Loe raamatut: «The Family They've Longed For»

CHAPTER ONE

“JUST FOLLOW THE standard orders for her release from the hospital as I wrote them,” Dr. Aurora Anderson said into her phone. “I know Dr. Jones has her chart, but he doesn’t know all the nuances of her problem. Any questions, call me and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Overhead, the last call for her flight to Alaska was urgently announced and she huffed out an impatient breath as the intern asked a few more questions.

“Listen, I have to board my plane. I’ll call when I get to Fairbanks. You need to follow my instructions. Yeah, I get that Dr. Jones is filling in for me while I’m gone, but I already talked to the parents about the plan. I don’t want anyone deviating from that and confusing them. They know I’ll be seeing their daughter as soon as I get back, and that they only need to contact Dr. Jones if something seems wrong.”

Rory shoved her phone into her backpack, grabbed her carry-on bag and ran to hand her boarding pass to the airline attendant, ignoring the disapproving frown the woman gave her. Being late to board wasn’t catastrophic, but messing around and changing her orders for a patient post-op absolutely might be, so she couldn’t worry about being the last on the plane.

After four years of med school, five years of residency and finally getting the board exam under her belt, she’d damned well earned her title: Doctor of Pediatric Orthopedic Medicine. She knew all this second-guessing from the intern was because she wasn’t yet an attending physician. But having her orders followed was supremely important—not only for the patient, but for her future on the doctors’ roster. If all went well, she’d have a permanent position there in a matter of weeks, and she’d never have to think about uprooting her life again.

She wrestled her bag into the overhead compartment and apologized as she squeezed her way past the two people in her row before finally plopping into the window seat. She drew a calming breath and pulled out her phone again, calling a nurse to give her instructions about a couple of other patients before they were told to turn off all electronics for takeoff.

Why they insisted on that, she had no clue, since people used computers and phones around all kinds of electronic medical equipment and not once had it interfered with testing and diagnostics. Then again, she thought to herself, she wasn’t an engineer, so she should stick with what she knew instead of offering opinions—something a few people in her past had frequently pointed out...one of whom she’d be seeing again this week whether she wanted to or not.

That painful realization had her stomach twisting like a terrifying tornado. Seeing him again, being in her hometown at all, was going to be torture; it would bring back all the horrible memories, all the guilt, all the sorrow she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

The plane lifted, propelling her toward the one place she absolutely didn’t want to go. She swallowed hard, trying to control the sickly feeling in her stomach, and tipped her forehead against the window to stare down at what had been her home for the past nine years.

The dizzying concrete mass of freeways connecting the hulking city of Los Angeles and all its suburbs couldn’t be more different from where she’d grown up. Where she was heading now.

With serious effort she managed to move her thoughts to the patients she’d just performed surgery on, and the others she was scheduled to see in her office the rest of the week. It wasn’t going to happen now. Because a different kind of patient needed her help. The woman who’d always needed some kind of care or guidance throughout Rory’s whole life.

Her sweet, wacky, childlike mother.

The plane rose higher above the clouds, leaving LA far behind. Rory dropped her head against her seatback and closed her eyes.

It would be okay. It would. Being with her mother for the next week would be really nice, since she’d spent so little time with her these past nine years.

Her mom loved her life in Eudemonia, Alaska, and hadn’t been too interested in visiting Rory in LA. The few times her mom had come to Southern California had been a joy, and a huge source of entertainment to everyone she’d been in med school with, and later her friends in the hospital. There weren’t too many people like Wendy Anderson, and her unique way of dressing was startling even in a big city like Los Angeles.

A smile touched her lips at the memories—until reality hit her like a hard fist all over again. Taking care of her mom would be the easy part. The hard part would be being back home. The worst part would be seeing Jacob Hunter again.

Yesterday, the sound of his voice on the other end of the phone had made her heart jolt hard in her chest, then hammer wildly—even after she had found out the reason he’d been calling. He’d been letting Rory know about her mother’s emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix, telling her that she was fine, and now just needed some nursing and recovery time.

