Sweet Tomorrows (18 page)

A nurse spoke from behind me. I hadn't been aware anyone else was in the room. “You have five minutes.”

I nodded, stepped up to Mark's bed, and reached for his hand. It was cool to the touch.

“Mark,” I whispered. “It's Jo Marie. I'm here. I love you.” As I spoke my voice gained strength. “I need to tell you something important, so listen carefully.” I drew in a deep breath. “If you came all the way back to me from Iraq just to die, I swear to you I will never forgive you. I'm serious, Mark.” I kissed his limp hand, bending down and pressing my warm lips against his cold skin. “I love you. Please, don't leave me.” The tears came then, falling unrestrained down my cheeks. “You can't leave me, Mark. You can't have come this far to die.”

Jo Marie's voice came at me from the dark void. I'd heard her before; her sweet voice whispered to me when I was wild with fever. This was different. So real and close.

Was it possible? Could she actually be with me? How did she get to Iraq? No, it was the fever again. It had to be. It wasn't safe for her here. I moaned, a warning, silently begging her to leave. No sound came from my throat. My heart thudded hard in my chest, paining me. The pain and the heaviness grew tighter, stronger.

A distant voice shouted out. “Code blue. Code blue.”

I knew what that meant. I was dying. Darkness threatened to overwhelm me, to swallow me whole.

“No. No.”

Jo Marie again, screaming this time, calling out to me, begging me to stay with her.

“Don't you dare die on me, Mark Taylor.”

It was her and she wasn't a whispered voice of my dreams, of my need. Mentally I reached out to her as the darkness yanked at me from the other side in a violent tug of war, a tug against death.

Death was slowly gaining momentum, the darkness swamping me from all sides.

“Mark,” Jo Marie screamed again. “I love you…no. Please, no.”

Love. I felt it reaching out to me like a thin sliver of light. With every bit of strength I possessed, I leaned toward that needlepoint of sunshine, that tiny hole of warmth and love.

It wasn't enough. The darkness was too strong.

I stood in the hospital corridor and leaned against the wall, slowly sinking toward the floor as nurses and doctors rushed to Mark's bedside. I saw the heart monitor go flat and the frantic efforts of the physician to revive him.

I couldn't look, couldn't see the man I loved declared dead. Burying my face in my hands, I leaned forward until my forehead was braced against my knees.

Someone came for me and helped me to straighten. Officer Whitney again. “Let me take you to a waiting area,” he urged.

I looked up into his young face and adamantly shook my head. “No. I need to stay. I have to stay.”

I glanced back at Mark and the medical staff gathered around his bedside, feverishly working to revive him. I refused to leave Mark. Not now. I believed he would manage to cling to life only if I was close by. It was a crazy assumption, but I felt that as strongly as I have ever felt anything. He needed me there with him. He needed to feel my love. Only that would give him the strength to hold on.

“It's better if you go.”

The voice was gentle, concerned.

“I can't.”

“The staff is doing everything…”

I heard it then and gasped. It was the heart monitor. Mark's heart had started to beat again. Looking up at the officer, I managed a smile. He blinked as if he didn't know what to say.

I did.

“Love brought him back,” I whispered.

He chuckled. “Actually, ma'am, I think he might have heard your threat as well.”

I smiled then, too.

Emily and Nick sat in his nearly renovated kitchen in his grandparents' home—his home now. She'd called and explained there was some sort of emergency happening with Jo Marie.

Emily hadn't come out and said she'd be his friend, but she hadn't talked about moving away, either. That gave him reason to hope she would remain in Cedar Cove for the time being.

One certainty was the shift in their relationship. He wanted her, that hadn't changed. But the desire he felt had been shoved to the back burner. He'd promised he wouldn't hurt her, not after what had happened to her previously. What she told him was all so new and he'd made a quick decision and hadn't taken time to think matters through. What he realized now was that no woman had ever had a more powerful impact on him. No matter what, he was determined to do right by Emily; it was what she deserved.

As of now they were still finding their way. When they talked, it was about mundane things like the color of the paint for the kitchen or some other aspect of the renovation. He'd asked her to stop by and she had.

No sooner had she arrived when her cell distracted her. From the gist of the conversation, he could tell it was her mother.

“I'm healing nicely. Everything's fine, I promise you.” She finished with a groan. “Mom, that isn't necessary.”

