The Summer Place

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



“DO YOU WANT TO LIE DOWN? There’s a couch in that empty waiting room over there.” Tara pointed to the room across the hall. “I’ll come get you if the doctor comes out.”

Summer shook her head, glad it was just the two of them for a little while. Guilt for not joining everyone else in the chapel where Tara’s dad was holding a prayer vigil for Rick pinged at her, but she couldn’t leave the waiting room. The nurse who’d come out most recently said the hospital had contacted his family, and they were on the way. It would be several hours.

That was several hours ago.

What if...

“What if he dies, Tara? It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone into the woods by myself.” Summer’s jaw ached when she spoke, bruised and swollen from Howard Gerard’s backhand, tense and stiff from clenching in fear.

“You did what anyone would do. A child was in danger. When minutes count, we don’t stop and think about consequences. We just do. You did the right thing.”

Tara’s words should’ve soothed, but they didn’t. Summer kept hearing the argument with Rick from the afternoon repeating in her head...kept seeing the anguish on his face when she said what she did about Dunk. It was like an acid eating away at her insides.

“I was so hateful with him this afternoon, and all he did was try to give me what he thought I wanted. He said he wanted to be my hero, and I threw that back in his face like it wasn’t worth anything.”

“You were angry and upset. He knows that. We say things we don’t mean...do things we shouldn’t do. We’re human.”

“Rick’s not. He’s an angel. The most perfect man I’ve ever known.”

Tara knelt in front of her, covering Summer’s hands with her own. “He’s not perfect. A month ago, you had a whole list of his faults you bombarded me with every day.” She tilted her head lower to catch Summer’s gaze. “You remember what was at the top of your list? His stubborn streak. And that stubborn streak is going to keep him alive. He’s not one to give up.”

“He lost so much blood.” Summer’s eyes blurred as she looked down at her blood-soaked costume, evidence of her futile efforts. She’d wadded fistfuls of the fabric, trying to staunch the flow of blood from Rick’s chest until Ginny showed up and took over. “Thank God Howie got back to camp safely and alerted y’all. He tried so hard, bless his heart. But didn’t it seem like it took the ambulance forever?”

Tara stood and squeezed in beside Summer in the large chair. Her arm fell across Summer’s shoulders, pulling her close. “They got there faster than I thought possible, considering the remote location.”

Fast...but maybe not fast enough. The swell of emotion broke again as it had time and again for the past six hours. Summer could only hold it for so long, and then it was like tears filled every available space in her body, and she had to let them out.

Had she cried when it happened? She couldn’t remember. She remembered screaming. And trying to stop the blood. But no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t stop. It kept coming and coming.

She told him repeatedly to hang on. Held his hand...felt it grow colder as the blood ebbed away from his extremities.

“Don’t let go, Summer,” he’d said, and she’d answered, “I won’t.”

But what if he let go?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the antiseptic scent filling her nostrils, burning her raw throat. None of this was make-believe, and Rick wasn’t Superman. This was real life and real bullets.

And the real-life hero was in there fighting for his real life.

Why? Why did he always have to be the hero? Anger pounded in her temples, throbbed in her jaw.

Yet, when she was facing the desperation of Howard Gerard’s rage, who had she wanted to come to her rescue?

Rick Warren, the hero. The kind of man she and everyone else in this country depended on when the job had to get done.

He hadn’t asked for the role—it had been thrust upon him. But he accepted it and gave it his all.

She loved them both—Rick Warren the hero, and Rick Warren the man.

Tara stiffened beside her, and Summer’s eyes flew open, expecting to see a doctor. Instead, she focused on three people standing just inside the doorway. A man, a woman and a younger man who looked enough like Rick to make her stomach do a somersault.

His family.

Summer stood and moved toward them on wooden legs, evaluating the degree of grief on their faces as she approached, trying to determine if they knew something she didn’t.

“I’m Summer Delaney.” Her hand shook violently as she held it out. “I’m one of the camp counselors. You’re Rick’s family?”

“Oh, Summer. Rick speaks fondly of you.” The woman took Summer’s hand and covered it with her other one in a kind gesture.

The kindness would evaporate once they heard the whole story...how this was her fault. A few seconds more and Gerard would have driven away. But...she remembered the look in Rick’s eyes when he saw her face. He’d gone after Gerard because of her. He’d gotten shot because of her...might die because of her.