Unbidden, the face that had fascinated her since the fourth grade appeared in her mind and memories of him spread to her heart, bringing a melancholy pleasure and unrelenting pain. Though their friendship—and more—was long over, she would always cherish the memories of their childhood together, and their years as lovers in college.

But theirs had been a love that had resulted in the worst thing ever to happen to either of them.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, as though she could squish the memories right out of her brain. It hadn’t happened in nine years, so clearly there was no point in trying now. Still, she worked to think, instead, about her mother’s idiosyncrasies, which made her laugh and sometimes drove her crazy, even though she loved her to bits.

From the time Rory had been barely more than a toddler, she vividly remembered her mother insisting that she call her Twinkle-Toes or Twinkie instead of Mom. Possibly because she adored wearing dance and fairy costumes, but mostly because actually acting like a mom had never been on her radar.

There were memories of the two of them doing all sorts of unorthodox things—like painting every lampshade in the house neon so they’d glow in “pretty colors”; like deciding that creating rock sculpture Voodoo talismans all around the house would keep them safe after Rory’s father died. Rory had helped with all that to make her mom feel more comfortable even as she had inwardly rolled her eyes—as she had when her mother danced spontaneously whenever the mood struck, not caring if there were other people around or not.

So many of the things her mother did were adorable and funny. But sometimes embarrassing—especially once Rory had become a teen. She found herself managing to smile in anticipation of what might greet her today at the house she’d grown up in, knowing that spending time with her unique mother was the only thing that would make this trip bearable.

The moment the plane touched down at the Fairbanks Airport, Rory felt like a ten-pound weight had dropped onto her shoulders. Looking out at the snowcapped peaks of the Alaska Range, she felt the memories she’d tried to stuff down flood back. They forced her to think about what had happened the last two times she’d been home.

One thing had turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life, which had left her with a shredded heart she knew would never be repaired. The other had been her father’s funeral, two years later. He had bravely suffered through diabetes, then kidney failure, for more years than she could remember. Neither one of those memories were things she wanted to revisit and remember, but being here again thickened her throat even as she promised herself she wouldn’t fall apart.

The forty-five miles from Fairbanks passed way too fast, and soon she was driving into the city limits of Eudemonia. The moment she saw the familiar stores and homes, and the trees which were now mostly naked except for a few straggling golden yellow leaves still clinging to the branches, her chest squeezed even tighter.

Finally the tiny house she’d grown up in came into view, surrounded by birch, aspen and spruce trees that were bigger than she remembered. Cozy and charming, in a worn sort of way, the house stood atop the small hill she’d rolled and sledded down as a kid, her mother rolling and laughing along with her while her dad watched and applauded—the hill she’d run down nine years ago, stumbling and falling, somehow getting in her car, tears making it hard to see, grief making it hard to breathe, to leave for LA.

God, she had to get these feelings under control before she went in to see her mother.

She hit the brakes and sat there, waiting for the sickly feeling to pass. She gulped in a few breaths, admitted she was as ready as she’d ever be, then turned her rental car off the road to bump across the uneven grass.

She could do this. She had to. She had to find a way to get through the next week without becoming a weeping mess all over again.

A single bulb dangled over the crooked wooden front porch, and a giant stuffed rabbit wearing a green army helmet sat on an overturned bucket to greet visitors. Why a rabbit, Rory had no clue—since it was early October, not Easter—but, boy, she couldn’t wait to find out. Though it was likely her mom didn’t have any reason other than she liked the way it looked.

The whole place appeared even more dilapidated than it had when she’d last been here for her dad’s funeral. She’d called regularly, but she knew it had been cowardly of her to avoid this place, and consequently her mother. She felt bad about it—she did—except that being here made her feel even worse. Maybe someday she would be able to face what she’d done and deal with the pain.

Nine years hadn’t accomplished that—which meant that “someday” was still a long way off. If it ever came.

She knew she was beyond blessed that her mom had lots of friends to spend time with. Close friends who always looked after one another. People who were a big part of the reason why her mother sounded like her happy self whenever they spoke.

