Season of Sisters (27 page)

Was this a natural result of an adrenaline rush combined with lack of sleep and paint fumes? Somehow, Holly didn't think so. Somehow, she sensed that if she could only understand this moment, a lot of other moments might fall into place, too.

Grace Hardeman was dying, but she was laughing and her husband was laughing. Mama had never laughed when she was dying. Holly's dad had never laughed.

An officer unlocked the cell door, telling Grace the captain had agreed to her request to be fingerprinted. Delighted with the news, Grace pressed a kiss to Ben's cheek as she passed. He chuckled and watched her leave with warm eyes.

"How can you bear it?"

He turned to meet her gaze. "What?"

"How can you bear the thought of losing her?"

Ben's eyes narrowed and he stared at her hard. Abruptly, his gaze softened. "How old are you, Holly?"

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five, hmm? Old enough to learn a thing or two if you're smart enough to do it. It took me longer, a lot longer, and I had to make some really stupid mistakes first."

He dragged his hand down his bristled jaw. "Gracie and I have had our ups and downs. Our life together has been a mix of lemons and lemonade. But Grace is now and always will be a good-time memory for me. She tells me I'm the same for her. We've worked hard to make it that way. It's important to us both that whichever of us goes first, the other has as few regrets as possible. That's what will kill you. Believe you me. I have regrets. One big fat colossal regret in particular."

The church lady,
Holly suspected.

"You see, Holly, it's not the memories that crush your soul, it's the regrets."

Holly grew totally still as Ben's words echoed in her mind.
It'
s
not the memories that crush your soul, it's the regrets.

Not memories, regrets.

She felt as if she were swaying on the edge of a tall cliff.

Desperately, she tried to step back. "But she has metastatic cancer. She's more than likely terminal. How do you live with that?"

"Honey, we're all terminal. We just don't know the timing." Smiling wryly, Ben rubbed the back of his neck.

"In that respect, you could say Gracie is luckier than most because she figured out not to waste the time she has. That's more than most of us do."

That, Holly understood. Her Life List was all about not wasting time, wasting life.

Ben continued, "Would I rather she didn't have cancer? Of course. Would I trade places with her if possible? Damn straight I would. But that's not possible. That's not our life. Before she left the house for this little adventure of yours, she gave me a hug. Her hair brushed my neck. Tickled me. Now, to the uninitiated, that's a normal occurrence. But I felt that tickle clear to the bone. You want to know why?"

Solemnly, Holly nodded.

"It's not because she has hair now after having gone without for a while. It's because it's different. The texture is different. The color is different. But it tickles my neck just like her other hair did. You see, Holly, Grace is different now. So am I. We've gone beyond the couple we used to be and moved into something different, something new. It has its ups and downs, true; but I honestly think it's something better. This is our life and we're living it without regrets. If I outlive my Gracie, that will be my memory. Never my regret."

A band of emotion constricted Holly's chest and burned in her throat. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked slowly, slightly, back and forth.

Movement in the doorway brought her back. She looked up expecting to see Grace. Instead, she spied the perfectly-powdered-coiffed-and-costumed-despite-the-earliness-of-the-hour Mrs. Maggie Prescott. But she wasn't by herself.

Justin stood with her.

* * *

He didn't drive her straight home. He wanted to see the boat.

Holly sat in the passenger seat of Justin's pickup and tried to work up some saliva as they traveled the winding lakeside road that would take them to the harbor. She didn't have much luck. Her mouth was dry as beef jerky.

The morning sky was bright with thin wisps of clouds clinging to the color of a pink dawn, strings of pale cotton candy stretched against a springtime blue. Pink like half the hearts slashed over the lovely lines of the
Second Wind.
Holly sneaked a peek at Justin's profile. He wore his stuffy expression. They hadn't exchanged a dozen words since leaving the jail.

Shrinking against the seat, Holly wished for Maggie, who had filled the silence with her chatter earlier. She had pranced into the jailhouse, a queen come to review her troops. Her scepter was her tennis racquet; her regal robe a white cotton sweater tied stylishly around her shoulders. Her crown was the smile on her face—bright and brilliant as any jewel under the sun. Her long, tanned legs beneath the flirty white tennis skirt suited a movie queen more than a blooded Royal.

