Recovery Journal: Day Seven
This room. It’s too quiet. Every time I hear the shuffling of feet down the hall, I look and wait, wondering if someone will enter. Maybe a nurse or a doctor…anyone to put an end to the stifling silence.
God, I can’t take it.
I never really thought of hospitals before now. I mean, does anyone really?
Not even when my mom spoke of my father’s death did I wonder about all those people mulling about inside. I was so young—barely three, and Taylor had just been born. I know Dad must have been in one, even for a brief while after the aneurysm ruptured in his brain. Mom said he didn’t suffer, and I always remember feeling some sort of comfort from those words.
But I never imagined him here.
Or anyone else.
In the fourth grade, Kyle Keswick had to have his appendix taken out. He was gone for a week. Even then, I just thought of him as being on a sort of vacation—one where he got a cool scar and got to eat a lot of Jell-O.
Maybe no one really does.
Maybe that is how we stay sane—going on with our lives while the sick and dying are tucked away, out of sight.
That is me now. I am the forgotten.
The friend who has gone on vacation and will come back with the wicked cool scar.
But how deep will that scar run?
And will I be worth anything after it heals?
Before the accident, I’d never questioned my purpose in life.
Since then though, finding a reason to even get up in the morning seemed like a struggle. My family had pushed me, encouraging me to find my new niche in the family business now that my brother had expanded it.
“There’s so much you can do,” my mom would say.
“You don’t have to go out on the water,” my brother would remind me.
But, every morning, I’d wake up, look at my front door, and never pass the threshold.
It’d been like this for three years.
But not today.
Something had been bothering me since dinner last night.
Something had shaken me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Try as I might, steering clear of Cora was proving to be a difficult task. I knew there was an attraction there, maybe even a mutual one, but I couldn’t pursue it.
No, I wouldn’t.
She’d just come out of what could have possibly been a messy divorce.
And then there was that moment.
The moment I’d touched her hand.
At first, I’d thought she’d flinched, a possible distaste for my prosthesis—an obvious error on my part and something I never did. I wish I could say I wasn’t embarrassed by it, but I was. There had been far too many stares and wide eyes over the years to not be. So I’d learned to hold it close to me and protect what little dignity I had left.
But with her, everything felt natural.
Normal.
So why did she react the way she did? Was she disgusted? The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed.
Cora was a nurse. Someone who dealt with the unpleasantries of the human body on a daily basis. A tiny touch from my plastic hand would most likely be a zero on her gross meter, right there with taking a temperature or wrapping a blood pressure cuff.
So, why did she pull away?
That was the question that had kept me up until the wee hours of the night. Sure, she could just genuinely not like me. That would be a hard blow to my ego, but I honestly didn’t think it was as simple as that. And the more I thought about that hand flinch, the less I liked the answers I was imagining.
So, I decided a friendly cup of coffee with my best friend was in order. Nothing like a morning cup of joe with the town doctor, who also happened to be Cora’s boss, to set things straight. Maybe he’d noticed the same thing. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.
He wasn’t going to tell me a damn thing—this I already knew.
Molly had tried just about everything—and I did mean everything—to get that man to tell her things about some of the townspeople, and he’d never cracked.
And all I was offering up was coffee.
But, like I said, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Jumping out of bed, I did my usual sprint to the coffee machine, but instead of making enough for one, I made an entire pot. After that was done, I headed to the shower for a quick rinse and got dressed.
Start to finish, the whole process had taken less than fifteen minutes, and my coffee was still blazing hot as I revved up the engine of my truck and headed for the clinic.
Again.
But, this time, I knew what I would be walking into, and this time, I’d come prepared.
Making the short journey in record time, I chose a spot in the back of the lot and left the prime spaces for actual patients. Jostling around the two travel mugs proved to be a bit daunting, but at this point, I’d decided nothing would tear down my upbeat mood. With some quick thinking, I shoved both mugs into the crook of my right arm, leaving my working one free to close the car door and allow me entry into the clinic.
Sometimes, my own genius really astounds me, I thought to myself as the door closed behind me.
Several people looked up at me and either smiled or waved.
Man, this place was busy.
I glanced at the front desk, seeing the mess from yesterday had doubled.
No, tripled.
Looking down at my coffees, I suddenly felt like a damn fool.
What was I thinking, showing up on Cora’s second day on the job after witnessing how stressed they’d been the day before?
