Not Quite Forever (Not Quite series) (12 page)

“I do.”

Walt was commenting on something Lily said.

“You must work with Walt’s traveling staff,” Mr. Phelps said.

She laughed. “I’m not a doctor or a nurse.”

One of the caterers set a bowl of tomato bisque in front of her. Dakota turned to the opposite side of the table. “This looks lovely,” she said to JoAnne.

Walt’s mother smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She hates me.

Brenda offered a sympathetic look from across the table and lifted her wine to her lips. Dakota mimicked her.

“So what is it you do that has you traveling through Colorado?” The question came from Larry.

For the first time in a long time, Dakota actually debated omitting her profession. She wasn’t ashamed of what she did for a living, but the subsequent conversation with this conservative crowd might push the Eddys past the point of comfort about her presence.

Dakota waited a beat, and Walt answered for her. “Dakota is an author.”

A hush went around the table.

“Published?” Brenda asked.

Dakota found her pride, sat tall as she picked up her spoon. “Yes.”

“What do you write? Maybe one of us has read your book.” JoAnne’s words might have held little malice, but her tone minimized the accomplishment. Every book was full of blood, sweat, and tears . . . not to mention weeks if not months of neglect of her personal life.

“I doubt that,” Dakota managed.

The entire table was now staring.

JoAnne moved her attention to her soup. “Well, don’t be discouraged. Many authors write books that aren’t read.”

Dakota clasped her left hand in her lap and bit her tongue.

“You might want to back up that boat, Mom,” Walt said.

Dakota glanced at him, saw the devious grin on his lips. She shook her head and left her spoon in her soup before placing her hand on his thigh.

“I’m just saying that authors are often like any other artist . . . they work for years and never really find their audience.”

“Mom.”

“I’m trying to be encouraging, Walt.”

“Dakota doesn’t need your encouragement. Trust me.”

Walt’s hand now caressed her thigh and they were both smiling and sharing a private thought.

“What have you written?” Brenda asked.

Speaking to no one other than Walt’s sister, Dakota leaned forward. “I write romance novels.”

JoAnne laughed out loud.

Walt scowled.

“Brenda loves those.”

Dakota waited . . .

The reaction came from Lily . . . “Wait! You’re Dakota Laurens?”

Lily’s stiff exterior shifted and her smile became genuine for the first time that night.

Brenda dropped her spoon with a loud clank. “You’re
that
Dakota?”

After-dinner drinks at the boathouse were just as entertaining as before-dinner drinks at the guesthouse. Dakota wondered if Dr. Eddy and his wife knew how much fun their children were having outside of their home.

“I thought Mom was going to keel over right there.”

Larry’s cheeks were flushed, just as Dakota thought hers were. Lord knew she’d drunk more that night than she had in many months.

“I’m not sure who was more shocked, Phelps or Dad, when Lily kept asking for details about your ability to research your characters’ sexual habits. Tell me that doesn’t happen all the time?” Brenda asked.

“The research question comes up in nearly every interview. I’m used to it.” Dakota was tucked beside Walt, his hand rested intimately on her thigh. The comfort in his touch kept a smile on her lips the entire night. Once it became apparent that Lily, as gorgeous as she was, was more interested in Dakota than in Walt, she relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the evening. It helped that Walt’s father didn’t have a stick as firmly up his backside as JoAnne did.

Brenda picked up a pillow and lobbed it at her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was famous?”

After deflecting the pillow, Walt’s eyes met Dakota’s. He offered a half smile and didn’t correct his sister about her girlfriend status.

“I’m not dating her for her fame.”

Dakota dropped her gaze, and before tilting back her drink, said, “He’s dating me for the sexual research.”

Larry choked on his drink and Brenda roared with laughter.

An hour later, Dakota was removing her makeup in the boathouse and talking to Walt, who was stretched out on the bed.

“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.

“I don’t like lies.”

“Your mom hates me. I’m not sure if it’s on principle or if it’s me.”

“I never understood what ‘on principle’ meant.”

Dakota leaned closer to the mirror, caught some leftover mascara that didn’t want to let go of her lashes.

“She didn’t invite me and you didn’t tell her I was coming. She’ll feel like an idiot with all the young, single women she invited with the sole interest in setting you up. JoAnne hates me, but I don’t really care.”

“She’s not that bad.”

Dakota paused, looked behind her, but knew Walt couldn’t see her from the angle of the door. Perhaps a white lie would prove best to save his concerns. “Maybe she just needs to get to know me.”

The springs on the bed let loose a squeak and Dakota continued. “Your dad was quiet most of the night. Is that normal?”

“It’s . . . no, actually, he’s usually more like my mom.”

