Barefoot in the Sun (16 page)

D
octor Bradbury was a godsend in a crisis. During the blur that was the next hour—two?—Oliver handled everything. Everything. With calm, unquestioned authority, not the least bit ruffled by a life-and-death situation.

He took the phone and talked to the sheriff, helped Zoe dress, called Tessa to come and stay with Evan, talked to a doctor in the ER at North Naples Hospital, and, through it all, he stayed completely calm as he drove them over the causeway.

Zoe, on the other hand, was a wreck, with two words echoing through her head the whole time Oliver dealt with one thing after another: She left. She left.
She left.

Pasha had packed the fucking panic bag and
left,
only to collapse in the parking lot of the Super Min and be found by the night clerk, Gloria Vail, who happened to work during the day at the Casa Blanca salon and also happened to be dating Deputy Garrison.

Gloria recognized Pasha and called Tessa and got Zoe’s cell number.

Otherwise, Zoe might never have learned where Pasha was until she got home and discovered her missing and then called every hospital and law-enforcement agency in the county.

She had to remember to thank Gloria for calling the sheriff.

Now if that wasn’t irony, what was? Thanking someone for doing what Pasha and Zoe had been actively avoiding for twenty-five years.

At the hospital they wouldn’t let Zoe see Pasha. When the desk clerk had asked for insurance, identification, and other
normal
information that
abnormal
Zoe didn’t have, Oliver had swooped in once again, promising to handle it—how?—and demanding that Zoe sit in a waiting room to
wait
.

And there she stayed, in a blue leather chair that stuck to her bare legs, staring at a TV with no sound and vaguely aware that people walked by while her world crumbled into a million pieces.

“Hey.”

Zoe jumped at the greeting, yanked from her miserable meditation to see Tessa and Jocelyn hustling down the hall toward her. Even in T-shirt and jeans, Jocelyn looked completely collected, her dark hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail. Tessa didn’t look quite so together, but they
had
gotten her up from a sound sleep to stay with Oliver’s son.

“Where’s Evan?” Zoe asked, standing up to meet them.

“He woke up and I took him to Lacey and Clay’s house. She was up anyway with the baby, and we wanted to come and be with you.” Tessa handed her a plastic supermarket bag. “I happened to notice you were next to naked and thought you might want something to wear.”

Zoe nodded thanks and gave them both quick hugs.

“You okay?” Jocelyn asked, a gentle hand on Zoe’s face. “ ’Cause you look like hell on a stick.”

“I am hell on a stick. She ran away!” The words tumbled out on a sob.

“Why would she do that? Was she trying to find you?” Tessa asked.

“My father has run away,” Jocelyn said.

“But he has dementia,” Tessa replied. “Pasha has…”

All three of them were quiet, almost refusing to say the word.

“Cancer,” Jocelyn finally said. “She has cancer and now she’s going to get help. She can’t fight you on it, no matter what her reasons.”

Tessa looked hard at Zoe, the silent question all over her face.
What are her reasons?
“Why do you think she ran away, Zoe?” she asked instead.

Zoe fell back into her chair, the leather still warm. The girls bookended her in the chairs on either side, both instantly grabbing Zoe’s hands.

Zoe gave them both a death grip. “I don’t…” She swallowed the standard response—also known as a
lie
. “She ran away because she doesn’t want…” No, that was another lie. She hadn’t run from doctors and the opportunity to be cured; she’d run from reality. She ran away… “So I can have a normal life.”

They both stared at her.

Zoe closed her eyes, the lids burning with exhaustion and stress and fear. And probably some tears.

Her friends were going to be so hurt. So mad. So insulted that they hadn’t been close enough to be trusted. Especially secret-averse Tessa.

“What are you talking about, Zoe?” Tessa asked.

“I haven’t told you…everything.” Zoe couldn’t take her gaze from Tessa’s, hoping the depth and sincerity of her apology was coming through. But, judging from the look of abject misery on Tessa’s face, Zoe was failing.

“Zoe,” Jocelyn said again, adding a squeeze.

