Waking Up to Love (5 page)

Debra didn't exactly need a tour of her own house, but she accepted anyway. Jeffrey tugged her into the hallway. Rob chased after them, presumably so that the over-excited seven-year-old didn't wear out the hospital patient.

For the first time since their ride in his truck, Scott and Ramona were alone.

“You dusted,” he said.

“Just a little,” Ramona explained. “I figured it would take about a half hour for you to pick her up, so—”

“Thanks,” he said. Before she could get too proud of herself, he added, “As long as you didn't use the lime green dust rags. Those are family heirlooms.”

Gulp.

That was exactly what Ramona had used. They didn't seem like heirlooms. They seemed like dust rags.

“Um …”

“Stop looking so scared,” he said. “I'm kidding.”

She shoved him in the shoulder. Hard.

“Sorry,” he said, laughing. “I saw one sticking out of your back pocket, so I knew those were the ones you used. Not funny?”

“Not funny,” she said.

He breathed deeply. “I still can't believe it.”

“That I thought some old rag was a family heirloom?” she asked.

“That she's okay,” he said. “After eighty-five days.”

She hugged him, not like a wife hugging a husband, but like a friend comforting a friend. “It's surreal.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Surreal. If you just look at my life right now, it's almost like the last three months never happened.”

“Well, not exactly,” she said. There was a coldness in her voice, and she didn't know why.

“For the longest time,” he continued, “I thought she'd never wake up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I never gave up hope,” Ramona said. “I always knew things would work out okay.”

“I guess that's the difference between you and me,” he said. “I'm not as hopeful.”

That was certainly
a
difference between them, but it wasn't the only one. But what was she hoping for right now? His arms were wrapped around her shoulders, their breathing in perfect sync, and an embrace that started out as friendship was slowly morphing into something else.

Those old teenage feelings came back to her, full force. She didn't want to start crushing on him again, not when they were watching over his mom. Not when they were playing house.

But his embrace—so comfortable.

He pulled away first. “You can leave if you want to,” he said.

“What?” she asked. His voice was perfectly clear, but she hoped that she'd misheard him.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You can go home,” he said. “I've already asked too much of you for the day.”

Ramona's heart sank. Even though she knew he was doing her a favor, it felt like he was abandoning her. Again.

And just like that, her mind whirled back to the beginning of the year, before the wedding, before the coma, before everything. It was just her and Nessa, drinking tea and watching some trashy reality television (Nessa's choice, not hers).

Ramona asked her sister about her day, and that was when Nessa casually said, “Scott asked me out this morning. So I guess we're dating now.”

Ramona couldn't catch her breath. She should've been happy for her sister and her best friend. But the only thing she could think of, as she struggled to process this new information, was:
Why did he choose
her
?

She felt that Scott had abandoned her, even though she had no claim over him, even though he wasn't even in the same room. Ramona knew those feelings were irrational. Scott could date whomever he wanted. But it just felt—unfair. A month later, when they announced their last-minute marriage, that felt unfair, too.

And right now, after spending the morning sprucing up his house and pretending to be his wife, he pushed her away again.

Unfair.

When she hadn't budged, he repeated himself. “Seriously. I'm already asking way too much of you. You don't have to stay right now.”

Without making any noise, Debra walked back into the living room. Ramona wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't stopped a few feet away. “Rob and Jeffrey are chasing each other in the back yard,” she explained. “And what are you two love birds doing?”

Ramona looked at Scott, waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, she said, “I have to go back to work.”

And she certainly wasn't lying. There were still a few hours left in the workday. If she went straight there, she'd be able to meet with the staff and set a few things into place for the rest of her leave of absence.

Honestly, it was better this way.

And Debra certainly didn't look disappointed. She smiled that Debra-smile and said, “See you tomorrow!”

Ramona turned to leave. She had fulfilled her wifely duties for the day. Now it was time to return to the real world.

As she left, Scott said, “Love you!” But he was just playing the part.

• • •

Scott helped his mother get into bed. She said she didn't need the help, but she did.

Moonlight lit up the bedroom, making all of the sharp angles—dressers, cabinets, mirror edges—seem to glow a pale white. It was filled with stuff, comfortable stuff, but it also felt weirdly empty.

Debra McInney was finally back in her own bed. The room should've been full of life. It should've finally felt like the room had a purpose.

It didn't.

It was cold.

Empty.

And Debra seemed somehow lost in her blankets.

“If you need anything,” Scott said, “I'll just be down the hall.”

“I know where your old bedroom is.”

“I know you know.”

God, why couldn't she just go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning with all her problems gone? Why couldn't she just feel better?

Scott turned to leave.

“Wait,” Debra called.

Clouds must've passed over the moon, because the room darkened. He couldn't make out his mother's face anymore. The shadows were too heavy.

“What is it, Mom?”

“You don't need to stay here.”

“It's okay. I—”

“Seriously. You. Don't. Need. To. Stay. Here.” She said it like a proclamation, like a royal decree.

“What if—”

“What if
nothing
. Go home to your wife. I'm sure she misses you.”

“I don't know,” he said.

“You don't know if she misses you?”

“No. She does. Miss me. But I think—”

“Scott Owen McInney.”

For once, Scott was glad he couldn't see his mother's face. “Mom.”

“Your wife loves you. Be with her.”

What a laugh. His wife had actively fled from him. And his other wife—the fake one—was an innocent bystander roped into duping a sixty-four-year-old woman. Outside of this house, Scott didn't have anywhere to go.

“Mom,” he said. “I don't know if you know this, but I've been having trouble sleeping. For a while now. Ever since your … well, since your accident. Even when I'm with R—Nessa, even when I'm with my wife, it's hard for me to stop worrying. About you. The only time I can get a good night's rest is when I'm here, close enough to help if something goes wrong. I hope you understand.”

