Summer of Love Marie Ferrarella (easy books to read in english TXT) 📖

“Have a seat,” she told him. “Mom will be back any minute, and I’d like to set some quick ground rules. Like I said earlier, I haven’t told her much about Chelsea’s behavior—she knows about the suicide attempt, but not much about her time at the hospital. I wanted to keep it simple until I felt like there was some ho—”

Her voice cracked as an unexpected wave of emotion splashed over her, blocking the one word she wanted to believe in.

“Until you felt like there was some hope?” He finished the sentence for her. “There’s always hope, Jess. I think we’ll start seeing a little more progress in the coming weeks.”

He shifted to face her. “Exactly what do you want me to say to your mom? I’m not comfortable with lying.”

And yet he’d been the one to suggest she lie to her father about what happened after she’d run out of the gym during graduation all those years ago. To protect himself from her dad’s wrath? Or to protect her?

Maybe it had been a little of both.

“I don’t expect you to lie. You said there’s always hope. If you could just keep that as a running theme when you talk about Chelsea, it would help Mom feel better.”

“She’s going to ask to see her, you know. Is there a reason you don’t want her to?”

“I’m worried about her, like I told you earlier. I want to … be there when she sees Chelsea.”

And I want you to have time to work your magic first. She didn’t say the words, but she wanted them to be true. She trusted him. Why that was she couldn’t say. She hadn’t seen them interact that much. But he’d said he’d do his very best for Chelsea and she believed him. She just hoped it was enough.

Five minutes later, they were called into dinner. Cooper settled under the table with his head propped on Clint’s right foot, despite all her efforts to deter him.

“He’s fine,” Clint said. “As long as he doesn’t expect me to share any of that delicious-looking brisket.”

They all laughed, and Jessi gave a quick sigh of relief. She’d half expected her mom to grill Clint on Chelsea’s prognosis from the moment they sat down, but it was mostly small talk as Jessi munched lettuce leaves with nerves that were as crackly as the salad. The feared topic didn’t hit until they were halfway through her mom’s famed brisket, which, despite being as succulent as ever, was getting tougher and tougher for her to force down.

“Jessi tells me that she thinks Chelsea is dealing with PTSD. Is that what you’re seeing, as well?”

Clint dabbed his mouth with his napkin and nodded. “We see quite a number of veterans who come back with issues related to what they’ve seen and done.”

“Does that mean you have some ideas on how to proceed?”

Jessi’s eyes jerked to his and found him watching her. She put her fork on the table as she waited for him to answer.

“We’re keeping our options open at the moment. I’m still working through the notes from her previous doctor.”

“That’s right. I forgot you’d just moved home. What perfect timing. Or were you just so homesick that you couldn’t bear to stay away any longer?”

Jessi sucked down too much of the water she’d been sipping and choked for a second, but Clint didn’t miss a beat. “Doctors are transferred to other locations on a regular basis, just like any other member of the armed forces.” He gave a rueful twist of the mouth. “We both know about that, don’t we?”

Way to go, Clint. Find something you have in common and use it to evade the real question.

Kind of like he’d done when she’d asked him why he had to leave the day after graduation. “I’ve already signed the papers, and that’s when they told me to show up” had been his answer. She’d bought it at the time. But now? She had a feeling he’d just wanted to avoid her making any demands on him after their shared time together.

Which stung even more now than it had when he’d said the words.

Jessi’s mom smiled back. “I’m sure you’ve done your share of moving, just like we did when Jessi was little.” She paused then said, “I’m really glad you’re back, though, and that you’ll be the one treating Chelsea.”

Clint’s face registered surprise. “Why is that?”

Cutting into another section of her meat, her mom glanced up with a hint of sadness mixed with what looked like relief. “Because you, more than anyone, know what it’s like to live with the effects of PTSD.”

CHAPTER SIX

THE ROOM WAS silent for five long seconds.

Clint knew, because he counted every damn tick of the clock. He hadn’t told Jessi or anyone else about his dad and the problems he’d had. Could his mom have mentioned it to Abigail or someone else from their past?

Worse, did Jessi know?

Even as the questions ducked through his cerebral cortex, looking for a believable response, he thought he saw pity flit through Jessi’s eyes, although right now her mouth was hanging open in shock.

But, eventually, he had to say something. The ache in his pinky finger sprang to life, reminding him of all the reasons he’d decided to join the military and leave Jessi far behind. He clenched his fist to rid himself of the sensation and made a decision.

He was going to tell the truth. Air his dirty laundry—at least about his father. After all these years.

“Yes. I do know.”

Jessi’s fork clattered to her plate, and her mouth snapped shut. “Mom, I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to blurt out at the dinner table.”

Wounded green eyes, so like her daughter’s, widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just assumed that everyone knew—”

“It’s okay,” Clint said, his thumb scrubbing across the crooked joint, a habit he used as a daily reminder of why his job was so crucial. Because PTSD didn’t affect just