Zoe ignored her, still looking at Tessa. It wasn’t Jocelyn who worried her, frankly. She’d hid enough of her own past from them that she’d be the most understanding of the friends. But Tessa, oh,
Tessa
. She’d only asked for honesty and Zoe had withheld it for all these years.

It was time.

“Zoe, look.” Jocelyn yanked her hand, and finally Zoe turned, her gaze snagged by a man in forest green walking toward them. With a big bad mother-effer of a gun on his hip and a Lee County sheriff’s badge on a sizable chest. “I think Deputy Garrison wants to see you.”

Zoe instantly recognized the buff build and sandy hair of the young deputy sheriff who was such a presence around Mimosa Key.

“Ms. Tamarin.” He nodded.

Slowly Zoe stood, her heart walloping her ribs. So this was it—the moment she’d dreaded for as long as she could remember.

“Deputy Garrison.” She reached out her hand to shake his. “Thank you very much for taking care of my…of Pasha.”

“I’m wondering if you could help me with some paperwork, ma’am. She didn’t have any identification and I have to fill out some forms. Did you bring her license?”

“She doesn’t drive.” Or have a shred of legitimate identification.

“Can you give me her social and permanent address?”

“Actually, I don’t know them.” Because they don’t exist.

“How about a birthday and place of birth so we can plug that into our system?”

And find nothing? Zoe shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t, Deputy.”

He frowned a little. “Then we do have a problem bec
aus
e—”

“What exactly is the problem, Sheriff?”

Zoe whipped around at the velvety, powerful sound of Oliver’s voice, her heart vaulting to her throat at the sight of him in scrubs. Had he operated on Pasha? Treated her?

“How is she?” Zoe asked, the sheriff momentarily forgotten.

He nodded, reaching out a hand to her. “I’ll tell you in a minute. I’m Dr. Oliver Bradbury,” he said to the sheriff. “Pasha Tamarin is a patient of my private practice. I’m on staff at this hospital. We’ll get the paperwork to you tomorrow, Sheriff. Ms. Tamarin needs to see her aunt now.”

Slade nodded. “I understand that, but I need to get something into the system as far as identification. Can you tell me her full, legal name?”

For a long moment no one said a word. Zoe was aware of Jocelyn and Tessa just a few feet away, frozen in uncertainty. And Oliver, clearly waiting for her to…stop running.

“Her name is…” Zoe swallowed and looked at Oliver, seeing the silent plea in his eyes but hearing another in her head.

Don’t do it, Zoe. Run. Lie. Keep that pillow over your head and imagine. Float away from this moment.

Not this time.

“Her name is Patricia Hobarth,” she said softly. “And as soon as I know she’s going to survive this, I’ll tell you everything else you need to know.”

Slade looked satisfied with that, stepping aside to let her get to Oliver, who reached out and pulled her into his chest with a full-body embrace. “That’s my girl.”

Was she his girl? Well, they were certainly a step closer to that, weren’t they? “How is Pasha?”

“Come on. I’ll take you to her.”

Zoe stood in the doorway of Pasha’s room for a few minutes, holding on to Oliver’s arm as she watched a nurse change an IV bag. Pasha looked as tiny as a child, pale and frighteningly close to death.

“What exactly happened?” she asked Oliver.

“Extremely high fever, severe fatigue, and indigestion. We’ve got those symptoms under control, but now we have to treat the cause.”

“Cancer?”

“Tests will confirm what I already know but, yes. Esophageal cancer, advanced.” He put his hand on her back, strong and sure. “We should do the gene therapy, and fast, Zoe.”

Hope.
She dug deep into her heart and grabbed it with two hands. But it felt so damn slippery. “Okay.”

The nurse finished and gave Zoe a nod. “She’s awake,” she said, “but there’s some antianxiety and a sedative in that IV so she’ll crash soon. She might not be completely lucid or remember this conversation, but you can talk to her.”

“Thanks.” Zoe headed to Pasha’s bedside, aching to reach out and hold her. “Hey, Auntie,” she whispered, putting a hand on her narrow shoulder. “You in there, sweetie?”

Her wrinkly eyelids fluttered.

“It’s me, your little one,” Zoe said, using the age-old nickname.