Moonlight once again broke through the clouds.

What was she going to say? He couldn't tell. He studied his mother, the way that the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way she half smiled. She had the same dimples as he did.

“You're a good son,” she said.

And that was that.

The Arizona sun shone high over the Colorado River. Sometimes, Scott McInney forgot how beautiful his home was. Other times—times like these—he knew exactly how beautiful it was. He took special care to notice the dramatic rock formations, the light blue sky, and the clusters of ducks watching him curiously. This land was a paradise, and if he just appreciated it long enough, he would stop thinking about Ramona.

Scott's muscular body was crouched like a warrior on the makeshift dock his crew had made last week. Under the dock, the river itself rushed and churned. As always, the rest of his crew was by his side: new guy Miguel, ex-surfer dude Terry, and retired Navy vet Quinn.

“Hey, bro,” Terry said to no one in particular. “Hand me a pocketknife, 'kay? This branch is too long.”

All four men worked tirelessly over piles of donated Christmas trees, some plastic pipe, and coils of twine. As the only BLM crew in the Farber City area, their territory included most of the desert terrain outside the city, two small lakes in the mountains, and a three-and-a-half-mile stretch of the Colorado River. Dealing with the river was especially tricky. Every year, they had to construct fish habitats to boost local populations of trout, whitefish, and bonytail for the upcoming fishing season.

The project started six years ago, when the habitats were made entirely of tubes and pipes. They looked great, but the fish ignored them. That was when Scott had the idea to make the habitats partially from plant matter. He had some old Christmas trees out back, and he thought they'd be put to good use. The fish went nuts. Farber had its best fishing season in years. Who knew that the bonytail's favorite food was old Christmas tree branches?

This year, Scott and his crew had the project down to a science. They each spent an hour piecing the pipes together and wrapping branches around the edges. Then, once Scott checked everyone's handiwork, they sank their new creations to the bottom of the Colorado, clustering them in strategic checkpoints where the targeted fish were known to spawn.

It sounded simple enough—and it was certainly easier than relocating endangered tortoises or trekking through the desert in cooperation with border patrol—but it was still hard work. Quinn had already sweated through his shirt. Everyone else had opted to go shirtless and let their muscled torsos bronze in the sun.

Scott bound more branches together. Three branches down, two more to go. Then he'd be able to chuck this one into the water.

In his head, Scott replayed the events of yesterday. The car ride. The housework. The hug that was more than a hug. It was the first time he and Ramona had been together, just the two of them, in a long time—definitely since the wedding three months ago. There were some phone calls here and there, and a few overlapping visits to the hospital, but nothing like yesterday. They'd laughed together. They'd joked together. He'd even managed to distract her from her motion sickness, though she probably didn't realize he'd noticed. Whatever wall they had built between each other three months ago was officially starting to crumble. It was just ironic that he finally got his old friend back as soon as she started pretending to be somebody else.

But then there was the moment at the house, when she had steadied his shoulders and comforted him. In that moment, he'd needed her. But it was more than just friendship that he needed.

No, it felt intimate. Not like Scott hugging his book-reading, water balloon-throwing next-door neighbor. Ramona was still those things, but yesterday was the first time she'd felt like more than just the neighbor girl. And that was why he told her she could go home. He couldn't handle the confusion. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Because now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her out of his head.

If he hadn't been thinking so hard, he would've noticed earlier that Miguel had used the wrong knot to bind the corner pieces. More importantly, he would've noticed that Miguel had both feet in the water and was leaning halfway over the side.

“Miguel,” Scott said. “We'll swim later. This part of the river is too swift, okay?”

Miguel nodded. He had only been working there a few weeks, but Scott could already tell he was a little reckless. He'd have to keep his eye on him.

As crew leader, it was Scott's job to watch out for the other crewmen and take them to task for any foolish decisions. Normally, he would. Normally, he'd shout, “Miguel! Eyes on the prize!” But he just didn't have it in him to shout. Not today.

Miguel would calm down. Scott knew it.

Sunlight gleamed off the gently rolling waves around them. The Colorado River was always deceptively calm. If anyone looked at the slow, meandering current at its surface, they'd assume the river was gentle and safe. Few people realized how fast the water moved just below the surface.

Miguel leaned over the edge and dipped his head into the water so he could cool off. When he sat back up, his hair was swirled to the side. He was laughing. “Jeez,” he said. “I almost fell in.”

That was it! No more Mr. Nice Guy. “Miguel,” Scott said. “You know the rules.”

“C'mon, Scott. I was just—”

“Just nothing,” he grumbled. “Get back to work.”

Quinn and Terry both glanced at him sideways. Quinn, the oldest of the group, didn't even try to hide it. He just scratched his graying mustache and stared at Scott.

“Back to work,” Scott shouted again. To everybody. To himself.

The crew scrambled to look busy.

“Dude,” Terry said. “Why are you all … wonky?” The California native didn't sound like the rest of his coworkers, who were all born and bred in Arizona. Terry still sounded like he was auditioning to be an extra in
90210
.

No one said anything. Scott certainly didn't answer, because he knew that he would shout again.

To break the awkward silence, Quinn slapped Scott on the back and said, “Hey, congratulations on your mom.”

“Yeah!” Miguel agreed. “They did a nice little article on her in the
Farber Daily News
. ‘Miracle woman wakes up.' Crazy.”

“What?” Terry asked. “Why didn't anyone mention this before? That's, like, major!”

“I don't know,” Scott said, not giving any of them eye contact. “It's big news. She's just … not out of the woods yet. I don't know. She's good.”