Summer Kisses Page 21

  Nate took in the military commendations on the wall with the barest of nods. “How close to eighty are you?”

  “Somewhere between...seventy-five...and eighty.”

  “I drove down Main Street before I came. I think it’s going to be tough to reach eighty.” Nate glanced toward the door.

  “Not necessarily,” Becca jumped in. “They’re building a winery at the south end of town. They’re hiring at least three people.”

  Edwin’s hand waved angrily. “You can wait. Live on your salary.”

  “I’m on administrative leave.” Nate’s eyes were wary.

  “Paid leave.” Edwin pointed at him with his finger. “I know people.”

  Nate stared at Edwin a good long time. “Who do I apply to?”

  “Mayor Larry,” Edwin wheezed. “Does yoga east of the bridge this time of day.”

  Nate nodded. “Thanks for the tip.” He moved toward the door with that same deliberate pace that said he wasn’t in a hurry and you shouldn’t be, either.

  “I have to admit, that was pretty awesome. Your letter worked.” Becca stood at the door contemplating Harmony Valley.

  Maybe she’d stay. It was a nice town. Slow paced. Whatever was between her and Flynn, she’d sweep under the rug, tuck it away like Agnes had with Harold. A memory to take out on a rainy day when she was old.

  That was depressing.

  “Grandpa Ed’s drooling.” Truman giggled, pausing while watching cartoons on the carpet at Edwin’s feet to point at his great-grandfather.

  Without thinking twice, Becca rushed to Edwin’s side. She put a finger on his wrist. His pulse was weak, but steady. His eyes glazed, his face slack, his arms twitched. “Edwin?”

  The old man mumbled something unintelligible, except for the last word. “Irma.”

  “Edwin? Edwin?” Panic tried to scale her voice into panic. Becca had to remain calm. For Truman.

  Abby danced onto her hind legs so she could rest her front paws on the arm of Edwin’s recliner. She stretched to sniff his face, stiffened, and then dropped to her haunches and barked.

  “No.” Becca had seen Abby do that twice before. Once in the twenty-four hours before she’d lost Virginia. Once in the few hours before she lost Harold. “No, no. Edwin, I need to hear your voice.”

  Abby went over to a corner and curled into a tight ball.

  Truman walked to Becca on his knees. “What’s wrong with Grandpa Ed?”

  “Tell Truman there’s nothing’s wrong with you,” Becca urged. “Edwin? Edwin?” So much for remaining calm. Her voice pitched higher than an opera singer’s.

  Truman plastered his body against hers. “What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t answer. She’d seen too much of death to lie to the little boy or herself. “I need you to get my phone and call Flynn.” He’d drive them to the hospital in the time it took an ambulance to get out here. And then she’d have Truman call Agnes because they were going to need someone to watch Truman while they went to the hospital.

  * * *

  “HE WAS SO vibrant last night. So alive.” Flynn sat at Grandpa Ed’s bedside.

  His grandfather’s lungs rattled with each labored breath. His arms twitched, as if he was having a bad dream. Occasionally, he’d murmur something unintelligible.

  His father, Slade and Will stood at the foot of the bed. Becca had her back against the wall near the hospital room door.

  “What can we do?” Slade asked.

  Flynn had no idea. He looked at Becca.

  It struck him then, harder than a jab to his midsection. Becca was distancing herself, preparing herself for death, preparing to move on.

  He didn’t want her to go.

  He should have told her this morning how proud he was of her returning the ring and offering to pay the money back. He should have told her every day how grateful he was that she’d made his grandfather smile and laugh, while Flynn honored his grandfather’s wishes to take care of the town. He should have told her he was scared and keeping himself busy with the winery while minor repairs in town kept him from facing his fears.

  She would have understood. She would have held his hand or hugged him fiercely. Then she’d have dropped her gaze and cited some ridiculous house rule.

