Only One (Reed Brothers) (5 page)

She grins when I step out of the shower. I love it when Jack’s happy. It doesn’t happen that often, but when it does, it’s so worth taking the time to enjoy it.

I shoo Jack out of my room and get dressed in some khaki shorts and a polo shirt, and I shake my head instead of brushing my hair. It works for me. I put on some flip-flops and press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “You going to hang out here?”

She nods. “For a while.”

She looks at Malone, who is busy ignoring her on the couch. She shrugs at me. She’ll wait him out, and then they’ll talk. It’s how they work it out.

“Have fun tonight,” she calls. I wave at her and let myself out.

It’s a short walk to Carrie’s beach house.

I knock on the door, but no one comes to greet me. The back door is locked, and I know I could use my key, but I don’t want to walk in on her in her underwear again—

Scratch that. I
want
to see her in her underwear. I just don’t want to
surprise
her. I run around to the beach side and stop short when I see her sitting on the deck with the douchebag.

She jumps to her feet. “Nick,” she says, like she’s surprised to see me.

“Carrie,” I say. I nod to the douche. “Dale. Heard you got your nuts frozen off today,” I toss out. I step up beside Carrie onto the deck and take her hand in mine. She startles for a second, but she lets me tangle my fingers up in hers.

“Jackie has a big mouth,” Dale says. Then he grins. “But we already know how big everything she’s got is, don’t we?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he challenges me.

I’m not going to answer that, so I tug on Carrie’s fingers and say, “Are you ready to go?”

She nods. But she’s looking curiously at me. And then at Dale. “It was nice to meet you,” she says.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, but he looks at me instead of her. He gets up and skips down the steps toward his own house.

“Is your mom here?” I ask.

She nods. “She came home a little while ago, but she wasn’t feeling well so she went to lie down.”

“I wanted to say hi.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” she prompts.

I wait a beat, and then I ask. “Is she going to be okay?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She finally meets my gaze. “She’s dying.” She looks away. “Can we talk about something else?”

I look out toward the ocean, because it has always been a peaceful place for me. I take a breath and try to move past the feeling I have. “I was thinking we could walk down to the pier and eat at the restaurant there.”

“Sounds great.”

“Do you need to tell your mom you’re leaving?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t need to check in with Patty about anything.”

We walk down the steps until we reach the sand, and she stops to slip her shoes off and hooks them in the fingertips of her free hand.

“Why do you call her Patty?”

Her jaw ticks. “I don’t want to talk about my mom.”

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“Are you going to college?” she asks.

“No, college isn’t for me. I have too much to do here.”

She bends over and picks up a pretty shell, turning it over in her hand. She holds it up. “Look, it’s the color of the sky,” she says and then she slips it into her pocket. She smiles at me, and I swear it nearly knocks me off my feet.

She’s wearing a pretty, flirty little dress that blows around her knees in the wind. It’s soft and wispy, and so is her hair. I reach up and tug a piece free that’s stuck to her lips.

“Are you going to college?” I ask.

She nods and skips ahead of me to pick up a piece of sea glass. “UNC Charlotte.”

“Staying close to home, huh?” I ask.

She nods. “I don’t want to leave my dad all alone.”

“He didn’t come this year, did he?”

“No, they’re divorced.”

“Carrie,” I say softly, “why don’t you talk about your mom?”

She shrugs. “She’s not my mom anymore. She’s just that woman who left.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She left. And she never came back. She never came to see me, or had me visit her. She just left. She took off with her boyfriend and she vanished. She completely forgot me. So, now that she’s dying, she wants to rebuild what she tore down. I’m just not interested. Not at all.”

“But she’s dying,” I say quietly.

“That doesn’t change anything,” she says stubbornly.

But it does. It changes everything. Absolutely everything.

Carrie

That was the worst date in the history of dates. Nick was quiet at dinner, and I tried to talk to him about all the things I’d normally talk about with a guy—school, friends, social events—but he didn’t act like he was enjoying our discussion. I don’t think he enjoyed our date at all. In fact, I think he’d rather have been strung up by his toenails from the clothesline and beaten.

