Wedding at Willow Lake (5 page)

“Fair enough. That’s not so bad.” He tossed his napkin onto his plate and pushed back, resting against the booth. “I missed a lot about living here—my family, the guys…you.”

“Why didn’t you call, then?”

“OK, this one’s harder.” Brody’s lips pursed into a thin line and his words were clipped. “You made it clear what you wanted—or didn’t want. I tried my best to honor that. I stopped by your house once when I came to visit my folks, but you were already gone to medical school.”

“My mom never told me.”

“I asked her not to. I figured there was no point, given the circumstances.” He reached for his soda glass, his eyes dark and stormy as they pierced her over the rim. “The last thing you needed then was a distraction.”

The comment startled her, and she sat back from him, shifting in the seat and crossing her arms as she gathered her thoughts. “You were never a distraction, Brody. I just figured you didn’t care.”

“Funny thing is, a phone works both ways.” He grimaced, setting his glass back on the table as the server brought over a small plate filled will chocolate tiramisu.

The perky, braces-clad teenager smiled as she placed it in front of Catherine, along with a pair of forks. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thanks. This will do for now.” Brody turned back to address Catherine. “Which makes me wonder why you never called me, either.”

“I’m supposed to be asking the questions.”

“I get a turn, too.”

“Share?” Catherine offered him a fork and slid the tiramisu toward the center of the table. “I’ll never be able to finish this alone.”

“Glad to help.” He took the fork, scooped off an end of the dessert as he glanced her way. “So, answer this…was it that easy for you to just let everything—us—go?”

“No.” She stabbed a piece of tiramisu and hesitated only a moment before adding, “It nearly killed me, Brody, the hurt from missing you. Some nights I woke up and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but you.” For the slightest moment, the suffocating feeling returned. The nape of her neck grew clammy beneath the fall of her hair and her chest constricted painfully. “I functioned, sure.” Her words weren’t much more than a gasp. “Medical school requires a person to function in order to survive the whole internship process. You learn to shut off the insecurities and exhaustion, as well as your emotions. But I wasn’t alive…not here.” She flattened a palm to her chest. “Never here.”

“Then why, Cate?” Brody took her hand, uncoiling her fingers and twining them with his. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Because I’d made such a mess of things; I figured I didn’t deserve a second chance.” Tears suddenly flooded her eyes, blurring her vision, and she was helpless to keep them from overflowing. “And I didn’t want to hurt you, Brody. Lord knows I had hurt you enough.”

“You did what you thought was right.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed the tips gently, sending a jolt of electricity rippling up the length of her spine. “We both did. We were both young and naïve. It probably would have ended badly.”

“It did end badly.”

“You know what I mean. Time has a way of providing perspective—and common sense. Most of it is downright painful.” He reached across the table to brush away her tears. “I should have never pressured you. I was just so…”

“I know. Me, too.”

“Do you believe in second chances, Cate?”

“I do.” She nodded, capturing her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. “My faith, in large part, is based on a firm belief in second chances.”

“Mine, as well. We always did share that, didn’t we, Cate—a strong faith?”

“Yes.”

“Then, do you think…could we try?”

“I’ve missed you, Brody.” She lifted her napkin to dab her eyes through sniffles. “And I’d like a second chance…very much.”

6

“Dr. Jones, you might want to take a quick look at the kid in room six.” Sheila, the intake nurse, strode toward Catherine down the narrow hall. The woman looked slightly frazzled from battling five-year-old twins in need of immunizations for the upcoming school year.

“What’s going on?”

“Eleven-year-old male with a fishing hook in the shoulder. It doesn’t look too serious, and Marian said she can take care of it herself, but the guy in the room with the kid specifically requested you.” She scratched her blonde head with the eraser end of her pencil. “Funny, but he’s the spitting image of that guy on the billboard across the street.”

“Thanks. I’m on it.” Catherine took the chart from her. “Check on room two. Order a blood draw and let the mom know I’ll be in to check on her child ASAP.”

“Got it.” And Sheila was off like a bullet. “Good luck with Mr. Billboard.”

