Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) (22 page)

“I can’t eat,” Grace said. “I can’t…” Her throat tightened and she clawed at her jacket, yanking the zipper down as she bent over. She saw the edge of Betty’s boot and shook her head violently. “Go away. I just want to be alone.”

“I’ll tell your mom you’re not feeling well.” Betty took a few steps and paused. “Matt is worth saving. I’m just not sure he’ll let you. I’m not sure he’ll let anyone.”

Grace didn’t answer. She ran for the bunky, closed herself in and rested against the door. It took a good long while for her to catch her breath and when she finally did, a guttural cry fell from her lips and she crashed onto the bed. It still smelled like him.

She squeezed her eyes closed and cried her heart out.

Her world had just changed and Grace had no idea how to fix it. She had no idea how to fix Matt.

She must have fallen asleep for hours because it was dark when her swollen eyes finally opened. Grace rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She felt heavy—as if she would sink through the bed, melt into the floor and disappear altogether.

She’d been through some bad breakups before. Ones that had left her feeling sorry for herself and more than a little lost. But none of that compared to what she was feeling right now. With Matt gone, knowing he was hurt and alone and angry—she felt so damn helpless.

Why hadn’t she told him how she felt? She loved the man, for God sake. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Grace swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up, groaning as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Just then a knock at the door sounded and her mother walked in.

Eden Simon turned on the lamp and immediately enfolded Grace in her arms. Grace might have cried. She might have poured her heart out right then and there. But she had nothing left inside and no clue what to say.

“He’s gone.” That was all she had.

Her mother stroked her forehead and kissed her cheek. “I know.”

The two women rocked together in silence and Grace was grateful to have a loving, giving mother to hold on to. What had Matt ever had? As a young child had his mother wiped his brow and told him everything was going to be okay? Had his father kissed him and tucked him in at night? Had he known real love?

The sad truth was, she didn’t know. And it was the not knowing that fired her up.

“I have to go to him.” She pulled away from her mother. “I
need
to go to him.”

Eden was quiet for a few moments. She brushed back the mess of hair that hung over Grace’s eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

“You love him,” her mother whispered, sadness making her eyes shiny and wet.

Grace nodded. “I thought I knew what love was. What
real
love was. But I was so wrong. This thing between Matt and me…This love that I have for him is different. I guess it’s why it hurts more. Wanting to go after him is not just about being hurt that he left. It’s about knowing him and knowing he has some pretty awful things to deal with. It’s about knowing he thinks he needs to deal with them on his own. That breaks my heart.”

“He might reject you. If you go. That’s a real possibility.”

“I know. But what kind of person doesn’t at least try? Even knowing they might get hurt more than they already are?”

Grace watched her mother closely and saw something unexpected in her eyes. Sorrow.

Her mother cleared her throat and appeared to struggle to find the words. “When I was twenty-one I met a man who changed my life. And no it wasn’t your father.” A soft smile touched her face. “That came later.”

Eden played with the edge of the coverlet and glanced out the window into the dark. “His name was Ransome Belmont. He was the son of the foreman who worked Cousin Pierre’s sugar cane plantation. He was tall and handsome and so full of life. A real devil and up until that time the most exciting man I’d ever met. I fell for him the minute I laid eyes on him.”

“You never told me this.”

Eden shook her head. “It’s not a nice story to tell. You see, Ransome had his demons. He liked to gamble almost as much as he liked his bourbon. I didn’t notice it at first. Was too caught up in being in love. My mother warned me off and promised never to tell Daddy if I stopped seeing him. So I lied to my own mother and we carried on in secret. You see, she didn’t know him the way I did. She didn’t see what he was like when we were alone at the swimming hole. Or sneaking out to dance until dawn. She didn’t know…”

“His gambling and drinking got worse and near the end, I was stealing jewels from your grandmother’s collection so we could pawn them for money to pay back his debts. The day that I stole my mother’s emerald ring, one that had been passed down over three generations, I found Ransome in bed with two of my so-called girlfriends. He was drunk and of course filled with shame. He threw the girls out. He begged for forgiveness. But I was hurt and having none of it. I was done forgiving him. I left and he never got the ring. That night I heard he’d been beaten so badly they didn’t think he was going to live.”

