What She Wanted Page 8

  “Because I was a dork.”

  He snorted. “Because you were nothing like her.”

  I tugged my ponytail holder free and rubbed my head. “I don’t see why she’d care. She didn’t know I existed.” No one had, other than Heidi, a couple guys, and a few close friends.

  “Trust me. She knew, and she knew I knew. I’m an ass for sticking with her so long. It’s funny how much power a person can have over you if you let them.”

  An unprecedented feeling slithered through me. It felt a little like protectiveness, but I couldn’t be certain. How could I protect someone like Dean? He had six inches and fifty pounds on me, but still… “She bullied you.” I loathed bullies.

  “Pretty much.” He ran a big hand through his hair and scrubbed the back of his neck. “How pathetic is that? I let a five-foot, hundred-pound baton twirler control my life for two years. I don’t even know why. What was I afraid of? Why did I think I needed her?”

  My hand dropped over his on the counter. “People like that are manipulative. You don’t see them coming and, by the time you realize what’s happening, you’re too embarrassed and ashamed to fight back, so you embrace it and tell yourself it was what you wanted.”

  Dean’s lips parted.

  I jerked my hand away. “Sorry. I read too much, and I’m not the biggest fan of people. Heidi thinks I look for the worst in everyone. She might be right.”

  Dean caught my fingers in his and squeezed. “I have an idea. Let’s keep doing this.”

  “What?”

  “Being honest. It’s been a long time since I didn’t have to fulfill someone else’s expectations. You know?” He dropped my hand and averted his eyes, as if he’d been caught doing something awful. “What if tomorrow we come as ourselves? I’ll wear my glasses and you can wear those shorts from last night.”

  “Deal, except no shorts.”

  “Sweet.”

  “Shut up.” Heat poured through my face. I’d like to see him without shorts. If the view was anything like him without a shirt, I’d never stop picturing it.

  “I should go.” He made his way onto the porch. “If I keep leaving here after dark, we’ll get the neighbors talking.”

  I waved good-bye and watched him vanish into the shadows.

  Dean and I giving the neighbors something to talk about had been my recurring daydream since junior high.

  Chapter 9

  Days went by with no change in Mark’s condition. It’d been more than a week since his heart attack and five days since he’d slipped into a coma. I stopped by his room every morning to read a few pages from Mom’s journal. Somehow, the man I’d spent my life avoiding had become my cornerstone of purpose. I zombied through the days, sick with exhaustion, and switched into obsessive-doom mode when Dean left each night. From midnight until dawn, I researched my father until my eyes crossed. There wasn’t much to go on, but I bookmarked all the sites with pictures or articles mentioning his name and tormented myself with unanswerable questions and worries of every variety. I had the perpetual headache and puffy eyes to prove it.

  “How are you holding up?” The nurse I’d come to know, Rose, leaned in the doorway. Her blue scrubs were dotted with little American flags. She wore them with pride. Her son was in the army, and he’d be home for July Fourth this year. She couldn’t stop talking about it.

  In a strange way, I’d come to think of her and some of the others as friends.

  “Good.” The scents of bleach and bandages didn’t bother me anymore. I barely noticed. The food wasn’t horrible, either, and the cafeteria workers were all really nice. Most of the people I saw knew my name and welcomed me. All the nurses in Mark’s ward checked in on us. Someone had even left a stack of magazines and a pile of snacks on his nightstand.

  I tucked the journal and a granola bar into my bag and cringed at the tubes streaming from Mark’s body. “I’m getting ready to go.” Part of me hated his sleeping face. I prayed every day he’d wake up and complain about something. Part of me was glad he didn’t look upset for a change. Mom would’ve been terrified at the sight of him this way.

  “Well, don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him until you get back.” Rose gave me a warm smile and moved to the desk outside Mark’s door.

