Thanks to Paulina Ann, MargaretA66, max2013, sm2003495, BMSH, Jilsen, ErinJordan, hlahabibty, Clarissa Fernandes, Xenitha, and all those who read and enjoyed.
Chapter 7
"Well, it's not how I would have set it up, but I see why they did it. The complications make it simple." Chet checked his watch. There were still two hours before Marisol got off work, and he wanted to make sure he had enough time to get to her salon before it closed so he didn't lose a minute with her.
"What do you mean?" Frank came in from the kitchen holding two mugs of coffee, offered one to Chet, who took it gratefully as he had gotten up earlier than usual to make the drive into the city, then sat on the couch, and leaned back, wrapping both hands around the steaming mug.
"How can complications make it simple? Wouldn't the files be easier to find if they were in alphabetical order?" Joe looked around. "Hey, where's mine?" He looked back at the kitchen. "What, I have to get it myself?"
Frank rolled his eyes. "There is no yours. Did you missed the part where I said I was out of cocoa? I offered you tea, and you said no."
"Oh. I could use some water, though."
Frank leaned further back into the cushions. "Good thing you know where the kitchen is, then," he said, his voice serious but his eyes dancing. "Let Chet finish. He has other places to be."
Chet smiled. The ease of his friends' bantering was definitely one thing he missed. It wasn't that he and Megan didn't talk while they worked, but it wasn't the same as the camaraderie he had with Frank and Joe.
"I think that's the point," he said. "Because they're not alphabetized, it makes individual files harder to find. You might know that someone named Raquel Jenkins had been at Hargreaves for rehab, but unless you know when she was admitted…" He opened his hands and shrugged. "You're going to spend a long time looking for her file. Which, if you are trying to get information and get out without getting caught, doesn't do you any good."
The fingers of Joe's right hand started drumming on the chair's armrest, and he let out a breath. "So, you need to know when Ilse was admitted. I'll have to see if that information is part of what Tom sent me. Hold on." He leaned forward and grabbed his phone from the coffee table, tapped on the screen a few times, then swore under his breath. "Sorry," he said, looking sheepish. "Fat thumbs. These keypads are too small for my hands." He poked at the phone for another few seconds. "Nope. Lots of other information, but no date of admission." His brow furrowed in concentration, and he tapped gently at the screen again. "Okay, I just emailed him and asked him to send along that information."
The phone chimed.
Frank's head tilted to one side, surprise evident in his eyes. "He responded already? That was fast."
Joe swiped across the screen, then let out a disgusted noise. "The best he can say is 'after Christmas.'"
"That's okay," Chet said. "She died in April, so that at least it narrows it down to a few months. The clinic's not that big. I'll need to find an excuse to spend some quality time in the file room, but I'm sure I can come up with something. It may take a couple days." He glanced at his watch again. If I leave in the next half hour, I can pickup some bagels…
"… Chet? Chet?"
He started, then looked up, not sure which brother had been talking. "Sorry," he said, chagrined. "Brain went somewhere else for a few seconds. What was the question?"
Joe sent a knowing look in his direction. "It can wait. It's not like we can get any further until you get back to the office on Monday, anyway. Go see her. Tell her we said hi."
"What do you mean?" Chet flushed.
"Marisol," Joe said, grinning. He stood and headed in the direction of the kitchen. "Tell her we're sorry we've hidden you away upstate, and we hope she forgives us. With any luck, you'll find what we need next week and be home for good by next weekend." He stopped and turned to his brother. "You got any cookies?"
Frank arched an eyebrow at him. "Why would I tell you if I did? You'd just eat them all." He watched his brother stand, shake his head in disbelief, then head toward the kitchen. He waited until he heard water running before turning his gaze back to Chet. "You do realize it probably won't be quite that easy, right?"
"I've been involved with enough of your cases to know Joe probably just jinxed us, so yes." He chuffed out a small laugh. "It's okay. I'm okay."
"You're sure?" Frank leaned forward. "If you don't think you can do this – or if you just don't want to – it's all right. We can find another way."