Pasha smiled just enough to give Zoe’s heart a joyride. “How
is
my little one?” Pasha asked.

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes opened, foggy and distant, but open. “No, my little boy. Matthew.”

“Evan,” she corrected. “He’s fine, too.” Zoe leaned closer, trying not to reprimand and scold the old woman for running. “You’re going to be fine, too, Aunt Pasha.”

Brown eyes slid to capture Zoe’s gaze. “I was arrested,” she whispered.

“No, you weren’t. You collapsed in a convenience-store parking lot, which, by the way, you shouldn’t have been in”—she couldn’t resist a little reprimand—“and the sheriff got you to the hospital.”

“I told him I was innocent.”

“Don’t worry about it now, Pasha. Oliver’s here and he’s going to take care of you. As soon as you’re stronger, we’ll move you to his clinic and start the treatment to get you on the road to recovery.”

“Zoe…” She struggled for a breath. “Don’t believe what they say.”

What
who
say? “I don’t believe anything,” she said, placating her. “Just get better, okay?”

“I mean it.” Her eyes cleared for a moment, like the fog had lifted, then it descended again. “They’re going to tell you things and, I swear, Zoe, I swear to you, I didn’t do anything to hurt anyone.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Pasha really was foggy, and since she was sedated and wouldn’t remember the conversation, Zoe added, “And I started the process of making sure you can live the rest of your life in the open and free.”

Pasha’s dark eyes flashed. “What?”

“Don’t worry.” The words sounded hollow, but she did her best to infuse them with hope. Oliver was right. This was the right thing to do. “I promise you, Pasha. No judge or jury is going to put you behind bars for saving a little girl and getting her away from a dangerous situation. I’ll fight to the end for you.” She squeezed Pasha’s shoulder, trying to transmit the fire in her own veins to Pasha’s.

“They might try, though,” Pasha said. “They did before.”

“No, no.” She was confused. “No one did before.”

“The mistrial was right, Zoe,” she rasped.

The what? “Miss who?”

She closed her eyes. “I’m innocent, little one. I’m innocent.”

“I know you are, Aunt Pasha. You did what you thought was right and it was right. You saved me. Please. Now isn’t the time—”

“If only I could prove that.”

“I can prove it,” Zoe said. “I remember what happened and what he did.”

“So does he.”

“Pasha, that man is dead.”

But Pasha shook her head and then let out a long, slow breath. Her eyes closed as if they weighed too much for her to battle any longer.

Zoe sensed Oliver approaching. “I think she’s asleep now,” she whispered.

“I’m not asleep.”

Zoe startled, turning back to Pasha. “You should be,” she said. “You need sleep.”

Pasha’s eyes opened and her gaze shifted to Oliver. “I always liked you,” she said softly.

He smiled. “I like you, too, Pasha.”

“Because you loved Zoe. I could tell.”

He nodded.

“She’s really not lucid,” Zoe said quickly.

“If I weren’t here…” Pasha tried to lift her shoulder.

“Shhh.” Zoe hushed her by moving closer. “You
are
here and you are going to be here for a long time. Oliver’s going to see to that.”

“I will,” he promised.

Pasha made a small groan. “I tried to leave.”

“You failed, thank God,” Zoe said.

“No, I mean I tried to leave back in Corpus Christi.”

“You succeeded in that.” Zoe leaned over and kissed her cheek. “And I’m eternally grateful. Go to sleep.”

Pasha closed her eyes and they waited a moment, and then stepped away from the bed. As they reached the door, Pasha called out, “Zoe?”

“I’m going to go out in the hall now, Aunt Pasha. You go to sleep.”

“You believe I’m innocent, don’t you? No matter what they say?”

She gave a look to Oliver, who mouthed, “Strong sedative.”

Zoe nodded. “I believe you, sweetie. Go to sleep.”

“Because it was a mis…”

Zoe waited for her to finish, but the drugs hit home, and Pasha fell asleep.

I
s there anything as sexy as a woman nursing?”

Lacey rolled her eyes and shifted on her pillow, shooting her husband a look. “Yeah, a woman sleeping.”

