The flavors of the greens and the light dressing burst over my tongue, and I slowed down, enjoying the taste in spite of myself. I hadn’t had any real veggies since I’d left the hospital, and what they’d served me there had been a far cry from fresh. But this was an entirely different story.
“This isn’t half bad,” I conceded, talking with my mouth full. “I mean, I’d still rather have a burger and fries, but . . . it’s okay. For a salad.” I swallowed and took a drink of water. “Where’d you get the spinach stuff? I’ve never heard of it.”
“There’s a farmers’ market on Saturdays not far from my house. They sell some stuff I can’t get anywhere else. It’s organic, and it’s picked fresh that morning. Good stuff.”
“Huh.” I considered as I took another bite. “My friend Emma grows all these good-for-you plants, too. You should reach out to her and see if she has some of it in her garden, or if she’d be willing to grow it.”
“Emma the naturopath from Harper Spring? Yeah, we met while you were in the hospital.” Julie nodded. “Is she an old girlfriend of yours?”
I hesitated. “We were together for a little while about a year after Ang died. But she’s married now. Very happily married, and I’m friends with both her and her husband. They’re both doctors. They took care of Angela.”
“Hmmm.” Juliet cast her eyes down to the table. “I don’t think Emma liked me much. And your mother doesn’t seem to love her.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mom never thought Emma was the one for me. Turned out she was right. But I think she still worries we might be more than friends—even though Em’s crazy in love with Deacon.”
“Someone else visited while you were in the coma.” Juliet’s usual smile faded a little. “She was a doctor, too. Pretty . . . and she seemed like she was really worried about you. Your mother didn’t know her, but I think she said she was friends with Emma.”
My ears pricked. “Was it Alison? Alison Wakely?”
Juliet nodded. “I think so. That sounds right. She said she didn’t know Angela, but that she’d met you—gosh, I can’t remember.” She cocked her head. “Who is she? How do you know her?”
I set down my fork, my mind whirling. “Uh, she’s . . . I knew her back when I used to spend a lot of time in Harper Springs, right after Angela died. I met her through Emma.” That was a lame way to say who Alison was and how I knew her, but Juliet didn’t need more information than that. It wasn’t likely they’d ever encounter each other again, not after I’d effectively told Alison to forget she knew me.
But knowing she’d been at the hospital, next to my bed, while I’d been unconscious . . . it gave me an odd and illogical sense of gratitude. When I’d asked my mother if Alison had visited, she’d said no—but that could have been because she hadn’t remembered her name. And if she’d only come the once . . . still, it made me feel both gratified that Alison had visited me—and guilty, since I’d very deliberately ignored her and cut her off since I’d left the hospital.
I ate the rest of my salad almost absently, memories of my brief time with Alison filling my head. Maybe Ishouldcall her back. I considered it . . . but then I thought about who I was now. Who I had been when we’d met. Then I’d had a job, a purpose. I’d been a football player, on top of the world in so many ways, cocky and sure of myself. Now I was a pathetic gimp who found one session of physical therapy too exhausting for words. Alison might stick by me for a while, just out of pity or some sense of obligation—not that we’d made any promises except one to move forward together with open minds—but she was a decent person. I didn’t want her to be with me because she felt sorry for me.
“Look at you. You’re a member of the clean plate club.” Juliet beamed at me and picked up my empty dish, rinsing it off before she slid it into the dishwasher. “Do you want anything else?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m pretty wiped out. Think I’ll go get in the recliner, turn something on TV, and catch a nap.” I sighed. “Sad, isn’t it. I used to be up for anything after a practice or a game. I’d be high on adrenaline, ready to party or to be with my wife . . .” I thought of some of those nights with Ang after a big win, when we’d stay up almost all night celebrating in our own special way. With lots and lots of energetic and creative sex.
“You’ll get back there,” Juliet encouraged me. “Come on. I’ll sit with you for a little while. Watch a movie or something.”
I stood up, settled the crutches under my arms and moved slowly toward the den. “I thought you had to get back to work.”
“Nothing pressing is waiting for me there.” She paused next to my recliner and made a face. “This chair is in serious need of a cleaning. And maybe a deodorizing, too. It stinks, and there are so many crumbs that it looks like you ate there for a year. Actually, maybe you should consider trashing this and getting a new one.” She sat down on the long sofa and patted the cushion next to her. “Why don’t you lay down here instead? You can put your head on my lap. I make a good pillow, I’m told.”
I wanted to protest, to say I didn’t need her . . . but on the other hand, Juliet was kind of a good sport. She’d rolled with all the punches I’d thrown her way today. And even though I didn’t want to admit it, I felt just a modicum better now that I’d gone to PT again.
I sat down on the sofa a cushion away from Juliet and took my time arranging my crutches within reach. Carefully, I lifted my bad leg up, followed by the good one . . . and then I eased my body down, sighing as my head rested on her lap.
She exhaled, too, echoing my sigh, and then I felt her fingers feathering through my hair. I wanted to protest, to tell her that I didn’t want her touch, didn’t need her comfort, but the words died on my lips.
Maybe I did need a little comfort. And Juliet’s touch, while it might not have been the one I craved, was gentle and soothing. Within minutes, I fell into a deep, almost drugged sleep.
6
Alison
“When I say the wordmother, what do you think?”
Brooke lifted her eyes to me expectantly, and I groaned. “You’ve asked me this before. Back when we first started meeting. You’re starting to repeat yourself.”
“Very funny.” She tapped her stylus against the edge of her tablet. “I’m not repeating myself. The question has an entirely different meaning to you now—and let’s face it, the concept of motherhood has taken on new importance in your life.”
“Fine.” I heaved a heavy sigh. “Mother. Well, I guess it means—”
“Don’t overthink this. Give me the first thing that pops into your mind.”