I was so used to dropping in on Jake, during his lunch break or just whenever the hell I needed to, knowing he’d make time between patients for whatever I needed, that I guessed I’d just assumed…
I’d assumed.
My mother’s voice came in my head, screeching loud and clear, like it was on some sort of speakerphone. “Do you know what happens when you assume?”
Yeah, Mom, I do.
Realizing I should probably save this conversation for some other time, I decided to just leave the coffee and a note for Jake, and maybe we’d meet up for beers later on in the day.
Because, damn, this place was two patients short of a zoo.
Stepping up to the deserted front counter, I set both cups down and leaned over, grabbing the first pen I could see. But, before I could, my movements were interrupted by a tiny voice.
“Are you stealing that?”
“Um, what?” I asked the disembodied voice of a cherub.
The presumed cherub, who turned out not to be a cherub but a little girl—Cora’s little girl, to be exact—emerged from under the desk and pointed to the pen in my hand. “Are you stealing that pen? I saw you grab it from the little hole right there.” She pointed to the small hole next to the computer monitor where several wires had been neatly shoved down to the floor.
“Um, no,” I answered, unsure of if I was being interrogated by a five-year-old or if she was just curious of my intentions. “I just planned on borrowing it.”
She shrugged, seemingly unaffected either way. “Oh, okay.” Her little head, covered in dark brown curls began to disappear below the desk again.
“Hey!” I said before she disappeared. “What are you doing under there?”
She popped back up again. I took that moment to properly examine her. I’d watched her from afar the night before as she ran around the backyard, playing with a streamer as she dodged the water’s edge. But I hadn’t gotten the chance to interact with her or to stare into those familiar brown eyes while wondering if she’d inherited her mother’s dazzling smile.
“Being tiny,” she answered. “Mommy said I wasn’t using my tiny voice well enough, so I told her I’d go practice. I thought, maybe if I tried to be tinier, it would make my voice tinier, too. Is it working?”
God, she is cute.
“Hmm…well, I don’t know. What does your normal voice sound like?”
Her mouth scrunched to the side like she was thinking real hard. Tiny freckles dotted her cheeks. “My grandmother says it kind of sounds like a bird squawking. I didn’t know what squawking meant, so I had to look it up in the dictionary.”
My heart melted a little. Okay, a lot. What kind of grandmother was this?
“Well, I’ve heard birds squawk. Lots of birds, like a whole mess of them. Big, mean birds out by the docks. And let me tell you, you don’t sound anything like them.”
“Really? What kind of birds?”
I leaned my arms on the counter. “Pelicans, egrets. The same kinds you had in Virginia Beach, I’m sure. But the really annoying ones are the seagulls.”
She got that face again, the one where she seemed deep in thought. Her lips got all squishy, and tiny frown lines appeared on her brows. “Did you know hummingbirds can fly backward and sideways?”
I was nearly thrown backward from shock. Who was this clever kid?
“I did not know that. Did you know an eggshell is porous so that the baby bird can breathe while inside?”
Her eyes lit up almost immediately. “No! Do you know what the fastest bird on the planet is?”
“The peregrine falcon.”
She smiled a bright, happy smile, which only confirmed my suspicions.
She did indeed have her mother’s smile.
I caught a glimpse of a missing front tooth, making my heart melt a little more.
“How’d you know that?” She giggled, covering her mouth with her small hands.
“How’d you know?” I pressed.
“I looked it up online.” She shrugged, like it was most obvious answer in the world. Like all five-or six-year-olds in the world looked up random bird facts in their spare time.
“Is my mommy gonna fix your arm?”
“What?” I asked, briefly caught off guard.
Looking down at her slight frame, her head resting atop her arms on the desk, I saw her gaze was now eye-level with my prosthesis. But, unlike many kids her age, there was no wide-eyed look of fear.
Just that flat-out curiosity again.
“That’s why you’re here, right? To get your arm fixed?”
My eyes briefly settled on the flesh-colored hand that rested atop the desk. “Uh, no,” I answered. “I’m afraid that’s as fixed as it’s going to get. But it looks kind of cool, huh?”
She leaned forward a little, examining it with her inquisitive stare. A hesitant finger rose up in the air, hanging there for a moment as indecision wavered in her mind. It didn’t take long before made the choice to go ahead though, placing the tip of her index finger along the top of my fake hand.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, her young mind still trying to make sense of it all.
