Evergreens and Angels (7 page)

“Hold on a minute…plain English, please.”

“Janie was hurt, Dillon—badly. Her recovery time will be lengthy and involved.”

“I see, and where did you pick up all that medical jargon?”

“I'm a pediatric RN. It's my job to know the jargon.”

“You're a nurse? Where do you work?”

“Sacred Heart Children's Hospital in Jacksonville. I'm on leave here while Gran recovers. She needs me. Gramps needs me.”

I need you, too.
The words stormed through Dillon's heart without warning.

“On leave,” he parroted his mouth suddenly dry. “For—for how long?” He stumbled over the words.

“I was given a month, and I've already been here more than a week, with Gran in the hospital. I have until December twenty-seventh until I'm due to report back.”

“That's less than three weeks from now.”

“I know.” Brynn's clear, toffee-colored eyes rose to meet his. “But those weeks should give Gran plenty of time to get back on her feet and even Janie ought to be well down the road to recovery by then, too, if she doesn't experience any setbacks.”

“So you've made up your mind? You know for certain your return to Clover Cove isn't permanent?”

“You know as well as I do that nothing in life is for certain but yes, it's my plan to return to Jacksonville right after Christmas.”

 

 

 

 

6

 

Two weeks or so…that's all he had. Dillon forced the thought from his mind as he swung into the Pappy's Pizzeria lot. Since the winter solstice loomed, dusk hovered, though it was barely four o'clock. He and Brynn had spent a good part of the day at the hospital, affording Sarah Mitchell a chance to have lunch and indulge in a short nap without leaving her daughter without company. Brynn's experience in nursing proved an added bonus; she aided the on-call nurses and put Sarah at ease.

Dillon turned to Brynn, nestled in the passenger seat beside him, as the aroma of pizza sauce and spicy Italian sausage poured from the brownstone building brightened by a crimson awning that ran the length of the front. “How long has it been since you've eaten here?”

“I came on a break from college three years ago—spring break the year I graduated.”

“That's ironic. I'd headed to Panama City Beach that year with some buddies. You know how it goes…the last hurrah before real life begins. We may have even crossed paths along the interstate.”

“Possibly.” Brynn loosened the top button of her navy wool coat. “I asked about you, but…”

“I asked about you all the time, too.” He glanced across the street to the nursery, feeling a tug of guilt for leaving his brothers and Maddie to hold down the fort for the day. Everything seemed to be in order, though, so he tossed the guilt right out the window and turned back to Brynn. “We just never seemed to navigate the same schedule.”

“Until now.”

“How about we head inside, make some new memories?”

“Sounds good.” Brynn unlatched her seatbelt. “But does your family need you across the street?”

“They seem to be managing just fine.”

They tromped through the snow and were met at the door by Jada. “Hi, ya'll.” The veteran server flashed a smile along with the modest diamond solitaire Fred had placed on her finger Thanksgiving Day. After four years, he'd finally mustered the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. Today Jada's hair was a pale shade of burgundy pulled into a stump of a tail; next week it might be spiked and midnight black. There was no telling. But her mega-watt smile and bone-dry humor were consistent, no matter the day or hue of her tresses. “Booth or table?”

“A booth's fine. Is that Anthony at the back-corner table?”

“Yes, with your mom. They're enjoying a late lunch together. Do you want to join them?”

“No. Let them be.” The two had been cozy lately, piquing Dillon's interest that they shared something more than an easy friendship. It was a good fit, he supposed, since Mr. Moretto had lost his wife about the same time Dillon's dad had passed away. They'd both spent a good chunk of time alone and now seemed to enjoy each other's company. “I'll catch them on the way out.”

“Works for me.” Jada led them to a booth near the kitchen, where the aroma of garlic infused the air. Beyond the serving line, the contents of a variety of pots and pans sizzled and spat. Fred worked diligently over the industrial stove to fill a flurry of orders clipped to a metal spindle. Obviously, the weather hadn't deterred a crowd. “Can I bring you coffee?”

“Sure, heavy on the cream and sugar.”

