Chapter 4 Vivien
Vivien reread Peter’s last text after she pulled into the parking lot of the HCA Fort Walton-Destin Hospital.
Connor’s awake. In some pain. Going to be fine.
Three short sentences, clinical in their reassurance, yet still taut with something else—relief, possibly, or exhaustion. Maybe just the lingering aftershock of a phone call no parent ever wanted to get.
She turned off the engine and sat for a few seconds, hands resting on the steering wheel, looking at the three-story hospital building. The creamy stucco was bathed in morning sunlight and surrounded by cheery palm trees, with a few people moving in and out under a large portico.
She watched a nurse in scrubs, a patient pushed in a wheelchair, a random visitor with a phone pressed to his ear looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth than at this small-town hospital.
Vivien exhaled slowly.
When she’d tapped on Eli’s door last night and told him what had happened, her brother had instantly dropped his head and moved his lips in prayer.
And this morning, he looked a little tired and she’d noticed an open Bible on his bed.
Hopefully, faithful Eli had a direct line to The Big Guy and Connor was protected and would heal fast.
She wrapped her hand around the two paper cups of coffee she’d just picked up. One black with a “drive-by” of real sugar, as Peter called his coffee preference. Hers had cream and sweetener, though she suspected she wouldn’t touch it.
Her stomach was burning, but it would be better when she could see Connor, the kind and serious twenty-eight-year-old young man she’d met yesterday.
He was Peter’s son, so she loved him already.
Slow down, Viv. Peter still thinks you want space and you’re blowing in with coffee and love.
Holding the cups, she jostled her bag higher on her shoulder and headed toward the main entrance.
Inside, the hospital smelled slightly metallic, with sleek tile floors and a front desk manned by one rather sleepy-looking receptionist. She bypassed the desk for the elevators to the third floor, following the directions Peter had texted.
He hadn’t called her, which was a bit of a disappointment. But why would he? She wasn’t his girlfriend, just a concerned family friend.
Obviously, this new turn of events had nothing to do with them as a couple.
But how long would their talk have to wait?
She didn’t know, but she’d find out soon.
Since she was ready to tell him she didn’t want all that space after all, waiting would be interminable.
But the timing had to be right and respectful, even if it delayed her confession by a few days.
Based on the way he’d looked at her last night—a little guarded and uncertain—she had to wonder how he’d respond. What if he had changed his mind in the few months they’d been apart?
She shook her head as the elevator doors slid open.
None of that mattered now.
What mattered was Connor. And Peter. And the fact that she could be here to show him he wasn’t alone.
She tried not to rush down the hall, silently observing the hospital surroundings. An IV pole rolled by, directed by an orderly who looked at his phone as he walked. Nurses at the station murmured to each other. A television played softly behind a half-closed door. Somewhere, a call bell chimed.
Vivien adjusted her grip on the coffee cups and slowed as she scanned the room numbers, pausing at Room 318.
She took a breath and knocked lightly.
The door opened almost immediately and the woman standing there was not Peter. Or a nurse, based on the sweatshirt and jeans that looked like they’d been put on in haste.
She was slender, petite, with pale skin and auburn hair that fell from a ponytail in wisps around her face. The style accentuated a delicate bone structure and a peppering of freckles that were showcased on a face that didn’t wear a drop of makeup.
Faint lines around her blue-gray eyes and mouth gave away her years—probably the same as Vivien’s. Her expression was surprised during the split second when they stared at each other.
“Oh,” Vivien said, briefly wondering if she had the wrong room number. “Hi. I—”
Before she could finish, Peter appeared in the doorway, much taller than this lady who couldn’t be five-foot-three, his finger lifting to his lips.
“Hey, Viv,” he whispered. “He’s sound asleep.”
He gestured gently for them to step into the hall. Vivien backed out automatically, the red-haired woman joining them. Peter eased the door shut behind them.
Only then did Vivien really get a look at him.
There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there last night. His hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He smiled when he saw the coffees—but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said softly as she handed him one. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” she said. “I just…thought you might need it.”
He nodded, and exhaled. Then, as if remembering himself, he turned slightly.
“Sorry, Vivien, this is Holly,” he said. “Connor’s mom.”
Oh. She was his ex-wife. The realization landed with a jolt. Well, of course Connor’s mother would be here. Duh.
