Two
Spring 2000
“Admit you love me, Tori,” Zane teased. They stood barefoot in the sand at the beach. Facing each other. Half hidden by the NO KISSING UNDER THE BOARDWALK sign. He’d first kissed her behind the sign, on their sixth date. Then continued to kiss her often throughout their senior year. It was their favorite landmark.
He curved his hands over her shoulders now and drew her to him. He held her close, chest to breast. Their hipbones bumped. Their thighs meeting. His body hummed. She gave him more than butterflies—he felt the whole zoo.
Her sigh echoed through his body. “It’s too soon.”
Too soon? She had to be joking. Love had come hard and fast for Zane, knocking him on his ass. She was taking her sweet time admitting she loved him too. He knew she cared; his gut told him so. He wasn’t insecure or needy. They were involved. An exclusive couple. Still he anticipated the words that would cement their relationship.
She was a different person now compared to the girl on their first date the previous fall, when she’d been seriously uptight . . . her heart closed. She had slowly warmed to him. Opened up over the months. Spending her free time with him. Sharing her life. He now wanted her commitment. Him. Her. Together.
Moonbeams, star shine, and the darkening night held them in silvery shadows. He rested his forehead against hers. Kissed the tip of her nose. Then each cheek. Lightly kissed her lips. He felt her smile against his mouth, and he smiled back. His heart was happy.
“I need to get home soon. I’ve got a test tomorrow and I have to study. Calculus doesn’t come easy for me.”
“I’m easy for you.”
“Indefinite integrals, limits, derivatives are hard,” she said on a sigh.
He was hard. The rise and fall of her breasts beneath a BAREFOOT PARADISE tee brushed his chest. Her nipples pebbled, poked him. His dick inside his jeans poked her back. He was a standing boner around her. Always. She was a virgin. She trusted him not to take advantage of her. He never pressured her for sex. They’d shared deep kisses. Intimate touching. Heavy breathing. Dry humping. Close encounters.
She cupped his butt, squeezed. “However much I like your body, close down, big guy.”
He widened his stance. Relented. “I have homework too. I’ve got an economics paper due at the end of the week, assessing the economic performance of the United States.”
“That should keep you busy.”
“I’d rather we get busy.”
“Not tonight.”
He nipped her bottom lip. “You’re no fun.”
“I was fun last night.”
Most definitely, he silently agreed. The backseat of his Impala would attest to that. Skin on leather.
Tori leaned back slightly. “I can’t slide my last semester. I want to graduate with honors. We should be hearing from colleges soon.”
“Anytime now.” His chest tightened a little. “Race received his appointment letter to the Air Force Academy yesterday. He’s already notified Admissions of his acceptance.”
“So I heard,” Tori told him. “He came into Zinotti’s last night, letter in hand. Showed it to Blu. She congratulated him. Offered him a handshake when he went in for a kiss.”
Leave it to Race to use his acceptance as an excuse for a make-out celebration. Blu saw straight through him. He wasn’t one to cool his heels and wait for a girl to come around. He was a player. He regularly dated other girls, all the while pursuing her. She barely gave him the time of day. Despite the fact he ordered pizza several times a week and tipped the price of his meal. Sometimes more.
Race lived carefree, on the edge of crazy, but wasn’t careless. He was too damn smart. Serious would come with his arrival at the Academy. There would be time restraints on first-year cadets, an intense orientation, the need to prove himself, and a ton of stress. He would be kept busy. Race was having fun now. Cutting loose at every opportunity.
“Your letter will arrive.” Tori was confident. Positive.
He appreciated her optimism. The wait wasn’t easy. She was on his side. Always encouraging. He drew a breath from deep in his gut. “Approximately twelve hundred out of nearly ten thousand applicants make the grade. I want this, Tori. More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.” Pause. “Except you.”
“You’ll be accepted.”
“It’s there or nowhere. I didn’t apply to any other colleges. I don’t have a plan B like you do.”
She grew thoughtful. “Pratt’s my first choice. I also applied to University of Florida, Gainesville; and Florida State, Tallahassee. Colleges with strong Interior Design programs that offer full scholarships.”
Tori had forethought. She’d covered her bases. He liked that about her. She was conscientious. She looked at life from all angles, evaluated the circumstances and every possible outcome. He so often jumped without looking first. Without looking for a safety net. It was who he was.
She tightened her arms about his waist and gently stroked his lower back. A circular motion that soothed him. “You’re the best of the best, Zane. Not all letters from the Academy are sent at the same time, right?”
“Right. Still, I’d like to get my appointment sooner than later.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe tomorrow for you too.”
He was aware that she met the mailman each afternoon, between the end of the school day and when she started her evening shift at Zinotti’s. It was depressing to flip through the mail and not find that highly anticipated letter. They consoled each other. Many of their friends had received admittance notifications. Their futures were now mapped out.
Being in limbo sucked. “Hang out with me a while longer,” he entreated. Her company calmed him. Thoughts of the American economy were the furthest thing from his mind. The paper could wait.
“How about a snow cone?” he asked. He knew her weakness.
She stepped back. Faked a glare. “You’re procrastinating and taking me down with you.”
“I’m restless.” His nerves were jumpy.
She gave in. “Twenty minutes max. Snow cones and a final walk down the pier.”
Twenty minutes were better than no minutes.
They located the snow cone cart. Tori ordered lemon, so tart her lips puckered. Zane went with blueberry. She laughed as the berry stained his lips. He kissed her, shared the blue, then swept his tongue inside her mouth, cold from the shaved ice. He savored her lemon. Smacked his lips. “You taste good.”
They walked the length of the pier, silent while enjoying their snow cones. She didn’t force conversation, happy with her own thoughts. He hoped her mind was on him. He never stopped thinking about her. He held her in his heart.
She finished off her snow cone. Too soon. “Home, Zane,” she requested.
“I can’t talk you into staying?” Last-ditch effort.
One corner of her mouth curved. Wistful. “You’ve talked me into a lot over the past few months,” she reminded him. “But nothing you could say tonight will keep me from Calculus.”
“We could take Oswald for a walk.”
A second’s hesitation. “Not fair. You know I love your dog.” She’d never had a pet and gravitated toward the dalmatian.
“One block.”
She sighed. “Against my better judgment.”
“You’ll still have plenty of time to study.”
“I prefer to study before it gets too late. My mind is mush after midnight.” She was a day person; he was night. “You’re a bad influence on me, Zane Cates.”
“I’m good for you, Tori Rollins.”
