You, Me and a Palm Tree Page 3

“What about him?” Mama asks, angry now.

  “He’s extremely obese,” I say softly. “I don’t think he can leave the apartment where he lives. It’s just — it’s horrible, Mama.”

  She puts her arms around me and pulls me close. “CeCe, your heart is so big. And I understand why you feel sorry for the girl. No one does what she did unless something in their lives is terribly wrong. But you have to think about you right now. And Holden. You both have your own grief to get through. That’s going to take a lot of strength for you both to come out of this still whole.”

  “But I don’t think I am,” I say. “It’s like a piece of me is gone. The piece that was able to feel joy, look forward to each day.”

  “And that’s to be expected,” she says. “You’ve been through an awful trauma. You and Holden both will have to fight your way back to being happy again.”

  I rest my head on her shoulder the way I did when I was a little girl. I don’t say anything for a long time, and when I do, my voice is nearly a whisper. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’m going to be here fighting for you until you do. You’re going to be all right again, my sweet girl. It’s just going to take some time.”

  ♪

  I WAKE UP sometime later to the sound of Hank Junior’s barking. It is frantic, and I hear him running through the downstairs of the house, barking this mournful bark that nearly tears my heart out. I start to call him just as Holden opens the bedroom door, and Hank bounds into the room, the frantic look on his face replaced by immediate relief the moment he sees me.

  Whining, he leaps onto the bed and starts licking my face. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him to me. “Here I am, Hankie. I’m right here. I’m so glad you’re home too.”

  Holden sits beside us on the bed. “Thomas said he’s been a wreck. They didn’t want to give us anything else to worry about so they’ve been doing everything they could think of to help him. The vet finally gave him a sedative, but Thomas said that didn’t even help. He needed his girl.”

  Tears well up and slide down my face. “You’re my good boy,” I say. “Everything is okay.”

  Holden reaches out and brushes his hand across my hair. “I know exactly how he feels,” he says softly. “We both need our girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, unable to stop my tears.

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asks softly.

  “I’ve made this all about me. I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

  “CeCe. Baby. I’m going to be okay when you’re okay. You’re my world. You know that. Without you, nothing I do or have makes any sense at all. We’ll get through this. Together.”

  I nod, wanting to give him the comfort and strength he’s been giving me. But I’m empty. As I have never before been. And I have absolutely nothing to give.

  ♪

  Holden

  A WEEK PASSES, each day a new chance for me to see that CeCe is going to be all right. I know she’s not sleeping well, and one night I wake up aware that she is awake beside me.

  “Can’t sleep?” I say, rolling over and pulling her to me, her back to my chest.

  She doesn’t answer for a moment, and when she does, her voice is decisive, as if she’s been awake for a good while, thinking. “I want to help him.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Her father.”

  “Mr. Gearly?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t know exactly what to say. I’m not surprised that she’s been thinking about him. I have too, actually. “How would we do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But don’t you think he’ll sit there and die if someone doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know, babe.”

  “I wish I could just feel anger for what she did. But after seeing him, seeing where she lived and what her life must have been like, I feel sorry for her too. I have plenty of anger. But I also know that the only way back to peace is forgiveness. It’s the hardest possible thing to do, but maybe it’s the only way to be close to whole again.”

  “He might not want our help.”

  “Then at least we’ll know we tried.”

  “Okay,” I say, and then because I know she needs this step forward, I add, “We’ll go see him in the morning?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  And a few minutes later, she is asleep in my arms.

  ♪

  CeCe

  WE GET TO Mr. Gearly’s apartment at just after ten. Mama had offered to come with us, but I think this is something Holden and I need to do alone. He holds my hand going up the stairs. My heart is pounding by the time we reach the door and knock.

  The voice that calls out, “Come in,” is a much weaker voice than the one we heard a week ago.

  Holden opens the door, and we go inside. The apartment smells even worse than before, and I’m overcome with the desire to open windows, let in fresh air.

  Mr. Gearly is sitting in the same chair. The TV isn’t on this time though. One glance at him makes it clear he is in bad shape. His lips look parched, and his large face is deathly pale.

  I drop onto my knees beside his chair. “Mr. Gearly, are you sick?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, shaking his head and refusing to open his eyes.

  “We’re here to help you,” I say softly, putting my hand over his enormous one.

  “You can’t help me,” he says. “No one can.”

  “We can if you let us, sir,” Holden says, standing behind me with his hand on my shoulder.

  “I just want to die,” he says, the words low and insistent. “Please, go. Just let me die here. That’s the best thing that can happen.”

  “Mr. Gearly,” I say, my throat tight, “I know it must feel that way right now. But that’s not what your daughter would have wanted.”

  He’s quiet for a few moments, and, with his eyes still closed, finally says, “If I had just died a long time ago, maybe she wouldn’t have done the awful things she did.”

  “We have no way of knowing that,” I say. “But I believe that we have to try to go on in the best way that we can. Find a way to put some good back into the world.”