We walk quietly back from the pier restaurant, only now he’s steps away from me across the sand. He may as well be miles from me, because that’s how it feels.

“Did I say something to make you angry?” I ask quietly.

“What?” He jerks his head in my direction.

“What’s wrong?” I stop and put my hands on my hips. He looks up at the moon instead of at me and takes a deep breath.

“I just…” he starts. But then he stops. Even in the moonlight, I can see the tic of his jaw as it clenches. “Nothing.”

“Are you angry because Dale was at my house?”

Tic
.

“I didn’t invite him over,” I rush to explain. “He saw me sitting on the deck and he came over and introduced himself.”

Tic
.

“You were really quiet at dinner.”

Tic
.

“After the way you greeted me on the beach, I thought you at least liked me.” I wish I hadn’t said that.

Tic
.

“Well, thanks a lot for dinner,” I say. Then I start walking away.

“Wait,” he calls. He runs up behind me and gently tugs my elbow. “Just wait.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I’m…kind of disappointed.”

I pull my head back, my eyebrows probably shooting high on my forehead. “In
me?
”

“Yeah.” The word is little more than a breath. “Well, not
you
,” he says a little louder. “In the situation with your mom. I don’t know how to explain it.”

I huff out a sigh. “Great,” I mumble. “Now she’s ruining this too.”

His head jerks toward mine and his eyes narrow. “Why can’t you see it?” he says. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand it.”

I toss up my hands. “Understand what?”

“I just don’t get it. If I had one more moment…” He holds up one finger and his voice cracks. He clears his throat. “If I had one more moment with my parents, I’d take it and use it all up, enjoying every second. And you’re just throwing it away.”

I look everywhere but at his face. He’s too intense for me right now. But he takes my chin in his grip and makes me look at him.

“You’re wasting time,” he says.

I shake free of his grip. “You don’t understand the situation,” I growl. “You’re judging me and you have no idea what she did to me.”

“Then tell me!” he cries. “Tell me about it. Get it off your chest so you can get over it.”

“She left me. She never came back!” I yell. There’s so much fury in my voice that I startle myself. “She picked some man over me and my dad and she left!”

“She’s here now!” he yells in my face. When did we get this close? He points to the beach house. “She’s inside and she’s reaching out to you. Take it. Take
her,
before it’s too late.”

I cross my arms. “I can’t.”

“Then you’re not the person I thought you were.” He steps back from me, and I feel like there’s a gaping chasm between us.

“Maybe I’m not.”

“It’s going to hurt like hell when she’s gone,” he tells me.

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. It’ll devastate you.”

“
No
.” Just that one word. That’s all I have left.

“You need to forgive her.” He tips my face up again, but his hands are gentle, and so are his eyes. “You need to let her forgive herself. You’ll regret it if you don’t take this time with her.”

“I don’t remember you being such a great son, you know.”

He chuckles. “You’re right. I was awful. And if I had that one moment…” He shakes his head.

“What would you do?” I glare at him. “In that one special moment. What would you do?”

“I’d be sure they know how much I love them. How grateful I am that they gave me life and that they gave me memories to cherish. I’d tell them what kind of a father I’ll be, and that I learned it by watching my dad. And I’d tell them what kind of woman I’ll marry, because I’ll look for my mom’s qualities in every woman I ever meet. I’d tell them as much as I could. Because I can’t tell them shit anymore. Not and be sure they’re listening.”

I shake my head, because I don’t know how to protest that.

“They’re gone,” he rushes to say. “But your mom is not. She’s inside, and she’s reaching out to you.” His voice goes so soft I can barely hear it. “Forgive her. It’s easy.”

I sputter. “It’s
not
easy.”

“It is,” he corrects. “Try it. Say it. I forgive you. See? Easy.” He grins.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say. I turn to go inside.

He suddenly grabs my hand and jerks me against him. His arm slides around my waist and he whispers in my ear. “Don’t waste what little time you have left.”