“You’re a distraction.”
She distracted him too. He’d rather be with her anytime, anyplace, than with anyone else. They tossed their snow cone paper cups in a trash container. He then took her hand and led her back to the parking lot. “Ozzie awaits.”
They arrived at his parents’ house in Olde Barefoot William. A beachside neighborhood. Here lay the Cates inner circle. The immediate and extended family lived in old Florida-style homes and cottages that had been handed down for generations, and were as eclectic in architecture as they were harmonious. The houses were shingled and shuttered, with wide porches. They’d withstood hurricanes and time. A few had had minor face-lifts.
Zane pulled his car into the driveway. The house was quiet. Dark. His parents had gone to a movie. His younger sister Shaye was at a friend’s house. Rylan was at the local batting cages. Baseball was in his blood. He practiced every free moment. His two older brothers, Dune and Aidan, were in college. Florida schools. They checked in on the occasional weekend.
They climbed out of the Impala. The front porch light illuminated the crushed pink shell walkway. Red hibiscus bushes lined the footpath. The scent of roses floated from his mom’s flower garden at the side of the house. Zane noted the grass needed to be mowed. One of his chores. He’d take care of it tomorrow. The job took less than twenty minutes on the family’s small riding mower.
Oswald heard them arrive. The dalmatian barked his welcome. Zane entered the house, leashed him. Oz greeted Tori with a lunge, paws to her chest, and a lick to her chin. Happy and exuberant to see her. She hugged him, then knuckle-rubbed his ears.
Zane was patient. He gave them their minute together. Ozzie had lots of human friends, but he favored Tori. In return, she’d wrapped her heart around his dog.
He rested his hip on the entry table and absorbed the pulse of his home. It was a house that gave hugs. Overstuffed furniture crowded the living room with seats for seven. Three televisions satisfied everyone’s programming wishes. The walls held childhood secrets and happy memories. It was a room that had witnessed love and compassion, opinions and the occasional argument. His parents were indulgent, yet firm. His brothers and sister were tight. If one did something wrong, they all took the fall and punishment.
Tori gave Oz a last pat on his head, and Zane nudged the door open with his foot. “Walk, Ozzie.” The dog shot out ahead of them.
The sixty-foot retractable leash allowed Oz plenty of freedom. He trotted down the sidewalk, then cut up several driveways. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. He would bark, wanting attention, and whoever was home came out to pet him.
“A popular guy,” Tori mused.
Zane grinned. “This has been his nightly routine since he was six weeks old. My relatives would acknowledge me with a nod, then make it all about Oz, offering him a dog biscuit or new toy. Oswald loves squeaky toys. His favorite was a yellow duck, which he quacked all the way home last week. Ten noisy, ducky blocks.”
“Blocks . . .” Tori calculated. She poked Zane in the side. “I agreed to walk one block. We’ve gone six now.”
Busted. Zane was hoping she hadn’t noticed how far they’d gone. He’d held her hand. Brushed his hip against her. Stolen a few kisses. He’d selfishly stretched out their time together. He hadn’t played fair. He knew studying was important to her. He turned around at the next corner. They headed back to his house. He kissed her every few steps.
Oswald tugged on the leash. He was the first up the steps and onto the porch. The first one through the front door, anticipating a further treat. Zane unhooked his leash. He left Tori in the entry hall and went to the kitchen for a raw carrot. Returned.
He held out the carrot, told his dog, “Veggie time. You’ve had enough snacks for one night.” His neighbors had handed out treats like Halloween candy.
Oz sniffed the carrot, gave a grumbling snort. He eyed Zane with a get real doggy glare. Tori covered her mouth, tried not to laugh. A snicker escaped. Oswald turned up his tail and retraced Zane’s steps to the kitchen. He sat down on the tiled floor, then looked up at the counter where Zane kept a large plastic container of treats.
“Ozzie,” Zane coaxed, calling him back to the carrot.
A flicker of the dog’s ears, yet Zane was ignored.
“Give him a cheese biscuit,” Tory insisted. “One more won’t hurt. He’s a growing boy.”
“He already weighs forty pounds. He’s so spoiled. Always gets his way.”
“So do you. Get your own way.”
“Not with you, I don’t.”
“You get plenty.”
Not nearly enough. But as much as she could give him, he knew. “I’m outnumbered,” he muttered. Carrot in hand, he returned to the kitchen. Ozzie wagged his tail . . . barked wildly. Zane retrieved a biscuit. “From Tori, not me,” he told the dalmatian. Oswald didn’t gobble the snack as Zane had expected. He took it to his dog bed and ate it slowly. Savoring it. Zane saved the carrot in a Ziploc bag. He’d chop it up, put it in Oz’s food in the morning.
He came back to Tori. “Ready?” he asked.
She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good dog dad.”
“Oswald is the family dog, but I spend the most time with him.”
They left his house, took the steps to the shell walkway. He slowed, asked her, “Have you bought your grandmother flowers this week?”
“I will on Friday, payday. I alternate between carnations, sunflowers, and daisies. Whatever’s on sale.”
“I’ll save you the cost. No flowers are as pretty as my mom’s prize-winning roses.”
She was taken aback. “Really? You sure? They are beautiful.”
“No problem.” He went around the corner of the house, heading toward the garage. “Let me get a vase and garden stripper. I’ll remove the thorns.”
The tool would make the roses safe for Nana Aubrey. Zane didn’t want the older woman pricking her fingers. He returned with the thorn stripper along with an empty red coffee container. Label removed. “Sorry, not very fancy.”
“It’s perfect,” she enthused, only to frown. “It’s the thought that counts. Gram wouldn’t know the difference between a coffee can and a crystal vase.”
The corner porch light illuminated the garden. “Choose the colors your grandma would like,” Zane requested. Tori knew her grandmother best.
She slowly strolled the outer edge of the rose beds, lightly stroking the colorful velvet petals. Breathing deeply of the fragranced air. Her eyes bright. “Your mother has a green thumb. Gram would love any one of them,” she finally said. “Do you help your mother garden?”
He shrugged. “Mom’s the expert. I’ve pulled weeds and spread topsoil and mulch over the years. I’ve learned a few plant names. Ozzie’s a digger. He’s quick. I’ve had to replant a few bushes.”
She clasped her hands before her. “Help me choose.”
She valued his opinion. He liked that. He passed her the coffee container. Then made his choices. “Gertrude Jekyll,” he selected. Three pink, and gently perfumed. He carefully snipped the stems and sheered the thorns. Leaving a few leaves. “Two Sunsprite,” came next. Yellow with a sweet scent. The fragrances intertwined.
