Lily Love (15 page)

“We were supposed to be moving her to rehab.” He sniffs. “Instead, I’m trying to find her a bed in hospice . . . I thought I had more time.”

He lifts his red-rimmed eyes to mine, pulling at my heart. There is nothing I can do to fix this for him. I can’t take away his pain. I know how it feels to be helpless inside a situation you have no control over, but nothing like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I was planning on buying you a cup of coffee and charming you with my wit, not crying on your shoulder.”

“I’m glad I’m here. You have nothing to be sorry for.” I blink back the tears and try giving him my best reassuring smile.

Tate sits up and grabs a napkin to wipe his face. He stops for a moment, then reaches for the cup across the table from us. “Skinny vanilla latte.” He grins sheepishly.

I take the cup from him and turn it in my hands. My stomach is in knots, and the last thing I want is coffee sloshing around in there.

“Is there something I can do?” I ask. “Make some calls for you? Anything?” Let there be something I can do to ease his burden. I can’t sit back and do nothing.

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Calls are all made. Now I just have to wait to see who calls back with an available bed.” He heaves a heavy sigh before turning his attention to my sling. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“It’s a hairline fracture,” I say. “It’s not a big deal; I’ll be fine.” I pray he sees fit to drop it. My run-in with Lily’s fabulously hard head seems so minor in comparison to what he’s dealing with.

“Humor me,” he pleads. “I could really use the distraction.”

I’m practically vibrating with nerves. I don’t want to tell him about Lily’s episode in the EMU. His day has been crappy enough without me adding my drama to it. I don’t even know if I trust him with me, let alone whether he’ll ever get close enough for me to trust him with Lily. Talking to him about Lily wouldn’t be on my radar at all if it weren’t for my wrist. It shouldn’t matter to me yet—it’s just coffee—but I can’t stand the thought of him thinking ill of Lily.

Seeming to sense my stress, Tate flips my hand over, palm up, and places his in mine. “Is it all right if I hold your hand?” It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t wait before he threads his fingers through mine.

I wait for panic to set in, but the warmth radiating from his palm calms my nerves. It’s beginning to dawn on me that, regardless of the chaos in our lives, we’re drawn to each other. Who knows why. I’d like to think that people are placed in our lives to shake things up, to remind us that we’re still living beings inside the bedlam of this world. I don’t want think about whether Tate will embrace or reject my daughter; I just want to trust that it will all work out. It would be nice to have faith instead of fear. Maybe that is what Tate and I are meant to be to one another: hope.

I start from the beginning, explaining to Tate the necessity and the ordeal of gluing electrodes to Lily’s head. When I get to the part where Chelsea bypassed every conceivable de-escalation technique, Tate squeezes my hand tight. Until now I’ve avoided looking him in the eye, too afraid of seeing fear—or, worse yet, pity. When I lift my eyes to his, they’re burning with frustration and concern.

“By the time I got back to the room, Lily was inconsolable,” I say. Tate and I are in our own little bubble as I retell the story with his gaze fixed on mine. With every word I speak, I see the story projected back to me through his eyes. It’s breathtaking and humbling. “She started to bang her head against the bed. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t bear to watch her hurt herself like that, so I moved my hand to block her.” I pinch my eyes closed as I relive that moment in my mind.

I startle when Tate lets go of my hand. The pain of that separation hurts worse than I imagined it could. I curse myself for allowing flowery philosophy to lead me to think we were connected. He’s leaving, just as I feared he would, and I don’t blame him one bit.

Gentle pressure on my cast breaks me free of my self-deprecation. Tate carefully lifts my arm to his chest and cradles it there.

In this moment, any hope I could keep Tate at a comfortable distance is vanquished. Emotion pulls deep from my belly, swelling my
throat and choking me with tears. I tilt my head up, fighting to keep them contained, absolutely refusing to allow them to spill.

“Caroline.” My whispered name across his lips is my undoing. The current of my emotion streams down my face, and I want to hide my weakness from the tenderness he’s showing me. “Don’t cry. You’re so brave, so fearless. Lily is so lucky to have you.”

