The Sweetheart Secret Page 23

  “What else could I do?” Colt said, taking a seat on an overturned log and looking out at the lake. “This is where Henry was. At first, I wanted to leave. To hop on my bike and blast out of town and never come back. Never drive by this damned lake again. Never see Henry’s picture on the mantle. Never be reminded of how I let him down, and how—”

  He shook his head. Cursed. She sat down on the log beside him, laid a hand on his back, and waited. The birds kept up their chirpy conversations, the boats on the lake motored slowly past with quiet glub-glubs, and the day marched from afternoon to early evening.

  “How it was my fault he died,” Colt said finally, in a soft, ragged voice.

  “Your fault? Colt, you weren’t even here. You were in New Orleans with me.”

  “And that’s why he died.” Colt turned to her, his eyes wide and full, his face a mask of anguish. “Did I tell you he called me? Asked me to come home, not to miss our fishing trip. I told him I was married now, and I didn’t know when I could go again and . . . shit.” He looked away and his body shuddered.

  “Oh, honey, you can’t blame yourself. You were eighteen, Colt. It was okay to have a life of your own.”

  He wheeled on her, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “I wasn’t here, Daisy. Don’t you understand? I didn’t show up. I wasn’t here. Because I was . . .”

  His voice trailed off. Daisy filled in the blank in her head. Because I was with you.

  No wonder he hadn’t returned to her. No wonder he’d never told her about what had happened. Their marriage had been built on a sandy foundation, and when Colt’s life fell apart, he’d retreated to what he knew, instead of returning to a wife who was barely a friend. A wife who reminded him of why he had been far, far away when Henry needed him most. “Colt . . .”

  She reached for him, but he jerked to his feet, as if he could charge out to the lake right now and stop what had happened fourteen years ago. “I wasn’t here. So Henry took the boat on his own, and there was a storm and—” Colt cursed again. “They found his body the next morning, and I think that damned near killed my grandfather. My parents moved away, my grandpa stopped talking to me, and I’ve been trying like hell to make up for it ever since.”

  In that moment, Daisy could see the entire horrifying moment in her mind. That exuberant, confident little boy, climbing onto the boat, sliding it out onto the beckoning, blue water.

  Colt, getting a call from someone and rushing home, leaving Daisy only a note. Headed back to Florida. Will call later.

  Colt had never called. She’d tried to call him, left a dozen messages, but he hadn’t called back. Instead of going after him, she had moved on, moved to a different apartment, a different job. When Colt had needed her most, she had left him alone.

  “Oh, Colt. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him, as tight as she could. Tight enough to wash him with forgiveness, tight enough to tell him she was sorry for leaving him alone all those years ago, and tight enough to hold him together now.

  They stood there for a long, long time. The sun set behind the trees, and the boaters chugged back to the dock. The birds settled into their nests and the crickets began their evening song.

  Daisy drew back, and took both of Colt’s hands in her own. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  She smiled, and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Home, with your wife.”

  Twenty-two

  With your wife.

  The words rang in Colt’s head long after they got into his car and headed back to the house. He liked the sound of them—very much—but didn’t want to ask if it had just been a turn of phrase or a purposeful sentence.

  The kind that said I’m staying for a long time.

  He reached across the console for her hand. Daisy’s palm fit against his, snug and perfect. What if they had had this conversation fourteen years ago? Would it have been enough to keep them together? Would she have been here, to help him wade through those horrible months and years after Henry died? He liked to think so, but he wasn’t so sure. They were different people then, and with the passing of more than a decade, they had changed. Maybe this was the Daisy he was meant to be with, not the headstrong, impulsive one from years ago. “Thank you.”

  “All I did was listen, which is what I should have done a long time ago.”

  “Just like I needed to talk a long time ago. It doesn’t make it easy, but a little easier, if that makes sense.” All these years, he’d kept what happened to Henry bottled in his chest, as if doing so would keep him from remembering, from hurting.

