Forever This Time (4 page)

Ethan stared at her, and to her credit, she didn't flinch. This was the same woman who'd taken off in the dark of night ten years ago and left him alone. The same woman who'd left a cryptic note for her parents, but had barely had contact with them since she'd left. Yet here she was, trying to sound like they had Sunday dinners every other week and she was concerned about her dad's health and her mom's stress.

Bullshit.

“You can assure your mom that things are perfectly under control here.” He moved his hand to the mouse and his eyes to the computer screen in front of him. “Thank you for stopping by, though. It was good to see you. Please tell Diana I'll come by tomorrow to see how Andy's doing.”

“Ethan, stop. We can—”

“We can what, Josie?” He braced his hands on the desk. “We can pretend like we're friends? Pretend you're just the boss's daughter? Pretend you didn't—never mind.”

She shook her head miserably.

He took a breath, tried to soften his voice. “I don't want to play pretend. I'm really, really sorry about your dad. This has nothing to do with him. But you made it really clear a long time ago that you wanted no part of this life, and since we haven't seen you in ten years, I have no reason to believe that's changed, no matter what's happening with Andy, no matter if it's just for the weekend. I'm the CFO now, and I'm perfectly capable of running the park until your dad's ready to come back and do it himself. I don't need your help.”

“I see.” She whispered the words as she gathered her purse from the floor.

Ethan slid his hand back onto his mouse, clicking on random windows, trying to fill the silence that enveloped the office. Josie sat for a full minute in Andy's chair, then clicked out the door and down the stairs. Only after he heard the outside door close did he sit back from his computer and let his shoulders drop back to their normal position.

Ten years ago, he'd thought his future was wrapped in a Josie-shaped package. Ten years ago, he'd thought they'd have three kids and a log cabin at the edge of the lake by now. Or be living together in her someday-house on Sugar Maple Drive.

He pulled himself back to the desk and shook his head to clear the thoughts. There was no point going there. The Josie who'd just left the office was an all-grown-up version of the girl he'd known. She might be back in town, but it was a temporary, guilt-induced stopover. She'd left ten years ago without a backward glance, and she'd be in her car again as soon as her dad was better.

If
he got better.

Yes, that traitorous piece of his heart that had lurched awake at the very sight of her in the doorway had better just go back to sleep. There was no going back to the past, and there was no way there'd ever be a future with her. The only thing Josie Kendrew was likely to bring to town was more heartache.

And he'd had quite enough of her version of heartache already.

 

Chapter 4

Josie flicked on her left blinker, muttering curses at the windshield. “Dammit, Ethan. Why couldn't you have been fat and bald and
ugly
?” But no. The man looked like he'd just stepped out of the Raiders yearbook, except for the tiny frown lines on his forehead, and some that fanned out from his eyes.

Ten years later, Ethan was even more unfairly gorgeous than he'd been in high school. She'd adored every inch of his body back then, and seeing him just now had made her practically ache to touch him.

She'd actually had to clench her own hands together to keep from combing her fingers through his slightly mussed hair like she'd always done. It was still the color of dark chocolate, and his smoky blue eyes still had the power to make her feel completely naked even though she was fully clothed.

As she got to the four-way stop sign in the middle of town, she blinked hard and stepped on the brake. Where was she even going? She had no idea—just knew she needed to get far, far away from Ethan.

She shouldn't have been hurt by the frost in his eyes as he'd dismissed her. She was the one who'd left, after all. But realizing that frigid reception was her own fault made the pain even worse.

A beep from the car behind her startled her, and she swiped at her eyes. Dammit. Josie Kendrew didn't do crying. She didn't do regrets. She most
certainly
didn't sit at the one stop sign in a tiny Vermont town, bawling over might-have-beens.

She pressed the gas pedal, going straight through the intersection and into a downtown area where it looked like time had pretty much stood still. There was a brand-new Rite Aid on the corner of Main and Pine, right where the crumbling old creamery had been, but other than that, everything looked the same as it had ten years ago. Still a bunch of brick storefronts backing up to the Abenaki River on the right, and a matching set crowded together on the left.

