Crossroads (9 page)

But he knew with absolute certainty that Mitch Jackson was the
right
person to call.

 

Mitch didn't like middle-of-the-night phone calls. Never had. They almost always spelled trouble.

So when the phone rang at twenty minutes past two in the morning, he was instantly awake.

“Yes.” His voice was clipped, terse.

Silence on the other end. He frowned, impatient now. “Hello?”

“Mr. Jackson? It—it's Bruce Lockwood.”

The voice was high and tight, teetering on the edge of hysteria. He swung his feet over the side of his bed and reached for his shirt as a wave of fear coursed through him.

“Okay, Bruce, I'm here. Tell me what's wrong.” It took every ounce of his self-control to modulate his voice, keep his own terror from showing.

A strangled sob. “My m-mom's sick. I called 911 and the paramedics are taking her to the hospital.”

Mitch felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. “Which hospital?”

Muffled voices while Bruce asked the policeman, then relayed the information to Mitch.

“That's a fine hospital, Bruce. They'll take good care of her. You ride with the paramedics, and I'll meet you there. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

The line went dead. For a moment Mitch just sat there, numb. Tess seriously sick? It was inconceivable. She'd been fine at the farm. More than fine, in fact. Beautiful. Vivacious. And very, very desirable. That's why he'd kept his distance since their return, though he'd lost track of the number of times he'd been tempted to reach for the phone and dial her number. And now she was in an ambulance on her way to the hospital.

Another surge of adrenaline shot through him, and he went into action. Pants. Wallet. Socks. Where were his socks? Forget the socks. Shoes. He was in the car in three minutes flat.

Bruce was in the waiting room when he arrived, a forlorn figure huddled in a straight chair, who looked as scared as he'd sounded. For the first time in
their relationship the boy actually seemed happy to see him.

Mitch strode toward him and instinctively placed a hand on his thin, trembling shoulder.

“You okay?” His voice was gentle.

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone talked to you yet?”

“Only to ask about insurance.”

Mitch bit back a curse. There was something wrong with a health-care system that would ask a scared kid about insurance in the middle of the night. “Okay. Sit tight. I'll find out how your mom is doing.”

In five minutes Mitch had his answer. Appendicitis. They were running some tests to verify the preliminary diagnosis, but given the symptoms, the doctors were 99 percent sure. Their biggest concern was removing it before it ruptured. Tess had already authorized surgery, and they were prepping her now. They'd do laparoscopy if possible, to minimize postoperative pain and recovery, but they wouldn't know for sure if that was feasible until they got a look at the appendix.

Mitch relayed all this to Bruce when he rejoined him in the waiting room. He didn't minimize the problem, but neither did he make it sound like life or death.

“So will she be okay?” Bruce asked anxiously when Mitch finished.

“I'm sure she will,” he replied honestly. “But depending on which kind of surgery they do, she could be pretty sore for a while. She'll need some help with day-to-day things.”

“I can help her.”

“I know you can.”

Mitch didn't add that she'd need more help than a fourteen-year-old boy could provide. There would be time for that later. First they needed to get past the surgery.

They didn't talk much while they waited. Mitch got them both a soda at one point, but Bruce refused food. Mitch could understand that. His own stomach was roiling. Hospitals always did that to him. They simply sat there, together. And that was enough.

Three hours later, it was over. Fortunately the more minor, less invasive surgery had been possible. The doctor, still dressed in his surgical garb, told this to Bruce and Mitch just as the morning light was beginning to touch the horizon through the window.

“She'll be just fine,” he assured them. “But she'll be sore for a few days. And she'll need to take it easy for a couple of weeks.”

“When can she come home?” Bruce asked, the relief in his voice almost palpable.

“Probably tomorrow, if things go well. And I have no reason to think they won't.”

“Can I see her?”

“She's in recovery right now, but she should be awake enough to talk to you in an hour or so.” The doctor turned to Mitch, who had already identified himself as a friend. “I'll let the nurse know where to find you. And then I'd suggest you both go home and get some sleep,” he added with a weary smile. “That's what I intend to do.”

As the man departed, Bruce turned to Mitch. “What about school?”

“I'll call for both of us. After we see your mom,
I think we better follow the doctor's advice. I don't know about you, but four hours of sleep doesn't cut it for me.” Actually, Mitch had survived on far less. But Bruce couldn't. And he wasn't about to leave the boy alone after his traumatic night.

