Chapter Seven #2
I look up at him and for the first time, really look at him.
I see a frightened little boy in man’s clothing, a child just aching for their parent.
He wears his melancholy comfortably, hiding it the best he can behind a smile.
Still, sadness lurks beyond his eyes. I can see the broken pieces, the jagged edges spewing every way, creating a fence around his heart to avoid any further hurt.
Mostly, what I see is someone just wanting love.
“He moved a couple of towns over, the last I knew. My sisters still talk to him. He’s tried to get in contact with me a few times but I just can’t talk to him. Seeing how much pain he put my mom through…” he trails off.
“Not to mention all of the pain he put you through.” I grab the baking tray and walk over to the oven, opening it.
The hot air rushes out and blasts me in the face as I shove the tray in.
I close the door and walk back to the counter, waiting for Graham to meet my eyes.
“Hurting your spouse is one thing, but hurting your child is a different kind of low.”
He nods in agreement, as if to say I’ve made an excellent point. “And then, Mom got sick.”
I grab the timer I’d found earlier and set it, raising my eyebrows to urge him to continue.
“Severe spinal stenosis. Her spine was compressing a nerve that ran through her left leg. Her leg would go numb and just give out. It was so bad that she was falling all of the time, just at the drop of a dime. She was losing motor function rapidly. We thought she’d end up in a wheelchair before we finally found a doctor that would help her and do surgery. ”
A pain goes through my heart at his words. My mom would have helped in any way she could in a situation like that. That’s the kind of person, and doctor, she was.
“So then, she had surgery and extensive physical therapy. I was there for all of it. I mean, I was the only one there for all of it. Ginny and Betty flew in for her surgery and stayed a few days after with us, but I was the one taking her to appointments and getting her to physical therapy and all of that.”
“That’s a lot on you,” I say, “to be the caretaker like that.” I search for another baking sheet so I can cut out more scones to bake.
“I didn’t mind,” he says. “I mean, she’s my mom and I would do anything for her.
But part of me resents my father for leaving because of that.
I wanted to move away from Driftbay and experience the world, but once he left, I felt like I didn’t have a choice.
I had this gut feeling that I needed to stay here for her, and it turned out I was right. ”
“You have to follow your heart,” I tell him as I walk back to the counter. “Your heart wants what it wants,” I add, thinking of Judith. “Besides, maybe there’s some other reason you were meant to stay in Driftbay.”
“I guess you’re right.” Graham frowns as he rolls another packet of silverware. “I guess you could say the same thing about my dad. He followed what his heart wanted in the end.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider his words, having played devil’s advocate. I shrug as he sighs.
“They were just…supposed to grow old together, you know? In sickness and in health and whatnot.”
The words hang in the air as I begin cutting out my second tray of scones.
“So, what about you?” he asks. “I’ve bared my soul to you. What’s your tragic backstory?”
I laugh, wiping my flour-covered hands on my apron. I take a breath before I begin. “Well, I lived in Seattle before I moved here, as you know.”
He nods.
“Born and raised there. My mother was a neurosurgeon. One of the best in the country. She uh,” I pause, taking a deep breath, “...died in a car accident in January.”
“Wow, Thea,” Graham mumbles. “I’m sorry. I was just joking about the tragic backstory.”
I laugh half-heartedly and continue. “I don’t have any siblings.
It was just my mom and I growing up. And Aunt Beth, of course, though we didn’t get out here to see her as much as we wanted to.
” Memories of those few beach vacations flood my mind, the days of yesteryear filled with sandy shorelines, salty air, and sweet hugs.
“I don’t know who my dad is. Mom really wanted a kid and didn’t have the time, or the patience, to search for Mr. Right.
So, instead she used a sperm donor and chose my biological father from a catalog of superior genetic specimens.
She was searching for the best of the best.” I smile weakly at Graham, knowing I am anything but the best of the best.
“When I was younger, I’d get so mad at her for making me grow up without a dad.”
He stands and stretches as I grab another bowl and start to whisk together ingredients for my lemon glaze.
