3. Still

3

Still

E asing her paper-thin hand from mine, I realigned my aching back and relaxed into the chair beside her bed. Selfishly, I prayed for more time as I watched her sleep.

The day Nan called to notify me of her diagnosis, I packed up the remnants of my life. The next day I quit my job, jammed what I couldn’t live without into the backseat of my car, and drove home.

At that time, she was only beginning to cut back on her hours at Ayana’s. As she worked less and less, I took on more of her duties. I floundered under the weight of her workload.

As weeks turned into months, I found my feet.

And Nan faltered on hers.

During opening hours, I helped man the hostess stand, circled around the tables to greet our patrons, and hid in the coat check when I desperately needed a break.

Over the years, I’d clocked hundreds of hours in that tiny space. After my mom passed, I spent many days at the restaurant with Nan and Grampy, playing with my baby dolls in this very corner as they ran the restaurant.

At one point, Grampy set up a miniature crib and highchair along with a tiny, velvet, tufted stool for me.

When I got older, the stool stayed but the dolls vanished only to make room for a small chest of drawers filled with drawing supplies and books.

It was in this corner Nan found me crying after we lost Grampy.

It was in this corner Nan cried with me when we lost my dad.

And it was in this corner I hid when Gabe stopped calling and moved on with someone else.

Every night, when I wasn’t needed on the floor, I poured over spreadsheets and order forms, struggling to understand how Nan had managed to make ends meet.

Slowly, I learned to do the same.

But every so often, a longing for something altogether different crept under my barriers and stole my focus.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Nan fell asleep early now and woke late.

Every night I sat beside her, sometimes lying down on the other side of her bed. She talked about my dad, my mom, and me as she drifted in and out of sleep, but she mostly told stories about my grandfather.

“I never got used to sleeping alone, pet,” she confessed, a soft smile on her thin lips. “Even the nights I was tempted to box his ears, I still slept with my foot on his.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. How had she managed to carry on after losing so much?

It terrified me.

When she fell into a deep sleep, I slipped from her room to my own.

From one bed to another.

I climbed up on my bed, stuffed the pillows Nan quilted for me behind my back, and flipped through the offerings on TV.

The presence of that TV seared me to my soul. She bought it when she asked me to come home, trying to make things better for me, when she was the one who was dying.

Other than the new television, my room was much the same. Dove gray walls, dusty rose curtains pulled back to frame the large window overlooking the front yard, a cream and rose quilt on an ornate cherrywood bed, a matching dresser, the nightstand holding an additional housephone, and my vanity with its gold-framed mirror.

The piece de resistance was the delicate chandelier.

My room was an anomaly. Nan had wallpapered the rest of the house within an inch of its life. Despite that, the stained-glass window of the heavy front door complimented the original glass of the windows in the rest of the house. Ornate oakwood doorways, stairways, and trim emitted a sense of permanence.

This house was standing long before Nan and Grampy moved in, it witnessed them raising their family and would outlast them both.

It would outlast me as well.

The fact we are little more than a speck in time depressed and reassured me at once. It would be beyond difficult to screw up so colossally that it would register in the history of the world. We could afford to live without fear.

At least a little.

When the TV failed to distract me, I picked up my latest romance novel. After a few minutes, I tossed that aside as well.

I pulled up my knees, wrapped my arms around my legs, and allowed my mind to drift to Gabe. Seeing him thrilled and devastated me in equal measure.

Was he married?

He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. He’d never been one to bow to convention.

Several times it crossed my mind to ask Max, but I chickened out. If Gabe had someone special, I didn’t want to know.

Besides, we were ancient history. He made that obvious when he left Susie Q’s after dinner with a casual, all-encompassing, “see you around.”

He didn’t say anything to me specifically.

Nor did he ask for my number.

And he didn’t look back.

I knew because I watched him until he was out of sight.

That was two weeks ago.

What did you think? He’d want to pick up where you left off? You left him with no explanation.

But we were just kids.

I closed my eyes and shook my head but the voice inside continued to berate me.

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say you were just kids on one hand and wonder why he didn’t ask for your number on the other.

The house phone rang, its shrill trill throwing open a door to the past.

In a flash, I was seventeen again, curled into a ball on my bed while Nan sat beside me, brushing my hair away from my face for hours without a word.

Day after day, I lay with tears streaming down my face, the coiled cord of the handset clenched in my fist as I listened to it ring.

Knowing it was him.

Unwilling to pick it up.

Refusing to allow Nan to turn off the ringer.

That final tether.

I didn’t answer.

Not once.