“Seriously, Lace, I always thought those amazing breasts of yours were for form, not function.”

She smiled and brushed his hair affectionately, sliding a long strand behind his ears. “You’re such an architect, Clay.”

“And I’m a father.” Pride rolled through every word, and even in the darkened bedroom, Lacey could see the moisture in his eyes.

“A darn good one,” she said.

“That remains to be seen.”

She gently elbowed him and he let himself fall to the pillow. “You’re a great stepfather to Ashley.”

“I try, but…”

“Hey, she’s a sixteen-year-old girl who’s never been easy to raise. She totally loves and trusts you. And…” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “So do I.”

He looked up, a sly smile on his face as he twirled a lock of her hair. “I miss you, Strawberry.”

“It’s going to be a few more weeks.”

“Oh, hell, I’m not complaining.” He scooched closer to the baby. “Elijah’s worth every sacrifice, personal, physical, financial, professional.”

“That’s why God makes them so cute, so you’ll give up everything else for them.”

“He sure made this one cute.”

“And asleep,” Lacey whispered. “Can you get him into the cradle without waking him?”

“Of course I can. Unplug the little monster and I’ll toss him in.”

She smiled as she eased the baby’s mouth away from her breast and exhaled with relief and exhaustion as Clay took over. Expertly he lifted Elijah, patting his tiny back until he let out a belch.

“That’s my boy.” Clay slid out of bed to lay the child in the cradle a foot away.

Leaving her pajama top open to let her sore, cracked nipples dry, Lacey fought the first wave of sleep that threatened. She wanted five more minutes to talk to Clay. Just five more minutes to kiss and exchange—

Clay stood straight up from the cradle. “What was that?”

“Shhh. That’s the sound of silence. Enjoy it.”

He shook his head, his whole body on alert as he made his way to the closed door.

“Someone’s walking around.”

Lacey sat up. “Do you think Evan woke up?”

A light knock on the door answered that question. “Mrs. Walker? I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, boy,” Clay said.

“Two of them, in fact,” Lacey replied. “Get one asleep, and another wakes up. Let him in, Clay.” Lacey quickly pulled her top closed and adjusted herself, any possibility of sleep nothing but a sweet dream now.

“Hey, bud.” Clay opened the door, crouching down to Evan’s height, giving Lacey’s heart a little tug of appreciation and love. He really was going to be an amazing dad. “You need water? Trip to the boys’ room? Midnight snack?”

“I’m worried about Aunt Pasha.”

Lacey sat up completely. “We all are, honey, but she’s in really good hands. She’s in your dad’s hands, so what could be better?”

“I really want to go home.”

“Home to…” Chicago? The Ritz? Where was home for him?

“That house we moved into. I want to see my dad. And Zoe.”

The fact that he was already attached to Zoe ignited a little flame of hope in Lacey that maybe something could actually work out for her and the single father.

Clay stood. “If you’re dad’s back, I’ll take you down there, bud. Not a problem. But if he’s still at the hospital, you need to stay here, okay?”

“Let me call and see if I can reach Zoe,” Lacey said quickly, scooting out of bed and reaching for her cell phone. “You guys stay here and if you wake that baby, prepare to die.”

Clay gave Evan a fake scared look, which made him laugh, and again Lacey’s heart swelled with love. “Thanks,” she whispered on her way out, tiptoeing down the hall to shoot a text to Zoe. A few seconds later her phone vibrated a response.

Zoe Tamarin: We’ll come & get him in 10 min…need to talk to you. Tonight. Impt.

Tessa had texted from the hospital that Pasha was better but spending the night there. What was so important that… Lacey sighed. Sleep was nothing but a memory.

In the bedroom, she found Clay at the window with Evan, getting a brief astronomy lesson.

“Actually, that star moves every twenty-five thousand years or so,” Evan said, “but not enough that we can see it.”

Clay looked down at him, shaking his head. “You’re ready for college, you know that?”

“My mom already has me signed up for some special classes at the University of Chicago,” he said, more resignation than pride in his voice.

“You don’t want to go?” Clay asked.

He shrugged. “I just want to be normal.”

“Who doesn’t?” Lacey teased.

