Page 20 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Of course, she was probably in with her mom. He should have texted first to let her know he was on his way. Maybe even just found out the hotel they were staying at and dropped the food in there and left again. But he hadn’t wanted to interrupt whatever she was doing and he wasn’t sure about cell phone rules in the ICU.

Someone entered the room. An older man whose face was etched with worry and Jude knew without a doubt it was Clementine’s father. They looked very similar. Same facial features—square jaw and chipmunk cheeks. Same nose and eyes.

“Mr. Jones?”

The other man glanced at him, his expression puzzled. “Yes?”

“Hi.” He crossed the room and held out his hand. “I’m Jude. Barlow. A friend of Clementine’s.”

“Oh yes.” The anxiety eased for a moment as he shook the proffered hand with a ghost of a smile. “You’re the one who proposed to her at her party.”

Jude blanched. He was never going to live that down. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry about that—”

“No need to apologize to me,” he said gruffly. “I don’t understand why every young man in Marietta doesn’t want to marry her. But then, I might be biased.”

Jude laughed. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s Hal, please,” he said waving away the formality with his hand. “You’re staying at her place?”

“Yes. Just while she was away.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence and Jude could tell Hal’s mind had wandered back to the reason Clementine was home instead of kicking up her heels in the Med. “How is she doing? Your wife?”

He shook his head. “She’s stable but not responsive.”

The graveness of the older man’s tone put an itch up Jude’s spine. If Clementine was half as wretched as her father, she must be in hell right now and he knew he didn’t have any right to comfort her but he hated thinking about her dealing with this on her own.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s in good hands. She’s a fighter.” He said it like a mantra. Like he’d been saying nothing else to himself since it happened.

“I’m sure she is.”

“I’m sorry.” Hal shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “Clem’s in with Trina. I can… go and get her if you like?”

“Oh no.” Jude shook his head. He didn’t want to drag Clementine away from her mother’s side. “I just… well I did some cooking for the two of you. I figured it’d be one less thing to worry about.” He handed over the cookies he had in his hand. “This is just for a snack, there’s more in the car. I can just… take it to your hotel room if you tell me where you’re staying.”

“Oh… that awfully nice of you.” Tears filled the other man’s eyes briefly before he dropped his gaze to the plastic container. When he looked up again they were gone. Putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a key card. “It’s the Quality Inn across the road. Room 223. Just—” He passed the key over. “Leave it at the desk on your way out.”

Jude took it with a nod. “Thanks. I will.”

Hal glanced over his shoulder. “I gotta get back to Trina. I’ll tell Clem you stopped by.”

“Thank you. Tell her to text me if she needs anything else. And I’m keeping everything crossed for a speedy recovery for your wife.”

Hal patted him on the shoulder. “We all are, son. We all are.”

Then he turned and shuffled away, stopping to put the cookies on the sink drainer in the small kitchenette area before he disappeared out the door.

*

It was Thursday night before Clem finally made it back to Marietta but the news was good. Her mother had started to respond yesterday and she had slowly become more conscious over the course of the day. This morning when she and her father had arrived, her breathing tube had been removed and her mom’s eyes had lit up at seeing them. She’d even reached for them with her good hand.

She was paralyzed down her left side, had a left-sided facial droop, and couldn’t make any discernible words come out, but the way she had gripped Clem’s arm with her right hand had been fierce and encouraging. There had been tears and, as the day had progressed, frustrations. They obviously had a very long way to go. But her mom was out of the immediate danger and the doctors had given them reason to hope.

By lunchtime, she’d been transferred to a ward and the tight knot of anxiety that had sat like a cold oily lump in Clem’s belly had loosened a little. Her father had insisted she go home and relax for a night, sleep in her own bed, unpack her huge bag from her non-vacation and catch up with some friends. He also wanted her to collect their mail and check on things in their house.

Clem had wanted her father to take the break—he’d barely slept for the past four nights or been out of the hospital. But he’d refused. She understood that he didn’t want to leave his wife of thirty-one years. It was only natural that he’d want to spend every possible moment with her, especially now she was conscious and responding.

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