Letting Go: A Contemporary Romance of Snark and Feels Read online

  I tasted the mashed potatoes (real ones, not those crappy flakes-in-a-box), and added a bit more cream and butter, both of which were fresh from the farm down the road, plus a few extra turns from the grinder of sea salt. There was no sense in worrying about my father’s cholesterol and triglycerides now.

  I set aside some of the veggies for myself (because I did need to worry about those things), then prepared a tray of everything else for my dad. I was just entering his room when there was a knock at the front door. Outside of the occasional Jehovah’s Witnesses brave enough to venture out this far, we rarely had unexpected visitors.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I asked my father, setting the tray down on the small table-for-two on the deck just off his room. It was where we ate dinner together each night (weather permitting) and watched the sunset. I know, that sounds sappy and corny, but it wasn’t, because we never acknowledged that we were actually doing so.

  My dad’s eyes bored a hole in mine. They were steely gray, just like mine. My mother had beautiful, moss green eyes. My brother had gotten those, lucky bastard.

  “Cal said he might stop by,” he grunted as if daring me to object.

  “Uncle Cal?” My surprise had to be reflected in my features. Cal O’Malley was one of my father’s Ranger buddies, the only one he still kept in close contact with (as far as I knew). They’d grown up together, gone to school together, enlisted together. Though I’d heard my dad talk of him often, I didn’t really meet Cal until my mother died. That had been a rough time. I don’t know what we would have done without him. He took a personal leave and helped my dad make all the arrangements, and was there for me when my dad’s grief got the best of him.

  Cal didn’t live in the same house he used to. He’d sold it years earlier when his wife left him (or so I heard), but he’d bought a place up in the mountains only about an hour away after he retired. He had a couple of kids of his own, a son and a daughter, but they were a little older than me and I’d never met them. By the time I got to know Cal, they were already off on their own.

  Though he and my dad talked frequently on the phone, I hadn’t seen him since I moved back permanently a couple of weeks ago.

  The timing was not lost on me. My dad usually accepted visitors from twelve-hundred to fourteen-hundred hours. His daily schedule, like everything else, was a study in discipline and order. So to have someone show up at eighteen-hundred on the nose -—i.e., ‘mess’ -—was unusual. Say what you want, but I do have a keen grasp of the obvious.

  “Did you invite him to dinner, Dad?”

  “So what if I did?” he huffed defensively.

  Some part of me was a little disappointed that he’d scheduled a visit over dinner time (our time), but then I realized how selfish that was. Maybe this was the only time of day Cal could make it.

  “I’m glad you did,” I said honestly, mentally giving myself a pat on the back for having the foresight to make enough (okay, it wasn’t foresight, just luck and the hope that I could freeze enough leftovers for a dinner next week). “I just wish you would have told me, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m telling you now. Go on, now. Don’t keep him waiting, girl.”

  His words didn’t faze me. I was used to his gruff, bear-like manner, and welcomed it. As long as he was talking like that, I knew he was feeling pretty good. It was when he was quiet and compliant that I started to worry.

  Besides, I really was glad Cal had come. I’d always liked him, and his friendship meant the world to my dad. Plus, if he was planning on staying for a while, I might be able to skip dinner and run into town for some desperately needed errands and supplies without worrying about Dad while I was gone.

  “Hey there, Hannah Banana.” The familiar nickname made me laugh as my feet left the floor and I all but disappeared in one of his big bear hugs. At fifty-seven, Cal O’Malley was still one of the largest men I’d ever met. His closely shaved buzz cut was bright red, with only a couple of hints of gray, and his Irish blue eyes twinkled with genuine affection.

  “Hey, Uncle Cal. It’s good to see you,” I managed, my words somewhat muffled in the flannel draping his massive chest. I’ll admit it. I soaked in the attention like a dandelion in a drought, relishing the feel of another warm human being. My dad wasn’t really the demonstrative type and eschewed DoAs (Displays of Affection), and the list of people I would allow to touch my person was extremely limited.

