Chapter 6 — You Don't Have to Go In Alone

"I don't know," I said.

Cole's eyes stayed on mine.

"It wasn't a no."

"Don't look so pleased. I can still give you one."

"I noticed."

I turned toward the window, hiding a smile I had no intention of rewarding him with yet.

Cole looked up.

"You asked what I wanted," I continued. "I said I don't know yet. That's different from never."

He sat with that for a moment.

"All right. I can work with different from never."

It was the most hopeful I'd ever seen anybody look about such a poor offer.

By the time we reached Alder Creek, my worry about Grandma had swallowed everything else. Cole's friend sent a driver to meet us, and we went straight to the rehabilitation center.

Her bed was empty.

The nurse checked the file, then looked at me with concern.

"Your father and his wife took her home yesterday. We advised them to keep the nursing arrangement in place."

"Did she want to go?"

"She said she didn't want to cause trouble."

I closed my eyes.

Cole put a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go and get her."

At home, the sitting-room window was open a crack. Before I reached the porch, I heard Diane.

"All that money, and the girl still couldn't get a wedding arranged. How long are we supposed to keep paying for you?"

Grandma coughed.

"She shouldn't have had to go in the first place."

"Well, I've found someone else who'll take her. Mr. Bell has a perfectly good house, and he isn't bothered about a little history."

My fingers tightened around the porch rail.

Mr. Bell was older than Dad. He had buried two wives. Diane had once called him a disgusting old man after he looked down Sophie's blouse.

Apparently, for me, he was an opportunity.

Cole reached for the door.

I caught his sleeve. "Let me handle them."

He turned toward me.

"I know you can. Do you want to?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

He wasn't asking whether I was strong enough. He was asking whether I had to be strong every single minute.

"No," I admitted.

"Then you don't have to go in alone."

He held out his hand. I took it.

Grandma lay on the couch beneath a thin blanket. A cup of cold tea sat beyond her reach.

I went straight to her.

"I'm here."

She clutched my fingers. "Sweetheart, why did you come back?"

"To get you."

Diane stared at Cole. Her gaze traveled from his polished shoes to his watch, calculating before she spoke.

"So you brought your stranger home."

He looked at Grandma rather than answering her.

"I'm Cole Whitmore, Mrs. Bennett. I'd like to take you somewhere you'll be looked after properly."

Grandma blinked.

Diane did considerably more than blink.

"Cole? But you—"

"Cancelled an arrangement," he said. "Yes. That doesn't prevent Ella and me from making our own decisions."

Dad emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Mr. Whitmore. We weren't expecting—"

"No," I said. "You were expecting me to arrive alone and agree to marry Mr. Bell."

Dad looked at Diane. It was the look he always gave her when he wanted her to do his defending.

She reached for my arm. "Don't embarrass us in front of—"

Cole caught her wrist before she touched me.

"Don't."

He released her immediately. She stumbled back, then began shouting that she was being threatened in her own home.

Two neighbors appeared at the open door. More followed. Diane had always trusted a crowd to reward the loudest person.

"We raised her," she announced. "Now she brings men here to order us about."

"You hit Grandma," I said.

"It was an accident."

"While trying to hit me."

Dad took a step toward the doorway.

"Keep your voice down."

I looked at the neighbors he was worried about.

"Mrs. Walsh, you heard her shouting that morning. You saw the ambulance."

The woman nearest the gate nodded slowly.

"I thought it was another argument."

"It was. Then Grandma went to surgery."

Diane began talking over me. Cole moved to the side, leaving the doorway clear.

"Nobody is being kept here," he said. "If you want witnesses, they're welcome to stay."

That frightened Diane more than his catching her wrist had.

"We're a family," Dad said. "We don't need spectators."

From the couch, Grandma spoke.

"You liked spectators when you were proud of her engagement."

The room fell quiet.

She raised her head, her fingers still wrapped around mine.

"You watched your wife hit me. Then you took me out of care because you were angry with my granddaughter. Don't ask Ella to keep quiet for your sake."

Dad's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

For once, Grandma wasn't asking me to endure something. She was naming it.

Someone in the doorway drew in a breath.

