Brave the Heat (8 page)

That brief, sweet, and familiar brush of his mouth against her flesh still stole her breath. She nodded absently as he shouted, “
I’ll text you.
”

As Gavin drove away, the red emergency lights of his Bronco flickering wildly, Jordan knew it was for the best. She also knew he wouldn’t be texting her. Letting out a laugh, she leaned against the car and tossed her head back.

He didn’t have her number.

Standing in the hallway of her childhood home, Jordan instantly felt as though she were back in high school. She stared at the faded floral wallpaper, with its pink and yellow buds dangling on green stems. Then she sucked in a steadying breath, attempting to muster up the courage to go into her parents’ bedroom. Her heart raced and her palm, slick with sweat, slid over the glass doorknob as she squeezed her eyes shut. Memories of the many frightened nights she’d spent in this old house flooded her like a tsunami. If not for the laughter of her daughters downstairs, she might actually think she really had stepped back in time.

You
can
do
this
, she thought
. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s a dying old man and you’re a grown woman.

“Jordan?”

The fragile, hesitant voice of her mother drifted through the hallway. Opening her eyes, Jordan looked down at the dish towel clutched tightly in her mother’s hands, which had seen more dishwater than should be legal. Her mother’s pale brown-and-white dress hung over a thin frame, her shoulders hunched from years of shrinking away from her husband’s rage.

“The girls want to go down the street to the park. I’m happy to take ’em there, if you can see fit to stay with your father for a little while. He’s already eaten, and the nurse will be here in a few minutes to give him more pain medicine. I know you don’t—”

“That’s fine, Mama,” Jordan said quietly. “I think Lily and Gracie would love that.” She looked back at the smooth, white-paneled door of the bedroom and sucked in another deep breath. “Dad and I have a lot to talk about.”

“It won’t do you no good, Jordan. He don’t remember anything.” Her mother’s voice sounded thin and raspy, and the delicacy of it tugged at Jordan’s heart. “Not a lick of it.”

“What?” Jordan’s hand fell from the doorknob as she turned to face her mother. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember? How could he not remember? Is it the medication?”

“No.” Her mother’s haunted, hollow-looking eyes met Jordan’s, and she squared her shoulders, as though mustering up some long-forgotten courage. “It’s dementia. Doc said it was brought on by the cancer. But whatever the reason, he don’t remember and it won’t do no good to have you bring anything up to him.” Her mother’s mouth set in a tight line before she took a deep breath and whispered, “He probably won’t even know who you are. Besides, the man can’t hardly speak anymore.”

“Mama.” Jordan folded her arms over her breasts, hugging herself in an effort to still her shaking body, anger and sadness swirling through her like a storm. “But you said—”

“I
know
what I said.” Her teary eyes stared down at the dish towel in her hands as she let out a slow breath. “It’s been so long since you came home, and I, well, I suppose I was worried that if you thought you couldn’t say your piece, then maybe you wouldn’t come home at all.”

A shroud of guilt hung heavily over Jordan as tears spilled down her mother’s cheeks, tears that were because of her, because she’d been a coward and stayed away for so long. Jordan couldn’t blame the old man for the pain on her mother’s face right now. Nope. This was entirely on her.

“Oh, Mama,” Jordan whispered as she closed the distance between them and gathered her mother in her arms.

In that moment, with her mother’s face cradled against her shoulder, Jordan realized how much she’d missed this. How much she’d longed for her mama’s hugs and the faint scent of jasmine that was so distinctly hers. With that familiar flowery smell came memories from Jordan’s early childhood in Oklahoma, her life before they came to Old Brookfield. She remembered sitting on the porch with her mother. A white rocking chair and her father nearby, singing and laughing.

Like a wisp of smoke, hazy and unclear, the image hovered in her mind, teasing her before vanishing almost as swiftly as it had come.

“I’m so sorry I stayed away for so many years, Mama. But it had been so long, and so many things had gone unsaid. I guess that I thought it was too late.”

That was true. When she was younger, Jordan had never thought her mother would want to see her again. After having her own children, she’d realized how silly that was. Nothing would keep her from being with her girls.