He added, “Four Mr. Lincoln.” Large, bold, red roses. Strongly scented, but not overwhelming. He scanned the garden, “A Fragrant Plum.” Lavender was his favorite. Lastly “Stainless Steel,” sterling silver in color. Glossy. The coffee container swelled with blooms.
Tori swallowed down her emotion. “All gorgeous.” Her tone was soft, appreciative.
“One for you too,” Zane said. He took his time with the selection. “A Double Delight,” he decided, reaching for the distinctive bicolored hybrid tea rose. The creamy white flower had rich, cherry-red edges. He didn’t hand it to her directly; instead he gently caressed her cheek with the velvety petals. Brushed her lips, corner to corner. Stroked over her chin.
She closed her eyes. Breathed in the fragrance, sighed. “The scent of romance.”
He leaned in, kissed her. “You are my romance,” he whispered against her lips.
“You are . . . mine.” Her eyelids fluttered open. “I love that you cut flowers for my gram. My heart thanks you.”
He wanted her heart to love him. He placed the Double Delight in the middle of the coffee container. It was the rose with the longest stem. “Put the single in a separate vase when you get home. It’s just for you.”
She frowned. “We don’t have any vases at the apartment, but I do have an empty grape Gatorade bottle. The rose will go in my bedroom. On my bedside table.”
That worked for him. For now. Someday he’d buy her a vase. She still wasn’t good at accepting gifts from him. He’d already formulated a pretext. Gatorade bottles would get recycled. A pretty vase was permanent.
The garden hose was nearby. He added water to the container. The blooms would fully open and live for a week.
She pulled a face. “Time to study.”
He returned the garden tool to the garage, then met her at the Impala. He stared at her across the hood. Moon glow cast her in a silver halo. Starlight glittered on her hair, her face. His poetic soul embraced her. She was as soft as night air and prettier than the roses.
He’d been damn lucky Oswald had stolen her bikini top that day. He’d had girl friends, but never a special girlfriend. His parents liked Tori, but they felt she and Zane were too young to be so serious. His mom worried that his interest in Tori would shorten his attention span and hinder his academic progress. Fortunately his grades hadn’t slipped. His dad insisted that a high school crush could weaken with college. Distance often stressed rather than strengthened a relationship. His older brothers Dune and Aidan believed in playing the field. His best buddy Race flipped his hormone switch with each pair of passing breasts.
He took note of everyone’s opinion, and then formed his own. He listened to his gut. He and Tori were meant to be together. Nothing and no one would change his mind.
“Zane?” Tori raised an eyebrow, questioning his delay. She swept her hair behind an ear with her fingers. Dipped her head. Not coy, just shy. “You’re staring at me.”
He watched her often. He never got tired of looking at her. She should be used to it by now. She was not. “I like what I see,” he said honestly.
She responded with a veiled look at him, and a hushed, “Back at you, Cates.”
Nice to hear. Reassurance was good, even for a guy. They settled in the Impala. He keyed the engine, drove out the driveway. He took the long way to her apartment complex. She continued to clutch the bouquet to her chest. Buried her nose between the blooms. Inhaled deeply. The fragrance inspired her. Her imagination clicked, and she drifted into her world of design.
She spoke more to herself than to him. “A Victorian mansion. A lush antiquated sitting room. A color palette of porcelain-white satin, red-blush velvet, and sheer cream antique lace. The furniture calls out for human attention. A stroking of rich textures. The past curls up with the present on a glazed chintz fainting couch. The romantic warmth of a heavy brocade chair. Thick damask curtains drawn closed. Hiding secrets. A space all prim and proper, yet suggesting stolen moments of naughtiness.”
He could see everything she described, felt he was living in her room. She deserved Pratt Institute. He was sure she would someday be a top designer. He believed in her.
“Home,” she said when they reached the White Heron Apartments. “Walk me in?”
He’d driven from his house to her complex hundreds of times, but he’d been thinking about her, her career, and been on mental autopilot the last five miles. He pulled into visitor’s parking. Cut the engine. They both got out, then took the cracked sidewalk to her door.
Once there, Tori handed him the bouquet. “I want you to give the roses to Nana Aubrey.”
“Why?” he asked, startled. He didn’t understand. He’d planned on a quick good night kiss before heading out. Not a flower delivery.
She tugged his elbow, drew him inside. Whispered, “I buy Gram flowers often. These are your mother’s roses. They’re special. You’re generous to share. She’ll sense that, I’m sure of it.”
The apartment was quiet and dark. The television was turned to a low volume. Tonight her grandmother watched a gardening program. The roses seemed an appropriate gift.
“My parents are working,” she told him. “She’s alone.”
Tori turned on a table lamp, then motioned Zane to stand beside her at the front of the rocker. They blocked the TV. He saw the older woman blink, her expression confused. Tori was quick to say, “It’s me, Nana . . . Zane’s here too.”
No facial recognition. Grandma was more inside herself than out tonight. Zane knelt before her. She stopped rocking. He settled the coffee container on her lap and steadied it with one hand. “My mother grows roses,” he said. “From me to you—enjoy them.”
Nana Aubrey lifted a shaky hand. Her fingertips trembled as she skimmed the petals on the lavender rose.
“Fragrant Plum,” Zane told her.
She gave the stem a tug, struggled, but couldn’t pull it from the bouquet. Zane removed it for her. She touched the rose to her nose, drew a breath, and her chest rattled. She released the air from her lungs, and the petals fluttered. Her brow creased. “Smells . . .” She couldn’t find the word.
Tori helped. “Fruity, like a plum.” She next selected a fragrant Stainless Steel. She held it for her grandmother. “Smells like citrus.”
Her grandmother shifted slightly, and her arthritic shoulder popped when she reached for her photo album on the side table. Zane moved the flowers aside as she spread the album across her lap. Her fingers couldn’t grip the pages, so Tori turned them slowly for her, one by one. Until Nana Aubrey laid her palm across one specific black-and-white photograph. Zane and Tori stared at the picture. 1953 was inked on the edge.
A couple stood on a narrow sidewalk before a stone church. “My grandparents,” Tori softly recognized. “They would’ve been in their twenties.”
Dressed for Sunday prayer, the man wore a dark suit. A dapper hat. Nana Aubrey wore a skirt suit, the jacket primly buttoned, the skirt draping her knees. A patent leather purse was hooked over her wrist. Her hand held a rose, high and against her heart.