  I dragged my gaze back to Mark and gave him a small wave. Mom’s words had humanized him. He was no longer just the angry man who haunted our house. He was a father and a widower, someone who’d had too much loss for one lifetime and was unwillingly saddled with raising me, a child whose existence likely led to his beloved daughter’s death. I’d be angry, too.

  Time to go.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The camera bag hanging across my body grew heavy. I ached to sneak a few more photos of hospital life before I left. Until last week, I hadn’t given the hospital any thought. Now it was a big part of my days. I checked the time on my phone and sighed. There would be time for more hospital pictures later. I needed to get to work.

  “Katy?”

  Terror shrieked through me. I forced a tight smile and tried to read Rose’s face for clues. What if his condition had worsened? What if the doctor had made a prognosis and it was ugly?

  My mom would be crushed. It would mean I’d failed. “Yeah?”

  She sashayed closer, concern in her eyes. “You’re making a difference here. You don’t see it, but you are.”

  Air whooshed from my lungs. I snapped my head back and forth in an awkward nod. “Okay.”

  I stumbled down the pale green hallway toward the elevator with the weight of too many restless nights on my shoulders. I’d stayed with Mark longer than usual, and there was no time left to stop at home. When I walked to the hospital before dawn each morning, I promised myself I’d lie down a few minutes before work. It was never true. Not that it mattered, or that I could’ve slept for five minutes this side of a head injury.

  Nerves electrified my skin as I made the trek from the hospital to Essence. I’d shared some night shots and hospital photos with Sylvia through our shared drive, and I had no idea if she’d seen them yet. Hopefully she wouldn’t hate what I shared. I needed to broaden my portfolio. I had too many shots of people, mostly families. My fascination with the parent-child dynamic was completely transparent and tragically worn out. The photos helped me process the thing I was missing most. Lately, I’d expanded my repertoire to local landscapes, hospital scenes, and skyscapes. If Sylvia liked them, maybe there was hope for photography school. I couldn’t stay here now that Joshua was back. I saw him everywhere, and I couldn’t avoid him forever.

  The more I’d thought about going to college in the fall, the more I hated the idea. Heidi was right. I didn’t want to study anything other than photography. I didn’t want a normal college experience. Two years of elective coursework followed by two more in a field I didn’t care about and thirty subsequent years of student loan payments as a reward? No thanks. I wanted photography school. Only photography school. That kind of experience would be worth a hundred years of loan payments.

  Sylvia met me at my desk with several of last night’s photos in her hands and a smile on her lips. “The fireflies are magnificent.”

  “Thanks.” I stifled the tug of pride curling my mouth on one side. She likes them.

  Dean and I had spent the night trolling for pictures to add to my portfolio. He’d suggested the apple orchard or cemetery, but eventually we tossed a blanket on the grass near the lake and counted stars. I’d packed a picnic, and he brought a jug of sweet tea. He hadn’t missed a single dinner with me since Mark got sick. The entire concept was surreal enough to make Salvador Dali proud. I tried not to question Dean’s presence too much. I was due one silver lining, wasn’t I?

  Sylvia slid a hip onto my desk and gave me a careful look. A wide red belt accented her stark white blouse and high-waisted black slacks. “Why the night shots? You’ve never done those before.”

  “I have.” I’d kept a collage of moon photos
on my ceiling for years. I loved the night sky, desperately. I’d never shared them with Sylvia because they weren’t very good. How could anyone capture the moon’s secrets properly?

  “I see.” She turned the first photo to face me. Her flame-red nails made a striking contrast against the velvet sky on glossy paper. Shadows and drifting lights from a hundred fireflies blew through the scene like ash and embers of an invisible fire. “I see this magnificent photo and I ask myself what changed.”

  Everything. “Nothing.”

  “Something.”

  I shrugged.

  She tilted her head. “This is a powerful photo. The contrast and composition are marvelous. What you’ve captured is compelling and innovative. Where were you?”

  “Near the lake.”