  I am not, and never have been, the touchy-feely type.

  “How are you holding up, little one?” he asked. The concern in his voice had the tears pooling in my eyes again. Damn, I thought I’d purged all those suckers earlier. I was acting like such a girl. Dad would be mortified.

  “I’m good,” I lied.

  He released me, holding me out at arm’s length, his brows furrowing as he performed a critical inspection. I fought the urge to stand tall and present my weapon (I was only packing a wooden spoon).

  “You get smaller every time I see you. Are you taking care of yourself?”

  “Of course I am,” I said, giving him a smile. His eyes narrowed, no doubt detecting the scent of the manure I was spreading around, but luckily, I was granted a reprieve by the CO.

  “Hannah!” My dad’s voice boomed from the back of the house. “Where the hell are you, girl?”

  Cal chuckled. “He’s having a good day, I take it?”

  “Oh yeah,” I agreed. “Driving the help to quit always cheers him up.”

  He sighed knowingly. “Another one?”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed on an exhale as I led him through the house. “Will you stay for dinner?”

  “If it tastes as good as it smells, I’d love to. You definitely got Maggie’s mad skills in the kitchen, Hannah.”

  I beamed at the compliment. There was no higher praise he could have given me, even though some part of me knew that any man who’d been without a wife for thirty years would probably appreciate any home-cooked meal, even a shitty one.

  “You’re going to make some lucky young buck one hell of a wife.” I kept the smile on my face, despite the bolt of pain that seared through my chest and settled somewhere in the pit of my stomach. He couldn’t possibly know about Stephen, the class-A jerk I’d been naïve enough to think wanted to marry me. I’d never even told Dad. Stephen was my dirty little secret.

  Or at least one of them.

  “Go on in, Uncle Cal. I’ll make you a plate and bring it right in.”

  “You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  As if I could eat anything now. My appetite was lacking on the best of days, but the thought of my ex filled me with waves of shame and didn’t leave room for anything else. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take advantage of your visit and run into town for a few things.”

  “Don’t mind at all. As a matter of fact, why not take a couple of hours for yourself? I’m in no hurry and I’m sure you could use a break.”

  Damn, I felt the moisture building in my eyes again. What the hell was wrong with me? Even the simplest of kindnesses was turning me into a total wuss. Maybe I should pick up some impractical heels and glittery nail polish after hitting the butcher shop and the hardware store.

  “Thanks, Uncle Cal. I won’t be too long, I promise.”

  I piled a plate high with all the fixings -—roast beef, roasted veggies (I wouldn’t be eating them now), mashed potatoes, buttered rolls -—and took it into Dad’s room along with the still-warm French apple pie. I was pleased to see Dad sitting up in his wheelchair, and silently thanked Cal for that. Their conversation stopped too abruptly for me to think they were talking about anything besides me. I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Thank you, Hannah,” Cal said kindly while my father glared at me. “Everything looks delicious.”

  I nodded and tried for a smile. “Thanks. Anything else I can get for you before I head out? Something to drink?”

  It was then I noticed the bottle of bourbon between them. I caught my father’s defiant gaze, daring me to te
ll him he shouldn’t be drinking on top of the meds he was taking. I didn’t. Did I mention I have a genius level IQ?

  “No,” Cal said. “Be safe, Hannah.”

  “Always.” And I was. My father might not have been Ward Cleaver or Mike Brady, but he had taught me more than twenty ways to kill a man within a few seconds, and a couple dozen more to disable one.

  With that comforting thought in mind (and my pearl-handled snub nose tucked within easy reach) I set off for town.

  Chapter 2

  Angus

  “Finally,” I breathed, sitting back with relief.

  Cal raised his brow and gave me a questioning look.

  “It’s Hannah,” I confessed. “The girl hovers.” So much so, in fact, that one might think she was the parent and I was the child.