Tate’s words only make me cry harder. I was so convinced he would bail, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. In my current state of blubbering, I’m confused but thrilled that I was.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” I sniffle. “ ‘Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.’ ”

“Steel Magnolias,”
he responds without hesitation.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly like you more,” I joke. I’m rewarded with a flash of dimple that spreads a smile across my face.

“I like you, too, Caroline.” A blush spreads beneath his stubble.

“We’re a mess, you know.” My warning is a tease, but there is a seriousness that belies my meaning.

“A beautiful mess, though,” he returns. “And all because you let me sit down and not talk to you for a while.”

I turn my head to keep him from catching me smile. I’m teetering on a very perilous ledge here. There’s nothing casual or friendly about the way I’m feeling right now, but I have far more at stake than just a broken heart. I have a daughter whose needs come first, and I need to protect her more than I need to indulge in my chemistry with Tate.

Still, the last time I was so singularly focused on Lily, I lost Peter. If I learned anything from that, I learned the necessity of balance, but I don’t know how to get that.

a beautiful mess

T
ate and I sit holding hands for a long time. In the quiet, I begin to sort through the finer details of what “just coffee” has meant this morning. Tate’s mother is dying, and I’m at a complete loss for words. My brain just can’t fathom what it must feel like to get news like that. For reasons I may never know, he’s holding
my
hand. If he feels just a fraction of the peace I feel when I’m with him, then he can hold on as long as he wants. One part of me wills him to tell me everything; another just craves the quiet.

“She raised Tarryn and me on her own,” Tate finally says. “Twins with no help from our father. She never complained, and she never made it seem like too much.” He stares absently across the cafeteria as he talks. While the current of his memory carries him along, he stays tethered to the present by holding on to me. “I was a rotten teenager. Somewhere around fifteen, I decided
she
was the reason my father was gone. It hurt her; I know it did. I wish I could go back and slap that ornery kid.”

“It’s ’cause you got all ’em teeth and no toothbrush.” I smirk. I’m not going to let him beat himself up, not when there are
Waterboy
movie references to distract him with. There is enough pain without all
of the self-hate. We can’t go back and change what’s done. We can only move ahead with the lessons we learn from our mistakes.

“Medulla oblongata,” Tate deadpans. “You’re good.” He nods his head.

“I don’t know your mom, but I’m just starting to know you, and what I’ve seen would make any mom proud.” I nudge Tate with my shoulder until he looks at me. “You’re good people. I have a sense about these things.”

“Got me figured out, huh?”

“I just recognize a lot of myself in you. When Lily got her first diagnosis, I wasted precious time beating myself up over things I couldn’t change. It was pointless and did nothing but rob me of the energy I needed to face what was happening. I don’t want to see you do that to yourself.”

Before he can respond, Tate’s phone rings from his pocket. When he answers, a flood of relief washes over his features. Someone must have a bed available for his mom. I fish around in my purse for a pen and something to write on. I come up with one of Lily’s crayons and an old receipt. I place them in front of Tate, and he mouths his gratitude in earnest. I wait while he jots down his notes in Purple Mountains’ Majesty crayon. If the subject matter weren’t so dire, it would be absolutely adorable. Perhaps this is a prelude to what’s ahead—finding the sweetness in our collective dysfunction.

He hangs up the phone and runs his hand through his hair. “St. Joseph’s Hospice Center can take her tomorrow morning.” He sighs in relief. “I need to go let her doctor know what’s going on.”

“I need to go meet Lily at her occupational therapy appointment. My friend Max is bringing her for me.” I’m sad that we can’t avoid reality for a little longer. Secretly, I’m afraid that leaving the sanctity of our little bubble will render it obsolete, like a wonderful dream you can’t quite remember but know is there. I don’t want this to be a onetime thing that gets relegated to the periphery of my mind. I don’t want to let go.

“You know, Peter has Lily tonight,” I start hesitantly. “Why don’t I bring you some dinner later?” I hold my breath, waiting for Tate to decline my offer.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me buy you a burger at Giff’s?” he suggests, taking me by surprise. “Tarryn is coming in for a while tonight, and I could use the break.” A break being relative. Giff’s is the greasy spoon across the street from the hospital. It’s far enough to get a change of scenery, but not so far that you couldn’t get back in a hurry.

