The nurse nods, “That’s okay, honey, I’ll go in and see how she’s doing.”
“Here!” I say, sounding desperate. I shove more chocolate turkeys in her hand. “She didn’t even realize it was Thanksgiving, why aren’t there any decorations?” My voice cracks. Gran’s home technically isn’t in Juniper Falls, it’s a few miles away, but still.
“We do what we can, sweetie. We’ll get a tree and some lights up in the lobby, though, for sure. Let me go give these to her, okay?”
She leaves and as I watch her disappear through the door, Ben watches me.
“A tree? One damn tree in the lobby? Ugh I hate this. I hate this! Of course the one person I don’t stick around to help is the one person who really needed me. And now she thinks I’m her least favorite person. I…I deserve this. I left and—”
“Ja—Janie.” He says, stopping himself from calling me my full name. “She saw you. She was happy there, for a few minutes.Her eyes lit up. You know it’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t what you deserve.”
“Don’t try to make it better!” I shriek, involuntarily.
“Okay,” He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, as he mutters, “Shhh, Okay, my darling, okay. Shhh.” He says it over and over, holding me tight. I start to sob. He breathes deeply, just holding me through it. When I finally start to settle, I realize he’s shaking.
“Benedict?” I pull away, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes, of course, I’m fine, are you—I mean I know you’re not okay, but, do you want to go home? Do you want to go back in there? Or I’ll go? Just tell me.”
“No, I can’t go back in. I can try tomorrow. We can leave,” I say, suddenly totally exhausted.
He grabs my hand, kisses my knuckles, and leads me out, like he can sense I’m barely able to hold myself up. He opens his big fancy rental, tucks me in, buckles my seatbelt, and kisses my forehead. But even in my stupor, I can feel tremors shaking through him. I study him as he walks around the front to his side, noting all the blood has left his face. He climbs in.
“Ben,” I say, firmly, then put my hand over his on the wheel. “What’s going on with you?”
He pauses, “Do you hate when I call you Janelle? Truly?”
I frown, “What?”
“She called you that. Your mum.”
I nod, “She did. She was the only one who did. And she…” I breathe in and then let it all out. “She resented, no, hated me. Or, at least that’s what it sounded like when she said it.” He curses under his breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his hands turn white. “But you redeemed it.” He glares at me, disbelieving, and I go on. “I mean it. I…I like it when you call me that now, I, I like that you’re the only one.”He’s still breathing hard so I try to lighten the mood. “I am prepared for you to gloat and be totally unbearable about it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. I roll my eyes. Finally, he seems to begin to relax.
“Admit you like it when I call you wifey, too,” he pushes, but his voice is scratchy.
“Never.”
He starts the car and for a while we drive in silence.
“Sooo? Are you going to tell me what just happened to you?” I finally ask after a few miles.
He sighs, “Panic attack. Nearly.”
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t even cover it with a brag or mutter something self-deprecating under his breath.
I watch him, surprised.
Because he staved off a panic attack, which means it wasn’t a new thing. Benedict Clark, my unbotherable, unaffected, happy-go-lucky billionaire playboy husband, is experienced with panic attacks. The obvious question iswhy?
Before I can ask, my phone buzzes a million times in a row. Again. I pull it out and pretend to look at it.
“The Cantons want us to pop over tomorrow,” I say. It’s not a lie. Those texts aren’t from Skye or any of her sisters, but Samantha has texted me and I know she’s been bugging her brother-in-law next to me with messages as well.
“Well, let’s. Don’t you want to see Skye?” I must gasp or make a face or something because he looks over at me. “Youdon’twant to see your best friend?”
“I just…they’re going to be the hardest crowd to convince. Skye will be all over us because, like I warned you, a shotgun Vegas wedding is not me. Remember she barely wrote me back about it all.”
