Driftwood Cottage (17 page)

“We’ll be there by tonight. Shouldn’t take more than eight hours or so to get there.” She hesitated, then added, “Thank you for calling, Connor. I’m sure it wasn’t easy after the way we’ve treated you both.”

“That’s not important now,” Connor said.

“Can you tell me something before I let you go? Were you in the car with her?” she asked.

“No, she was alone. She was on her way to do some shopping, according to my mother.”

“Then—” she began, hesitated and then asked “—the baby? He wasn’t with her?”

“No, she’d left him with my mother.”

“Thank God for that,” she murmured.

“Hurry, Mrs. Donovan.”

“We will, and don’t you worry. Heather’s strong. She’ll bounce back from this. Just you wait and see. We’ll see you soon.”

Connor disconnected the call, relieved to know that the Donovans would be here in a few hours. Mick had been right. This was no time to let ridiculous squabbles, which seemed insignificant in light of the situation, keep them away from their daughter.

Bridget Donovan was a large, raw-boned woman who arrived alone, looking as if she were one step away from falling apart. Connor reluctantly crossed the waiting room to greet her.

“Where’s Mr. Donovan?” he asked, steering her toward one of the hard plastic chairs.

“He refused to come,” she said tightly. “Stubborn old coot. How is she? How’s Heather?”

“She’s in surgery,” he said. “But the doctors are cautiously optimistic. She had a serious concussion, and there’s some swelling of her brain, but they’re going to relieve the pressure. They think she’ll regain consciousness after that.”

Mrs. Donovan sketched the sign of the cross over her chest. “She hasn’t been awake in all this time?”

Connor shook his head, trying to hide his own panic over the same information.

“Anything more?” she asked.

“They didn’t find any internal injuries, just a couple of cracked ribs, but there are two serious breaks in her right leg, so they’re going to put a metal rod in the worst one. She’ll be in a cast for a couple of months, they said.”

Mrs. Donovan paled at his words. “Oh, my poor child,” she whispered.

Connor regarded his mother with relief when she joined them, sitting down next to Mrs. Donovan and introducing herself.

“You must be exhausted,” Megan said. “Why don’t I take you down to the coffee shop and we can have some soup? Someone will come to get us if there’s any news. I think we have a long night ahead of us.”

Mrs. Donovan looked too dazed to refuse. As Connor mouthed, “Thank you,” Megan led her out of the waiting room.

“At least she didn’t shoot you on sight,” Kevin said, sitting down next to him. “I was expecting fireworks.”

“Oh, there will be plenty of time for that,” Connor said, being realistic. “I think she’s in a state of shock right now, just like I am.” He met his brother’s gaze. “Kevin, tell me the truth. Do people recover from injuries like this? I’m talking about the head injury.”

“All the time,” Kevin assured him. “She’s lucky it wasn’t anything more than a severe concussion. She’ll probably have a few headaches, but since there wasn’t any hemorrhaging, her symptoms should be minimal and short-lived.”

“Then there’s not going to be any…you know?”

“Brain damage?” Kevin said, voicing the words Connor hadn’t been able to bring himself to say. “She should be fine, Connor. Of course, there’s no way to know if
there will be any long-term effects until Heather’s awake and can be fully tested, but there’s every reason to be optimistic.”

“Then the odds are in her favor?” he persisted.

“If I were a betting man, I’d take them,” Kevin told him. “Come on, bro, keep the faith. Heather’s going to be back to her feisty old self in no time. You’ll be longing for the days when she wasn’t in your face.”

Connor managed a half smile. “I look forward to that.”

“Then focus on it,” Kevin said.

It was another three hours, nearly midnight, when the surgeon came in and told them that Heather was in recovery and that he was satisfied that things had gone exceptionally well in the operating room.

“It’ll be awhile before she comes around, even under the best conditions,” he told them. “Go home and get some sleep. This is just the beginning of what could be a long recovery. The ribs will heal on their own, but that right leg of hers is going to take awhile to mend.” He looked to Connor. “Any questions?”