“As many times as I’ve seen this photo, I’ve missed the rose,” Tori confessed.
Her grandma pointed a finger at the flower. “Grande . . .” She mentally fought, but couldn’t finish. Her brow furrowed.
Tori looked helplessly at Zane. “I don’t know the name of the rose, do you?”
Grand Garden. Grand Lady. Not quite right. “Grande Dame,” suddenly came to him. rose-pink in color. He quoted his mother, “‘Grande Dame has been around a long time. A flowering antique. The fragrance epitomizes old world romance.’”
A fragile nod from Nana Aubrey. Her eyes were misty. A single tear trailed down her wrinkled cheek. Tori grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. Gently wiped it away.
Zane felt awful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Little by little Nana Aubrey shook her head. The creak in her neck sounded painful. “Happy.”
Tori lightly squeezed her gram’s shoulder. “Roses are a good memory for you. No more carnations and daisies each week. I’ll bring you a rose. Promise.”
Nana Aubrey gave her granddaughter as close to a smile as Zane had ever witnessed. There was a softness to the older woman’s face, as she bookmarked the page with the Stainless Steel bloom, then shut the album. She set her rocker in motion. Then closing her eyes, she relived the memory of her husband and the rose.
Zane pushed to his feet, placed the bouquet on the table. The scent of the roses drifted into every corner of the living room. He raised an eyebrow at Tori. “Walk me out.”
They stood just beyond the door, left it cracked. She stepped into him, and their bodies pressed to each other. She curved her hand about his neck and drew his face to her. “Thank you, Zane,” she breathed against his lips. “My gram’s response tonight was incredible. There was life in her eyes. In her smile.” She kissed him with gentle gratefulness.
He didn’t touch her, didn’t walk her back against the outside wall and go for more. Instead he said, “I’ll talk to my mom. Request a rose every few days. I’m sure she won’t mind. Trust me.”
She tilted her head slightly. Looked at him so steadily, so deeply, he felt her touch his soul. “I do trust you.” It was the first time she’d admitted to having faith in him. Her words warmed his heart.
“I’ll never give you a reason not to.”
“You’re one of the good guys.”
“I try.” To do the right thing wasn’t always easy. “I have my moments. I’m far from perfect.”
“You’re perfect for me.”
That surprised him. She’d never sounded so vulnerable, yet so serious. “You do it for me too.” He’d said it before, and he said it again now.
“I . . .” Her declaration hung on the air between them. She licked her lips. Swallowed hard. “I love you.”
Time held her words in place. They nearly stopped his heart. He’d fallen for her seconds after he’d seen her at the beach. He’d landed hard. He’d grown anxious. It had taken her months to accept him. To like him. To love him back. The moment was huge. Their relationship was no longer one-sided. They’d finally come together. A solid twosome.
“Hold that thought, Tori. Forever.”
“That long, huh?”
“We’ll work through whatever happens.”
She sighed. “I’ll hold you to it.”
* * *
Once Tori allowed herself to love Zane, she took him into her heart, holding him close. Her grandmother and parents cared about her, but they’d never shown her the affection she received from Zane. She felt safe with him. Protected. Emotionally grounded. Despite the stability of their relationship, her life felt mildly disjointed. The end of the school year closed around her in those suffocating moments while she waited for the mail carrier. Her fingers were perpetually crossed for her acceptance to Pratt Institute. Meanwhile, Zane had yet to hear from the Air Force Academy. He appeared calm on the outside, but she knew him well enough now to sense his inner agitation. A jagged insecurity.
The senior prom was almost upon them. A charmed night for the two of them. She’d recently purchased a slightly used 2000 Camaro, a necessity if she was to function independently. Funds were tight. She didn’t have the money for a fancy dress. Zane had generously offered to buy her one. She’d glared his wallet back in his pocket. She loved him but lived on her own terms. She bought what she could afford. Without anyone else’s help.
She continued to bring her grandma a weekly rose. Zane’s mother delighted in sharing her garden. Today Tori presented Nana Aubrey with an Heirloom. Nature at its most beautiful. The magenta double bloom spiraled open, revealing lilac tones. Its fruity scent blended apple, wine, and raspberries.
A fluted cranberry bud vase sat on the side table by Gram’s rocker. A gift from Zane. Tori gave her the Heirloom, then went to put water in the vase. She returned to her grandmother’s appreciative gaze. A sigh of a smile.
Her grandmother looked at her. “Face . . .”
One word, but Tori understood. The prom was heavy on her mind, and she’d been frowning. Nana Aubrey knew her heart. Her moods. She was concerned for her now.
“Ch . . .”
“Cheer up?” Tori guessed. The older woman always seemed to sense her feelings. Tori told her secrets. Shared her happiness and heartbreak, never expecting a response. “I’m going to the prom with Zane,” she confided. “I need a dress.”
Her grandmother’s brow wrinkled. “Help.”
Her offer touched Tori deeply. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”
“Store . . .”
“Most are too expensive. I’ll shop secondhand and consignment shops next week. If I don’t find something dressy, Zane’s offered to ditch his tux and wear a suit or white shirt and tie. He’ll go informal if I do.” Extremely kind of him.
Nana Aubrey’s face tightened. “Storage,” took a great effort for her to say. She coughed afterward.
Storage? Tori was lost. “I’m not following.”
Nana looked at her, as if willing Tori to read her mind. She drew a ragged breath. “Trunk.” The effort wore her out. She rubbed her throat. Grew pale. Crumpled on the chair, eyes closed.
Distraught over how hard her grandma had worked to tell her something, Tori withdrew to the kitchen and brought her a glass of water in an emptied and washed Smucker’s Grape Jelly glass. “Drink, Gram,” she encouraged, holding the rim to her lips. Nana Aubrey’s eyelids fluttered. She took a sip. Color slowly returned to her face. A second swallow, and she gripped the arms of her rocker and managed to say, “Bed.”
Tori put it together. She figured bed meant bedroom. Gram had her own sleeping space. It was small and narrow but allowed her some privacy. She asked for little. Tori was stumped. She wasn’t aware Nana Aubrey had a trunk.
Her grandmother touched her arm. “Go.”
Tori went to her bedroom, opened the door. Entered. The blinds were down. Shafts of light peeked between the slats. Her heart squeezed. Age had crept inside. Gram’s walker was folded against one wall. A handicapped railing ran along one side of her metal-framed twin bed. A single pillow and basic white sheets. A gray and burgundy patchwork quilt.