Was that concern in Walt’s voice?

She leaned back, caught a glimpse of Walt sitting beside the bed, his head in his hand. “Do you think everything is OK with him?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked in years. Not since . . .”

She waited, turned on the water, and started brushing her teeth. “Since?”

“Since I told him I wasn’t taking over his practice.” He paused. “We’ve talked, just not in the way we did before I told him what I really wanted to do with my life.”

Dakota watched the foamy water wash down the drain, rinsed and wiped her face. “That’s a hard conversation.” She moved to the doorway and leaned against the frame. “It’s hard letting your parents down. Doesn’t matter how old you are or why you’re doing it. There’s something inside us that always wants to please them.”

Walt turned with a smile. “Did you minor in psychology?”

She shook her head. “Psych 101 was as far as I went in college. The school of life and studying people is something I’ve done since birth. Every character I create in a book is real in my head. They have a family, a history, and something that drives them to do the things they do within the pages of fiction. Pleasing our parents is taught since birth. From ER Dr. Eddy to Dr. Eddy, master of all things cardiology.” She pushed off the doorway and moved to the opposite side of the bed from where Walt sat. “Most of our needs and wants are the same; we simply have different ways of meeting them.”

Walt reached across the bed and captured her hand. “Every time I think I’m smart, I meet someone like you.”

The compliment made her smile. “I study people, Doc . . . you fix their issues. I have the easier job.”

He lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers before moving into the bathroom.

While Walt moved about the bathroom, Dakota dimmed the lights and stripped.

“I don’t think my mom hates you,” she heard Walt say from behind the bathroom door.

“Oh?”

“No . . .” He opened the door. “She—”

Dakota liked to think she knew a thing or two about men. Nudity wasn’t something they expected. Ever. She had some sexy lingerie in her overnight case, but she really didn’t have any desire to put it on.

From the dropped jaw and wide eyes of the man standing over her, she knew she chose the right outfit for the evening.

“I think we should stop talking about your—”

“Don’t!”

She laughed and placed a hand on her bare hip.

Even from several feet across the room, she noticed his eyes darken.

When he covered her body with his, there wasn’t any room for conversation.

He wasn’t sure if it was the sexual high from the day before, or the actual hours of restful sleep he’d managed in bed with Dakota, but Walt rose ready to take on the free world. Or his parents . . . which in his case was the same thing.

Dakota liked to sleep in . . . or maybe it was a little bit of the alcohol from the night before. Either way, Walt woke with the sun and started a pot of coffee.

The evening before played in his head while he watched a thin layer of fog lift from the lake. He missed this . . . the quiet time at the lake. Only the birds to keep him company or the occasional interruption of his sister.

He thought of Brenda and smiled. How had the two of them turned out to be so together? Seemed both their parents were hell-bent to break them of their free will, and yet they both forged their own paths.

Who were Dakota’s people? Did they get her? Did they give her crap at every turn? Would they accept her and all her adult decisions or would they fight them every step of the way?

Walt wanted to know. For the first time in a long time, he really wanted to know.

“Hey!”

Brenda walked along the shore of the lake and waved.

Walt looked behind him, thought Dakota would sleep a little longer, and met his sister.

“I see you’re still an early riser,” he told her.

“Larry still sleeps until eight. The day’s half over.”

Walt laughed, draped an arm over his sister’s shoulders. “Married life agrees with you.”

Brenda hip-bumped him. “Dating life agrees with you.”

He smiled.

“I like Dakota.”

“I like her, too.”

“Have you guys been dating long?”

Walt glanced over the lake, wondering how much he should say. “Define long.”

Brenda laughed and tried not to stare.

“Truth is we’re so busy at home we haven’t spent much time together until this weekend.”

His sister snuggled into her jacket, warding off the morning chill. “I would have thought you’ve known each other for months.”

Yeah, Walt thought the same thing.

“I’m glad you’re moving on,” Brenda told him.

Is that what I’m doing?

Chapter Ten

Dakota brought more than one formal outfit, not sure if the Eddys would keep the party going all weekend.

She wore silver without sequins and a modest neckline. The glitz of the gown spoke wealth and class, and JoAnne couldn’t suggest for a moment it was inappropriate in any way.

“Avoid Vanderbilt,” Walt warned her as they walked through the crowd. “He’s sick.”

“He’s not the only one sniffling here, Doc. Must be quite the occasion to come to a doctor’s party ill.”

Guests were still arriving and the main living room was already filled. There were waiters in black bow ties holding trays of appetizers while others carried champagne.

The evening before killed Dakota’s appetite for copious amounts of alcohol. The glass in her hand had been there for over an hour with hardly an inch removed from it.

