother’s heels that never quite fit right.
When she thought she’d finally pulled herself together, Jessie arrived at her connecting airport in Mexico City.
She found a corner with an electrical outlet and charged her phone.
While scanning her social media feeds for updates, she realized she’d missed Malcolm’s birthday.
That had never happened in all their years of friendship, dating, and breakups.
No matter what, they each made an effort to cheer the other up on their special days.
The realization had her crying so hard, she lost her breakfast in the airport restroom.
Earlier that year, Malcolm had sent her a care package brimming with beloved Southern treats.
There was a box of pralines from her favorite local shop, as well as roasted pecans and peanuts from the nut shop.
But the item that warmed her heart and nearly broke her resolve was the T-shirt from that year’s fireworks festival.
The soft cotton was butter under her fingertips, and when she brought it to her nose, it smelled like Malcolm: warm and woodsy.
She wore the shirt now, huddled in her mother’s car as the skyline of Atlanta disappeared behind them. She smoothed her hand down the fabric as she composed herself, another wave of emotion barreling toward her.
“I spoke with Estelle before I left Pinegrove,” her mother said, attention briefly flashing to her daughter. “She said that Malcolm is sitting up and eating now.”
“Does Estelle know I’m coming?” Jessie snatched Daisy’s right arm, fingers digging into tender skin. “Was she upset?”
The car jerked slightly as Daisy corrected, chastising her daughter. “Sugar, if you can’t calm down, I’m pulling over and stuffing you in the trunk. I mean it.”
Jessie jerked her hands back and shoved them under her legs, her feet bouncing anxiously. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“As I was saying”—her mother smirked—“Malcolm is doing better every day, but prepare yourself for the bandages and such. I love Estelle, but she nearly caused a riot when she first saw her son. And to answer your other question, she’s delighted you’re coming home. You know the Smiths love you like kin.”
“I’m coming to visit,” Jessie corrected. While she left her post faster than she ever had before, she intended on going back. There was still work to do, people to help, and a town to rebuild. She couldn’t step away now, could she?
Daisy frowned but rallied quickly. “Right, to visit. Either way, she’s excited to see you, and I’m sure Malcolm will be, too.”
It was impossible to miss the tension in her mother’s gaze, and Jessie swallowed a lump in her throat. Malcolm’s wasn’t the only heart that broke when she left ...
“Yeah,” Jessie said with a nod, squeezing her eyes shut as a tear slid down her cheek.
What had gotten into her? She usually wasn’t such a crybaby, but apparently, she was today. It was probably the jet lag ...
Malcolm was important to her, always would be, but that didn’t mean she was ready to come home and put down roots.
For the last decade, Jessie had honed her life into a series of adventures around the globe.
Cabin building in the Delta, farming in the deserts of Western Africa, and rebuilding a community in Southeast Asia after one of the worst cyclones in modern history.
These were the things that brought her to life . .. mostly.
There was also a crooked grin that belonged to a sweet-hearted man with dark curls and eyes the color of her favorite candy bar.
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t love Malcolm, but she wouldn’t set herself up for a life of heartbreak like her momma had.
Jessie watched her mother fall apart when Daddy died, and she wouldn’t allow that life for herself. Would she?
––––––––
Somewhere between the exit for Columbus and a pit stop outside southern Atlanta, they arrived in Pinegrove. Daisy nudged Jessie awake when she’d parked in the hospital lot. “Sugar, we’re here.”
Jessie flew up right, steadying herself on the dashboard. “We’re at the hospital?” She blinked, adjusting to the harsh light of a Georgia summer. They always hit a little different.
Daisy turned off the car, dropped her keys into her purse, and hummed. “I still think we could have swung home for a bit. You don’t want to ... you know?” She mimicked showering and putting on makeup, going so far as to make sound effects of rushing water.
“Momma, I need to see him.” Unwilling to argue, Jessie flung the passenger’s side door open and stomped into the Southern heat. She turned to close the door, catching her reflection and wincing. “Maybe we should have gone home,” she muttered, jogging around the car to catch up to her mother.
Daisy was better dressed for a hospital visit in a pair of capri pants and a matching blouse.
Her graying hair was brushed off her face, a pair of kitten heels clacked as she headed toward the entrance.
By stark comparison, her daughter wore a rumpled T-shirt and leggings, her hair not seeing a brush since the Mexico City airport.
When they approached the reception desk, they were given visitor badges and instructions on where to find the ICU. “There’s a limit on how many people can be in an ICU room at the same time, so please follow the nurse’s orders,” the receptionist said.
“Thank you,” Daisy replied, carefully clipping her badge to her top. Jessie clasped it in her hands and dashed for the elevators. “Slow down, sugar! I’m in my late fifties, I don’t run anymore.”
Jessie thumbed at the up-arrow button until the doors finally slid open. Once both women were inside, Jessie checked her reflection in the elevator doors and winced. “Do you happen to have—?”
“Something in my bag of tricks to make you look human? Yes.” Daisy held up a finger, rummaging in her purse with her free hand. She retrieved a travel hair brush, a tube of lip gloss, and a compact. “Here,” she said, shoving everything into Jessie’s waiting hands.
“Thanks.” Jessie sighed, combing her tangled waves into shape before pinching color into her cheeks and swiping on lip gloss. While Jessie’s back was turned, Daisy spritzed her with some perfume.
The elevator dinged their arrival, and before Jessie could find the nurse’s station, Estelle had found them. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my girl!” Estelle exclaimed, pulling Jessie into a hug that took the air from her lungs. “I am so glad to see you.”