“Can I stay here with her tonight?” Connor asked.

“You’d be better off at home in your own bed,” the doctor said, then apparently noted the stubborn set of Connor’s jaw. “Then again, it’ll be good for her to have a familiar face close by if she wakes before morning.”

“Thank you.” He glanced at Mrs. Donovan. “Do you want to stay, too?”

Megan immediately interceded. “Bridget, I think after driving all that way alone and the stress it’s put you under, you should come back to the house with Mick and me and get a good night’s sleep.”

Though she seemed reluctant to agree, eventually Mrs. Donovan nodded. “I’d be grateful, if you have the room.”

“Of course we do,” Megan said at once. “Now, let’s get out of here. Nell told me she’d made a big pot of her potato soup. I think that’s just the thing after the day we’ve had.”

Before she left, Megan crossed the room to Connor and gave him a fierce hug. “If Heather wakes up tonight, you tell her we all love her and are praying for her. Be sure she knows her mother came.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll tell her. Thanks, Mom.” He let his gaze rest on each member of his family. “I don’t know what I’d have done today without all of you here.”

“This is where we belonged,” Mick said. “We stick together in a crisis. That’s understood.”

“I can stay here with you tonight,” Kevin offered.

“No, if the doctor’s right about her not waking up till morning, I’ll probably just wind up dozing beside Heather’s bed,” Connor said. “Go home to your family and count your lucky stars they’re all safe and sound.”

“Amen to that,” Abby said, giving him a hug. “Love you, little brother.”

When the waiting room had cleared of O’Briens, the doctor regarded Connor with a commiserating expression. “It must be a little overwhelming to have a family like that.”

“Sometimes,” Connor agreed. “But on days like today, it’s a blessing.”

Heather felt as if she’d tumbled into a huge vat of cotton and couldn’t fight her way out. She tried to open
her eyes, but it seemed to require more effort than she possessed. Her body, at least the parts that didn’t hurt, seemed weighted down, probably under all that cotton.

“Come on, sweetheart, open those beautiful eyes of yours.”

She heard the voice as if from a great distance. Connor, of course. She felt her lips curve into a smile, knowing he was close. Or had she dreamed him?

“Heather!” This time he sounded more impatient.

“What?” she mumbled, her voice as hoarse as a frog’s.

She heard a sound and realized he was laughing. “Not funny,” she muttered.

“No, it’s not funny,” he agreed. “It’s the most wonderful sound I’ve heard in the past forty-eight hours.”

She tried to make sense of what he was saying. Why had it been two days since he’d heard her speak? Where was she? She tried to struggle into a sitting position, but pain shot through her and she fell back.

She felt Connor’s soothing hand on her shoulder.

“Settle down,” he said. “You’re probably feeling a little foggy about now.”

“Too much cotton,” she said, trying to shake her head to clear it, but that hurt, too.

“Cotton?” he asked.

“Can’t you feel it? It’s all over.”

“There’s no cotton, sweetheart. There are a lot of bandages. You’re in the hospital, and they’re taking very good care of you. You’re going to be fine.”

Hospital?
“Why?”

“You don’t remember the accident?”

She started to shake her head but immediately real
ized that was a very bad idea when pain shot through it. “Accident?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” he promised. “Right now, I need to let the doctor know you’re awake.”

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. She didn’t want to be left in this strange place all alone.

“I won’t be long. Two minutes at the most.” She felt his lips on her brow, just a whisper of feeling, and then he was gone. She wanted to stay awake until he came back, but the pull toward sleep was too strong.

When she woke again, she managed to blink her eyes open, then regretted it. It was like walking into sunlight after days of darkness. Everything was too bright.

“Connor?”

“Right here,” he said, clasping her hand in his. “How’s the cotton?”

“Not so bad now,” she said. “How long was I out this time?”

“Just a couple of hours. It’s Saturday afternoon.”

“Saturday? I don’t remember anything after…” She tried to think back. “Tuesday, maybe. Is that when I had the accident?”

“No, it was Wednesday morning. Mom said you were going shopping.”