“Of course, you're a Cutler, aren't you?” She rolled her eyes and turned to Brynn. “Let me guess, you take it black?”

“That's right. But how did you know?”

“It's a gift.” Jada tapped the eraser end of a pencil to her forehead. “And I'll bet you'd like a plate of spinach ravioli to go with that.”

“I hadn't planned on that but, now that you mention it, ravioli sounds perfect.”

“The usual for you, Dillon?”

“Yep, spaghetti and meatballs.”

Jada scrunched her nose as her lips dipped to a frown. “One day you're going to venture into the big, bad world of three-cheese tortellini and eggplant lasagna.”

“Maybe, but not today.” Dillon craned his neck, peering around her to spy the dessert counter. “But we'll take a few slices of that tiramisu later on.”

“Sure, spaghetti and tiramisu.” Jada drew an order pad from her apron, jotted a note as she sauntered away. One of the shoelaces on her fire-engine-red tennis shoes was loose and it slapped the tile with each step. “Coming right up.”

Dillon shrugged from the jacket Brynn had returned to him that morning, noticing that it now carried the light, citrusy scent of her perfume. “I'll bet this place has changed some since the last time you were here. Kami's had her hand in a series of upscale renovations since she took over management from her father.”

“Yes. I don't remember the coffee shop and gallery next door and the booths are different…roomier. It looks like the kitchen has had a complete overhaul, and these candles on the tables add a personal touch.” She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. “It still has that family feel, though, and the delicious, belly-tugging smells.”

“Anthony would never compromise that, regardless of who holds the reins. He built this to be a place where families would feel comfortable.”

Jada returned with the coffee and, soon after, a basket of garlic knots coupled with a pair of steaming plates of food.

“These haven't changed either.” Brynn tore into one of the light, yeasty knots. She smacked her lips with satisfaction. “Yes, they're just as delectable as I remember. They positively melt in your mouth.”

“Anthony should sell them by the bucket.” Dillon snatched one and used it to mop up sauce as he dug into his spaghetti. “How often do you go to visit Janie?”

“I went everyday while Gran was there at the hospital. Now it's a little harder, since Gramps and Gran need my help at the house. So, at least every other day.”

“How long do you think Janie will remain admitted?”

“I thought she might go home by Christmas, but now the doctors are saying maybe by New Year's Day.”

“That's tough, spending the holidays in a pediatric ward. I wish I could help.”

Brynn leaned in, her eyes sparkling like chocolate diamonds. “Maybe you can. Do you own a Santa suit?”

“Me?” Dillon reached for another garlic knot and tore off a hunk. “No. But Wyatt just bought one from the costume shop in Knoxville. He wants to surprise his kids, since they're old enough now to get excited about stuff like that.”

“That's perfect. Can you borrow it for an afternoon?”

“Why?” Dillon patted his abdomen. “Do I look like I belong in a Santa suit?”

“Well, if you keep chowing down on those garlic knots like they're going out of style, you might get there.” She eyed him intently. “Scratch that. With your strong build you could burn off an entire truck-load of the bread.” Brynn's gaze speared him as she lifted the tea glass to her lips. “You'd need a pillow along your belly and some makeup might do—”

“Makeup. Whoa. Hold it right there.” Dillon dropped his fork and held up a hand. “I'm not wearing
makeup
.”

“Just some blush…dabbed over the tip of your nose.” Brynn reached across the table to tweak the slope of skin. “To give it that rosy appearance. And maybe a bit here at the apples of your cheeks.”

“At the apples?” He snatched her hand, clasped it in his. “My cheeks have apples?”

“You could say that.” Brynn nodded appreciatively. “Yes, it's official—you have very nice bone structure. It must be genetic.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“I'm doing my best here. Will my unabashed brown-nosing persuade you to wear the blush?”

“No.”

“You're a tough sell. You know, back in the eighteen hundreds, before blush came into general use, women used to pinch their cheeks or, better yet,”—she grabbed her purse and shuffled through the contents—“prick their fingers with a needle and dab the blood on their cheeks to give that rosy appearance. I think I have a safety pin somewhere in here. We can try it out, see if that technique works on you. Give me your finger.”

