Aftermath (20 page)

Robinson lowered his gun. Stepped inside. “Are you hurt?”

“Not that way.” Her voice cracked. “Just a bad dream.”

A pent up breath came from his mouth. He sank to the side of the bed, dejection evident in the slump of his shoulders. He hesitated a second with his hand mid-air, before rubbing his niece’s back. The sight brought a hitch to Amanda’s breathing. The unwelcome pinch behind her nose and eyes.

Get a grip, Nettles. This isn’t your moment.

Amanda holstered her Glock. Went to the window on the far side of the room and checked the latch. And the device monitoring for unauthorized entry and the sound of any breaking glass within ten feet. It was intact. She repeated the process on the opposite side of the bed.

They were safe. Her brain knew that. Her heart hadn’t gotten the memo. Instead, it instructed all of the day’s adrenaline to burst to life, in her veins.

“Can I get you guys anything?” She pushed the words past the bowling ball in her throat.

Lilly wiped a hand over her cheeks. Shook her head.

“I want Dad.” Ariana’s voice was muffled and filled with anguish.

“Me too, baby.” Lilly’s eyes skittered away from them.

Robinson’s jaw clenched.

Amanda gnawed the inside of her cheek. No matter what he said, some things couldn’t be righted with a simple assignation of blame. Or lack of one.

They couldn’t trade moments. This was all they had.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE WHISTLING WAS back.

A five note tune that wouldn't leave Lilly's mind. It jangled her nerves and left her in a haze of questions. Not because the succession was reminiscent of anything sinister.

No. It was as if she should be able to place it in everyday life. Like the beginning of Jeopardy or Sesame Street. And yet, all she heard was a whistle so faint, it couldn't be a memory.

It had to be a drug induced byproduct. One, among many, she’d been unsuccessful in eradicating from her short-circuiting brain since she’d awoken from her coma.

She deposited Amanda's landline on the kitchen counter, careful not to make a noise. Or risk waking the occupants on the couch.

On tip toe, she peered at them. Amanda had her head on Baker Jackson's chest as they half-sat, half-lay on the couch. Her mouth hung open. Her legs were tucked toward her chest, her knees resting on his lower torso.

His feet were thrown over the coffee table, next to their discharged weapons, cell phones and an assortment of sheets and pillows. The blanket Lilly had thrown over them earlier was half on the floor.

Sleeping next to Jeff had been like that. Him with most of the covers and bed. Her swearing she could live without this tiny facet of him, only to find it wasn’t true.

She missed his ready smile. His jokes. The way he couldn’t sing worth a lick, but never let it stop him from enjoying a good song. How he believed the best in everybody and gave second chances that often weren’t warranted.

The whistling reached a crescendo. She turned and opened the pantry. Didn’t see anything but bread and crackers. A can of tuna. A box of sugary cereal only Ariana could eat without getting major cavities.

“Did you get any sleep?” Amanda's groggy voice made Lilly turn as if she were a kid caught stealing candy. Her heart leapt into her throat and promised to stay.

The other woman padded toward the kitchen as if having Lilly in her house were the most normal thing in the world.

On the counter, the phone caught Lilly’s attention. Had she put it where it had been earlier?

Calling Mercy hospital and checking in on Jonas had been a spontaneous move. One minute, she'd been contemplating her need for caffeine. The next, she'd been asking a nurse about his condition. Used the authoritative tone she'd heard in her brother’s voice, on several occasions.

Garnered information with a few well-placed details. And she should feel guilty, but couldn’t summon the energy for it.

Not knowing if Jonas had made it through the night had kept her awake. That and the stupid letter containing his short sentences, in neat handwriting. An envelope she’d carried with her for almost six months without opening.

And then he’d gone and saved her daughter. And Lilly couldn’t stand not reading it one more second. Much like her call to check up on him had produced an urgency to rush to the hospital and wait for his early morning surgery to end.

She ran her hand across her forehead. Came in contact with the scar at the top. The edges had softened over the last several months, but it was still raised. The first thing people saw when they looked at her.

The first thing she saw when she looked at herself.

How many scars would Jonas contend with?

She
should
go to the hospital. Sit in the waiting area and...

Lilly gripped the nearest surface.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
Amanda shot a knowing glance in her direction, her gaze hitting on Lilly’s pantry shelf death-grip.

She released it. Shook out her hand once. “Not really.”

Amanda opened the freezer and pulled a canister from the shelves and brought it to the coffee maker on her counter.

Jonas wouldn't know the difference. And she didn't know
him.
Only met him once. Right after waking up from her coma. Shouldn't feel any connection to a man who needed a serious haircut and a shave. And an attitude adjustment, because, after five minutes, she'd gotten the distinct impression he didn't like her.

Which seemed asinine, because he'd done most of the talking. And then proceeded to send her correspondence, over a year later, as if their meeting had a different outcome.

She shook her head.

“You don't have anything to eat in this house.” Her voice came out in a reprimanding mom-tone.

She cleared her throat. Too bad. She
was
a mom and had filled the roll for twenty-three years. First with Baker Jackson and then Ariana. Despite her mental absence of the past eighteen months, she didn't plan to quit anytime soon.

Could she make up for lost time? Did she even know how?

“There's food.” Amanda rubbed her neck, filled the coffee pot and set the machine to brew. She tugged the cuffs of her sweatshirt over her hands, so only a bare hint of her unpolished nails were visible as she clutched the worn edges. Then she leaned a hip against the counter. “Coffee is a food group.”

The hiss of the brewing substance filled the air. Along with a strong aroma that begged Lilly to pull the pot from the warmer and sneak a cup, mid-brew. “You’re kidding, right?”

Great. Add a little more fuel to the mom-fire.