Chet gave his friend a small smile. "No. Honestly, it's all good. I was a little weirded out at first, but I think I'm getting into the rhythm of it now." He looked at his watch again. "But I am going to take you up on Joe's offer of leaving a little early." He shrugged. "I miss her. And since we only get one full day together..."
Frank nodded and took another sip of his coffee. "Something we" – he indicated the kitchen with a nod of his head – "can both understand." He waved Chet away. "Go. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."
"Thanks," Chet replied, standing and starting toward the door. "I'll call when I have something."
By the time he got to the salon, Marisol was finishing up with her last client of the day, drying the woman's hair and styling it into a mass of shiny, tight curls. He snuck in through the door as another stylist's client was leaving and sat in the waiting area, bagels in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other, and watched her as she worked. She had recently been letting her hair grow and it now hung down past her shoulders in loose ringlets, its current color a dark auburn to which she had added something she called lowlights.
Chet didn't care what it was called, it looked beautiful against her dark-toned skin, and while he would never tell her what to do with her hair, he hoped she kept it that way for a while.
She looked up at that point and saw him, a shy smile forming on her face when she saw the flowers he held. Her client followed her gaze in the mirror, caught his eye, then leaned in and whispered something to Marisol that made her blush.
A few minutes later, they were finished. The client followed her to the register, paid, and gave Chet a favorable up and down glance and a smile as she walked out. He waited patiently until Marisol had cleaned up her station, then stood, offered her the flowers, and kissed her hello.
"What was all that about?" he asked, tilting his head in the direction where the client had gone.
She blushed again. "Nothing," she said. "Adeliza has a big mouth. And no filter."
Chet grinned. "Well, now I really want to know what she said."
Marisol pursed her lips and lowered her eyes to the flowers in her hand. "¿Y cuándo te vas a casar?"
He shook his head. "And translated that means?"
She kept her eyes on the roses, thinking for a minute before answering. "Basically, she was letting me know if I was planning on giving you away, she would love to have you."
He could feel his cheeks starting to burn. "I'm so glad I asked," he said. "Remind me not to in the future."
As she raised her eyes to his and laughed, he felt his heart beat faster.
"Do you have to come back to the city to see Frank and Joe next weekend, or will you be at the farm?" she asked, reaching out a hand to grasp his free one.
He huffed out a chuckle. "It's funny you should ask. I was just having a version of this conversation with Frank and Joe. They say hello, by the way. Why?"
"I'm doing a wedding upstate next Saturday. In Riverbend. That's close to Bayport, isn't it?"
Chet smiled. "Next town over. I think whatever I need to tell them can be done over the phone. Does that mean I get to see you for more than just twenty-four hours?"
"I'm driving out Friday night so I can be there first thing Saturday morning to take care of the bridal party." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I'll have a hotel room all to myself Friday and Saturday nights…"
He squeezed her hand. "Might you want company?" he asked. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to get lonely upstate all by yourself. Or get eaten by a bear."
She laughed. "I thought you could show me around Saturday afternoon, then Sunday we could have lunch with your folks before I have to drive back."
Chet's smile faltered. "Sure," he said, forcing a brightness he didn't feel into his voice. "That would be great."
Her footsteps stopped, and she dropped his hand. "You don't want me at the farm." The laughter had disappeared from her voice.
"What? No! Marisol, I want you with me all the time, wherever I am. Even at the farm." He let out a breath. "My mother is being… difficult." He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "I told you I would never keep secrets from you. She's not thrilled that I'm with you. She tried to set me up on a date with a local girl."
She stopped in her tracks, standing statue still, ignoring the people who were walking around them on the sidewalk. "And?" He had to lean forward to hear the word.
"And I told her it wasn't up for discussion. That I love you." He kept the words matter of fact and reached for her hand again. "Marisol, I'm not going to put you in a position where you'll feel uncomfortable. I care about you too much for that. If my mother doesn't want to see us together, then she won't. Because I won't be around her." He looked deeply into her eyes. "I'll be with you."
She blinked a few times and lowered her head. "That's very sweet. But it doesn't solve the problem."
"No," he said. "But it lets my mother know where I stand. And that's right here." He stepped toward her, let go of her hand, and pulled her into a hug. "With you."
