How (Not) to Fall in Love (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

T
he ambulance siren wailed as we flew down the highway. I sat on the bench next to the EMT, holding Dad’s limp, sedated hand. The sheriff’s car led us, lights and sirens clearing the traffic out of the way, with Toby in the backseat.

The EMT was kind. “Do you want me to call someone to meet us at the hospital?”

“No.” My voice wobbled. “I’ll do it.” The sheriff had wanted to call Mom himself, but I’d insisted that I do it. If a sheriff had called her, she’d have keeled right over. Or started drinking again.

“Please don’t say his name over the emergency radio,” I’d begged the sheriff. I couldn’t handle reporters showing up at the hospital.

“You really need your mother,” he’d insisted. “You’re a minor, technically. I don’t want to call social services. You’ve been through enough. I can see that.”

“She’ll come, I swear she will. I’ll call her from the ambulance.”

My phone shook in my trembling hands as I tried to balance on the bench seat as we flew down the highway. I decided to call Charlie, since he’d be calmer than Mom.

“Charlie.” My voice was strangled with suppressed tears. I wanted so badly to break down. But I couldn’t, not yet.

“Tell me where you are.” His voice was sharp with worry. I knew he heard the sirens.

“Cheyenne. The hospital.” I looked at the EMT for help.

“The Regional Medical Center,” he said.

I repeated it to Charlie.

“Ty?” Charlie said. “Is he—”

“He’s not dead. But he’s sick, Charlie.”

So very, very sick.

“We’re leaving right now.”

I
told the doctor what had happened, describing Dad’s behavior since I’d found him.

“He’s malnourished and dehydrated,” the doctor told me. “We’re getting liquids into him now.” He paused and looked at me. “When will your mother be here?”

“Soon,” I said. “They’re driving up from Denver.”

He nodded. “We’ll talk more then. Have the nurse page me when your mom arrives.”

I nodded and wandered to a small waiting room outside the ICU. It was blissfully quiet. I sank onto a couch and dropped my head in my hands. Breathe. Just breathe.

After what seemed like hours, the sound of running feet made me look up. It was Mom, with Charlie and Lucas close behind her. They burst into the waiting room. Mom grabbed me, crying and exclaiming. Charlie hugged me next, telling me everything would be okay. Finally it was Lucas’s turn. His body was like a taut wire, holding me so close I could hardly breathe. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let me out of his grip.

The sheriff came into the room and calmed everyone down. He told Mom about my 911 call and the condition my dad was in when he’d found us on the highway. He asked if I felt able to make a formal statement, to tell him what had happened since I’d found my dad at the henge with the hippies.

“Does she have to do that right now?” Charlie asked, looking like a protective archangel.

Lucas’s arm tightened around me as we sat on the vinyl couch. I glanced at him and saw his jaw clench. He’d hardly said a word since he’d arrived but he hadn’t let me out of his grip.

“She’s exhausted,” my mom protested. “Can’t we do this later?”

The sheriff sighed. “I know the doctor wants to see you right away,” he said to my mom. “I can wait a little while.”

“Thank you,” my mom breathed. She turned her tear-filled eyes to mine.

The doctor arrived, looking slightly taken aback at the room full of people.

“Are you all related to Mr. Covington?” he asked.

My mom shot a glance at Lucas, then looked at the doctor. Her shoulders straightened and her eyes narrowed. “Yes.” She paused. “This is his family.”

I sagged against Lucas’s chest and felt his heart pounding.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “All right.” He glanced at me, then my mother. “Your daughter found your husband, as you know. He was in bad shape. It’s a good thing she got to him when she did. His physical condition isn’t good.” He paused. “But we can fix that. However, his mental condition…” He looked into my mother’s eyes. “He’s not well, Mrs. Covington. We need to do a psych evaluation.” He hesitated. “Nervous breakdown isn’t an official medical diagnosis, but it’s the easiest way to explain it, until you meet with the psychiatrist and hear it from her. I’m guessing acute stress disorder, possibly dissociation.”