She tried to dredge up the memory of any part of that morning, but it was all a blank. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked the blurry image that she knew to be Connor. “You’re all fuzzy.”

“You had a serious concussion, but the doctors dealt with that. You may have blurry vision from time to time because of that. You have two cracked ribs and your right leg’s a bit of a mess. It probably feels heavy right now
because you have a cast from the ankle up to your hip to stabilize the bones you broke.”

As if to prove him wrong, she tried to move her leg, but it was weighted down. She reached down with her fingers and felt the plaster cast.

“I broke it?”

“Did quite a number on it, as a matter of fact. Apparently it got jammed up under the dashboard somehow and snapped your shinbone and the fibula. Your knee was pretty badly bruised, but they didn’t spot any breaks or cracks in the kneecap. They’re going to want you up and moving around on crutches soon. Normally they’d push for that sooner, but they’ve been cautious because of the head injury.”

She blinked hard, and her vision cleared a little. She tried to read Connor’s expression, but he was keeping it perfectly neutral.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.

“I’ve told you everything,” he insisted.

“No other injuries?” she pressed. “I’m not going to discover tomorrow that there’s some major body part I’m missing?”

He smiled at that. “No, I can assure you that all your parts are still there. You have plenty of cuts and bruises as souvenirs, but that’s it.”

“Then what are you hiding? I know it’s something big, because you’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that you’ve always had right before you tell me something you know I’m not going to want to hear.”

“Oh,
that
look,” he said, smiling.

“You’re stalling, Connor. Just spill it, whatever it is.”

“Okay, here it is,” he said. “Your mother’s here. She’s been staying at the house. I called to let her know you’re awake, so she’ll probably be back here any minute.”

Heather couldn’t quite grasp the news. “My mother is here? In Chesapeake Shores?”

Connor nodded.

“Was I dying? Is that how you got her here?”

“You were hurt. That’s what got her here. She didn’t even hesitate.”

“Well, send her home,” Heather said heatedly. “If she couldn’t be there for me when little Mick was born, then who needs her now?”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she heard a gasp of dismay and saw her mother in the doorway to the hospital room, her skin pale. Obviously she’d returned at exactly the wrong moment.

Even with her compromised vision, Heather could tell that not only had her mother heard, but that the harsh words had hurt her. “I’m sorry” was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter it. If anyone was owed an apology here, it was her, for months of being treated like she’d shamed her family.

Connor looked from Heather to her mother, then back again. “You two should talk,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you some time.”

“No,” Heather protested, grabbing his hand.

He gently extricated his hand, then said meaningfully, “Yes. It’s time, Heather. She’s right here. You need to have a conversation face-to-face.” He turned to her mother. “A brief one, though. Don’t upset her.”

To Heather’s surprise, as Connor left, her mother marched right into the room. She pulled the chair Connor
had been sitting in a little closer to the bed, then sat down, gripping her purse tightly in her lap.

“He’s right,” she told Heather eventually. “We need to mend fences.”

Heather sighed. “I doubt that’s possible.”

“Well, we have to try,” her mother said stubbornly. “You’re my only child. I want you in my life.” She swallowed hard, as tears tracked down her cheeks. “And my grandson…” Her voice trailed off. When she spoke again, she was smiling. “Oh, my, Heather! He’s such a wonderful boy. I was a fool to shut him out, to shut you out. This accident, it was a wake-up call. Suddenly I understand that we never know what lies ahead.”

“You’re the one who cut me out of your life,” Heather reminded her, then asked, “Where’s Dad?”

“Back home working,” her mother admitted, looking chagrined.

“So it wasn’t much of a wake-up call for him, was it?” Heather asked wearily, then closed her eyes. “I can’t talk about this now.”

“Then I’ll just sit here while you rest,” Bridget said determinedly. “I’m not leaving this room, and I’m certainly not leaving town until I have my daughter back.”

Heather noted the unyielding glint in her mother’s eyes and recognized it all too well. She’d still be here come Christmas, if that was what it took. Which meant that sooner or later, Heather was going to have to deal with her.