  “Hannah says another nurse quit today,” Cal said evenly, pouring us each a few fingers of the fine Kentucky bourbon he’d brought with him. Good man, Cal.

  “Nurse? Gold digger with her eyes on my death benefits, you mean.” I barked out a laugh, remembering the long-taloned hag that had all but molested me under the guise of a sponge bath. You might think (as she apparently had) that at my age, and in my condition, I would welcome such advances, but you would be wrong (as she was). I never could stomach a bold female. I like them the old fashioned way -—soft and curvy and with enough self-respect to make me work for it. But in truth, not even they had a chance. No woman would ever be able to live up to my Maggie. She ruined me for anyone else.

  Cal sniggered, as I intended. Laughter trumps tears, every damn time.

  “Don’t tell me you expect me to believe every one of them had ulterior motives.”

  “No, not all of them,” I agreed. I proceeded to regale him with stories of the supposed do-gooders that had graced my doorstep over the past few months. There was the mousy little thing that trembled constantly. Her hands shook so badly when she tried to give me an injection that I jokingly asked her if she was inking a tattoo on my ass and made her cry.

  Then there was the twenty-something male nurse that was just a little too friendly, if you know what I mean. Ironically enough, he had the softest hands.

  I would be remiss if I did not include the retired battle-axe who still wore the starched white uniform and cap that she got in nursing school during the Eisenhower administration. She prattled ad nauseum about every one of her sixteen grandchildren and ten great grandchildren while she pounded me to a pulp beneath her meaty paws. We could have used her at Guantanamo Bay.

  And, of course, there was the aide who bore an unsettling resemblance to Jabba the Hut and had the personal hygiene of a turkey buzzard.

  By the time I was finished, our bellies were full, half the bottle of bourbon was gone, and Cal had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

  “Ah, hell, Angus,” he said, swiping at his eyes. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “My pleasure,” I said, meaning it. I had my problems, sure, but so did he. I guess we all did, really. Mine was this damn disease. His was his son.

  “Ethan?” I guessed.

  Cal poured another drink but didn’t raise it to his lips. “Yeah. Shit, Angus. I just don’t know what I can do for him anymore.”

  Ethan was Cal’s pride and joy. A big, strapping lad with a good head on his shoulders. He’d followed in his old man’s footsteps, joining the military right after high school, becoming one hell of a Ranger in his own right. Had everything going for him, too -—a great career, a beautiful fiancée. Then his unit was compromised by the very people they were trying to help and everything went to hell in a handbasket.

  Half his team came home in boxes (what they could find of them); the other half survived primarily because of Ethan. He was heralded as a hero, but not without cost. Six months laid up in a German army hospital. It only took six days, though, when things were still touch and go, for his devoted fiancée to decide she couldn’t handle the possibility he might never walk again or sire a brood and left him twisting in the wind.

  Turned out that Ethan was every bit as tough as his old man, and made a full physical recovery. Emotionally, though, he had a long way to go. Those wounds were a lot harder to heal.

  “I’m thinking maybe I’m doing more harm than good at this point,” Cal was saying. “They even have a label for it now. I’m an enabler.” He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Since when is being there for your kid a bad thing?”

  I grunted. I never did have much tolerance for that psycho-babble bullshit, but in this case, it might have been a valid point. Cal had taken Ethan in, given him a place to stay in his mountain home while he got his shit together. Half a year later, Ethan was still there, pissing each day away, unwilling or unable to move forward. Lost. I’d seen it happen to enough good men to know I wanted better for Cal’s boy.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Cal scratched the back of his neck. He’d been doing that since he was a kid, usually when he had a tough decision to make. That, more than anything, told me how bothered he was by the situation. “I don’t know. What would you do?”

  My throat closed up as it always did when I thought of my firstborn, Brad. He died on his first deployment, trying to help some kid who ended up having enough plastic explosives strapped under his shirt to decimate half of his war-torn village. I never talked about him; it was just too painful. If I could find anything positive about the disease currently wreaking havoc on my life, it was that it would shorten the length of time I’d have to wait to see my wife and son again.

