Whenever You Come Around (10 page)

Buck heard the fear in his brother’s voice, even as he spoke the words that were supposed to comfort them both.

Ken drew in a long, deep breath and slowly released it. “I’d better get back in there. Want to come with me?”

“Nah. I don’t think she wants the bachelor brother-in-law watching her give birth. I’ll wait out here. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Tell Sara I’m praying for all of you.”

Ken nodded, his eyes watery. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing through a pair of doors.

Buck felt like pacing, the way his brother had been doing when he arrived, but he doubted pacing on a scooter would do him any good. So he rolled it to the waiting area and sat on one of the chairs.

C
HARITY’S HEART RACED AS THE ELEVATOR CARRIED
her upward. Instinct told her to run away, to get out of there. But when the doors opened, she pressed her lips into a tight line and stepped onto the floor, resolved not to let fear or the sins and regrets of the past rule over her.

She found Buck in a waiting area.
Thank You, God
. She wasn’t sure resolve would have carried her into the delivery
unit itself. Taking the chair next to him, she hesitated, then reached out and patted his shoulder, offering wordless comfort. Then they simply sat in silence, lost in thoughts.

Charity’s thoughts took her back ten summers.

The contraction made Charity stop walking. She buckled forward, gasping for breath. Her roommate, Danielle, held on to her arm and kept her from toppling over.

It’s too soon. It’s too soon.

She straightened. At two in the morning, the hospital was strangely quiet. There were only a few people in the waiting area as she checked in with the nurse. In moments a wheelchair appeared, pushed by a grim-faced orderly, and she was whisked away from her friend and taken into a web of hallways and private elevators.

She hadn’t wanted this baby. She’d almost had an abortion. That’s what Jon had demanded she do when she’d told him she was pregnant. But she hadn’t been able to go through with it. Why, she couldn’t say. She’d hated every moment of her baby’s life, from conception right up to now. She’d resented the lies she’d had to tell because of it. She’d resented the secrets she’d had to keep. She’d despised the boy—by no stretch of the definition a man—who had done this to her. She’d hated herself even more for allowing that horrid night to happen.

But her ordeal would have been over in another eight or nine weeks. The adoption arrangements had
all been made. With a little creativity in her wardrobe, she had finished the spring semester without anyone at college knowing she was pregnant. And if the birth had happened on schedule, she’d expected to be back in school for the fall semester without anyone the wiser.

Only now she was in labor with a baby whose chances of survival had dropped considerably. If it did survive, would the prearranged family still want to adopt it, especially if it had developmental problems?

It’s your fault this is happening. You hated it, and now you’re being punished
.

The baby was a boy. She’d been told that a few weeks ago. But she’d never called it “him” or “he.”
That would have made it too real. That would have made it a child who would have a name and a future.
Someone she might learn to love.

As nurses bustled about her, asking questions, helping her out of her clothes, attaching instruments of one kind or another, she started to cry. Silent tears, welling up and then spilling over, streaking her cheeks. How could she have made such a mess of her life before she’d turned twenty? How could she—

“It’s a boy.”

The words broke through Charity’s memories, and she looked up. Ken stood before them, happiness and fear mingling together on his face.

“He’s small, but not as small as they expected. Right at five pounds. All systems seem to be working properly,
but they’ll still keep him in NICU for a while. Sara came through everything fine.” Ken pulled Buck up from the chair, and the brothers hugged, patting each other on their backs in perfect rhythm. “I’ve gotta go back in. I’ll bring more news when I can.”

As his brother hurried away, Buck dropped into the chair, exhaling. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Charity.”
The doctor’s voice, soft and grim, seemed as real and present as if the physician were speaking now and not a decade ago.
“Baby boy . . . stillborn . . .”

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. The room was too warm. She had to get out. She had to find air. She leapt to her feet and rushed down the wide hallway toward the elevators.

“Charity?” Buck called after her.

She ignored him in her desperate need to escape.

B
UCK DIDN
’
T KNOW WHAT TO DO
. S
HOULD HE GO
after her? The expression on her face the instant before she’d bolted—the pain and utter despair—had been like a knife to his chest. He didn’t know why she’d reacted that way. Ken’s news had been mostly positive. But something had sent her into flight. Something connected with how she’d reacted back at the house. Buck ached for her and felt a strong need to help her in some way.

It would be crazy to try. They were neighbors for the summer. Friendly acquaintances at most. The last thing he should want was to interfere in her personal life. He didn’t need to get entangled in emotions with someone like her. Besides,
involving himself would likely give her ideas. He knew how women thought. Charity had told him her plans for the future included marriage. His plans for the future didn’t. Whatever had upset her, he should keep his nose out of it.

He
would
keep his nose out of it. No matter how heartbroken and afraid she looked.

Chapter 9

C
HARITY DIDN
’
T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME PASSED
before the panic attack faded. It had taken her by complete surprise. Only once before had her fears overwhelmed her to such an uncontrollable point, and that had been years ago when she’d run into Jon Riverton during a visit to Kings Meadow. The loss of the baby had still been fresh, as had Jon’s ugly threats.

No, don’t think of that again
.

Drawing a steadying breath, she rose from the bench and turned toward the entrance of the hospital. She wished she could abandon Buck where he was, leave him to his own resources, but she couldn’t. She’d driven him to Boise. She would have to drive him back home again.

But she dreaded what he would say to her.

Moving slowly, trying to bring every thought captive—something she worked hard to achieve on a daily basis—she
went into the hospital and returned to the delivery wing. Buck was where she’d left him.

When he saw her, his eyes filled with compassion. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know what to think when you—”

“I’d rather not talk about it, Buck. Please.”

He was silent for several long moments before saying, “All right. We won’t.”

She could tell he wasn’t happy to let it end there.