“I am pretty beat,” Bruce admitted.

“So how about some bacon and eggs while we wait for your mom to wake up?”

Bruce's eyes lit up. “Yeah! I'm starved.”

 

Tess felt strange. As if she was floating. And she was cold. Really cold. So cold her teeth were chattering. Then someone tucked a nice warm blanket around her. She smiled and snuggled deeper under it. That felt good.

“Is she okay?”

Tess heard the voice. It sounded like Bruce.

Now a woman was speaking. “She's fine. Most patients are cold after surgery. The operating room is pretty chilly.”

Surgery? Operating room? Was someone sick?

“Is she awake?”

Tess knew that voice, too. It had filled her dreams for the past few weeks. So this must be a dream, too.

“Half and half. But she'll be coming out of it pretty rapidly now.”

Who on earth were they talking about? Tess wondered, struggling to open eyelids that felt heavy as lead. She tried to reach up, but someone restrained her hand, engulfing it in a warm, tender clasp.

“It's Mitch, Tess. And Bruce. Just rest. Don't try to move around. We're here with you.”

The gentle voice sounded so real. Not like a dream
at all. This time her eyelids cooperated, and she stared up at the fuzzy world above her.

“Hi, Mom.”

Bruce's voice. Her eyes sought out the source. She frowned, trying to focus. There were two faces above, and slowly the fuzzy images became clear.

“Bruce? Mitch?” Was that raspy voice hers?

“Welcome back.”

She gazed up at Mitch. She'd never seen him look so—disheveled. He was sporting a day's growth of beard, his shirt was wrinkled, his hair was tousled and there were deep lines of worry and fatigue etched into his face. With a frown she turned to Bruce. He didn't look much better. His face was pale and his hair was sticking up in odd spikes. There was something very wrong here.

“Are you guys okay?” she rasped.

Mitch felt his throat tighten with tenderness. How like her to think first of them. He glanced at Bruce. “You've got quite a mom, you know that.”

Bruce blinked rapidly and swiped at his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Mitch bent down so that his eyes were only inches from Tess's. She stared into them, mesmerized by the glints of gold—and the tenderness—in their dark brown depths.

“We're fine, Tess. But you just had an emergency appendectomy.”

The events of the night before suddenly came rushing back. The searing pain. The nausea. The disorienting ride in the ambulance.

“It was a relatively simple surgery,” Mitch continued. “But not a moment too soon. If Bruce hadn't
called the ambulance when he did, it could have been a very different story. The doctor said your appendix was on the verge of rupturing. Thanks to Bruce, they caught it in time.”

Tess transferred her gaze to her son. She reached out to him, and he took her hand.

“Why am I not surprised?” she said softly. “I've always been able to count on him.”

Bruce's face reddened. “Not so much lately,” he amended, clearly struggling with the admission. “But I'll try to do better, Mom. I promise.”

Tess's eyes filled with tears. If it had taken an evening in jail and appendicitis to make Bruce see the light, it was a small price to pay. “I believe you, Bruce. And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

Mitch watched the exchange, encouraged that Bruce seemed to truly be on the road to a turnaround—and surprised by a sudden, sharp stab of jealousy. It took him all of two seconds to figure out his reaction. While they might look like a cozy little family group, the only family here was Tess and Bruce. Mitch was an outsider.

That hurt. A lot. And reminded him of what was missing from his life. It had been a long time since he'd thought about having a family. A long time since he'd
let
himself think about it. Because it just wasn't in the cards for him. He'd had his chance once. And blown it big time. Now he focused on helping kids. It was good work. Worthy work. Work that had made a difference in countless lives.

But it was also lonely work. Because when the families he worked with went home at night, they had
each other. He had no one. Except Uncle Ray, of course. Thank God for Uncle Ray! But as kind and good as the older man was, he couldn't fill the empty place in Mitch's heart that was made for a wife and family.

“If these gentlemen will let go of your hands, I think it's time we got you settled in your room.”

The teasing tone of the nurse jolted him back to reality, and he and Bruce simultaneously relinquished their hold on Tess. She missed their touch immediately.

The nurse smiled and gave her a wink. “Don't worry, it's only a temporary situation. I have a feeling these two handsome men aren't going to let you out of their sight for very long. They waited a long time for you to wake up.”

Tess frowned. “What time is it?”