My mother nodded. She didn’t look shocked. “Do what you need to, doctor.”

“He’ll need to stay here for a while.”

“Then so will I,” Mom said, her voice strong and clear.

T
he sheriff returned and I told him my story. Lucas brought me cinnamon tea from the cafeteria. He sat across from me and watched me with burning intensity while I talked. When I got to the part about the henge builder with the gun, Lucas swore under his breath. Mom gasped. Charlie dropped his head to his hands. Finally I finished. The sheriff snapped his notebook closed. He looked around the room, his gaze resting on me.

“You’re a very brave young lady. You probably saved your father’s life. If he’d kept wandering, in his condition…”

Mom started crying again. Charlie stood up and walked over to me, resting his hand on my shoulder. “She is her father’s daughter,” he said. “A force of nature.”

I stared at my lap. I didn’t feel like a force of nature. I felt like a worn-out rag doll.

The sheriff handed his business card to me. “You can come get your truck and your dog at the station anytime.” His mouth twitched. “Though I hear the desk jockeys are getting attached to that mutt.”

Mom and Charlie left the room. They stood in the hallway, talking in soft voices, darting glances at me through the window every few seconds.

“Finally,” Lucas whispered. “I need to tell you something.”

“Me first,” I said, taking his face in my hands. “I love you, Lucas Martinez. I should’ve told you before.” I smiled weakly. “If this were one of my favorite movies, this is where I’d make some big flowery speech. Like you did to me.” I kissed him softly. “But I’m too tired for speeches.”

“That’s okay. I’m better at them than you are.” He grinned. “Ready for my speech?”

“Make it quick,” I said. “I’m very close to fainting from stress, so if you’re dumping me, skip right to the end.”

He pulled me toward him. “Charlie’s right. You are a force of nature. And I couldn’t stand to lose you, tornado girl.” He ran his hands through my hair but his intense gaze stayed riveted on my face. “I love you, Darcy Covington. But if you ever do anything like this again, I’ll chase you down and I won’t stop until I find you, and whoever you’re trying to rescue.”

Tears collected in the corners of my eyes, ready to spill over. “Stupid Lancelot,” I whispered. “Always wanting the glory for himself.”

His eyes roamed over my face, then drifted down to my neck. His eyes widened in surprise, then he shook his head, smirking. “You totally cheated. You’re worse than Pickles. I have to hide all her presents. Guess I have to hide yours now, too.”

I tried to look indignant. “Isn’t the knight supposed to bring a token of affection when she goes into battle?”

“Still cheating,” he said, but before I could argue, he bent his head over mine and kissed me so deeply and urgently I forgot where I was, and why I was there, for a few blissful minutes.

We might have stayed that way forever if Mom hadn’t opened the door.

“Who wants something to eat?”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

December 20

“
Y
ou and Lucas are driving the truck back to Denver. Charlie and I are staying here with your father.” Mom’s bossy tone reassured me that Dad’s condition hadn’t sent her back to a dark place. We sat in a diner across the street from the hospital.

“But I want to stay with Dad.” I was surprised at the words that came out of my mouth. But I’d found him. I’d gotten him to a hospital. I’d heard his confession. I wanted to see this all the way through. “Besides,” I argued, “I don’t want to spend Christmas by myself.”

Lucas squeezed my hand under the table. “You won’t be alone,” he murmured.

Mom shook her head. “No, honey, you’ve been through enough. You can come back to see him again, once he’s settled. But for now I want you to go home and rest. I need to stay here for a few days to meet with the doctors and figure out what’s next. I’ll drive home for Christmas, I promise.”

Lucas squeezed my hand again. “Your mom’s right.”

“You can stay with Liz,” Charlie said. “She’d love to have you.”

“I might want to go home.” I said. “Our new home.” I looked at Mom. “I feel safe there.”

Mom tilted her head. “Well, you’ve certainly proven that you can take care of yourself.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

I
watched Dad from the doorway of the hospital room. Tubes snaked out of his nose and mouth. The click-clicking of the machines hooked up to him were the only noises in the room. I walked toward him slowly, as if the floor were quicksand.

