“There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—a time to give birth and a time to die.”
—ECCLESIASTES 3:1–2 NASB
So this was what dying felt like.
Brock leaned on Mitch and walked the four steps to the front door. Four steps that felt like fifty. He wanted to pass out right there on the stoop, but Mitch propped him up, casting a cautious glance his way, and Brock grimaced. “I’m not gonna drop dead in your arms, bro. Chill out.”
Maysie skipped beside them while Clarice went ahead into the house and made sure there were no obstacles for him to fall over. Another crack on the head would probably do him in at this point. Although the way he felt today, the idea held some merit. Everything ached. He’d pop pills for the pain. But it was the hurt in his heart he didn’t know what to do with. No quick fix for that.
Over the course of his hospital stay, they’d converted the living room into a makeshift bedroom for him, complete with hospital bed.
“Gimme a break,” Brock muttered as soon as he saw it, then allowed Mitch to help him ease out of his coat. They should have settled in Florida. Then he could have passed away peacefully on a sunny beach, surrounded by beautiful bikini-clad women.
“Let’s get you into that bed. Man, I could use a nap too.” Mitch was trying his best. Trying to sound upbeat, like his only brother wasn’t about to pop off at any given moment, but Brock heard the strain in his voice.
He waved a hand and moved toward the couch. “Grab me some pillows. I’ll lie here for a bit.”
“Hallo, Brock, hallo, Brock!” Martin squawked and Maysie giggled and ran for pillows. Soon he was tucked in, stuffed animals surrounding him, with Maysie on a stool by his side and Clarice and Mitch hovering like overeager servants waiting to do his bidding.
“I’m sure y’all have things to do,” he growled.
“Yeah. I do.” Mitch ran a hand over his hair. “I need to call your doctor again and make sure he’s gonna be on that plane tomorrow.”
Brock bit back a curse and glowered at his brother. But there was no arguing. Mitch had already made the arrangements. And Brock knew by the time Dr. Reece Radcliff left the Berkshires, one way or another he’d be scheduled to have his skull split open.
After the last week of horrendous pain that pretty much sucked the life out of him, he wasn’t sure why he’d been so stubborn about it. But dying didn’t scare him.
Not dying did.
What if something went wrong? What if he lived but he couldn’t talk or walk or never emerged from the comatose state they’d put him in?
There were a million what-ifs.
Like the stars in the sky Savannah liked to watch.
Brock turned his head and locked his gaze on Maysie’s worried face. She was just a kid. She didn’t deserve this.
“Want to go get your puppy? What’d you name him again? I can’t remember.”
“Watson.” Her eyes lit but veered toward Clarice. “Am I allowed?”
“You are allowed.” Clarice held out a hand for Maysie. “But in a little while. Let Daddy rest and we’ll come back in a bit.” They left the room and Mitch pulled up a chair.
Brock picked up a teddy bear and stared into beady black eyes.
“HALLO!” Martin squawked again.
Brock startled, dropped the bear, and glared at the bird in the cage across the room. Then he looked at Mitch. “Will you get that thing out of here?”
Mitch snorted. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“I don’t care. Open a window.”
For some reason the very idea sent them both into hysterics.
It felt good to laugh.
Brock sobered quickly and shook his head. He wouldn’t put that past Mitch. “I was kidding. But take the cage out of here when Clarice isn’t looking. He can go in the kitchen until—”
“Until you’re well enough to go back to your room,” Mitch said quietly.
Brock shut his mouth and took a moment to study his brother’s face. “You doing okay?”
Mitch blinked, his nose getting red. He blew air and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. “You’re asking me if I’m doing okay?”
“Well, you’re not exactly living the life these days, little brother. Figured you’d be beating a trail back to the big city by now.”
“I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it.” Mitch tapped the Rolex on his wrist. “Fortunately I’ve been able to handle most things online and through conference calls. Might have to fly out for a few days next week, though. But they’re aware of the situation here, so if I can’t, I can’t.”
“You make me proud, Mitchell.” Brock meant it. Hadn’t had cause to say it often, heaven knew, yet the past few days, Mitch had come through. “But I still don’t think you’re parent material.”