Craig approached, a tray of coffees in his hands. “Perfect timing. I thought I’d stock up on caffeine for the lot of us. Jessie, how are you?”
Jessie unfolded herself from Estelle’s hug, offering a lame wave to Malcolm’s father. “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, willing her mouth to form words. “How is he?”
Around them echoed the beeps and shrill alarms of the ICU.
The room in front of them had a man who looked like he’d already met his maker, the heart monitor beeping as slow as molasses in January.
Down the hall, a woman in a hospital gown was being wheeled by a pair of nurses, her cough deep and racking.
Malcolm shouldn’t be here. He should be driving the ambulance and saving people, not lying broken in a hospital bed. Her eyes misted over as Jessie waited for Estelle and Daisy to share their greetings.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Can I see him?”
Estelle blinked, probably appalled by her lack of manners. The aging starlet was a stickler for the decorum that came with being a Southern Belle. Jessie had never had those skills or manners, yet the other woman always adored her.
“Of course, honey.”
Before she could stop herself, Jessie blurted, “And he wants to see me?”
Craig coughed into his fist. “You could say that.”
Estelle patted Jessie’s shoulder, her eyes shining. “You go on back, room 112.”
“Thank you!”
Less than a minute later, Jessie stood at the threshold to Malcolm’s room. She didn’t hear voices inside, just more beeping. She ran her clammy hands down the front of her shirt, knowing it did nothing to calm her or make her look less disheveled.
After pushing the door open, she stepped inside a nearly empty room. Chairs had clearly been rearranged a few times, with jackets piled on one, flowers resting on both nightstands. The air was chilly, the industrial AC running overtime.
Malcolm was asleep, mouth slightly open.
One of his legs was wrapped and hung from the ceiling, and one of his arms was bandaged and braced.
She had feared he’d been covered in burns, but she only saw a few small bandages marring his gorgeous dark skin.
Her fingers ached to touch him, to feel his warmth, to catalog every injury.
Since he was sleeping, Jessie took in her fill of Malcolm.
Beyond his injuries, he looked lean and strong.
The arm that wasn’t wrapped still had a firm bicep peeking out from behind his hospital gown.
His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him, but she wasn’t complaining.
Malcolm’s hair was always soft between her fingers, and the longer he let his curls grow, the more she could play with it.
Many a quiet evening was spent with Jessie’s fingers in the corkscrews, making sound effects as she massaged his scalp.
She leaned forward, dying for one swipe through those dark curls . ..
Malcolm’s eyes fluttered open, just as her hand hung over his head. His normally bright, clear gaze was clouded over and tired. “JJ?” he croaked, one side of his lips quirking up into a grin.
“Hey,” she said, inching closer. She dropped her hand, resting her elbows on the side of the mattress, holding her breath until he spoke again.
“You came.” The two words slid out on another smile, and it was obvious he was on some powerful pain meds. “You came,” he repeated.
Jessie pressed her hands together. If they touched, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to leave this man’s side again. “Yeah,” she replied, the queen of one-word answers.
Malcolm’s hand, and the only one not covered in bandages and sensors, pawed around blindly toward her, his expression pinched. “Where are you?” he asked, voice strained.
“I’m here,” she said, taking his hand, squeezing it harder than she probably should. Mindlessly, her thumb traced over his knuckles, wincing at the dry, cracked skin. Despite his current state, zings of electricity shot through her, every nerve ending on fire from touching him.
“It’s better than it looks,” he urged as he raised her hand. He tried to bring their joined hands to his mouth, but he only made it halfway before crying out in pain and letting go. The machines by his bedside clanged and lit up like Christmas trees.
“Mr. Smith,” one of the nurses ground out his name as she marched up to the machine and stabbed a few buttons. “What did we say about overdoing it?”
Jessie couldn’t hold her tongue. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come.” She rose to her feet, tripping over a chair leg.
Malcolm scowled. “JJ, don’t go.” He panted as he got a better placement on the bed. “It’s always rough when I wake up. Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere, I ...”
But Jessie didn’t know what else to say, because she hadn’t thought beyond this moment.
She hadn’t thought beyond what would happen when she clapped eyes on him, could prove he was breathing and alive.
She hadn’t thought about how her senses heightened around Malcolm.
The light was brighter, the air crisp, each sound reverberating against her eardrums. Malcolm made everything better, and that was a foolish thing to forget.
The nurse clicked a few more buttons and the room fell silent. “Get some rest, Mr. Smith,” the nurse ordered, offering Jessie her own personal glare. Great.
“I’ll rest, JJ,” Malcolm said, his tone sharper than she’d expect, “but I need you to be here when I wake up.”
“Aren’t we bossy? The ICU brings out your grumpy side ...” Her words died on her tongue as she watched his chuckle turn into a flinch. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.”
Malcolm moved his head slightly, the best he could do given his current state. “Don’t shut up, and don’t go.” He waggled his good hand until she took it again. This time his grip was certain. “Please, JJ.”
If she closed her eyes, they were back in the meadow, fireflies dancing overhead and the air thick with the scent of flowers. Holding Malcolm’s hand was an anchor, keeping Jessie from falling apart.
And that was that. Jessie could rarely say no to Malcolm on a good day, and today was certainly not a good day. “I’m here,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing her lips to his forehead. His curls were matted to his sweaty skin, but she didn’t care. He looked beautiful, perfect—alive.
Beneath it all, he was still Malcolm.
All she could think as she watched Malcolm drift back to sleep was, How was she going to walk away this time?