Chapter 40
CHAPTER
FORTY
ASPEN
The hinge barely makes a sound when Emmett pushes the door.
Sunlight bathes the room in an afternoon glow. Then a faint floral scent drifts into the entranceway, and I spot the lilies on the small table below the TV. They’re fresh, brightening the otherwise neutral space. It warms my heart. This is the room of someone deeply loved.
Soft country music plays, and though her lips don’t move, it’s Monica humming along as she knits in front of the window. Even without her singing, I know she has a beautiful voice.
I’ve spent enough time in the field that I was prepared for every scenario, and the scene laid out in front of me is the very best one. So many of our elderly are forgotten when they go into long-term care.
Monica’s room could just as well be my parents’ living room at home if it weren’t for the bed in the corner and the slight smell of antiseptic.
Beside me, Emmett goes completely still.
His eyes move slowly around the room like he’s cataloging every detail all over again after being gone too long.
And suddenly, the weight of me being here settles differently inside my chest.
This isn’t casual to him.
Bringing me here means more than either of us is willing to admit.
So I stay quiet and give Emmett the moment he needs.
Framed photos line the wall. Some I can pick out as a teenage Emmett. Others are the more serious version of the man I know. They hang slightly crooked like they were straightened by hands that aren’t as steady as they used to be.
A fake plant sits on the dresser, and beyond the window a pond glints in the afternoon sun, cattails swaying at the edge.
And then there’s her.
Silver hair pinned back in a loose knot. Cardigan draped over narrow shoulders. One slipper kicked off, socked foot resting against the leg of the chair like she forgot to finish getting dressed. She sits angled toward the window looking out at the view.
The view surprises me most.
Based on what Emmett shared, there wasn’t extra money growing up. A room like this in memory care costs a fortune.
I should’ve known he’d make sure she has the best.
Emmett’s hand tightens around mine, and he swallows thickly.
“Grandma?”
His voice changes when he speaks to her. It's more careful than I’ve ever heard.
She turns toward the sound of his voice, giving me my first real look at her face.
There’s no denying the resemblance. Her high cheekbones hold a rosy tint and her eyes are so blue they rival Emmett’s.
“Well,” she says, after a beat. “You took your time.”
Emmett lets out something between a breath and a laugh. “Sorry about that.”
Instead, her gaze sharpens.
“Your hair is longer.”
He touches the back of his neck without thinking. “Yeah. Guess it’s been a while since I cut it.”
“You look like a hippie.” Her lips twitch. “I like it.”
My chest warms unexpectedly. He doesn’t look like a hippie. His hair is shaggy at best. Always a bit rumpled. Perfect for tangling around my fingers.
Emmett huffs under his breath, half embarrassed, half relieved. “Glad you approve.”
Only then does her attention shift to me.
Her eyes slide over my face, my hair, my dress, the way I’m holding Emmett’s so casually. “Well,” she says again, slower this time. “You do listen.”
Emmett glances at me, and for the first time since we left Timberline Peak, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
“This is her—Aspen.”
His grandmother’s gaze warms instantly. “Aspen,” she repeats like she’s memorizing it. “What a beautiful name.”
I nod. “I’ve always thought it was a little dramatic and on the nose.”
She smiles at that. “I like drama,” she says. “Boring is for someone far less interesting than you and I, darling.”
Then she gestures at the empty chair on the other side of the window. “Sit,” she says. “You owe me time after staying away so long.”
Emmett drags over one of the dining chairs and places it across from Monica instead of between us.
When I try to trade spots with him, his hand brushes my back and he shakes his head, pointing to the red armchair.
“That’s yours. You’re the one she wants to talk to.”
Unsure, I step forward and take it. Guilt flickers through me as I sit. This feels like a moment Emmett should get to keep for himself.
She sets her knitting project aside.
“What were you working on?”
“Oh, it’s supposed to be a shawl, but I messed something up the other day. Not sure what I was thinking. It might not be worth salvaging.”
”It’s beautiful already. That color with your eyes? Stunning.”
“You don’t have to flatter me. I like you already.” Her eyes flick briefly to Emmett, who rolls his eyes.
“You don’t even know her.”
“Hey!” I exclaim, “I’m very likeable.”
“Well aware, Angel.”
“He wouldn’t have brought you if you weren’t. But that’s not why I’m smitten.”
“Here we go.” Emmett groans.
“This one would rot away in that camper all alone. He needs someone to like you to remind him that life is worth living.”
Emmett mutters, “A touch over the top.”
She ignores him completely and reaches out, light fingers brushing my wrist. Warm and steady.
“You make him nervous,” she says smiling.
Emmett looks embarrassed enough that I’d almost feel bad for him if it wasn’t so adorable.
“Are you sure you’ve met him?” I tease.
She laughs, and her hand tightens around mine a little. “He likes to act tough but between you and me, he’s not very good at it.”
“I’m right here.”
“Hush. I’m talking to your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
That word knocks the breath out of me.
“Oh, well . . .” I start.
“Don’t bother. I know how you kids are about labeling relationships. You won’t call it what is, but I’m too old for that hooey.”
“I think you’re my hero,” I say, unashamed.
“Stop,” Emmett mutters, but the corner of his mouth betrays him.
“She’s right, you really are a terrible actor.”
“Always has been. Likes to pretend he’s invincible—that nothing and no one can hurt him.” She pats my hand gently. “But that’s just the pain talking. He lets it convince him he doesn’t deserve good things.”
Emmett’s lips press into a thin line.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“There’s no look.”
“You’re making that face like you got to poop.”
“Jesus, Gran.”
“You do kind of look like . . .” His glare shuts me right up.
“This is what I get for letting you two meet. I’m not sure what I was thinking. The only two women brave enough to bust my balls in the same room.”
A nurse with her dark hair braided neatly down her back joins us. She’s wearing dark green scrubs that look incredible with her olive skin tone.
“Make that three.”
“Wonderful. It’s a party now. Did I miss the invite for my own roast?”
“I’ve had my speech ready for a decade,” the nurse says flatly.
“Aspen, this is Connie.”
“So, she’s the one.”
If it’s possible, Emmett looks even more sheepish than just a minute ago when his grandmother was harassing him.
“The one . . . Well, that’s a lot of pressure,” I joke, trying to diffuse some of the pressure suddenly pressing against my ribs.
“You can handle it, ” Emmett says, shocking the shit out of me.
“Of course she can,” Monica declares.
“She made it two hours in a car with a pain in the ass like you. The girl can do anything.”
“Alright. I’m ready to go. It was nice seeing you both.” Emmett makes a show of standing up.
“Sit down and don’t be a baby.”
“Ouch,” he says, dutifully lowering himself to the chair.
“Let me see what you did to yourself,” Connie says, coming to stand behind his chair, prodding at the collar of his shirt.
He shoos her hands away.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll bet. Because you’re so good about taking care of yourself.”
“Aspen helped.”
She raises a brow at that. My focus shifts to Monica, who’s gone quiet, watching a bird out the window.
“I’m a nurse.”
“She was my flight nurse on the medevac,” Emmett explains, with something that sounds like pride in his voice.
“Well, it sounds like you were in good hands.” She looks at me. “He was the worst patient ever, wasn’t he?”
I chuckle. “Not by a long shot. Antsy, but you just have to be persistent with this one—peel back those layers.”
“I’m not an onion.”
“No, onions are sweet compared to you,” I say.
He’s never looked more unbothered by teasing than he does now, his blue eyes sparkling with—dare I say—joy and admiration.