I didn't stay to measure their reaction. Grandma needed help, not a verdict from people who had heard Diane shout at us for years and done nothing.

Cole crouched beside her.

"The hospital can assess you today. Julian Brooks is expecting us. Ella will be with you the whole time."

"I don't want to put you to expense."

"Then give me the pleasure of doing something useful instead."

Grandma looked at me. I nodded.

Cole carried her out wrapped in his coat. I followed with her medication and the discharge papers I found shoved into a drawer.

Dad called after us, offering to pay. Nobody turned around.

At the hospital, Julian met us with a wheelchair and a face too cheerful for the grim morning we'd had.

"I was told to expect one elderly lady and a commander in a temper," he said. "I see the information was accurate."

Cole gave him a look.

"Excellent. Still speaking with your eyebrows. Welcome home."

Julian's jokes stopped once he saw Grandma. He helped arrange an assessment and a supervised recovery bed. Within an hour, she had clean sheets, warm food, and someone listening when she said she was in pain.

I sat beside her until my hands stopped shaking.

A staff member asked whether Grandma wanted to speak privately about the injury and her discharge. I expected her to say she didn't want trouble.

Instead, she asked for me to stay.

She explained what had happened. When the staff member mentioned reporting her concerns, Grandma nodded.

I looked at her.

"He's still your son."

"Yes," she said. "That ought to have mattered to him too."

I pressed my face against her shoulder and cried, quietly enough not to make her hold me up.

Cole was waiting in the corridor when I came out. He didn't ask whether I felt better. He opened his arms, and I went into them.

"She told them," I whispered.

His hand moved slowly down my back.

"Good."

"She's never done that before."

"Neither have you."

I stayed against him until somebody wheeled a linen trolley past. He shifted us closer to the wall without letting me go.

When Diane arrived that afternoon, Julian intercepted her at the door.

"Mrs. Bennett is resting."

"I'm family."

"Then you'll want her to have the rest she needs."

"You can't keep me out."

He looked toward the nurses' desk. "You can have a quiet conversation about visiting arrangements, or security can have a less quiet one. Which would you prefer?"

She left after announcing she would complain. Julian cheerfully gave her the complaints office number.

Two days later, an officer spoke separately to Grandma and me. Diane's visits were no longer left to her own convenience; the ward recorded who was allowed in, and Grandma asked that neither she nor Dad come without her agreement.

When Dad telephoned demanding to know who had put that idea in her head, Grandma took the receiver herself.

"I did," she said, and hung up.

Cole stared at her for a moment, then looked at me.

"I begin to see where you learned it."

I almost cried with gratitude. Instead, I thanked him, which was easier.

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "I've known Cole since he had braces. I possess stories."

"Keep them," Cole said from behind him.

That evening, Cole went to settle the care arrangements while Grandma ate soup. She studied me over the spoon.

"Tell me about him."

I did. The inn, the station, the ridiculous cancelled engagement. Grandma listened without once saying I should have done something differently.

"And do you want to marry him?"

"He's reliable. He wants the baby. He doesn't treat me like Dad does."

"Those are reasons to trust him. I asked what you want."

I smoothed a crease in her blanket.

"A life where you don't have to worry about me."

"Sweetheart, that's still an answer about somebody else."

I couldn't give her the answer she wanted. I had spent so long avoiding disappointment that wanting anything felt reckless.

"We could have a good life," I said. "He's kind underneath all that grumbling. We don't have to be in love for it to work."

Grandma looked at the books in my open bag.

"And what about going back to school? You wanted that before any of this happened."

I pulled the bag closed.

"I don't know how I'd manage it now. There's the baby. There's somewhere to live. I might have to leave studying until..."

I stopped. I didn't know what I was waiting to finish before my own life could begin.

"Until when?" Grandma asked softly.

"I don't know."

It was easier to say that than admit I had already begun packing the wish away.

A shadow moved beneath the door.

I glanced up. Nobody came in.

Grandma set her spoon down. "No, you don't. But you don't have to settle for being grateful, either."

Later, when Cole returned with fruit and fresh clothes for me, he was unusually quiet.

I asked whether something was wrong.

"No," he said, setting the bag beside my chair. "Nothing you need to fix."