The Inn At Rose Harbor Part 12

"I'm glad the wedding brought you back to Cedar Cove and I'm thinking maybe this lunch with Patty and the others will go a long way toward giving you the peace of mind you need."

Abby lowered her head and swallowed against the thick knot in her throat. Heart-to-heart talks with her brother were rare and his encouragement meant a great deal to her. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Having Mom with you is a good idea, too."

"I thought so, too ... it was Patty's idea. To tell you the truth I'm a little concerned."

"Everything will be perfectly fine," Roger a.s.sured her. "Have fun with your friends. Enjoy yourself, Abby. You deserve that. You have lots of friends. You always have."

Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at her brother and smiled. At one time she did have plenty of friends. Maybe she would again.

Chapter 13.

"Let me die in peace," Richard insisted, as soon as Josh and Mich.e.l.le returned with him from the hospital.

Josh ignored the comment as he came around to the pa.s.senger side of the car and helped his stepfather into the house. Mich.e.l.le climbed out from the backseat and hurried ahead to open the front door.

As much as he hated it, Richard was forced to lean against Josh in order to walk. His feet shuffled, and by the time they reached the third step onto the porch, his breathing was labored. Josh walked with him, keeping his arm tucked around the older man's waist. Mich.e.l.le held open the door and ushered them inside.

It went without saying how difficult Richard was finding it to accept help from Josh. He needed a walker, but he refused to use one. Any display of energy seemed reserved for verbally lambasting anyone within reach of his voice.

Josh helped Richard back into his favorite recliner. The old man collapsed into the chair and expelled a deep breath as though it had cost him every ounce of energy he possessed to make it this far. Ignoring Josh, he automatically reached for the television remote, turning on a twenty-four-hour news station.

"Can I get you anything?" Josh asked, stepping back.

Richard simply shook his head.

By the time he entered the kitchen, Mich.e.l.le had the teakettle on the stove. "Can you doubt that Richard needs you now?" she muttered under her breath.

Josh didn't respond to the obvious. It was doubtful that Mich.e.l.le could have managed to get Richard up the porch steps on her own. Not that looking after his stepfather was her responsibility. He wanted to remind her that it wasn't his either-that he didn't owe Richard anything. It would serve the older man right if Josh turned his back and walked away. The thought was tempting, but he couldn't do it. Not because Richard deserved his help, that was for sure. Josh knew that staying was what his mother would have wanted him to do, and it was for her sake that he said, "Don't worry, I'll stay in Cedar Cove for as long as I can."

"Thank you," she whispered and gently squeezed his upper arm.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, grateful for her wisdom and encouragement.

"I don't think I ever realized how bad things must have been for you here," she said.

True, the years Josh had spent with Richard certainly hadn't been any picnic, Josh was more than willing to admit it. The tension in the house, especially after his mother's death, had been volatile at times. Thankfully he'd had Dylan as a buffer; otherwise the situation would have been impossible. Now both his mother and Dylan were gone and only Mich.e.l.le was here to keep matters from becoming explosive.

At the same time, Josh was forced to admit he wasn't completely innocent when it came to his stepfather. As a teen he'd enjoyed egging the older man on. Richard had made his dislike all too obvious, so rather than working toward building a positive relations.h.i.+p with his stepfather, Josh had gone out of his way to goad him.

If it was garbage day, and it was his job to get the can to the curb, Josh would purposely plant it in the middle of the driveway so Richard would need to get out of his vehicle and move it before he could leave for work.

If he was a.s.signed to wash the dinner dishes, he'd do exactly that and nothing more. Milk was left on the table and the countertops were left cluttered. If there were leftovers that he knew Richard intended to take for lunch the following day, he would make sure they got dumped. Since Richard had made it clear that Josh could do no right by him, Josh hadn't seen any reason to be helpful.

"I was at fault, too," he whispered.

The teakettle whistled and Mich.e.l.le reluctantly moved away to lift it off the burner. She had the ceramic teapot ready and poured the boiling water into it. Josh recognized it as the one his mother had brought with her into the marriage. Where it had come from, he didn't know. It might have been a wedding gift or a family heirloom. Josh wouldn't ask about it now for fear that Richard would purposely destroy it. That sort of att.i.tude was what he'd come to expect, and it saddened him to admit it.

Mich.e.l.le left the tea to steep while she brought down three mugs.

Since a volunteer from hospice would be stopping by later that afternoon, Josh went back into the living room and started picking up the newspapers that littered the carpet. He fluffed up the pillows and set them at the corners of the couch.