Closing her eyes again and turning away, she opted for later.

C
onnor found his mother in the waiting room, where she’d been stationed every day since the accident. She’d paid an occasional visit to Heather, but mostly she seemed to be here for him, and for the past couple of days for Bridget Donovan.

“Mom, aren’t you sick of hanging around this place?” Connor asked, unwilling to admit how relieved he’d been to know she was nearby. “It’s depressing.”

She smiled at the comment, then glanced around the room, which was long overdue for a paint job and new furniture. “I can’t argue with you, if you’re referring to the decor. In fact, I’ve already spoken to your father about having one of his crews come in here and paint the place. Then your grandmother, sisters and I will find some new furnishings. I have a couple of paintings at the gallery that will brighten things up as well.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

“Because it needs it, and we have the means to do it,” she said simply. “We’re all very grateful to everyone here for what they did to save Heather. This is our way of showing it.”

“I’m amazed,” he said.

She smiled at that. “You shouldn’t be. You have a nice family.”

He frowned at her. “I know that,” he grumbled. “After a couple of days around Mrs. Donovan, I’m more thankful for you all than ever.”

His mother’s expression sobered. “She’s doing the best she can, Connor. This situation—you, Heather and little Mick—it’s not what she expected for her only child. We’ve talked a lot, and I think I have some idea of where she’s coming from.”

“Would you have ostracized Abby, Bree or Jess if they’d told you they were pregnant and weren’t getting married?” he asked, curious about her reaction.

“Absolutely not,” she said at once. “I don’t care what flaws any of you might have. My job is to advise you if you want to hear it, listen when you need to talk, but most of all to love you, no matter what. Still, I can understand a mother wanting the best for her daughter.”

“So can I,” he conceded. “It’s the my-way-or-the-highway approach that I don’t get.”

“Because, despite your sometimes low opinion of the upbringing I gave you, you were taught to be more tolerant of other’s choices.”

“I’m not sure Dad shares your approach,” he said. “He hardly ever shuts up about the mistakes he thinks any of us are making.”

“But in the end, you all know his love is unconditional,” Megan stressed, then studied him closely. “You do know that, don’t you? Mick learned that from Nell. She grew up with strong beliefs and did her best to teach them to her sons and to all of you, but right or wrong,
you’re her family, and she’ll go to bat for any one of you against any outsider who dares to criticize you.”

“Maybe she’s the one whose attitude will rub off on Mrs. Donovan. I’m sure they share the same Catholic values,” Connor said wistfully. “And as unhappy as she might be with me, Gram’s never made me feel that she was one step from disowning me.”

“I think maybe we need to view this accident as a blessing in disguise,” Megan suggested. “It’s brought Bridget here. I think she’ll see how much you and Heather love each other and your son, even if your relationship isn’t traditional. Give her that chance, Connor. Make it a point to spend a little time with her, so she can see for herself what a fine young man you are.”

Connor squirmed. “About that,” he began. “The traditional thing.”

His mother tilted her head, clearly puzzled. “What?”

“All of this has made me do some serious thinking,” he began, then stopped. If he said the words aloud, his mother could try to hold him to them. What if he then panicked and changed his mind?

She continued to regard him with curiosity. Then, it seemed, a lightbulb went off in her head. “Connor O’Brien, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked excitedly. “Are you going to ask Heather to marry you?”

So much for hedging his bets, he thought. “I think so,” he admitted.

Her expression fell at his response. “Your enthusiasm is less than overwhelming.”

“Look, you know how I feel, but I realized the other day when I could have lost Heather that I didn’t want to
go through the rest of my life without her. If we don’t get married, eventually she’s going to marry someone else and I’ll lose her. I’ll lose both her and little Mick.”

“First of all, you will never lose your son,” Megan said. “And not wanting to see Heather happy with another man is not a reason to marry her yourself. That’s just selfish. Here’s the question that counts—do you love her?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “I thought that was a given. Everyone’s thrown it in my face often enough.”

