Page 59 of The Candlemaker

I spun and beelined for the car. It wasn’t my Beach Bum scent, but maybe cinnamon would do the trick.

I felt Miss Cathy stare as I darted out and back past the desk. The stairs rose and disappeared in front of me as I reached the second floor. I hadn’t gotten much farther than that in my plan, but it didn’t matter. When I reached the second floor, I froze at the sight.

I heard the hysteria all the way at the other end of the hall behind a closed door that had three medical personnel standing in front of it. Doctors, nurses, and they were ready with a cart that looked prepared with sedatives.

It seemed like I blinked, and I’d made it to the end of the hall with them, my candle clutched to my stomach.

“Get out, Geoff. I want you out.”The cry was forceful but feeble, and my heart lurched.

Who was Geoff?

The older woman, who I could see now was a doctor, reached her hand out. “Miss, if you could stay back?—”

“I’m with Chandler,” I blurted out, shelving for later how natural the words sounded on my tongue. “I have to go in there.”

“Mom, please.”

The doctor and I returned our attention to the door, the sounds behind it becoming louder.

“Excuse me.” The doctor inserted herself and knocked on the door. “Mr. Collins?—”

“Out!”Something crashed, and before I realized what I was doing, I’d grabbed the handle to open the door, only to have it yank me forward when it was opened from the other side.

“Just give me another—” He stopped short when he saw me, and my heart broke when I saw him.

He was nothing like the cool, collected billionaire who’dwalked into the coffeeshop two weeks ago. His shirt was wrinkled like someone had crushed the collar in their hands, and there was a gash on the side of his head, blood oozing from the open seam of his skin.

Minutes in this room had turned him ragged in a way I recognized—it was the same pain we’d all worn when Kit came home from the hospital; it was the pain of loving someone so much and it not being enough to help them.

“Chandler…” I whispered his name, my racing heart climbing all the way into my throat.

His hardened gaze snapped to the doctor behind me. “I’m fine. Please, just one more minute.”

“Who is it, Geoff?” A fractured voice approached.

My brows lifted. She was calling him Geoff.

“Who—”

He moved to the side when she tugged on his arm. In the second I had to glimpse between them, I saw what caused the cut on his face: the picture frame holding a butterfly shattered on the ground. And then his mom appeared.

“Who are you?” Laura asked, her brow furrowed and her gaze skeptical.

There were three things I noticed instantly about her. First, she couldn’t be too much older than Mom, her hair was only starting to have natural gray. Second, she loved butterflies. It wasn’t just the one on the ground, but her lavender sweater was embroidered with them and matched the color of her slacks, and she wore a butterfly necklace around her neck that matched her earrings. And third, she shared the same eyes as her son, except Laura’s were foggy. Uncertain. Like the roadmap in her mind was only partially charted out.

“Hi, I’m Frankie. I make homemade candles, and I have one here as a gift for you.” I smiled and shoved the cinnamoncandle in her direction, praying she wouldn’t throw it at Chandler’s head.

Like the record previously playing in her head skipped, his mom’s whole demeanor changed.

“A gift?” She blinked and took the candle. “From who?”

“Your son.”

Instantly, her expression filled with what I could only describe as a mother’s love. “Oh, Chandler. He’s such a sweet boy. So thoughtful.” She sighed and took a deep breath of the scent, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my, that is wonderful. Come in. We should light this.”

“I have a lighter,” I offered, keeping my eyes away from Chandler’s as I walked by him into the room.

I didn’t know what I’d find if I looked at him. Anger that I’d inserted myself? Relief that his mom was distracted from…whatever had upset her?

---