Page 93 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Rosie

It was the tenth day since William’s accident when Rosie received a text message from her parents. She was wondering when she’d hear from them. Bad things always did linger, and the longer William was in the hospital, the surer she was they were going to turn up unannounced and tip everything upside down. They hadn’t so far, thank God. This was the first time they’d contacted her properly.

“Let’s meet for coffee,” the message read. It was from her mother. As she stared down at her screen, not sure what to reply, another message came in. “We need to talk.”

No. No, we don’t, thought Rosie. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing she wanted to say anyway. If they would just go home. On the plus side, at least they were being reasonable about William and not pushing her to leave. She’d never leave him in this state.

“I have work,” she replied to her mother.

“What time do you start? I’d really like to get a few things sorted out. Please?”

Now Rosie did stare at the screen with narrowed eyes. Her mother never said please. Hell, she didn’t even say please to strangers. Everything was always a demand, things she expected. Maybe she’d finally lost it and now would agree to Rosie staying in England, or maybe Rosie was the one who had lost it and was pinning false hopes on what she wished would happen.

Rosie sighed and sent, “I don’t want to fight.”

“No fight,” her mother replied, “Just talk. I know you’re going through a lot right now. Can we meet before you have work?”

Another sigh from Rosie as she stood outside the hospital. It wasn’t a lie about work. She did have to go there later. She was going to head to the store and grab some things they needed in the house. Maybe Mark would get them. He’d been a rock this last week. She had no idea what she’d have done without him, what William and Maria would have done.

It was surprising; Maria had let Mark help. No fuss, no kicking off. Hell, she’d even let Mark drive her to the hospital, so she could visit William and she’d been civil. Perhaps realising she could lose her son had shocked some sense into her.

Rosie could hope, or dream, depending on how one looked at it.

“A quick coffee,” Rosie replied to her mother.

Her mother texted her the coffee shop address. A Ground Works café close to where her parents were staying. They’d checked out of their hotel and found a small holiday cottage to rent for their stay. They paid weekly. Mark had found it for them, but her father had negotiated the price down to something a little more reasonable. Not that it was expensive. It could have been free, and her father would still have wanted to barter.

The coffee shop was somewhere Rosie knew. It was somewhere she and William had been once. God, that felt so long ago. In the early days … they were still in early days, but she wasn’t sure, this felt earlier. Like now she knew him. Really knew him. Maybe the crash had been a blessing. Something that was needed to shock everyone into the right places.

Though, she’d still not told William about her father’s things and Peter’s contract. She’d tried. She’d tried to say the words to him and get it out there, but every time she even thought about attempting it, her throat closed up, and her heart told her it could wait until tomorrow, until William was stronger.

The clock was ticking over their heads in so many ways.

Rosie stepped into the coffee shop and inhaled the aroma of coffee. This reminded her of home. It created a sense of nostalgia over dread. Those were good times back in the States, good times with friends. She scanned the place for her mother and then spotted her perfectly conditioned hair. She went to wave, but her father was sitting beside her. He stood and waved his daughter over.

For a second, Rosie considered turning and leaving. For some reason, she’d thought it was going to be just her and her mother, and for an even stranger reason, she found she’d liked that idea. Seeing her father squashed something inside her, crushed it even. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she plastered her smile on, the way Mark had told her. Play nice, he’d said. Don’t fight them unless they try and push you onto a plane.

“Play nice,” she repeated in her head and went towards them. But they were sitting in a booth that was partially hidden, and there was a third person sitting with them. Rosie stopped short of them, but her father came to her, grabbed her arm. “I thought you and I were meeting for coffee,” Rosie said to her mother, pretending to ignore the hand that had hold of her.

“We are,” her mother said.

Rosie didn’t look at Peter. She just stared right at her mother. “Then what is he doing here?”

“Don’t be so rude,” her father said.

“Me?”

“Your father invited me,” Peter said, “I got here last night.”

“We haven’t invited you to fight,” her mother said, “Sit so that we can talk.”

Rosie shook her father off then. She wanted to walk out, walk away. She wanted to walk and go all the way to the hospital and not ever come back to these people. She also wanted to send a mayday message to Mark and tell him that things had gone from placated parents to them bringing in the cavalry. “I think I’d rather stand. I’m not staying very long.”

“Oh, don’t be so rude, Rosie,” her mother said, in that scalding voice she liked to use.

Rosie folded her arms, making it clear she was staying right where she was.

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