Clancy leaned back in his chair, watching Charlie Grace pace the room like a storm ready to break. With a sigh, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a folded check, and held it out to her. “The loan’s already been paid back.”
Charlie Grace stopped mid-step, glaring at the check in his hand before snatching it. She unfolded it quickly, her eyes narrowing. “It’s post-dated.”
“Only by a week,” Clancy said calmly. “He told me he asked you for an advance and you turned him down. Raising a family comes with a lot of expenses. Besides, we both know he’s good for it.”
Charlie Grace let out a sharp groan, clutching the check in her hand like it might catch fire. “Mark my words, this check is going to be as good as the promise he made to be faithful.”
Clancy frowned but kept his tone even. “You can always dock his wages if the check bounces.”
“That’s not the point, Dad,” she snapped. “I have other bills to pay! I can’t keep carrying him, not financially, not emotionally, not any way. Gibbs has a new wife. Let her deal with his immaturity.”
Clancy sighed, the lines on his face deepening. “I get it. I do. But Gibbs is trying, Charlie Grace. Maybe not in the way you want him to, but he’s trying.”
Aunt Mo, who had been quietly standing near the door with a sharp eye on Clancy, finally spoke up, her voice firm and resolute. “Charlie Grace is right, Clancy. This isn’t just about a post-dated check—it’s about Gibbs thinking he can take shortcuts and expect someone else to clean up after him. And you did it without even consulting her, knowing she would never agree. That’s not fair to her, and you know it.” She stepped closer, her gaze softening as she looked at Charlie Grace. “You’ve worked so hard to keep this place running, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to shoulder Gibbs’ irresponsibility, no matter how ‘good for it’ he might be.”
Clancy opened his mouth to argue, but Mo cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t. You’re enabling him, Clancy. You’re making it easier for him to dodge the consequences of his choices. If he wants to be a father, then he needs to step up and act like one. Charlie Grace isn’t his safety net.”
Charlie Grace tightened her grip on the check, thankful for the support. At least someone understood the true nature of the situation.
Mo reached out and gently touched her arm. “You have a right to be upset, honey. You’re in charge here.” She gave her brother a look before turning back to Charlie Grace. “Just remember, you’ve got a lot of people who see the work you’re doing and respect you for it. You don’t owe Gibbs Nichols anything.”
Clancy rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, finally nodding. “Maybe you’re right, Mo. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
Mo smirked, her voice softening but still sharp. “Took you long enough to figure that out.” She gave Charlie Grace a wink. “Now, what do you say we leave the check on the table and go grab some potatoes from the cellar for tonight’s dinner? Ain’t nothing a pan of my scalloped potatoes can’t make better.”
Charlie Grace let out a small, reluctant laugh and tucked the check into her pocket. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Aunt Mo.”
As they left the room together, Clancy lingered behind. “Stubborn women,” she heard him mutter.
14
Capri’s long-term prognosis was good but not without difficulty. She quickly learned she would not be returning home anytime soon.
“Compound fractures that require external fixation prompt a far more complicated healing process than simple breaks,” Dr. McCord pointed out. She learned foreign medical terms like Steinmann pin traction, Thomas splint, Pearson attachments, intramedullary rod, and post-operative edema, among others.
To her dismay, she also discovered she’d be dismissed from the hospital and directly head to a rehabilitation center where she’d spend time in intense physical therapy to increase her weight-bearing ability and to strengthen muscles that had atrophied during her extended hospital stay. She’d progress to therapies intended to restore her range of motion, joint mobility, balance, and coordination. She’d be enduring recovery for weeks before she could even return home and resume any sense of normalcy.
The entire mess frustrated her, at best. At worst, she was a total grouch.
One evening, she was in a particularly sour mood. Jake showed up after work with some chocolate milkshakes. “A treat,” he offered, leaning to brush a kiss on her forehead.
Capri glared at the milkshake, then at Jake. “Oh, perfect. Just what I need while I’m stuck in this bed, not moving—extra sugar to make sure I roll out of here instead of walk. What’s next? A side of fries to really round me out?”
Jake grinned as he set the milkshake on her tray. “Well, aren’t you just a delight? Here I was thinking I’d earn some points for bringing your favorite, but if you’d rather pout, I can always hand the treat off to someone at the nurse station who appreciates a good chocolate shake.”
Okay, fine. She was being a pill—a big, hard-to-swallow one. But no one seemed to grasp just how excruciatingly bored she was or how utterly done she felt with all of this.
She let a tiny grin form at the corners of her mouth as she grabbed the milkshake off the tray. “Look, I might be a handful…but you have two hands.”
Jake wasn’t the only one keeping tabs on her.
Word spread of her foul mood faster than wildfire in a dry season, and before Capri could properly wallow, her girlfriends swept into her hospital room like a well-organized ambush—Reva with a deck of cards, Lila carrying contraband snacks, and Charlie Grace declaring, “If you’re gonna be cranky, at least let us enjoy the show.”
Capri exhaled heavily, reluctant to admit how thrilled she was to see them.
Visitors were far better than watching the clock tick on the wall. She hadn’t done anything but lay here, poked and prodded, forced to endure bland hospital food and her own restless mind.
“You look awful,” Reva announced, plopping into the chair beside the bed.