  Physician, heal thyself. It was a standby saying because it was true. How many times had he encouraged patients to go see a therapist or just sit down and have a long-delayed conversation with a loved one, because he could see the physical toll their mental anguish was taking? And here he’d been doing the same thing.

  Him, and his grandfather. Somehow, Colt needed to break down that wall between himself and Grandpa Earl. Maybe then they could restore a semblance of their old relationship.

  Colt and Daisy pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. Night had fallen, and the street was lined with lit porches, beckoning like friends. “You know what we need now?” Daisy said. “Ice cream.”

  He chuckled. “I take it there’s a gallon in my freezer?”

  “There is indeed. But don’t worry, it’s actually frozen yogurt, and it’s marked ‘For Emergency or Special Occasions Only.’”

  “And which is this?”

  “Neither. Which makes the dessert all that much more decadent.” She grinned at him, then ducked inside the house.

  Colt followed her and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door. The house was quiet, lights off, TV off. No dog lying in an inconvenient spot. “Huh. My grandpa’s not home yet.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. He said he was going to go play cards with the guys.”

  Colt arched a brow. Maybe he wasn’t the only one making mental leaps forward today. “Really? That’s great. It’s been months since he did that.”

  “I think he’s feeling a lot better. He stayed at the festival all day today. Talked to a lot of people, and mostly ate healthy. I think he even had fun.” She swung open the freezer door, grabbed the container of frozen yogurt, then snagged a pair of bowls out of the cabinet. “One scoop or two?”

  “I’ll live on the edge. Two.”

  She laughed, then began working the scoop into the frozen dessert. “You run enough miles every week to work off this entire container.”

  “It wasn’t to work off the ice cream,” he said, slipping into place beside her. Daisy just grinned, and added an extra scoop to his bowl. “It was to work off a certain woman in my system.”

  “Couldn’t be me. I’m sweet. Easy to live with.”

  “Sweetly deluded,” he said, giving her nose a tap.

  “Chocolate sauce?” she asked.

  “Is there another way to eat ice cream?”

  Daisy smiled again, then retrieved a small bottle of chocolate syrup from the fridge. Clearly, she’d been doing some grocery shopping because Colt didn’t remember any of these decadent treats in his refrigerator from before. He didn’t mind so much, though. She mitigated the sweets with healthy dinners and warm breakfasts. Colt realized he was starting to like having her influence on his life. Not the same hell-raiser influence of their youth, but more of a tempered, balanced Daisy flavor. It made him crave her more, want to know more about her, to fill in all those gaps he’d never taken time to fill before.

  “You started telling me about your family back there at the lake.” Colt leaned on the counter beside her and watched her work on the ice cream. “What’d you mean when you said your mother never put down roots?”

  Daisy shrugged. “It was nothing, Colt, really.”

  “Come on, I spilled my
guts to you. Tell me.”

  She handed him his dessert. “There’s nothing to talk about. I had a crappy childhood. I survived. End of story.”

  Which was the same thing she’d said fourteen years ago. Maybe he was wrong about how much Daisy had changed. “I’m no psychologist, but even I know your childhood influences who you become as an adult, why you make the choices you make. Look at me. I had a father who put a thousand rules on me, had expectations higher than Mount Everest. I rebelled, but eventually found a happy middle ground.”

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “I’m getting there,” he said quietly, taking her hand, and wondering why he had waited so damned long to talk to Daisy. Why he’d been so stubborn, thinking he was better off on his own. She hadn’t turned away from him after he told her about Henry—she had understood, and comforted him. The weight lifted from Colt’s shoulders had to weigh a thousand pounds. “And I’m a lot closer today than I was before.”

  “I’m glad. I really am.” She stepped back, put the cover back on the frozen yogurt, and stowed it in the freezer. She started to scoop up a bite, then stopped when there was a sound at the door. “Is that a dog?”