I’d slept like a rock the night before in a motel by the hospital, in a bed next to my mom. When I awoke, I’d hoped it had all been a bad dream.

But as I stood in the hospital room watching my father, part of me was grateful it wasn’t a dream, because maybe now he had a fighting chance. My stomach knotted as I looked down at his battered face. Had I really saved him? Or was I too late?

All I could do now was wait, and hope, and pray. I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered. “Come home. Soon.”

Lucas waited for me in the hall. He took my hand and looked into my eyes, but said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Charlie and Mom met us in the parking lot by the truck, which Lucas had picked up from the police station. Toby leaned out of the truck window, tail wagging.

Mom and I held each other tightly. “Keep your phone on,” she commanded. “I’ll call you every day.”

I managed a smile. “I promise I won’t turn it off again. Maybe now you can learn how to text more than three words at a time.”

She laughed and hugged me again. “I just might surprise you.”

Charlie stepped forward and smothered me in a hug. “I love you, favorite niece,” he whispered in my ear. He released me and looked at Lucas. “Take care of her, Lucas, and the store. I’ll be back this weekend.”

Lucas nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“Darcy can take care of herself,” Mom said. She paused. “But I’m grateful to know Lucas is around.” She gave him a meaningful look and he returned it, nodding. I knew they were both remembering the night he’d helped her to bed. The night everything had changed between him and me.

Lucas opened the driver’s side door of the Grim Reaper, but I put out a hand to stop him.

“I’d like to drive.”

He cocked an eyebrow, surprised. “Do you think you should?”

“I got myself here, didn’t I? Right now, I’d like to be in control of something.”

He dropped the keys into my waiting palm. “As you wish, Shaker Girl.”

I settled myself into the seat. Toby sandwiched himself between us, curling into a ball next to Lucas.

“Ready?” I smiled at him.

He grinned at me, the first real smile I’d seen from him since he’d arrived. “Ready.”

We drove out of the parking lot, waving. Mom wiped her eyes. Charlie saluted.

As we idled at a stoplight, Lucas plugged his iPod adapter into the lighter slot and queued up one of my favorite bands.

“Aren’t you the Boy Scout? Always prepared.”

“I know. It’s like I have to do everything. I bet you didn’t even think of getting snacks.”

He tossed a bag of peanut M&M’s on my lap.

“How’d you know they’re my favorite?”

His eyes glinted. “I’m very observant.”

“Yeah, you are. And full of surprises.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Not nearly as many as you.” He reached over and ran a finger down my cheek.

Shivering from his touch, I reached out to rub the ninja shakers glued to the dash. “For luck,” I told him.

Lucas shook his head. “You don’t need luck, Darcy. You never did.” His eyes locked on mine and I marveled at the emotion I saw reflecting back at me.

The light changed to green and I took a steadying breath as I revved the engine. “Ready?”

His low voice washed over me like a caress. “Ready for anything, as long as it’s with you.”

I headed for the highway and rolled down my window to let the cold wind in. My ponytail whipped around my neck, tickling my skin. I shot a grin at Lucas, who gave me his sexiest smirk in return.

The highway unfurled like a ribbon ahead of us. I gunned the engine, feeling the energy vibrate through me, enough to take us all the way to the stars and back again.

Epilogue

Denver Daily News

The Secret Scoop from the Street

by “Crystal Ball”

Reaping Their Harvests

It’s been almost a year since Tyler Covington made his last televised appearance on PBS. Since then I’ve followed his disappearance, rumors of embezzlement, and his hushed return to an inpatient mental hospital. I’ve been told his daughter was the one who finally found him, at a hippie commune somewhere in the mountains of Montana, but no one will confirm the story.

Here’s what I can confirm: J.J. Briggs, acting president of Tri!Umphant! Harvest Industries, was fired by the board of directors in the midst of bankruptcy proceedings. He now faces charges of fraud, embezzlement, misleading stockholders, and a slew of other charges that will keep his attorneys busy for a long time.