The nurse consulted her watch. “Seven o'clock.”

“How long have you two been up?”

“Since about two o'clock,” Bruce replied. “I called Mr. Jackson when the ambulance got there.”

Tess looked at Mitch. “I want you both to go home and get some rest. And Mitch…I hate to ask, but could you call Caroline James at the newspaper for me? Let her know I won't be in?”

“No problem. And don't worry about Bruce. He can stay at my place till you're released.”

The two Lockwoods stared at him, one in gratitude, the other in shock.

“Mom, I can stay by myself. Honest,” Bruce spoke up quickly. “The doctor says you can probably come home tomorrow. I'll be fine till then.”

Tess reached out to take his hand again. “I won't
get any rest if I'm worrying about you all by yourself in the apartment. Stay with Mitch. For me.”

Put that way, it was pretty hard to refuse. But Bruce was clearly not happy about the turn of events. “I guess it will be okay for one night,” he acquiesced reluctantly.

Tess smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” Then she turned to Mitch and, without even thinking about it, reached for his hand, as well. He laced his fingers with hers in a reassuring touch that communicated both caring and rock-solid strength. “And thank
you.
”

Their gazes met briefly, but it was long enough for Tess to know one thing with absolute certainty.

The attraction
was
mutual.

M
itch reached down for Bruce's duffel bag, then paused as a half-hidden stack of canvases in the boy's bedroom caught his eye. He squatted down to examine the top one, a pastoral fall landscape vibrant with color and life. The room grew still, and Mitch sensed Bruce moving behind him.

Mitch studied the impressive canvas silently for a long moment, then turned slowly. “Did you paint this?”

A flush seeped onto the teenager's face and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. It's not very good.”

Mitch looked again at the canvas, then nodded to the stack. “May I?”

Bruce shrugged indifferently, but stayed close as Mitch carefully examined each painting. By the time Mitch reached the last one he was completely blown away by the boy's talent. Once more he turned and looked up at Bruce.

“These are incredible.”

The boy's flush deepened at the straightforward, sincere compliment. “They're okay, I guess.”

“What are you working on now?”

“I don't paint anymore.”

Mitch's eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why not?”

“Artsy stuff is for geeks and wimps.”

Mitch studied the boy for a moment, then carefully replaced the paintings as a plan slowly took shape in his mind. “I don't know,” he said conversationally. “My cousin Jeff—Uncle Ray's son—was a fabulous artist. One of his sculptures won first prize in a contest sponsored by the art museum here in St. Louis.”

“Yeah?” A gleam of interest sparked in the teenager's eyes. “I saw that ship in a bottle he did, the one in Uncle Ray's room.”

“I forgot all about that,” Mitch admitted. “Anyway, he was no nerd. He was a track star on the high school team, and he was voted most-likely-to-succeed by his classmates.”

“Well, maybe
all
artsy people aren't geeks,” Bruce conceded. “Just most of them.”

Mitch was tempted to pursue the subject, but Bruce's sudden yawn made him realize that the boy was exhausted. Not a good time to try to make a point. Besides, he had another type of persuasion in mind. He lifted Bruce's duffel bag and smiled. “Let's go get some shut-eye.”

This time there was no disagreement. And once Bruce was settled, Mitch intended to get a couple of hours rest himself before they headed back to the hospital. But first he had a call to make.

 

“Why are we stopping here?” Bruce stared at the YMCA building, then turned to Mitch.

“I thought we could both use a little exercise after being cooped up in the hospital all afternoon.”

Tess had looked remarkably improved when they'd returned to the hospital around lunchtime with an oversize bouquet. But by four o'clock she was tiring, and Bruce was becoming restless after hours of inactivity. When Mitch suggested that they go get a bite to eat and then return for a brief visit later in the evening, neither Lockwood objected. And it played right into his plan.

“But I didn't bring any gym clothes,” Bruce protested.

Mitch glanced at the boy as he set the brake. “That sweat suit is fine for the weight room. Ever done weights before?”

“No.”

“I'll show you the ropes.” He retrieved his gym bag from the trunk and headed for the front door, leaving Bruce no option but to follow. “Give me a couple of minutes to change,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the locker room.

When he returned, in sweatpants and a muscle shirt that revealed well-developed biceps, Bruce looked at him with new respect.

“Do you work out all the time?”