A yawn filled the space. “No. I'm tired. And I don't function without coffee. So, if you're going to yell at me, have the decency to wait until after my first cup.” She rubbed her hands across her face. “Just to be safe, maybe wait until after the second. I can't be held liable for anything before that.”

After everything, she deserved that. And more. “I’ll count myself forewarned.” And pray she could keep the inky darkness at bay long enough to withhold any angry outbursts.

Amanda knew their backlash best.

Before the coma, Lilly never would have opened her mouth. Never had unwarranted hatred burn so deep. And if she’d ever done something so cold, she’d have found a way to fix it.

A male groan filled the room. “Somebody inject caffeine into my veins.”

“Get in line, couch thief.” Amanda pulled three mugs from a nearby cabinet.

“You told me to take it.” He sat forward. “Then you sat down and passed out. Plus, there's an underwritten code about drool.” He rubbed a hand through hair that hardly moved and stood, facing them both. A dark blob covered part of his shirt, near his shoulder. “Section twenty-seven, article ten. Saliva on one’s clothing or person from a beautiful, drooling woman nulls any thieving actions. Perceived or otherwise.”

Amanda shot him a look. “I do not drool.”

He pulled his shirt away from his body. “I’ve got proof of the crime”

Lilly rolled her eyes. Wished starting over was as easy as these two made it seem, but didn’t dare hope for it. Ten minutes without discourse didn’t mean everything would turn out fine.

Didn’t mean she wouldn’t screw it up, somehow.

Amanda shook her head, one eyebrow raised higher than the other on her forehead. “I don’t wear my detective hat until I've reached a healthy limit of sanity. Then the two of you can tag-team me. One will be bitter—like sugarless chocolate, the other too sweet—I'll have to spit it out.” Amanda shot them both a tired wink. “If we mix them together, it sort of balances things, I think.”

“We all know I’m the overly sweet candy.” A bark of laughter lit the room and entered Lilly's ears as her own. A little rusted with disuse, but a laugh all the same.

Neither her brother nor Amanda moved. He regarded her as if she were an alien. Amanda’s face held a smidgen of shock. As if she couldn’t believe she’d said anything so…true.

Could Lilly hope they’d leave it alone? Move forward without questions, concern or joy over her sudden involvement?

She held her breath. And waited. Resisted the urge to let another bubble of mirth out. Or plain run from the room.

Baker Jackson glanced at Amanda, his hands on his hips, a soft smile playing across his mouth. He shook his head. “Alright. Coffee for you, STAT.”

Amanda shot him a glare. “You're far too chipper.” Then she filled all but one mug to the brim. Grabbed sugar from another cupboard and milk from the fridge.

He rounded the couch and grabbed Lilly in a hug. Shot a smile in her direction as if they were one big, happy family. And he had event-specific amnesia.

Forgiveness was only clear-cut in books and movies, where someone said words that erased hard feelings in the blink of an eye.

Instead of making it worse with harsh words.

Except, this morning she'd done okay. She was still doing okay.

And being near Amanda didn't make her want pull her fingernails out, one at a time. Maybe Jonas’ stupid letter was good for something.

Her brother gave a final squeeze and released her. “Sleep okay?”

“Sure. If you count tossing and turning like a beached whale.”

He laughed and tapped his fingers against his temple. “Thanks for the mental image.”

“Amanda's right.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “You
are
chipper.”

“It's the DNA specific drool.” He proceeded toward the other woman, an obvious bounce in his step. “It's my spinach.”

Amanda handed Lilly a steaming cup and then turned back toward her brother. “Your what?”

He wore an I-know-more-than-you-do-and-I-intend-to-prove-it smirk. And if Lilly kept still and quiet, she could watch this play of events forever. Or until one of them hit exhaustion or extreme hunger. Or danger.

Last night had proved they could handle it in spades. And they could work together without speaking. Like a left and right hand, the brain the center for communication, but a seamless process that didn't require conscious thought.

Once upon a time, she'd had that, too. Minus the danger, of course. She stared into her cup. Fought a wave of loneliness. And wished the inky liquid would satisfy it.

Ariana needed a father to spoil her. Not a ghost who couldn't help her when she needed him.

The million-dollar question: Who was she more mad at? The teenagers who'd been goofing around? Jeff? The woman who'd landed Lilly in this predicament? Or herself?

Because Amanda Nettles was not, nor had she ever been, the problem. If she repeated it a million times, could she hold on to the peace?

“Like
Popeye
.” Baker Jackson grabbed the cup not filled with three scoops of sugar and half a gallon of milk.

Amanda stirred her diabetes in a cup, then discarded the spoon in the sink, nearby. “So, you think you're a cartoon sailor that gets strength from drool?”

“More or less. Minus the cartoon, as you can see.” He gestured to the shorts and t-shirt Amanda had found for him to sleep in.

“If a Saint Bernard slobbered all over you, would you suddenly develop a huge set of pipes?” Amanda sipped from her cup, a twinkle in her eyes. “Because I'm willing to find a dog big enough to bowl you over, shake its juicy jowls on your face and see what happens. Purely, in the name of science.”

Oh, brother. Literally. Time to duck out. Except, Lilly couldn't move, an interloper in their life yet again.

He took the mug from Amanda's hands and set it aside. Then he pulled his shirt away from his chest, the drool blob a spot a blind person could identify. “See?”

“Hey.” She reached for the cup.

He stuck out his arm and blocked her path.

Amanda eyed him. “You may turn into a man with superhuman strength with drool, but I'm the scariest monster you'll ever see without my coffee.”

A grin lit up his face. “I’ve witnessed it and I’m not—” The tone of his phone cut through his words. A bit of panic jumped onto their faces.