The captain and his men all but dropped to their knees in a bow.

Maggie charmed the men with little more than a bat of the eyelashes and a few "sugars" and shortly, Grace and Holly had been free to go.

Exiting the jailhouse with bubbly Grace and sparkling Maggie, Holly had felt like a flat Dr Pepper.

Maggie had detoured by the marina on her way to jail to see the results of their handiwork. To say she was delighted would be an understatement. Once out of hearing of the lawmen, she'd laughed with evil glee and demanded all the gory details. Grace had been delighted to provide them. Toward the end of Grace's recitation, Maggie had burst into tears at the notion that her friends had cared enough to wreak vengeance on her behalf.

Throughout the friends' leave-taking, Justin stood silent and impassive, his expression impossible for Holly to read. Maggie had called him to come give Holly a ride home, of course. She'd called both Justin and Ben. Her excuse was a crock—a breakfast tennis date that she simply couldn't be late for. Holly didn't believe it for a moment. Maggie was simply trying her hand at matchmaking.

Since she and Grace were guilty of the same effort, Holly didn't feel she could protest.

Justin pulled his truck into the parking lot at Grand-pappy Point. "Which one is it?"

Holly pointed toward the dock farthest to the right. "It's slip eighty-five. Three or four boats from the end." Aware of the understatement, she finished, "You can't miss it."

When Holly made no move to get out of the car, he hesitated. "Aren't you coming with me?"

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to get a look at last night's work in daylight.

The crunch of tires against gravel had her nervously looking around. It would be just her luck for Mike Prescott to drive up. Instead of Maggie's husband, she saw Grace step down from Ben's truck. She gave Holly a cheerful wave before getting into her own car, left at the marina following the arrests, to follow her husband home.

"I rode out here with Grace. She could have taken me back," she grumbled. "I didn't need Justin."

But she did need Justin and that was exactly the problem.

When he returned to the car, he was whistling "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." He didn't say a word, simply started the car and made a U-turn out of the parking lot. He continued to whistle softly, the sound of which began to grate on Holly's nerves within half a mile. Gradually she quit being nervous and began to stew.

Who does Justin Skipworth think he is, anyway? Never mind that Maggie called him. He's not responsible for me. We're not married. We're not dating. We're barely even friends anymore. High-handed man. Thinks he's always in charge. Has a God complex, so stereotypical of doctors.

Holly spent the rest of the drive conjuring up memories of every time Justin acted in an overbearing way, and by the time they arrived at her house, she'd managed to work herself into a decent froth. She had the passenger door open before he'd brought the vehicle to a halt at her curb.

Leaping out, she slammed it hard. "Thanks for the ride."

She darted for her front door, hoping, praying, she'd hear sounds of his leaving. Instead, he continued that damned whistling as he strolled up her walk. "Sure, Holly, I'd love a cup of coffee," he said, smoothly taking her key ring from her hand and slipping the house key into the lock. "Thank you for asking."

She bared her teeth and growled at him. The blasted man laughed—laughed!—as he sauntered inside her house.

"I'm out of coffee."

"Oh? Then I'll scrounge up something else. What time do you have to be at work?"

"I'm taking a personal day."

"That's handy." He walked into the kitchen and over to the ceramic canister set. He lifted the lid of the third largest and peered inside. "Why, this is shaping up to be my lucky day. You do have coffee. Looks like you were mistaken, Holly."

"Help yourself. I need to grab a shower. I know you probably should be getting to work yourself, so just pull the door shut behind you when you leave."

The resumption of that dad-blasted whistle was his only reply. Holly fled to her bedroom, hoping her luck would change and he'd be gone by the time she'd showered and shampooed.

Once locked safely behind the bathroom door, she changed her mind about the shower and ran a hot bath instead. She flipped on the radio to a classical music station, pinned up her hair, added coconut-scented bath oil to the tub, then stripped off her clothes and sank into the water with a sigh. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and willed herself to relax.