“And thank God for that.” Mitch gave a sudden grin. “I love your kid, but I think she’d agree with you.”
Brock smiled and took a moment to catch his breath. “Have you done what I asked?”
His brother sighed, sat back, and stared at the ceiling for a long, painful moment. “Are you absolutely sure there’s nobody who will crawl out of the woodwork to contest this?”
“I’m sure. You saw the PI report. You talked to him. There’s no one.”
“What if they won’t do it?”
“They will.” Brock reached a trembling hand for a glass of water.
Mitch stood to help, stared down at him, and shook his head. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you I’m not at all happy about this. And I’m hoping beyond hope that it won’t be necessary. But I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses and agreed to the operation.”
“That makes one of us.”
“You agreed to what?” Savannah stood in the doorway, a basket of laundry in her arms. Her eyes widened as her furtive gaze darted from him to Mitch.
Brock ground out a sigh. He’d forgotten she was in the house. Clarice told him Savannah had spent most of the last three days here, cleaning, cooking, and looking after Maysie. He was beyond grateful. His aunt needed rest. He’d been more than worried about her lately.
“Well, if it isn’t Florence Nightingale.” Mitch grinned and Savannah scowled.
Brock chuckled, the movement hurting his chest. “Knew you two would get along.”
Savannah let out a soft laugh that made him feel better. “That, my friend, is stretching the truth. You must be a writer.” She put down the overflowing basket and walked toward him.
“It’s the Chandler charm. She can’t resist it.” Mitch quirked a brow and put on his I’m-too-sexy-for-myself look. If Brock had the strength, he would have smacked him one.
Savannah shot his brother a venomous glare. “I’m getting a bit tired of you.” Her cheeks flushed with exertion and she looked like she hadn’t slept well for days. Suddenly all he wanted to do was sit her down, pour her a glass of wine, tell her silly stories, and make her laugh until she cried. But he couldn’t even get off the couch.
“Brock? Have you agreed to have the operation?” Her eyes were on him again.
“Only if you’ll agree to run away with him once it’s all over,” Mitch drawled.
Brock couldn’t stop a grin at the scathing look Mitch earned with that remark.
Savannah pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and gave a low whistle. “You don’t know when to quit, do you? Make yourself useful for a change, Mitchell, and take that basket to my car for me.” Clarice’s dryer was broken, he remembered. Mitch had supposedly ordered a new one, but it was anybody’s guess when it would arrive.
Much to Brock’s surprise, his brother obeyed, picked up the basket, and disappeared out the door. Savannah pulled a chair close to the couch and studied him through anxious eyes. “So?”
“I’ll do it.” Brock rolled his eyes at the squeak she let out. “You know it’s a long shot. The odds are not good. In fact, they’re pretty darn awful.”
“I know. I heard the whole spiel from your brother. Optimism is not one of his strong suits.”
“He’s protecting himself.” Brock pushed up a bit and pain shot down his neck. “Cured or dead. At this point I’m not sure which sounds better.”
“I wish this wasn’t happening.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, but he couldn’t look away. When he was lucid enough to pray, he actually asked God to take away the tumultuous feelings he had for this woman. Because if he lived . . . a wry smile jumped him without permission . . . well, Mitch hadn’t been that far off the mark.
“You’re tired, Savannah.” He wanted to reach for her hand, but clasped his fingers together instead. She gave a watery smile and a shrug.
“Not sleeping very well.”
“When’s he coming back?” Brock hadn’t wanted to ask. Mitch told him, with a glint of glee in his eyes, that Savannah’s husband hightailed it out of here a few days ago. But the man did have a job to get back to. Brock couldn’t believe he’d brought her up here in the first place.
“Hopefully on Saturday. With Adam.”
“That’s good. Day after tomorrow, right?”
“I know.” She twisted her rings and frowned at the floor.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing. Just . . .” She met his eyes again and he saw fear in them. “The woman Kevin had an affair with has applied for a job at his company. And put him down as a reference.”
“She what?” Brock had to work to keep horrified laughter in check. “Well, that’s gutsy.”
“There are other words I can think of.” She bit her lip, fiddled with her rings some more, and faced him again. “If she moves back to Boston, I don’t think I could take it.”