"What are you looking for?" Richard demanded. He reached for the TV remote and lowered the volume.

"I'm not looking for anything. I thought I'd straighten up the room before the hospice volunteer arrives."

"You want something."

Josh glared at his stepfather. "I was straightening the room. I don't have an ulterior motive."

"I don't believe it. You're looking to steal from me. The least you can do is wait until I'm dead."

Josh squeezed his fists at his sides as he responded. "Think what you like, but I don't want or need anything from you." The anger that seared through him was enough to make him clench his teeth. Just seconds earlier he'd been willing to admit his own part in the animosity that existed between them. Yet one brief comment from Richard and his anger shot to the surface so fast it felt like a brain freeze. Before he said something he would later regret, he walked out of the room.

Richard's toxic personality made him feel like he was a teenager all over again, determined to stand up to the old man, to find some way to lash back at him for the hurt he'd so effortlessly inflicted.

Lost in thought, he was surprised to find Mich.e.l.le in the foyer; her hand on his arm. "You okay?"

Rather than explain, he simply nodded. "I'm fine." He glanced over his shoulder and saw that his stepfather was holding a cup of tea, his focus on the television.

"Does he need anything to eat?" he asked Mich.e.l.le.

"I offered but he claimed he wasn't hungry."

Despite himself, Josh smiled. It would be just like Richard to go on a hunger strike to spite him.

"You need something in your stomach," Josh said as he returned to the living room, purposely disrupting the news program. "I'll heat you some soup," he offered, testing out his theory.

"I don't want any soup. Like I said, I'd prefer to die in peace, so why don't you do us both a favor and go back wherever it is you came from." This was quite a speech for a man who was supposedly failing fast.

"I will-all in good time, all in good time."

Richard completely ignored him then.

This was another tool in his stepfather's a.r.s.enal, Josh remembered. When Richard had realized that nothing he said or did affected Josh more than the silent treatment, it had become the older man's favorite form of torture. He'd simply pretend Josh wasn't in the room or the house. It had driven Josh nuts. Within an hour he'd do whatever was necessary to get a reaction out of his stepfather, even if it meant destroying something he knew Richard enjoyed, like his favorite magazine or the television guide for the week. Anything that would bring him recognition.

"That won't work on me now. I'm an adult," he told Richard. "You can ignore me from now until kingdom come. Actually, I'd be grateful."

Richard didn't so much as blink, his attention riveted to the newscaster.

Ignoring the older man, Josh found a can of soup in the cupboard and opened it. Funny that he could remember his way around this kitchen as if it was just yesterday that he'd walked out the door.

He searched through the cupboard until he located a pan and set it on the still warm burner that Mich.e.l.le had used to heat the water for tea. Unfortunately, the cupboard where his mother had kept the soda crackers was empty. That was fine. Richard would simply have to do without.

He poured the soup into the pan and added a can of hot water, then left it to heat. Seeing what he was doing, Mich.e.l.le walked into the other room. Josh saw that she was busily clearing off the cluttered TV tray that sat next to Richard's recliner.

"What are you doing?" Richard demanded, s.n.a.t.c.hing the television remote.

"Clearing a s.p.a.ce so I can bring you a bowl of soup."

"I already told you I don't want anything to eat."

"You need something," she insisted.

Richard's gaze narrowed. "You're siding with him, aren't you?"

Mich.e.l.le reached for his hand, taking it between her own. "It isn't a matter of taking sides."

"Either you're my friend or you're his," he told her. "You can't be a friend to both of us at the same time. You choose." Even from his vantage point Josh could see this was an emotional moment for Richard. His eyes seemed to cloud with tears. "I ... I know how you always felt about Dylan. He liked you, too. I believe that if he'd lived he would have come to see how beautiful you are."

"Mr. Lambert ..."

"You choose, understand. It has to be one or the other."

Mich.e.l.le straightened. "Like I said ..."

Josh eased forward one step, unwilling for her to take any heat on his behalf. Richard needed her, even though he'd be hard-pressed to admit it. Mich.e.l.le was the one link that remained between him and Dylan-she was the one person who still remembered Dylan and remained a part of Richard's life. Josh couldn't allow her to put that at risk. He raised his hand, wanting to stop her from choosing. In a day or two Josh would be out of both of their lives; it wasn't worth the trouble, the loss.

Mich.e.l.le seemed to read Josh's mind. "Let me think on it, okay?" she said to Richard.