Catherine padded to the closed door of room six and offered a quick trio of raps before giving the door a gentle shove and stepping inside. Brody stood to greet her, his gray eyes shadowed with worry. One glance at the boy sitting on the end of the exam table, and she knew why.

It wasn’t the small fish hook protruding from his shoulder that caused her alarm, but the flurry of angry, purplish bruises along his shoulders and back. And were those finger marks along his upper arms? Her belly did a nosedive as she took mental notes and added two-plus-two. She flipped open his chart and scribbled a quick note.

“Hey, sweetie.” Catherine stepped up to him, squatting to his level. She noticed tears drying on his cheeks. “What’s your name?”

“Jaren…Jaren Sands.”

“Well, hi, Jaren, Are you hurting?”

“Not too bad. I told Mr. Brody to just take the hook out with his clippers, but he made me come here instead.”

“He was right to do that, sweetie.” She placed his chart on the counter and eased to the side of the table for a better view. Wincing at the bruises, she worked to keep a smile on her face. “Don’t you worry about anything. I’m going to get you fixed right up.”

“I didn’t mean to.” The words spilled out, bringing a fresh stream of tears. “Mr. Brody said to wait so he could show me the right way to cast. But I got in a hurry. It’s my fault, and I ruined everyone’s fishing expedition. My step-dad’s gonna kill me.”

“Your dad will not kill you, honey. I promise.”

“He’s not my dad. He’s my step-dad, and he was shouting on the phone when Mr. Brody called him. He’s got a big business deal today, and we interrupted it.” Jaren wrapped his arms around himself, rocking forward. “He’s really, really mad.”

“Has your mom been called? Maybe she can come for you.”

“She doesn’t have a car. My step-dad sold it. That’s why Pastor Jenkins brought me to Mr. Brody’s adventure center today. My mom asked him to ‘cause she didn’t have a way to get me there. Now she’s in trouble, too, ‘cause my step-dad told her he didn’t want me to go, but she took me anyway.”

Catherine glanced at Brody, whose eyes were full of concern. He motioned toward the flurry of angry bruises, questioning. Catherine nodded slightly.

“You just let me worry about your step-dad, OK?” Catherine kept her voice light and cheerful. “I’ll have this hook out in a second. Mr. Simmons—Brody—well, he’s had plenty of fishing hooks in him over the years so I’ve had a lot of practice removing them.”

“You guys are friends?”

“That’s right.” Catherine donned baby blue medical gloves and gathered a few materials before she set to cleaning the wound with a numbing antiseptic, talking as she worked. “We used to fish together on Willow Lake. Once, Brody caught a beautiful rainbow trout. It was huge as a shark, fighting him the whole way, and he got so excited to reel it in and remove it from the hook so he could take it home to show his dad that he sliced his thumb wide open.”

“Really? Wow.” Jaren turned to Brody. “Was your dad mad at you for getting hurt?”

“Not at all.” Brody splayed his hands along his thighs and shrugged nonchalantly. “He took me to the emergency room, though. That time I needed ten stitches.”

“Ten? Oh, man.” Jaren’s head swung back around to address Catherine. “Will I need stitches?”

“Maybe a few.” She clipped the fluted end of the hook and pulled it back through the skin, dropping it onto a towel on the counter. “And most likely a tetanus shot.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“Does it hurt now?”

“Nope.” Jaren shook his head slowly and swiped at his tears as he lifted his hand to his shoulder. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Good.” She’d made sure to numb him well before she got started. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes there is.” Jaren moaned as he clasped his hands in his lap. He rocked forward while fresh tears streamed down both cheeks. “My step-dad. I’m worried he’s gonna kill me and my mom, too.”

****

Brody sat stone-silent in the chair, his gut churning with a hurricane of emotions. Over the years, he’d witnessed some pretty violent storms blow through the Keys, and he knew without doubt that none rivaled the tumult brewing in him.

The hook in the kid’s shoulder was the least of his worries. Pastor Jenkins had cryptically advised Brody to be on the lookout when he’d dropped Jaren off at the adventure center that morning. His words had been succinct and to the point.

“Keep the conversation going, Brody, and see what you unearth,” Pastor had encouraged. “I know you have a heart for these kids, and something’s not stirring the Kool-aid as far as Jaren’s concerned. If anyone can get to the bottom of things, you can. I’m worried about the child.”