Most telling were the empty face powder box and talcum powder tin atop a small two-drawer dresser. How long had they been empty? Tori wondered. Gram had never requested anything new. A hand-painted tea rose dresser tray held a small hand mirror and hairbrush. Nothing more.
After a full turn around the room, there was no sign of a trunk. The sliding closet door stood slightly ajar. She glanced inside. No hanging clothes. Her grandmother wore the same housedress day in and day out. It was washed once a week. Along with her nightgown and robe. No shelving overhead, but shoved in one corner was a trunk. Tori tugged it into the bedroom. Stared down on the leather-upholstered traveler with the brass closures. Presently used for storage. She didn’t recognize the chest. Had no memory of it. Yet there it was, dusty, dented on the front left corner, and worn.
She knelt down, curious as to what might be inside. Decades sealed the closures. She needed all her fingers to pry them open. She broke a nail in the process. The lid stuck, and she gently shook it. A spring popped. Slowly, she lifted the lid. Despite her grandma’s insistence that she view the items, she felt she was intruding. The feeling made her uneasy. She drew a breath and cautiously examined the contents.
Clothes. All flawlessly folded, as if preserved in time. She lifted, shook out the top piece, an elegant, vintage, Juilliard green wool coat, lined with satin. The designer label read CHRISTIAN DIOR. She draped it over her arm. The full-cut coat still had its lovely original buttons. Quality, Tori thought. Pricey in its day. She draped it over the lid.
A charcoal tweed suit came next. Partnered with black suede kitten heels, it would be retro and stylish. There was a blush-colored, full-length lace nightgown. Beneath, several framed photographs of Gram and her husband. Young, holding hands, gazing at one another. Tears filled Tori’s eyes at this evidence of their heartfelt love.
She uncovered a Bible, a delicate petit point–embroidered evening bag with a floral chain handle, along with a golden brown velvet jewelry box. Inside were a strand of gray pearls and a cameo broach. Old and exquisite. A yellowed bankbook. A dog-eared page fell open, and Tori’s eyes went wide over the amount of money once in the savings account. The account was long-closed with a zero balance. Her grandparents had been quite well off at one time. The older couple had been far different from her own mother and father, who lived from paycheck to paycheck. Drifters.
Her breath caught over the last item in the trunk. An incredible find. She held the formal dress to her chest. A sophisticated gown inspired by romance and an elegant era gone by. V-necked, sleeveless, the sheer mocha bodice was layered with a beautiful corded applique. Tori was taller than her grandmother. The navy blue chiffon skirt would’ve flowed about her gram’s ankles. On Tori, it would sweep her knees. Graceful. A diversity of styles would be worn to the dance. The vintage classic was far prettier than any long mermaid style, layered tulle ballerina, or flirty mini.
Her heart warmed with a feeling of contentment. She had a prom dress now. She spread it on the end of the twin bed, then carefully repacked the trunk. She closed the lid and pressed down the closures, securing her grandmother’s past. A strong push, and she put back the chest. She shut the closet door soundly. Nothing further would be disturbed. She returned to the living room, dress in hand.
She went down on her knees before her grandmother’s rocker. Gram eyed her, the dress, and gave a small smile of approval. “Found.”
Tori clasped one of her grandmother’s hands. Gently held it. Emotion swelled her throat. “I had no idea you had the storage trunk. I don’t know what to say. I’m so grateful.”
Nana Aubrey’s gaze softened. “Lo . . .”
“I love you too.”
Her grandma nodded, and she closed her eyes. It was time for her late afternoon nap. She would sleep for an hour, her inner clock waking her for supper. Tori stood, kissed her fairy grandmother on the cheek. She was thrilled. Forever thankful. She would have the dress dry-cleaned. Her budget allowed for an inexpensive pair of navy heels at Shoe Mart.
She was going to the prom!
Her life would only be better if she heard from Pratt. Hopefully, she would get the long-anticipated letter soon.
The next day, Zane drove her home from school. They sat in visitor’s parking and watched as the mail delivery truck entered the circular drive and slowed before the set of resident mailboxes near the front door. Tori had a mailbox key but hated to face another day of disappointment.
“Want me to check for you?” Zane offered. “Today could be your day.”
“Could be . . .” She’d had months of could be. Might be. But nothing definitive. Her nerves were shot. She now sat in the Impala and watched as the mail carrier sorted out the mail, then climbed back in his postal truck and drove off.
Zane leaned in, kissed her lightly on the lips. “Let’s do it together.”
Together was good. He always comforted her. She welcomed his hug with each mail delivery. Letter or not. She questioned her own expectations. Unrealistic, perhaps. Maybe she wasn’t good enough for Pratt, or the other two colleges where she’d applied. Disappointment crept up on her. Even with Zane beside her, it was difficult to shake.
They climbed from the car. He curved his arm about her shoulders as they walked across the lot. Their hips and thighs bumped. She loved the feel of him. Solid. Safe. Male.
Her mailbox and apartment keys were on the same ring. She slipped them from the front pocket of her jeans. Be brave, she told herself.
She keyed the mailbox, and the door fell open. Her pulse jumped. Stuffed in the box amid coupon flyers and bills was a manila envelope with Pratt’s formal return address. Her hand shook as she withdrew it. Her heart nearly flatlined when she tore one corner wide enough to look inside.
Zane stood behind her, his hands on her hips. His strength supported her. He squinted over her shoulder. Read along with her. The words didn’t fully sink in. Not until he dug in his fingers, squeezed, and whooped near her ear. “You made it!” He whipped her around, lifted her up, and gave her a rib-crushing hug. She could barely breathe. His mouth came down on hers. He kissed her fiercely, as happy for her as she would’ve been for him had their situations been reversed.
He leaned back slightly, let her slide down his body. He set her on her feet. “We need to celebrate. Wherever, whatever you like.” He was a generous guy.
She considered, came to a decision. “I want to wait until you receive your acceptance too. A double celebration.” It would be more meaningful.
“It could be a while, Tori.”
“I’m in no hurry.”
“Prom’s in two weeks. We’ll be in a nice restaurant. The dancing will be romantic. Afterward . . .” He trailed off suggestively.
“Afterward is home by midnight,” she said, closing down their evening. Earlier than he would’ve liked. “My parents are flying to Key West for a job interview. A place called the Keys Tees is looking for a couple to manage their T-shirt and gift shop. I’m not certain they’re qualified, but they want to give it a shot. I need to be home for my gram.”
