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“Hey sweetie. I was hoping to see you today.”
“Hi Mrs. Jefferson.”
Mrs. Jefferson came out from behind the counter and walked over to them. Her shiny white shoes squeaked with every step she took, and the smile on her caramel colored face told Matt that she knew it. Gray frosted the front of her dark curly hair, and her light blue eyes sparkled.
“You must be, Matt. Nice to meet you.” She winked at Justin. “Your father was right. You are his double.”
Justin didn’t answer, and Matt didn’t know what to say.
Mrs. Jefferson’s smile slowly faded. “It’s good that you’re both here. His time is short.” She hugged Justin and told him she’d bring up a soda and a packet of biscuits before turning to Matt.
“I’m so happy you were able to make it.” She frowned. “I have something for you. Hold on.”
Justin headed upstairs and Matt waited for Mrs. Jefferson.
She went back to her desk and searched a bit before coming back to him with a crisp white envelope. “He gave this to me about a month or so ago. Said if you ever showed up to make sure I gave it to you.” She handed Matt the envelope, her kind eyes soft. “He wants you to read it after he passes.”
Matt glanced down. The handwriting was the same—bold scribbles with perfectly spaced letters. It said simply, Mathew.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“How often is Delilah here?”
Mrs. Jefferson’s face fell and her features hardened. “This morning was the first time in well over a month that I’ve seen her. Justin comes on his own pretty much every day after school, but he’s been spotty lately. It’s hard for him. A boy his age losing a father.”
He thanked Mrs. Jefferson and headed up to 211. One of the nurses on duty stopped him in the hall. Her voice was gentle, said she thought he should know Benjamin’s passing would be soon. They’d upped his pain dosage and he was comfortable. She made it clear that his father wasn’t experiencing any pain.
Just ninety minutes later, Benjamin Hawkins passed away without opening his eyes or speaking another word.
Justin was quiet. He didn’t speak and he sure as hell didn’t cry. As for Matt, he didn’t know what it was that he was feeling exactly. It was a bunch of stuff all mixed together. An emotional cocktail that packed a punch.
No one at Compassionate Care could get hold of Delilah and neither could he. So Matt drove Justin home, his mind racing, that emotional cocktail hitting hard. There were plans to make, a kid who needed looking after.
Hell, he didn’t know where to start.
He walked into the bungalow that his father had called home for well over a decade—a house whose threshold he’d never been allowed to cross—and watched Justin head to his room. The door slammed shut, a sad echo in an empty, quiet home.
What the hell was he going to do with this kid?
He stood there in the half light for a good long while and then took off his jacket as he headed down the hall. Matt paused in front of Justin’s door and knocked. “I saw eggs in the fridge. You feel like an omelette?”
He waited, bunching his jacket up in his hands and was finally rewarded with a muffled, ‘yes.’
It wasn’t much. But it was a start.
31
Grace was only in Nashville long enough to gather up her clothes and anything else she might need before heading to New York City. Tucker and Abby had left for the south of France directly after Thanksgiving, and their apartment was hers for the time being.
With only a few weeks until the Christmas Eve gala, she had a ton of work to do, and right now she needed all the distraction she could get. Working from the Simon Foundation office in Manhattan certainly helped. There were always people about, crises to deal with and by the time she got home at night, she was exhausted.
She knew Matt’s father had passed—Betty Jo had called with the news—but that was two weeks ago and she hadn’t heard one word from Matt. She thought that she’d be angry and upset. But all she felt was sad and empty and kind of lost.
With a sigh, Grace glanced out her office window at the spectacular view of Central Park. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and the sky was full of heavy clouds. With evening fast approaching, lights twinkled, reflecting off the snow-topped trees. It was beautiful, a scene that usually brought a smile to her face but tonight it did nothing for her.
Good job she’d worn a green sweater today because she was without a doubt, no better than the Grinch.
