Welcome to Serenity (26 page)

“Daddy,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his hand, which was lying on top of the sheet. It seemed like the only part of him not attached to some sort of wire or tube. It was warm and callused, the way she remembered. His forearm and hand were tan from working outside, but there was a band of white skin where his wedding band had been. The absence of that ring made him seem even more vulnerable. She linked her fingers with his.

“Oh, Daddy, what have you gone and done?” she asked, tears gathering in her eyes.

To her shock, he stirred slightly, almost as if he’d heard her.

“Don’t move,” she told him. “Just rest and get your strength back. I’m going to stay right here until you’re on the mend.”

Maybe it was only the respirator doing its job, but a sigh seemed to shudder through him at her words. She wanted to believe that he knew she was here, that he was glad she was here, but that was probably nothing more than wishful thinking.

It didn’t matter, though, because she had no intention of leaving until he was out of danger and could tell her himself to leave, if that was what he wanted. Maybe, though, maybe for once, he would ask her to stay.

When he came back from the cafeteria with three cups of coffee, Tom spotted Jeanette’s mother in the waiting room. There was no mistaking her. She had the same dark eyes, though hers were sunken and filled with worry. Her face had the same gamine shape, though on her it appeared gaunt. Her flowered cotton dress was faded from too many washings, but it had been neatly pressed and she still had the lithe figure of her daughter. She was working a rosary through her fingers, her lips moving silently. Tom approached, but didn’t interrupt her. He took a seat nearby and waited until she looked up.

“Mrs. Brioche?”

Confusion filled her eyes, then alarm. “Is it Michael? Is he okay? Has something happened?”

“Everything’s okay, as far as I know. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m not a doctor. I’m a friend of Jeanette’s. I drove her to the hospital.”

She glanced around the waiting room. “She’s here?”

“She’s in with your husband now. I went to get coffee. Would you like some?” He offered her a take-out cup. She accepted it, but didn’t drink. Instead, she held the cup in both hands, as if absorbing the warmth.

“I’m Tom McDonald, by the way,” he told her. “I’m the town manager in Serenity.”

“I see,” she said distractedly, then stood up. “I should probably get Jeanette. They don’t want us staying in there too long.”

“I’m sure she’ll be out soon,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break while you can. Would you like something to eat? I can go down to the cafeteria again and bring back some soup or a sandwich.”

She shook her head. “You’re very kind, but no. I’m not hungry.” She glanced toward the intensive care unit. “Since Jeanette is in with her father, I believe I’ll go to the chapel. I didn’t want to be that far away when no one else was here, you know, in case something happened.”

“Then go now,” Tom encouraged. “I’ll tell Jeanette where to find you.”

“You won’t be leaving as soon as she’s visited with her father?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then.”

Tom watched her go, then took a sip of his own coffee. It was bitter, but hot. He thought about the encounter with Mrs. Brioche, but couldn’t quite decide what to make of it. Obviously she was worried about her husband, but she’d hardly spared a thought for Jeanette and what she might be feeling. He was beginning to grasp what Jeanette had meant about her family being disconnected. By comparison, his own family was a role model. For all of the ridiculous emphasis on social stature, the frequent and volatile disagreements over the choices their son and daughters were making, and the unwelcome intrusiveness, he’d never once doubted that he and his sisters were loved. If anything, they were loved too much. When he’d had that injury playing college baseball, the entire family had gathered at the hospital within hours, driving the doctors and nurses crazy with their questions. His father had wanted to fly in specialists. His mother, predictably, had wanted to bringing in a caterer to be sure he was well-fed. Like so many southern women of her generation, she equated food with both hospitality and crises. He looked up and saw Jeanette walking slowly toward him, her cheeks damp with tears. He was on his feet in an instant. “You okay?”

She nodded, her eyes dull. “He’s not even breathing on his own,” she said, her voice choked. “They have him on a respirator and both legs are in casts. It’s awful.” She glanced around the waiting room. “I thought my mother would be in here.”

“She was. I spoke to her for a few minutes. She went to the chapel. She should be back shortly or you can go there if you’d like to, maybe say a prayer for your father.”

“Let me guess. She was working her rosary beads.”

“She was.”

Jeanette sighed. “Before Ben died, we hardly ever went to church except on holidays like Christmas and Easter. It wasn’t that we weren’t religious, I don’t think. It was just that most of the year, my dad worked seven days a week trying to keep the farm afloat. My mother worked the fields with him, and when we were old enough, so did Ben and I.”

She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes. A smile played across her lips. “As hard as we worked, as exhausted as we all were, those were the good days,” she said quietly. “After Ben died, everything fell apart. My dad stayed in the fields even longer. When he came inside, he ate, then went to bed without saying a word to my mother or me. My mom suddenly turned to the church. She went every single day. She baked cakes for the bazaars and for the Sunday social hour. I’m not sure if she was trying to save Ben’s soul or her own or just escape the dismal atmosphere at home.”

“If it gave her comfort…” Tom began.

“But it didn’t,” Jeanette said. “If something gives you comfort, it should uplift you, don’t you think? Instead, it was her way of withdrawing from everything. My dad worked. She went to church. Obviously she’s still doing it.”

She blinked back fresh tears. “I just realized, with his injuries, my dad won’t be able to work for a long time. How will he cope without that?”

“One worry at a time,” Tom advised. “Let’s make sure he recovers first.”

As he spoke, he glanced across the waiting room and spotted Jeanette’s mother standing hesitantly in the doorway. As much as he hated the way she’d apparently shut Jeanette out of her life, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She looked so terribly lost and alone. His good manners kicked in.

“Mrs. Brioche,” he said, standing.

Jeanette’s head snapped up. “Mom!”