But what her mom had gone through with her surgery wasn’t normal, everyday stuff. Rory knew her mother was supposed to be doing all right, but she might still be in a lot of pain. How on earth would her mom have coped if Rory hadn’t come home?

She had no idea. Which made her realize all over again that, despite everything, she felt glad to finally be here for her mom.

She planned to nurse her mom with lots of TLC. Then, with any luck, she’d be close to her normal self by the time her mom’s sister, Rory’s Aunt Patty, came to take over. Much as she dreaded spending time at home again, getting her mother healthy enough for Rory to feel okay to leave her had to be the goal.

She stepped up to the front door and paused to pick at the paint flaking from the side, making a mental note to call a painter to get it done next summer. She knew it was too cold to paint now, but getting it on the schedule would be better than nothing.

Her job as a resident pediatric orthopedic surgeon provided her with enough money to live on and pay for this kind of repair stuff. And now that she’d passed her boards she’d be making a lot more. Assuming she got the permanent job—which was another reason to get back to LA as quickly as possible for her interview, before someone else snagged it away from her.

Even though it was barely six thirty, the vibrant golden sun was already setting in Eudemonia, Alaska—long before it would be in LA. She gazed at the fading orb, loving the way fingers of light slipped through the branches and lit the yellow leaves and hills. Up on the mountains the brilliant reds of the moss and lichen in the tundra glowed beneath the setting sun, and Rory was surprised at the warm nostalgia that filled her chest. It was so completely different from the warm temperatures, the concrete roads, the masses of cars and buildings and people that made up LA.

Thinking of the warm temperatures made Rory shiver as the chilly air sneaked down inside her jacket, and she shook her head at herself. Her friends here would laugh at what a wimp she’d become, thinking it was cold now, in early October. They’d probably all still be wearing shorts and T-shirts and thinking it felt downright balmy—but, hey, when she’d left Southern California earlier that day it had been almost eighty degrees. Anyone would feel the contrast, right?

She turned the knob and the door squeaked open. No surprise that her mom hadn’t locked it, since Rory didn’t think it had ever been secured in her whole life. In fact, thinking about it, she wasn’t sure it even did lock. And wouldn’t her California friends be flabbergasted at that?

“Hello? Mom? Twinkle-Toes?”

The light in the small living room was so dim it was hard to see, and she peered at the worn chairs, not seeing any sign of her mother’s small frame. Sounds of marching band music, of all things, came faintly from the back of the house, and Rory had started to move toward her mother’s bedroom when she appeared in the hallway outside the living room, with a small, curly-haired brown dog trotting beside her. Rory hadn’t met him yet.

“Aurora! I’m so happy you’re here! Come give your mama a big hug.”

She hurried toward her mom, partly because she looked a little unsteady, walking with the pink cane she held in her hand. “Mom. Twinkie.”

She gently enfolded her in her arms, being careful not to squeeze, and her throat clogged with emotion at how good it felt to hold her. Until this moment she hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed seeing her and being with her. The pain of being in Eudemonia was so intense, the pleasure of seeing her mom often just wasn’t enough to counteract it.

No doubt about it, she was a coward. A weakling.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around with no one here. You just got out of the hospital this afternoon. What if you fell?”

“I knew you were coming. I knew you’d be here to take care of me, marshmallow girl.”

Marshmallow girl. It had become her nickname after they’d filled her hot chocolate cup to overflowing with them one Christmas. It had become a tradition, with the various pups they’d had over the years gobbling up the marshmallows that had scattered on the floor. Why that had stuck in her mother’s mind she had no clue, but she’d always kind of liked it when she called her that, remembering all the silliness of her home life.

“Yeah. I’m here to take care of you.”

She pressed her cheek to her mother’s soft, warm one, thinking of all her years growing up, when she’d played parent to her mom instead of the other way around.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I had a knife stabbed in my tummy—that’s how!” She looked up at Rory with a mix of a grimace and a grin on her face. “Can you believe I had a bad appendix? After all the special herbs I eat and drink to stay healthy!”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought it? Maybe your appendix has had too much fun all these years, just like you, and got plain worn out.”