  “How about this one?” She switched the pages in her hands to reveal the falling sunset blazing through a wheat field. The perfect timing and filter had created an impression of immediacy, as if the entire crop would burst into flames from the enormous glowing star behind it. Distant silhouettes of a combine and rolled hay bales summarized life in the Midwest. Hard, but worth it, and drenched in beauty. “You’re inspired. Whatever’s going on with you, keep it up. You’ve always shown talent, but it’s as if you’ve just begun to feel.” She shivered the final word loose. “This is fantastic work.”

  “Thank you.” My cheeks flamed at the memory of Dean’s hand so close to mine on the blanket I could feel the charged air between our fingers. I had way too many feelings lately and none of them made sense. Sincere attachment to Dean Wells? Fear for Mark’s well-being? Curiosity about Joshua Lowe? What was wrong with me?

  Sylvia dithered a moment. “I’m thinking of holding a gala at the studio. Why don’t you submit a few selections for exhibit?”

  “No.” The image of Dean in the dark vanished, replaced by fear. “I can’t.”

  “Is that so?” She raised a sculpted brow in challenge. “Why not?”

  “I’m not ready. I haven’t been to school. I don’t know what I’m doing, yet.”

  Sylvia pursed her lips. “Speaking of school. Have you applied to NYFA?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” She narrowed her wide brown eyes and tapped glossy, manicured nails on the front counter. “The deadline for fall’s come and gone. You’re going to miss spring session enrollment soon. I know you want this, and it’s not like you to let things slide.”

  “I haven’t had the chance. Mark’s been sick, and I can’t turn in the FAFSA without him. I’ll apply for loans and look at colleges again once he’s on his feet.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “He didn’t sign them? The man had one job, and he promised.” She smoothed her hair behind one ear and shot me a pointed look. “Well, all the more reason to choose some photos for the gala. Maybe I can interest some of my colleagues in a trip to Ohio.”

  I floundered with the concept of a gala in Woodsfield. “Are you sure you want to have a gala right now? It’s a huge undertaking, and I’m barely useful. Would anyone come?”

  “Desperate times, Miss Reese.”

  “Okay.” Maybe Sylvia was losing her mind, too. Galas required a ton of time and prep work, plus advertising and marketing costs. I’d done a paper on owning an art studio for my high school business class, and I was shocked by the details involved in what looked like a simple party to guests. Galas were the opposite of simple. They were extravagant time and money suckers, and I was Sylvia’s only employee. I didn’t have time to help prepare a gala.

  She scooped the pictures off my desk. “Look through your archives. Send me your best shots.”

  “Shouldn’t you choose?”

  Her sad smile set me back in my seat. “Darling, no. They’re your babies. Ask yourself which ones speak to you most. Which represent Katy Reese?”

  “Oh.” What did that mean? I cast a hopeless glance at my computer screen.

  “Careful,” she warned. “You’ll find your soul in those photographs if you look hard enough. You think you’ve captured the world, but the camera is always pointing at you.” She walked away on the click clack of hundred dollar heels.

  I fell face first onto my desk and prayed for sleep or a boost of brainpower. I didn’t have the emotional stability to tell her no again, and I wasn’t ready for a gala.

  My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I dragged it out and peeked with one tired eye.

  The hospital was calling.

  A bolt of fear jutted through me. I shot to my feet, and the chair fell over, clattering on polished oak boards. “Hello?” The hospital had never called my cell phone before. Oh my gosh. He’s dead.

  “Katy? This is Rose.” There was something new in her voice.

  I braced myself for the hit.

  “Your grandpa’s awake.”

  “What?” I squatted and gripped the fallen chair in shaky fingers. I dropped back onto the seat like a bag of stones.

  Sylvia rounded the corner to my desk with worry etched on her brow.

  I couldn’t force my tongue to speak, not even a simple, “I’m fine.”

  A barrage of many emotions vied for position in my heart and head. Relief warred with sorrow. Mark would live, but I’d lost a grandpa. Thankfulness and grief. He was getting better, but he wouldn’t need me now.

