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“Yes, I did, didn’t I? Thank God for that piece of timing. You know I’m sincere.”
“Yes, Mom. I’m certain you want us in Colorado. I’m also certain that I don’t want Emma to be forced to make excuses for me in thirty years if AJ grows up to be a great person like Tess, and he asks his half sister why I dumped him into the system when his grandfather had a stroke.”
“Y’all could blame it on me,” Genevieve said with a shrug. “I’ll be dead in thirty years.”
“No, you won’t, Mom. You’ll only be ninety. By then, ninety will be the new seventy.”
“Heaven help me. Heaven help you and your siblings.”
Genevieve’s stare returned once again to the broken glass and damaged frame on the floor, and the amusement faded from her expression. “Oh, Willow. This isn’t fair. This so isn’t fair to you. Where are my scissors? It’s not enough to knock that ass-hole’s picture off the wall. I want to cut it into tiny little pieces.”
“Mom. Please. I can’t deal with it when you use the aword. And remember what you always taught us. Fair is what happens in October in Dallas. Does Colorado have a state fair? Where and when? I’ll need to learn that if I’m going to raise my children here so I can adapt your wisdom.”
“I honestly don’t know.” Her mother sighed heavily. Looking as if she’d aged ten years in the past ten minutes, she ambled toward the wall and the broken glass on the floor. As she bent to pick up the mess, Willow said, “Wait, Mom. Let me get a broom.”
“I have a pair of scissors in the junk drawer in the kitchen. Bring those, too, please.”
Willow couldn’t believe she was smiling as she left the media room. She hurried to the laundry room, where she retrieved a broom and dustpan. Then, spying three pairs of scissors in her mother’s neatly organized junk drawer, she grabbed two of them.
Returning to the media room, Willow stopped short. “Oh my God, Mom!”
Genevieve Prentice held her hands clasped against her breast. Her white cotton blouse was stained red with blood. She offered Willow a shaky smile and said, “Well, this day keeps getting better. Honey, will you drive me to the hospital, please? I’m going to need stitches.”
Chapter Eleven
THE EMERGENCY ROOM DOORSswished open, and Zach Throckmorton strode inside, worry creasing his brow. Noah set down his coffee and rose from his seat, walking forward and greeting Gage’s son with a smile. “It’s not a heart attack.”
“Thank God.” Gage’s son’s shoulders sagged with relief. “So, what’s wrong with him?”
“Angina. The doctor will explain everything. They know you were on your way. Press that buzzer”—Noah gestured toward a button mounted beside the door that led back to the exam rooms—“and tell them who you are. He’s in room five.”
“Great. Thanks, man. For everything. If you hadn’t been there…”
“No problem. I’m glad I was around.”
“At least he listens to you. More than he does to me or my brother or my sister.”
As Zach disappeared from the waiting room, Noah returned the January edition ofCar and Drivermagazine to the rack. He tossed his Styrofoam coffee cup and candy barwrapper into a trash can and glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since he’d seen Willow accompany her mother into the ER. Knowing hospitals, she might be another hour. Or twelve.
He might as well go. He could call Willow tomorrow and ask her why Genevieve’s hand had been wrapped in a bloody bandage.
Hewouldcall her tomorrow.
No more running and hiding like a kissing coward.
He took two steps toward the door when it whooshed open again, and Helen McDaniel walked in. She went directly to the attendant at the intake desk. “I’m here for Genevieve Prentice. Her daughter is with her now, but she and I are switching places.”
After being directed to room number two, Helen was buzzed back. She never saw Noah.
He wandered over to the watercooler, filled a paper cone, and sipped from it. Slowly. He’d emptied it and was debating a refill or tossing it into the trash when the ER room door opened, and Willow walked out. He crumpled the cone, threw it away, and followed her outside. “Willow!”
She stopped and turned around. “Oh. Hi, Noah.”
“I saw you come in. How’s your mom?”
“She’s okay. She cut her hand. Needed stitches. What are you doing here?”
He gave her a brief synopsis of what had happened with Gage, and she replied, “Oh no. I hope he’ll be okay.”