“I’m not even close to worn out.” She grinned and playfully swatted Rory’s arm. “So I’m just as happy to not have a boring appendix. Good riddance to it, if it couldn’t keep up with the fun and appreciate all the special teas and foods I gave it, right?”

“Right. Good riddance, appendix!”

Rory had to chuckle as she led her mom to what she knew was her favorite chair. No point in getting into a discussion on the subject of herbal supplements, and which ones her mother might avoid, since she’d never been interested in her daughter’s opinions in the past.

She reached down to scratch the dog’s ears as he wagged his tail. “Is this Toby? You described him to me, but he’s even cuter than I expected.”

“He’s the best little doggie. He keeps me company and protects me just like the talismans.”

Noting that the dog hadn’t even barked when she’d walked in, let alone come out to see who was there, Rory smiled inwardly. Her mother believing the dog protected her was more important than whether or not it actually did.

The fact that she’d only started worrying about that after Rory’s father had died had been a surprise, since her sweet dad had been an invalid for so long he’d hardly have been able to deal with an intruder. But in her mother’s eyes he’d been a superhero. And she’d been right. The way he’d tried to be there for them even while bravely dealing with his illness had made him one tough, heroic man.

“I’m glad you found such a wonderful dog to be here with you.” She tucked her mom into the chair and kissed her forehead. “Are you hungry? I’m going to find you a little something to eat. And later I want to take a look at your incision. But before that I need to see all your hospital dismissal papers and read the instructions. Where are they?”

“In the kitchen somewhere. Linda brought me home and put them on the table, I think.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here in time to get you from the hospital. They told me you were being released tomorrow, and then when I called from the airport they told me you’d already left. That really makes me mad, by the way. I wanted to be there for you.”

“I know. I was hoping you’d see the hospital gown they had me in—it was a powdery blue, with these funny little cats on it that were too cute. One reminded me of our old Brutus...” Since nothing much ever irritated her mother for long, she gave with a smile and a shrug. “But you’re here now and I’m here now. We’ll have lots of big fun once I’m feeling better.”

Fun. The name of her mother’s game. It was going to be nearly impossible to feel like having fun while she was here, but she’d give it a try for her mom’s sake.

“You’re going to have to take it easy on the fun while you heal. They told me the rupture was an emergency and they had to use a full traditional incision instead of doing it laparoscopically, so it’s going to be a while before the pain is gone.”

The thought of how serious that might have been had Rory reaching for another, longer hug.

“I’m going to see if there’s food in the kitchen. If not, I brought some stuff in my bag to tide us over until I can get groceries from the store tomorrow. Sit tight for a minute.”

The kitchen light was an overly bright fluorescent strip in contrast to the low living room lights, and Rory made another mental note to get more lamps in the other room, so her mother didn’t trip over something.

Two gritty, slippery steps into the kitchen brought her to a halt.

From the look of the coffee cans full of colored sand all over the table, her mother’s newest creative project was sand art. Glass containers were filled or partially filled in landscape scenes, and Rory recognized one of them as being the Alaska Range they could see from the back of their house—those beautiful mountains she’d always stared at as a child, dreaming about climbing them someday and crossing over them to somewhere different and big and amazing.

She picked up the jar with the mountain scene and ran her finger across the glass, looking at the brown and green sand topped with fine grains of white. She’d done that, hadn’t she? Crossed that mountain. Become the kind of doctor few women were.

She’d thought she’d be looking at those mountain ranges forever, together with Jake. She’d thought they’d make a home and a family in Eudemonia, that they would work as doctors here and in Fairbanks and live happily ever after.

Except their “happy” had died, leaving an “ever after” impossible. She’d run hard and fast away from here—because she hadn’t been sure she would survive if she’d stayed. She’d made a new life for herself—going to medical school in LA instead of Anchorage, like she and Jake had planned.

But her life still felt hollow. Full to the brim with work to keep her mind busy and her heart detached from the rest of the world. That detachment had taken a lot of time and effort to achieve. It was exhausting.