  He does open his eyes then, looking at me with the saddest expression I have ever seen. “I don’t know if that’s possible when you’ve lived a life of mistakes.”

  “With the next moment, we have another chance to do differently.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “I do.”

  “You’re an amazing young woman, you know that?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just trying to find my way like everyone else.”

  “When was the last time you had food or water, Mr. Gearly?” Holden asks.

  “I don’t know,” he says, and I wonder if he’s had anything since the last time we were here. “We’re going to get you to the hospital, and we’ll start from there, okay, Mr. Gearly?”

  He closes his eyes again, and tears slide between his lids and over his full cheeks. He nods then, once, out of defeat or out of gratitude, I don’t know.

  ♪

  Holden

  A TEAM OF paramedics arrive within ten minutes of our call. I had stepped outside the apartment to dial 911, not wanting Mr. Gearly to hear the conversation because I wanted to prepare them for the fact that it was going to be difficult getting him out of the apartment and down the stairs.

  But even I had underestimated the difficulty of it.

  The first paramedic through the door recognizes CeCe and me immediately, judging from the look on his face. But he quickly wipes the surprise from his face, replacing it with committed professionalism.

  “How can we help you folks today?” he asks, his glance sweeping the room and landing on Mr. Gearly.

  “I think our friend, Mr. Gearly, needs to be admitted to the hospital,” CeCe says then. “We don’t know how long he’s been without food or water.”

  The paramedic nods once and walks over to Mr. Gearly’s chai
r, squatting down beside him and putting a hand on his arm. “Mr. Gearly? We’re going to help you, sir. Can you tell me if you’re in any kind of pain?”

  He shakes his head and says, “No.”

  “Okay, that’s good. We’re going to go ahead and start an IV, get some fluids in you and see if we can get you to feeling a little better. We’ll get you over to Vanderbilt then and let those good folks help you.”

  Mr. Gearly nods once, then looks at CeCe and me and says, “Thank you. Thank you.”

  ♪

  CeCe

  IT IS ALL I can do to stand quietly at the bottom of the stairs while five paramedics and Holden carry Mr. Gearly down the stairs on a wide stretcher. I can see the strain of the effort on their faces, and I can only hope that none of them will be hurt or that they will drop him.

  I all but hold my breath until they reach the last step and walk the stretcher the dozen or so feet to the ambulance, which has been backed up as close as possible to the apartment building, its red lights flashing.

  Once they have him inside, Holden and I get into the Ranger Rover and follow the vehicle onto the street. He reaches across and takes my hand. It feels as if we’re both breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask.

  “I hope so,” he says. “I don’t know though. He seems to be in bad shape.”

  “I wish we’d come sooner.”

  “We didn’t know, babe.”

  I nod, but it’s hard to think of him sitting there all those days, trying to die. “It’s just so sad,” I say.

  “It is,” he agrees.

  “How do these things happen to people, Holden?”

  He doesn’t answer for a few moments, and then he says, “A combination of circumstances and choices? Some people definitely have harder things happen to them, things that don’t seem fair. But maybe it’s about how we choose to respond to those things. To keep fighting. Or not.”

  I look at his handsome face, and for the first time since that awful night, feeling flutters in my heart. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  He locks his fingers with mine, squeezes tight. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

  “I do love you, Holden.”

  “I know. And I love you.”

  ♪

  WE’VE BEEN AT the hospital for almost two hours when a doctor finally comes out to talk to us. His expression is stern and no-nonsense, as if he really doesn’t have time to come out to the waiting room but is obligated to do so.

  Holden and I both stand and shake his hand.

  “Dr. Adams,” he says.

  “I’m CeCe. This is my husband, Holden.”

  “I know who you are,” he says, and it’s clearly not a point in our favor.

  “How is he?” I ask, ignoring his curtness.

  “He’s given me permission to speak with you since I understand you’re not family.”

  “No,” Holden says, and I hear the bristle in his voice. “We’re just hoping to help him out.”

  “He’s in bad shape, as I’m sure you could tell,” Dr. Adams says, modulating his tone.

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Hard to say at this point. His heart has endured extraordinary stress from the weight alone. We’ll give him all the support we can. I’m afraid it’s a wait-and-see thing. I would suggest you come back tomorrow. Let’s see how he does overnight.”

  I want to argue, insist that we stay, but it’s not really our place. “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  He turns and leaves the room then without another word.

  “Was it my cologne?” Holden asks once he’s gone.

  I shake my head. “Maybe he hates country music.”

  “His loss,” Holden says.

  “We’ll come back in the morning,” I say. “Do you think he has the will to fight?”

  “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “That’s the part no one else can do for him.”

  ♪

  Holden

  WE’RE WALKING OUT the main entrance of the hospital when I spot the reporters. Three of them with camera guys and microphones.

  “Holden! CeCe!” one of the female reporters calls out, running toward us in high heels. “May we have a quick word?”

  I reach for CeCe’s hand and get between her and the reporters. “We really have to get home,” I say, giving the woman a cool smile.

