Seaside Reunion (24 page)

Gripping the wheel, she pressed on the accelerator, barely paused at the intersection, then turned left on the highway. The ambulance had already disappeared around a curve. She increased her speed.

And as she followed the winding road that was as familiar to her as the rugged terrain of The Point, she didn’t waste the long drive.

She used it to pray.

Acute appendicitis, requiring immediate surgery.

Lindsey gripped the arms of her chair in the ER waiting room as a nurse passed on the diagnosis. Thankfully, Nate had been coherent enough to authorize the emergency staff to share information with her.

“Did it rupture?”

“We’re not sure yet.”

“If it did, what are the risks?”

“A perforated appendix can result in peritonitis—basically, an infection in the abdominal cavity. That would be treated with intravenous antibiotics and require a longer hospital stay. There’s a small risk of more serious complications like sepsis, where the blood carries infection to other parts of the body, but that’s not something you should worry about at this point.”

Easy for her to say.

“How long will he be in surgery?”

“Depends on what they find. Plan on an hour or two.”

“Can I see him first?”

“He’s already being prepped.” The woman rose. “Let me direct you to the surgical waiting room. The doctor will look for you there when he’s finished.” She handed over a plastic bag. “The patient said we could give you his clothes and personal items.”

Lindsey pushed herself to her feet, hoping her unsteady legs would support her. She took the bag, hugging it to her chest as the woman issued the directions.

Eight minutes later, she found herself in the deserted, chair-lined room. Choosing the nearest seat, she sank into it, still clutching Nate’s things.

Was it only nine hours ago that she’d sat in the town hall as the fate of The Point was decided? Eight hours since Nate had dropped his bombshell about the dramatic changes he’d made in his life to accommodate her? Seven and a half hours since she’d let him drive away instead of throwing her arms around his neck and telling him she, too, believed they were meant to be together and was willing to take their relationship to the next level, no matter the risk?

Now he was headed for surgery.

Lindsey settled the bag on her lap, propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. She had to get a grip. An appendectomy wasn’t a heart attack. And this kind of surgery wasn’t usually life-threatening. He’d be okay.

Unless his appendix had ruptured and he got peritonitis. Or sepsis.

If he did, he could die.

Not on a battlefield, but right here in her backyard.

As that reality slammed into her, as she faced the stark truth, her stomach clenched. People didn’t die just on battlefields. A dangerous profession might increase the chance of death, but a safe profession didn’t insulate a person from mortality. Bottom line, loving was a risk.

And if she wanted to protect herself from that risk, she’d have to write off romance. Period. Send Nate packing. Refuse to fall in love with him.

Except it was too late for that. She was already falling.

Hard.

Why else would she be shaking as badly as she’d been in the ER three years ago while she’d lain in the treatment room, waiting for word on Mark?

Why else would her stomach be twisting in fear that a doctor would walk through the door here, just as one had in Sacramento, and confirm what she’d already known in her heart—that the man who was the center of her world had died?

Why else would she be asking God to spare Nate so they could make those new memories he’d talked of last night at The Point?

The faint scent of Nate’s distinctive aftershave wafted her way from the bag in her lap, and she eased the top open, glancing down as she took a long whiff. The worn jeans were familiar, as was the beige cotton shirt, rolled to the elbows. His wallet and watch sat on top of the pile, along with a handful of change. She squinted, shifting the bag around to better catch the light from the dim lamp on the other side of the room. Was that a rock?

Curious, she withdrew the small, translucent stone with the intricate white banding. An agate.

A faint memory niggled at the back of her mind, of a child’s damp palm with this stone resting in the middle. Surf crashed in the background. A little boy’s voice echoed in the recesses of her mind.

“I’ll keep this forever.”

And he had.

A literal touchstone to his past.

Throat tightening, Lindsey closed her fingers over the stone, leaned back and tipped her head against the wall.

That’s when the empty place in the small of her back registered.

She’d forgotten her Beretta.

Panic surging, she shot back up. In the two and a half years since she’d become certified to carry, she’d never left home without it. The gun made her feel safe. Protected. Able to defend herself.

Yet she’d never needed it. And the odds were high she never would.

Another truth smacked her in the face. While the gun might keep her fear of physical assault at bay, it couldn’t do a thing to alleviate the emotional fear that gripped her now.

Nor could it offer protection from the dangers of acute appendicitis.

A sob caught in her throat and she slumped back against the wall. Not long ago, she’d accused Nate of living in the past. He’d countered by declaring she was doing the same thing. That old fears were holding her back.

She’d denied it. But he’d been right.

Instead of leaving her fear and trauma in the past, she’d been letting them shape her present—and deny her the future Nate believed God had planned for them.

A future filled with love.

Tears streamed down her face, unchecked in the silent, lonely room. But as the eternal minutes crept by, as dawn’s light at last began to seep around the edges of the closed blinds, as more worried families joined her in hushed vigil for their loved ones, she finally put her trust in God—and let go of fear.

A whisper of warmth hovered at his forehead. Soft pressure followed. The faint flowery scent that was all Lindsey tickled Nate’s nostrils. And then she whispered the most beautiful words he’d ever heard.

“You better get well fast, Nate Garrison. Because I’m falling in love with you and I want to start making those new memories you promised me.”

Maybe he’d died and gone to heaven.

On second thought, he felt too sick to be dead.