Her mother sounded like his own, which was one reason he'd avoided contact with his parents. They knew where he was and what he was doing, but he'd asked that they not contact him. Nick realized how difficult that was for his mother, but she'd reluctantly abided by his wishes. It was hard enough dealing with the fact that he'd basically killed his brother without having to look at the tormented agony in his parents' eyes.

Emily's mother droned on and she offered him an apologetic smile.

“No, I'm not back to running yet. I want the ankle to get stronger. Mom, please, don't.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “You're too busy to do that. I appreciate the thought, but—”

Her mother apparently cut her off.

“Yes, I'll be in touch soon.”

Nick couldn't hear what her mother said, but he noticed how Emily's brow wrinkled as if concerned. “I wish I could get away, I do, but Jo Marie needs me here for now. I'm looking after the inn for her.”

More chatter from the other end as her mother commented.

“She's at the hospital most every day now. I think she'd sleep there if the staff would let her. From what I understand, Mark is getting better. He's still in a coma, but she's convinced he knows she's there, and I think she's right.”

Nick wasn't sure he agreed love had that kind of power, but then he was a guy, and men, he believed, tended to be more skeptical about these matters than women. Besides, love was foreign to him. His experience with it, other than with family, had been fleeting. He'd loved his high school sweetheart and his college one, too, but those relationships hadn't lasted. There'd been a wide variety of women throughout his twenties, for most of whom he couldn't remember their faces or their names.

He'd been best man and an usher in friends' weddings, and when they'd explained that he'd know when he met “the one,” Nick had scoffed. But after meeting Emily, for the first time, he had an inkling of what that meant. He'd been drawn to her right away. It was unfortunate that nothing more would likely come of it. But he knew deep down that he wanted a family one day, and he refused to mislead her or hurt her at some point down the road.

With that in mind, he struggled with guilt, asking for her friendship. It was selfish, narcissistic, and bordered on insensitive to expect her to help him. All Nick knew was that being with her brought him peace, and that was a commodity he needed desperately.

He'd shamelessly used the house as an excuse, requesting her advice on a variety of decisions. He recognized that real estate agent and once he thought it over he felt Dana might have inquired about his interest in selling the house on Emily's behalf. He used the knowledge for his own purposes.

Em quickly ended the conversation with her mother and cast him an apologetic look. “Sorry, that was my mother. She called to see how my ankle was doing.”

“Mothers worry.”

“Mine is the queen of it. You'd think I'd had my leg amputated from the way she's acting. She's sending me a care package; she wanted me to collect it myself, but I had to tell her I couldn't.”

“I don't know what Jo Marie would do without you.” Emily had filled in beautifully for the innkeeper. He didn't know who this Mark guy was, but then it wasn't necessary that he did. Having Jo Marie occupied kept Emily at the inn, and that was what mattered to Nick.

“You've been a great help, too,” she told him.

The hot water heater at the inn had acted up and he'd been able to fix it without the hassle of having it replaced. Big deal. Emily had needed a favor and it was something he was comfortable doing. Not that he would for anyone else, but for Em, he'd walk through fire.

His stomach growled. It was lunchtime.

“I brought sandwiches for lunch,” Emily said.

She'd arrived with a woven basket that apparently held their meal. Elvis wandered into the kitchen at the mention of food. The dog had an uncanny ability to show up at mealtimes. He seemed more content, Nick noticed, whenever Emily was around. Both Elvis and him.

“Sandwiches?” he repeated.

“I hope you like curry, as in curry chicken.”

“My favorite.” It would be if Emily made it. “Don't suppose you brought any of those homemade cookies along with you, too?” He might be pushing his luck, but Nick had a craving for cookies ever since she'd brought him that plate a few weeks back.

“Getting a little greedy, aren't you?”

Nick enjoyed that they could tease each other and that she'd grown more at ease with him. “It's your fault, you know. You're the one who introduced me to your baking.”

Emily opened the basket and handed him a wrapped sandwich. “Count your blessings.”

He took it but couldn't take his eyes off her. “I am grateful every single day.” He hadn't had a panic episode in more than two weeks, and that was a record. Early on, shortly after they'd buried his brother, his parents wanted him to see a specialist. Nick was having none of it. No way was he lying down on some couch and spilling his guts to a stranger.

No way. No how.