She’d spoken with her mother from time to time on the phone after Lily was born, whenever Jordan’s father wasn’t around, but communication had been spotty at best. In the past couple of years, her mother had managed a few day trips to New York under the guise of volunteer work for the church, but any more than that was out of the question. Jordan had tried to get her to leave, to come and live with them in New York, but she had always refused.

Just
as
well
, Jordan thought. It’s not like her life with Ted had been happy or stable. The irony of her life was not lost on her. She had run away from an unhappy home as a girl, only to end up in the same situation as a woman. Jordan kissed the top of her mother’s head and squeezed her tightly before pulling back.

“That’s why you’ve been able to call more in the past few months, isn’t it?” Jordan squeezed her arms gently. “He couldn’t keep an eye on you anymore.”

“Yes.” Her mother nodded and sniffled before swiping at her teary eyes with the dish towel. “The man don’t even know me most days, and the crazy thing is that the dementia might be the best thing that ever happened to him. It’s like he forgot how to be ornery.” She let out a curt laugh. “Do you know he even thanked me the other day? I about fainted. That man ain’t thanked me for nothin’ in almost forty years…”

The sound of little feet pounding up the stairs echoed through the old Colonial house, and a moment later, two adorable blond heads peeked around the corner.

“Meemaw,” Lily whined, “you said you would only be a minute and it’s been a hundred minutes.”

“A hundred minutes,” Grace said through a giggle. “A hundred billion minutes.”

“Well then.” Her mother smiled brightly and the beauty of it made Jordan’s heart skip a beat. When she looked at her granddaughters, that weary woman faded away and she emanated joy, a joy Jordan had rarely seen growing up. “That’s a long darn time, isn’t it? What do you say we go down to the playground? I heard that Laurie’s grandchildren were visiting this summer too, and if I’m not mistaken, I think they’re right around your age.”

“Boys or girls?” Lily asked skeptically.

“Girls, I think.”

“Good.” Lily grabbed Gracie’s hand and headed back downstairs. “Boys are smelly.”

“Not the chief,” Gracie said with a giggle. “He smells like doughnuts and he can do magic.”

“Go on down, girls.” Her mother raised her salt-and-pepper eyebrows as she cast a sidelong glance in Jordan’s direction. “I’ll be right behind you. Why don’t you wait for me on the porch?”

“Thank you, girls.”

“The chief, hmm?” Jordan’s mother said a moment later, folding the dish towel into a neat square.

“Yes.” Jordan straightened her back and shrugged as though it was no big deal that the girls had met Gavin. Of course, if it hadn’t been a big deal, then she might have mentioned it to her mother instead of intentionally omitting it. “He came by the flower shop this morning and gave the girls doughnuts,” she said, not mentioning what his original intentions were. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Her mother nodded slowly and tucked the dish towel in the pocket of her dress. “Well, I guess it ain’t a problem. You aren’t married no more, are you?”

Jordan fought a surge of frustration because even though her mother never said it, she could hear the disappointment in her voice. It wasn’t a surprise to Jordan though, after everything she’d put up with over the past forty years. Divorce was a big old sin in Claire’s world.

“No, I’m not. The divorce has been in place for months now. But I’m not dating him or anyone else, okay? Gavin is a friend. That’s all. We have no plans to be anything other than that.”

“Well, I’m surprised the man will still speak to you after you left the way you did.” Her mother held up both hands before Jordan could say a word. “I’m your mama and there ain’t nothin’ in the world you could do that would make me stop lovin’ you, but he ain’t your family. I’m just surprised, is all. I mean, you weren’t here when he came lookin’ for you that day. The boy was angrier than a snake when I told him you were gone. He didn’t believe me.”

“Gavin came here?” Jordan’s voice wavered and a lump formed in her throat. “After I left?”

“He surely did. The boy was convinced your daddy was hidin’ you and keepin’ you from him.”

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think it mattered.” Her mother sniffed. “But maybe I was wrong and shoulda told ya.”

