After a day in the sun, and more listening than she’d ever done, Quin ran back to the house to get Ryla’s wheelchair. Sitting in the hard seat all day made her sister stiff and Ryla couldn’t walk across the street without risking injury. Quin wasn’t about to lose her sister in an avoidable accident when losing her was already coming far too fast.
Quin jogged into the house, then stopped. Without Ryla there to tell her where to find anything, she was lost. She’d just opened her mouth to call for Paxton when he poked his head out from the kitchen.
“You’re back? Need something?” Paxton tilted his head slightly to glance behind her.
“Ryla needs a ride back to the house. I don’t know where her chair is.” Why did she always feel so out of sorts around Paxton? He’d never given her any reason to mistrust him, and that wasn’t the feeling entirely. It was more that she felt a buzz when he was near. He gave her a curt nod and headed for Ryla’s room. When the subject was Ryla, he was all business.
No other room bothered her quite as much as Ryla’s bedroom. So, of course, that’s where the chair was. The changes in the other rooms of the house were understandable and understated, but she wanted to avoid Ryla’s bedroom for as long as possible.
“I’ll just follow you out there.” Paxton pushed the folded wheelchair from Ryla’s room and headed for the front door.
Quin opened the door and held it for him. There was nothing about him that would make anyone think he was a nurse. He didn’t wear scrubs or crocs, not even a stethoscope around his neck to give it away. Though she’d learned from Ryla that he carried a pulse oximeter in his pocket all the time.
“Long day. Did you get a lot of talking in?” He waited until she closed the door to keep Duggy in the house, then carried the wheelchair down the stairs.
“Yes. Some rough, some not. It’s been a good day.” But now that she faced the evening, having Paxton there as an emotional cushion between her and Ryla would be nice. They’d moved on to good conversation after a rocky start, but as Ryla’s energy waned, would she continue on those lines or get short with Quin? “Do you have dinner plans?”
He laughed as he started across the road. “I’m going to sit in front of my television and leave my phone on in case Jane has any issues. I’m sure today took a lot out of Ryla.”
They reached the other side and Quin touched his arm to stop him. “She wanted to come. I don’t want to be blamed for wearing her out…” Ryla already thought she was selfish. There would be no proving otherwise if she just accepted blame for everything.
“I know. I was there when she suggested it. But you also need to understand that your sister often does things that aren’t strictly good for her just because she’s tired of following the rules.”
The oxygen immediately came to mind. Would she push the envelope and end up making herself worse because she couldn’t or wouldn’t follow a few guidelines? “I can totally see that about her. I was only assigned as her hospice care specialist after her heart attack, but even just knowing her superficially before that, I saw that in her. I didn’t want to be her care coordinator. She’s a friend. But she’s so private. I couldn’t just hand her over to strangers when I know she would never be comfortable with them. She would drive them out and just sit there. So, I put my own feelings aside and did what needed to be done.”
Just like she had to do with Ryla’s accusations. She had to put aside her own truth—that she wasn’t a spoiled brat who intentionally took everything from her sister, and that her parents weren’t complete monsters—and let Ryla tell her side of the story.
She released Paxton’s arm, but he didn’t move. “Was she laying like that when you left her?”
Quin looked up and Ryla had her head tilted back at an odd angle, like she’d fainted. “No…” Her heart leaped into her throat as they both raced for Ryla.
Paxton got to her first and reached for her hand. Ryla woke instantly and startled, then gripped her chest. “Paxton! You know better than to scare me like that.”
Quin slid to a stop and forced air back into her lungs. She’d fallen asleep because it had taken so long for them to return. “In his defense, you scared us—” She swallowed hard before she could finish her thought. Saying scared us to death was incredibly insensitive and that was what Ryla had asked of her—sensitivity.
Paxton lifted her easily into her chair and Quin gathered all they’d brought. Her wheelchair had a special holder for her large oxygen tank and Paxton lifted the tank into its place. “Can you pull the cart and grab the lunch basket?” He didn’t wait for a response or glance back to see what had been done.
Sometimes his all-business nature seemed cold, but only when she didn’t really examine it. He cared for Ryla without question. Quin was secondary, which was how it should be. Was the slight jealousy she felt because she was used to being first, or something else?
“I got a call from Jane, the night nurse,” he filled in for her. “She’ll be late today because of another client. So I went ahead and made supper for you.”
As Quin glanced up and down the street, she tripped slightly. Maybe over her thoughts, maybe over a loose pebble in the median. “Late? What if she doesn’t come?” Paxton had to be there for Ryla during the day. That was the most important. He couldn’t do a twenty-four-hour shift.
“She’ll come.” He finished pushing until they reached the base of the stairs. “Bring her chair up. I don’t want it sitting out with the salty sea air or it’ll rust.” He lifted Ryla with almost no trouble, leaving Quin to follow behind.
