Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Caroline

I 'm furious."

The words are far from necessary. If I'm not mistaken, steam is emerging from Calvin's ears.

He's standing in my doorway, his lips pursed. The hint of antiseptic tells me he came over right after his shift. How he got into the building past the doorman without my knowledge is beyond me. My guess is Calvin and Larry are becoming buds.

"What were you thinking leaving like that without telling the nurses . . . or me?"

It's not lost on me that since Calvin resurfaced following his African vanishing act, we've been through the gamut of emotions from vulnerable, scared, simpatico . . . and angry with each other.

"Caroline?"

I'm still getting my bearings. My hair is wet—flat as a pancake—from the shower. When the doorbell rang, I assumed it was Mrs. Reinhold down the hall, armed with a litany of complaints about the out-of-service incinerator. As if I have any control over building maintenance.

I'm trying not to look at Calvin, but it's impossible. Holding his coat in hand, he looks even better than when I saw him earlier this morning, standing outside the hospital entrance, watching me leave. The beanie over his near-shoulder-length hair. The ridiculous teeth necklace, peeking out from beneath his cashmere sweater. Along with a worn leather bracelet I haven't seen before, he's part hippy heartthrob, part guru, and completely disarming.

If you don't account for the expression on his face. The Zen smile is AWOL, like he's skipped savasana and went straight into warrior pose.

Still, I can't help myself. "Now you have a taste of your own medicine."

I'm pleased with the play on words. After all, he left me—I mean, the States—and didn't say a word for weeks!

Calvin doesn't appear to be quite as enamored with my wit. I cinch my robe belt tighter, hoping it shows off my narrowing waistline. Even a day in the hospital is more slimming than ten on the elliptical. But I'm facing Calvin with my clean makeup-free face.

I need to create a diversion away from my appearance. "I have a thirty-year-old bottle of whiskey." It sounds like a peace offering which I suppose it is.

His brow lifts, the rest of his face softens. I stand aside.

There's something about the way he moves past me, slow and deliberate, like he's in tune with a rhythm I can't quite hear. He pulls off his hat, the silvering hair reminding me of the sexy actor Sam Elliot, sans mustache.

"I didn't want to risk being told I couldn't go home" I say to his back.

He lets out a dramatic sigh and heads straight to the bar. An image of Bernard standing in that same spot fills my mind. He loved his prized whiskey collection.

Calvin bypasses the Macallan single malt and uncorks a bottle of Merlot. I guess he's not as angry as I thought.

He brings over two glasses of wine and sits beside me on the sofa, closer than expected. His left knee is but an inch from mine. Now, it's all I can think of. Calvin's knee.

I accept the wine and take a swallow, hoping it will cure my temporary insanity.

We drink in amicable silence as I pray for a distraction from my thoughts. It comes in the form of Calvin's soft humming. It's a habit I've come to recognize. Calvin has something more on his mind. I wait.

He says, "I have a house."

"Pardon?"

"Let me start over." He exhales. "When your friend Evie phoned to check on you, I took the call. The topic of the lawsuit came up."

I'm floored. "Oh?"

"After our chat, Evie took the liberty of calling your attorney and explained what happened to you. She pushed to have the decision deadline extended. Apparently, Bernard's daughter, Rachel agreed."

I think about Rachel showing up at the hospital this morning. Maybe seeing me made her loosen up a bit.

"And Josh, her brother?"

"Seems he is going along with it. So is the judge."

I'm both relieved and slightly annoyed. "Why am I hearing this from you?"

"Evie planned on discussing it with you but when you flew the coop, I told her I was coming here and . . . now we're discussing it."

"What about hearing it from my attorney?"

"Have you checked your messages?" he asks.

"Actually, my phone died. It's charging in my bedroom."

Calvin is so close. I don't want to risk getting up to retrieve it.

Calvin shrugs. "He probably tried to tell you."

"Okay, this is good news but honestly, it's only kicking the can down the road. I still need to decide what to do."

"True but you have time now for self-care."

I laugh. Hard. Bordering on the maniacal. I sound like the female version of the Joker.

Calvin waits me out. He must have seen this sort of bizarre reaction from his patients. His psych patients.

"You are running yourself ragged, Caroline. The stress nearly killed you. Which leads me to what I said. I have a house. I'd like to take you there. You can have the place to yourself, regroup. Convalesce, properly."

"By myself ?"

He nods. "I checked your test results before coming over. If you relax, avoid stress, you'll be fine. It will be very restorative. You can read, sleep." He grins. "Drink red wine."

It sounds divine. And lonely.

"I had no idea you owned a house."

"I don't use it as often as I should but it's been well-maintained. All you have to do is show up. I'll drive you there, show you around and pick you up a few days later. You'll be as good as new and back home in time for Christmas."

If only.

Still, maybe time to regroup is not a bad idea. And it's free.

"Okay, I'm in," I say before I'll change my mind. I need this. I owe it to myself. "When should we go?"

"I'm off tomorrow. Pack a bag and I'll pick you up in the morning."

Not much time to think it over. "Doctor's orders?"

The devilish curve of his lips shapes itself into another smile. The Zen version. "Yep."

He stands and I instantly bemoan the distance. I walk him to the door. "Thanks, Calvin. You're a wonderful friend."

Before I know it, Calvin is hugging me. His embrace is strong, warm, and so very comforting. He's holding on as firmly as I am, clinging to me like I'm his life preserver in a stormy sea. I feel his stubble on my cheek, the sensation igniting a rush of heat that pools low in my stomach, making it hard to think. I don't want to let go.

He steps back and I'm stunned into silence by my visceral reaction. I would have stayed in his arms for days.

Calvin swallows hard, clearly affected too, his gaze lingering on me as if he's weighing his options. "Eight a.m.?" he asks, his words low and heavy. I nod.

He has one foot out the door when I find my voice. "Wait a second. Where exactly is your house?"

"In Sugarbush Falls."

Calvin notes the confusion on my face and says, "Guess I forgot to mention that minor detail. It's a hidden gem deep in the heart of my home state, Vermont."