What difference would it have made? Her mother was right. It didn’t matter anymore. What’s done was done, and while she couldn’t change the past, she sure as hell could face it. But would he ever forgive her for leaving the way she did? For believing Suzanne’s lie so easily? Why should he?

“You’re right.” Jordan’s shoulders sagged a bit and weariness started to creep in. “It was a long time ago, Mama. Gavin and I are just friends. It’s fine.”

“Maybe.” Her mother slipped her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “But that don’t mean all that happened between you two is gonna go away just ’cause y’all want it to. Upset feelings like that have a way of bubblin’ up to the surface.”

“We’re both grown-ups, and the past is in the past.”

“That so?” Her mother grabbed the mahogany banister and nodded toward the closed door of the bedroom. “Then what are you doin’ here?”

Jordan opened her mouth to respond but thought better of it.

“
Meemaw!
” Lily shouted. “Can we go now?”

“I’m comin’, darlin’.” Jordan’s mother started down the stairs but stopped halfway before letting out a slow breath and looking back up at Jordan. “You can’t change what you did to Gavin any more than your daddy can change what he did to you.”

Jordan stood at the top of the stairs and listened while the girls’ chatter faded as they headed off to the park with their grandmother. A smile played over Jordan’s lips. She’d wondered so many times if this day would ever come—her daughters playing at the park with their meemaw. This wasn’t the way she would have chosen, but at least it was happening.

Squaring her shoulders, Jordan turned around and strode across the hall to the bedroom door. Lingering outside, she reminded herself why she was here. She wanted closure with her father. No, not only wanted it but needed it, and no matter what Gavin said, he needed it too. The two of them couldn’t move into the future as friends, or anything else, until they’d dealt with the past.

But first things first.

Wrapping her hand around the knob, she sucked in a shuddering breath. With all the courage she possessed, Jordan opened the door to face her past. As the hinges squeaked, she fought a sudden wave of nausea and slowly pushed the door open, preparing herself for whatever was waiting for her on the other side.

Would he look the same? Would he seem as intimidating as when she was young? Would that voice, the deep rumbling of it, still cut her to the core and stop her in her tracks?

No. She stood taller and shook her head while giving herself a good old-fashioned talking-to. She would not shrink from him or this opportunity. Dementia or no dementia, she was finally going to tell him exactly what his words did to her. She would finally, after so many years, stand up to her father and let him know that he didn’t break her. She wasn’t trash. She wasn’t a whore.

And she sure as hell wasn’t beaten by him.

With her gaze pinned to the worn wooden floorboards, Jordan settled her shaking hand on the doorjamb and forced herself to face her father. When she finally mustered the courage to confront her past and the man who’d made life remarkably unbearable, Jordan was rendered speechless.

Withered and small.

A ghost.

The old man in the bed was a shadow of who he had once been and a clear reminder that fifteen years had passed. Her father was no longer the towering, scary figure who could shout her into submission but a frail shell of human being. A thin blue blanket and a white sheet were pulled up to his chin, which was covered by a scruffy gray beard. His body, ravaged by illness and years of drinking, lay motionless and nearly skeletal on the bed, outlined by the covers in an almost macabre way. His face—which had been round, ruddy, and often twisted in anger—was gaunt and pale. The thick, blond hair was gone. What remained was thin and white, and reminded Jordan of cobwebs.

She stood in the doorway for what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two as the old man in the bed slept. Closing the door quietly behind her, she made her way over to the small wooden chair by his bedside. The shade was drawn, but the sunlight streaming in around the edges kept the room light enough. The only sound in the room, aside from her father’s rattled breathing, was that of the shade bumping the windowsill from the occasional breeze that drifted in through the open window.

She sat there for a while in silence and stared at the husk of a man who lay before her. Jordan had known she’d feel anger and some fear, but the one emotion she didn’t expect to feel, the one that swelled and rose above the rest, was sadness. Her mother had been right. No good would come of telling him off or unloading her anger on him. The man who’d been such a bastard, who’d frightened her into silence and submission, no longer existed.