His mother smiled slightly. “Good to know you were listening. My point is that you have to want marriage and all that it entails, not just because Heather insists on it or might move on without it, but because you really want it, too. Do you?”

He held back a sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “It should be. Look, I’ve promised myself that I won’t give you unsolicited advice, but I have to say this. Don’t ask Heather to marry you unless you’re a hundred percent committed to everything that implies. Marriage requires hard work and a willing heart.”

Connor knew it was probably good advice; he just didn’t think he could take it. He’d made a promise to God in the car on the way to the hospital. Heather was alive, and he intended to keep his word. He might not believe in marriage, but he believed in Heather and their love. Somehow, he’d make it work.

Heather had to admit her mother was persistent. Bridget was at the hospital almost as often and for just as long as Connor, though amazingly the two of them
mostly managed to avoid each other. That was getting on Heather’s nerves almost as much as the realization that her recovery was going to be slow and tedious.

Worse than all that, though, she missed little Mick. She knew he was in good hands, staying at the house with his grandparents and great-grandmother looking after him, and with Connor there for at least some part of every day. At first they wouldn’t allow the boy in ICU. Then Heather had feared that seeing her laid up in bed with bruises from head to toe would scare him. Now, though, she thought she might go crazy if she didn’t get at least a brief glimpse of her sweet boy.

She was lying there thinking about him and trying to ignore her mother, when the door opened and Connor peeked in. “Up for some company?” he asked, then opened the door wider to reveal little Mick holding his hand.

“Mama!” little Mick shouted with glee, and toddled across the room. The bed was too high for him to scramble up, but Connor scooped him up and set him gently down beside her.

Her eyes blurred by tears, she met Connor’s gaze. “How did you know this was exactly what I needed?”

“Lucky guess,” he said. “Besides, he was very anxious to see his mom. He’s been asking for you every minute he’s awake. It was starting to break my heart.”

“It’s true,” her mother said, regarding Connor with an approving glance. “He surely has missed his mommy.”

Sitting quietly beside her, little Mick turned sad. He reached over and touched his finger very gently to a cut on her cheek. “Boo-boo hurt?” he asked worriedly.

“A little bit,” she said, then grinned. “How about you kiss it and make it better?”

“’Kay,” he said, moving closer and pressing a kiss to the cut. “More boo-boos,” he noted. “Kiss, too?”

Heather laughed. “That might take all day,” she said, tickling him until he giggled. “I am so glad you came to see me,” she told him. “You’re the best medicine ever, but I think you should go home. From in here it looks like such a beautiful day outside. I imagine Grandpa Mick would take you fishing this afternoon if you asked him to.”

“G’pa,” he said, nodding enthusiastically.

Connor chuckled. “Okay, then. Let’s go find Grandpa Mick.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then winked. “Just making you better.”

“Thanks,” she said, then stared after them as they left.

“That child adores you,” her mother said, moving back to the chair beside the bed. “So does his father. I’ve seen it in his eyes whenever he’s here. And the way he talks about you… Oh, my, it’s evident how scared he was when he thought he might lose you. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve. Why the two of you can’t work things out is beyond me.”

“Not discussing this with you, Mom. I’ve told you how things are for Connor and me. It’s not going to change.”

Bridget gave her a sharp look. “Are you so sure about that? I’ve never seen anyone crazier about a woman. He barely slept a wink when you first came to the hospital, and he’s still here every spare minute he has. He’s even put his new job on hold. That tells me quite a lot about
Connor’s devotion to you. Frankly, it’s been a revelation to me.”

That last was news to Heather. She’d have to tell Connor it was time for him to go to work. She didn’t want to stand in the way of this new career of his. Though she was grateful for his visits, she no longer needed him hovering over her or even running interference between her and her mother.

“I’m of a mind to sit him down and have a serious talk with him,” her mother said. “It’s time he faced up to his responsibilities and did the right thing by you and that boy! I doubt it would take more than a gentle push to move him in that direction.”