He turned around. “You sounded like Zoe when you said that. I like her,” he added wistfully.

“Then I have good news,” Lacey interjected softly. “Your dad and Zoe are on the way. Pasha’s being kept overnight for the doctors to watch her, but she’s doing much better.”

He nodded, then frowned, thinking. “My dad and Zoe really like each other.”

“Well, they’ve known each other a long time.”

“Two or three days.”

“More like ten years, I think.”

“Ten years?” Evan’s voice rose in shock.

“Shhh.” Lacey put her fingers to her lips, but it was too late. Elijah stirred and Lacey’s heart dropped. Still, she was a little relieved for the distraction. She’d clearly gone into not-yet-covered ground for this kid. “Let’s go wait for them by the front door, okay? Clay will stay with the baby.”

A few minutes later, the growl of a sports-car engine and the harsh glare of halogen lights cut through the darkness of Barefoot Bay as Oliver’s Porsche rolled into the driveway. Zoe was out before the engine was off, instinctively reaching for Evan.

“Hey, kid.”

He didn’t run forward but stiffened a little, waiting until his father got out and walked around the car. “Keeping pretty bad hours, Ev.”

He shrugged and walked by Zoe, stiffly enough that she inched back in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m tired,” he said, whining enough to prove that no matter what their IQ, eight-year-olds can get cranky.

Zoe turned to Oliver. “Take him home and I’ll stay here.”

His disappointment was palpable. “Are you sure? Don’t go to your bungalow alone.”

“You can stay here, Zoe,” Lacey said quickly, stepping forward, getting a grateful look from her and a quick glance from Oliver. “Whatever you want.”

Zoe put her hand on Oliver’s chest. “This has been hard on Evan, too. Take him back and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

His gaze flickered over her face, intense enough that Lacey felt like she should back away, as if the moment was private.

Oliver reached out to brush Zoe’s cheek, making the exchange even more intimate. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

She nodded, and as he walked away they held each other’s gaze. “Thank you,” Zoe mouthed.

Lacey caught his final look, saying nothing until his car pulled out. Then she stepped next to Zoe. “A person’s hair could fry from all the electricity out here,” she whispered.

Zoe, her gaze on the disappearing lights of the sports car, barely smiled. Lacey waited for the smart-ass quip, the sex joke or bit of sarcasm.

But Zoe turned to her, an expression of pain and fear changing her normally bright and happy features to something Lacey barely recognized. Behind her, lights bathed the driveway again, and Lacey and Zoe turned to see Tessa and Jocelyn jump out of a car the second it stopped.

“I got your text,” Tessa said to Zoe when they came inside. “And I thought you were going home with Oliver.”

“I changed my mind,” Zoe said, looking from one to the other. “I think what I really want to do is…” She took a slow, deep breath, the only other sound the splash of the Gulf waves in the distance and a chorus of cicadas. “Something I should have done a long, long time ago. I want to tell you guys a story about a girl named Bridget Lessington.”

“Who the hell is that?” Tessa asked.

Zoe turned to her, eyes brimming with tears as she tried to smile, but her lips quivered. “You’re looking at her.”

Evan was dead silent on the way home and trudged upstairs without much of a good night. Oliver chalked it up to sleep deprivation, which was taking its toll on him as well.

Collapsing on his bed, he wished like hell Zoe had stayed and was next to him. Under him. Wrapped around him.

Except he’d had his chance with Zoe—naked and swimming and begging for company.

What the hell was wrong with him? He certainly wanted her body, wanted her…

That’s what was wrong with him. He wanted her. More than anything.

He didn’t want to be her human vibrator. He didn’t want to be her escape or distraction or
fuck du jour
.

She
hadn’t been with anyone in four years?

Well, he’d done nothing but go through the motions of sex with a woman he barely liked, let alone loved, for the past nine years. There’d been no one else, not one single indiscretion, since the day he’d left Zoe’s house and driven to Adele’s, his decision made.

Thank you, but he’d had enough meaningless sex to last him a lifetime. If he needed to get his rocks off, he’d do what he had to do. He was old enough, smart enough, and lonely enough to know what he wanted.