What would her grandmother do without Tori? Zane wondered. She was so responsible. She’d always been an adult, he realized. A grown-up without a childhood. But she was his girl. He would take care of her at the prom. Show her the best time of her life.
The dance was held in the ballroom at the Sandcastle, a five-star hotel on Saunders Shores, the sister city to Barefoot William. The two towns differed greatly. Affluence claimed the southern boundaries of Saunders Shores. There was no cracked cement boardwalk here; it was all cocoa brown brick. Tall glassed buildings. Sophisticated shoppers and carefree spending.
Couture fashions, gourmet dining, and designer boutiques. Waterfront mansions welcomed the rich and retired. Yachts the size of cruise ships lined the waterways. Private airstrips replaced commercial travel. The wealthy were a community unto themselves. Forbes listed The Shores among the top ten resorts in the world.
“A line of limousines,” admired Tori, eyeing the slow-moving traffic as the rentals eased into the circle drive and let off their passengers. Most vehicles held several couples. Renting a limousine was expensive. The guys went in on the cost together. Zane had gone all out. They rode alone. For him, these private moments were important. The night was all about him, her, and their memories.
Tori leaned forward, tried to see through the window. “Isn’t that your buddy Race Wallace in the limo ahead of us?”
Zane nodded. “Race and his two dates.”
Tori blinked. “Two dates?”
“He’s showing off,” Zane explained. “He asked Blu to the dance, and she turned him down. Flat. Apparently she didn’t go to her own prom and had no plans to go to his.”
Tori grinned. “That sounds like Blu. So who’s in the limo with him?” she asked.
“Khaki Davis and Rachel Coleman.”
“Hmmm,” Tori mused. “Both cheerleaders. Both popular. Both hot. An in-your-face challenge to Blu.”
“I doubt Blu will even care.”
“She has feelings.”
“Just not for Race.”
Tori rolled her shoulders, a noticeable shrug that had him asking, “Am I wrong?” Race was his buddy. Blu made him crazy. His crush on her had outlasted his girlfriend-a-month club.
“What’s right?” she said, avoiding a real answer.
Not enough info. Unfortunately, their limousine now slowed, stopped, at the main door. He had no time to question her further. The doorman, whose name tag read TOM, was on the spot, opening their passenger door. Tom assisted Tori from the vehicle, eyeing her with appreciation and interest. Zane understood. She was a total knockout, and all the males in the vicinity looked her way. His date had momentarily stopped traffic.
As she eased aside so he could exit the vehicle, Tori had no idea of the attention she was getting. Her hair was shiny, swirling free about her shoulders. Her dress was beautiful, like no other. There was an air about her, unaffected and fine. Men continued to stare. When she finally noticed, shyness overtook her. She slipped her hand in his, seeking his assurance. He leaned toward her, whispered near her ear, “You’re gorgeous, babe.”
She skim-gazed his black tux. “Looking good yourself.”
Automatic doors slid open, welcoming them into the hotel. Persian rugs covered hexagon terra cotta floor tiles. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected the guests. A wide impressive staircase wound to the second-floor ballroom, where chandeliers cast prisms of light on the dance floor. It was truly a red carpet prom.
He and Tori stood closely, just inside the door. He glanced her way. She was wide-eyed, and worrying her bottom lip. Her expression concerned him, but it didn’t surprise him. He knew her better than he knew himself. She didn’t feel worthy to be here.
“You belong, Tori,” he quietly told her.
“Because I’m with you.” A Cates.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he stated. “You’re strong, smart, and your own person. You stand just fine on your own.”
She brushed his side. “I’d rather lean on you.”
“You can always lean on me.”
Race and his two dates soon approached them. “Hey, prom king, music’s about to start. Mind if I dance with Tori?”
“I’m not prom king yet,” Zane corrected. “It could well be you, dude.” Both their names were on the ballot. There were five names in total. Race would surely get the female vote. He flirted with them all. The other three guys were into sports and extracurricular activities. All but Zane had been accepted to college.
“How ’bout it, Tori?” Race asked her directly as the DJ stepped onto the dais and spun the first song. “Your boyfriend can dance with my girls.”
Reluctance on Tori’s part. Eagerness from Race. “Go ahead,” Zane told her. One fast dance would not be a big deal. But when Race went on to claim a second dance it grated on Zane’s nerves. Despite the fact he had two partners. Both girls wore bandage dresses, short and tight; the knit bands barely covered their butts. “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys seemed to play forever. Zane gave in to the two-step, while the girls gyrated around him. His gaze never left Tori. She moved gracefully.
The lights dimmed, and bodies pressed close for a slow number, “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith. Zane crossed to Race. His friend had two dates. Tori belonged with him. He stepped between them before Race could draw her close. “My turn,” he growled, claiming her. Tori sank into him. He nodded left. “Khaki and Rachel? Remember them?”
Race grinned. “A slow-dance sandwich.” He then squeezed in the middle of the two. The girls snugged him from the front and the back. A slow sway brought out his satisfied smile.
A fast song separated the couples, all but Zane and Tori. Holding her was the best part of the prom. He made it last. Zane glanced at Race. Somehow his buddy managed to dance with two girls and keep them both happy. No jealousy. He had charm.
“I missed you,” Zane whispered near her ear. It felt good to hold her. She was so soft and beautiful.
Tori smiled against his neck. “We were only separated for two songs.”
“Did Race hit on you?” It was a hard question for him to ask. He believed his friend was trustworthy, to a point.
“Jealous?” she teased him.
“Should I be?”
“He flirted a little and got hard against my hip.”
“He did?” Zane asked sharply.
“Turned out he had a flask in his pocket. Vodka.”
Zane chuckled his relief. Race had never crossed the girlfriend line. Tonight Tori stood out. Unique yet unassuming. She claimed male attention without trying. She could’ve tempted even a guy with two dates. Fortunately Race had honored their bro-code.
“Vodka loosens his tongue. He gets talkative,” he said.
She updated him. “Between songs he asked about Blu. What she was doing tonight.”
That didn’t surprise Zane. “She’s working your shift, right?”
“Eddie’s short on help. He initially refused to give me the night off. Blu took my hours.”
Zane would have to thank Blu next time he saw her. He was curious. “She’s making pizzas?” He’d never seen her in the kitchen.
“Blu started out there, being paid an hourly wage. She twisted Eddie’s arm and went on to waitress. She makes good money in tips. The regulars love her. She calls them by name, takes interest in their families—kids and pets.”
“She’s never paid much attention to Race.”
