Hold Her Heart (Words of the Heart) (13 page)

“Nurse man,” he corrected, determined to put a light spin on this.

“No. Don’t joke. You’ve become a friend. I’m not antisocial. I have plenty of acquaintances and people I am friendly with. At home, there are a number of people who wave at me as I walk by. But true friends? I only have a few. Jaylin is one.”

He’d talked to her yesterday as well. “She seemed nice. She was as put out as your dad that you didn’t want her here.”

“That’s not accurate. It wasn’t that big a deal. She didn’t need to throw everything in her life aside to be here.”

He shrugged. I could see that he disagreed.

“She’s one of the handful of people I consider a close friend. And Margo, my father’s wife. And now you.”

“I never thought of it, but I’ve got a small circle of friends, too.” He shot me a smile. “You’re on my list now, too.”

And with that, he tucked me up in my makeshift bed, started the television, and for the next few hours I drifted in and out of medicine-induced sleep and watched my favorite space western. At one point, I remember asking Logan what he thought, and he said, “
Shiny
.”

I smiled as I drifted back to sleep.

That evening, I skipped the pain medication and simply used ibuprofen. It was enough to take the edge off, and it didn’t knock me out.

Logan made me an early light dinner of soup and grilled cheese. “I’m a master of grilled cheese,” he said with a laugh. After the first bite, I readily agreed. He’d made it on some kind of sourdough, whole grain bread and the cheese was melted to perfection.

He was just getting ready for work when the doorbell rang.

“Do you think Cooper’s back again,” I asked.

“No, not Cooper,” he said in such a way that I knew he had some idea who was on the other side of the door. He hurried out of the room before I could question him.

I heard the door open, and he stepped back into the living room doorway. “I’ve got to go to work, so I called—”

“Me,” said Piper’s mother as she walked into the room. “Your grandfather’s staying with Fiona, and you get me. Yes, I know, you can’t believe how lucky you are.”

I’d met Piper’s mother a couple of times. I could do the math and realized she was easily in her seventies, but you would never know it from looking at her. She was one of those women whose body might have shrunk but whose spirit simply grew bigger to compensate. Her gray hair was cut in a short, no-nonsense style, and she had a ready smile.

I smiled back and said, “It’s nice to see you, but, really, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“So what you’re saying is that I should leave?” she asked.

Suddenly, I could see the teacher and district superintendent in Piper’s mother. “No, that’s not what I meant, but I’m sure Fiona needs your support—”

“Fiona and her grandfather are probably in the kitchen even as we speak, making something I would totally not approve of. Then they’ll be heading with snack in hand to the living room to watch some show that I would not approve of. I never allowed television on weeknights. Though rumor has it my husband had the same covert dates with Piper when she was younger.”

She smiled in such a way that I knew she’d always known about and understood her husband’s rule breaking.

I nodded. “There’s something special to having someone you love break the rules with you. My mom was a stickler about bedtimes, but whenever she had a meeting, Dad conveniently
forgot
to check the clock. I used to get such a kick out of that extra hour.”

Piper’s mother nodded. “Fiona has gone through so much that she deserves a bit of purloined pleasure when she can get it. But if I went over, they’d have to turn off the television, so it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Piper had planned on me meeting her mom—my grandmother—at dinner, but she’d gotten sick and since then everything had been a whirlwind. In the weeks since I’d come to Erie, I’d met Tricia and J. P. George in passing at the hospital and at Piper’s house as they helped care for Fiona. Tricia had welcomed me to the family and seemed nice enough, but we hadn’t spent any real time together and certainly not time alone together.

“Go to work, Logan,” Tricia said. “I’ll take care of Siobhan and see to it she takes it easy.” Tricia actually shooed him out of the room and took a seat. “Do you need anything?”

“No, ma’am.”

Tricia George was . . . I searched for the word. Formidable. I suspected that trait had grown over time rather than diminished.

She looked me over. “I used to make Piper beds on the couch when she was young and sick.”