The ripple effect she’d caused expanded wider and wider as emotion stopped her breath.

“I’m Nolan Warren, Rick’s dad.” The older man’s voice was deep and smooth. Controlled. “My wife, Babbs. Our youngest son, Luke.”

Not yet trusting her voice, Summer nodded. She turned to make the introductions to Tara, and found her friend standing at her elbow.

“I’m Tara O’Malley, the girls’ assistant counselor. I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances.”

Babbs loosened her hold on Summer to shake hands with Tara, and Summer breathed a little easier, finding her voice again. “Have you spoken with the doctor?”

“We have.” It was Luke who spoke this time, and Summer said a silent thanks that his voice didn’t sound like Rick’s. “He made it through the surgery.” Summer sent up a second round of thanks.

“Let’s sit down.” Rick’s dad raised his arm to indicate the chairs, and for the first time Summer noticed the bag in his hand. A glimpse of its contents made her head swim. The blood-soaked buckskin.

Nolan and Luke waited for the women to be seated. Summer saw the horrified look on Babbs’s face as her eyes took in the stains on the fairy costume.

Summer clasped her hands in her lap, getting a grip on her emotions as Nolan cleared his throat. “Rick’s condition is critical, but stable for the time being.” He looked her squarely in the eye. This was a man who would be brutally honest—like Rick. That was a huge comfort.

“The bullet lodged in the upper abdomen, and they were able to remove it successfully, but he lost part of a lung. He, ah.” He paused to clear his throat again. “He’s already lost a vast amount of blood, so hemorrhaging is possible...and could be fatal.” He seemed to lose his train of thought as his eyes took in Summer’s gown. “And, of course, there’s the threat of an air leak...infection...pneumonia.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

A long stretch of silence followed before Babbs asked the question Summer had been dreading. “Can you tell us what happened? The sheriff said they caught the person who did this. One of the kids’ fathers? Why?”

“I’ll tell you what I can.” Summer blinked several times, clearing away the protective fog that obscured the memories.

Worry tugged at the corners of Tara’s mouth. “Are you sure about this?”

Summer nodded and licked her lips. They needed to hear it...from her. “We had this little boy whose father was abusive.” She forced the words around the knot in her throat. It was an abbreviated version of Howie’s story that she told, but she tried to include the little kindnesses Rick had shown to the child that might be important and comforting to them. They surprised her with what they already knew about the camp...and her. Rick mentioned his family often, but she hadn’t been aware he called home on a regular basis.

When she got to this night’s events, her speech became labored, but she pushed through it. Tara had filled her in on the details once all the kids had been picked up and the adults had gotten to the hospital.

“One of the packages that came in the mail to Howie had contained a prepaid cell phone and a note from his dad. When Howie called him, like he was instructed, Howard, Sr., laid out the plan.”

Tara handed her a bottle of water. Summer sipped it, the cold bringing a dull ache to the back of her head. “Howie was supposed to sneak away after lights-out, but he did it during hide-and-seek instead, thinking Mr. Rick would be the one to come after him and save him from having to go with his dad. He didn’t expect me.”

Summer paused, guilt stinging like a scorpion in her brain.

“If the child was afraid of his dad, why meet him at all?” Frustration clouded Babbs’s eyes. “Why didn’t he just tell somebody beforehand, and let the sheriff take care of it?”

“His dad threatened to hurt his mom if Howie didn’t show up,” Tara filled in, and Summer shot her a grateful glance. “In his childish mind, he felt like he was holding up his part of the bargain. So if something happened and his dad got away, Howie thought he was at least still protecting his mom.”

Summer’s eyes locked with Babbs’s, and she braced herself for the hatred that would replace the frustration when she told them what happened next. “Rick got shot because he was protecting me. Howard hit me and knocked me down.” She touched her swollen jaw. If only I’d hidden it from Rick a few seconds more...just a few seconds... Her chin quivered at the thought. “Rick got Howie out of the truck, sent him back to camp. He was safe. But then I’m sure Rick saw the handprint Howard, Sr., left on my face, and he went after him. Jerked him out from behind the steering wheel. That’s when...” She couldn’t say the words. She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped her palm down her wet face. Tara’s hand rubbed back and forth across her back.

