Leaving Bluestone (8 page)

Behind him, the boys nudged and argued and kicked the back of his chair while his sister drove on, oblivious.

“So you own a bar now? How do you like it? You doing well?”

“Business is picking up again,” he said, trying to remember if he’d ever told her he owned a bar. “May slow now that winter’s coming.”

“I don’t know how you can stand those winters up there. Didn’t you have snow in May or something?”

“Not this year, but in years past, yes. It’s rough, but you learn. Nothing like Kansas winters, though we had some hellacious blizzards growing up.”

“Still do, now and again, but very rarely past February.”

They were talking about the weather after eleven years apart. How sad was that? He didn’t know how to make conversation.

“And you’re liking living out on the farm? How’s that going?”

“We had a pretty good year. Got some bills paid off, including this one.” She patted the steering wheel of the minivan that looked to be at least ten years old. Maybe that was just wear and tear.

“That’s good. How’s Dad?”

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have just blurted it like that. Her nose pinched and she kept her gaze on the road in front of her, for a change. “He’s apparently been sick for a while and hasn’t told anyone. So it’s pretty bad.”

“He’s too stubborn to die.”

A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t respond.

“Are Liam and Jared at the hospital?”

“Jared is at school. Liam is at work, but he’ll be by later.” She glanced into the rearview mirror at her sons. “Mom’s not handling this too well, so you know.”

Big surprise. His mother never handled anything well.

McPherson was closer than he remembered, or at least closer the way Rose drove. In no time, they were at the hospital.

If any part of him had expected a warm greeting from his parents, that was put to rest as soon as he walked through the door after Rose and her kids. His mother popped out of her chair beside his father’s bed, her face cold, blank.

“What are you doing here?”

He planted his feet, hands folded in front of him. “Rose said Dad was in the hospital and that I should come.” He chanced a glance at the old man, who was lying in the bed, an oxygen cannula creasing his face, an IV and monitor wires strapping the big man down. Well, he wasn’t big anymore. He was wasted and thin, and how no one hadn’t figured out he was sick, he had no idea. His father’s eyes were barely open, and Quinn had no idea if the man knew he was there.

Suddenly, his mother was in front of him, only coming up to the middle of his chest. “You haven’t been home in a dozen years, but you hear your father is under the weather and you come hurrying back? Are you looking to get back in the will?”

“Under the weather?” he asked, incredulous. “And, no, I don’t want anything from you.” Except to find peace, maybe, in their relationship. To mend fences, but not so he could come back and be a part of their lives. To say good-bye to his father peacefully. By the looks of it, he’d come in the nick of time. Whether he’d be allowed...

“You just want what you think is coming to you,” his mother accused. “Trying to get in our good graces.”

They’d never had good graces. But he’d come to make peace, not trouble. “I wanted to see my father. I don’t need anything from any of you.” If only that was true. If it was, he wouldn’t be here.

“Well, your father is—not awake,” his mother said, returning his steady gaze. “Come back later.”

Not awake? The man was unconscious. But he stepped backwards. “I’ll wait in the hall, since I came with Rose.”

“You won’t.” Rose stepped forward and took his hand, guiding him to the bed beside his father. “Dad, look who came to see you.” She placed his hand on his father’s cold, wrinkled one.

The man who had always been so big and stern was small and weak. His skin was loose and bruised, once strong arms slack. Quinn’s stomach turned to see the tattoos that had once fascinated him now faded and misshapen. He resisted the urge to rub his own tattoo.

His child would never be afraid of him, though. His child would know love and support.

He’d never really thought about having a child before, but imagined one now, a little boy like Rose’s youngest, plump and happy and running into his arms from his mother.

Lily.

No, he didn’t have room for her here. She was sunshine and this place...wasn’t.

His father’s eyelids fluttered and he met Quinn’s gaze with eyes identical to his. His loose mouth twisted into a snarl. For a moment, Quinn was eight years old again. He wanted to pull away, bolt, go back home, be out on the boat fishing, playing poker with Lily.

