“You made the ‘for better or for worse’ pledge, so you’re exempt.”
“I happen to like you loopy,” he replied.
“Then you’ll like me a lot on Tuesday.”
“You’ll call and let me know how it goes?” Beau asked, well aware his parents’ decision had less to do with his mom’s vanity and more to do with their desire to spare him memories of sitting in another hospital, waiting to learn the fate of his loved ones. He appreciated the intent, but couldn’t help feeling somewhat shut out.
Had he made them feel shut out during the past three years? Probably, and he owed them an apology for keeping them at a distance, but now wasn’t the time to dredge up their sad past. Instead he concentrated on Savannah’s touch, even more so when those nimble fingers absently brushed over his cords, and then wandered back for another stroke. The conversation flowed around him while she smoothed the ridged cotton he’d deliberately chosen on a hunch she couldn’t resist the soft fabric. The hunch paid off, and now the restaurant felt too hot for entirely different reasons. Out of self-defense he moved their hands to her lap, and enjoyed the feel of her slim thigh through her jeans. She stuttered on whatever she was saying to his mom, and her cheeks turned pink.
Oblivious to the game going on under the table, his mom kept talking. “Trent’s going to be in California the week following my surgery—”
“Cheryl, I told you I’d send Wagner to see the client.”
“Don’t be silly. Wagner’s wife is going to pop out a baby any second. He can’t go to California.”
“I don’t want you making the drive alone.”
His mom had made the drive to Atlanta on her own plenty of times, but Beau understood his dad’s sudden overprotectiveness. He pulled up his work schedule in his mind, and figured the feasibility of driving his mom to and from her appointment.
“Laurel volunteered to come with me. She had a really great idea, actually.” His mom’s eyes slid back to Savannah, and they twinkled with excitement. “She suggested we meet up with you after my appointment and spend the afternoon shopping for your wedding dress.”
Savannah’s cheeks went from pink to what he recognized as a guilty red, but to anyone else she looked like a blushing bride-to-be. “Oh. Well…I—”
“Mom, she’s kind of slammed right now preparing for an important exhibit at the end of the month.”
He meant to provide Savannah with a graceful out, but felt like an ass when his mom’s face fell. Before he could offer to treat her and Mrs. Smith to lunch that day, Savannah patted his hand and spoke up. “I’d love to, actually. I’ve made good progress with my exhibit. I can afford an afternoon off.”
“Wonderful!” His mom bounced in her chair like an excited teenager, and a wave of gratitude toward his “fiancée” rushed through him. Mom needed something fun to look forward to, and apparently spending an afternoon traipsing through the bridal salons of Atlanta qualified.
She leaned toward Savannah. “What style of dress are you partial to?”
He didn’t hear her reply—and probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway—because his dad grinned at him and said, “Gee, Beau, what style of suit are you partial to?”
“Whatever style she tells me to get.”
“Smart man. Bill and I refuse to shirk on our fatherlyduties, though. Do we need to take you suit shopping at some point? And by ‘suit shopping,’ I mean eighteen holes at Stone Mountain.”
He returned his dad’s grin. “Sounds like a plan.” Especially since he had no need for a suit.
“We’ll put something together after the holidays.” His dad’s attention drifted to the flat-screen over the bar.
Across the restaurant a little blond boy no older than five sat at a table with his mom, another woman, and a little girl in a high chair. While the boy stared at the TV, he gripped the edge of the table, and rocked his chair onto its rear legs. Back, then forward. Back again. Beau stared, trying to catch the mom’s attention, but the two women were deep in conversation. As the kid rocked forward, the back legs slipped on the tile floor. The chair skidded out from under him. The little guy flew forward and smacked his head against the table on the way to the ground.
The mom was on her knees cradling her son against her chest before the first wail went up. As soon as it did, waitresses hurried over. A few nearby diners offered napkins to the other woman at the table, who tried to mop up their spilled drinks before her friend got completely drenched. Then the mom drew back to check the damage, and cried out as well. Blood stained her light blue sweater and streamed down the boy’s face.
Beau got up.
…
Savannah tailed Beau across the room toward the screaming boy and distraught mom, almost barreling into him when he paused at a wait station to snag a handful of the restaurant’s signature red napkins. He reached the table before her, his long strides eating up the distance without seeming to hurry. She skidded to a stop behind him as he knelt across from mom and son.
“Hi. My name’s Beau, and I’m a paramedic. Mind if I take alook?”
“Please.” The mom glanced up at him, her face a mask of panic. “Please help.”
He moved closer to the boy, who clung to his mother, his little hand blocking the wound. “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”
“Liam,” his mom replied. “His name is Liam. Oh my God. So much blood. Should I call an ambulance?”