“Damn it, Walt. Doesn’t your mother know not to let sick people in here?” Walt’s grandfather, the original Dr. Walter Eddy, was as vibrant as he was old. At nearly eighty-three, his eyes were sharp and his hands were fast.

“I guess not.”

“You must be immune after all those strange places you go off to. Does he make you ill?” he asked Dakota with a wink.

“I haven’t . . . no.”

The man kept talking. “Give him time. ER medicine makes everyone sick from time to time. Great thing about the heart. Not contagious.”

Looked like Dr. Walter Eddy I wasn’t done preaching about the youngest Dr. Eddy joining the family practice.

“Damn boring after a while, though,” said Dr. Eddy Senior.

Or maybe not.

“I hear you write sexy books.”

Dakota didn’t have time to comment.

“That ought to get the heart pumping.”

Dakota turned to Walt, jumped when she felt a hand on her ass. When she turned, Dr. Eddy Senior was walking away.

Walt was laughing at his grandfather when Dakota whispered, “He just grabbed my butt.”

Walt’s laughter ebbed. “He didn’t.”

She tilted her head. “Would I lie?” Then she laughed.

Dr. Eddy Senior was already accosting another young woman.

“I’ll deck him later.”

“I can’t believe he is the great patriarch of this family.”

Walt shrugged. “My grandmother was his stability. When she passed, my dad took over the practice.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Sixteen years . . . I think. A long time.”

“Walter?” Someone called from behind them.

Dakota pasted on the smile that had been on her face all evening. Only Walt’s expression paled.

He turned and his words sounded dry. “Mrs. Adams.”

There wasn’t a hug, or even a handshake.

Mrs. Adams took a great interest in Dakota. The woman’s gaze moved over her slowly and left her bare. Without realizing she did so, Dakota moved closer to Walt. Only he held himself away just enough to wiggle a sense of insecurity in her veins.

“We really didn’t think you’d be here,” Mrs. Adams said.

Dakota waited for an introduction that didn’t seem to be coming.

Walt set his drink down on the table beside them, stood back.

Tension started to build as the seconds ticked by.

Dakota sought a pleasant face in the crowd, found Brenda nearby, and pleaded that she join them with a look.

A man approached Mrs. Adams’s side, his expression less than friendly.

When Walt’s hands started to clench, Dakota set her drink aside and placed a hand on his back.

He flinched, and she dropped her hand and stood back.

Mrs. Adams gaze stuck with Dakota. “She looks nothing like our Vivian.”

Brenda reached their side, offered a smile. “Hello, Harriett.”

The woman scowled.

Dakota wasn’t sure what was going on, but she hadn’t yet seen Walt this tense. Not even his parents placed as much stiffness in his spine as the couple in front of him did.

Mrs. Adams sucked in a deep breath and turned to the man at her side. “We should make our excuses.”

They started to walk away and Walt called out. “Lee?”

The man escorting Mrs. Adams away sneered. “We have nothing to say to you.”

Something inside Walt deflated, his shoulders slumped, his smile long gone from his lips.

For a brief moment, no one said anything. Walt stood motionless, and Brenda stared at her brother.

Dakota waited.

“That was ugly,” Brenda finally managed. “I don’t know why Mom invited them.”

“It’s OK, Brenda.”

“It’s not. They should have realized how that would play out.”

Dakota moved in, not willing to be left unaware of what had just happened, and why it had affected Walt so deeply. “Who were they?”

Brenda glanced at her briefly before returning her attention to her brother. “Vivian’s parents.”

Dakota’s practiced grin slid. A rock in her stomach started to grow. “Who’s Vivian?”

“Walt’s late wife.”

Late . . . what?

It took Dakota’s mind a moment to catch up with Brenda’s words. When Walt’s eyes found hers and a layer of ice closed over them, she understood.

Walt was a widower.

It’s strange how the head buzzes in times of stress. Lee’s retreating back parted old friends, those who knew the truth, and those who simply assumed. Most of those watching had no real idea what had happened and why.

Walt’s head started to pound.

“Walt?” He felt Dakota’s hand on his arm. A huge question sat behind her eyes but this wasn’t the time, or place, to tell her about Vivian. He’d hoped to avoid the conversation altogether.

“I’m . . . sorry you saw that,” he told Dakota.

She tilted her head. “What’s a little family drama?”

“There you are.” His mother approached from behind and Brenda jumped on her.

“How could you, Mom?”

JoAnne pushed closer, lowered her voice. “Harriett and Lee just excused themselves. What did you say to make them leave?”

Walt’s back teeth met up and threatened to break. “Your loyalty is astounding.”

