Page 20 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

"Let's just say that raccoons scare Mel more than bears or snakes."

Jameson's eyes twinkled. "Raccoons?"

"Mm-hm. I guess she went on a camping trip with her church once, and a raccoon ate a hole through her tent. She woke up in the night with it staring at her."

"In the tent?"

"Yep. She told me that story when we were getting my old tent out last year. Shell said that the real reason Mel doesn't like raccoons is that the raccoon ate her entire package of Oreos."

Jameson burst out laughing.

"You're going to use that as ammunition one day, aren't you?" he asked.

Jameson just winked. I might.

Cooper and Spencer burst through the back door, each holding a horseshoe like a prized treasure.

“Nana!” Cooper shouted.

Candace startled, her hand pausing mid-reach for the mixing bowl.

Michelle and Marianne both giggled.

“Look, Mom!” Cooper said breathlessly. “We found a bunch of real horseshoes in the barn!”

“I see,” Candace said, smiling at his excitement. “We used to play horseshoes with those when I was about your age.”

“You threw actual horseshoes?” Marianne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jameson followed the boys in, brushing dust from her hands. “That’s how the game got its name,” she said dryly.

“Cute, JD,” Marianne teased.

“We never played with real ones,” Jonah added, tugging off his jacket.

Candace shrugged. “Your father bought a lighter set when Marianne was about eight. They were orange and green—I can still picture them.”

Marianne chuckled. “I remember that. We dragged that set out for years.”

Jameson tipped her chin at Jonah. “See? History.”

Jonah rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Spence,” Marianne said, shifting into mom mode, “you and Cooper should go upstairs and wash up. Nana’s about to start making pancakes.”

“Okay,” Spencer replied, already tugging at Cooper’s sleeve.

“Your cousins are in the family room watching a movie,” Marianne added. “Scott and Mel are setting up a folding table so you can eat in there.”

“Come on, Coop,” Spencer said. “I hope they aren’t watching Aladdin again.”

Cooper groaned.

Jameson exchanged a glance with Candace, shaking her head with a grin. “How things change.”

Candace chuckled softly.

“God,” Michelle said, laughing, “Coop is groaning? Do you know how many times I watched Aladdin with him? Every time I came over—for six months straight! And now Brody’s obsessed with Genie. Maybe it’s hereditary.”

Candace bit back a smile. Cooper wasn’t biologically related to any of them, a fact easily forgotten in the comfort of family ties. Michelle’s offhand remark carried more truth in its affection than she realized.

“Is Dad still sleeping?” Jonah asked, his tone quieter.

“Yeah,” Marianne said. “I thought I’d let him rest. He was up late. He’s been sleeping more during the day lately.”

Jonah nodded, his expression tightening. “I know. He fell asleep mid-conversation with me the other day.”

Candace’s hands stilled on the mixing spoon.

The chatter in the kitchen continued, but for a brief moment, the weight of his absence filled the room.

"I'll help Dad get ready for breakfast," Marianne offered.

"Tell him to hurry up if he wants chocolate chips," Michelle said. "Mom only has one package."

Marianne rolled her eyes. "I'll make sure he knows what's at stake."

Upstairs, the old farmhouse was hushed. The muffled sounds of children’s laughter and clattering pans drifted faintly through the floorboards, a reminder of the life gathered below.

Marianne pushed the bedroom door open gently, careful not to wake him if he was still sleeping. The dim light through the curtains lay soft across the quilt, the room heavy with the stillness of early morning.

“Dad?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

She stepped closer, her eyes on the steady rise and fall she expected but couldn’t find. The silence pressed in—so different from the noise downstairs, so final.

Her hand trembled as she reached for his arm. Cool. Still.

“Dad…”

Her voice broke, no louder than a breath.

From below, a burst of laughter carried upward—Cooper’s squeal, Spencer’s answering shout, the sound of life still rushing forward. Marianne stood rooted in the quiet, the two worlds colliding in her chest: the fullness of family gathered and the sudden hollow where her father had been.

"Oh, Dad," she whispered, caressing his forehead.

Marianne closed the bedroom door softly behind her, her hand lingering on the knob a moment longer than necessary.

She drew in a shaky breath, steadying herself, then moved down the stairs.

Each step carried her closer to the sound of children laughing in the family room, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the hum of life that suddenly felt too loud.

Candace stood at the counter, pouring batter into the skillet, Jameson beside her, rinsing a mixing bowl. Candace turned at the faint scuff of Marianne’s shoes on the floor.

One look. That was all it took.