I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his, mainly because I want him to shut up, but I have another reason, too. I want to see if we still have sparks. A little zing skips up my spine, even though his lips are frozen against mine. Then he kisses me. His mouth is soft and gentle, but then it’s not. He kisses me and it’s like no other kiss I’ve ever gotten. His tongue slips tenderly into my mouth and I tentatively reach out and touch it. My heart skips and my belly clenches. But then he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back. I stand, rocking on my wobbly legs like a newborn colt.

“Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” I breathe, my heart racing.

He turns me toward the house and pops my bottom. I yelp and glare at him.

“Go work on that other stuff. While you still can.” He chuckles. “Good night.”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” I call as I go up the steps.

“I like us enough for both of us.” I see him adjust his shorts and it makes me laugh.

I push open the screen door and stumble to a stop when I find Patty sitting on the couch. She smiles at me and drags a hand across her short, choppy hair. “Have fun?” she asks.

“Some of it.”

She grins. “Did he kiss you?”

I touch my fingertips to my lips and nod my head. He kissed me. God, did he kiss me.

She sets her coffee cup on the side table. “Do you want to walk to the lighthouse with me? You could tell me all about Nick and your date,” she says. “I could use some sea air.” She waits a beat. “Do you remember how we used to go there and sit at the base of it, and watch the stars? You would lay your head in my lap and we’d talk.”

She would stroke my hair and we would talk and talk and talk. Suddenly, emotion closes my throat and I can’t do more than nod. “I remember,” I choke out.

“So, do you want to go?” She moves to stand up.

“No.” I clear my throat. “No, thank you.”

“Oh.” She visibly deflates.

Have I been stupid? Have I been holding this stupid grudge when I should be doing more? “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay,” she says softly.

I go to my door and step inside, but at the last moment I turn back. “Patty,” I say. She turns to look at me, a wry smile on her face. “Do you think I could take a rain check? Maybe we could go to the lighthouse tomorrow?”

She nods, and I see a wet tear slide down her cheek. “Yeah, sure,” she says quietly. “Whatever you want.”

I step into my room, close my door, and lean heavily against it. I need to think about this. I need to think about what Nick said to me. Does it matter? Is it too late?

###

I wake to a thump outside my door. What was that? I toss the covers off and walk to the door. I open it and look out, and find my mother standing in front of the hallway closet. She has a towel shoved under her nose, and another lies at her feet. Is that blood?

“Mom?”

She turns to face me, still holding the towel under her nose. Her eyes are wide and fearful. She shakes her head and mutters something, but I can’t hear her.

I walk toward her. “Mom?” I say again. I reach for the towel and pull it down. It’s soaked in blood. She reaches out and puts her hand against the wall, her eyes closing. “Mom!” I scream as she crumples into a heap on the floor.

She gurgles like she’s choking, so I roll her onto her side. She goes limp.

“
Mom!
”

I jump to my feet and rush to the phone to call 9-1-1. I confirm the address.
No, she’s not responsive. Yes, she has been going through chemo.
She makes a gurgling noise again. I throw the phone down, run back to her, and roll her over. I’m terrified she’s going to drown in her own blood.

I run to the door and see a man getting something out of a car next door. “Help me!” I cry. Then I rush back to Mom.

The man opens the door. He’s blond and covered in tattoos, but I don’t care. He could be a serial killer and I would welcome having
someone
to help me. I pull Mom up so that she’s reclining against me, braced by my arms. She’s only barely conscious.

“Help me!” I sob.

He runs forward, and a woman comes in the door behind him. “Did you call 9-1-1?” he asks.

“They’re on the phone,” I say. The woman picks the phone up and starts to talk to them.

“They’re on the way,” she calls out. She stays on the phone with them while the man comes to kneel by me.

“My name is Matt,” he says. His voice is calm, even though his muscles are bunched tightly. His eyes are so serious as he takes in the situation. “What kind of treatment is she having?” he asks.

“I…I don’t know,” I say. I suddenly hate that
I don’t know
.

He takes a corner of the towel and wipes Mom’s face very gently. Why didn’t I think of that? “What’s your name?” he asks me.