“Nope,” I answered, knocking on a higher section of it with my fist. “Plastic,” I explained. “All the way up to here.”
Those dark brown irises followed my finger all the way up to the top of my bicep near my shoulder.
“How does it—”
“Mr. Pond?” Cora’s familiar voice called behind me.
Turning around, I was met with a surprised expression as she waited for the middle-aged grocer to gather his things. He’d all but moved in, bringing in several magazines, books, and other things. Realizing it might take a while, Cora stepped out of the doorway and walked in my direction.
“Um, hi?” she said, forming her greeting more like a question rather than a friendly salute. Although she said it nice enough, the meaning came across clear enough. What the hell are you doing here?
Yeah, I guess I deserved that.
“Hi,” I replied awkwardly.
Ah, good. The painfully uncoordinated Dean was back. Excellent. He was always a hit with the ladies.
Actually, I didn’t know that for a fact because this side of me—the all thumbs, couldn’t talk his way out of paper bag—only seemed to come out whenever she was around. It was like, the second Cora turned up, I’d revert to that dorky thirteen-year-old version of myself who thought talking about video games and Star Wars was the way to a girl’s heart.
Clearly, I’d outgrown him.
Or I’d thought I had…until I met Cora Ashcroft.
“Hey, what is your last name now?” I blurted out.
She looked up at me with a wry sense of curiosity, still trying to figure out why I was there in the first place.
Me, too, Cora. Me, too.
“It’s just that, before, you were—I mean, it was different,” I said, tripping all over my words as I tried to explain my meaning.
“Oh,” she said. “Um, Carpenter. It’s Carpenter, I guess.”
Smiling, I nodded in approval. “Okay, good. Well, I just came by to drop off a cup of coffee for Jake, but then I got highly distracted by your very charming daughter. By the way, did you know that hummingbirds can fly backward?”
A smile flashed across her face. “And sideways I’ve heard.”
Yep, I thought to myself. Just like her mom.
We hung in that moment, our mutual smiles reaching for each other like magnets.
“Um, Miss Cora?” old man Pond called out. “I’m ready.”
“Oh, right,” she said, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Oh, right. Me, too. I mean, going. I should get going.”
I am a fucking idiot.
“Don’t go!” Lizzie protested, a little too loud for her mother’s liking.
“Shh!” she immediately scolded, holding her finger up to her lips.
God, those lips. What I wouldn’t do to—
I cleared my throat. “Why doesn’t she spend the day with me?”
Wait, what?
“What?” Cora echoed my internal thoughts.
Too late now. Can’t take it back.
Might as well go with it.
“Um, sure. I’m not doing anything, and clearly, you’re swamped. I could show her the birds we were talking about down at the docks and give her a tour of the town.”
“We already did a tour of the town,” she replied, her eyes dodging between me and Mr. Pond, who was currently standing next to her, holding his huge pile of books and magazines.
The whole thing was awkward.
There was no other way to describe it.
But then again, that was the definition of my interactions with Cora thus far.
Awkward.
Just all sorts of awkward.
“Please, Mommy?” Lizzie begged before amending her plea to something much quieter. “Please?” she nearly whispered.
Cora’s gaze alternated between me, her daughter, and Mr. Pond, who was now watching the entire interaction like a true townie—with enthused observation.
“No boats,” she said sternly.
“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” I agreed.
“And you’ll feed her?”
“Best food in town,” I promised.
“And bring her back before we close?”
I nodded. “With bells on.”
“Bells!” Lizzie cheered, her voice breaking into laughter.
“Fine,” she agreed but took one step closer toward me.
I could feel her breath on my neck and smell the floral fragrance of her shampoo, and if I bent forward even an inch, I’d know exactly what her skin tasted like.
“Eyes forward, Sutherland,” she barked, jolting me out of the lust-filled haze I’d momentarily stumbled into.
I looked down at her, seeing the seriousness in her eyes. I took a tiny step back, hoping it would help me focus.
“That right there is the most important thing to me in this whole damn world.” Her finger went up to my chest as she tried to find more words to drive in the significance of what I was doing.
“I’ll treat her like the treasure that she is, Cora. I promise.”
Our eyes met, and once again, I tried to ignore the tightening in my chest and the yearning deep in my belly.
Because, as much as Molly wanted to believe, this was not a love story.
No fireworks, no happy endings.