Fighting back a clawing nausea reminiscent of his one and only bout with seasickness, Nate tried to open his eyes. Failed. Forced himself to try again, shocked at the enormous effort it required.

But the reward was worth it. When at last he managed to pry open his eyelids, Lindsey’s beautiful face was inches from his. Yet the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, her pallor and her shaky smile told him she hadn’t had an easy time of it, either.

“Hi.” She whispered the word, the taut line of her features easing slightly when his gaze connected with hers.

“Hi.” He swallowed, willing the nausea to subside as he tried to orient himself. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of an IV stand beside the bed. “I see I made it to the hospital.”

“Barely.”

He refocused on her, but she spoke before he could ask the question.

“Ruptured appendix. They’re pumping lots of high-powered antibiotics into you to stave off peritonitis. Last time they checked, the antibiotics were winning.”

Hoping to find a more comfortable position, he shifted. A hot poker jabbed him in the abdomen and he froze, sucking in a sharp breath.

Lindsey frowned and touched his hand. “Do you need some more pain medication?”

He clenched the sheet in his fingers. “It couldn’t hurt.”

She started to reach for the call button, but he grabbed her hand. “Not yet. You have to answer a question for me first.”

“Okay.”

“Was I dreaming just now, or did you say you were falling in love with me?”

A soft flush suffused her cheeks. “You weren’t dreaming. I had a lot of time to think—and pray—while I waited for you to get out of surgery. And I realized I’d been fooling myself all along. I could no more stop myself from falling in love with you than I could have refused to love Mark. Nor do I want to.”

She leaned closer and touched his cheek. “And to answer the question you asked me last night at The Point, yes, I can live with your situation at the
Tribune
for the next year. Because I don’t want to live without you.”

A well of tension inside Nate, so deep he’d been aware of it only at some peripheral level, began to release. In its place, he felt a joy unlike any he’d ever known. Heady enough to dull his pain. “This calls for a celebration. Or at the very least, a kiss.”

Lindsey grinned. “Are you up for that?”

He grimaced. “Honestly? No.”

“I didn’t think so.” She pressed the call button. “But I expect a rain check.”

“Count on it.”

“In the meantime, I’ll settle for this.”

Once more she leaned close. Once more her lips brushed his forehead. Once more he closed his eyes.

And as she took his hand, her fingers warm and welcoming as they captured his, Nate decided Thomas Wolfe was wrong.

You could go home again.

And sometimes, it was even better than you remembered.

Epilogue

Three and a half months later

“S
tar light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” Nate gestured to the east, where a lone star was beginning to glimmer in the dimming sky while the sun set behind them off The Point.

Lindsey smiled up at the man beside her, the childhood friend who had become much, much more in the months since he’d returned to Starfish Bay.

“There’s another line to that rhyme, you know.”

He draped an arm across her shoulders and grinned. “That’s all I remember. And even that was dredged up from who knows where. My mom must have taught it to me. What’s the rest?”

“I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

“And what is your wish, Lindsey Collier?” With his free hand, he traced the curve of her cheek.

She leaned into him, savoring his touch, then shifted toward Starfish Bay Chapel. “That Reverend Tobias could be here to hold one last Christmas Eve service tonight.”

Silence fell, broken only by the muted crash of waves and the caw of a gull. She’d spent so many happy Christmas Eves in the bough-bedecked church, joining other Starfish Bay residents to celebrate a birth that had changed the world. Now those candlelight services were gone forever.

And in a week, her own world would change, too. On January 2, Mattson Properties would begin dismantling the chapel and start construction of the inn. Although she’d reconciled herself to the inevitable months ago, it was still hard to say goodbye.

“I have a feeling the good minister is here in spirit. I can almost feel his presence. And hear him telling us to stop living in the past and make the most of the present.” Nate tugged her closer, shielding her from the wind.

Lindsey smiled. “In his gentle way, of course.”

“Of course. That’s why his counsel was so effective. And unforgettable.”

“I agree.” She sighed and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I guess we better head back. Dad’s ham will be coming out of the oven soon, and Genevieve and Lillian are probably already at the house. Clint’s going to stop by, too, since he’s all alone for the holiday. Did I tell you he found a firm to develop an interpretive trail on the public-use area of the headland? That will be a great use for the money people donated to Save the Point.”

“You mentioned some plans were in the works. I didn’t know it was a done deal, though.”

“As of yesterday. But you were engrossed in your latest column, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Genius at work and all that.” She grinned at him.

“Not quite.”

“Absolutely.” She wasn’t about to let him downplay his talent. “You get more mail than any other columnist. As you should. And I predict tomorrow’s piece will generate a phenomenal response. I loved your whole take on the criteria for a perfect gift—and how you worked in the reference to my snow globe. Which is front and center on our mantel, by the way.” She squeezed his hand. “The
Tribune
is lucky to have you. And so am I.”

The tender smile he gave her warmed her as thoroughly as sunshine banishes the chill after a storm. “You told me your wish. Now I’ll tell you mine.”

When he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small box wrapped in silver paper, Lindsey’s pulse skittered.

“Seems like history repeating itself, doesn’t it?” He grinned as he led her toward the bench the developer had promised to save and reinstall beside the new chapel, tugging her down beside him as he sat. “Twenty-five years ago I gave the best friend I’ve ever had the snow globe you just mentioned to let her know how much she meant to me. Tonight I’d like to give the only woman I’ve ever loved a different gift—but the intent is the same.”