“Did he live?”

She nodded. “He did. He came by the house a few months later, but I refused to see him. He wrote letters. He called. But I refused all of it. He broke my heart and killed my pride. Made me question myself. That scenario repeated itself for nearly a year until he hung himself on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, Mom.” Grace laid her head on her mother’s chest. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

“A few months passed and I pulled out those letters. I read every word of every one and I realized that maybe if I’d gone to him, if I’d helped him, he might not have taken his life. He hurt me, yes, but I still had all those afternoons at the swimming hole. I still had the good part that was him. The part that wasn’t eaten away by his addictions.”

Eden pulled at a loose thread and hugged her daughter. “I’ll never know if I could have saved Ransome, because I wasn’t strong enough to live through the very real possibility of being hurt again.” She kissed the top of Grace’s head. “I think that you’re stronger than me.”

Grace peered up into her mother’s eyes. “You’re crazy. You’re the strongest woman that I know.”

Eden shrugged, a tremulous smile on her face. “Maybe. But you, my darling, are stronger. So go to this man who’s managed to win your heart. Be there for him. And I pray to God that he’s worthy. I hope that he accepts your support and will return it in kind when needed.”

“He is,” Grace answered fiercely.

Another knock sounded and Betty Jo poked her head inside. She looked worried and sad and worn out. “Everything all right?”

Eden got to her feet and held her hand out for her mother. “I’m going to Arizona.”

“Grace, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t really care what you think, Betty. I’m going. I have to.”

A heartbeat passed.

“Okay.” Betty sighed. “I’m coming with you.”

28

M
att was able to book a flight out of Toronto and he touched down in Phoenix at just after nine o’clock, Arizona time. The airport was dead—not surprising considering it was Thanksgiving day, and most people were slumped in lazy boys, knee deep in turkey comas surrounded by their families.

He hadn’t eaten in hours, but with no appetite to speak of, he didn’t much care.

Matt had no baggage to claim and, after securing a rental, was on the road. He’d texted Delilah from Toronto and advised her he’d be at the hospice by ten. He’d asked if there was any news of Justin. She replied with a long rambling message, the gist of it being that, no, as of yet she had no idea where her son was at. But that he’d texted her and appeared to be okay.

The whole thing sounded off, but Matt was too preoccupied to sort it out. He’d do that later.

He pulled into the parking lot of Compassionate Care just shortly after the top of the hour, and checked his phone. But there were no new messages, and nothing from Grace. Not surprising, considering he’d been such a bastard.

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his fingers cramped, and then slid from the truck, slamming the door so hard that the vehicle shook. Of course it did nothing to alleviate his anger. How could it? He was cornered and this time there was nowhere to run. This time his past wouldn’t let go.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe it was finally time for him to deal with it once and for all.

He strode across the parking lot and entered a brightly lit foyer. The front desk was manned by a young woman who immediately straightened up when she spied him. She smoothed her bleach blond hair, and licked her glossy lips while tugging her top down a bit. Large blue eyes looked up at him as he approached and she smiled.

Matt wasn’t in the mood to socialize or make small talk. He couldn’t even crack an answering smile. “I need to know where Benjamin Hawkins is.”

Her smile faltered a bit and she glanced at her computer. “Of course. Are you family?” She snapped her gum and blew a bubble. “I’m sorry I have to ask.”

Family? What the hell was family.

“Yeah,” he replied gruffly. “I am.”

“Okay, let me check the list to see if you’re on it. What’s your name?”

“Matt Hawkins.”

A middle aged woman came from nowhere, sobbing uncontrollably into her tissue. Her grief was loud and messy and real and Matt kept his focus on the girl at the desk. He just wanted to get this over.