Insiders tell me that Briggs knew Covington was troubled and contemplating leaving Harvest, but instead of getting him help, Briggs concocted a crazy plan to “wake him up,” starting with the repossession of his daughter’s car from her school last fall, seizing the Covington home by forging a signature on the deed, and blaming Covington for real estate investments that crashed when the rest of the market did. Investments that Briggs made, not Covington. But there are rumors about Covington, too, that parts of his inspirational story were fabricated. No one from Harvest will confirm or deny these claims, and you can find just as many Covington supporters as detractors if you scan the internet.

Covington spent his life talking about harvests: planting, reaping, and sowing. It appears that J.J. Briggs is reaping his harvest. I can only hope that Covington reaps his as well, because no matter what other truths come out, he’s helped countless people, and been a huge pillar in the local nonprofit community. I hope that someday whatever he plants bears new fruit.

L
ucas insists on driving his car to the cabin. He likes to drive fast and the Grim Reaper doesn’t do fast. He’s wearing sunglasses and a necklace of random beads, specially made by Pickles. I made the twisted copper bracelet that glints in the sun as he downshifts into third gear.

“Pull off here.” I point to the exit. His car bounces down the rutted road. “Your precious baby car,” I say. “We should’ve brought the truck.”

He snorts in mock disgust.

There’s whimpering from the backseat. I turn around. “Hush, Toby. We’re almost there.” Chocolate eyes lock onto mine. Brown fur shimmers in the sunshine. His tail whacks the seat, sending fur everywhere.

“It’s like a dog hair tsunami back there,” I say.

Lucas downshifts to second gear. “Like I care.”

I turn back around and there it is. Our cabin. Not ours anymore, I correct myself. It belongs to the Sullivan family now, but they agreed to let me come up to do this. I can pretty much talk anybody into anything these days.

We park and Toby half falls, half climbs into the front seat, eager to get out of the car. Lucas removes his sunglasses, watching me with his usual sexy smirk.

“Give it up,” he says as I try to rein in my dog. “He’s a spaz.”

I open the door and Toby leaps out, making a beeline for the forest.

“You ready, Shaker Girl?”

“As much as I can be.”

We hike down the trail. Purple crocuses peek out of patches of spring snow that still linger in the shade. Lucas takes my hand, his grip warm and firm. I remember the first time he almost held my hand, when we’d walked Toby together and he’d told me how his dad had checked out, just like my mom.

Stonehenge is still in shambles from when I destroyed it.

“Show me what to do,” Lucas says, squeezing my hand. So I do, and together we rebuild it, using the old photo on my phone as our guide.

When we’re finished with the stones, I ask him to dig a small hole in the center of the circle. He does, but I realize we’re missing something. Frantically I search for the heart stone, dropping to my knees to dig in the dirt.

“What is it?” Lucas asks.

Toby rushes into the circle, screeching to a stop next to me. I’m about to scold him, when I see the corner of the stone sticking out from under his paw. He’s unearthed it for me. I reach out to smooch his head. He slurps my cheek, and then bounds out of the circle, managing to do so without knocking down any stones.

“This.” I hand it to Lucas. He takes it, then reaches for me with his other hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Cool.”

“My dad and I found it a long time ago. We made wishes on it every time we came up here.”

Lucas presses the stone into my hand, his grip warm and reassuring.

“Make your wish,” he says.

“Not yet.” I hand the stone back to him. I retrieve my messenger bag from outside of the circle, and remove a Ziploc bag that holds all of Dad’s postcards. A deep sigh shudders through me. Lucas’s arm wraps around my shoulders. My eyes lift to his. Even though I know how much he loves me, sometimes it still takes my breath away when I see it in his face.

I drop to my knees and place the postcards in the hole. Lucas shovels dirt, burying the images forever.

“Now,” I say, palm uplifted. He hands me the heart stone.

I place the heart stone on the mound of dirt and close my eyes. A million wishes flood my mind. How can I make just one?

Who says I need to?