The Warrens were silent for a moment, and then Nolan let out a long breath. “Rick knows better than that. He’s a trained marine, for God’s sake! He should’ve assessed the situation better. In a combat situation, you don’t walk blindly up to a vehicle—”

“Rick’s reckless. He’s been reckless ever since...” Luke hesitated. “Ever since Afghanistan.” His jaw muscle twitched.

“Just say it. Ever since he lost Dunk.” Babbs’s voice was low, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s always on a mission, driven by the guilt. He suffers so—” Her voice broke on a sob. She shook her head and waved the rest of the thought away with the back of her hand.

“He has nightmares every night.” Summer’s eyes went wide when she heard her own voice. Did I really say that aloud? Now his family knows I’ve slept with him. Often.

Nolan’s face showed no change. He appeared deep in thought, and Summer wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. But Babbs’s eyes softened.

Luke’s mouth rose slightly at one corner, and he nodded. “I’ve been with him when he’s had one. Not a pretty sight.”

“Damn PTSD.” Nolan huffed farther back in his chair.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Luke explained, and Summer noticed he was speaking to Tara.

Nolan punched the air with his finger. “There’s therapy available that can cure things like this. I talked to him about it a couple of weeks ago.”

“EMDR.” Luke’s eyes were still on Tara. “Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. There’s a therapist here in Paducah who specializes in it.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Tara said. “Would you write it down?” She leaned her head softly against Summer’s and whispered, “You might want to consider it, too, after what you’ve been through.”

Summer shrugged. Dunk died in spite of Rick, not because of him. No therapy in the world would take away her responsibility for what happened tonight.

“Well, this whole Dunk thing has gone on too damn long. We’ve all lost friends in combat, but life goes on.” Nolan’s rigid tone raked down Summer’s spine. “He’s getting therapy this time. I won’t take no for an answer.”

I’ll bet you never take no for an answer. Suddenly Rick’s stubborn streak made much more sense.

Babbs laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “Now’s not the time to talk about that. Our son’s fighting for his life in there.” Her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her. “First, he’s got to make it through the night.”

The words squeezed the air out of Summer’s lungs. “Amen,” she whispered.

The walls of the room started closing in around her. She would suffocate if she stayed here another minute. Drawing a long breath, she pushed out of her chair to a standing position. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got to get some air, and then I’m going to the chapel for a while.”

Tara stood up with her, and then Luke. “I could use a bit of fresh air myself,” he said.

Tara pointed to the fairy costume. “I’m going to beg, borrow or steal a clean pair of scrubs for you to wear until someone can get to your house.”

Summer followed them out, wondering if her heart would ever again beat a regular rhythm.

* * *

“I’M OKAY, DAD. HONEST.” Summer walked with him out of the waiting room into the hallway. “Kate’s waiting downstairs. Go on home.”

Her parents had been here all night and the better part of the day. Her dad looked exhausted, and to be honest, she didn’t need to have to worry about him. She had enough to worry about with Rick. Kate had agreed to take them home so Summer didn’t have to be concerned about them driving in their sleepy state.

“You’ve been so strong through all of this.” Her dad’s heavy arms gathered her to him, and she relaxed her head against his chest.

Swish...swish. What a glorious sound, the blood pumping through his heart. He’d been at death’s door, too, yet here he was, strong and warm and alive. It gave her hope for Rick...but hope couldn’t trump the guilt that lay like a lead weight in her stomach.

“I’m proud of you, Summer.”

It sounded odd, her name coming from his lips instead of Nubbin. “Thanks, Dad.” She’d waited so long to hear those words, yet somehow they didn’t have the impact on her she’d expected. They sounded hollow. It didn’t matter much anymore what anyone else thought about her. She’d finally seen herself as everyone else saw her. A screwup. She’d caused this. All of it. She was like a computer virus. Everything she touched went haywire.

Rick was the strong one, the one still fighting. The only thing that mattered was for him to be okay.

“We’ll see you later.” Her dad kissed the top of her head, then was gone.

Swinging doors separated her from ICU, but she could see through the windows to the nurses’ station and beyond to Rick’s room. It was comforting to stand there and watch, knowing he was close. Was he in pain? Aware of his surroundings? Could he hear her sincere apologies each time she was allowed to go in?

She watched for a long time. Anything was better than sitting in the waiting room, flipping through magazine pages that couldn’t hold her attention.

“Thought you might like some coffee.”

Luke held out a paper cup containing a caramel-colored liquid.

“Thanks.” Summer took it, cupping both hands around it for warmth. “They’re getting their money’s worth out of the air conditioner.”