“Mmm . . . Giff’s burgers,” I practically moan. “You’ve got a deal. Does six o’clock work for you?” I stand and fix my sling while I wait for an answer. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about having dinner with a handsome man whose life has just been knocked off its axis.

Oh, get over it, Caroline. You can be a supportive friend without being a fucking succubus
.

A set of warm hands rests on my shoulders, interrupting me from arguing with myself. I turn to find Tate standing behind me, regarding me with an affectionate smile.

“Quit overthinking.” He arches a knowing eyebrow at me. He’s good; I’ll give him that.

“You’ve got me figured out, huh?” I grin.

He flashes his dimpled smile as he uses my words to make his point: “I just see a lot of myself in you. I’m going to focus on the good fortune I have for getting to share a meal with a beautiful girl, and forget about the rest of life for an hour or so.” He tentatively places his hand on my back and leads us both to the exit.

“Touché,” I say. I can’t overthink anything with him touching me. I can’t think at all, and it’s wonderful and scary and oddly natural, considering. I want to lean into his chest, but I don’t. Call me nuts, but I think it’s a good idea to slow down this crazy train.

“Quit it,” he whispers.

“What?” I feign ignorance. A quick peek through my peripheral vision tells me he’s not biting. His brow is arched to his hairline. Damn. “I can’t help it! This warrants just a bit of thought.”

“True. It’s a big decision.” He considers for a moment. “How can anyone choose, really?”

I stare at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Fries or rings . . . the question to end all questions.” He chuckles.

“Nice dodge,” I mumble through my own laughter. All too soon, we’re at the elevator bay that will take Tate back to the seventh floor and to his new reality.

“I will see you at six, right?” He dips his head down to meet my gaze. I know he’s wondering whether I’ll talk myself out of showing up.

“Absolutely,” I promise. “I’ll look forward to it all day.” The smile that spreads across his face almost hides the dark circles under his eyes, or maybe I’m just too dazzled by the dimples to notice. Whatever the case, I can’t deny the satisfaction I take in knowing I put that smile there.

He wraps me in the warmth of his embrace, careful not to squish my sling. I step close to his body and tuck the top of my head beneath his chin. This is quickly becoming my new favorite place, and it scares the crap out of me. I give him a good squeeze before letting him go, hoping he doesn’t notice how I bury my nose in his shirt. I take a deep breath, taking in the scent of him. It’s a mixture of coffee and crisp linen. I step back, but his scent clings to my senses.

“I’ll look forward to it, too.” He tips his head to the side, trying to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. The elevator dings all too soon to take him away. “See you later?”

I nod my head as the doors close, because I can’t say yes. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

always remember me

M
y feet scurry down the hallway as I rush to the pediatric therapy clinic. There are twenty minutes left in Lily’s OT session, and if I make a run for it, I’ll have about eighteen of those minutes to fill Max in. I round the last corner of my sprint and nearly run head-on into a doctor.

“Excuse me, sorry,” I say, and attempt to sidestep him. He steps in the same direction and then again when we try a second time. It’s an awkward waltz until I stand still and let him move around me. It figures; even in the most urgent situations, for me, calamity rules. I’m muttering a quiet curse under my breath when I enter the waiting room.

Max sits with his ankle propped on his knee and his nose in the latest edition of
Fit Pregnancy
magazine. The other moms in the room are all pretending to be indifferent to his presence; it’s comical. His head pops up, and he smiles broadly when he sees me approaching. This makes the other mamas seethe . . . indifferent, my ass.

“Sweet Caroline,” he greets me and pats the seat next to him. “How’d it go with your stranger?” He closes the magazine and turns sideways to face me.

“You,” I murmur low enough that the ears around us can’t hear. “You and your ‘it’s coffee, not commitment,’ but you know what? It’s
still a big ‘I-like-you-let’s-do-burgers-and-oh-by-the-way-my-mom’s-dying’ mess!”

“Whoa,” he replies, “back up.” He furrows his brow as he tries to find the sense in what I’ve said. I regale him with the story of Tate’s mother’s cancer, and how he broke down in the cafeteria. Max listens intently as I tell him about how I held Tate’s hand and let him cry on my shoulder, how we talked about Lily and what happened to my hand, and finally how we were meeting for dinner at six.