“Mom!” Heather protested. “Not a word to Connor. Is that clear? We’re both adults and perfectly capable of deciding what’s right for us.”

“I see no evidence of that,” Bridget persisted.

“You’ll just have to trust me. Stay out of it, Mom. I mean it.”

Her mother looked put out by the order, but she nodded eventually. “Okay, fine. Whatever you want. I’ll keep my opinions and observations to myself.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Heather told her.

She didn’t want to hear her mother’s speculations about Connor’s feelings, either, because stirring up old hopes accomplished nothing. She’d accepted reality a long time ago, and nothing had changed.

Unfortunately, accepting reality and figuring out how to live with it, especially with Connor being so attentive lately, were two different things.

Connor was walking down the hallway on his way to Heather’s room when he ran into the social worker.

“Mr. O’Brien, do you have a minute?” Jill Swanson called out to him.

He paused and waited for her to catch up. “What’s up?”

“Ms. Donovan’s going to be released in another day or two, but we need to make sure she can manage when she gets home. I understand she lives with her son in a second-floor apartment.” She met his gaze. “That’s just not going to work under the circumstances. She can’t possibly cope with either the stairs or a very active toddler.”

Connor had anticipated something like this. He’d already decided that Heather would either come home with him where there would be plenty of people around to help, or he would move into her apartment. Unless, of course, Bridget Donovan intended to hang around until Heather was fully recovered. Given the increasingly irritated calls she was getting from her husband back in Ohio, he doubted that was likely.

“I have a couple of alternative options, but I need to run them past Heather,” he told the social worker. “I assure you, though, when the time comes, Heather will have all the help she needs.”

“You’ll need to fill me in on the plan once the two of you have discussed it,” the woman insisted. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to agree to her release.”

“Not a problem,” he assured her. At least not if Heather was being reasonable. Since he knew how badly she wanted to get out of this place, he suspected that for once she’d be more agreeable than usual.

After talking to Jill Swanson, Connor made a U-turn and left the hospital. He drove straight to a jewelry store, picked out a diamond ring, stopped by his sister’s shop for a lavish bouquet of bright pink and white peonies, then returned to the hospital. By the time he got back, Heather was napping. Her mother had gone back to the house with Megan for lunch.

Connor sat beside the bed and tried to work out what he was going to say. Proposing was obviously new to him. Did the words matter? Or was it just the intent? For a man who wrote effective opening statements and closing arguments for courtrooms, he was surprisingly inept at putting his feelings into words. Somehow the stakes were way too high.

As he silently rehearsed various options, he glanced over at the bed and saw Heather staring at him, obviously amused.

“Do you have some kind of big court case tomorrow?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because the only time I’ve seen you muttering so intensely under your breath was when you were trying to get a closing argument down pat.”

He met her gaze. “In a way, this is the same thing,” he admitted.

“Oh?”

“A closing argument sums up your case. It tells the court what you want them to take away from all the evidence.”

“I know that,” she said.

“Well, what I have to say to you is a lot like that. I need
to present all my evidence, sum it up and then pray you reach the right conclusion.”

She regarded him with a perplexed expression. “You’re not making a lot of sense.” She glanced past him and spotted the vase filled with peonies. “Where did those come from? They look beautiful and smell fabulous.”

“They’re part of my evidence,” he told her. “I want you to know how much I care about you. I know you love peonies.”

She gave him an oddly quizzical look. “Connor, I’ve never doubted your love. You don’t need to bring me flowers to prove anything. The fact that you’ve been here for hours every day tells me all I need to know.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” he began earnestly. “This accident, it changed something for me. That day, when my dad came to tell me what happened, that you were in the hospital, I can’t even begin to tell you how terrified I was. There were a few minutes there when I couldn’t even catch my breath, I was so scared. The drive over here was excruciating, with me not knowing what to expect when I got here. For all I knew you could have…” He shook off the words. “Never mind.”

The mere idea that she could have been dead was too awful to mention. The point was that she was here, alive and on her way to a full recovery, and he would spend every day for the rest of his life being grateful for that.