“You want a jacket? I have one in the car.”

It was exactly what Rick would’ve said. Summer’s throat tightened and she took a sip. The heat burned her bottom lip, which she’d chewed raw. She could feel the hot, sweet liquid moving down through her chest. “I think this might do the trick, but thanks for the offer.”

“I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee.” Luke gave her a lopsided grin. “But I figured you could use a pick-me-up, so I added a little of everything on the bar. Sugar, cream, a squirt of chocolate syrup and a dash of cinnamon.”

“I usually drink it black.” Summer smiled when he winced. “But this is delicious. And you’re right about me needing a pick-me-up.” The clock on the wall indicated visitation was in twenty-five minutes. Nineteen hours she’d been here. It felt like nineteen days. “Shouldn’t he have regained consciousness by now? I’d give anything to see his eyes open when we go back in there.”

“Sleep’s good for him. It lets his body do its healing work. Keeps him still.” Luke’s chin buckled as he pressed his lips together. “I hope he’s having good dreams this time.”

“Me, too.”

“It’d be a bitch to have nightmares while you were in a coma.”

Summer shivered, remembering Rick’s nightmares. She took a quick sip of coffee, seeking its warmth to offset the chill running through her.

One of the nurses walked over to Rick’s door, took the file out of the holder and scribbled something on it.

“He and Dunk had been best friends since the seventh grade. That’s when Dad retired and we moved to Little Rock.”

“I didn’t realize they went that far back.” Summer’s lip stung, and she flicked her tongue over it. “Rick wouldn’t talk about him too much. He explained to me about the tattoo over his heart. And he told me about Dunk dying in his arms...and trying to save him. That’s about all.”

Luke leaned against the wall, angling himself so he could see his brother’s door. “They were inseparable. Dunk wasn’t very big, so Rick always protected him from the bullies. It was Rick who talked him into joining the marines...they did it together. Rick thought he’d be able to protect him like he’d always done. That’s why he took his death so hard.”

“I see.” Another shudder ran up Summer’s spine.

“Luke.”

Summer jumped at Babbs Warren’s voice so close behind her. Some of the coffee sloshed onto her hand. She wiped the drops on the jeans Kate had brought her this morning.

“Why don’t you go get Summer a jacket out of the car?”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Summer protested, but Luke nodded and started toward the elevator.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Men don’t wait well.” Babbs’s smile turned a little sad. “It’s always the women who are left waiting.”

Summer looked her in the eye. “How do you stand it? The waiting, I mean. When your husband was gone...when Rick was in Afghanistan? With Jack in Lebanon and Luke headed to Syria in a couple of months? How do you stay so strong?”

“It’s not easy, I can tell you that. And don’t ever let anyone tell you any different.” Babbs took Summer’s hand. Her grip was strong and warm...more comforting than the sweet coffee.

“But I’m a military wife and mom, and I know in my heart they’re fighting for a cause they believe in. I constantly remind myself what an honor it is to be a part of their lives...an honor I work hard to try to deserve.”

A sudden movement drew Summer’s attention. The nurse had rushed into Rick’s room. A light blinked above his door, and some kind of call went out over the intercom. The doctor hurried from one of the other rooms.

“What’s happening?” Summer set the cup of coffee on the floor and gripped Babbs’s hand with both of hers.

“I don’t know.” Fear punctuated the words.

Summer held back the sob trying to force its way free as she watched a machine from the central desk being pushed through his door. She tightened her grip on Babbs, the woman’s words echoing in her head. “What an honor it is to be a part of their lives...an honor I work hard to try to deserve.”

“Fight, Rick,” Summer whispered. “Please fight.”

“He’ll fight.” Babbs Warren’s voice was strong and sure. “Regardless of the outcome, he’ll fight.”

Her arm came around Summer’s shoulders. Strong. Warm. Unsure how things would turn out, but capable of handling it with the dignity this man deserved. Without a doubt, Babbs Warren had earned the honor bestowed on her.

But the same acknowledgment pointed a condemning finger in Summer’s direction.

She’d earned no such honor. She was a screwup...completely undeserving of a hero like Rick Warren in her life.