Dakota squeezed his arm and stared at his mother. “I could use some fresh air. If you’ll excuse us, JoAnne.”

It was probably a good thing Dakota led him outside.

The image of a caged animal caught him when they stepped out in the cooling air while Brenda and his mom stared each other off. He broke away from Dakota the moment they were alone on the back porch overlooking the lake. The moon glistened on the lake like diamonds . . . a sight he would enjoy if his insides weren’t twisting on themselves.

Dakota leaned against the large wooden pillar, her eyes following him.

“She was in her last year of medical school,” he told her.

Dakota lifted a hand. “You don’t have to explain.”

He liked that about her, he decided. If he’d just learned that Dakota was a widow he’d have a million questions. Besides, this wasn’t something he ever talked about, yet confronting Vivian’s parents made the details surface.

“I was a first-year resident. We grew up in the same town but didn’t really notice each other until med school. She was smart . . . funny.” He glanced at Dakota and noticed that practiced smile start to surface. “You don’t want to hear this.”

Her gaze softened. “No. I do . . . please.”

He pushed away from the rail, stared at the lake while he talked. “We saw each other off and on. It wasn’t serious . . . more like when we had moments of homesickness, or were in need of a familiar face, we took each other up on the other’s company.”

“So what changed to make you two marry?”

He saw Vivian’s foggy image deep in his memory. “I was four months into my first-year residency. God, I was tired . . . so tired. I didn’t want to date, didn’t have the time. Vivian was just as exhausted. Struggling to finish her final year in med school. I didn’t get it. She’d always been so full of energy.” He rubbed his temple. Feeling the fatigue all over again like it was yesterday. “She ignored her symptoms . . . didn’t tell me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “She had an advanced form of pancreatic cancer. One trip to the ER . . . one trip and we both knew.”

“Oh, Walt. I’m so sorry.”

“She opted for surgery . . . was going to follow up with chemo. There were new drugs available. But she was scared. It’s like she knew.”
She knew she was going to die.

“What happened?” Dakota’s voice was soft, concerned.

“Lee and Harriett aren’t doctors. They don’t know when it’s time to let someone go. Vivian was an only child. Only Viv didn’t want to prolong her life and make everyone else around her suffer. As her husband, I could make decisions on her behalf if she wasn’t able to make them. So before she went in for surgery, we eloped.” He remembered the justice of the peace, the two of them trying to laugh with the fake bouquet of flowers he’d grabbed from the hospital lobby.

“The surgery went well, or so they thought. An incredibly small percentage of patients don’t recover from anesthesia. Viv had a massive stroke. Maybe she gave up. Problem was she kept breathing and I had to deny feeding tubes, anything that would keep her artificially alive. She’d written all that down before going under, but Lee and Harriett . . . they didn’t want to let go.”

Walt looked up and saw tears falling down Dakota’s cheeks.

As much as the story burned, telling it was easier than it had been in years. Then again, there weren’t many he’d told.

Dakota approached him, slowly, and placed her hand on the side of his face. “Vivian was a lucky woman.”

He laughed. “She died before her twenty-seventh birthday.”

“Which would have happened with or without you.”

He sucked in a breath, blew it out slowly. Noise from inside the house grew, caught their attention.

Dakota dropped her hand to his arm, nodded toward the lake. “Let’s blow this off. Larry left a perfectly good bottle of whiskey at the boathouse.”

For a second, he thought of his dad . . . then remembered that his mother knew the history between him and Viv’s parents and still asked the Adams over for the party.

“A bottle of Crown just might do the trick.”

The sun blinded him as it spread over the lake. He closed his eyes nearly as quickly as he opened them. The pasty film in his mouth, coupled with the pounding in his head, reminded him why he didn’t drink very often.

“Dakota?” he groaned. She wasn’t in the bed. He could tell by the way he was stretched out over it.

He rolled away from the window and cracked one eye. He croaked out her name a second time, this time a little louder.

“I was wondering if I needed to start an IV on you.” His father’s voice surprised him.

Walt closed his eyes again.

When he opened them, his dad filled the doorway to the bedroom. “You look like shit, son.”

“Good to know I look how I feel.”

His dad moved into the room and set something green, thick, and liquid next to the bed. “Still the best cure for the morning after.”

Walt pushed his feet over the bed and cursed as his head kept moving long after all the motion in his body had stopped.

His dad laughed.

Walt lifted the glass and gave it a sniff. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“It’s been years since I needed this, but it works.”

Green really wasn’t a drinkable color, and this one was grainy with chalky bits of God knew what, and a splash of whiskey. The whiskey was the only thing Walt identified before emptying the glass. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and forced himself to keep the liquid down.