  Of course, that meant leaving Hannah. My beautiful, stubborn daughter who loved me way more than I deserved and, I realized in that moment, really wasn’t all that different from Ethan. She was kind of a lost soul, too.

  “God help us all if Hannah decides to let loose,” I said, pretending as though I misunderstood.

  He let me believe I’d fooled him. That was one of the reasons we’d been friends for more than fifty years. He chuckled again, but his eyes remained serious. “She’s taking it hard, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. Hannah’s heart was the biggest part of her, hidden behind nearly impenetrable shields of her own making. Gone were the days when I could look into her big gray eyes and know exactly what she was feeling.

  “She blocks most of it, I think, refuses to look too far down the road. Keeps herself so busy she doesn’t have to think about it.” I knew it couldn’t have been easy on Hannah, but I also knew that this was her way of coping. If that meant sitting back and letting her do it, I would.

  “She’s strong.”

  Yeah, she was. But she wasn’t invincible. One of these days those carefully constructed walls she’d built around herself were going to crack, and when they did, I wanted someone to be there to pick up the pieces. Given the limited time I had remaining (anywhere from a couple of months to a half-a-dozen years, depending on who you talked to), that someone probably wasn’t going to be me.

  “She’s nearing thirty,” I said, blowing out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Christ, Brad was almost ten by the time my Maggie was her age. “She should be married, having babies. Not bearing the burden of her dying old man.”

  “She loves you. And things are different now. Women don’t need men like they used to.”

  I believed that too, to some extent. There were more opportunities for women now than there were when Maggie and I first met. More choices, certainly professionally. For someone as intelligent and determined as Hannah, the possibilities were limited only by her imagination. But a good education and a career only went so far. True happiness came from sharing your life with your soul mate. Maggie was mine. Was it too much to want the same for my daughter? To hope that I might get to bounce a grandchild on my knee before I shipped out one last time?

  I said as much, maybe waxing a bit more poetic than I usually would under the combined influence of the high quality bourbon, my best friend, and my impending demise.<
br />
  “I find it hard to believe you’re not chasing them away. Underneath all that attitude she’s a beautiful girl, Angus. A man would be a fool not to see that.”

  And there it was, in a nutshell. Hannah was exceptionally skilled at hiding in plain sight. A lot of that could probably be laid on my shoulders. For too many years I encouraged her to stay away from boys, convinced her they were after only one thing.

  As if that was all she was worth.

  “There was one guy she was pretty serious about, but it ended badly.”

  Cal leaned back, his eyes narrowing. He thought the world of my Hannah. Despite all of her fluff and bluster, she unwittingly inspired those kinds of protective feelings in men of all ages. At least the ones worth a damn.

  “Did she tell you that?”

  I snorted. “No, of course not. She doesn’t tell me jack shit. But you remember Sneaks?”

  Cal’s mouth twitched at the mention of our old friend, Joe Snekawicz. His nickname had a lot more to do with his affinity for ferreting out intel than his actual surname. There wasn’t a database secure enough to keep him out, which explained why he’d left the Army after a couple of tours and became one of the government’s leading professional hackers. They paid him big bucks to break systems, in country and out.

  “Yeah, of course I do.”

  “Well, he’s been helping me out on the sly.”

  Brows furrowed, Cal glared at me in disbelief. “You spied on your own daughter?”

  I shrugged. I might not be very good at showing affection, but there was little I wouldn’t do for Hannah, even if she didn’t know that. And looking out for her was an ongoing, high-priority mission that sometimes required covert tactics.

  “How else would I know what’s going on to protect my little girl?”

  Cal nodded in acknowledgement, and I saw the reluctant approval in his eyes. Besides, I knew for a fact he’d done the same kind of thing for his daughter before she got married. Probably still did. A man didn’t stop looking out for his little girl just because some guy put a ring on her finger. Marriages ended. Fatherhood was forever.