  But he couldn’t tell her anything now. Words, expressions, smiles. They were all comatose in the numbness that was the hospital room.

  Grandpa Ed was dying.

  Becca stepped forward, as he knew she would. “Gentlemen, I suggest we take turns sitting with Flynn and Edwin. I’ll take the first shift. Oh, and it would be great if someone could call Kathy.”

  Flynn told them which rehab facility she was in.

  The men started to file out, but Becca stopped them. “Please tell Edwin that you’re leaving and you’ll see him later.”

  Slade and Will exchanged doubtful glances.

  “He’s still here,” she said softly. “When was the last time he let you ignore him?

  They did as she suggested.

  Joey lingered, looking at Flynn. “Could I...?” He gestured to Grandpa Ed.

  Flynn swallowed thickly and nodded.

  His father moved slowly, bringing him closer to the man who’d taken his son from him. “Edwin, we’ve had our differences. But you made the right choice, the hard choices that I wouldn’t have made. I need to thank you for that.” He glanced at Becca. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

  The only sound after Joey left was Edwin’s labored breathing and murmurs.

  He’s dying.

  “What can I do?” Flynn asked Becca, feeling more helpless than he had in years.

  She pulled a chair over, sat and took his cold hands in her warm ones. “You need to be here for your grandfather with your presence and your words. Don’t sit silently. Tell him when people come and go. Talk about the fond memories you’ve had together. Tell him you love him.” She gently squeezed his hands, as if to let him know her next words were very important. “Tell him you understand he has to leave. Tell him he can go whenever he’s ready.”

  Flynn shook his head. “I can’t.” He couldn’t let him go.

  “He’s just as afraid as you are.”

  How could that be? Flynn was terrified. He clung to Becca.

  She held his fingers tight. “He’s been driving that old body for years. Slowing down. Needing more time to warm up in the morning. This is his chance to trade that body in for something less restrictive and more freeing.”

  “You just called my grandfather a car.”

  “His soul is the driver. His body is the car.” Her voice. Gently soothing. Providing a metaphor that made losing Grandpa Ed easier. “I’ll show you how.”

  Becca stood, pulling Flynn to his feet.

  “Edwin, this is Becca. I’m here with Flynn.” There was a catch to her voice that wouldn’t have fooled Grandpa Ed on a good day. “We brought you to the hospital after Sheriff Nate came to visit.”

  “Sheriff Nate?”

  “Sheriff Nate received one of your letters.” She tossed at him, before turning her attention back to Grandpa Ed. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you in your letter-writing campaign. You’re a genius.”

  Flynn couldn’t believe someone had actually answered his grandfather’s letters.

  Grandpa Ed’s murmuring eased.

  “I know your body feels heavy,” she continued. “You can be like a flower, floating down the Harmony River without a care in the world.”

  “Flynn,” Grandpa Ed murmured.

  “He’s here.” Becca took Flynn’s hand and put it over his grandfather’s. “Go on.”

  It took Flynn a few labored breaths to produce any words. What came out of his mouth was soft and low. “Do you remember the day Mom dropped me off to stay with you? You
told me I’d never have to feel scared again. You held my hand and led me out to the porch. We looked at the river and you said life in Harmony Valley wasn’t like life in the city. You told me how happy you were that I’d come to live with you.” His breath felt like it had been cut in tiny chunks that stuck in his throat. “I never told you that was the best day of my life.”

  Becca put her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “Keep going.”

  So he did. He blinked back tears and told his grandfather about all the big moments in his life that were made possible by living in Harmony Valley. He told him about how he applied lessons learned from his grandfather to his everyday life. He told him how much he loved him.

  Flynn talked on and on. And when his voice faltered another picked up the tale.

  He laughed with his friends over stories of their struggles to build a business. He laughed with his father at stories of the good times he’d forgotten. He laughed with Becca over stories of Truman and Abby.