  “Just a couple of questions,” she says.

  CeCe pulls me to a stop and says, “About what?”

  “When can we expect to see you on tour again?” she asks, smiling a wide white smile.

  “We’re working out the details of that,” I answer. “No definite date yet.”

  “Any new songs coming out soon?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “New stuff being released next month.”

  “I know your fans will be thrilled to hear that,” she says, and then the smile disappears. “We understand you were here today with the father of your stalker, Charlotte Gearly. You must admit that seems a little curious, given the circumstances.”

  Clearly the tour and music questions had been a lead-up to this. “We have to go, ma’am,” I say, taking CeCe’s hand and walking away.

  “He’s apparently obese,” she calls out after us. “And we understand the daughter had been taking care of him. Why would you be here with him after what she did to you?”

  CeCe stops and turns around, staring at the woman long and hard before saying, “Do you believe that people sometimes do something just because it’s the right thing?”

  The reporter smiles her bleached smile and says, “Not very often.”

  “He needs help,” CeCe says. “We’re helping him. End of story.”

  And we walk away.

  ♪

  IT MUST BE A slow news day because the story is on the six o’clock news that evening. CeCe and I are in the kitchen with her mom, who is putting together dinner for us. She likes to watch the news on the kitchen TV while she’s cooking.

  I instantly recognize the reporter’s voice and look up to see our faces on the screen. They edit our answers to her questions so that it ends up sounding like we have something to hide.

  “We shouldn’t have talked to her,” CeCe says, putting down the knife she’d been using to dice an onion.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her, honey,” Mrs. MacKenzie says. “Honestly, they can be such leeches.”

  I walk over and slip my arms around CeCe’s waist, kiss her on the neck. “Your mom’s right, you know.”

  “Can people actually try to do something good without being suspected of having some evil ulterior motive?” she asks, and I hear the frustration in her voice.

  “They ought to be able to,” I say. “But she’s got sensationalism to sell. Don’t let it get to you, babe.”

  “I know. That just makes her effective.”

  My cell rings. I pull it from my back pocket to see Thomas’s grinning face on the screen. I take the call, saying, “Hey. What’s up?”

  “We just saw the news. What’s going on?”

  I open the door to the backyard and walk outside. Hank Junior and Patsy scoot out behind me, trotting across the stone terrace to the grass.

  “CeCe and I went to see Charlotte’s dad after CeCe got out of the hospital. It was really awful, man. I guess she must have taken care of him. He’s so overweight he can’t take care of himself. I guess CeCe has been thinking about him. She wanted to go back and try to get him some help. When we got there, he was in bad shape. I don’t know how long he’d been without food or water. Apparently, he had canceled the nurse’s aide who had been coming in after Charlotte died.”

  “That’s some unreal stuff,” Thomas says, his tone disbelieving. “You could almost feel sorry for her if she hadn’t caused so much pain.”

  “I know. The whole thing seems tragic on so many levels.”

  “How is CeCe?”

  “She’s doing okay. We haven’t talked mu
ch about the miscarriage. I want to but I don’t think she’s ready.”

  “Give her time. She has a lot of healing to do. You both do. You know if there’s anything we can do, all you have to do is ask. We’re here for you in whatever way we can be.”

  “Thanks, Thomas. That means a lot.”

  “Maybe y’all ought to get away for a little while. Get some distance from everything that’s happened.”

  “It’s probably not a bad idea. CeCe didn’t want to come home at first. She didn’t think she could be here again.”

  “That sucks. Your home ought to be the one place you feel safe. Hey, Holden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You two need to take care of each other.”

  “We will,” I say.

  “When you’re ready to work on some new music, let me know. That’s always been a good place for you to go.”

  “Thanks, Thomas. Give Lila and Lexie a kiss for me.”

  “Will do.”

  I stand there in the grass for a while after we hang up, thinking about what Thomas had said. For the first time, I let myself wonder if our baby was a boy or a girl. Would he or she have looked like me or CeCe? Both of us? Would he or she have loved music?

  Grief crashes against my heart in a fresh wave.

  ♪

  CeCe

  MAMA’S ON THE phone with Case when I look out the kitchen window for Holden. He’s standing with his back to the house, but I can see his shoulders shaking, and I know he’s crying.

  This picture of him opens a crack in my heart. My hand goes to my belly, and grief for the child that is no longer there floods through me.

  I want to go to him, pull him into my arms, offer comfort, be comforted. But somehow, I can’t make myself open the door and walk across the grass to him. I feel empty, as if I have no reservoir of sympathy to share with him. I feel selfish. This isn’t my loss only. It’s our loss. And I know it’s one we should share together.

  I feel the chasm between us, a crack in our foundation that has never been there before. It scares me. I want to deny its existence, step over it into familiar territory. But it is as if my arms and legs have been infused with lead. I can’t make myself open the door and go to him. I can only turn away and close my eyes against the image of his sorrow.