I shook away the memory and threw myself across the mattress to pick it up before it woke Nan. “Hello?”

“So, it does work.”

My heart sprouted great wings to beat against the walls of my chest. “W-what?” I stuttered.

He chuckled. “Who would have thought it would take twenty-two years for you to pick up the phone?”

“Gabe?” I asked stupidly.

“Shae, darlin’,” he chuckled. “You’re killing me.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Hello, Gabe.”

“Hello, Shae,” he mocked gently. “Why didn’t you get in touch?”

I blew out a breath. “Wow, you’re just going for it.”

“Yup. Your answer is going to determine what happens next.”

Two iron fists grabbed hold of my innards and twisted them in opposite directions. “What if my answer’s not good enough?” I asked quietly.

“Do you want it to be good enough?” he countered gently.

More than anything .

“Are you married?”

“No.” He paused, then demanded, “Meet me for coffee.”

I fisted my hands around the waistband of my big-girl panties and yanked them into place.

“When and where?”

Four days later, I scurried through Sage Ridge’s downtown furtively scanning the street like a runaway fugitive hoping against hope I wouldn’t run into one of the girls. I couldn’t bear it if they knew, and it turned out to be all for naught.

Steeling myself for what was to come, I stopped under the sign of a dancing coffee bean in a beret and pulled the heavy door open. Once inside The Beanery, I automatically headed for the far back corner that, a lifetime ago, was ours.

Sprawled in a chair with one arm hanging over the back, Gabe’s sharp eyes found and locked on mine. His long legs stretched out in front of him, those firm lips unsmiling as they toyed with a toothpick.

My steps slowed the closer I got.

Without breaking my gaze, he lifted his foot and pushed the nearest chair out for me.

Gingerly, I eased myself down and set my small purse on the table in front of me before folding my hands in my lap.

Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on the table as he scanned my face. “You all right?”

I swallowed. “Nervous.”

He nodded minutely. “I see that. What are you nervous about?”

I pressed my lips together then observed, “You’re not smiling.”

He shot back, “You haven’t given me anything to smile about yet.”

I sighed. “You’re mad.”

He twirled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth as he widened his eyes and huffed out a breath. “Yeah.”

He gave no quarter. He never had. I guessed I should take comfort in the fact that not everything had changed.

“Still?” I asked quietly.

His eyebrows flew up. “Have you given me a reason not to be?”

I dropped my gaze. Was this the reason I hadn’t sought him out? I didn’t want him to hate me, and I’d given him every reason to do just that. “No. I haven’t. But I am sorry.”

When the silence stretched too long between us, I hazarded a glance.

Eyes soft, he studied me. “I loved you, you know.”

Loved.

Past tense.

I almost gasped as his words pressed against a wound I thought healed. Regret wrapped her merciless fingers around my throat and squeezed.

Well, of course. What did you expect?

We. Were. Kids.

I opened my mouth, but my voice failed. Instead, I simply nodded and jabbed my index finger into my chest.

“You loved me, too,” he correctly interpreted.

“I did,” I choked out.

I do .

I gave my head a sharp shake. This was ridiculous. It was a million years ago.

You can’t have it both ways .

His deep voice interrupted my mental wrestling and brought my eyes back to his. “You surprised me the other night at Susie Q’s.”

God! Sitting here in front of him, his full attention lit me up like a campfire in the dark. How many nights had I lain awake yearning for exactly this?

I nodded quickly, and babbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I hadn’t seen you in all the times I’d come down to visit the girls, I was afraid to ask, and I didn’t want to—”

He cut me off. “What were you afraid of?”

I met his eyes with barely a flutter. “You being married.”

“I’m not.”

I nodded and sucked in a breath.

We were kids .

He tapped his fingertips on the table a few times, a sure sign he was nervous. “I’ve thought about you, a lot, over the years.”

I nodded again. How could we possibly navigate the years between then and now.

My hands shook in my lap. “I’ve thought about you, too.” I could give him this small truth.

“I want to see you,” he stated, “get to know you again.”

My stomach flipped and my betraying mouth opened. “I can’t. Not right now. Nan’s sick.” My breath came faster, lightning bolts of distress striking me from all sides. “I need to take care of her.”

He studied me steadily. “Still taking care of everybody else.”

My brows lowered. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Who’s taking care of you?”

Before I could answer, our server arrived at our table and delivered Gabe’s black coffee and my French vanilla cappuccino.

“Thank you.” I nodded toward our coffees and managed to smile. “That’s still my favorite. Not everything has changed.”

He dropped the front legs of his chair down on the floor with a thud. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”