  But mostly, he laughed to keep from breaking inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SHE’D THOUGHT HARMONY Valley was different. She’d thought Flynn was different.

  There were no differences. There was grief and sorrow and heartbreak.

  Edwin was dead. He’d drifted away during the night with Becca and Flynn by his bedside.

  She hadn’t had time to prepare, to sit with Edwin and listen to his stories, ease his fears, along with her own. She’d been too busy putting him into a routine, establishing healthy eating habits, cleaning out his cobwebs. There were no last requests, other than the necklace he’d wanted to give her. The one Flynn refused to give her.

  Slade dropped Becca off at Agnes’s house. Agnes was sleeping over at Edwin’s with Truman and Abby.

  Becca reached into her purse for the keys to the motorhome, although why she locked it was beyond her. No one locked their doors in Harmony Valley.

  She rummaged around in her purse and her fingers tangled with a delicate chain. She knew what it was before she lifted it free. Irma’s pendant.

  Who had put it there was another question. Edwin or Truman, if she had to guess.

  Not Flynn.

  Her heart decided to add to the weight of sorrow in her chest. She’d resisted the attraction between them, resisted Flynn’s advances, even resisted what her heart wanted.

  Because Flynn was too good for her. She’d crossed too many lines with too many clients. Flynn had a zero-tolerance policy for liars and thieves.

  She’d get whatever sleep she could, return the necklace and leave.

  She only wished her motorhome could go faster than the rapidly accelerating grief.

  * * *

  GRANDPA ED WAS GONE.

  Flynn sat at the kitchen table staring at a full bottle of whiskey and an empty shot glass. He’d been staring at the pair for hours, barely registering how life went on outside his window.

  The occasional bird swooping past. A squirrel seeking out a stray nut. Shadows lengthening, collecting themselves, and then beginning to lengthen in the opposite direction.

  Abby and Truman occasionally came to check on him—one leaning against his shoulders, one leaning against his leg. They drifted in for food and out again. Asking with their big, sad eyes when Becca was coming to help them with their grief. Grief was something Flynn had no clue how to fix.

  Becca’s motorhome trundled up the drive toward the house. She made a U-turn and parked.

  Truman and Abby ran to the front door.

  Becca came in, dark circles under her eyes, her hair as limp as her energy level. She wore a pair of black jeans and a plain black T-shirt—her idea of mourning clothes.

  She dropped her purse on the floor by the door and hugged Truman. She hugged Abby. She stared at Flynn and the whiskey.

  Suddenly, Flynn felt the warmth of the sun through the window, felt like he could breathe and move and live. It was Becca who made him feel that way, as if the cacophony of emotions swirling through him weren’t heavy and unmanageable.

  “How are you doing?” she asked when she and her entourage moved into the kitchen.

  He grunted something that meant nothing.

  He wanted to sweep her into his arms and never let go. He wanted to listen to her soft, calm voice telling him what to do, as it had last night. He wanted things he couldn’t name.

  She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it. Reached into her jeans pocket and let something metallic dribble into the empty shot glass. “I didn’t want you to think I stole it. Truman or...someone...must have put it in my purse.”

  Flynn dipped his finger into the shot glass. His grandmother’s necklace. The heart pendant was still warm. He rubbed the gently curving lines with his thumb, imagining his grandmother separating the heart pendant in two, giving his grandfather her heart, not knowing if he’d fall in love with someone else or lose his life overseas.

  He couldn’t remember much about her, other than her soft voice and faded ginger coloring. But she’d had guts. It took courage to put your heart on the line like that, to say, I’ll wait for you, no matter what.

  Someday, perhaps, he’d be brave enough to say it to someone. Perhaps to Becca.

  She moved about the kitchen behind him. He imagined she was going to make them lunch. How could she think about others when the pain of loss felt as if it had cleaved his heart in two?

  He turned to look at her.