Just one nice person doing a favor for another.
Period.
“So, what’ll it be?” I asked after nearly collapsing into the chair at the local restaurant I’d picked out for lunch.
Lizzie was a ball of never-ending energy, asking questions with every glance, about everything from street signs and local life to types of animals, and even giving her own fun facts along the way.
And, in the few hours we’d spent together, I’d grown pretty fond of the spunky little girl. Even if I did want to fall over from sheer exhaustion at the moment.
“Chicken fingers!” she announced after looking over the menu with a bit of scrutiny.
It didn’t surprise me one bit that she could read the thing. Considering she was looking up random facts on birds on the internet, a simple kid’s menu was a no-brainer.
It did make me wonder how she was going to fare in kindergarten though.
Or rather, how the school was going to fare with her.
“Chicken fingers?” I scoffed. “Out of everything this place has to offer, you’re going to choose chicken fingers?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like fish.”
“You were born in a beach town. How can you not like fish?” I joked, recalling I, myself, hated the taste of anything sea-related until the age of twelve, and I was the son of a fisherman.
She shrugged again, this time even bigger, her shoulders nearly reaching the bottoms of her ears. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”
“Hmm,” I said, making an exaggerated face, like I was trying to think of a solution. “Well, what if I said you could eat with your fingers? Would that change your mind?”
She slightly perked up. “Maybe. All the other fish I had was slimy.”
“Slimy?” I echoed, wondering just where she had been getting her fish.
Remembering who her father was—or at least, what little Cora had spoken of him—I realized she’d probably been fed only high-priced, fancy stuff, which was good, if you were a high-priced, fancy adult.
But a kid? A kid needed something that was more at their level.
Something more—
“Hey, Dean. You two ready to order?” Billy asked as soon as he reached our table, setting two glasses of ice water down in front of us.
“Hey, Billy! Have you met our newest resident, Miss Lizzie?” I paused a moment, unsure of if she was still an Ashcroft or a Carpenter. Deciding to let that go, I just smiled as Billy, a guy I knew from high school, greeted Lizzie like a queen.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Lizzie,” he said, shaking her tiny hand. “Can I get you anything else to drink besides water?”
She looked sheepishly in my direction, asking for permission. With eyes like those, I’d probably give her the damn world, but for now, I’d settle on giving her a soda.
“Sure,” I said before she asked for a root beer. I did the same and proceeded to order our lunches, forgoing Lizzie’s request for chicken fingers. I knew Billy could fry up a basket real quick if she hated the fish.
But I was pretty convinced I’d have a fish lover by the end of the meal.
“I’m glad my mommy can’t fix your arm,” Lizzie said, bringing my focus back to her. Now that her menu was gone, her head was resting on her hands, eye level with mine.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because you are kind of like a robot.”
I grinned. “Pretty sure a robot can do more than just wave.”
She watched as I demonstrated the point, holding up my prosthesis and giving her a lame wave with the frozen hand.
She laughed a high-pitched giggle that made me smile.
“How come it doesn’t move?” she asked, that inquisitive expression taking over her face as she gave my arm a once-over. She leaned in closer for a better look, my short sleeves providing an ample view.
“Well,” I said, pointing to the top of the device, “this one isn’t meant to. It’s just supposed to look like an arm.”
“But why?” she pressed. “If it looks like an arm, shouldn’t it move like one, too?”
I swallowed deeply, unsure of how to answer.
“If I were bigger, I’d make one that shot lasers out of the fingertips and could make you fly.”
I laughed. “That doesn’t sound like any arm I’ve ever met.”
She shrugged just as our drinks were being delivered. “I’d make sure it could do all the other stuff, too, but definitely lasers.”
In the little time I’d gotten to know Lizzie, I had no doubt she could do it, too.
Give her a few years, a little time on the internet, and she could probably build an entire robot, laser limbs and all.
“Mommy!” Lizzie’s voice exploded my eardrums a second before she hopped out of her chair and darted in the direction behind me.
Alarmed, I jumped up and turned but instantly calmed, seeing Cora wrapped around her daughter.
Still dressed in her scrubs, that reddish-brown hair pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, she was immediately dragged to our table and instructed to sit.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I asked, a wry smile spreading across my face.
“I have a lunch break,” she scoffed before adding, “but, no, it’s a Wednesday, and I was just informed that means I only work a half-day.”