“Ignoring isn’t always indifference.”
If that was so, perhaps Race had a chance with Blu. Four years down the road. Once he’d graduated from the Air Force Academy. Doubtful, but always a possibility.
Tori and he continued to dance while the dining room staff set up the buffet. Couples soon drifted toward the food. The prom committee members had mailed the menu to the senior class. Tossed salad and fresh fruit. Chicken cutlet and sliced prime rib. Honey-glazed carrots and mashed potatoes. Chocolate cake and a build-an-ice-cream-sundae station. An open bar for soft drinks. Zane was pretty sure others beside Race had sneaked in booze. But they were discreet. The chaperones had yet to call anyone out.
Zane angled back. “Hungry?” he asked Tori. The DJ had taken a break. It was the perfect time to eat.
“Good by me,” she agreed.
They served themselves, then sought seating at a large round table. Next to Race and his dates. Conversations centered on high school memories and college plans. Tori was congratulated on her acceptance to Pratt over and over. His classmates seemed genuinely thrilled for her. Zane got encouraging looks and pats on his shoulder. He was hoping for late acceptance. When his letter arrived, he and Tori would manage the four-year separation. They had been talking about marriage, but both were willing to wait until he graduated from the Air Force. No spouse was an academy rule.
The DJ returned to the dais. He spun a reverberating drum roll. The principal, Roger Abbott—known to the students as Roger Rabbit—joined him on the low stage, a microphone in one hand, two glittery crowns in the other. Abbott gave a welcoming speech that went on and on until Race shouted out, “Who won?”
Zane shook his head. His buddy lived up to his name. Always in a rush. The principal cleared his throat, went on to say, “The votes were nearly unanimous for our prom royalty. Both are long-standing students in the community. Both have high grade point averages and excel in extracurricular activities.”
“All me,” from Race. He slid to the edge of his chair, anticipating his name would be called.
“Your prom king has run marathons in support of numerous charities. He spent a summer in Birmingham, Alabama, building homes with Habitat for Humanity.”
“Not me,” Race shut down. He cut Zane a look. “I’ve got it narrowed down, dude.”
“Your prom queen,” Abbott praised, “opened her family’s stables and established a therapeutic horseback riding program for special needs children. She did so quietly and without fanfare.”
Applause echoed, even before the names were called. The principal held up a sparkling crystal crown. “Your prom queen, Nora Evans.”
Zane stood along with his classmates. Nora was well liked. One of the nicest people he knew. Pretty and always smiling, she put others first. She did favors and gave second chances. She took the microphone and accepted her crown with a heartfelt “thank you.”
“Your king—” Abbott raised a second crown, a high-pointed headpiece embellished with red and green rhinestones. “Zane Cates. Congratulations!”
Wild clapping, lots of female hugs, and guy punches to his arm. Thumps to his back. Exuberant Race pounded his shoulder overly hard. He knocked Zane sideways and into Tori. He caught her before more human dominoes fell. Through it all, Tori’s smile meant the most. A path parted for him, and her happiness walked with him toward the stage.
He put the crown on his head, was handed the mic. He bowed to his classmates. Locating Tori across the room, he spoke directly to her. “It’s been a very good senior year.”
Whistles, woot-woots, and arm-pumps from the guys. Romantic sighs from the girls. Zane couldn’t have been happier. The king and queen danced to Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Then parted as the music ended. They rejoined their respective dates.
Tori still stood where he’d left her. She hugged him. “Kiss the king,” he breathed against her mouth. She willingly did so.
The DJ spun his next song, only to stop within seconds, his gaze fixed on the main door. Everyone craned their necks, jockeying for a better view. Zane was tall. He immediately caught sight of two sheriff’s deputies, standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking formal and serious. He immediately sensed something was wrong. Very wrong.
The principal excused himself from the table of chaperones, all seated and enjoying dessert. He cut through the crowd and soon reached the deputies. Brief handshakes before their heads came together. A short conversation ensued.
Speculation ran wild among his classmates. Law enforcement didn’t show up at a high school dance without good reason. Drugs or theft. A death. A foreboding chill spread between Zane’s shoulder blades. Goose bumps chased themselves down his spine. He reached for Tori’s hand. Held it tight. The news was slow in coming.
Principal Abbott wound back through his students, his gaze fixed on Tori. She stood as close to Zane as was humanly possible. Close as skin. He hugged her, offering safety and protection for whatever was ahead.
The principal reached them. He spoke quietly, calmly, a note of sadness in his voice. “The deputies would like to speak with you, Tori. There’s an empty convention room down the hall. It will allow privacy.”
“Speak with me?” Her words were barely audible.
“It’s important. Zane can come with you,” Abbott suggested as he guided them toward the door.
The seriousness of the situation had Zane removing his crown. He tossed it to Race for safekeeping. He didn’t care if Race wore it the rest of the night or not. Nothing seemed more important than the immediate moment.
A hush fell over the senior class. The enthusiasm of the prom died. Curiosity, concern, worry filled the ballroom. Heartbeats slowed. They stood still as statues.
Zane stuck by her side as the deputies led the way. Abbott hesitated, then followed. A disturbing silence walked them down the hallway to a corporate meeting room. The carpet muffled their steps.
Tori looked up at him, questioningly. Frightened. “What’s happened? It feels awful.”
“I have no idea,” he told her. He prayed for the best. Feared for the worst.
Officers Barnes and Jacoby solemnly introduced themselves once they reached the room. Abbott turned on the lights. The room was cavernous. High ceilings and a wide open floor plan. Zane felt hollow. The space seemed to swallow them. Tori was offered a chair but preferred to stand. Jacoby’s voice was deep, intense. His words echoed off the walls. “You’re Tori Rollins, correct?”
She nodded.
“Can you verify that your parents Kyle and Marie Rollins flew to Key West today?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “That’s right. They went for a job interview.”
Barnes took over next. He swallowed hard. “You’re the next of kin. It is with deepest regard and regret that we inform you that your parents’ plane malfunctioned. The commuter aircraft went down off the coast of Marathon. Rescue teams have searched the crash site. There were no survivors.”
“No survivors . . .” Tori repeated, stunned. She paled. Her gaze was flat, unfocused, disbelieving. Zane supported her when her knees buckled. He held her upright. The moment seemed surreal.
“You’re sure?” she whispered.
“They were on the flight manifest,” Jacoby affirmed.
“Did they actually get on the plane?”
“Boarding passes were issued.”