“Not every day. But I try to stay on a schedule. And farm chores definitely build muscles,” he added with a grin. “Ready for the tour?”

Mitch led the way to the weight room, where a
couple of other men were already engrossed in their routines. One of them smiled and nodded.

“Hi, Mitch.” The man carefully set down the barbells and stood. He was dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed bulging biceps, and the corded muscles in his legs were clearly visible below his gym shorts.

Mitch returned his greeting. “Joe, I'd like you to meet Bruce Lockwood. He's a student at Southfield High. Bruce, this is Joe Davis.”

The man held out his hand, taking Bruce's in a powerful grip. “Nice to meet you, Bruce.” Then he directed his gaze at Mitch. “A new recruit for the weight room?”

Mitch grinned. “Yet to be determined. This is his first visit.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest consideringly. “You know, I should let
you
show him the ropes. You're the expert.”

The man brushed the comment aside. “You know as much about weight lifting as I do.”

“Don't listen to him,” Mitch told Bruce. “I'm not even in his league. He's won national weight-lifting titles.”

Bruce looked in awe at the man across from him. “No kidding?”

“A few,” he admitted.

“So how about it? Can you spare a few minutes for an introductory lesson?” Mitch asked.

“Sure. Glad to.”

“Thanks. I'll leave you to it, then.”

Twenty minutes later, when Mitch was ready to leave, it was clear that Joe had made a friend. He and Bruce were talking animatedly, and Bruce was listen
ing attentively to the man's instructions as he tried out a few simple weight routines.

“I hate to break up the party, but I'm starving,” Mitch interrupted, wiping his face on a towel as he joined them.

Joe smiled. “We were done, anyway.” He laid his hand on Bruce's shoulder. “We may have a convert here.”

Mitch grinned. “I knew you'd do a good sell job. How about joining us for dinner? We're just going to grab something quick.”

The man glanced at his watch, then shook his head regretfully. “I'd like to, but I need to finish up here and then head back to the theater. We've got an opening in a week, so we're putting in some extra hours.”

“Another time, then. And thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Bruce seconded.

“You bet.”

Bruce was waiting when Mitch returned from the locker room after a quick shower, and he fell into step beside the older man as they left the Y.

“Is Joe an actor?”

Mitch chuckled. “Hardly. He did try it briefly, though. But as he once told me, it was a good thing the days of throwing rotten tomatoes were long gone by the time he set foot on stage.”

“So what did he mean about the theater, then?”

“He's a set designer.”

Bruce frowned. “You mean like scenery and stuff?”

“That's right.” Mitch tossed his gym bag into the back seat and slid behind the wheel. “How does pizza sound?”

“Fine,” Bruce replied distractedly, the frown still
furrowing his brow. Several silent moments passed before he spoke again. “So what exactly does Joe do?”

“He paints some of the backdrops himself and oversees the other set painters,” Mitch replied. “And he knows a lot about construction, because he designs the platforms and framework for the sets and supervises the carpenters who build them. He's a pretty versatile guy.”

Silence again while Bruce pondered that new information. Not until they pulled into the restaurant parking lot did Mitch finally get the question he'd been hoping for. “Do you think maybe someday…if he had time, I mean…he might show me some of the stuff he works on at the theater?”

“I think he'd be happy to,” Mitch replied. “How about if I give him a call and ask?”

“Yeah. That would be cool.” For a moment the boy fiddled with the seat belt, and then he took a deep breath as he reached to open his door. “Thanks.”

The word was said begrudgingly and without eye contact. But that single syllable meant a lot to Mitch. Because it marked a first in their relationship. And maybe a turning point, as well.

 

“Are you sure you'll be okay, Mom?”

Tess looked at her son with affection. In the two weeks since her surgery he'd been like a mother hen, waiting on her hand and foot. He'd done the laundry, gone to the grocery store, even laid out her breakfast before he left for school each day. She had been touched—and proud. Bruce was once again the boy she'd always known—helpful, kind, considerate, loving. It gave her new hope that he was beginning to
turn a corner, that the clouds over these past difficult months were starting to lift.

She was glad she had
that
hope to cling to. Because the
other
hope, the one that had nothing to do with being a mom and everything to do with being a woman, was slowly slipping away. For a brief moment in time, foolish though it had been, she'd allowed herself to believe that maybe the years ahead might not be so lonely. That maybe she'd met a man who could someday come to love her and want to share her life. Of course, Bruce's relationship with Mitch had been a major hurdle. But in the past couple of weeks the tension between the two of them had eased. Unfortunately,
her
relationship with the handsome principal had taken the opposite turn.

