Vivian Arend - Turn It Up

Tasha had to laugh. Maybe if she considered all her waffling over the past months as practice loving for the real thing, she wouldn’t regret that it had taken so long for her to admit her true emotions. Ignoring what she felt for Max was a lie she refused to continue to tell. She wanted all of him. Every bit of his heart and soul, and she wanted to give all of herself to him as well.

Tasha snuck to the door of the office and peered in, watching him work. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he spoke into his headset. This should be forever. Them as a family—no, as a couple first—without any doubts, any fears. The poison that Lila had flung had watered down to nothing, diluted by the depth of compassion and caring Max had shown for so long.

Thinking again of Lila caused the final piece of the puzzle to click into place. There would always be someone who wouldn’t accept her unless she did what they wanted.

That wasn’t love.

Max must have seen her in his peripheral vision because he turned and smiled, asking to be excused from the person on the line. He swung the mic away from his mouth and held a hand to her. She took it and shuffled forward into his embrace.

“You need me?” he asked, smoothing a hand over her cheek.

Oh my God, yes. “Always.”

His grin widened. “I was planning on working for the afternoon to finish this up. You okay until supper?”

She nodded. Her heart was bursting to tell him what she’d realized, but even she, unromantic as she was, figured blurting out I love you right now wasn’t the way to do it. “I’m pretty sure I can keep myself busy. I’ll see you later.”

He kissed her quickly, squeezed her fingers, then dove back into whatever he was doing.

The anticipation of being able to share with him gave her a burst of energy. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to wander the apartment dealing with the final packing details. Tasha checked her watch—there was more than enough time if she left immediately. She grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote him a note, left it on the table and headed out the door.

It was hours later before he dragged himself from the computers. He’d constantly found that one more thing to complete, but the end result was a lot more productive than he’d hoped. With luck he’d be free for the next few weeks, giving him time to be there for Tasha. Settling into their new home, getting ready for the baby to arrive.

His phone rang, and he grabbed it, wandering back into the apartment to find Tasha and discuss supper plans.

“Junior, do you know where Gramma is?”

He chuckled. “Is this a trick question? Isn’t she at the house?” He glanced around for Tasha—no sign. She must be in the bathroom.

“No, and we can’t figure out where she’s gone. After Tasha took her for the tour at the seniors home—”

“What?” He checked his watch. It wasn’t just past supper, it was nearly eight, and the sun was approaching the horizon. “When did Tasha take her anywhere?”

“You didn’t know? Gramma called to tell me she didn’t need a ride because Tasha was there and would take her.”

What the hell? His anger burst out at his sister. “And you didn’t think that a eight-and-a-half-month pregnant woman might not be the best person to escort our eighty-year-old Gramma around town?”

Maxy hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry, but honestly, no. It didn’t occur to me. They’re both very self-sufficient.”

He spotted a piece of paper on the table and snatched it up. There were only two lines, nothing to indicate Tasha would be gone for a long period of time. Picking up a few things, stopping at the house site, that was all. Fear rolled over him. She should have been home long ago. Something must have happened. He raced to pull on his shoes.

“Shit—I need to try her cell phone. Call the nursing home and find out when they left.” He hung up before Maxy could respond. Images of Tasha lying hurt at the house flashed through his mind, making him crazy.

Her line rang and went to message. He tried again.

Icy fear surrounded him. His heart was in his toes as he stabbed the button for the elevator repetitively, urging the damn thing to hurry up.

His cell phone rang with her tone, and he scrambled to answer it. “Are you okay?”

The line crackled, breaking up slightly. “We’re…fine. We need help. Gramma Turner and I are a little…at the moment. We went…walk, and she’s twisted… It’s okay, but I can’t…”

“Where are you?” Details later, location now.

“Cemetery. She wanted to…” The line went dead.

Screw the elevator. He was through the emergency exit and racing down the stairs before his call to Maxine even connected. “They’re at the cemetery. Don’t know why, but I’m heading over. Phone reception out there is almost impossible to get, so they could have been stuck for hours. Tasha said that Gramma’s twisted something. Call a couple of the uncles to come help me.”

Maxine’s voice quavered a bit. “I will, and, Junior, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Shit . “It’s not your fault. You’re right. They’re independent, and stubborn, and there’s nothing you could have done to stop them. Love you, sis. Call you when I can.”

He drove well over the speed limit as he raced toward the family plot, cursing that he was almost twenty minutes away. The Turners had a whole damn section in the Thompson Cemetery, a fact that had fascinated him when he was little, but now seemed a trifle macabre. It was like the clan was still doing things together, even now that they were dead. He skidded to a stop, leapt from the car and raced toward the rise where Grandpa Turner was buried. The steep slope of the hillside cemetery suddenly seemed to have been laid out specifically to slow him in his quest to reach them. One final burst of energy and there they were, Tasha’s dark head close to his Gramma’s white one as they sat perched on a low wall. The only lighting in this section was a small decorative imitation gas lamp a good twenty feet away, casting a tiny glowing circle along the edge where the women rested.

“There he is.” Gramma raised a hand and waved. “Over here.”

Max slowed to a walk, eyeing Gramma quickly, then taking a more thorough examination of Tasha. “Ladies. You went for a very long stroll.”

Gramma sighed. “Wasn’t supposed to be that protracted, but silly me. I was trying to be frivolous and now my ankle’s not cooperating.”

He laid a hand briefly on Tasha’s knee as he squatted, taking his Gramma’s ankle and checking it carefully.

“Ouch. Yes, that’s the part that hurts. I need someone to lean on, and Tasha and I decided she probably wasn’t the best choice to use as a crutch right now.”

Thank God. That’s all they would have needed was for Tasha to lose her balance and the two of them end up hurt. “Good thinking. Lean on me, I’ll get you back to the car.”

Gramma hopped down, and he wrapped an arm around her. He offered his other hand to Tasha.

She shook her head and waved him on. “I’ll wait. You take Gramma, then come back for me.”

He didn’t like that idea, not one bit. Before he could argue Tasha visibly winced and he stared at her, trying to figure out why— Oh my God. He might be exceedingly bright, but this was something he’d never experienced before. “Tasha?”

She covered her lips with a finger and tilted her head toward his Gramma. “You two go ahead. I’ll be fine for another few minutes.”

No. He was not leaving his wife in a graveyard, in the dark, when she obviously was in labor. Gramma would understand…and then he saw the dilemma.

There was no good solution.