“Hey.” Knowing it was so not a good idea, he reached for her hand anyway. “You know there’s a long road ahead. A lot more healing to come. It’s not going to happen overnight. You’re going to have to trust him.”
“It’s her I don’t trust. What if—”
“There you go climbing up that tree again.” Brock grinned, gave her hand a squeeze, and let go. “Have a little faith, Savannah.”
She nodded, put her hands on her knees, and nailed him with a stern look. “I will if you will.”
“Touché, darlin’.” They shared a smile and his eyes stung. That happened a lot lately. “Thanks for coming up here for Maysie.”
Savannah smiled and wrapped a lock of hair around her finger. “I’ll stay as long as they need me. As long as you need . . .” She shook her head and her gaze shifted to the window.
“Hey. In my bag over there.” He pointed to the small duffel Mitch had left in the corner of the room. “In the side pocket. Grab that journal, would you?”
Savannah did as he asked and sat down again, handing it to him. Brock tried to get rid of the lump in his throat, met her curious look, and pushed the book toward her.
“I want you to have this.”
She narrowed her eyes, opened the leather-bound book, and turned a few pages. Then she stared up at him through tears. “I can’t take this. All these quotes . . . so many years . . . Brock. This is practically your whole life right here in this book.”
“Yeah. It is.” He took in her incredulous expression and somehow found a smile. “So it has to go to someone who’ll appreciate it. And I think that’s you.”
“No. No, Brock. You’re going to be fine. You’ll have the operation and—”
“And if I’m not, you’ll take care of that for me. Give it to Maysie one day. When she’s ready.”
She clutched the book to her chest, stood, and paced the room, emitting a shaky sigh every now and then. Then she sat again, too much heartache in her eyes. “Okay. Fine. You win. Now can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.” He sat back, content with the victory. “How’s the greenhouse? I’m not sure Clarice has been in there much since you’ve been gone.”
Her eyes widened a little. “You know, I haven’t even checked. But when I was in the kitchen just now, I’m sure I smelled jasmine.”
“I don’t know what we’ll do when you head back to Boston,” he said quietly. Assuming he was still alive.
Savannah shrugged. “Who knows if we’ll stay there anyway. Kevin might have to find another job.” Her tired smile broadened a bit. “He told me he’s always dreamed about owning a bookstore.”
“A bookstore? Really?” Funnily enough, though he didn’t know the man well, that wasn’t hard to imagine.
“All these years, I never knew.” She let go a wistful sigh. “So much I never knew.”
“You’re getting your second chance, Savannah. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” She sat silent a moment, then met his gaze again. Opened her mouth, then closed it quickly.
“What are you thinking?”
Her cheeks flushed a little. “Well. I wanted to ask you . . . How did your wife die? You never did tell me the rest of your story.”
“Ah.” Brock smiled. “Well, she—”
“I have no idea why I asked you that.” Savannah stared at him in sudden horror. “I’m so sorry. Just forget I said anything.”
“No, it’s fine. Really.” He shifted onto his side and let out a long breath. “I think it was time you did.”
She nodded. She understood.
And somehow he’d known she would.
“There will come a time when you will know. And you will understand. And believe.” Clarice spoke those words to him months ago, during one of their heated arguments when he still couldn’t bring himself to face the truth. Or accept the possibility that a greater force was at work here.
“Gabrielle was a few years younger than me. Worked at a bookstore I used to frequent. Anyway, we had sort of a whirlwind courtship, if you will. I married her after only six months of us knowing each other, and she wanted to get pregnant right away.” Memories ran hard and fast and made his heart pound against his chest in an uncomfortable rhythm. “She didn’t, though. It was about a year later, I guess. We had a good marriage. She got me, you know? I mean, we weren’t without issues, it wasn’t perfect, but it was close.”
“She must have been some kind of saint to put up with you.” Savannah’s soft smile skewered him and he gave a low laugh.
“I reckon so. Well, anyway, Maysie was born and life went on. I don’t think I’d ever been happier. More content. My books were starting to take off. I was making real money. And a few months after Maysie’s birth, I hit the bestseller list for the first time. There was talk of a movie deal.” His eyes began to burn but he went on, needing to finish it now.