“We can leave if you’re ready,” he said after a brief silence. “Ken was out a little while ago. He’s planning to stay overnight.”

“What about the children?”

“Krista’s thirteen already and babysits for others. So they’re all right for one night. Their neighbor said she’d be close at hand if needed. We’ll figure out what to do the rest of the time when Ken comes home tomorrow.”

Charity nodded, taking a moment to process the situation. She loved Sara. She was thankful for the good prognosis for both mother and baby. She was glad the Leonard children had someone to look out for them.

Buck pushed up from the chair and put his knee on the scooter. “We’d better get something to eat before we head home. Is the hospital cafeteria okay or would you rather stop for a hamburger?”

She wasn’t hungry. “Here’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”
Let’s just get it over with and get out of here
.

They made their way to the cafeteria. Charity grabbed two trays, putting her food choices on one and what Buck wanted on the other. At the register, he paid for the meals with cash. Then he led the way to a nearby table. Charity slid the trays onto it, thankful that nothing spilled in the process. Her hands weren’t completely steady.

Buck must have noticed. He looked ready to ask her again if she was okay, but she sat and picked up her fork, gaze locked on her plate, sending an unmistakable message for him to back off. He got the point.

They ate in silence.

T
HEY DROVE THROUGH
K
INGS
MEADOW AS THE
early-evening sun was throwing long shadows before them. Main Street was quiet.

“Cocoa’s gonna be glad to see you,” Buck said.

“I know.” Her tone was cool, the words clipped.

Mighty frosty in this car
. He glanced in her direction and his irritation dissolved. He’d never seen anyone who looked as lost and friendless as Charity Anderson did at this moment. His determination to stay out of her business vanished along with his irritation. He meant to knock down that wall she’d thrown up around herself. Maybe he wouldn’t knock it down today. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to do it until he got these casts off and felt like himself again. But somehow he would win her trust and find out how he could ease her pain.

At the house, she helped him up the steps, said a quick good-bye, and got back into her car. He watched from behind
the screen door until the Lexus pulled away. Then he rolled to the living room and took up his position on the sofa.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Charity.

He got up again and went to the bookcase. On the bottom shelf were his high school yearbooks. He grabbed the one from his senior year and returned once again to the sofa. The side table lamp shed light onto the pages as he began flipping through the book.

High school had been a good time for Buck. Not that he’d been the greatest of students. He’d had to work hard for every decent grade he got. Sports had been his sweet spot. Particularly baseball. He’d loved to rodeo too. Anything to do with horses and the outdoors had made him happy. But baseball was supposed to have been his gateway to the world.

“Let’s see about you, Miss Charity Anderson.”

He found her photograph and stared at it. It looked like her, but it didn’t. Her face looked rounder, her hair a darker shade of blond. Or at least the photo made it look that way. Her expression was intensely serious. He suspected, unlike him, she didn’t remember high school as a good time.

She’d changed a lot since then. But who didn’t after a dozen years? Neither one of them were kids any longer.

But he couldn’t remember seeing or hearing about anything that would have put that broken expression on her face today. It didn’t make sense to him either. Most of the time she looked like what she was: a successful, single woman with—What did his mom call it? Oh, yeah.—the world as her oyster. Sure, she’d said she wanted to get married, but also that she didn’t have any serious prospects. So today had been about something else.

“What made you bolt, Charity?” He rubbed his thumb over her photo in the yearbook.

He flipped through more pages, trying to remember who’d been her close friends back then. He drew a blank. It seemed to him that she’d spent most of her time with her older sister and her sister’s friends. Maybe he could ask Sara, when she was up to it. Although waiting would be difficult. He wanted answers now.

Maybe Ashley knows
.

Ashley was in town for a day or two. She tended to know all of the Kings Meadow gossip, despite not living in Kings Meadow. Ken called her a “gossip magnet.”

No. Buck wouldn’t ask Ashley. It would feel like . . . like he was betraying Charity. Dumb, he supposed, but there it was. He would have to figure this out on his own.

You need to let somebody in, Charity. Might as well be me
.

C
HARITY LAY ON THE SOFA, A MOVIE PLAYING ON THE
television for the company it gave her rather than for entertainment. Cocoa sat on the floor within easy reach. Charity stroked the dog’s head while tears streaked her cheeks.

There was a hole in her heart, left by the baby who had never drawn breath, the baby she wished she’d never conceived, the baby she’d wanted to be free of. She’d hated the boy who had used her, laughed at her, and impregnated her. Hated him . . . and feared him. Hated him for what he’d done. Feared him for what he’d promised to do, what he could do, if she ever told the truth to anyone.

She put her fingers to her throat. It was as if hands from
the past were closing around her neck, squeezing off the air from her lungs.

The telephone rang. She ignored it until it went to the answering machine. “Hi. This is Sophie”—It changed from her mom’s voice to her dad’s—“and Will.” Back to her mom. “We aren’t available at the moment. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you when we can. Thanks.”

A beep sounded, followed by a dial tone. No message left.

Her tears dropped onto the sofa.
Splat. Splat. Splat
. What she wouldn’t give to be held in her mom’s arms right now. What she wouldn’t give for a dose of her dad’s wisdom.

I
don’t want to be like this anymore. Why can’t I control these
thoughts and emotions?

Counseling hadn’t helped. She’d tried seeing psychologists several different times in the past.

But you didn’t tell any of them the whole truth. How could they help if you weren’t completely honest?

Maybe that was one reason why she loved to write novels. Her life, her emotions, were uncontrollable at times. But when she wrote, she was the decider of the fate of her characters. She decided who lived or died. She decided what calamities might befall them and how they would overcome their circumstances. In her story world she could vanquish a villain with a few keystrokes and heal a broken heart with a few well-chosen words.