She drew in a deep breath and glanced around the kitchen to see that there was as much sand on the floor and the table as there was in the cans. Crunching toward the refrigerator, she peered inside, deciding she’d better get the floor cleaned up as soon as she’d taken some food to the living room and read the discharge papers, so her mom wouldn’t slip on all the tiny grains. The last thing her mother needed was to fall and rip open her stitches.

The refrigerator was bare of anything but milk. There was also a little cheese, so Rory sliced it to serve with some crackers she found in the cupboard. She shook sand off the bottom of the hospital papers Linda had put in the middle of the table and went back to the living room.

“Here’s a snack for you. I’m going to read through this stuff, then get some more food from my bag.”

“This will be plenty. I’m not very hungry.”

“Just eat what you can and we’ll go from there. I understand if you’re not feeling like it, but you do need at least a little so you get your strength back.”

Rory straightened from putting the plate on her mother’s lap, and was about to sit in the only other chair that had a decent light when she heard the front door open and looked up.

Her heart stuttered, then slammed hard into her ribs.

Jacob Hunter.

She didn’t want to look at him for more than a moment, yet she found herself staring, riveted. He looked like he always had—and yet he didn’t. A little older but, impossibly, even better. He was still tall and lean, with angled features that were still startlingly beautiful: dark eyes that could see right through a person, and lips that were almost too full and yet perfect for his face. The black silky hair she’d loved to run her hands through long ago, when it had spilled to his shoulders, had been cut short enough to be respectable for the town doctor, but still it brushed his collar, not fully tamed.

He held a bag in one hand and, yeah, just as she would have expected, despite the chill in the air he was wearing a slightly shabby T-shirt that showed his shoulders and biceps were even more muscular than seven years ago, at her father’s funeral. No shorts, but the jeans he wore fit his physique perfectly, making him look more like an Alaskan cowboy than a medical professional.

Her heart beat its way up into her throat, making it hard to breathe. She’d thought she was prepared to see him—but not this soon. Not tonight. Not when she was barely ready to deal with being back in town at all.

“Hello, Aurora.”

He and her mother were the only two people who called her that. Her mom did because she’d always thought it such a romantic name for a baby born under the Northern Lights. The aurora borealis. And Jacob had often called her that because he’d known it annoyed her, and teasing had always been his way of telling someone he cared about them.

Not that he cared about her anymore. Not after all that had happened between them. Not with all the time that had passed since they’d spoken.

“Hello, Jacob.”

“I didn’t know when you were getting in, so I thought I’d check on Twinkie.”

Twinkie. It also struck Rory that he was the only person who called her mother that other than her. Until that moment she hadn’t thought about the familiarity that came with names and nicknames. None of her other friends had ever called her mom Twinkie—why had he picked that up?

Probably because he’d been around the house and participating in an awful lot of the crazy over the years. Funny how he had the kind of steady, predictable, wonderful family almost anyone would appreciate, and yet he’d enjoyed being at her zany, very unpredictable and unorthodox house just as much as his own.

“That’s nice of you, but you don’t need to worry about her now that I’m...here.” She’d almost said home, but had stopped herself, because this wasn’t her home anymore. Never could be.

“Might as well take a look while I’m here.” Jake scratched the dog’s head and it looked up at him with the same delighted expression as her mother did. “How are you feeling? Have you taken the pain medicine they gave you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m following all the directions they gave me. But I’m still in a lot of pain, so it’s not working too well.”

“Sorry you’re in pain. It’s not always easy to control the first couple days out of surgery. Let me take a listen to your heart and lungs.”

He reached back to the stethoscope he had looped into the back pocket of his jeans, then pressed his long fingers to her wrist while looking at his watch. Afterward he even pulled a portable blood pressure monitor out of his bag to check that, too.

Meanwhile Rory just stood there, feeling strangely uncomfortable, having no idea what to say or do now that he was here. The awkwardness hanging between them wasn’t surprising, even though she’d foolishly hoped that seeing him might leave them both feeling indifferent. That had clearly been a pipedream, considering their parting years ago hadn’t exactly been full of rainbows and smiling understanding between the two of them.