“We bought a house in the country. Near the Chattahoochee River. The road around it was steep, winding. One day there was a heck of a rainstorm. Maysie was about six months old. I needed to run some errands, and Gabby asked if I would go to the store. It wasn’t a big deal, but I was on deadline, and I just wanted to get out and back, quick as I could. We had a stupid fight about it. Gabby said fine, she’d just take Maysie and go herself. Once I was on the road and saw how bad the weather was, I texted her to stay put. I’d get the groceries. She never answered and I figured she was still mad at me. I went to the store anyway. And on the way home . . . there was this accident up ahead.” Brock let out a tremulous sigh and watched tears creep into Savannah’s eyes. Like she knew what was coming.
“Gabby’s car slid off the slick road and went through the guardrail. With Maysie in her car seat.”
“No, Brock.” Savannah gasped and grabbed hold of his hands. He pulled strength from her and somehow smiled through the blistering pain that still blindsided him from time to time. The physical pain he’d learned to live with over the last year was no match for the emotional trauma those memories still put him through.
“Gabby was killed instantly. At least, that’s what they told me. I hope it’s true. I hope she didn’t suffer, wondering about Maysie.”
“And Maysie? How . . . in a car seat?” A mix of confused amazement furrowed her brow and made her eyes shine brighter.
“Yeah. I know.” He liked this part of the story. Even though he didn’t fully understand it and probably never would. “By the time I got there, she was on the riverbank with the cops and EMTs and a bunch of people . . . It was mass confusion. Afterward, they told me a young girl had pulled her from the water.”
Savannah ran the back of her hand across her eyes. “I bet you hugged the life out of that kid, whoever she was.”
Brock held her gaze, swallowed hard, and fought the urge to brush the tears from her cheeks. “I never found out who she was. Nobody did. There were no kids at the scene, Savannah. Just some couples in canoes, a few fishermen, and some people driving by who stopped to help. But no girl that matched the description five people gave the police. To this day, I don’t know where she came from.”
Silence fell around them, sheltering his sorrow and reminding him that even now, there was grace. Mercy. Second chances.
Miracles did happen.
Maysie was living, breathing, irrefutable proof of that.
“Her guardian angel.” Savannah breathed deeply and presented him with the most beautiful, peaceful smile he’d ever seen.
And somehow he smiled back.
“So it would seem. They called her the miracle baby for the longest time. I guess over the years . . . well, she’s heard the story enough times. So I don’t pay that much attention to her angel sightings.”
“Or she really has one.”
“Or there’s that.”
She sat quietly for a bit, then drew a shaky breath. “You said Maysie was about six months old. When did the accident happen? What date?”
Brock hesitated, not sure why it mattered, but he told her anyway. Savannah gave a slow nod and swiped at fresh tears.
“Brock.” That serene smile hit him again. “That was the day I tried to end my life.”
A chill raced through him and he blinked tears. He let her words sink in and slowly shook his head. What she was suggesting seemed so improbable it made perfect sense. “So you think . . . that . . .” He struggled to piece it together. “You and Maysie both got a second chance that day. In some way, we’ve been connected all this time?”
“Doesn’t that give you hope?” she whispered.
He sighed, desperately exhausted now. “Yeah, it does. It actually really does.”
“You need to hold on to that, Brock. Whatever happens. We will be okay.” Her smile lit the room and set fire to the renewed hope in his heart. “I knew Maysie was special the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“Yeah?” He couldn’t stop a chuckle. “That’s kind of how I felt about you.”
“Oh, Brock.” She groaned and covered her face for a moment. Then those luminous eyes were staring back at him again. “I have to say something.”
“I know you do. But say it anyway.”
“After the operation, if things are okay . . . we . . . you and I . . .” She hesitated, sadness stamped across her face. “As much as you’ve come to mean to me, I don’t think that we should still, I mean, Kevin knows that you . . . that we—”
“Okay, stop.” Brock sighed and took pity on her. Wishing things were different wouldn’t help. She’d made her choice. And it was the right one. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. I know.” He couldn’t look at her now. “I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
But he had a gut-deep feeling that he’d just made a promise he wasn’t going to have to keep.