Though she hadn’t noticed when she’d come in for the chair before, the house smelled of luscious alfredo. The warm, cheesy scent wafted from the kitchen with promised relaxation, enjoyment, and very full bellies.
“I didn’t realize you could cook whole meals.” She mentally slapped her forehead. Couldn’t she ever just give a compliment?
Ryla laughed as Paxton set her down in a dining room chair. She seemed so out of place in the stark white room with sparse nautical baubles. “Just because I can’t keep an ounce on me doesn’t mean Paxton can’t cook. He does his best. He’s actually very good. Or…he was when I could taste anything.”
A knife of guilt hit Quin’s chest. That amazing aroma wafting from the kitchen would be torture if she knew she’d never actually taste it. “I’m sorry…I had no idea.”
With her usual ease, Ryla patted the table beside her. “Come, sit with me.”
Paxton tugged out the chair before he left for the kitchen. Quin tentatively made her way to the seat and lowered herself. “Did you have a good day?” The possibility that, even after all the things Ryla had said, she might still like spending time together gave Quin hope.
“Of course. I’ve wanted to sit with you on the beach for so long. The weather was perfect, the birds noisy, the traffic a distant memory… Didn’t you have a good day?” The expectancy in her voice stalled Quin.
“I did. I learned a lot, but it was a good day.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in the sun for so long, especially with someone she cared about.
“I think, even though I had to wait for it, we were blessed with the perfect day. Which made the wait worth it.” Ryla smiled, then her gaze shifted to the kitchen door and her eyes went wide.
There, in the doorway, stood Paxton with two heaping plates of creamy pasta. “Ladies!” He strode to Ryla first and set down her plate, then did the same in front of Quin. “Would you like me to stay or do you think Quin can handle you if I go home?” He laid a warm grin on Ryla.
Quin sat silent, confused over her feeling of helplessness at possibly being alone with Ryla and doing something wrong, and utter amazement at how gorgeous Paxton was when he actually showed warmth. His attention shifted to her and she squirmed in her seat. “I don’t think I’d like a trial by fire. Could you stay? Please?” Maybe not just for Ryla, but mostly.
He grinned again. “Good thing I made enough for three.”
Quin tried not to sound too relieved yet happy all the same. “Good. You can join us.”
Ryla eyed her, then sat back in her seat as if thinking deeply. She opened her mouth, closed it, then closed her eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Paxton brought in another huge helping of pasta and sat across from Quin. He took Ryla’s hand, then held out a hand to her. After a slight hesitation, she slipped her hand into his. He gripped her gently. “Lord, bless the food we are about to receive. Thank you for the day, the weather, and the chance to reconnect. Thank you for old friends and new ones. Amen.” He opened his eyes and met hers across the table.
“Thank you,” she muttered softly. No one had ever prayed for her before.
Ryla ignored the food in front of her and launched into an expressive talk about their day. Quin tried to pay attention and eat, but she’d already lived through the conversation and didn’t want to go through it again. Her mind slowly wandered to the art show and what could be happening with her pieces. Ben would tell her what people thought of her work, but it wasn’t the same as seeing reactions in person.
“Quin, what do you think?” Paxton asked, a playful look on his face.
Busted. He’d caught her daydreaming about something else and now she was stuck. “I’m sorry. I was so into this amazing supper that I didn’t even hear what you said. I’ll need the recipe.” Her cheeks burned. At least her plate was half empty so it wasn’t a lie. The alfredo sauce was the best she’d ever had.
“The recipe is easy. Melt butter in a frying pan, add flour and stir until it looks like the sand outside, then whisk in milk. When that’s warm, add three cups of grated parm, and some nutmeg. Pour over the noodles and salt and pepper to taste. I’m no chef.” He shrugged.
Could’ve fooled her, she didn’t even know what a frying pan was. “I guess I’ll have to try it.” After she watched a few seasons of Food Network to know what he was talking about.
Ryla laughed. “She’s bluffing. You can see it in how she pinches her fingers together.”
My fingers? How did Ryla know so much about her, but she had no clue about her own habits and ticks? “She’s right. I am.” Quin closed her eyes and tried not to feel like a fraud. Back in Manhattan, she was always in control.
Paxton covered her hand with his. “Hey. It’s fine. If you want, I can teach you sometime. No need to be anything but real here. You look tired. We should get this cleaned up and move you both somewhere comfortable to relax.” He picked up his plate and Ryla’s still mostly full one and headed for the kitchen.
As she stood, Ryla reached out and laid her hand on the table. “He’s right, you know. You don’t have to be anyone but your true self here. Not who Mom and Dad wanted you to be, not who you think you are…just you.”
Quin nodded and headed after Paxton before tears could stop her. Paxton took the plate from her almost the moment she entered the room. “You okay? I know that spending a day with someone when you feel that clock ticking can be really emotional. You want to make use of every minute and feel guilty if you feel like you’re wasting it. Just know that you aren’t wasting any of it.”
She took a deep breath. “There’s just so much I never knew.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry to say…you haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”