The brick was still tired, the paint on the windows was still chipped, and the glass storefronts were still dusty. Even the store names hadn't changed. The tourists rolled in at nine o'clock in the morning, and back out at five, since there was only one decent hotel in Echo Lake.

Josie sighed. The town's name suited it well. Even ten years later, it was just the same thing, over and over and over again.

Just as she headed over the Tumblebrook Bridge and up the hill out of downtown, her phone rang. It was Mom, for the second time today.

Mom, for the second time in ten years.

“Josie? It's—it's Mom. Are you—okay?”

Josie looked out the window, feeling a strong case of déjà vu creeping in. “I'm not sure how to answer that, honestly.”

“I know.” Mom's voice was quiet, clear, and Josie felt her own forehead furrow at the sound of it. “I'm home for a bit, just to gather some things and grab a bite to eat. Are you—hungry? Would you like to come ho—come over here?”

Oh boy. Besides the hospital and Snowflake Village, her childhood home was the last place she wanted to be, but she'd already managed the other two today. Maybe—just maybe—she could handle this, too?

“I'd like to see you, Josie. That's all. And—” There was a long pause. “I know the hotel's full because of Cara McAllister's wedding. You're welcome to stay here … if you want to.”

Josie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Stay at her parents' house? Could she really roll up that weed-choked driveway, open the creaky door, and pretend she was just a normal adult visiting her also-normal parents?

But did she have a choice? The next decent hotel was a good hour's drive away, and once her current adrenaline overload subsided, she was going to collapse. She took another breath and put on her blinker.

“I'll be there in five minutes.”

As she hung up, she put her hand to her stomach, trying to quell the dread.

Five minutes later, as she pulled into her parents' driveway, she was struck by the bright pansies around the mailbox and the neatly trimmed hedges under the picture window. The driveway itself looked like it'd just been resealed, and the roof looked almost new.

Gone were the overgrown weeds. Gone was the peeling paint on the shutters. Gone was the chipped wooden front door with the massive lion-head knocker and fake brass knob. In their places were new sunny yellow siding, dark blue shutters, and a classy paneled front door with beveled windows across the top.

It was the kind of house she'd always wished she'd lived in, back when she'd had friends she wished she could invite over.

Josie pulled her suitcase from the back seat and slung her purse over her shoulder, trying not to gape as she walked up the slate pathway to what looked like new brick stairs. Either her mother had hired a handyman and a gardener and a mason, or her dad was finally home for long enough to do more than wolf down a quick sandwich in front of the television.

When she got to the door, she hesitated. Yes, it was her childhood home, but she couldn't just walk in, could she? She pressed the doorbell, blowing out a breath and squaring her shoulders. She could do this. She could handle her mother, whatever state she was really in these days.

She had to.

The door swung open and Mom pushed open the screen. “Josie! Come in! You didn't have to ring the doorbell!” She ducked her head, motioning Josie in, reaching out almost like she was going to hug her, then slowly clamping her arms back at her sides.

Josie stared. Her mother looked like an L.L.Bean model, with jeans and a short-sleeved pink polo on. Leather sandals were on her feet, and her pink-painted toenails peeked out. Josie's eyes traveled upward, noting the freshly washed hair, clear complexion, painted fingernails, lipstick.

Lipstick.

“Here. Let me take that.” Mom took the handle of her suitcase and deftly scooted it through the short hallway toward the kitchen. “This place didn't get any bigger while you were gone.” Her laugh sounded nervous as Josie followed her.

“Has Dad woken up?”

“Not really, no. No…” Mom took a shaky breath.

“How bad was the stroke? Do they know yet?”