She leaned into him for a long second, then nodded into his shoulder. When she stepped back, she had a smile on her face but her eyes were sad. "Let's go get something to eat. I don't want to waste the time we have today."
He nodded, and they resumed their way through the crowd.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
By the time Chet got back to his desk on Monday morning, he was wrecked.
Marisol had been quiet most of Saturday evening, and, although she said she was fine and only tired from a long day at work, he could tell she was troubled by what he had said. Her smiles never quite reached her eyes.
Sunday they had gone to her grandparents' house for the weekly family dinner after church. Her cousin Elena had been there with her husband, Sean, and their two-month-old baby daughter, Mariana Roisin, and they had asked him to pass on their greetings to Frank and Joe along with some baby pictures. He got to hold the baby and try to follow some of the discussions – held in both Spanish and English – as to which parent she looked more like. It had been loud and boisterous and fun.
The warm welcome he got from Abuelita Maria and Abuelo Matais, and her entire family, stood in sharp contrast to the few quiet and stilted Sunday dinners he and Marisol had experienced at his parents' house, and it was hard to leave that afternoon to make the lonely drive back upstate knowing he hadn't managed to assuage her concerns about his family.
"I'll call you when I get home," he had said before kissing her goodbye. "And I'll see you on Friday." She had nodded but the corners of her eyes held a tension he couldn't erase.
He hadn't slept well Sunday night, having been up most of the night worrying about the future, and practically had to drag himself downstairs in the morning.
His mother tsk'ed at him. "You poor dear. Did your girlfriend not take good enough care of you over the weekend? Next weekend you should stay home. I could invite the Weblings to brunch…"
"Augusta!" Albert Morton's face was calm, but his eyes flashed. "I'm sure Chet would prefer we stay out of his social life."
Chet pushed his plate back. "Actually, Marisol and I are going to Riverbend next weekend. We were planning to come here and have lunch with the two of you, but I think it might be better if we don't. I have to go to work." He nodded at his father and stood, pushing back his chair, then let out a breath and shifted his gaze toward his mother. "Mom, I love you, but if you can't get along with Marisol, you probably won't be seeing too much of me. We're a package deal. If that's a problem for you, I can find somewhere else to stay while I'm here. Think about it and let me know when I get home." He turned and walked out the door.
Once he got inside the hospital, Megan eyes tracked him as he walked toward his desk. She tilted her head to one side and looked at him, her lips pursed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like someone kicked your dog. Everything okay?"
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Fine. How's your tooth?"
"Yeah… I believe that…." She snorted then gave him crooked smile. "And never mind my dental woes. Let's see, you said you were going to the city this weekend…" The smile gave way to a sympathetic expression. "Did you have a fight with your girlfriend?"
His shoulders slumped. "Not a fight, per se…" He sighed and waved a hand. "It's okay. We don't need…"
"Please," she waved a hand. "Helen is doing a new patient intake with Mr. Peters. She'll be gone for at least an hour, so let's take advantage of the peace. Besides, you listened to my relationship woes. It's only fair that you get to dump yours on me." She picked up her coffee mug and moved over to the chair next to his desk. "Spill."
He did.
When he finished talking, her eyes were soft. "I get it. My mom was less than thrilled when I came home after my first year in college with a girlfriend in tow, rather than the football player she was expecting. If it makes you feel any better, she did eventually get over it once she got to know her better. It took a while, but it did happen."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She reached a tentative hand out to his shoulder. "I have an idea. Hold on a sec." She went back to her desk and retrieved a stack of papers and the keys to the file room.
Chet's heart started beating faster.
"Here. This should take at least an hour to file." She handed him the keys and the papers and smiled. "Maybe longer. Take your time. I'll cover it with Helen if she comes looking for you."
He swallowed. "Thanks. I will."
When he got to the file room, he found his hands were shaking. This had been far too easy, and he was sure something was going to go wrong. It took him two tries to get the door unlocked, but finally he was inside.
When he emerged an hour later, it was with empty hands and a grim expression. He pulled out his cell phone, opened the messaging app, and scrolled to Frank's number. We need to talk, he typed. There's a complication.