“Dad?”

He reached up and turned on the light, blinking into the brightness. “What’s the matter, son?” His heart thudded when he saw that Evan had been crying. “Shit,” Oliver mumbled.

“Exactly.”

He almost smiled. “Come on.” He patted the bed. “Sleep down here for what’s left of the night.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Evan scrambled onto the oversize California king, slipping right under the covers. “I miss Mom,” he admitted, his voice sounding very small.

Evan might be a genius, but he was still a little boy who had been thrown into a situation he didn’t understand, and his mother was an ocean away. And if Oliver, of all people, didn’t get that, then he didn’t deserve to have even part-time custody.

“That’s perfectly understandable, Ev. It’s going to be daytime in Europe soon. Do you want to call her?”

He thought about that for a minute, squirming a little, as if the need for sleep was wreaking havoc on his little body. “I thought about it, just to ask her…”

“Ask her what?”

He screwed up his features, clearly building nerve, but Oliver had no idea what for.

“Was Zoe the girl Mom used to talk about?”

Son of a bitch. Why had Adele told Evan about this history? How could a child understand? “What girl?” he asked, even though he knew.

“She said you had a girlfriend before her and you still liked her even though you married Mom.”

How the hell did he answer this? He wouldn’t lie, but he didn’t want to paint Zoe as some kind of home-wrecker. The whole thing was too much for Evan, no matter what his brainpower.

“Well.” Oliver dragged the word out a good two seconds. “If you mean did I know Zoe before your mom and I got married, yes.”

“And did you like her more than Mom?”

Like. Now there was an understatement. “I liked her…differently. But I had to make a choice.”

“Because of Grandpa?”

Oliver frowned. “What does your grandfather have to do with it?”

“Mom said that you married her because Grandpa Walter made you.”

Actually, Adele’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled that his daughter walked down the aisle with a baby on the way. But he’d always liked Oliver enough to forgive him the mistake, and he’d paid for a country-club wedding with all the trimmings despite the fact that it was rushed to accommodate Adele’s growing belly.

At the reception, Walter had taken Oliver to the side and offered him a career-changing position at the hospital, focusing on administration and grooming him as the next CEO of Mount Mercy.

Oliver had accepted the position, because, with a baby on the way, it was the right thing to do.

“Grandpa Walter didn’t make me do anything.”

“But she told me. She said Grandpa tried to kill you.”

He choked back a laugh. “No, Evan, he never tried to kill me.”

“Then why did she say he had a shotgun at your wedding?”

He did? Oh, of course. Realization dawned, and he knew why Evan thought that. “Did she use the expression ‘a shotgun wedding,’ by any chance?”

He nodded. “I figured it was because Grandpa would kill you if you didn’t marry her.”

“That’s more or less what that means, but it’s just an expression. It doesn’t mean he literally had a shotgun there.”

“I didn’t think Grandpa Walter owned a gun.”

He smiled. “I doubt it, too.” He patted Evan’s shoulder. “It’s all history and it doesn’t matter anymore. Your mom and I both love you and that’s all that really—”

“So what does it mean, a shotgun wedding?”

Oliver stared at him. He could lie. He could make something up, like you would with any normal eight-year-old, but this was Evan. He’d Google the expression in the morning anyway. “It means that…”

Hadn’t he ever done the math? Or did his young mind not work that way yet, despite its advanced capabilities?

“Your mom was already pregnant with you, Evan. And that’s an old expression that means the mom was going to have a baby before the couple actually got married.”

He waited for the reaction, which, with Evan, could range from innocent shock to a lecture on the gestation period of the mammal.

Evan didn’t react at all, though. He turned away and looked up at the ceiling, saying nothing.

“So, you can stop worrying about Grandpa Walter shooting me.”

“Okay.”

Oliver gave his arm a pat. “This is serious stuff for the middle of the night, son. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about anything more serious than the weather.”

Evan gave him a sly smile. “Which is serious stuff.”

A rush of love almost choked him. His son had a sense of humor, a heart of gold, and a hunger to know everything. Zoe was right. All he had to do was relax and parenting came naturally.