“Oh . . . no . . . no,” escaped her. She went so still, Zane was afraid she’d stopped breathing. He rubbed her back.
“One additional question,” requested Barnes. “You’re eighteen? Legal age?”
“Yes.”
“We will have a report to you once all details are fully reported and filed.”
“M-My grandmother,” Tori stuttered. “Does she know?”
“We stopped by your apartment. Knocked, but no one answered. A neighbor indicated you were at the prom. At the Sandcastle.”
“Gram doesn’t hear well. I need to be the one to tell her.”
“Do you need a ride back to your apartment complex?” asked Barnes.
Tori shook her head. “Zane rented a limo.”
Barnes locked eyes with Zane. “You’ll see her home? Stay with her?”
Zane nodded. “For as long as she needs me.”
The deputies reiterated their expressions of sympathy, then departed. Principal Abbott sheltered them from prying eyes as they left the hotel. The limo arrived, and Tori collapsed against him on the backseat. Death. Zane had been to funerals, but never had anyone close to him lose their parents. He was as numb as Tori. There were no words to bring her parents back. No words to ease her heavy heart. Still he tried. “I’m so sorry.” The words were lame, insufficient. He just didn’t have more.
“I–I’m sorry too.” She stared straight ahead.
She trembled but did not cry as she informed her grandmother of the accident. Her gram sat and rocked her chair, her expression blank. Tori continued to shake through the funeral, the senior graduation ceremony, and into June. He watched as she went on autopilot, going to work each day and taking care of Nana Aubrey. Tori’s paycheck wouldn’t cover their present apartment. They faced moving to a smaller place.
Zane gave up on hearing from the Air Force Academy. He’d yet to receive admittance, and, with each passing day, his acceptance seemed less likely. Disappointment had tainted his dream. But his letdown was nothing compared to Tori losing her parents. Unimaginable. He started working part-time at Gray’s Garage. Not his goal in life, but it kept him busy.
Then one Monday morning in mid-June, Zane’s life took on new meaning. He was doing an oil change when a thought crossed his mind and stuck. He left work at noon and went by his parents’ house first, to include them in his decision. To marry Tori Rollins. They were stunned and not nearly as supportive as he had hoped. They tried to talk him out of his future plans.
His mother cried. His father was deeply concerned. They believed him too young. The responsibility of taking on a grieving girl and her grandmother was enormous. Had his sympathy for Tori stolen his common sense? Couldn’t they just live together? He answered their questions the best he could. Honestly. From the heart. Still they worried. He stood firm. Tori’s struggles were his struggles. He wanted to make her life better.
At the end of their conversation, his parents came together and supported him. Albeit reluctantly. There’d be no division in their family. A small Cates cottage sat empty on the cul-de-sac of Palmdale Drive, two streets east. It had belonged to his aunt Mae, a retired newspaper photographer. She had never married. Upon turning sixty, she’d retired from the Barefoot Sun and made the decision to travel the world. She’d later met and wed a photo journalist in England. Acquiring dual citizenship, she’d moved to London. Zane left his parents’ house with the key to the cottage in his pocket.
He drove to the White Heron Apartments. He’d called ahead, and Tori was expecting him. The door was unlocked. He entered. As always, Nana Aubrey sat in her rocker before the TV set at low volume. She was watching Antiques Roadshow. It was nearing the noon hour. Tori had made her lunch and left it on the side table. Half a ham sandwich and a cup of tea.
Gram heard him arrive. Her neck creaked as she looked his way and managed, “Bed . . .”
Tori was in one of the bedrooms. He needed to speak to Nana Aubrey before he located her. He narrowed the space between them, lowered himself on one knee beside the chair. He took the older woman’s hand, wrinkled and cold. He held it gently. “I need to talk to you,” he said.
She stopped rocking. She might not understand everything he said. Might not even respond. Yet she would listen. “I love your granddaughter,” came first.
“Ferris . . .”
“Yes, we rode the Ferris wheel last fall.” He was amazed she remembered their first date. Months ago. “Our lives have changed.” Drastically. “I want to marry her.”
A long pause. “Dad . . .”
He intuitively knew that she wanted him to ask Tori’s father for her hand in marriage. Reality had faded for Nana Aubrey. Her daughter and husband remained alive in her mind. Zane wouldn’t take that from her.
His chest tightened. “Okay by you?”
“What?”
He wasn’t making himself clear. He didn’t know how. “Tori and I will marry.” He spoke slowly, concisely. “A small family ceremony. We’ll move into a cottage. You will live with us.”
Bits soaked in. “Rocker?” seemed important to her.
“You’ll have your rocker and TV,” he promised.
She set the chair in motion and returned to watching specialists from the country’s leading auction houses appraise antiques.
Zane located Tori in the bedroom her parents had occupied. Her back was to him as she packed up their clothes, robotically folding and sealing the boxes with duct tape. She wore an oversized man’s T-shirt, no doubt her father’s, and jeans. There was a tightness to her shoulders, to her spine. She held in her emotion. Her loss pushed deep, leaving her dazed. Numb. She had yet to cry. That bothered Zane the most.
He leaned against the doorjamb. Brought up the same question he’d asked her yesterday, and the day before that, “Anything I can do to help?”
He received the same answer. “I have to do the sorting myself. Alone. My parents didn’t have much. One day I make a pile for the Salvation Army; the next day I change my mind. I have to make final decisions soon. It’s . . . hard.”
He crossed to her. Took her in his arms. Kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing just fine.”
“I’m trying, Zane.” Her words were whispered against his neck. “It’s so sad—I received a call from the owner of Keys Tees, where my parents were hoping to be hired. Their interview apparently went well. They would have gotten the job, had they lived.”
A would have that was lost to the plane crash.
“I, uh—” Her voice dropped. She spoke with difficulty. “I called Pratt’s admissions office. I canceled my scholarship.”
She’d done the unthinkable. Given up her dream. Her pain was his pain. He hurt for her. He rubbed her upper arms soothingly. She sighed away her regret. Went on to point out, “One good thing, the apartment manager gave Gram and me an extra two weeks, rent free, to pack up and move. Move where, I’m not exactly certain. I will find us a place.”
“I may have a solution.”
She tilted her head. Chin up. “I don’t expect you to fix our situation.”
“The result benefits me also.”
“You too?” Total surprise. “How so?”
“I have connections and know of a cottage,” he told her. “A comfortable two-bedroom, two-bath. Rent free.”
“No way.”
“Way. It can be yours, but it comes with one condition.”
“What might that be?”
“Me and a wedding ring.”