I thought about my trips here without Mallory for what she christened ‘Hobbit Nerd Nights’ to watch The Lord of the Rings with Bruce since she didn’t want to bother learning all the characters. Bruce and I watched Frodo bid farewell to his beloved Shire, tears welling in both our eyes as Bilbo stayed home while his nephew embarked on his journey. I’d been thinking of Elijah hugging me goodbye at the airport, not knowing that when he came home, I would be gone. Had Elijah been as displaced as Frodo when he returned, like his world had moved on without him?
How would I feel, returning to my childhood home as a different person?
Bruce hadn’t judged my tears like my father would have, criticizing me for being too sensitive. He simply shifted a tissue box across the couch, saving a few for himself, possibly thinking of his sons leaving to chase their dreams and wondering if they’d ever return to their home. This home.
I cut the engine and turned to the man sitting next to me. I’d spend three years visiting his family’s home, three years hearing stories about him in his absence … yet he hadn’t recognized my name when I called. When he walked into this house, he’d walk straight up to the room that was still his.
This house felt like my second home, but it was still more his than mine.
I’d been welcomed at Shannon’s parents’ house, yet that ended when she decided our relationship was over. As Mallory’s employee, my connection to the Clarkes was even more tenuous. They would welcome me for as long as Mallory allowed, but if I broke her trust, I’d be cut off from her family too.
The same way my father cast me out of mine.
The Clarkes' house blurred as I blinked back tears, making a silent vow that if by some miracle I ever had the children I wanted, I’d provide a home like this one. They would know deep in their bones they would always have a place that was theirs, an instilled sense of belonging that could never be taken away.
They’d know that they could always come home.
“Thanks for the ride,” Alexander said, his face illuminated by the dome lights as he opened the door.
“I’ll text you tomorrow morning with an update before visiting hours. I mean, official visiting hours.”
His eyes crinkled in a momentary smirk before he stepped out of the car, threw his briefcase strap over his shoulder, and collected his suitcase from the truck bed. He glanced at me through the car window, holding my gaze with an unreadable expression. He shook his head slightly before he strode to the garage, punched in the code and walked inside without turning back.
Chapter 4Alex
This suit’s lining was itchy as fuck, the velvet fabric was crusty, and the cottony beard felt like razor burn against my cheeks. Somehow, only three days after I’d flown home, Grace and Dad teamed up to enlist me in this ridiculous situation.
“This is the best we can do?” I asked, flicking my wrist as the cheap fur caught on my watch.
“Next time I’ll see if the hospital has an Armani Santa suit.”
“Is that so much to ask?” I said, only half joking.
Twenty minutes ago, a panicked Grace staggered into Dad’s room in a tacky getup: a ratty red faux-velvet jacket down to her calves, wire grandma glasses, and hair pulled up into a fuzzy shower cap. After several seconds, I realized she was Mrs. Claus, but God forbid the North Pole matriarch had a modicum of sex appeal. Guess that’s why there aren’t any little Santa babies … though if I had to provide Christmas presents for all the bratty kids of the world, I wouldn’t want to add more to my Nice list either.
Since that midnight meeting three night ago, I’d seen Grace only briefly. I wasn't avoiding her, exactly, but when she came into Dad’s room, a parade followed. Grace popped by to say something innocuous like, “I’m on my lunch break, want to play UNO?” Dad pressured me to join, discounting my work.
A train of hospital staff followed, drawn to Grace: nurses, respiratory specialists, occupational therapists … hell, even his official social worker chose those times to visit. Dad loved being ‘Grace’s patient,' and a few called him ‘Grace’s dad,’ which really grated, because who the fuck was this girl, anyway?
The worst was that cardiologist, Chan or whoever. Yesterday, he was doing Dad’s chest exam when Grace came by. His professional demeanor went flaccid and his competence melted into simpering puppy eyes, stopping mid-exam to flirt. Instead of getting rightfully annoyed, Dad egged him on, as if that douchebag was good enough for Grace.
The weirdest part: Grace didn’t notice. Not in a girly playing-hard-to-get way … no, she seemed oblivious. She responded with warm courtesy as her eyes flit to me. Most staff ignored my scowling presence, and my noise-canceling headphones kept the riff-raff from interrupting unless Dad needed me.
But Grace never ignored me, even when I tried to ignore her.
The first morning had been the worst. Dad had been elated when I strolled in, excited to introduce me to Grace. She clearly expected the warm greeting she got from my family — hell, the entire damn hospital staff fawned over her. After politely nodding, I took out my computer to work from his bedside.
She seemed disappointed, like she expected us to be friends.
But I don’t really do friends.
I used to. Between the baseball team and my college fraternity, I was always surrounded by friends and girls. Over time things shifted from, “Hey A.J., how long can you do a keg stand?” (67 seconds, beat that sucker) to “Hey Alex, you’re a lawyer now, can you get me out of this speeding ticket?” (No, I’m corporate not civil) to “Hey Alexander, you’ve got a BigLaw salary so dinner’s on you, right?” (Buy your own lobster, you mooch) to “Hey, you’re Dominic Martin’s brother, what’s happening next season on The Twelve?” (I don’t even know where my brother is filming, let alone have time to watch TV.)
When Grace said, ‘That’s what friends do,’ I heard, ‘What can you do for me?’
Now when she walks into Dad’s room, I greet her cordially — Mom would berate me if she heard I was impolite — and leave to work from the cafeteria.
Let Grace win over everyone else with those giant, innocent hazel eyes and rich, sexy voice. And how cute she is when she cocks her chin and declares, ‘I like to believe the best in people.’ And how fucking radiant her hair looks in the moonlight.
I hadn’t noticed, because I’m immune to her charms. Or I will be, if I can avoid her. No, not avoid her; I’m simply removing distractions, starting with Grace E. Alvarez, as the nameplate on her office door says.
I definitely didn’t wonder what the ‘E’ stood for.
But this time, I couldn’t escape the atrocity of her hideous Christmas costume.
Grace said the hospital’s usual Santa was delayed in a snowstorm. Dad asked if the sleigh had GPS and she cracked a grin, replying that Rudolph had a microchip installed in his nose. She slumped on the foot of his bed, explaining that the hospital staff was stretched thin, but the kids had been promised a Santa. She even asked the janitorial staff. I bet she knew all their names. I bet she baked them Christmas cookies. I bet they were fucking delicious.
When Dad started to pull himself up on his IV pole and asked where the suit was, Grace shot him a death glare. “Absolutely not. You can’t risk another heart attack lifting those patients onto your lap, I need someone big and strong …”
Both their necks swiveled reluctantly to me. Their last choice. Fuck.
I tried to evade, but Dad told me to put down the laptop and help her out, because that’s what Clarkes do in a crisis, we stick together. Like this random friend of my annoying kid sister was part of my family.
Now I glanced at my reflection, a begrudging Santa glaring back. How many other people have sweat in this suit? Could my hands catch Athlete’s Foot from these dingy polyester gloves?
As I sneered, she asked, “Do you want sterile gloves underneath?”