It worked. She awoke to cold water and a crick in her neck. After a moment's confusion, the events of the night came roaring back. "Justin," she murmured, her gaze going unerringly toward the door.

She rose from the bath and reached for a fluffy blue towel. Drying herself, she checked the watch lying on the vanity. Two hours? No wonder her fingers and toes had shriveled like prunes.

Confident that Justin would be stethoscope-deep in ear infections and toddler snot by now, she flung her towel over her shoulder and padded naked into her bedroom.

He lay stretched out on her bed, his feet bare, the sleeves of his sky blue dress shirt rolled halfway up his forearms. His briefcase lay open on the floor. He had a stack of files spread across her midnight blue sheets and he was reading from a report as he spoke into Holly's phone, "...set up an appointment for her with Dr. Marks. I'm concerned about those protein levels."

"What are you still doing here?" Holly demanded, yanking the towel from her shoulder and holding it in front of her.

Without glancing toward her, he held up an index finger signaling her to hush and continued his conversation.

At that, Holly saw red. She was tempted to hold up a finger herself, only not her index finger. Instead, she retaliated by clearing her throat, dropping her towel, and sauntering forward in a slow, hip-rolling walk to her dresser. She mentally marked one up for her side when, with a groan in his voice, he said into the phone, "I think it breast we go ahead with the tests."

For good measure, Holly took her time choosing her underwear.

"Witch," Justin said as he disconnected.

Holly simply smiled as she pulled on a tee shirt and jeans. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was pleased to discover that outwardly, she appeared calm. Inside, she was a bucket of nerves. Justin hadn't hung around for two hours on a workday just to make phone calls. Justin had something to say to her.

And Holly, underneath her panic and her fear and her insecurities, wanted to listen. Only not in her bedroom. "I'm going to make an omelet. Would you like one?"

He sat up. "That sounds great. Thank you."

The two had shared the familiar task dozens of times, so without discussion, Justin chopped onions and green peppers while Holly blended eggs and milk. She added a pinch of salt to the eggs, then asked, "Ham?"

"Just cheese for me, please."

Justin set the table and poured juice and coffee. He grabbed a pair of scissors from her junk drawer and stepped outside for a moment, returning with an iris. He slipped the flower into a bud vase and placed it in the middle of the table.

If Holly had any doubts before, she knew better now. By putting a flower on the table, Justin had turned this ordinary breakfast into an Occasion. Just what kind of occasion was yet to be seen.

He waited until they both were seated. As Holly spread her napkin on her lap, he took his first bite. "Mmm. Great as always. I've missed our omelets." He paused, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, "I've missed
you,
Holly."

That wasn't such a bad start. He could have said gee, he really enjoyed their phone conversations last week but Jenna Larson adds pineapple to her omelets and they're really good. Holly took a bite of her eggs, savored the flavorful blend of cheddar cheese, onions, and green pepper, and tried to decide on a response. She swallowed, sipped her juice, and settled on, "I've missed you, too."

Justin briefly closed his eyes. The tension she'd sensed hovering around him eased. Holly continued to eat her breakfast, surprised her nervousness didn't make her eggs taste like dry grits. In fact, the omelet was delicious, the best food she'd tasted in weeks.

Maybe Holly wasn't as nervous as she thought. Maybe she was enjoying the moment. Justin was back in her house. Back in her kitchen. Back where he belonged. And he didn't appear in any hurry to leave.

She knew she should insist he go.

She couldn't force the words from her lips.

They finished their breakfast making small talk, and Holly began to hope that maybe nothing more would be said, that they could pick up where they'd left off and sweep the problem of marriage beneath the rug where it belonged.

She suspected she wouldn't be that lucky. So when the table was cleared and the dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher, she wasn't too surprised when Justin touched her arm and said, "It's a pretty morning. Let's go out back. I've been doing some thinking, a lot of thinking, and I think it's time we talked."

"Justin, I really don't—"

"Please?"

Holly knew when to surrender with dignity. "All right."