Page 17

Chapter Sixteen

Michael was in my parents’ bedroom getting Dad sorted after coming back from the hospital, and I was doing my damndest trying to take my mom’s mind off things.

“You really don’t have to make anything for me, Mom. Michael said his mom is bringing over dinner tonight, and I’m not hungry right now.”

She continued to take out cans from the pantry and put them on the counter. From my vantage point at the kitchen table, I counted over fifteen different cans of soup, vegetables, and fruit spread out on the countertop. I figured an intervention was required.

“What’s the latest gossip at church?” I asked. Used to be this was worth a couple of hours’ worth of conversation.

“Fallon Jane, you should be ashamed of yourself, church is a place of worship not a place to spread rumors.”

“Mom, I wasn’t asking you to spread rumors. I was just asking you what was going on with the different parishioners. We haven’t really talked about the folks here in Jasper Creek much since I got here.”

She pinned me with an assessing look. “This past Sunday, people were asking why Michael Rankin was staying here at the house. That was the main topic of conversation. I told them that he was just being neighborly after he had saved your life, and all.”

I could feel myself blushing. “I’m sure that stopped them from talking.”

“It did. Of course, if they had asked me today after what I heard last night, I would have had to ignore all of their questions or risk being struck down by the Lord for lying.”

Aw, shit!

I waited for Mom’s lecture. Instead, a small grin spread across her face. “You sure make a lot of noise, Fallon.”

“Mom!” I squeaked out my protest.

“Well, you do.”

Now would have been a great time to retreat to my bedroom, except for the fact that Michael had helped me out to the table and my crutches were in my bedroom. So here I was stuck at the table with my feet up on a pillow in another chair, held captive by my mom. And I was pretty sure she was teasing me.

“It’s not what you think,” I said weakly.

“So, I’m wrong? You and Michael weren’t making love?”

Well shit, how was I supposed to answer that question?

“Did Dad hear?”

“No, his pain medication was really working last night. He was out for the count. Not me though. So, it seems like you and Michael are getting along better, am I right in thinking that?”

I nodded. What else could I do?

“That’s good.”

“I wonder what Michael’s mom will be bringing for dinner,” I said, hoping to deflect the conversation. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cringed. The idea of seeing Michael’s mother when she probably hated my guts made me ill.

“You always raved about her chicken and dumplings; she’ll probably make those for you.”

I couldn’t even look at Mom. I couldn’t look anywhere besides at my feet. The ill feeling that had been with me the first few days after I left the hospital was back with a vengeance.

“Fallon, are you okay?” my mom asked.

“Is something wrong?” I heard Michael ask as he came into the kitchen.

“We were just talking about your mother, and Fallon started looking peaked again. Honey, do you need a pain pill?”

I shook my head. “I think I just need to go lie down,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Michael asked. “Mom’s really looking forward to getting a chance to catch up with you. I’ve been bragging on you.”

I looked up at him, and I could see he was serious.

What in the hell?!

“I don’t think I’m up for it,” I whispered.

“Fallon, what’s wrong?” Michael asked as he squatted down beside me.

I knew why he was asking like that. I’d already gotten an earful from him when he’d gotten back from the hospital with Mom and Dad and realized I’d taken a bath and washed my hair, all on my own. He’d been pissed. We’d had a bit of a fight about it. Damn man was positive I’d overdone it, and now saying I needed a nap was proving him right.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just a little tired.”

“Did you reinjure your ankle? How’s the swelling?”

He flipped up the hem of my maxi-dress so he could examine my ankle.

“Isla, can you get the icepack?” he asked.

“Seriously, Michael, I’m fine,” I protested.

“You’re not fine. You overdid it. You should have waited for me before you took a bath today.”

My mom snorted as she handed him the icepack. Michael didn’t even notice she was laughing.

I swear that someone could’ve fried eggs on my face with how hot my cheeks were.

He pulled a dishtowel off the counter and wrapped it around the icepack and gently rested it against my ankle. “There, that should help. I’ll go get your pills from your bedroom,” he said as he stood up.

“I don’t need a pill. I just wanted to go to lie down for a bit. But the ice should take care of things,” I relented. I’d face his mom like a big girl.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m—”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” my mom said as she headed for the front room.

Michael must have noted the pained expression on my face, because he bent down beside me. “What is it, Fallon?”

“Your mother must hate me,” I wailed.

“Is that what this is all about?”

I nodded.

“I talked to her and Dad last week. I told them what happened. Trust me, my mother does not hate you. As a matter of fact, I would appreciate any kind words you could say on my behalf.”