Candace’s eyes caught the sheen in her daughter’s, the pale tightness around her mouth.

It was a look Candace knew because she'd worn it herself. They had shared that long night at Rick’s bedside, holding vigil as life slipped away.

That grief had carved something permanent between them, and now it flickered back, raw and immediate.

Marianne shook her head.

Candace set the skillet aside without a word. Her hand brushed against Jameson’s briefly, a silent pause, before she moved to meet Marianne halfway across the kitchen.

“Mom…” Marianne’s voice cracked.

Candace pulled in a deep breath, her chest tightening, and gave a single nod. She wrapped an arm around her daughter, steadying them both.

The room stilled—the laughter from the next room still spilling in, unknowingly, while here in the kitchen, the air shifted. Candace closed her eyes for just a moment, drawing on the strength she would need for what came next.

“Your dad’s gone,” she said quietly, her voice steady but threaded with sorrow.

The words settled into the silence, the kind of truth that changed everything, even as the sound of children’s voices carried on.

Jonah sprang to his feet. Jameson caught his arm gently. “Jonah,” she whispered.

“He was fine last night,” Jonah said. “Are you sure?” he asked Marianne.

A sad smile was her only reply.

Candace drew in a breath and turned to Jameson. “We need to call hospice.”

“They’re in Connecticut,” Jonah said.

“Your father made arrangements when we planned this week,” Candace explained.

“He knew?” Michelle asked.

“No, sweetheart. He didn’t know. He wanted to be prepared.”

Scott appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Marianne’s voice trembled. “It’s Dad. He’s gone.”

Scott sighed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll make the call,” Jameson said.

Candace nodded her thanks. “Let me go up before Shell and Jonah,” she added softly.

“Mom—”

Candace gave her daughter a small smile. “Just a minute.”

“I’ll come,” Scott said quietly, understanding.

Candace nodded, and together they climbed the stairs.

At the bedroom door, Scott touched her hand. “Candace?—”

She managed a faint smile. “It’s never easy, Scott. There’s no way to prepare.” She stepped inside.

Jonathan lay still, his features softened in rest. Candace moved to his side, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Oh, Jon,” she whispered, bending to kiss him.

“Would you get me a cloth?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

Scott nodded. "I'll be right back."

"Pancakes," Candace muttered, gently stroking Jonathan's cheek.

Scott handed her a washcloth, and she gently washed Jonathan’s face, tears welling. “Tell Lucas I’m glad he’s there for you,” she murmured.

Jameson’s voice came from the doorway. “Candace.”

Candace drew in a long breath, turning to her. “He was ready,” she said, her lips curving into a solemn smile. “He told me last night he couldn’t wait to see Lucas. I should have known.”

“You couldn’t have,” Jameson said softly.

Scott laid a hand on Jonathan’s chest. “He looks peaceful.”

"We need to tell Cooper and the kids," Jameson said.

Candace nodded. “I know. Not yet. Let them enjoy breakfast and a movie. We'll tell them when the nurse gets here."

"I'll let everyone know the plan and send Jonah and Shell up,” Scott said, heading for the stairs.

Jameson crossed the room and folded Candace into her arms. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Candace kissed Jameson gently and then pulled back with quiet resolve. “I know. Now come help me with breakfast. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t keep my promise about pancakes.”

Jameson lingered a moment as Candace walked out, her gaze falling back to the bed. She nodded once, a whisper meant only for him: “Rest easy, Jonathan.”

Wednesday Afternoon

Candace glanced out the back door, watching the kids rake small piles of leaves that immediately scattered with the breeze. “I never thought I’d see the day when I hoped more leaves would fall,” she mused.

“Candy,” Pearl said softly.

Candace turned, offering a faint smile. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Sure you are.”

Candace chuckled under her breath. “I am. Just… worried about the kids.”

“They’ll be all right,” Pearl assured her.

Candace nodded, though her gaze lingered on the yard.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with them to the funeral home,” Pearl said.

“They asked. I declined.”

Pearl tilted her head, but Candace continued. “Scott and Laura are with them. That helps.”

“And Mel pulled babysitting duty?”

“I think Mel’s glad to stay here,” Candace said. “She and Jameson have the kids busy. Mel shoulders a lot of Shell’s stress—more than people realize. This gives her a break.”

Her expression softened. “He told me last night that he couldn’t wait to see Lucas.”

Pearl’s eyes warmed. “He was tired.”

“He was,” Candace agreed. “But we had a lot of laughs yesterday. That’s what I’ll hold onto.”

Pearl folded her hands on the table. “What are your plans for the week?”