“Dad, hello.” His father’s voice startled him and awoke him into the present. On his feet now, John squinted through the morning sun beaming through a high, square barn window.
The barn. Hearts Bend. Puppies. Gemma. His heart plummeted. He wasn’t at home with Holland. She was still dead and he, very much alive, hugging an armload of hay wrapped in an old quilt.
“Did I wake you?” Dad said. “I tried not to call too early. How’s your holiday?”
“No, I’m awake.” Now. “Is everything all right?” John stepped from the puppy stall into the much cooler center aisle and pulled his sweat-dampened T-shirt from his warm skin.
“Well, I wanted to let you know before you read it online. Mum’s in the hospital for a few days. She went in yesterday but Dr. Ritter wants to hold her for testing. She protested, but her royal powers did not prevail.”
“Testing? Why? What’s the matter? Should I come?” Mum, the queen, never fell ill. She claimed no sickness or disease would dare. A cough or sniffle, headache, or any sort of ache was dismissed as “nothing.”
“No, stay. It cheers her to know you’re away, enjoying yourself, meeting Scottie. I’ll keep you informed. She is rather eager for an update however.”
“What is her illness? I thought she had a cold.”
“They thought it was the flu, but she’s very weak in her limbs, and tired. This morning she was having trouble breathing.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t be there?” John tried to picture his mother in a hospital bed but the image was incongruent with every memory he held dear. As for protesting? She must be frustrated to find her skilled, articulate objections were like boxing the air.
“No, stay.”
“Give her my love.”
“I will. How did it go with Scottie?”
“Well enough. She’s as formidable as Mum.”
“I’m not surprised. Is she agreeable to a meeting?”
“Not really. She claims she’s an O’Shay and while she appreciates knowing the truth, she’s not very keen to meet Mum. Or any of us. I’m ringing her for coffee later in the week so perhaps she’ll sing a different tune now she’s had time to think on it. She’d just arrived from Guatemala when we met, and my guess is she felt ambushed.” The sunlight filling and warming the barn, and flooding the floor beneath John’s feet, faded behind a cloud. “In all truth, Mum may have to come here. Make the first move.”
“I’ve told her this several times. She’s convinced Scottie will reject her, I think.”
“Even a queen must battle human fears. Anyway, I’m here for a few more weeks. I’ll keep trying.”
“One more thing. I assume you’ve seen the viral posts? With the lass in your arms? Who is she?”
John glanced down at Gemma still sleeping on a bed of hay clutching her pillow, her cover tossed aside, a light perspiration glistening on her face. Her left hand rested on three of the puppies. “A friend.”
“Does she have a name?”
“You mean you don’t know?” HMSD usually knew everything about a newcomer to the royal Family before they did. “Gemma Stone. JoJo paired us in a three-legged race during the Fourth of July celebration. We tripped, fell, lost the race, but decided to finish anyway.”
“You’d tell me if there was anything more, wouldn’t you? If not me, your brother?”
“Like what? Dad, I’ve known her all of a week. Ten days. What’s to know? That I’m falling in love? I’ve no plans to move on with anyone for a very long time. Holland is a very difficult act to follow.”
For the first time since he’d met her, he felt as if he were merely willing his comment to be true.
“But not impossible.” Dad’s admonition irritated him.
“Easy to say when you’re on the outside.”
“Don’t use pain as a fortress, John. Don’t think no one knows what you’re going through and that you’re some sort of romantic martyr.”
“I’ll manage my grief and my life my way. I’m not a child.” John moved toward the open barn door, his bare feet brushing over the dirty stone. Whether it was Mum’s illness or the barrier of the phone, Dad chose this moment to boldly cross a line. “Gemma is a nice woman. Been kind to me. Makes me feel normal. Like I’m not an object of pity to the world. But that’s all.”
“You will always be my child, so you must accept my advice.” Dad’s voice broke with emotion. “All I ask is for you not to become bitter, John. Your mother chose me after Trent and giving up her daughter. She never thought she’d love anyone like Trent, but she did.”