  “Must be Grandpa. Must have been a long card game. I figured he’d be home a while ago.” Colt glanced at Daisy when the dog started barking.

  “Did he forget his key or something?”

  “I didn’t lock the door.” Colt darted down the hall and pulled open the back door. Major hurried into the house and straight for the water bowl, lapping up the liquid with furious movements. Colt stepped onto the porch, then came back in. “Grandpa Earl isn’t with the dog.”

  “There’s no way your grandpa would lose track of that dog. Where do you think—”

  Colt’s cell phone rang. He jerked it out of his pocket and pressed the button. “Colt Harper.”

  In an instant, the expression on Colt’s face changed from frustration to worry. His features went stony. He listened for a while, then nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

  Before Daisy could ask, Colt was grabbing his car keys, and reaching for her hand. “We have to go. My grandfather is in the hospital.”

  * * *

  Colt Harper had walked the halls of the Rescue Bay Hospital a thousand times. He’d visited patients, consulted with other doctors, even interned here when he was in medical school. But never had the walls seemed so sterile, so cold, so dead as they did tonight.

  Guilt weighed his steps, as if he was running through mud. Once again, someone he loved had been hurt when he’d been elsewhere. He shouldn’t have taken Daisy’s word on where Grandpa was. He should have followed up, picked Grandpa up from the card game.

  Daisy hurried alongside Colt, into the building, down to the information desk, and then up to the third floor. For a second, he couldn’t remember if Room 308 was to the left or the right, and he hesitated at the T outside the elevators.

  “This way,” Daisy said, taking his hand and turning to the right.

  Three doors down, the placard outside Room 308 read HARPER, E. in thick black Sharpie. Colt halted just outside the door, then forced himself to turn, to enter, to take in that disinfectant smell that managed so often to mingle with death and hope.

  “Grandpa?”

  Grandpa Earl lay in the big white bed, the light dimmed above his head. His eyes were closed, his lips pale and a little blue, his hands still upon his chest. Oxygen tubes snaked into his nostrils. The television above his head played some inane sitcom, the sound lowered to almost a whisper. The heater kicked on, sending a rattling burst of forced hot air into the room.

  Colt stepped forward. He barely noticed Daisy’s hand on his shoulder, her presence by his side.

  “Grandpa?”

  There was no movement, no response. Panic climbed Colt’s throat. He’s dead, Colt thought, he’s dead, and it’s my fault.

  “He’s sleeping,” Daisy whispered, as if reading his mind. “That’s all.”

  Colt pressed forward until he reached his grandfather’s side. It took a solid minute of concentrating to convince himself that yes, indeed, Grandpa Earl’s chest was rising and falling. The cardiac monitor machine beside the bed kept a steady track of his blood pressure, heart rate.

  The clinician in Colt made a sweeping assessment. A furosemide drip, inserted into a basilic vein. Blood pressure 110 over 70, heart rate steady, but a little high at 140. Colt picked up the chart on the end of the bed, and flipped through the ER assessment.

  Dehydration. Elevated heart rate. Light to moderate confusion. Hypertension.

  Colt sank into the bedside chair. “It wasn’t a heart attack. He just pushed himself too hard and too fast.”

  Daisy’s hand returned to his shoulder. “That’s good news, then. Isn’t it?”

  Colt nodded. “I think so. I’ll know more when the tests come back.”

  “There aren’t going to be any goddamned tests.”

  Colt got to his feet and hovered over the bed. Relief replaced the irritation and worry in Colt’s chest. “Grandpa. What happened?”

  “I just got a little worn out. That’s all.” Earl opened his eyes and shifted toward Colt, as if daring his physician grandson to disagree. “Nothing to get worried about.”