I nodded. “Ah, yes. Jake usually travels up to Nags Head or Virginia Beach to the hospitals today to check on patients or meet with doctors.”
“That’s what he told me. Anyway, I’m free, so I can take over from here.”
Her blank stare from across the table spoke volumes. Clearly, I wasn’t needed anymore, and I was being dismissed.
“Right,” I said, taken off guard and suddenly feeling a little pissed. Obviously, the idea of being neighborly hadn’t been explained to our new resident. “I have stuff to do anyway.”
“No, Mommy!” Lizzie whined. “We haven’t eaten yet, and Dean hasn’t shown me how to eat fish with my fingers.”
Cora’s eyes stared daggers into mine.
“I said I’d treat her like a treasure.” I shrugged. “Not royalty. This is how we roll in the ’Coke. You can’t tell me you’ve never dug into a basket of fresh seafood with your bare hands.”
She shook her head, the annoyance still written all over her face. “Not even once.”
Leaning forward, not even making a single attempt to leave, I asked, “Where are you from again? Texas?”
She nodded.
“And you’ve been here, living the beach life, for how long?”
“A little over seven years.”
“And how many of those were spent with the lawyer?” I asked.
“All but a few months, but I fail to see how any of that—” she answered stiffly.
“You never got a proper introduction,” I said. “You moved here, met the rich guy, and were shown a completely ridiculous side of shore life. You’ve missed out on Jeep rides, late-night bonfires, and pigging out on seafood so fresh, you can’t help but eat it with your hands.” I grinned, ignoring all those Southern manners my mother had drilled into me.
I mean, she’d started it by barging in here. That reminded me…
“Hey, how did you know where we were?” I asked.
“What?” Cora asked, knocked somewhat off-balance by the abrupt question.
“Well, you weren’t planning on meeting us for lunch, and I don’t recall getting any calls from you, so how’d you find us?”
One glance over in Lizzie’s direction told me she was enrapt with the whole conversation, drinking her soda as her short little legs swung from the plastic chair on the patio, soaking up every word.
“Um, well, I just sort of drove around.”
“You drove around? Why didn’t you call?”
Her face went blank, a kind of innocent face you’d make when you’d been caught in a lie.
“I didn’t think about it.”
I grinned, folding my arms in front of me. “You got off work early, were eager to pick up your daughter, and the first thought in your head wasn’t, Maybe I should use that phone number Dean wrote down for me before he left with my kid?”
“I—”
“You wanted to sneak up on me,” I said, cutting her off, sending Lizzie a lazy wink, which caused her to giggle. “You wanted to see just how well I was living up to my word, didn’t you?”
Her arms flew up in the air. “Okay, yes!” she admitted. “I did. But do you blame me? I show up to a town I’ve never been to, and I’m living in someone else’s house, working for another person I barely know, and then you show up and offer to babysit my child when I basically have no other choice.”
“You’re not a very trusting person, are you?”
“Are you?” she fired back.
“Yes,” I answered firmly.
“Well, good for you. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
And there it was. That haunting look I’d seen in her eyes the night before. It was here again, and the instant I saw it, I wanted to pull her into my arms and erase it, no matter the cost.
But I knew, if I did, she’d bolt. Like a deer caught in the headlights, she’d run and never come back.
So, instead of pressing even further, I backed down.
“I’d better go,” I said, meeting those sad eyes once more. “I need to get some things done.”
“But what about lunch? And my finger fish?” Lizzie cried out.
I smiled in her direction, leaning forward, like I had a special secret just for her.
“Here’s the trick, kid. Are you ready?”
She giggled, scooting up onto her knees so that she could lean forward over the table.
“Use your fingers,” I whispered loudly so that her mom could hear.
Lizzie laughed wildly, her hand covering her mouth but doing little to muffle the sound.
“And make sure your mom does the same,” I instructed before rising from my seat.
“But what about your food?” Lizzie asked.
I threw enough cash down on the table to cover the two meals plus an ample tip.
“Well, now, your mom will have no excuse but to eat fish with you!” I said, giving her one last wink.
Cora began protesting the money I’d just dropped. I ignored every word as I walked away. I knew my mama would be appalled by my behavior, but someone needed to show Cora Carpenter that in this town we took care of one another.
Even if she didn’t like it.