And now Brody knew why. The determined look in Catherine’s eyes as she glanced his way merely served to confirm what he already knew to be true.

Jaren Sands—and most likely his mother, as well—was suffering from at least one form of abuse.

“Did you have more than one bad fall recently?” Catherine continued to question the child, and Brody’s gut soured painfully with each new clue. “You have an awful lot of bruises. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to share?”

“I’m clumsy, and our stairs are slippery. That’s all.” Jaren pulled from her grasp, shrugging. “Can I put my shirt on now?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Catherine tossed used supplies into a red-lined trash can. “Just be careful with the bandage.”

“I had fun at the adventure center, Mr. Brody.” Without delay, Jaren shrugged the T-shirt over his head and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “I’m sorry I won’t get to ever come back.”

“You can come back any time, son.” Brody stood and crossed the room to stand beside him. “You just had a little accident. You fish long enough, serious enough, it’s bound to happen sooner or later. You just got your mishap over with early in the game. Now I’m sure you’ll have nothing but smooth sailing.”

“Thanks, but my step-dad will never, ever let me fish there again.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Brody offered. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Bivens.”

“Sam Bivens…” Brody repeated with breathless disbelief. “He works at City Hall?”

“Yeah.” The kid’s voice faltered and Brody was sure he saw his fingers tremble. “Do you know him?”

“I do, in passing. I just met him last week.”

“Please don’t say anything to him about the adventure center. It’ll just make things worse. He’s got lots of powerful friends. That’s why my mom can’t—” Jaren’s blue eyes suddenly grew huge with alarm. “That’s him. He’s coming down the hall.”

A voice, deep and menacing, shouted the boy’s name as heavy footsteps clomped along the tile.

“I gotta go.” Jaren’s voice shuddered. “Right now. Please don’t say anything to him. He’ll be mad if he knows you saw…”

“Saw what?” Brody stood and stepped between Jaren and the door. “Why would he be mad? Has he done something we should know about?”

“I can’t say.” The child shook his head so hard that his blond hair, a bit on the long side, whipped his ears. “He’ll hurt my mom. He swore he would, and I can’t let him do that.”

“Wait.” Brody maneuvered to block the door. “Stay with Dr. Jones. I’ll take care of this. No one’s going to hurt anybody. It’s going to be OK.”

“No. I’d better get out there.” Jaren scooted from the table and his tennis shoes slapped the tile as he crossed the room. “He hates to be kept waiting.”

The door flew open, and Sam Bivens, eyes dark as his thinning midnight-black hair, filled the entranceway. His gaze rounded Brody to zero in on Jaren. “What did you do?” His voice was an explosive boom.

“Back off.” Brody turned and lunged, whisking Jaren behind him and into Catherine’s waiting arms. He bowed to his full height, his eyes smoldering like a pair of blow torches. “The question that needs an answer, Bivens, has nothing to do with what Jaren did, and everything to do with what you have been doing.”

“Me?” He took a step forward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Besides, who made you judge and jury?”

“I’m not your judge and jury, but I promise you’ll be facing one before this is all said and done—if you live long enough to have your day in court.” Brody clenched his hands as his side, itching to use his fists but knowing that wasn’t the path to take. “Now, if I were you, I’d turn around and step back outside.”

“And if I were you, I’d back off and mind my own business.”

“Kids like Jaren are my business.”

“He’s my son, and you have no say in this. I’ll shut you down so fast, Simmons, that it’ll make your head spin.” Bivens jabbed a finger into Brody’s chest. “I’m warning you. I have family at the sheriff’s department. One call and you’ll have an extended date with the inside of a locked cell.”

“We’ll see about that.” Unfazed by the threats, Brody turned to Catherine. “Take Jaren to reception. Call Pastor Jenkins to get Jaren’s mom and drive them both over to the inn. Phone Maci and ask her to meet them there. She’s got the most experience dealing with crisis situations like this, and she’ll know what to do next.”

“Should I call the police?”

“Sure. But tell them to send someone besides one of the Larder clan if they want to see their cousin intact—and tell them to hurry, because my temper’s riled, and I have my own way of taking care of things here.”