“Come sit down.” Mom set the suitcase against the pantry door, then turned to Josie. “You've had a long day already, driving all the way up here. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”

“No, thanks. I'm fine.” Apparently she wasn't ready to talk about Dad yet. Josie scanned the kitchen, trying to figure out what was different about it. The cupboards were the same aged oak they'd always been, but had new nickel-colored knobs. The countertop was the same tan Formica as always, but she couldn't put her finger on what made it all feel different.

As she glanced toward the shiny sink with a dishtowel hung neatly over the faucet, it hit her. The kitchen was not only clean; it was spotless. No cans on the countertop, no dishes in the sink, no trash overflowing its bin.

“It looks great in here.” She pulled her light sweater off and hung it on the back of a chair. “Different.”

Mom leaned against the shelf beside the sink. “Well, it's all pretty much the same kitchen as when you left. Maybe a little cleaner, though.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “My housekeeping skills are better these days than they used to be.”

Josie nodded, unsure of what to say. They both heard the unspoken words in Mom's last sentence.

“Okay, well…” Mom spun her wedding ring around as she looked everywhere but at Josie. “Are you hungry? Did you have lunch?” She moved toward the refrigerator. “I have some deli meat. I could make you a sandwich. There's turkey. From Zeb's—you know—the kind you like.” She started to open the fridge, then turned back around. “Or, I guess, used to like. I'm not sure you do anymore.”

Josie braced herself, ready for whatever assault that was bound to be the next thing out of Mom's mouth. She tried to loosen her clenched hands, one finger at a time.

The last thing she wanted was a processed-turkey sandwich from the fifty-year-old deli in town, the one with a questionable steak tips barrel and pigs' feet in glass jars. But Mom was standing at the fridge, obviously having no idea what to do with the daughter she hadn't seen in way too long. Josie didn't need to make this any harder than it already was.

She tried to smile. “I'd actually love a sandwich, thanks. And maybe a Pepsi, if you have one.”

Mom looked relieved to have something to do with her hands as she deftly put together two sandwiches, piled on some potato chips and pickles, and brought everything to the little breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen. Josie took in the woven green place mats and baby rosebuds in a crystal vase as she sat down.

Fresh-cut flowers in the kitchen? In a vase?

“Thanks. This looks great.” Josie took a bite of the sandwich, planning to choke it down as best she could. After all, if she was chewing, she wouldn't have to talk—a distinct advantage at this point.

She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the white ceramic canisters that had always snugged up against the fridge, the pot of herbs on the sill, the green teapot-shaped clock over the window. It was quiet enough to hear its soft
click-click-click
as the second hand edged around.

Mom picked up her sandwich, then set it back down with a shaky breath, looking at the clock. “Why is it clocks always move slower when you're worried?”

“Because you're worried.” Josie wiped her mouth with the paper napkin Mom had set beside her plate. “How is he really doing?”

Mom shook her head. “I don't know. I don't know
how
to know. They're throwing around so many big words—so many possible outcomes. I just—I don't know.” She blinked hard, dabbing her napkin at her eyes.

“When are you going back to the hospital?”

“After we eat. I just wanted to be here in case you came home.” She waved a shaky hand near her face. “I mean, I guess it's not home, really. I mean, not to you anymore.” She fiddled with her hair. “Wow. Sorry. I don't know
what
I mean anymore.”

Just then the phone rang, and Mom leaped to pick it up. After a series of short responses, she pressed the
END
button and put it back in its holder. “That was Dad's nurse.” She sat carefully in her chair. “The docs have just been through. Things look okay, but they're going to keep him in ICU for a while yet, sounds like.”

“How do they define
okay
?”

“At this point, I guess I'm taking it to mean he's not getting worse.”

“I'm sorry.” Josie wasn't sure what to say. Mom twisted her wedding ring again, the same thin band Dad had gotten for her when they were young and poor.
Struggling,
she corrected herself before Dad's voice in her brain could do it for her. But Josie didn't know whether Mom had put it on for her benefit, for the nurses at the hospital, or because the Kendrew marriage was actually intact again.