shoulders were wider beneath his T-shirt, his face broader, but his eyes hadn’t changed at all. Still hazel and still holding a hint of humor, keen intelligence, and an undercurrent of heat, his eyes belonged to the teenager she’d once known.
He stopped short at the sight of her, clearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Whoa,” he said. “Kelly Ashton.” His voice was still the same—deep and warm and smooth, with only the slightest trace of blue-collar New England.
“Tom,” she said, feeling her world slipping, tilting out from under her feet. Remembering the dim glow from the dashboard of his car, exotically lighting his face as she’d . . . She pushed the thought away. “I need to find Joe. My father’s—”
She cut herself off, aware that this had happened before, an almost identical situation, back when she was in ninth grade and Tom was a soon-to-be-graduating senior.
She’d come home from school to find her father passed out in the kitchen, completely drunk. It was rare that it happened in the middle of the day, but there he was. Her mother had been due home any minute with some of the ladies from her tennis club.
Kelly had run looking for Joe, and had found Tom. Together they’d carried Charles to his bedroom and put him safely into bed.
“I don’t know where Joe is,” Tom said now. “I was looking for him, too. What’s the problem? Can I help?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She quickly led him back to the main house. “My father fell in the bathroom,” she told him. “Even though he’s lost a lot of weight, he’s still too big for me to lift. I’ve been trying to convince him to get a nurse to come in, at least while I’m working, but he’s so stubborn.”
God, listen to her. She was babbling. For the first time in sixteen years, her visit home had lined up with one of Tom’s infrequent visits to Joe. Except she wasn’t visiting. She was here to stay. Until her father died.
Tom followed her into the kitchen, into the house. “Is your father sick?” he asked.
Kelly turned to face him, again struck by how much bigger and broader he’d become. “My father’s dying,” she told him quietly. “Didn’t Joe tell you?”
“Dying?” He was so surprised, it was obvious he hadn’t known. “Jesus, no. I mean, I haven’t spoken to Joe in a while, but . . . Kelly, I’m so sorry. Is it . . . ?”
She nodded. “Cancer. Lungs, liver, it’s in his bones, his lymph nodes. You name it, it’s metastasized there. They don’t really know where it started or even exactly where it’s all spread, but at this point it really doesn’t matter. They’re not about to do exploratory surgery on an eighty-year-old man. And chemo’s out of the question, so . . .”
She had to clear her throat. Saying the words aloud always drove home the permanence of it all. One morning in the very near future, she was going to wake up to a world that didn’t have her father in it. She wasn’t ready for that yet. It was hard to imagine she would ever be.
Kelly led the way down the long corridor to Charles’s room. “Let’s get him into bed, and let me make sure he’s comfortable.” Maybe then they could talk. Maybe then she could sit down with Tom Paoletti, the subject of most of her teenage fantasies. And a few extremely adult ones as well.
She wondered if he’d say anything to her about that night. It was possible he didn’t even remember.
“Hey, Mr. Ashton,” Tom greeted her father as he went past her and into the bathroom. “Looks like you could use a hand.”
“You remember Tom Paoletti, don’t you, Dad?” Kelly asked.
As Tom crouched next to her father, he glanced up at Kelly. “He okay to move? Nothing broken?”
“Yeah, I think he’s all right. Nothing hurts more than usual, right, Dad?”
“Of course I remember Tom Paoletti,” Charles grumped, ignoring her other question completely. “You still in the Navy?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom said. Even when he was in
He stopped short at the sight of her, clearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Whoa,” he said. “Kelly Ashton.” His voice was still the same—deep and warm and smooth, with only the slightest trace of blue-collar New England.
“Tom,” she said, feeling her world slipping, tilting out from under her feet. Remembering the dim glow from the dashboard of his car, exotically lighting his face as she’d . . . She pushed the thought away. “I need to find Joe. My father’s—”
She cut herself off, aware that this had happened before, an almost identical situation, back when she was in ninth grade and Tom was a soon-to-be-graduating senior.
She’d come home from school to find her father passed out in the kitchen, completely drunk. It was rare that it happened in the middle of the day, but there he was. Her mother had been due home any minute with some of the ladies from her tennis club.
Kelly had run looking for Joe, and had found Tom. Together they’d carried Charles to his bedroom and put him safely into bed.
“I don’t know where Joe is,” Tom said now. “I was looking for him, too. What’s the problem? Can I help?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She quickly led him back to the main house. “My father fell in the bathroom,” she told him. “Even though he’s lost a lot of weight, he’s still too big for me to lift. I’ve been trying to convince him to get a nurse to come in, at least while I’m working, but he’s so stubborn.”
God, listen to her. She was babbling. For the first time in sixteen years, her visit home had lined up with one of Tom’s infrequent visits to Joe. Except she wasn’t visiting. She was here to stay. Until her father died.
Tom followed her into the kitchen, into the house. “Is your father sick?” he asked.
Kelly turned to face him, again struck by how much bigger and broader he’d become. “My father’s dying,” she told him quietly. “Didn’t Joe tell you?”
“Dying?” He was so surprised, it was obvious he hadn’t known. “Jesus, no. I mean, I haven’t spoken to Joe in a while, but . . . Kelly, I’m so sorry. Is it . . . ?”
She nodded. “Cancer. Lungs, liver, it’s in his bones, his lymph nodes. You name it, it’s metastasized there. They don’t really know where it started or even exactly where it’s all spread, but at this point it really doesn’t matter. They’re not about to do exploratory surgery on an eighty-year-old man. And chemo’s out of the question, so . . .”
She had to clear her throat. Saying the words aloud always drove home the permanence of it all. One morning in the very near future, she was going to wake up to a world that didn’t have her father in it. She wasn’t ready for that yet. It was hard to imagine she would ever be.
Kelly led the way down the long corridor to Charles’s room. “Let’s get him into bed, and let me make sure he’s comfortable.” Maybe then they could talk. Maybe then she could sit down with Tom Paoletti, the subject of most of her teenage fantasies. And a few extremely adult ones as well.
She wondered if he’d say anything to her about that night. It was possible he didn’t even remember.
“Hey, Mr. Ashton,” Tom greeted her father as he went past her and into the bathroom. “Looks like you could use a hand.”
“You remember Tom Paoletti, don’t you, Dad?” Kelly asked.
As Tom crouched next to her father, he glanced up at Kelly. “He okay to move? Nothing broken?”
“Yeah, I think he’s all right. Nothing hurts more than usual, right, Dad?”
“Of course I remember Tom Paoletti,” Charles grumped, ignoring her other question completely. “You still in the Navy?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom said. Even when he was in
Similar Books
Poppy's Present (Poppy's Place)
Stephanie Beck
Alien Adoration
Jessica E. Subject
The Turncoat
Donna Thorland
ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE
Cindi Myers
The Hidden Twin
Adi Rule
Dark Desire
Shannan Albright
The Secretary
Meg Brooke
The Monster of Shiversands Cove
Emma Fischel
Sweet Sins
Madison Kent
Dragonwitch
Anne Elisabeth Stengl