“Logan said his mom did the same thing. Mine, too . . .” I let the sentence fade because I didn’t know how she’d feel about my mom, especially having witnessed Piper’s feelings over giving me up.

Piper’s mom nodded as if she understood why I’d stopped talking. “Honey, we know you have parents out there. We appreciate what a wonderful job they did raising you,” she said softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I know we never really settled on what you should call me, but ma’am isn’t it. Tricia’s fine, if you like. Even Trish.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t choose either name because my mother wouldn’t have approved of me calling her by her first name. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to call her Grandmother. I’d simply avoid ma’am-ing her.

I worried that she was going to pepper me with questions, but instead she said, “What are we watching?”

“Logan and I binge watched
Firefly
today. I’m open to whatever.”

“Can I trust you with one of my deepest, darkest secrets?”

I nodded.

“I’m addicted to
The Secret Lives of Sissy Agave
.” She took the remote and flipped with confidence to a new channel. “It’s my secret vice. At home J. P. and I listen to NPR and spend a lot of quiet evenings reading. And I love it, but sometimes I need a bit of fun.”

Piper’s mother wasn’t who I thought she’d be. I knew she was in education and so was J. P. That’s one of the reasons Piper had picked Mom and Dad. She wanted to give me the gift of the same sort of childhood she’d had. But as we spent a quiet evening together, Tricia didn’t pepper me with questions. She was fun and witty and didn’t pressure me.

J. P. came over at eleven. “Ned’s home and Fi’s sleeping,” he said. “You are not sleeping, young lady, and after your day yesterday, you should be.” He looked like Father Christmas. Not Santa but Father Christmas. He had a quiet dignity. There was an innate sense of kindness and knowledge about him. But when he winked at me, I also saw the devilish grin.

“Was your granny making you watch all her secret television shows? The ones she doesn’t think I know about?”

“Firstly, J. P., I am not now, nor have I been, anyone’s
granny
. Grandma. Grandmother. Tricia. Trish. All are acceptable, but Granny?” She gave a delicate little snort. “As for television, Siobhan is the one recovering. We watched what she wanted all night.”

She looked at me, and I knew she wanted me to back her up so I readily agreed, “Yes. Tricia humored me.”

He snorted. “So you think you’ve won our Siobhan over to your subversive ways? She’ll confirm your secret reality television addiction to me tomorrow when I drop by with some Frogurtz. No one can resist frozen yogurt.” He winked at me.

“Don’t listen to him. You don’t have to sway anywhere in order to get yogurt.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for what you’ve done for Piper,” she whispered. Then loudly said, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am. But I’m so glad you spent the evening with me.”

And I was. Tricia, like Piper, didn’t push and prod. She wasn’t trying to force a relationship but rather was present and letting it develop naturally. It made getting to know her easier.

“Well, Logan said he’d be home soon. His shift was supposed to end at eleven. He scheduled short shifts this week. Ned’s next door with Fiona if you need anything, and J. P. and I can be here in ten minutes. It doesn’t matter what time—you call if you need us.”

I found myself tearing up. “I will call if I need you, I promise.”

She nodded and they left, still playfully bickering about television shows and frozen yogurt. I had a glimpse of what I might have had if I’d known them all along. How different my life would have been if they’d always been a part of it.

I glanced at the hope chest. It still sat unopened under the window. A chest filled with Piper’s hopes and dreams for me. Something tickled my cheek, and I reached up to brush it aside and realized it was a tear.

I got up gingerly and walked across the room to where the chest had sat since Logan carried it over. I finally opened it. On top there was a box. I pried the lid off it and discovered a charm bracelet. There was a little piece of paper tucked into the lid. I opened it.

Dear Amanda,

Some of the charms are self-explanatory. A car for your sixteenth birthday, a binky for your first. I made a list of each year’s charm. You’re turning twenty-one this year, and if I keep adding annual charms, you won’t be able to wear it. So I’m adding this one last one. The small beach glass heart is for this year. I found it as I walked on Presque Isle. I thought of you as I picked it up. I took it to a local shop. They drilled the hole and added the clasp. I hope when you look at it you realize that wherever I am and whatever I’m doing, I am thinking of you.

