Page 7 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

Once the mailbox was well out of sight, I expected to feel relief when I made it to Pops’s.

But… the gate across the driveway was closed.

It was never closed.

I turned the heat down, quieting the inside of my car, and frowned at the barrier in front of me.

And then I saw the For Sale sign.

Shaking my head, I knew there had to be some explanation, so I took my phone from its holder and called his cell. The one he only kept on him because of me and Delly.

It rang out the first time, but I tried again immediately, and it connected.

“You get Delly back safe?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

I laughed, some of my nerves going with it. Pops hated phones and never just said, “Hello.” Grams would’ve slapped him upside the head for it and taken the phone from him if she were still with us.

“Yes, sir.” I answered. “And she sends her love.”

He grunted in response.

“So…” No matter how close we were, or how many years went by, the smallest things could make me doubt my place in his life. My right to ask questions, constantly worried I was overstepping. Which, I guessed, was why I reverted to riling him up instead. “Somethin’ ya wanna tell me?”

“Don’t sass me, Addy. I taught you better than that.”

I huffed a laugh. The response was so like his old self—how he was prior to three weeks ago, to be exact—that the reprimand felt more like reassurance. “You did, sir.”

“You’re not driving, are you?”

I glanced out the windshield at his gated driveway. “Not technically, no.”

He grunted again. “Explain.”

“I’m parked outside your driveway, Pops.”

There was a beat of silence followed by a muffled curse.

“Adair… I wish you hadn’t done that. Not before I could talk to you and your sister.”

He called me “Adair” instead of “Addy” when he was serious.

Adair, you have to get Delly back home now. We don’t want you getting in trouble.

I’m sorry, Adair. You can’t come over now. Grams isn’t feeling well.

Rubbing at my chest, I breathed sharply through my nose at the constricting muscles, the heaviness.

Angina. That’s what it was called. A strange word for such a horrible feeling .

He sighed. “I’m not home. I’m in Alabama, visiting Jillie.”

My ears popped, then a high-pitched ringing started. There were implications in those words that were just out of reach.

Jillie, his great-niece, worked at some sort of senior-living place near the Gulf Coast. Or was it a resort?

I didn’t think Pops had been to the beach since Grams passed. It wasn’t like he needed to tell me when he was going somewhere, but….

I glanced at the sign again.

Something wasn’t right.

“Pops…,” I said slowly. Carefully. “Are you coming back?”

There was a nine-months-pregnant pause before he sighed. “I wanted to talk about this face-to-face, Addy. But I’m not sure that’s an option at this point. And for that… I’m sorry.”

“Pops…,” I said again, but I really wasn’t sure what to say. There was too much to say, too many things to ask, but only one of them mattered. “What’s happening?”

He sighed again. There were way too many of those in this conversation. “I saw a doctor, and, well… I’ve had to make some decisions. For my health.”

Before I could respond, he muttered, “Hold on.” His voice grew muffled as he talked to someone else for a few seconds. “Listen, the realtor set me up with an app to open and close the gate. I don’t know how to use it, but Jillie says she can open it for you.”

“Realtor?” I asked, gripping the phone tightly.

One last sigh. “Go inside, Addy. I have to get to an appointment.”

“Okay, Pops.” My voice was small.

He hung up, and a minute later, the gate swung open .

Once I got myself into the beautiful A-frame cabin, which definitely looked staged for viewings, I sank onto the couch and pulled the embroidered Bigfoot pillow onto my lap, hugging it tight as I faced some truths.

Everything was changing.

Delly had been at college for three years and only stayed with me and Cole during school breaks, and those would probably stop soon as she started working and interning.

I was proud that she was busy building a life outside our little bubble, a life that we’d both dreamed of for her for as long as I could remember.

But even before the accident, I’d been feeling more and more like the life I’d pieced together in the meantime didn’t quite fit anymore.

I applied to the local fire station straight out of high school.

It was the quickest way to get a reliable job and the schooling I needed to care for Delly, to keep her safe.

Plus, they covered my education, so no debt.

My sister was nearly ten years younger than me and had always been mine to look after. Always .

But now, especially post life-flashing-before-my-eyes crisis, the thought of going back to my apartment where Cole and I were on opposite schedules and carrying on as usual seemed even less appealing than taking the four-wheeler back to the ravine and reenacting my epic fall.

Because to everyone else, that’s what it had been. A moment of clumsiness. A fall.

My co-workers had even razzed me for it in their “Get Well Soon” cards.

Thankfully, Pops hadn’t ever contradicted my story—not that he needed to—but because of that, I’d held on to the hope that he didn’t remember exactly what’d happened.

But I remembered .

I remembered waking up on the four-wheeler as he drove us back to the cabin. I could easily recall the panic in his eyes when they’d met mine. The pain. The realization that he’d pulled me from a ridge in the ravine I’d landed on badly.

That there was dried blood on my face.

Pops had been nothing but clear minded since. Or that’s how he’d seemed when he actually answered my phone calls.

The only person who knew everything was Cole.

I’d blurted out every detail that I could remember to him the first moment we were alone in the hospital room.

Cole had listened intently, putting on his professional face—he worked as a public-school counselor—and asked a lot of follow-up questions about Pops that I mostly had the answers for.

“It could’ve just been a trauma response, dude,” he’d finally said.

“Don’t call me dude,” I’d said automatically even as he gave the answer I’d been hoping for.

It was the best-case scenario of a terrible situation, and one I’d drawn based on my own experience as a medic for the past decade.

But then Cole’s expression turned grim as he added that it could also be early signs of memory disease, and my hope deflated.

I’d known that. I just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

I hugged the pillow closer to my chest as I thought of going back to work. Whenever I’d be allowed back, that was. To twenty-four-hour, sometimes forty-eight-hour, shifts spent helping people through their worst moments.

I’d hated being on the other side of that.

Dropping my head back against the cushions, I studied the intersecting wooden beams of the ceiling before closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths.

When I opened them, I didn’t see a rustic cabin that’d been my refuge.

I didn’t feel the hurt of being left on the outside by its owner.

There was only another ravine, filled with uncertainty and unknowns, and I had no choice but to navigate it.