He'd deal with these attacks in his own way and in his own time. Eventually, he reasoned, he'd find a way to control them. He hadn't experienced much success until he'd met Emily. Having her close had done more good than ten doctors and a dozen prescription tranquilizers. He couldn't explain what it was about her that soothed his spirit. It wasn't necessary that he examine his psyche. He simply accepted that she had the gift.

They sat at the card table he'd set up in the kitchen. The kitchen remodel was almost complete. Nick saw Emily studying the walls and could see the wheels of her imagination turning. It was almost as if he could read her mind.

“What do you suggest for the color?” he asked, thinking she'd go with what Jo Marie had chosen for her kitchen, a pale yellow that seemed to brighten the entire area.

“Don't think I'm crazy, but I think a light brown would be perfect.”

“Brown?” he repeated, more than a little surprised. That was completely off his radar. “Why brown?”

“The cabinets are off-white and the brown will show them off. Not a deep dark brown but more of a lighter shade. If you want, I can pick up a few paint chips or even a pint to show you what I mean.”

“Sure, that would be great.” The less he had to deal with being in public the better.

The curried chicken was even better than he'd expected. The curry flavor didn't overpower the chicken, and he wolfed down the sandwich, surprised by how hungry he was. He paused when he noticed that Emily had barely taken a bite. He set the apple slice aside, certain there was something on her mind.

It was as if that was the signal she'd been waiting for. She laid down her untouched half sandwich. “You asked that we be friends.”

He didn't need the reminder. “Yeah. Have you thought about that?”

She nodded. “You mentioned you'd become something of a recluse.”

“What of it?” He didn't mean to sound defensive, but he didn't want to delve into the fact he had trouble being around a lot of people. The reasons weren't apparent, although there was probably some deep psychological reason behind his uneasiness with crowds. One or two he could handle without a problem. He'd challenged himself to go inside the bar and then sat in his car on edge the entire time. It was only when Emily went in that he found the courage to leave his vehicle and follow her.

“I'm willing to be your friend, but I need something from you in return.”

“O-k-a-y,” he murmured, dragging out the word. While he might have sounded like that wasn't a problem, it just might be.

“I can't be the only one giving in this friendship.”

She had a valid point. “True.”

“You need to give me something in return.”

He sat up straighter, building an invisible wall between them.

“So,” she said, and seemed to be carefully broaching the subject, “what would you think about taking a walk along the beach later this afternoon?”

Right away he could see them walking along the sandy shore, hand in hand, the wind at their backs while they collected seashells, chased seagulls, and laughed together. That definitely wasn't going to work. No touching. No kissing. No nothing. He'd promised her that and he wouldn't go back on his word no matter how hard it was.

“Nick, did you hear me?”

He inhaled slowly. “Yeah, I heard. There a lot of people at the beach?”

“Probably.”

He exhaled. “Not a good idea.”

“Seems to me there were a lot of people at that biker bar.”

What he didn't tell her was that he felt like he was about to suffocate the entire time.

“You said being around me helped you.”

“It does.”

“Then let me help you.”

“Not like this. You can't fix me, Em. Don't try. If that's a condition of your friendship, then you had best go now.”

She held his look for a long moment. “I went online and read up on PTSD, and I think I know what you're going through.”

“You don't,” he flared, and leaped to his feet. He rammed his fingers through his hair to the point of pain as he paced the kitchen. “My brother is dead because of me, because I was too drunk to drive and asked Brad to take the wheel.” His breathing started to falter, coming in short gasps. Nick did what he could to bring it under control. He sat back down and sucked in a breath. His knees started to bounce, which was always the start of his panic attacks. Not another episode.
Not now,
he pleaded.
Please, God, not now.

“Nick, are you all right?”

“No…it would be better if you left.” He didn't wait; he needed to get away from her. Leaping up, he found a corner in the living room and sank to the floor, covering his head with both his arms, overwhelmed by the memory of watching his brother's life leave him as Nick held Brad's battered body. The horror of that moment played like a movie stuck on repeat. Groaning, he started to rock back and forth, lost in the agony of knowing he was the one responsible. It should have been him who died. Not Brad. Not his younger brother.

“Nick…Nick.” Her voice came to him, sounding as though it had gone through a deep underground tunnel.

Nick felt her arms come around him and, God help him, he clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder as she comforted him, speaking softly, running her hands along his back, whispering words of encouragement.

He didn't know how long they sat like that. Nick released a deep sigh and eased away from her, embarrassed that she'd witnessed his breakdown. Mortified, he couldn't look at her.