  Colt wanted to throw up his hands and yell at his grandfather. Instead, he kept his voice low, and controlled his frustration. What was it going to take for Grandpa to realize he had to take care of himself? “You’re in the hospital. That’s something to worry about. You should have let me drive you home. Should have—”

  “I know what I should do. Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.” Earl patted the bed until his hand hit the attached remote. He fumbled with the buttons and started flipping channels. “Now are you going to let me get some rest or are you going to keep on lecturing me?”

  Colt sighed. “Do you need anything?”

  “A nap. And for you to feed my dog. The damned doctor’s keeping me overnight. Told him I was just fine.”

  “Dr. Boyle is one of the best cardiac specialists in Florida, Grandpa. You’re lucky he was here when you got admitted. If he wants you to stay overnight, then you should listen to him.” At least listen to somebody, because Lord knew Grandpa wouldn’t listen to Colt.

  Grandpa just harrumphed. He lay back against the pillows and turned up the volume on the TV. That, apparently, passed for agreement.

  Colt sat back in the chair, feeling helpless, as if his hands had been tied behind his back. “Did they do an EKG? You know your last one was three months—”

  “Are you going to yap through my show about medical crap?”

  Colt got to his feet. “Fine. If you don’t want me here—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then I’ll go home. I’ll call Doctor Boyle in the morning and ask him—”

  Grandpa Earl waved his hand in dismissal. “Call him, talk medications and CAT scans and EE-whatevers and all that stuff you enjoy so much. Just leave me the hell out of it.”

  Colt stared at his grandfather for a long time, but Grandpa Earl kept his attention on the images flickering on the screen. Daisy stood to the side, looking from Colt to Earl, as if asking Colt to do something, to figure this out somehow.

  Instead, Colt turned on his heel and left the room. There was no prescription for this situation, and the sooner he accepted that, the better.

  Twenty-three

  Two a.m.

  The clock ticked past, flipping the digital numbers from 2:00 to 2:01. Daisy gave up on trying to sleep—she hadn’t closed her eyes since she’d gone to bed anyway. She’d been just as worried about Earl as Colt, but tried not to say anything, in case it made Colt’s stress level higher. Finally, she gave up on trying to sleep, tugged on a robe, and padded down to the kitchen.

  Outside the screen door, she saw a figure standing on the back step, his tall silhoue
tte standing black against the dark gray night. The moon hung heavy and full in the sky, casting a white river down the center of the ocean. In the distance, a boat cut through the water, the red light of the bow aiming toward Clearwater or Tampa or maybe down to the Keys. It was a dark, supernatural sight, with a storm brewing off the coast, adding a hint of danger to the air.

  The door creaked a protest as Daisy stepped outside. Colt turned. “Hey. What are you doing up?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither. It’s been a hell of a day.” He stared out at the surf. The storm hovered far out to sea, reaching toward Rescue Bay’s shore with strong winds and frothy waves. The palm trees clacked together like skeletons in a bag, an eerie, powerful sound that crept down Daisy’s spine.

  “Worried about your grandpa?”

  He nodded. She went to him, and just opened her arms. He hesitated, then stepped into them, and she wrapped an embrace as tight around him as she could. Colt stood stiff and unyielding for one long second, then, like a girder succumbing to too much weight, he leaned into her, his head on her shoulder, his arms circling around to her back.

  “He’ll be okay, Colt. He’s in good hands.”

  “I know.” He drew back and let out a sigh. “But it doesn’t stop me from worrying. That’s the bad part about being a doctor. You know all the worst case scenarios, and it’s hard not to let them torture you.”

  She slipped her hands into his and gave him a grin. “Then let’s do something to take your mind off it.”

  “Do something? Daisy, it’s two in the morning.”

  “A perfect time for a walk on the beach, don’t you think?” Major snapped to attention at the mention of the word walk. His tail wagged, and he started panting with excitement. “And Major agrees.”

  Colt glanced at the dark, rolling sky. “There’s a storm coming in tonight.”

  “And what is the worst that could happen? We’ll get wet?” She shrugged. “So we’ll bring raincoats.”