  She wasn’t making lunch. She was collecting her things. “I left the grocery list for you on the counter. Truman likes fruit. Don’t go spoiling him with junk food.”

  “Are you leaving?” Truman asked before Flynn could, coming to stand in the middle of the kitchen.

  Flynn gripped his grandmother’s pendant so tight it dug into his palm.

  “I am. My job here is done, but...” She knelt down on the floor in front of the little boy. “I want you to have Abby. She likes being with you more than she likes being with old, sick people.” Becca sniffed, firming up her voice and, it appeared, her resolve. “But only if you promise to take good care of her. No sneaking people food to her, like popcorn.”

  “Becca, don’t go.” Truman fell into her arms. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to.”

  Flynn felt numb and distant, as if he was far away from the scene before him.

  Truman cried against Becca’s shoulder, his face scrunched and red. She stroked his hair. Abby tried to nose her way into the embrace. Flynn wanted to be there, as well.

  But what right did he have? Becca had erected barriers around her heart. She knew he was hurting and she was leaving him anyway.

  “First, they took Grandpa Ed to the hospital and he died,” Truman sobbed. “Mama’s in the hospital. She’s probably going to die.”

  “Your mother will be fine.” Flynn’s voice croaked like the frogs down by the river.

  “You lie!” Truman turned on him. “People lie all the time, you said so yourself.” Truman ran down the hall, Abby close on his heels. A door slammed.

  Flynn eased his grip on the heart pendant. “You don’t need to leave Abby with him. She’s your dog.” He didn’t like the idea of Becca being alone with no one to comfort her at the end of a long, hard day.

  “Truman needs Abby more than I do.” She hadn’t gotten up from the kitchen floor. “While Kathy’s in the hospital he’ll need you and this town to help him heal.”

  Down the hall a door opened. The shower went on. A door slammed.

  Becca stood, backing into the corner of the kitchen. “I wanted to say a proper goodbye, but if I wait for him it might be worse.”

  Words invaded his mind. Words like, don’t go, please stay, I need you.

  Words that remained unspoken, like, you give me hope, you give me strength.


  He stared at his grandmother’s pendant. “I’ll write that letter of reference for you. Where should I send it?”

  “No need.” Her voice, so flat and emotionless. “I told Gary I’d pay him back. He accepted this morning and dropped the lawsuit.”

  Flynn hadn’t been expecting that. It meant when Becca left, she’d have no reason to look back. “Stay.”

  Her eyes held that same trapped look as the day they’d first met. “Why?”

  He couldn’t give her an answer. Not because he didn’t have one. He had many. But because he couldn’t decide on the right one. “Where can I send your check?”

  “You can’t write it now?” Pain flashed across her features, pain that went straight to his heart.

  She never wanted to hear from him again after this. What had he expected after he’d been so cruel the past few days? He’d justified every one of her actions in his mind, but verbally, he’d been brutal to her. Because he wanted to protect her. He’d gone about it all wrong.

  Fat lot of good that did him now. She was leaving him, going out into the world unprotected.

  And the irony was, she’d be fine. It was Flynn who’d be scarred and vulnerable.

  He went down the hall for his checkbook, knocking on the bathroom door as he passed. “Becca’s leaving. If you want to say goodbye, you need to get out.”

  Abby barked behind the door.

  He returned to the living room with the check folded around the pendant. “Don’t go.”

  Becca stood with one hand on the back of Grandpa Ed’s fancy recliner. Flynn’s Giants cap, the one Grandpa Ed had worn for days, sat on one arm of the chair.

  “I need you to stay.”

  She shook her head. “You need someone you can trust. Someone who’s sweet and loveable.” She stroked the pillowed recliner. “I’ll say goodbye to Truman through the door. He can text or call me anytime.” She walked rigidly down the hall.

  This was it. Flynn’s last chance. His hands fisted in frustration. She’d say goodbye to Truman and then leave. All he was doing was circling the issue. Circling the issue. Circling love.