02_The Hero Next Door Page 16

  “FP four, go.”

  “FP four, please respond to the corner of Federal and Pearl for a report of a man falling on the sidewalk. Unknown problem. NFD is en route also.”

  “FP four, received.” Clipping the radio back on his belt, J.C. picked up his pace.

  As he approached the accident scene two minutes later, the small cluster of people eased back, revealing a white-haired man sitting on the sidewalk, his back against a planter. He seemed a little pale, but a quick scan didn’t reveal any obvious injuries. J.C. dropped to the balls of his feet beside him.

  “Sir, I’m Officer Clay. We have EMTs on the way.”

  “I don’t need medical assistance. I just want to sit for a few minutes.”

  Looking up, J.C. addressed the group that had gathered around. “Did any of you see what happened?”

  “Yes.” A stout middle-aged woman stepped forward. “He was walking along and began to sway. Next thing I knew, he’d fallen.”

  “Was he unconscious?”

  “No, young man, I wasn’t.” At the white-haired man’s firm reply, J.C. redirected his attention to the victim. “And I’m perfectly lucid. You can ask me any questions you like. After you help me over to that bench and this crowd disperses.”

  Without waiting for J.C. to respond, the man grasped the edge of the planter and hauled himself to his feet.

  J.C. rose at once, taking the man’s arm as he moved toward the bench. “Sir, people don’t get dizzy without a reason.” He could hear the ambulance siren now. Maneuvering the large vehicle through the jammed, narrow streets would take a few minutes, however. And he wanted to keep the man talking until the EMTs arrived.

  “There’s a reason.” The older gentleman winced as he put his weight on his right leg, and J.C. tightened his grip. “I must have bruised my knee.”

  “The EMTs can check that out, too.”

  “Maybe.” The man settled onto the bench. “I have a nonrefundable plane ticket for next Tuesday, and I do need to be able to navigate through the airport. I suppose you have to fill out some kind of report?”

  “Yes.” J.C. pulled out his notebook and pen. “Let’s start with your name.”

  “Walter Anderson.” J.C.’s fingers froze as he shot him a startled look.

  One of the man’s eyebrows rose. “Do we know each other?”

  “No, sir. But I know your daughter.”

  Now it was Walter’s turn to look surprised. “You know Heather?”

  “Yes. We’re neighbors.” Still taken aback by the odd coincidence, J.C. tried to refocus on the task at hand. “Let me get a little more information for my report.”

  By the time he’d obtained a local address, a phone number and other pertinent facts, the ambulance was rolling to a stop at the curb.

  “Is there anyone you’d like me to notify about this?”

  Walter hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

  The EMTs joined them, and J.C. rose. After giving them a quick recap of the situation, he stepped aside.

  And even though Heather’s father hadn’t asked him to place any calls, he pulled out his cell phone.

  It had to be here.

  Rummaging through the drawer in her mother’s nightstand, Heather felt a momentary flutter of panic—until at last her fingers closed over the leather-bound Bible that had never been far from Barbara Anderson during the final days of her life.

  After pulling it into the light from the dark drawer where it had lain for two years, she searched for the passage from Ephesians that J.C. had referenced. She hoped the book her mother had put such stock in would offer her some guidance. That was where J.C. always seemed to turn for answers, too.

  Finding the verses he’d referenced, she sat in the chair in the corner of her mother’s room and read through them.

  “All bitterness, fury, anger, shouting and reviling must be removed from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.”

  Good advice, Heather acknowledged. But how did you get past the hurt to follow it?

  As she flipped idly through the book, pondering that question, a folded sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It was covered with the graceful flow of her mother’s handwriting, and Heather’s throat tightened. Barbara Anderson had always had beautiful penmanship. But based on the shaky script, this must have been written very near the end of her life.

  When she bent to retrieve it, Heather saw that it was a letter. And the salutation startled her.

  It was addressed to her father.

  Heart hammering, she began to read.

  Dear Walter,

  I’m sure this letter will surprise you. It surprised me, too. But after recently finding my way to the Lord, I’ve been forced to face some hard facts about myself.

  The truth is, I wasn’t always easy to live with during our marriage. I had too much stubbornness. Too much self-righteousness. Too much need for control.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t find the courage to release you from a job you hated. To set you free to follow your dream. And I’m sorry for the terrible things I said the night of your reunion.

  Most of all, I’m sorry I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive you—and to work through our problems. I’m sorry, too, that once we parted, my pride kept me from changing my mind.

  I also carry great guilt about your estrangement from Heather. I should have encouraged her to stay in touch with you. Instead, I accepted her loyalty to me as a validation of my actions. But that was wrong. She loved you, Walter. And she needed you. I plan to talk with her about us in the next few days. And try to set the stage for a reconciliation.

  Please know that I have many regrets about what happened to us. With each passing year, it’s become more clear to me what I lost when we parted. Your kindness and caring were blessings I took…

  The letter ended abruptly. Unfinished.