“You,” his father rasped. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

But it wasn’t a welcoming tone, a loving tone. But then George Alden had never used a loving tone with his children.

“Figures I’d have to be on my death-bed before you’d return. Worthless.”

“Dad, Quinn’s a hero.”

George’s nostrils flared. “The hell he is. A hero doesn’t slink away when his duty’s done. He stands up and is proud, makes his family proud.”

“He didn’t slink away.”

“He didn’t come back here, did he?”

“I wasn’t sure of my welcome.” He’d left under, well, bad circumstances didn’t begin to cover it. And his welcome today had proved his instincts right. “I’ll be in the waiting room when you’re ready,” he said to his sister, and stepped back, then into the hall.

He was just getting comfortable in the stiff upholstered chair, cursing himself for spending the money to get down here, the hours away from Bluestone when the weather was still gorgeous, when a tall figure walked through the door. He rose even before recognition struck.

“Liam.”

His older brother hesitated almost comically, mid-step, and pivoted. He squinted a moment, that mean-eyed squint so like their father’s, and then his brother embraced him, clapping him on the back, surprising the hell out of him.

“I sure as hell didn’t think you’d come back here. What did the folks say?”

Quinn spread his hands to indicate his surroundings. “This might give you a clue.”

“Ah, they’ll come around. Was just a shock, I’m sure.”

“I’m just here waiting for Rose. I came up with her and her boys.”

Liam laughed, another surprise. This Liam seemed more light-hearted than the brother he’d grown up battling.

“That’s an adventure. Come back with me and my wife. You haven’t met her. She’ll be along in a bit. Had to stop to go to the bathroom. Pregnant again.”

All that statement needed was a chest-thumping. “How many kids do you have?”

“This’ll be number three.”

Three was apparently a magic number in his family.

“What about you? You got kids?”

“Not married.”

“No one can put up with your bull, huh?”

“That’s probably true.”

A pretty redhead came around the corner then, breathless, her hand resting on the top of her round belly. Liam greeted her with a tender kiss that surprised Quinn more than the welcome embrace. Maybe this was the reason he was different, this woman.

“Tammy, meet my younger brother Quinn.”

The pretty young woman smiled and offered her hand. Quinn couldn’t help smiling in return. Well, hell.

“Quinn, I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m sorry it’s under such bad circumstances.”

“What are the circumstances, exactly?” Quinn asked, sitting down again. “Rose talked a lot coming up here, but she didn’t want to tell me in front of the kids.”

Liam sat across from him, Tammy perching on the chair behind him, balancing on the arm. “Stage four colon cancer. Bad. Like, he was being fed through a tube until yesterday. The doctors said maybe a week.”

“Was he doing chemo or anything?”

Liam shook his head. “Found out too late. They did some surgery to get rid of as much as they could, but they couldn’t get it all and he didn’t want to go with the chemo.”

Quinn nodded. He could see that.

“He’s in a lot of pain,” Tammy added. “He’s on a ton of morphine so he sleeps a lot. He’s barely aware of us when he’s awake.”

He’d been aware enough of Quinn.

“I’m going to go check in,” Liam said, hooking a thumb toward the room.

“You want me to wait here with you?” Tammy asked Quinn.

“No.” He used the arms of the chair to pull himself to his feet. “I’m going to get some air. Thanks, though.”

***

Lily had just come in from the lake when the phone in her pocket rang. She docked the launch, then pulled it out and looked at the display. She didn’t recognize the number, but it had a Bluestone area code. She clicked to answer.

“Hi.”

The voice gave her pause. She never heard it over her phone. “Quinn? Are you—okay?” Why was he calling her? “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. I mean, well, yeah, as good as can be expected. I’m sitting outside the hospital watching doctors take smoking breaks.”

She opened the door to her office and flipped the sign to “closed.” He sounded so rough, so defeated. She imagined the trip had been hard, the reunion with his family, especially after so long.  She could picture him sitting on a concrete bench outside, hunched over talking on his tiny ancient cellphone.  “Why don’t you go in?”

“Been in. Taking a break now.”

Her heart squeezed with the desire to comfort him. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she was to touching him, just casually, until her palm itched to do so now. “Not good?”

