The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (27 page)

Merry watched him disappear through the door, and then she slumped in the comfortable chair next to Hunters crib. He had brought her a pile of women’s magazines, courtesy of Eugenie and the library. Eugenie had included a note, assuring Merry of her prayers for Hunter and letting her know that the Knit Lit Society had decided unanimously to postpone their December meeting until Hunter felt better. Merry glanced at the copy of
Gone with the Wind
that protruded from the tote bag at her feet. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to read about Scarlett and Rhett’s loss of their daughter, Bonnie Blue.

Hunter sighed in his sleep, and Merry turned her attention back to him. She’d learned the evening hospital routine quickly. The on-call pediatrician had stopped by earlier to check on Hunter and reassured them he was progressing as he should. The nurse had been in to check his vitals, and dining services had delivered a nutritious, if somewhat institutional, meal for Merry. An early evening peace settled over the hospital. Exhausted, Merry relaxed into the recliner and let her eyes drift shut.

“Merry?”

A soft voice at the door woke her. Merry rubbed her eyes and shifted forward in the chair.

“Camille.” She smiled, standing to greet her visitor. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Camille was dressed for an evening out in black pants and a shimmering emerald green blouse. She carried a black wool coat and a cashmere scarf. “Dante and I came to Nashville for dinner, but I wanted to stop here first.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Merry said, her throat tightening. She was certain that the last place Camille ever wanted to be again was a hospital. The poor girl had spent more than her share of time in them already, looking after her mother.

“How’s Hunter?” Camille moved farther into the room and stood beside the crib. “He doesn’t look sick. If you don’t count all the medical paraphernalia.” She waved a hand to indicate the tubing and IV stand.

“He’ll be okay, given time.” Merry forced back the sob that threatened to break free. “It was touch and go for a bit.”

Camille reached out, and Merry took her hand. The younger woman’s grip was firm and reassuring. “I’m sorry. I know how frightening it can be.”

Merry knew she did. Camille had been through worse than this with her mother. How the girl had managed, Merry had no idea.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to come.”

Camille paused, then gave Merry a look that told her she understood. “Yes, I did.” She looked around the room. “Do you need anything? I can get you some dinner.” She cast a disparaging glance at the tray on the nearby table. “Some real dinner.”

“Actually, the food has been pretty good. I just haven’t had much of an appetite.”

“You need to keep your strength up.” Camille paused, and a small smile etched the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I got so tired of hearing those very words from people through the years. You’ll eat when you need to. I always did.” She made a face. “Why is it that in a crisis people always want to feed each other? Like a sandwich or a bowl of soup will make a difference.”

Merry smiled in response. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we get frustrated that we can’t actually do anything to change what’s happening.”

Both of their gazes moved back to Hunter, who snuffled in his sleep.

“Is he going to be okay? Really okay?” Camille asked.

Merry thought about giving her stock answer, the low-key reassurance she’d repeated to friends who’d stopped by the hospital, to her mother on the phone. But the stock answer wasn’t the truth, not all of it. She could tell Camille the truth. Camille would understand.

“He may never be able to play sports,” Merry said, the words tumbling out on a whoosh of breath. “Jeff refuses to acknowledge it, but that’s what the doctor said. This disease can weaken the heart muscles, but there’s no way to know—”

“Merry—”

“Jake plays every sport known to man and then some that he just made up.” She felt pressure rising in her throat. “How will I tell Hunter that he can’t do what his brother does?”

She knew she should simply be grateful her baby was alive, but he would also never be the same. What if he couldn’t play soccer or basketball or even run—

“Merry.” Camille grabbed her shoulders. “Stop. You have to stop.”

Her knees buckled, and she slumped into the chair. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.”

“It’s okay.” Camille knelt beside her. “You’ve been through the wringer. Look, why don’t I stay for a while? You nap in the chair, and I’ll keep an eye on Hunter.”

Merry smiled through her tears. “Oh, Camille. Thank you, but I wouldn’t want you to miss out on your dinner with Dante.”

Camille returned her smile. “It’s okay. He can grab something in the food court downstairs, and I’m sure he can find a TV in a lounge somewhere and watch a football game.”

“But—”

“Consider it a done deal. Just let me run down and tell Dante about the change in plans.”

Merry nodded. “Tell him I’m sorry for ruining his evening.”

Camille chuckled. “Are you kidding? He’d rather watch football than take me out to dinner any day of the week.”

“That’s a complete story and you know it.” Merry paused. “But thanks for trying.”

Camille grinned, waved good-bye, and disappeared through the door. Merry turned back to the crib and her sleeping baby.

The guilt had receded somewhat, but it still lingered at the edges of her mind, and she knew it would be back. For now, though, the care and concern of a friend would help her keep it at bay.