It didn’t take Jake long to track me down after he returned home from his business up the coast, and we met up for a late beer at one of our favorite places in town, Taps. Since his return to Ocracoke earlier that year, I’d grown accustomed to seeing the various new sides to my childhood friend. After all, we had both changed a great deal since high school.
But, sitting across from him tonight, I could see the stress from the clinic was weighing heavily on him.
That, or it was something else.
“Dude, you look like hell,” I said after several microbrews samples arrived on the table for us to try.
In an effort to attract tourists, Gavin, the bartender and longtime friend, had recently renovated the long-standing restaurant and given it an updated tap-house feel, hoping locals would appreciate the selection of brews as well.
We did.
Jake and I came in every chance we had, slowly making our way through the impressive menu as we dined on the equally ambitious bar food.
“Kind of feel like it, too, but thanks for bringing it up.”
“Please tell me this is just clinic stress and not some precursor to you making a beeline out of here again.”
He set his beer down as his face went rigid. “No. Hell no. I’m not leaving. Not ever again. This? This is just me pushing through. Betty leaving was a solid blow, one I honestly wasn’t prepared for. Leave it to the highly trained, prepared-for-anything cardiothoracic surgeon to crumble at the first sign of distress when his only nurse retires.”
“Is there anything I can do? I don’t know shit about medical stuff, but I’m sure I could come in and—”
He held up a hand. “It’s fine. Really. Cora is learning the ropes. It’s only been two days. One and a half actually.”
“How is she doing?” I asked. “I mean, is she acclimating well?”
He nodded, helping himself to the nachos we’d ordered. “She’s going to be great. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”
And there it was. My window. To ask about Cora. To tell him about the way she’d shied away from my touch. The haunted look in her eyes.
It was right there, hanging in the silence, but I let it go.
Why?
Because this wasn’t Jake’s problem.
And it wasn’t mine either.
I needed to step back and mind my own business.
She clearly didn’t need my help.
“I’m just desperate for it to simmer down,” he continued. “Molly and I have been back together for only a handful of months, and with the wedding coming up—”
“You want time,” I finished, understanding his dilemma.
“I know that’s lame and selfish. But that’s just where I am.”
“It’s not lame or selfish. You’ve given yourself completely to this town. Wanting a little time with your fiancée isn’t asking much. Are you sure you don’t need anything? And don’t give me that shit about having it all under control.”
He chuckled, taking a sip from one of the amber-colored glasses, before answering, “As much as I want to say no, I can’t. I really do need help.”
“Knew it. And who better to help than your loser best friend who has nothing to do?”
He gave me a hard stare. “That’s on you, buddy. There’s nothing holding you back.”
I ignored him and instead pushed ahead. “So, what do you need me to do? Take temperatures? Make appointments? If you say anything that has to do with the phrase turn and cough, I’m out.”
A familiar grin that used to get me in a lot of trouble formed across his face. “Filing.”
“Filing?” I repeated, feeling less than enthused. “All my experience with bookkeeping, not to mention the fact that I own and operate my own company, and you want to use me for filing?”
“Operated.”
“What?”
“Past tense. You do own a company, well, co-own, but as for the operating, that’s all your brother these days. Don’t take credit for that.”
My eyes rolled as that familiar twinge of guilt gnawed at my gut. How long would it continue to do so until I finally broke down and did something about it?
“Whatever,” I finally answered, ignoring the churning feeling in my stomach like I always did. “Anyway, filing?”
“Yep. There’s days’ worth. When Betty left, I put a few in a stack and told myself I’d get to it later, but later never came. There’s stacks on top of stacks. It’s just damn embarrassing. And Cora is so immersed in learning—”
“I get it. You need someone to do the grunt work. Have you ever considered hiring a secretary?”
“Sure,” he sneered. “Give me an extra thirty to forty thousand a year, and I’ll gladly do that.”
“Right. Okay, filing. I can do that,” I said, holding up a half-empty glass of IPA. “Just do me one favor?” I asked.
He gave me a meaningful glance. “Anything.”
“Make sure that fiancée of yours sends you into work with plenty of coffee and pastries.”
He laughed, clinking his glass with mine. “Done.”
It wasn’t until I finished my beer that I realized what I’d just done.
I’d unwittingly reinserted myself into Cora’s life.
So much for minding my own business.
By the time I arrived home, I had a full belly, a bit of a buzz, and a new purpose.
At least for the time being.
Filing.