Love, Piper.

The small glass heart was easy to spot in the midst of the small gold charms. The small piece of glass had broken from something larger. A beer bottle? A soda bottle? Over time, the waves and sand had beaten and polished something that had been an accident into something beautiful. I slipped the bracelet on my wrist. It tinkled as I moved my arm.

There at the top was a leather book. It had to be the journal that Ned had mentioned and copied a page from.

I opened the cover and read the first page.

Dear Amanda,

Amanda’s Pantry truly began on your fifth birthday, almost a decade ago now. I was at the grocery store buying . . . I don’t remember what I was buying. Probably something with no nutritional value whatsoever. I was only twenty-one, and I didn’t worry about things like proper nutrition.

I was standing in line at the register behind a young woman and a toddler. The little girl had red hair. Not auburn. Not strawberry blonde. Red. Like Orphan Annie red. Like mine. I felt a kinship with her immediately, and, of course, I thought of you.

She told how the young mother hadn’t had enough money to pay for her groceries. Piper had helped her buy them and had bought the little girl a candy bar.

I had the nightmare again that night. You were cold and hungry, and I couldn’t get to you. I ripped apart my pantry and couldn’t find anything for you to eat. But you came into my kitchen, sat down at the counter, and picked up a candy bar that was suddenly lying there.

You looked at me and said, “Thank you,” as you pushed a strand of your carrot-colored hair behind your ear and then tore into the candy.

Love,

Piper

My dream the night before had been different, but there was the same sort of feeling behind it. I got a bit of the
Twilight Zone
feeling as I read Piper’s.

I suddenly realized how hard I was sobbing. I brushed at the tears and the bracelet tinkled, reminding me of its presence.

I’m not sure how long I sat there crying as I realized that T. P. E’s hope chest had become Piper’s hopes for me, but I was still there when Logan walked in. The lights were still on in the living room, so he came in and saw me.

He didn’t say a word. He walked across the room, scooped me up—bracelet, journal, and all—and carried me upstairs to my room.

He tucked me in as if I were a small child. He brought me a glass of water and another pill. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.

I heard him take a shower, and a few moments later I saw him peek into my room.

Without either of us discussing it, he came in and crawled back onto the right side of the bed he’d occupied the night before. He pulled me into his arms, and the last thing I remembered was the sound of his heart beating and the smell of soap.

“Couch,” Felicity called. “Your name’s funny.”

“Coach,” Coach Divan responded, correcting her pronunciation.

“Couch Divan. I bet people pick on you. My grandma calls her couch a divan. So you’re really Couch Couch.”

“Coach,” he repeated.

“I like Couch better. Couch Divan. Yep. Couch Couch. Yeah, I like it—”

—Felicity’s Folly
, by Pip

I woke up to find myself in Logan’s arms again sometime in the middle of the night.

The clock was on the other side of Logan, and I couldn’t see over him, so I wasn’t sure what time it was, but moonlight spilled through the window so it definitely wasn’t morning yet.

Sharing a space with Logan—whether the house or the bed—didn’t feel awkward. It felt comfortable. And maybe even familiar at this point.

He was a back sleeper. I was a side sleeper.

It felt almost normal to curl up in the crook of his arm and rest my head on his chest. Even the cadence of his heartbeat felt like a lullaby I knew by heart.

Maybe that’s why I knew the moment he woke up—the tempo of his heartbeat changed.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I teased to cover my embarrassment.

In the moonlight, I could make it out as he opened his eyes slowly and offered me a long, lazy grin that stirred something in me that I hadn’t expected. I saw the laughter leave his eyes and be replaced by something else as well.

Slowly, he sat up and kissed me.

It was not the comforting kiss one friend might give another. It was more. But before I could let myself fall into it, he pulled back. “We shouldn’t . . .”

I scooted over to the far end of the bed. “You’re right, we shouldn’t. I mean, this entire situation is complicated enough. I’m sharing a house with you. We’re practically strangers and . . .”