He made a sound of derision.

She hopped on the stool and leaned on the counter. Outside, sunshine glinted off the water and reflected in the windows. One of Quinn’s favorite kind of Bluestone day. “How’s your dad?”

“Stage four. A week, they say.”

She sucked in a breath. “Quinn, I’m so sorry. I’m glad you went.”

He blew out a long breath. “Yeah, well, he’s not. Mom, either. Not exactly the warmest welcome.”

“I hope they come around, but if they don’t, remember, it’s not about you.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if she spoke too bluntly. Usually he appreciated it, but now, when he was away from everything that was home to him, maybe he wouldn’t. Then he sighed, and she relaxed a little.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m—going to go back in. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Quinn.” She bit her bottom lip, cursing herself for calling out to him.

“Yeah?”

His voice was close, intimate, right in her ear, and she wanted to say what was in her heart, what had been in her heart for a year, but like she told him, right now wasn’t about her.

“Take care of yourself,” she said instead, and squeezed her eyes shut to focus on his voice.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll call you later.”

He disconnected, and she felt like an idiot school girl, holding onto that promise.

***

Right. Not about him. After a loud dinner with his brothers and sister and their families at a buffet in Jarvis, he drove himself back to the hospital. His father was alone in the room and asleep. Quinn lowered himself into the vinyl chair by the bed and just sat. The nurses came and went as the hospital quieted down, but no one told him to leave. His father grunted and shifted a few times in discomfort, and when he repeatedly licked his lips, Quinn rose and placed ice chips against them the way he’d seen Rose do earlier. That seemed to soothe the old man. Later, a nurse came in and rolled his father carefully, changing out the pads underneath him. She was a tiny thing, and even though his father was frail, Quinn stood to assist her.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “They called you in?”

He nodded as she smoothed the pad in place over the sheet. “My sister said it won’t be long.”

“You never can tell.”

But he had the feeling she knew.

“He can hear you, you know. If you talk to him. If you have things you need to say. It’s better to say them than regret not saying them. I’ll close the door so you can have some privacy.” She covered up his father’s legs, adjusted his arms so the monitor wires and oxygen tubes were free, then slipped out of the room.

Quinn looked from the closed door to his father. What the hell was he supposed to say? He didn’t talk when people were awake. How was he supposed to talk to the man who was asleep?

“We’ve never had the best relationship,” he said, guarding his words as Lily’s advice rang in his head. “I wished we could have known how to talk to each other without pissing each other off. I wish I could have known what to do to make you proud of me. I guess by the time I cared if you were or not, I’d already screwed up too much. There were times I wanted to come to you and ask you what to do, but you had me scared shitless. I wanted to come to you and apologize, but you weren’t exactly approachable.” Okay, maybe this was getting to be too accusatory. Take Lily’s advice. “But you made me tough, and that made it easier for me in the service. You made me independent. You made me—”
Emotionally unavailable. Unwilling to risk love. Lonely. Afraid of being just like you
. He didn’t know how to end that sentence. “Self-sufficient,” he decided. “You made me know what I didn’t want.”
To be like you
. “So. Thank you for that.”

Quinn sat back, rubbing his chest, and he could have sworn he saw his father’s eyes shift in his direction.

***

When Quinn woke the next morning, his mother was standing in the doorway, looking from him to his father. He straightened, blinking his eyes, realizing he occupied the only chair in the room. How long had she been standing there?

When she saw he was awake, she crossed to his father’s bed. “He’s still alive, I see.”

Quinn stretched his legs in front of him, sliding his hands down his thighs, then rose. “I’d hardly stick around if I killed the old man in his sleep.”

She shot a sharp glance in his direction. “That wasn’t what I meant. Were you here all night?”

“Since after dinner, yeah.”

“Has the doctor been by today?”

“Not yet.” His sleep-fogged brain was having difficulty comprehending the normal conversation they were having. Had her greeting—and subsequent expulsion of him from the room—been shock? Or for show? Why was she being nice now? Well, not nice, but...civil.