“Hello, Jeanette,” she said, her tone hesitant. Tom looked from one to the other, saw the longing and anxiety in Jeanette’s face, the uncertainty in her mother’s. And something else… He leaned down and whispered into Jeanette’s ear, “She needs you as much as you need her. I’ll go for a walk and give the two of you some time.” He touched her cheek. “Okay?”

For a moment he thought she might argue, but then she nodded. “Don’t be long, though, please.”

“Just a few minutes, I promise.

As he walked past Mrs. Brioche, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then left them. He couldn’t help wondering if a few minutes—or even a few days—would give them the time they needed to find their way back to each other.

Despite her earlier anger, Jeanette felt a stirring of sympathy for her mom. She looked so scared, so lost. It reminded her all too vividly of the way she’d looked for months after Ben’s death, as if nothing made sense anymore.

“Mom, please sit down,” she said at last, when her mother continued to hover in the doorway. “Unless you want to go right in to see Dad.”

“No, it’s too soon. You just came out. He needs to rest between visits.”

“Then sit.” She studied the exhaustion in her mother’s eyes. “Have you been getting any rest at all?”

Her mother shrugged as she took the seat next to Jeanette. “I was going home at night, but since they moved him into intensive care with the pneumonia and all, I’ve been staying right here. I manage to close my eyes off and on.”

“Why don’t you visit with Dad for a little while now and then go home for a few hours and sleep? You’ll feel better if you shower and change your clothes, too. I’ll stay right here until you get back.”

“Your friend, Mr. McDonald, said he drove you. Won’t he have to go back?”

“He can leave. Someone will pick me up whenever I’m ready to go.” Even though she knew Maddie, Helen or Dana Sue would come in an instant, she also knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Tom wasn’t going anywhere. She’d seen the stubborn set of his jaw earlier when he’d announced he was driving her over here in the first place. He was the only man she’d ever known who hadn’t taken off at the first sign of emotional upheaval. One of these days, when this crisis had passed, she’d have to think about that.

“Are you…? Is he important to you?” her mother inquired, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.

“He’s a friend,” Jeanette said.

For just an instant, there was a spark of animation in her mother’s eyes. “These days that can mean a lot of different things,” she said. “I watch TV. I know all about ‘friends with benefits.’”

Taken aback, Jeanette chuckled. “Mom!”

“Well, I do,” she said, her lips curving in a way that reminded Jeanette that at one time her mother had had a wicked sense of humor.

“Tom is not that kind of friend,” Jeanette said, blushing furiously. “There are no benefits.” Though it certainly wasn’t for lack of desire, she thought. She knew it could change in a heartbeat if she allowed it.

“Still, I’m glad to know there’s someone in your life you can count on,” her mother said. She looked as if she might have more to say about that, but instead, she fell silent and stared at her hands. Jeanette had the sensation that an important and rare moment of understanding between them had just slipped away.

When her mother finally met Jeanette’s gaze again, she asked, “How did your father seem when you were with him?”

“He was so still,” she said. “Not like Dad at all.”

“I know. I can barely stand to sit there beside him,” her mother admitted. “Even these last years, when he’s been so quiet and withdrawn, there was such strength and vitality about him.” Her lips curved slightly and her expression turned nostalgic. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw him?”

“I don’t think so,” Jeanette said. Just when she’d reached an age when her mother might have started confiding all sorts of things to her—and she’d been old enough to finally listen—Ben had died and, along with him, any possibility of intimate, revealing conversations.

“It was a summer day, hot as the dickens, and I’d ridden over to the farm with my father. The drive took an hour or more. He wanted to talk to Michael’s father about something or other and I just wanted to get out of doing chores at home. Michael rode up on a big ol’ tractor wearing these faded jeans and a tight white T-shirt and I thought my heart would stop. He looked right into my eyes as he jumped down, then walked straight up to me and smiled. There was this cocky air about him, but that smile was so slow and sweet it darn near took my breath away. And then, do you know what he said? He told me I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen and he was going to marry me. Right then and there, just like that. Can you imagine such a thing?”

“Actually, I can,” Jeanette said, smiling. She thought of how often Tom had said something equally outrageous to her. “What did you tell him?”

“That he was going to need a whole lot more than pretty words if he expected me to have anything to do with him,”
her mother responded. “But the truth was, I was a goner and we both knew it.”

“How long before you gave in and married him?”

Jeanette asked, wondering if she could compare what happened back then to her own situation and learn anything about what might lie ahead.

“Now, there are two parts to that answer,” her mother said.

“I gave in a whole lot sooner than I said yes to marrying him.”

Jeanette couldn’t help it. She gaped. “Mother!”

“Well, the marrying had to wait. I was barely eighteen and my parents weren’t about to let me marry a man on a whim. We could have eloped, of course, but I wanted a real wedding and your daddy couldn’t deny me anything I had my heart set on, so we waited. We got married one year to the day after we met.
Your father picked the date, which proved to me just how romantic he was. He’d remembered the significance of it.”

“Have you ever regretted it?”

“Not for one single minute,” her mother said. “You know, to this day, I climb up on that tractor with him on our anniversary and we take a ride around the farm.”

Jeanette thought back. “I remember that,” she said with a sense of amazement. “I never understood the significance of it. The rest of the year Daddy couldn’t get you anywhere near that tractor.”

“I’ve always had a healthy respect for farm equipment. It’s big and dangerous if it’s not handled properly. Just look at what happened to your daddy. I count my blessings that it wasn’t any worse.”

“Mom, why didn’t you let me know last week when it happened?” Jeanette asked, unable to keep an accusatory note out of her voice.

A long pause greeted the question. “You’ve been away so long,” her mother said finally. “I suppose your father and I got used to handling things on our own.”