So I wish, and wish, and wish.

After a bit, Lucas asks softly, “Are you ready?”

I sink back on my heels and look around at our stones. The Sullivans promised they’d leave it like this as long as they owned the cabin. On the hills surrounding us, many of the old pines are brown from beetle kill, but there’s new life, too. Young green flashes of it catch my eye everywhere I look.

I pick up the heart stone and put it in my pocket. I stand, brushing dirt off my pants. I squint into the sun as I smile up at Lucas.

“You’re not leaving the heart stone here?” Lucas asks.

I shake my head. “I’m bringing it to my dad.”

He smiles down at me, then drapes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we walk together.

“Let me drive your car?” I ask. “I feel like going fast.” He grins and tosses me his keys.

Mom texts me as I slide into the driver’s seat.
“Okay?”

“Okay,”
I send back.

“I visited Dad before work,”
she texts.
“He sends his love.”

Mom is the director of Sprites, a daycare center less than a mile from our new home. She got a small business loan to open the center. She tried every bank in town, refusing to take no for an answer. Eventually she got a yes.

The truth about Dad and Harvest is out there now, on the web, in the papers, on the business news channels. So is the truth about J.J. Like Dad always said, no matter how deeply a seed is planted, it always finds the light of day. Eventually.

Over the past few months, I’ve forgiven J.J. because I know he couldn’t imagine a different life than the one Harvest provided for him and his family. I know he was terrified Harvest wouldn’t survive if Dad told the truth. I also found an old show of Dad’s on YouTube, where he talked about forgiveness, and how it opens you up to possibilities you can’t even imagine.

And in the end, J.J.’s still the guy who gave me the pink Barbie bike and taught me how to ride without training wheels. That’s the guy I want to remember.

“Illness isn’t failure,” Mom said at the press conference she’d called after she’d returned from Wyoming and gotten Dad settled in a local facility. She’d been so brave facing those TV cameras and clamoring reporters. I’d been so proud of her as I’d stood next to her. When it was my turn to talk I’d taken my inspiration from her, and from Dad, speaking directly to the cameras, my voice clear and strong. “My dad made mistakes,” I said. “And he regrets them. But he never meant to hurt anyone. All he ever wanted was to inspire people to do more than they thought they could. To become who they were meant to be.”

I’ll visit Dad later today and give him the heart stone. We’ll sit outside on a bench in the bright Colorado sun. He’ll listen while I tell him funny stories from my time at Liz’s, about the movies Lucas and I’ve seen, and the crazy costumes Sal wore in the Woodbridge spring play. I’ll tell him I’ve decided to turn down the scholarship opportunity that Woodbridge offered me. I’m going to do my senior year at Sky Ridge instead. I’ll drag Lucas to one last school dance, only I won’t puke in his car like the goddess. Since Mark is graduating this year, my only friend left at WA is Sal, and we’ll always see each other, no matter what. Friends for life.

Charlie will visit Dad, too, bringing used books from his store and pastries from Liz. From what Charlie tells me, he and Dad have really long talks. Sometimes Dad cries, but he laughs, too. And Charlie says each visit brings them closer.

Dad’s treatment time is almost up at the inpatient mental health facility, so he’ll be coming home soon. Mrs. Hamilton, his secretary from Harvest, insisted on setting up a desk and tiny office in the basement of our new house. She’s convinced the next chapter of Dad’s story will be a bestseller, if he’s willing to tell it. A lot of other people Dad knows have reached out to Mom, some of them famous, some of them not, but all of them expressing love and support for Dad, and us.

We hear from trolls and haters, too, of course, but we ignore them.

Lucas and I don’t say much as we drive down from the mountains. Toby snores from the backseat, exhausted from chasing rabbits. We listen to one of my favorite songs because the lyrics have propped me up for a long time now, lyrics about bending, not breaking. About the redemptive power of love.

I don’t know what’s next for my family or me. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes that takes more courage than facing down the fiercest dragon. But I’m not afraid anymore, and I’m not alone.

And in the end, that’s all that matters.