  Rereading the words her mother had penned, Heather was forced to acknowledge that everything Susan and Edith had told her was true. There had been major issues in her parents’ marriage. And while her father had made a terrible mistake, her mother wasn’t without blame for the problems in their relationship.

  A jarring ring shattered the stillness in the house, and her hand jerked. Clutching the letter, she hurried down the hall to her bedroom and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. “The Devon Rose.”

  “Heather? It’s J.C.”

  His serious tone penetrated her preoccupation, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Is everything okay?”

  “I think so. But I wanted to let you know your dad fell downtown a few minutes ago. They took him to the E.R. to get checked out, but as far as I could tell, he was okay except for a banged-up knee.”

  Groping for the bed behind her, she sank down and closed her eyes. “Did he ask you to call me?”

  “No. But there are a few other things you should know. He’s staying at Star of the Sea.”

  The youth hostel in Surfside? Miles from town, where bare-bones rooms were shared with several other people?

  “Also, he didn’t rent a car, so he’s been taking the Shuttle.”

  This was getting worse by the minute.

  “And he’s not leaving until next Tuesday. He has a nonrefundable ticket.”

  Her father was going to be around for five more days. With an injured knee. And in obvious need of assistance.

  Heather closed her eyes. The moment of truth had been thrust upon her, ready or not. She could ignore her father, as she had for twenty long years. Or she could take the high road and start down the path to forgiveness.

  Heather knew what J.C. would advise. Her mother would concur, she suspected, fingering the letter in her hand. And so would the Lord.

  Making her decision, she took the leap. “Okay. I’m on my way to the E.R.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ms. Anderson?”

  Heather looked up from the magazine she’d been aimlessly pag
ing through in the E.R. The doctor she’d been introduced to at the fence painting youth project in ’Sconset stood a few feet away.

  “Hello, Dr. Morgan.”

  A smile of recognition lifted his lips. Moving across the room, he extended his hand as he claimed the seat beside her. “It’s nice to see you again. Although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. But the good news is that your father’s knee is only bruised. In a few days the soreness and stiffness will dissipate. He may need a little help in the interim, though.”

  “I plan to have him stay with me for the remainder of his visit. Can he do steps?”

  “Yes. Slowly, and with assistance.”

  “Does he know I’m here?”

  “Yes. Would you like to come back and see him?”

  What she’d like to do was run the other direction. But she’d already made her decision. “Yes.”

  She followed him into the E.R., where he indicated a half-closed door before moving on. “Take your time.”

  Drawing a fortifying breath, Heather gave a light tap and stepped inside.

  Her father stood across the room, one hand resting on the examining table as if to steady himself, looking pale and every bit his seventy years.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you with this, Heather.” His stance was rigid, his shoulders taut. “I didn’t ask anyone to call you.”

  “I know. I understand you’re staying at Star of the Sea.”

  He shifted his weight, and the paper beneath his hand on the examining table crinkled. “Yes.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Heather wrapped her fingers around her upper arms and held on as her heart began to pound. “I have a spare room at The Devon Rose. It’s yours if you want to use it.”

  In the silence that followed, Walter gave a slow blink. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Moisture shone in his eyes. “I’d like that. Thank you.” His words came out choked.

  Her own throat tightened with emotion, and she turned to open the door, struggling to regain control. “Okay. Let’s go get your things.”

  Using the examining table for support, he took a step forward. Winced. Took another. Winced again. Shot her an apologetic look.

  “Sorry. I bruised my knee when I fell.”

  “The doctor told me.” Fighting down a flutter of nerves, she moved beside him and crooked her elbow in his direction. “Why don’t you hold on to me?”

  He hesitated, searching her face. It was impossible to miss the hope shining in his blue irises as he slipped his arm through hers.

  Once upon a time, she’d leaned on him, she recalled with a wistful pang as they slowly traversed the hall to the waiting room. Looked up to him, both literally and figuratively. He no longer seemed as tall as he once had. Or as strong. Or as perfect. Those illusions were gone.

  And yet…with his arm in hers, life felt complete for the first time in twenty years.

  Brian was waiting for them at The Devon Rose. She’d called him from the E.R. after she knew he’d be back from a youth group sailing outing, and as she braked to a stop, she heard the screen door bang. A few seconds later, he loped around the car, coming to a stop beside the passenger door. Pulling it open, he helped his grandfather out, then engulfed him in a bear hug.

  As the two embraced, Heather backed off a few steps—and ran into a solid chest. Firm hands closed over her upper arms, steadying her, and she twisted around.

  J.C.

  “I thought you might need a little moral support.”

  His husky voice, and the tenderness in his eyes, played havoc with her breathing.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her arms a squeeze and moved toward the car. “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

  Her father gave him a surprised look. “Aren’t you the officer who helped me today?”

  J.C. grinned. “Yes.”

  “You look different.” He eyed J.C.’s jeans and black T-shirt.

  So did Heather.

  “Civvies always throw people off. Brian, why don’t you and I take your grandfather’s bags upstairs?”