The older man frowned and it went without saying that her answer had upset him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, blocking her out.

Once the soup was warm, Josh poured it from the pan into a bowl and brought it into the other room. He half expected Richard to sweep it off the tray and hurl it across the room.

"I need to run an errand," Josh announced as he reached for his jacket. He felt an urgent need to escape the house. The atmosphere was oppressive.

He was halfway to the door when Mich.e.l.le joined him, her own coat and purse in hand. "I'll go with you."

Josh hesitated, uncertain of whether they should leave Richard alone. "You sure you should?"

"I want to," she insisted, her gaze holding his steady.

He acquiesced and headed out the front door. Although the thermostat in the house was set unnaturally high, Josh felt chilled to the bone. Being around Richard was like standing over a toxic dumpsite. He couldn't be close to the other man without it affecting him negatively.

"Where are you headed?" Mich.e.l.le asked, managing to keep pace with his much longer stride. He regretted agreeing to her tagging along. He needed to be alone. She climbed into the pa.s.senger side of the truck and closed the door behind her as if to say that nothing was going to change her mind about this.

"Richard needs a walker." That was a convenient excuse to get out of the house. A valid one but also convenient. No matter what happened, Josh would be leaving in a few days, and although she'd been wonderful to Richard, Mich.e.l.le couldn't check on him every day. Seeing how weak he was, although Richard took pains to disguise it, Josh wanted to buy his stepfather a walker.

They rode in silence as Josh headed for the pharmacy where he hoped he'd be able to locate what he needed.

"What Richard said about me and Dylan ..." she hesitated. "At one point I thought the world of him; I was crazy about him all through high school until our senior year."

"All the girls in school were half in love with Dylan, and with good reason. He was a star athlete, personable, and an all-around nice guy."

"No, he wasn't," Mich.e.l.le countered softly.

Her voice was low, but she'd captured his attention just as surely as if she'd shouted. He took his eyes off the road for long enough to glance at her in the pa.s.senger seat next to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"He wasn't everything you said."

"Oh?" That was the way Josh remembered Dylan.

"I've kept this secret for over ten years, Josh, but I'm going to tell you."

He eased to a stop at the red light. "Tell me what?"

"The year we were seniors, Dylan had trouble in English cla.s.s. We each had to write a term paper."

"I remember. I did mine on Jim Ryun, the first high schooler to run a four-minute mile." The paper had required a lot of research. Because it was a subject that interested Josh, he'd actually enjoyed it. He'd received a high grade, but he'd never told his stepfather.

"If Dylan didn't get a pa.s.sing grade on his term paper then he wouldn't have been allowed to play basketball that season."

While Dylan was popular for all the reasons he'd noted earlier, his one shortcoming was his dismal grades. Dylan hated studying. Josh remembered that his stepbrother still hadn't managed to memorize his times tables in high school. His spelling was atrocious and he'd often flat out ignore homework. He'd barely skidded from one grade to the next.

Teresa had spent copious hours helping Dylan with his a.s.signments, but it had done little good. After she became sick those nightly sessions quickly fell by the wayside.

"I wrote the term paper for him," she murmured.

"You did?"

"We struck a deal. I knew no boy would ask me to the prom ..."

"Mich.e.l.le, that's not true-"

She interrupted him with a sharp laugh. "Don't kid yourself. I was the fattest girl in the cla.s.s ..."

"Did Dylan promise to take you to the prom?"

"No," she said and shook her head for emphasis. "I realized no one would believe that Dylan would ever ask someone like me to the junior-senior prom, but I wanted to go in the worst way. A bunch of us girls decided we would band together and drop by all on our own. All I wanted from Dylan, all I asked in return for writing his paper, was that he ask me to dance with him. Just one dance. He agreed, and I wrote it for him, making enough grammar and spelling errors to make sure Mrs. Chenard would believe it was his.

"Dylan turned it in and then he completely ignored me at the dance. Really, how would it have hurt him to dance with me just that once?" she asked.

"He didn't?" For sure Dylan was no saint, but Josh had trouble believing that he would renege on his promise to Mich.e.l.le.

"I confronted him later and he said he forgot."

The excuse sounded lame to Josh. Still, he felt obligated to defend his stepbrother. "I'm sure there was some misunderstanding."

"There wasn't. Later I heard through the grapevine that Dylan bragged to his friends about how he'd manipulated me into writing his term paper with the promise of a single dance. He told them that he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He said he wasn't sure he could get his arms around Dumbo."