What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(26)

“Where’s Sully?”

“He’s on his way to bed. He just doesn’t have that much stamina. Truth is, he wasn’t up past nine very often when he was a hundred percent because he gets up so early. Don’t trip over anything,” she said as they entered the store. The only light was from the front porch. They didn’t mind if people gathered there and used the tables after the store was closed but it being a cold early April night in the mountains, folks preferred their campfires and the porch was empty.

She got behind the bar and he sat on a stool in front. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Chivas. Neat.”

She tipped the bottle over two glasses and put it on the bar.

“Now, come around here,” he said. “I don’t want that bar between us. I want us together. Here.”

There was no argument from her. She sat on a bar stool, facing him. She was ready to be kissed some more. He pulled her knees inside his spread legs, bringing her a little closer.

“Has Sully ever talked to you about your mother? About when they separated and divorced?”

“Some. We don’t dwell on that too much. It was a hard time all around. Why?”

“He mentioned one or two things. It’s come to my attention the last few years, sometimes men don’t say things they should to the people that matter to them. In trying to be strong and protective, they neglect to mention important things to the people they love. He said you were by far the luckiest thing he’s ever done with his life.”

She smiled. “I guess I knew he felt that way, but he never said it. I didn’t see my dad for about five years and I was hateful during that time. Once we were seeing each other again I constantly asked him why he let that happen. Why didn’t he fight? He just said he thought of himself as a lousy father, that I’d be better off with Walter.”

“Did he ever mention war issues, like maybe some PTSD?”

“Huh?”

“He said Vietnam had him pretty messed up. Of course you knew he went to Vietnam, right?”

She nodded and sipped her drink. “I didn’t know there were any issues. Why do you think he told you these things?”

“It seemed spontaneous. It was as if you were on his mind, having just had your little reunion with... What’s the boyfriend’s name?”

“Ex. It’s Andrew.”

“I think that’s why he talked about some personal things. He also said your mother is a pain in the ass.”

She laughed at that. “You won’t be surprised to learn I’ve heard that from him before. At least ten thousand times. And it’s pretty accurate. Phoebe is very high-maintenance. But the universe will catch up with her. Walter is older than Phoebe. He was a wealthy neurosurgeon, and he took very good care of my mother and me. He’s in excellent shape, energetic and healthy and on the golf course whenever he can, but he’s seventy, like Sully. Phoebe is only fifty-nine, not a bad age for a woman in good health. She’s always had to be indulged and taken care of and Walter certainly stepped up to the plate. But she could end up the caretaker.”

“Or she could put him in a nursing home and walk away from it all,” Cal said.

“Walter turned out to be a good guy. If you haven’t guessed, Phoebe has been twice a trophy wife, though I’m sure Sully didn’t realize it. To Sully I think she was just a pretty little thing. I’m sure he never thought she’d be a lot of work. I think she loves Walter. And I know Walter loves her.”

“You know, sometimes age has hardly anything to do with it. Phoebe’s health could fail before his. You just never know,” Cal said, taking a drink. “So, now that Sully is so much better, what are you going to do?” he asked her. “It’s been weeks, can you even remember why you came home in the first place?”

“Oh, Cal, not you, too. Lecturing me to go back to the grind?”

“Did I say that? I asked what you’re doing here.”

“There was a pileup,” she said. “Not only was it getting bigger than I was, I ran out of ways to practice. I ran out of ways to cope. And then Andrew...” She looked away.

“What?” he said.

“He said he couldn’t take it anymore—my plethora of problems. He said I was sucking the life out of him. He broke it off, not me. And the funny thing about that is, we didn’t even live in the same town. We texted, talked, emailed, saw each when we could—every couple of days or weeks. I was having too many problems for anyone, but I looked back through the texts and emails—they weren’t all my problems. There were friendly, chatty little things, affectionate comments, questions about him and his ER and his daughter. In fact, there’s more bitching about his alimony and custody issues than what I’d been dealing with. I realized I wasn’t supposed to have any problems. I was supposed to be his mommy and lover and cheerleader. I’d fallen down on the job by getting needy. He wanted me to get professional help so I could get back to work. Not work as a surgeon, work as his support system.” She took a deep breath. “It was my best friend, who is also my doctor, who said, ‘Get out of town for a week or two! Get some rest.’ There was no reason not to. I was grateful for the push.”

“How the hell did he think he was going to get that kind of attention and nurturing from a neurosurgeon? Aren’t you a little too overwhelmed on an average day to take on a little boy and all his little needs?”