out from before, but everything still seemed so confusing. And how much guilt could she take with Brianna’s memory breathing over her shoulder reminding her how she’d betrayed her best friend by loving Jack, by stealing his attention when Brianna was getting sick and no one even knew it.
I think Jack likes someone else, she’d told Anne over the phone the week before the diagnosis.
If she was still this messed up over their situation, how must Jack feel?
Anne glanced at Jack and got the distinct impression he needed to spend time with her. She’d worked with grieving families as a nurse, and recognized his need for closure. And God only knew how much needed to be closed, but didn’t she have enough on her plate with her mom and dad? And, really, what was the point? They weren’t involved in each other’s lives anymore.
“Jack, it’s been great seeing you again. I really enjoyed the hike today, but I’m here to take care of my parents. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”
He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “You? Afraid?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to pass’ but what I heard was ‘I’m afraid’. You’ve never been afraid of anything, Anne.”
She tossed him a disbelieving glance. “You sure we’re talking about the same person?”
He shrugged. “That’s how I’ve always seen it.”
Was that a challenge in his eyes? Was it finally time to see if those embers of interest were still ignitable? Maybe where Jack was concerned she was afraid, and she definitely didn’t want to deal with these mixed-up guilty thoughts. Not now. Not under these circumstances. He’d put her through hell. She’d left town because of him—well that and college. And hadn’t she seen him with another woman last night, computer date or not! Why set herself up for more heartache? Besides, once Lucas got home, she was leaving. Again. She had moved on.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’ve got to go inside,” she said as she opened the car door.
“You’ll burn out if you’re not careful.” He wasn’t making it easy, but she closed the door anyway. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
She bent and ducked her head through the window. “Okay. But Jack? You’ve got to understand that I can’t be your buddy anymore.”
She bit her bottom lip. Jack used to like her straight-arrow honesty, but from the thoughtful, almost hurt expression on his face, she knew she’d gone too far. Too late. She couldn’t take back what she’d already said, and it was how she felt.
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said, brows low, eyes crinkled and staring at the steering wheel.
“Sorry.” She didn’t give him the chance to explain further as she strode up the walkway to her front door and let herself in.
I can’t be your buddy because it hurts too damn much.
Sunday, Anne and Beverly got confirmation that Kieran would indeed be discharged on Monday. When Anne questioned being able to fit Dad into the family compact sedan, she’d been assured by her father that the transportation home had been prearranged.
Monday afternoon an ancient yet familiar beat-up blue van pulled into the driveway, and once again, in her own home, Anne felt conspired against. She rolled the wheelchair to the sliding door where her father smiled, casted leg extended from one captain seat to the other in the huge belly of the vehicle. Jack sat behind the wheel with a tentative look on his face. It was the first time she’d seen him since she’d slammed him about trying to pick up where they’d left off. At least he didn’t look like he hated her.
She nodded at him. He lifted a hand as a wave. “Hold on a minute, let me help,” he said, hopping out the door and rounding the van.
Beverly stood behind Anne waving at her husband. “Welcome home, sweetie.”
“It’s great to be back, babe!”
“I’ll take care of this,” Jack said, as Anne pushed the wheelchair right to the side of the car. “We worked everything out at the hospital when we loaded him up.”
Several minutes passed as Jack and her dad played the maxi-van version of Twister, but emerged with Dad tottering on crutches just long enough to hop to the wheelchair.
Thinking in advance, Anne had put a sturdy slab of plywood over the two inch step-up through the kitchen door. With arm muscles tight and bulging, Jack pushed the two hundred pounds of her father, plus full leg cast, as if they weighed no more than a Hello Kitty stroller.
Anne tried her best not to watch, but gave in at the first glimpse of his deltoids.
Once inside, Beverly hugged Kieran, smiling until her eyes disappeared. He kissed her on the cheek since she was still smiling. “It’s great to be home,” he said.
Bart was beside himself with his favorite person back from “gone,” and high stepped and whined for attention. “There’s my boy,” Kieran said, kissing the dog’s nose and rubbing his ears. If dogs could smile, Bart was.
“Where should I put him?” Jack asked.
“Over here.” Beverly pointed the way to the family room and Jack steered past.
Anne brought in the crutches left leaning against the van, anything to distance herself from Jack and his invasion of her family. When she stepped back into the kitchen, she heard her father ask his favorite question. “What’s to eat? Do you have any idea how bad hospital food is?”
Anne opened the refrigerator and got out the pound of deli turkey and horseradish cheddar cheese slices she’d bought in anticipation of her father’s homecoming. She’d keep herself busy and let her parents occupy Jack.
She brought the tray of sandwiches to the family room and everyone dug in. Kieran was so happy to be home he tossed a half sandwich to Bart who caught it in midair and swallowed without nearly enough chewing.
Throughout all the activity and chatting, Anne caught glimpses of Jack stealing looks at her. Why did she give him the power to make her nervous? And each time she’d make a sorry attempt at a smile, he did the same. Yet when he left, all he did was wave goodbye. Maybe she’d gotten through to him.
Kieran insisted Jack return the next day after school to help him wash up, refusing to let his daughter, the nurse who’d seen everything, assist.
Once again faced with Jack, looking fit in well-worn jeans and a T-shirt, her palms tingled, there were tickles behind her knees and a flutter in her chest. She fought off the reactions by pretending to be engrossed in cutting the left leg out of two pairs of sweatpants for her father, and sent Jack down the hall to her father’s bedroom. It didn’t work. All the way from the family room, she strained to eavesdrop on their conversation over the sound of the running shower, and almost shushed her mother when she insisted on talking.
“Should we ask Jack to stay for dinner?” Beverly asked while attempting to stick a ruler under her cast.
“Mom, stop that. You can get an infection. And no, I was only planning on soup and sandwiches, and I’m