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, my dad was great when I was growing up. His recent actions just really tarnished all the good years for me.”
I nod. “I didn’t really have a lot of friends growing up. I met my best friend at my first job. God, we hated working there. Our boss was crazy.” I laugh to myself as memories replay in my head.
I recount how my former boss would throw hangers across the stockroom when she was angry and Graham chuckles.
“I was your typical high school student. Made solid B’s. I could have made better grades if I’d just applied myself more. Instead, I’m just average.” I shrug, the lemony, citrus scent of the glaze working its way to my nose.
He stops what he’s doing, his fingers frozen on a fork.
“You are anything but average, Thea,” he says.
We stare at each other, our breathing the only sound in the kitchen.
“Never played sports,” I say, clearing my throat. “Not coordinated enough for that. I did a couple of semesters at a community college, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. People expect greatness from me, being Dr. Calloway’s daughter.”
“I imagine that’s hard, living in her shadow.” Graham’s fingers make light work of the utensils now.
“At times, yes. Here in Driftbay, though…no one knows her. Well, except for Beth. It’s…almost a relief.” I set the mixing bowl to the side, content with the consistency of the glaze I’ve concocted.
“I left school after the accident. I just couldn’t continue.”
“I’m sorry. I know how hard it is,” he says softly.
“I was in the car with her that night. Really, it’s my fault we were even out.
” Memories of that fateful night flood my memory and I feel my pulse quicken, even though I know I’m safe here with Graham.
I can talk about this. “I’d begged her to go out shopping, though the forecast was calling for a bad snowstorm later that night.
She died and I walked away unscathed. Sometimes I feel guilty for making it out alive.
She saved so many lives. Cars still freak me out.
” I blink my eyes rapidly, fighting the tears that are surfacing.
“She gave people hope when they had none and gave them their lives back. I just… bake.”
I reach up to brush the tears with one hand.
“Hey,” Graham says gently, walking around the counter.
He grips my forearms and turns me to face him.
“It’s okay. Listen to me. You are not responsible for your mother’s death, Thea.
” His eyes search mine. “You survived for a reason, even if it is ‘just baking.’ Personally, I think your cookies are life-changing.”
I let out a laugh, breaking up the seriousness of the moment.
I drink in the feel of him being this close to me, the feel of his hands on me.
The sensation makes me shiver. I can smell his cologne; it’s woodsy, outdoorsy and I can detect a hint of vanilla in it.
It mixes beautifully with the blueberry aroma wafting up from the oven now that the scones are baking.
The scents wrap around me, almost suffocating me.
It feels like I’m getting drunk on him alone.
“You’ve got something right here,” he whispers as he reaches for my face. The pad of his thumb gently brushes my cheek as he wipes flour off of me.
Our eyes lock on each other and for a moment, I think I know what’s going to happen next. I can sense the monumental shift between us as he starts to move closer, as he cradles my head in his large hands, and as my butterflies take flight.
I should be stopping this, especially after my not-so-great date with Jake, but Graham is making me feel things Jake never could.
We’re interrupted by a flurry of activity in the doorway. We jump, breaking apart as Beth appears with a handful of papers, her morning till counts.
“Good morning,” she says as she narrows her eyes, looking between us. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, motioning with the papers in her hand.
“No,” Graham and I answer in unison. He clears his throat and walks back around the other counter as I reach for my second baking tray.
I hastily walk over to the oven and open it.
A gush of hot blueberry-scented air escapes.
I stick the other tray in and close the door as Graham starts wheeling the cart of silverware to the front of the diner.
I feel Beth’s gaze on me and my cheeks start to burn. Whether it’s the embarrassment or the oven air, I’m not sure.
She doesn’t say another word. Her eyes linger on me for a moment before she turns on her heels and is gone, forgetting what she’d come into the kitchen for.
I’m left alone. I’m flushed and to be quite honest, a bit flustered. I blow a strand of hair out of my face from the corner of my mouth and can’t help but wonder what the hell just happened.