  As they collected the luggage, her father looked from J.C. to her, and Heather felt warmth steal across her cheeks. Walter Anderson might have aged, but she had a feeling his keen perceptive abilities hadn’t diminished one iota.

  With the two younger males handling the luggage, Heather knew her father would need her arm again. Closing the distance between them, she offered it.

  “Nice young man,” he remarked as they navigated the brick walkway.

  “He’s been very good with Brian.”

  “I can see that. Your sister tells me he’s turned a corner since he’s been here. I’m glad you girls have always…”

  “Hey, Aunt Heather, are you fixing dinner?” Brian banged through the door, back onto the porch, J.C. close behind. “I’m starved.”

  It was dinnertime, she realized. But no way was she up to cooking tonight. “I could order pizza.”

  “Cool!” Brian replied. “You wanna stay, J.C.?”

  When J.C. sent her a questioning glance, she seconded Brian’s invitation. “Please.”

  “Thanks. That sounds good.” He came down the steps and took up a position on the other side of her father. “A couple of steps, here, sir.”

  “Call me Walter.”

  “And I’m J.C. Let’s take it slow and easy.”

  With support on both sides, he ascended with no problem.

  And as her father stepped into The Devon Rose, his arm linked with hers, Heather knew they were also stepping into a new chapter in their lives.

  An hour later, Brian snagged the last piece of pizza. “Anybody want this?”

  Heather shook her head. “I’m done.”

  “Me, too.” J.C. wiped his hands on a napkin.

  “Grandpa?”

  “It’s all yours, Brian.”

  Tipping his head back, J.C. emptied his soft-drink can and stood. “I think I’m ready to call it a day. Can I give you a hand upstairs, Walter?”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll go with you and show you the room, Grandpa.” Brian shoved the last bite of pizza in his mouth and rose.

  Walter stood, too. “Good night, Heather.”

  “Good night.”

  Brian kept up a steady chatter as the three of them slowly ascended the staircase to the second floor, but once Walter was ensconced in his room, J.C. headed back to the kitchen. He’d been watching Heather all night. And while she’d been holding up well, the tense line of her mouth and the faint tremor in her hands were telling. He didn’t know that he could do much to relieve her stress—but he could at least offer to provide whatever practical assistance she might need…or an ear for venting.

  He found her in the kitchen, clearing up the remains of the impromptu dinner.

  She gave him an apologetic look as he entered. “You’ve really gotten more than you bargained for with this family, haven’t you?”

  “There have been some redeeming factors.” Without giving her a chance to dwell on that, he gestured toward the door. “Walk with me to the gate?”

  “Sure.” She wiped her hands on a towel and pushed through the door.

  As she moved down the brick path at the edge of her garden, J.C. fell into step beside her. The manicured, formal display of shrubs and flowers was immaculate, as always, he noted. Pristine, well-ordered, symmetrical, balanced. A direct contrast to her chaotic life of late.

  As if reading his mind, Heather bent to pluck a stray weed from the edge of the boxwood border. “Too bad it’s not this easy to get rid of the bad stuff in life.”

  “You’ve had more than your share of that lately.” He touched her arm, and she stopped. “I want you to know I admire what you’ve done with Brian and your dad. That took a lot of courage.”

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. “I feel more scared than brave.”

  When he reached over and brushed his fingers against her cheek, her sharp indrawn b
reath echoed in the quiet of the garden. “Don’t be scared. You’re doing fine. But if you ever need any backup, I’m available.”

  She looked up at him, searching his eyes in the deepening dusk. “Why are you getting so involved in my mess? I thought you wanted an uncomplicated stay on Nantucket to work through your own issues?”

  “I did. But a beautiful woman with incredible hazel eyes and a caring, compassionate heart sucked me in.”

  At his admission, awareness between them heightened. He watched as longing softened Heather’s features, even as she tried to fight it.

  “I thought we were going to avoid…this.”

  “So did I.”

  “This isn’t a good idea, J.C. You’re leaving in six weeks. You have enough on your plate. And I already told you I don’t trust my judgment when it comes to men.”

  “I know.”

  “We should pull back.”

  “I know.”

  And he did. But as he stood beside Heather in the quiet Nantucket garden she loved, he could no longer ignore the attraction that had quivered between them from the day he’d first set foot in The Devon Rose. An attraction that had blossomed into a deep emotional connection.

  In the weeks since that fateful meeting, he’d discovered she was smart and strong and kind. That her compassion ran deep. That she wasn’t too proud to admit she’d been wrong. She was the kind of woman who brought out the best in a man. A woman who had earned his respect, admiration and deepest affection.

  And perhaps his love.

  J.C. wasn’t yet ready to take that final step. But neither could he ignore the yearning in Heather’s eyes—and in his heart.

  Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his hands. And there, in the stillness of a Nantucket night, he claimed her lips.

  J.C. didn’t want the kiss to end. And it was clear Heather didn’t, either. But when it began to deepen, he was the one who drew back. While he could.

  For several seconds, as he held her close, neither of them spoke. Then, exhaling a soft sigh, she eased back.