“Kenneth,” Jamie said, laying a hand on the older man’s shoulder.
“Jameson.” Ken shifted his attention and hugs to Jamie. “It’s good to see you too. Thanks for coming out with Cam.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Always such a good boy,” Edye said from the bed.
She held out a shaking hand and Cam clasped it between both of his. “He’s married now, Ma. He’s never going to run away with you.”
His mom was also an incorrigible flirt, though there was no question her heart belonged one hundred percent to her husband and kids. Cam still liked to tease, especially since she’d been a little starstruck by the too-handsome Whiskey Walker.
The hand on her stomach turned over and she flipped him the bird. But the way her one finger wobbled belied the thin veil of humor and normalcy that had settled over them.
“How you doing, Edye?” Jamie bent over and pecked her cheek.
“Better now,” she said with a wink.
Jamie glanced over his shoulder at Cam. “You do come by it honest.” He smiled, likewise trying to lighten the mood, but Cam knew Jamie well enough to see how forced it was. How much he was hurting too at seeing his second mother like this.
“I’d be doing better,” Edye said, “if you’d take my husband downstairs so he can eat and take his meds.”
“Now, Edye,” his father said.
“Now, Ken,” she returned.
His father, like the rest of them, knew better than to argue.
Cam waited for them to step out before dragging the chair closer to the bed. His mother tried to push herself upright, and Cam patted her arm over the wires and IVs. “Nuh-uh-uh.” He fished out the bed controls from where they’d slipped between the mattress and bedrail. “You have a button for that.”
She glared with eyes the same dark shade as his and reluctantly took the controls, adjusting her position. “You look tired.”
Always looking out for everyone else, never for herself. “Was helping a friend move last night.”
She swiped at her gray bangs. “She pretty?”
Cam bit back a laugh. No one would ever describe Nic as pretty. Ruggedly handsome, yes. But pretty? Never, not with cheekbones cut like glass, eyes like ice, and lips just this side of thin, which, when pressed together, made him look like he was deciding your fate. In many cases, he was. Pretty didn’t even describe him when dressed in that light gray suit Cam loved so much or when covered in come.
“Sharp, intense, older,” he answered instead.
“Good,” Edye said with a nod. “Will keep you in line.”
He did chuckle at that, and so did she, until her laugh got caught in a cough, her heart monitor skipped, and Cam panicked, reminded that this wasn’t his usual healthy, firecracker mother. She’d had a heart attack, and she had the fight of her life ahead.
“Mom,” he started, his voice cracking.
She cut him off, reaching out a shaking arm toward the bedside table. “Hand me, please.”
On the table were a few of his dad’s things—glasses, watch, and keys—together with his mom’s reading glasses and one of her books. He slid the paperback off the table, turned it over, and smiled. He remembered this series—the ones with Scottish tartans and brooches on the covers. They were her favorites, the spines so cracked you could barely read them on the shelf.
She’d read them dozens of times, to herself and aloud to her kids, to the point Cam could still remember the engaging, sweeping tales of love and family.
“You want me to read to you?” he asked.
“I’m not blind,” she griped.
“Glasses then?”
She shook her head and held out her hand. Cam passed the book to her, and she opened it, shaking loose a laminated library card.