Camille found Dante already in the food court, eyeing the flavors offered at the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream counter.

“Hey,” he said when he saw her approach. “That was fast. I thought you might visit for a while.”

Camille hesitated. Over the last few weeks, shed let her guard down and let Dante into her life, but shed kept their relationship carefully casual. Nothing serious had happened since that day in the movie theater parking lot. Until now.

“Um, look. There’s been a change of plans.” She wished she knew how he would react. So far he’d been pretty easygoing about their relationship, but he had an intense side as well. She’d seen it enough on the football field in high school, and more recently on the sidelines as a coach, to know he could be very focused on what he wanted.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, Dante, but Merry needs some company for a while.”

He didn’t hide his disappointment, but he didn’t look angry either. “So dinner’s off?”

Camille nodded. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I know it’s a long drive for nothing for you.” He would be a good sport about it, but no doubt this would be the first nail in the coffin of his interest in her. In her experience, men had little patience for women who asked them to put their own desires on hold.

To her surprise, Dante reached out and pulled her toward him. She glanced around, but the food court was practically empty on a Saturday night. The girl behind the ice cream counter shot her a knowing look, but she was smiling too.

“Being with you is never for nothing, Camille.” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Besides, I get you to myself for the whole ride home.” He stepped back. “How late do you want to stay with Merry?”

Camille looked into his eyes, and her stomach flipped. At that moment she knew. Like a complete idiot, she’d fallen in love with Dante Brown.

Panic set in, washing over her in a flood of anxiety. “A couple of hours, if that’s okay. I told her I’d watch Hunter so she could sleep for a while.”

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“You’d do that?”

Dante gave her a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Her father had used every excuse he could muster to avoid being at the hospital when her mother was first diagnosed, and she’d gotten the message loud and clear. Illness was for women. Men didn’t have time for it.

“Oh. No reason.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “The
room’s not that big though. Would you mind finding a lounge to hang out in? I’m sure there’s a football game on.” She said the last part with a teasing smile.

“Sure. But you’ll call me if you need me?” He tapped the BlackBerry he wore clipped to his belt.

Camille didn’t want her insides to turn warm and mushy but they did. “Okay.” She kissed him, a quick brush of her lips against his that set every nerve ending she possessed to tingling. “Thank you.”

He looked at her that way again, the way that said he’d do anything she asked. She tried to draw a breath and couldn’t.

She had never wanted to be in love with him, but she was. Maybe she always had been.

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she said and turned on her heel, trying not to look like she was running for her life.

On Christmas Eve, Esther pulled her famous crispy roast duck from the oven and set it on the countertop. The smell, salty and sweet at the same time, teased her nostrils. Soft medieval carols played throughout the house, thanks to the expensive stereo system. A faint scent of evergreen from the seven-foot tree in the hallway mingled with the smell of the duck and the lemony counterpoint of wood polish. Every nook and cranny boasted candles, Santa figurines, or poinsettias. For this final Christmas Eve in her home, Esther had spared no expense.

“If you want to set those dishes on the dining room table,” she said to the man standing at her side, “we’re ready to eat.”

Brody McCullough picked up the delicate china bowls-one heaped with brussels sprouts, the other with roasted potatoes. “Will do,” he said with a grin before turning to carry the dishes to the dining room as instructed.

Esther swallowed past the nerves that seemed to knot in her throat. Of all the people in the world, the last one she’d expected to spend Christmas Eve with was Brody. A few months ago, she hadn’t even known him.

Her son, Alex, and his family had elected to spend the holiday in the Bahamas, leaving Esther to her own devices. When she’d mentally run through a list of friends and extended family she could invite for the holiday, she came up empty. Everyone else had a place to spend Christmas, it seemed, and someone to spend it with.

There’d been no one on her list until she’d run into Brody outside Vanderpool’s grocery store the day before and they’d struck up a conversation that led to his presence in her house on Christmas Eve.

Inviting him had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now that the meal was on the table and Brody was pulling out her chair, she felt foolish. Esther didn’t like the feeling. She’d had little experience with it, but somehow, in the last few months, it had become her natural state.

She paused to admire the table. Her Wedgwood china, the gleaming family silver, tall crystal glasses of iced tea, and creamy linen napkins on an equally elegant linen tablecloth.

“Very nice,” Brody said, as if he were reading her thoughts, “but you didn’t have to go to this much trouble. I usually eat off a tray in front of the television.”

Esther had no explanation for Brody’s presence in her home, why he would be even remotely interested in spending the
evening with her. A widow. Older. Destitute. Not even able to control her dog. That last thought at least made her smile.