“No way. I don't think that practice of self-mutilation applied to the male gender.” He grimaced. “Besides, you're joking right?”

“Am I?” Brynn winked and held up a jumbo-sized pin. Silver glinted beneath the restaurant lights. “Are you feeling lucky?”

“Not particularly.” Dillon twined his fingers with those of her free hand while he reached across the table and wrestled the pin from her.

“I need your help, Dillon.” She fluttered those impossibly-long, dusky lashes. “
Please
.”

“OK, depending on where this Santa suit thing is leading I just might be persuaded to save my skin from becoming a human pin cushion and bow to the brush-on blush.”

“In that case…it's leading to Janie.”

“Janie?”

“Yes. If she's going to spend Christmas in the hospital, she can't have Santa at home. So, Santa will just have to go to her.”

“Well…when you put it that way I suppose it merits a beard and a red felt hat, along with a super-stuffed pillow duct-taped over my gut. We'll debate more about the merits of blush later.”

“Fair enough.”

“In the meantime, here come Mom and Anthony. My bet is they'll want to join us for dessert.”

Brynn turned toward the aisle way and Dillon nodded as the two headed over. They made a handsome pair—Anthony with his wide, easy grin and shock of grizzled hair and Mom with her twinkling deep-brown eyes. She looked genuinely happy and once the shock of seeing her with someone beside dad wore off, Dillon was happy for her, too.

“Hi there Dillon, Brynn.” Mom waggled her fingers in greeting as she approached. “Did I overhear you say Dillon's going to play Santa for little Janie Mitchell?”

Brynn nodded. “We're discussing it.”

“What's to discuss? Why, that's a marvelous idea.” She settled into the seat beside Brynn while Anthony propped one hip against the booth. “That child is precious, and now that she appears to be out of the woods, Sarah's been beside herself worrying over the holidays. It's a special time for a six-year-old, especially one who came so close to losing her life. We've been discussing the situation at church, but it appears you've already taken the bull by the horns. I should have known.”

“Sarah can use all the help she can get. The medical bills, even with insurance, are sure to be staggering. And she hasn't been able to work in over a week…most likely won't be able to again for another month, at least.”

“Yes.” Mom grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and drew a pen from her purse. “We've been brainstorming a few ideas to help in that department. Anthony's hosting a fundraiser here at the pizzeria next Saturday night and an account in Janie's name has been set up at the bank.”

“That's great news.”

“What about gifts for Janie? Do you need help with those, Brynn?”

“I've got that part covered, but Sarah mentioned how much she likes Mr. Moretto's fettuccini.” She turned her attention to Anthony. “Do you think you could whip up a batch for me to run by the hospital tomorrow?”

“I'll whip up anything you'd like. Just name it.”

“Thank you. That's very kind.” Brynn leaned forward and the silver heart pendant slipped from the collar of her sweater.

Mom gasped and caught it between two fingers as it glimmered beneath the restaurant lights. “Is this the necklace…?”

“Yes. The one you and Mr. Cutler gave me that Christmas Gramps was so sick.”

“You kept it all these years?”

“Of course. It's lovely. I treasure it and rarely take it off.”

“That's the sweetest thing. That was a very special night.” Mom's eyes suddenly glazed over with tears. She loosed the pendant and swiped at her cheeks as the moisture spilled over. “Oh, my word…I don't know why I'm so weepy all of a sudden.”

“There, there, Hattie my dear.” Anthony took her hand, sheltering it in his. Though closing in on sixty, his eyes were still a piercing blue while waves of peppered hair spilled over his brow. “It's OK, just memories swirling around. My eyes get leaky sometimes, too.”

“I'd better go.” Mom pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. She slipped from the booth and Anthony took her by the elbow, drawing her near.

“There, there.” He repeated as he patted her between the shoulder blades. “Sometimes a good cry helps clear the path. Come on, my dear.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Mom smiled through her tears as she allowed herself to be led away. She glanced back over her shoulder. “You two enjoy your meal and come by soon, Brynn, so we can catch up.”