“Michael, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it was about damn time I manned up, is what I was thinking.”

“There you are,” Lana Rankin said as she preceded my mom into the kitchen. She looked as pretty as a picture. She was wearing a pretty sweater twin set, and the warmest smile imaginable.

“Oh, Honey, look at you. Michael told me you could have died.” Lana angled down and enveloped me in one of her warm hugs that included the scent of Chanel No. 5. I felt like ten years had melted away. As she pulled away, I could see the tears in her eyes.

“It was Michael who saved me,” I whispered.

She looked over my head and gazed at her son. They might not look anything alike, but there was no mistaking the love between them. “Michael did good that afternoon,” she choked out.

“Yes, he did,” my mom said firmly. “Michael is a hero, Lana.”

“He was that day,” Lana said.

Mom gave her a curious look and before anything more could be said, I stepped in. “What did you bring for dinner?”

“Your favorite.”

“Chicken and dumplings?” I guessed.

“Oh, Honey, that was Michael’s favorite that you always asked for. But I knew that what you really liked best were my smothered pork chops with onion and mushroom gravy.”

Michael glanced over at me. “Is that true? You always said you liked Mom’s chicken and dumplings best. Did you really like her pork chops better?”

I grimaced.

“That was just how Fallon was, Michael. She wanted you to have what you wanted. Didn’t you ever wonder why I would have pork chops so often when the two of you came over?”

“I just thought you forgot what she liked,” Michael said.

Lana chuckled and I joined in. I should have realized the woman never missed a trick. “Michael, I left the food in my car, can you go get it?”

Michael brushed a kiss against his mother’s cheek and left the kitchen to do her bidding.

“Now tell me really, how are you? Is my son making a nuisance of himself?”

My Mom snorted. “Based on the sounds I was hearing from Fallon’s sickbed last night, I think the kids are doing just fine, Lana.”

Lana looked down at me, her brown eyes twinkling. “So, it’s like that, is it?”

God save me.

“Thanks for the banana cream pie, Lana,” my dad said for the third time.

“Bob, you’re so welcome. I was hoping it might be gentle enough for your stomach,” she said as she bent over and kissed him on his cheek.

“Let me walk you out to your car, Mom.” Michael’s hands were full of all of the empty dishes that she had brought with her.

“Okay, Honey.” Lana smiled up at her son.

“Fallon. Isla. It was so good spending time with both of you. Next time, hopefully Eric will be in town and I’ll bring him, or all of you will come over to our house.”

Mom followed her toward the front door, leaving Dad and me at the kitchen table.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him.

“Exhausted. I’ll start really feeling like shit tomorrow,” he sighed.

I laughed. “Aren’t we a sad pair.”

“The Vickers’ family has seen better days,” he agreed. “Michael’s mom is quite a lady. Reminds me a lot of your mother.”

I raised my eyebrow.

“Your Mom will often times take food or meals to people around town if somebody is sick at home. She used to have you go along with her, remember that?”

I nodded. “I liked it when we would bake cakes and cookies.”

Dad chuckled. “So, did I. But you never left enough for me, as far as I was concerned.”

“Mom would catch you trying to steal some out of the Tupperware she had set out to take, and get mad at you.”

“But never too mad.” my dad winked at me.

Who was this man, and what had he done with Bob Vickers?

“Please don’t say you’ve finished off the pie, Bob,” Michael said as he and Mom came back into the kitchen. “I didn’t get a big enough slice the first go around.”

“There is still some left for you, Michael.” Dad grinned. Then he yawned.

“Bob, do you need to—” Isla started. As she began clearing plates from the table.

“No, I’m fine.” But it was clear he was exhausted. The day had caught up with him, despite all the time he had spent in bed after the trip to the hospital. “Michael, I haven’t thanked you for saving my daughter’s life,” my father choked out. Were those tears in his eyes?

“Bob, you don’t have to thank me.”

“But I do. I don’t know what I would have done, if I’d lost Fallon.”

They were tears!

Michael moved around the table and rested his hand on my dad’s shoulder. “It was my honor,” he whispered.

Dad nodded. “Actually, I am tired,” he said. “I’m going to need some help getting back into bed.”

“I can—” Mom started.

“No, let Michael,” Dad replied. “I’m going to be too heavy for you, Honey.”

Michael helped lift Dad out of his chair and they started down the hall together. After they were out of earshot, Mom looked over at me. “Michael’s a good man,” she said.

“Yes. Yes, he is,” I agreed.