15
Carole arrangedcookies and cakes on a deep-rimmed plate and decided they looked like a pretty good offering of thanks. Well, the beginnings of one, anyway. After what Tom had done last night, driving her and her parents to the hospital and then hanging around for hours while her father was treated, a few chocolate chip cookies and iced doughnuts really was the least she could do.
It was three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and she’d already texted Tom to see if he was at home and okay with her popping round with the goodies. When he’d replied with a thumbs-up emoji, she’d wasted no time transferring the baked goods to a fancy plate.
Before leaving the house, she checked her appearance in the mirror and wished she didn’t still look a bit on the knackered side. Sleep had claimed her the moment she’d crawled into bed last night—well, very early this morning, as it was after three before her head hit the pillow—but her dreams had been dark and when she’d woken at seven-thirty, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep again.
Earlier, she’d gone round to her parents’ house to visit her father. The cast on his wrist had made his sleep awkward andhe, too, was on the tired side, although he put on a good show of cheerfulness to stop Carole worrying about him. The bump on his head had swollen overnight and it was obvious from his careful movements that his body was sore from the impact he’d sustained when he hit the floor at the wedding reception.
Still, he’d insisted he’d be fine in a few days and was his usual upbeat self about the cumbersome cast on his wrist. When Carole had grumbled about it on his behalf, he’d shrugged and said as there wasn’t much he could do about the cast, he had no choice but to put up with it until it was time for it to come off.
She’d left him settling down on the living room sofa to watch an old episode ofColumboon television while her mother cooked up a batch of lentil soup in the kitchen, which she said was perfect food for a healing invalid.
“I heard that and I’m not an invalid!” her father had protested, his voice booming into the kitchen from the other room.
Nina had winked at Carole conspiratorially, amused at his blustering outrage.
“See? I told you he’s fine,” Nina had told her. “There’s no need to worry about him. Now, off you go and get on with the rest of your Sunday.”
Carole had loped out of the house, still worried despite her parents’ attempts to reassure her. Those images of her father crashing to the floor and his face contorting as he let out a howl of pain would stay front-and-centre in her mind for a long time.
And seeing her father brought so low like that, and made to look so helpless and vulnerable, had carved an aching trench straight through her heart.
This was, she knew, the reason why she’d burst into tears last night when Tom brought her home. He’d been so kind to her, comforting her and giving her a much-needed hug, but she was still mortified that she’d started crying in the first place.
She was a thirty-five-year-old woman, not some little child. What must Tom think of her, blabbering like an idiot? Memories of how she’d dissolved into a sobbing wreck made her cringe, and if it wasn’t for the fact that her feet were still throbbing from wearing those ridiculous high heels yesterday afternoon, her toes would be curling with sheer embarrassment.
So, sweet treats were in order, because she wanted to thank Tom, again, for his help and apologise, again, for her stupid crying jag.
She rang his doorbell and held up the plate of goodies when he answered.
“I come bearing delicious gifts and much gratitude,” she said with a grin.
Tom’s eyes widened at the towering plate of baked goods—it was possible she’d gone overboard—and opened the door further to let her in.
“Good job I’ve already put the kettle on,” Tom said. “But you really didn’t need to do this.”
“Yes, I did. This is the least I can do.”
In his kitchen, she set the plate on the counter while Tom made coffee. “How’s your dad today?” he asked.
Carole filled him in on her visit to her parents’ house.
“Dad is sore but putting on a brave face,” she finished. “I left him settling in for aColumbomarathon on television.”
“Well, he’ll be as good as new in no time with a bit ofColumboon the go.”
She smiled and accepted the mug of coffee he handed her. Tom gestured outside to the back garden which was bathed in sunshine.
“Shall we take all this outside and enjoy the summer while it lasts?”
“Good thinking.”
They juggled mugs and baked goods and napkins out to the garden table and settled down. They each selected a cookie and started munching.
“Uh, listen Tom, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I want to say sorry again for bursting into tears last night,” Carole said. “I’m not a teary person and I’m still mortified about it.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay. You’re worrying about nothing.”
