“Hmm, we’ll see about that. Might get you some ultra-sound in case it shows anything.”
“Oh Dad!” Fiona scoffed as she turned to start the trek to the baggage claim. “Rest and sunshine—that’s all I need.”
And Christian out of my reach and out of my brain.
“How’s Christian coping?”
Thanks Mom...
“Sad of course, but managing,” she said, tucking a hand into each parent’s arm. “He had to go to Japan urgently, but he’s due back today.” They fell into slow step together behind the rest of the passengers. Christmas music blared from the speakers. Tinsel decorations glittered from high vantage points. Fiona barely noticed.
“And Nicky?”
“Poor wee Nic. How do you explain something so huge to a two-year-old? She’s still looking for Jan everywhere. Maybe a bit less some days than others. It’s hard to tell.”
“Should you have stayed on longer?”
Fiona shook her head and unlinked arms as they came to the escalator. She concentrated for a moment until she’d stepped onto it safely.
“No,” she said over her shoulder as it carried her downwards. “Christian found a really good nanny through an agency. He wanted me there while he was in Japan. To be his eyes and ears. But she’s great with Nic, so I had no worries about leaving.” She stepped off the escalator and positioned herself between her parents again. “It’ll be lovely having Christmas with you at the beach,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “You’re both okay?” she asked.
“No mother is ever okay after losing her child,” Rebecca said, glancing at her remaining daughter with suspiciously moist eyes. “But poor Jan had such a nasty time with the chemo—well, I can’t be sad she doesn’t have to face that any more.”
“And she wasn’t going to beat it, was she? I was never quite sure from what you told me over the phone, but it was aggressive?”
Rebecca remained silent, and it was Greg who cleared his throat and said, “You have to try. You have to believe. I’ve seen things I wouldn’t have thought possible.”
They walked on in silence until they reached the throng around the baggage carousel.
“It’s a blue case,” Fiona reminded her father. “There’s a red tag on the handle to make it easier to spot.”
“I’ll get a trolley,” Rebecca said.
“No need, no need,” Greg said testily, as though it was a reflection on his manhood.
“I’d like one to lean on—it’ll make walking out to the car easier.”
“Of course it will.” Her mother bustled away.
Fiona watched her, admiring her trim figure and smooth blonde bob. Even on the way north for a beach holiday she wore a smart caramel skirt and an ivory blouse. Jan’s colors.
And her Dad? His face was impassive and his silvering hair gleamed under the lights when he loaded the bags onto the trolley. How badly must they both be hurting?
Christmas morning dawned picture-postcard fine. Fiona lay in bed in the clear blue light, watching the curtains sigh at her open window. A hungry restlessness ate at her. She felt she’d barely slept all night, yet was acutely awake and alive.
The soft, regular swoosh of the waves enticed her out. Although it was only six-thirty she threw back the sheet, dressed quietly and let herself out of the house. After just a few paces, she reached the sand.
Another two days of rest had helped the pain in her knee subside to a dull ache. She strolled along, feet in the frothing edge of the water. In the distance, two people and an energetic black dog also enjoyed the spectacular morning. A small yacht made very slow headway in the light air. There were no other signs of life.
Her mobile gave a polite trill. Frowning, she dug it from the pocket of her white shorts and checked the screen. Name withheld.
“Fiona Delaporte.”
“Christian Hartley.”
She froze mid-pace, savoring his dark growl, picturing his beautiful mouth and hungry eyes. Drew a quiet breath, unable to speak for a few seconds.
“How ya doing, Blondie?” It was asked so softly she could almost have imagined it.
“Better thanks, Christian. Much better.”
Although not now I’ve heard your voice again.
“So you’re up and about?”
“Going for a slow wander on the beach.”
“I thought you might be.”
“Um...?”
“You suddenly flashed into my mind, and I felt you were awake. So I’ve rung to say Merry Christmas.”
“Thank-you,” she murmured. “I wish it could be merry for you, too, but I guess that would be too much to hope for...”