“Hello, Holly,” Vivien said, smoothing her expression into something warm and polite. “It’s nice to meet you, although not under these circumstances.”
“And you are?” she asked, shaking the hand Vivien offered.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbled again, exhaustion and stress in the word. “Vivien Lawson. From—”
“Oh, of course.” Holly’s smile was quick, tired, but genuine. “The summers when Pete was a teenager.”
Pete? Had anyone besides Eli ever called him Pete?
“I’ve heard so much about you, Vivien,” Holly continued. “I’ve met your brother, Eli, of course. He came to Pensacola once so many years ago. With his wife, Melissa.” Her expression fell. “Who, I guess, is gone. Anyway, Pete talks about your family and those summers like they’re legend.”
Vivien blinked, a little thrown by the present tense. He talks about her family? Hadn’t they been divorced for nearly a decade now?
“They were legend,” she replied. “And, well, I guess they are again.” She glanced at Peter without meaning to, seeing something fleeting in his dark eyes.
Instantly, she knew what he was silently communicating. He hadn’t told Holly about their relationship. His ex-wife had no idea she was standing in front of a woman “Pete” had said he loved two months ago.
And stupid Vivien had replied with…I need space.
She shook off the thought and concentrated on the moment, digging into her memory vault for all the things Peter had told her about Holly. Starting with…her name. Did she know it was Holly? Had he ever called her anything but “my ex-wife”?
Maybe. She couldn’t remember. But she did recall him sharing that their split had not been amicable. Connor had just gone to college when they filed for a divorce he said was inevitable. They’d been waiting until both sons were out of the house to break up the family.
His biggest regret, he’d said once, was that they hadn’t been able to stay friends.
Or even civil. That he’d hated knowing his sons felt the tension every time they were together.
When he shared that, he’d been doling out unsolicited but greatly appreciated divorce advice, telling Vivien to take the high road with her ex-husband, Ryan.
She had, and that had blown up in her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a coffee,” she said to Holly. “I didn’t realize—”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Holly said quickly. “I’ve had about six already.”
Peter huffed a quiet laugh.
“How is Connor?” Vivien asked. “I know you said he’s okay, but…”
Peter’s expression softened instantly. “He’s incredibly lucky,” he said. “Really. I saw the accident report, and it could have been so much worse.”
“Thank God,” she said. “So you have details of how it happened?”
“Oh, please. Pete’s a cop,” Holly said, as if Vivien didn’t know that. “He gets all the inside info.”
“It’s not a lot more than what I told you, Viv,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
As he did, Vivien couldn’t help but notice a flicker in Holly’s eyes—surprise that Vivien knew anything already? That she and Peter were in contact? That he called her “Viv”?
“Connor was driving back from the party when a pickup crossed the center line,” he added.
“Connor swerved to avoid a head-on collision, but the truck clipped the side of his car. Sent him spinning off the road into a shallow ditch. The other driver wasn’t hurt, but they brought him here, treated him for scratches, and he was arrested on a DUI. ”
Vivien winced.
“The airbags deployed,” Peter went on. “Paramedics said that probably saved him from something much worse. He was conscious when they got there, but disoriented. Kept asking the same questions over and over.”
Holly folded her arms tighter around herself, closing her eyes with a whimper. “I can’t stand that my baby went through that.”
Vivien gave a sympathetic nod. She’d be a hot holy mess if Lacey were laying in that room after being “clipped” on the highway by a drunk driver.
“What do the doctors say?” she asked.
“Moderate to severe concussion,” he said. “Broken clavicle. Fractured wrist. Painful, but nothing life-threatening. Because of the head injury—and the hour—they admitted him overnight and are monitoring for internal bleeding from the airbag or seatbelt, and any neurological changes.”
“So he’s stable?” Vivien asked quietly.
“Completely,” Peter said, relief unmistakable in his voice. “Awake earlier this morning. Pretty wiped out now from a load of heavy-duty painkillers.”
“He’s in dental school,” Holly volunteered—as if Vivien didn’t know that, either. “So when they want to give him anything, he asks a million questions and already knows the answers. He’s so smart.”
“Then we can be sure his wonderful brain is perfectly intact,” Vivien said.
Peter smiled at her, a glimpse of light in his eyes.
“I’m so relieved he’s going to be okay,” Vivien added.