“Mom?”

Tess realized she hadn't answered Bruce's question, heard the undertone of anxiety in his voice and smiled. She didn't want his time at the farm overshadowed by unnecessary worry.

“I'll be fine,” she assured him firmly. “I feel almost back to normal.”

The doorbell rang, and Tess started to rise from the couch.

“I'll get it, Mom,” Bruce told her.

She didn't protest. His willingness to answer the door, as well as his eagerness to visit the farm, were a far cry from his hostile attitude before their first visit. In fact, in the past two weeks his whole attitude had undergone an amazing turnaround. And she had Mitch to thank for it. Not only had he brought Uncle Ray into their lives and watched over her son when she was in the hospital, he'd also found a way to
reawaken Bruce's interest in art—something Tess had tried without success to do. Mitch and Bruce had made more than one visit to the local repertory theater to get a behind-the-scenes-look at scenic design, and much to Tess's surprise, Bruce had agreed to help paint sets for the spring play at school. That, in turn, had exposed him to an entirely different social group—and left him little time to hang around with his old gang. No question about it—Tess owed Mitch big time. Her early intuition that he could help Bruce straighten out his life had been right on target.

Unfortunately, her intuition about Mitch's interest in
her
had been way off base. It wasn't that he was uncaring. He'd called frequently to see how she was and stopped by several times with take-out dinners for them. But something…some subtle nuance in their relationship…had changed over the past two weeks. The day he'd stood by her hospital bed after the surgery she'd been sure that his interest went beyond friendship. But she'd finally been forced to acknowledge that the attraction she had thought she'd glimpsed in his eyes must simply have been a side effect of the anesthesia. And that she'd also misread his earlier warmth and friendliness for something more.

The important thing, however, was the change in Bruce, she reminded herself firmly. After all, she could deal with her own hurt. She hadn't been able to deal with Bruce. Thank heaven Mitch had. He'd gone way above and beyond the call of duty by getting personally involved in Bruce's problems. And if that personal involvement didn't extend to Bruce's mom—well, what had she expected, really? She was
just an average-looking divorced mother struggling to make ends meet. Not exactly the type of person likely to attract a dynamic, accomplished man like Mitch.

And yet, as he stepped into the room she couldn't stop herself from searching his eyes, hoping yet again to see something that simply wasn't there. The familiar spasm of disappointment in her heart was as real as the pain she'd felt the night of her appendicitis attack.

“How's the patient today?”

With an effort, she summoned up a too-bright smile. “No longer a patient. In fact, I'll be back at work next week while you two gentlemen are enjoying country life.”

Mitch frowned. “That seems a bit fast.”

“I don't plan to overdo it,” she assured him. “But I can sit at a keyboard and write copy just fine.”

“I wish you could come with us, mom,” Bruce added.

“So do I, hon. But duty calls. I've had two whole weeks to lie around and take it easy. And I'll be down next weekend, like I promised.”

Actually, she wished she could back out of that commitment. But when Uncle Ray had called to formally invite Bruce, and then presented a convincing argument that a couple of days in the country would be just the thing to speed up her recuperation, she'd given in. Of course, that had been over a week ago, before she'd finally admitted to herself that Mitch's interest in her was strictly friendship. If her own feelings were stronger…well, that was her problem. And it wasn't fair to disappoint her son just because she was having a hard time coping with her feelings.

Those feelings had also made it difficult to think of a way to thank Mitch for his help during her recuperation. Few principals would take a student into their own home when a parent became ill, even for one night. Not to mention all of the take-out dinners he'd dropped off for them during the past couple of weeks. She owed him more than a simple thank-you note.

At first she'd planned to invite him over for a home-cooked meal. But now that seemed too personal somehow. She'd finally settled on inviting him to dinner at one of the nicer local restaurants. And she would make it very clear that it was just a friendly thank-you. Because the last thing she wanted to do was put him in the awkward position of having to deal with a woman whose feelings he didn't share.

When Bruce hefted his backpack into position, clearly eager to be on the road, Mitch grinned. “Looks like you're ready.”

The ghost of an answering smile hovered around Bruce's lips. “Yeah.”