* * *

RICK RAN, PUSHING HIS BODY as fast as it would go, but he made no progress across the wide green meadow. No, he wasn’t running. He was trying to run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His legs were too heavy...wouldn’t move. He gasped with effort, but no air entered his lungs. His heart pumped wildly in panic. He clawed at his chest. An odd growth protruded from the area over his heart. A stone. The tattoo of Dunk’s dog tags had taken on dimension. Fossilized. As he watched in horror, its depth increased, taking up air space in his lungs, piercing his heart. The weight increased until he could no longer hold his torso upright.

And then, he was falling, but the ground didn’t get any closer. He was floating. The stone in his chest grew larger...heavier...would split him wide-open soon. The pressure was growing unbearable.

Thunder crashed through the trees, like a gunshot, reverberating through him, making his body quake.

“Losing him!” He heard the cry...knew it referred to him...but the voice was unfamiliar.

The pain in his chest intensified with every beat of his heart. He could feel it rupturing out through his fingernails.

A fleeting image of Dunk scampered across his consciousness. Smiling...running...whole again and happy. No pain. No suffering. Rick tried to call to him, but his friend was gone before he could form the words.

A surge of electrical shock ripped through his nervous system like a flash flood through a dry gulch. The fossilized mass of tattooed stone broke free of his body, pulling with it the fibers that held his being together for so long, shredding his essence.

He was vaguely aware of voices around him.

“...in rhythm but weak.”

“...have to wait and see.”

“Rick, can you hear me?”

Someone kept messing with the volume of the speakers. Voices lowered to whispers, then faded away. Some were familiar. Some weren’t. Concentration was impossible...and unimportant.

Cold hands touched him. “...seeing improvement.”

“...damage from the bullet...”

Oh, yeah. There’d been a bullet. A truck. Someone on the ground.

No, he was on the ground. A shadowy figure hovered above him. Screaming. Then someone turned down the volume. Quiet talk. Whispers.

“Don’t die, Rick. Please don’t die.”

He recognized that voice...liked its soothing quality. It faded. Why wouldn’t they leave the volume up? It was too hard...straining to make out the words exhausted him.

“...hear me?...new IV...” He didn’t know that voice. It was loud. He’d heard it several times, but he couldn’t place it. Thinking was too hard. His thoughts raced around his brain like the remote control cars he and Dunk used to play with.

He put his finger on the joy stick and backed the thought up to the voice he recognized.

A name formed on his lips and he breathed it out, laboring under the effort.

* * *

“SUMMER?”

The voice wormed its way into her consciousness a nanosecond before she felt the touch on her shoulder become a wakening shake.

She jerked to a sitting position. The world tilted and then righted itself. Her eyes strained to focus through the bright sunlight as her brain regrouped and placed her in the too-long-familiar confines of the hospital waiting room. The hands on the clock indicated it was 2:34...Sunday afternoon.

Babbs’s hand clutched her chest while the other lay heavy on Summer’s shoulder. She shook Summer again. “Rick’s conscious. He’s asking for you.”

Summer jumped to her feet, swaying. Babbs stilled her with a brusque hug. She pointed to a nurse standing in the doorway, who nodded to Summer and motioned for her to follow.

“Thank you.” Summer prayed, her heart brimming over at the news. She followed the nurse down the frigid hallway, keenly aware of the profound sadness lurking simultaneously just below the surface of her joy.

For almost two days, she’d had nothing to do except think, and those thoughts had replayed the ripple effect of her selfish actions over and over in her head. She’d brought nothing but heartache to too many people.

Her parents’ retirement investment was surely gone. They’d had to cancel the second session of camp as parents pulled their kids left and right from the list of attendees on the heels of the news.

Rick had lost part of a lung...had almost lost his life. His parents had nearly lost a son. Luke, a brother.

Her parents didn’t deserve a failure like her for a daughter, but they were stuck with her.

Rick, on the other hand, was not.

She hoped he hated the sight of her now. That would make it easier.

Coward. If he’s asking for me, that’s not how this mission is going down.

But she wouldn’t play on his sympathy with the “poor little screwup me” thing, either. That would only encourage him to stick around to save her from herself.

No, she would be cheerful and strong. She would hang around a few more days to make sure he was going to make a full recovery, then she would get busy with parties...or whatever. Too busy for visits or calls, totally self-absorbed and totally in line with her selfish nature.

Rick could wash his hands of her with a sigh of good riddance.

Summer squared her shoulders and walked into his room with a smile of hello on her lips, every fiber of her keenly aware that this moment started her countdown to goodbye.