“Okay. Your dad is in room 211. That’s up the stairs.” She pointed to her right. “And then turn left.”

He nodded and headed up to the second floor. Less than thirty seconds later, he found himself standing in front of 211. How long stood there staring at the damn door was anyone’s guess. He probably would have stood there all night if it hadn’t swung open on its own.

Delilah hesitated, her eyes puffy and red. “Oh.” She sniffled. “You’re here.”

She closed the door behind herself and began to cry. Big, huge, teardrops that made unattractive tracks down her face. “I’m so glad you came,” she managed to say between sniffles and whimpers.

He felt nothing for her, not a damn thing. He’d seen her crocodile tears before and had no interest in knowing if these ones were the real deal or an act.

“I don’t want you in there with me.”

He made no effort to hide his dislike and the tears stopped rolling with one last sniffle. Delilah patted her hair. She opened her mouth to say something and then obviously thought better of it. She grabbed a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied it carefully, eyes on Matt the whole time.

The woman disgusted him.

“I’m going for a coffee. Do you want anything Mattie?”

He strode past her without another word and entered room 211. He smelled it immediately—the unmistakable scent of death. His eyes were drawn to the bed. A slight form lay there, sucked into the mattress and pillows it seemed, and monitors blinked and beeped in the background. The sound of his breathing was hard to listen to.

A small lamp near the bed threw eerie shadows across the prone body and after a few seconds, Matt had to force himself to move. He did it—one step at a time—and stopped near the bed. He couldn’t look at him—not yet—and his eyes moved to the table there.

Several framed photos were on display and Matt frowned, reaching for the one closest to the bed—the one easiest for his father to see. He stared at the image for so long his eyes blurred and he had to scrub at them. He hadn’t thought about that day in a long, long time.

“Mattie. Hold that darn fish up so your mother can get it in the shot.”

“I’m trying, Dad.” But the fish was slippery and wanted back into the water. Matt held onto his fishing rod, nearly lost it, and bit his tongue in an effort to keep the slippery fish in the boat. It wasn’t that big, a little old sunfish, but he’d caught it on his own.

“I got it, Dad!”

His father leaned in close, arm around Matt as the two of them beamed at his mother. She was on the dock with their lunch unpacked and ready to go.

Her hair blew in the wind and her dress billowed around her legs. She was laughing, trying to keep the hair from her eyes so that she could take the picture.

“Get closer, Mommy,” Matt shouted.

He held up the fish and puffed out his chest.

“Closer!” He laughed, watching his mom take another step forward. She snapped the photo and then, with a yelp, went flying head over heels into the water.

For one second Matt and his father froze, but when his mother broke the water, they fell down laughing, nearly capsizing their boat.

Of course his mom hadn’t found it funny until much later. But she’d managed to make a memory and had the good smarts to toss the camera onto the dock before her epic fall.

H
IS EYES SMARTED
and Matt set the photo back onto the table. There were a few others there. One of Matt as a teen, arms folded and leaning against his dad’s custom ride, looking sullen and full of attitude. And two of another young boy. The resemblance was uncanny. It had to be Justin.

Shit. He couldn’t go there yet. He needed to get through this first.

Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. What was he doing here? He couldn’t even look at the man in the bed. A man who was dying. A man who was his father. A man who surrounded himself with pictures of a son he’d not talked to in nearly twenty years. A man who had hurt him more deeply than any other human being on the planet.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

The voice came from his right. It was gravelly. Weak. Hesitant.

Matt’s fists tightened and he turned to look at his father. He thought he’d be prepared. Hell, he’d seen sickly folks before. But even so it was a shock. His father had been over six foot and built like a Mack truck. He’d had a full head of dark wavy hair and a five o’clock shadow that never left him.

The man in the bed was unrecognizable. His body was decimated from cancer—he was nothing but skin and bones. And even though the eyes were Ben’s, they were too electric—too intense. Matt had to look away.