  Rose continued speaking, oblivious of my pending implosion. “He woke right after you left. We’ve been working with him all morning, and he’s ready for visitors. He asked about you right away. Can you come now?”

  I swallowed a painful clot of emotion. “Um.” A fat tear broke on my desk, and I stared at it in confusion. I wiped my wet face, unsure when I’d started crying. “I’m at work, but I think so. I have to walk.”

  Sylvia vanished.

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll let him know.”

  Sylvia returned, two heartbeats later, keys in hand. She flipped the “Closed” sign on the front window and motioned for me to get up. “Let’s go. Say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” I choked on the word and stuffed the phone back into my pocket.

  Sylvia slapped the light switches off. Tears glossed her wide brown eyes. “Life is full of surprises. Some of them change everything.”

  I levered my bag over my head and secured it cross-body.

  She beeped the doors of her sleek black Mercedes unlocked and gunned the quiet engine to life.

  I fell inside and buckled up on autopilot, chastising myself for the million selfish thoughts piling in my head. I’d come to like Mark the way he was, unconscious, but unable to hide. I liked feeling as if I made a difference. I liked having a family, even an unconscious one. The nurses didn’t know how messed up we were before he got sick. For a couple hours each day, I got to pretend things were normal, that I was wanted, and the man I read to loved me.

  A tendril of hope coiled around my fragile heart like a noose. Everything was about to change again, and I had no idea what would happen when I walked through the hospital door.

  Chapter 10

  Sylvia reluctantly agreed to drop me off at the hospital without coming inside. I promised to call with an update after dinner.

  The building bustled with afternoon activities and guests roaming the halls for normal visiting hours. I plunged from the elevator on the third floor and galloped between a gurney and crowd of women carrying Get Well Soon balloons. The doors to Mark’s ward swung open as I approached, welcoming me back.

  My stomach lurched when I rounded the corner to Mark’s room and found it empty. The machines were gone. The bed was empty. I gripped the doorjamb. What happened?

  “Katy?” Rose materialized from behind a semi-drawn curtain. “I was just collecting the last of Mark’s things.”

  My muscles tensed for bad news. “Where is he?”

  “Come on. I’ll walk with you. He’s been moved to the sixth floor.”

  I followed her back down the hall and pressed the elevator button three times. “How is he?” />
  “He’s great. He asked about you the moment he was able to speak.”

  “Me, or my mom?”

  The shiny doors parted, and we filed into a dangerously full car.

  Rose pressed the button with a six, but it was already lit. “He asked for you. Katy.”

  He asked for me.

  We spilled onto the sixth floor, and Rose took the lead. The new floor was less foreboding and more like a convention of housewives and the elderly. We passed laughing people in droves and a number of candy stripers pushing carts full of flowers.

  Rose checked over her shoulder for me. “He’s in room six eighteen. His cardiologist and primary physician will make a plan for recovery and present it to him later today.”

  “Okay.”

  We slowed outside his new room. Race cars growled on the television. “Here we are.” Rose swept inside and set the armload of things she’d transported from his old room onto Mark’s new nightstand. “Hello, Mr. Reese. Look what I found wandering the halls.”

  “Katy.” His voice was weak and gravelly, but the set of his mouth was something I didn’t recognize. “Thank you.”

  Rose nodded her good-byes and vacated the room.

  I lowered myself into a chair at his bedside. I wasn’t sure who he was thanking. Rose had brought his things, but his eyes were on me. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I had a heart attack, and then a coma.”

  I snorted. “Pretty good, then.”

  “I feel like hell, and everyone around here keeps bragging about my fantastic recovery. I’d hate to see the guy who had a bad recovery.”

  “I think you were that guy a little while ago.”

  He pursed his lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I know what it’s like to fill that chair, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m sorry.”

  I toyed with the strap of my bag, twisting an errant thread between my thumb and first finger. My stomach reeled. My eyes burned. “I’m okay.”