I guessed it could be worse.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I removed my prosthesis and pulled off my shirt, feeling the crisp, cold air prickle my skin. Tilting my head back, I ran my hand through my hair. That nagging feeling I’d awoken with still hadn’t abated. The image of Cora jerking her hand away from mine kept replaying in my head in a loop.
It made me recall a particularly rough day in the hospital during my recovery. It was early on when the pain had still been raw and real, and the painkillers had barely been enough to take the edge off.
I’d awoken from a nap, sweat dripping off my body, shaking from the pain coursing through my veins.
Cora was the one to respond to my call button.
And it was her touch alone that calmed me.
The soft, calming caress of her fingers against my forehead as I’d breathed through the pain. It was a connection, one I’d felt once again last night at dinner.
But this time, the one in pain had been her.
Scooting up to my computer, I booted up the screen and pulled up the internet browser, intent on finding some answers.
Starting with Cora’s ex-husband.
Who was this man who’d owned her heart, and what scars had he left in his wake? What had he done to tear apart her trust, to make her pull away from human contact, to fear it even?
I had a pretty good guess, and as I pulled up the name Ashcroft, cross-searching it with the terms lawyer and Virginia Beach, the man I pulled up did nothing to dissuade that feeling.
Blake Ashcroft was the epitome of wealth. Or at least, what I assumed it to be. Even from the photos and articles I found online regarding his prominent cases and well-known family, I could see an arrogance in him. He carried himself in a way that said he thought he was above everyone else.
Just seeing his face caused a hatred deep in my gut, something I was unused to feeling. I’d never been a revenge-seeking, eye-for-an-eye type person. Hell, I’d handed over my own fiancée to my best friend. But Blake Ashcroft stirred a need to protect like I’d never felt before.
Over an hour later, I was spiraling, falling down a Blake Ashcroft rabbit hole. When I’d gone so far as to pull up Google maps to view his house—or the house where he and Cora had lived—I knew I’d gone too far.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked myself out loud.
Sitting back in the chair, I let out a deep breath and decided it was time for bed. A quick check at the clock in the corner of my laptop confirmed that.
It was late.
But, before I could shut it down, I saw the pesky notification on my email.
Two new emails.
There were two types of people in this world. Those who could let their emails rack up into the tens of thousands without a care in the world. And then there were people like me. Those who saw one new email and had to immediately read or delete it. It was why I’d turned off the notifications on my phone. It’d driven me insane.
Pulling up the email program, I made quick work of deleting the first. Junk mail. I did not need a new duvet cover or whatever the hell the random department store was trying to sell me.
The second email took a bit more time.
When I clicked on it, my eyes narrowed in on the sender. I didn’t recognize it at first. The email address was something abstract. Nothing straightforward like mine, which happened to just be my name.
“SmartieBeachGirl5.” I chuckled. “Someone really needs to change their email address.” I laughed, feeling pretty amused until I began reading the email.
Dear Dean,
This is Lizzie.
Lizzie Ashcroft.
I found your email address on one of the small cards in the office you took me to when I needed to go to the bathroom when we were at the docks today. It had your name on it, so I figured it was yours.
Thanks for lunch. Mommy and I had a fun time eating the fish with our fingers. I think we would have had more fun eating with you though.
That’s why I’m writing you.
My mommy and I moved here to get all new things.
New house, new school. She even said I’d get new toys since I couldn’t take most of mine.
But I don’t really care about toys.
I just want a new Mommy.
Not a different one. Just a happier one.
Mommy was not happy in our old house, but I think she can be here, in our new house and our new town and with new friends.
Will you be my mommy’s friend? I want her to smile again.
Please?
Lizzie
P.S. Can you keep my email address a secret? Mommy would get mad at me if she knew, and I really like talking to you.
I stared at the email for a solid half hour, a mixture of wonder and panic washing over me. I was in awe of this kid. I had been since the moment she popped up from under that desk at the medical clinic. She was beyond her years in so many ways. Not just in academics, but emotionally, too. She saw things most adults spent eons trying to figure out. Or ignore.
She knew her mother was sad.
I wonder what else she knew.
What else she’d seen.
Cora and I had had a rough go of it. So many false starts at this thing called friendship and even a rougher start when I’d tried to make it more.
But, for this little girl, I’d do anything.
No, for this little girl and her mother, I’d move mountains. Starting with a few files, friendship, and a fresh cup of coffee.