Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

Your skin is softer than these petals. Missing you already.

They were everywhere. It was too much. The cloying smell of the flowers overwhelmed me and made my stomach roil.

Fiona was staring at me with an exasperated expression. “Well?”

“Jackson Parrish.”

“I knew it!” She gave me a triumphant look. “The way he was looking at you when he stopped by to see the offices the other day, I knew it was just a matter of time.” She leaned forward, her chin in her hands. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I like him — but I don’t know.” I gestured toward the flowers. “He comes on awfully strong.”

“Yeah, what a jerk, sending you all these beautiful roses.” She got up and opened door.

“Fiona?”

“Yes?”

“Take a couple for your desk. I don’t know what to do with the rest.”

She shook her head. “Sure thing, Boss. But I gotta tell you, he’s not going to be so easy to cast off.”

I needed to get back to work. I’d figure out Jackson later. I was about to make a phone call when Fiona opened the door again. Her face was ashen.

“It’s your mother.”

I grabbed the phone and held it to my ear. “Mom?”

“Daphne, you need to come home. Your father’s had a heart attack.”

“How bad is it?” I choked out.

“Just come. As soon as you can.”

The next phone call I made was to Jackson. As soon as I managed to get the words out, he took over.

“Daphne, it’s going to be okay. Deep breaths. Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

“But I have to get to the airport. I need to find a flight. I—”

“I’ll take you. Don’t worry.”

I’d forgotten he owned a plane. “Can you do that?”

“Listen to me. Stay there. I’m leaving now to get you. We’ll go by your place and get some clothes and be in the air in about an hour. Just breathe.”

The rest was a blur. I did what he told me, threw things in a suitcase, followed directions until I was seated on his plane, grasping his hand tightly while I looked out the window and prayed. My father was only fifty-nine — surely he couldn’t die.

When we landed in New Hampshire at a private airport, Marvin, a waiter at the inn, was waiting for us. I guess I made the introductions, or maybe Jackson just took over. I don’t remember. All I remember is the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I might never get to talk to my father again.

As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Jackson took charge. He found out who Dad’s doctor was, assessed the facility, and immediately had him moved to St. Gregory’s, the large hospital an hour from our small town. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have died had Jackson not seen the ineptitude of his treating doctor at County General and the lack of sophisticated equipment. Jackson arranged for a top cardio doctor from New York to meet us at the hospital. The doctor arrived shortly after we did, and upon examining my dad, declared that he hadn’t had a heart attack after all, but an aortic dissection. He explained that the lining of his heart had torn, and if he didn’t operate immediately, my father would die. Apparently his high blood pressure had been the cause. He warned us that the delay in the diagnosis had diminished his chance of survival to fifty percent.

Jackson canceled all his meetings and never left my side. After a week, I was prepared for him to go back to Connecticut, but he had something else in mind.

“You girls go on ahead,” he told me and my mom. “I’ve talked to your dad about it already. I’m going back to the B&B to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“What about your company? Don’t you need to get back?”

“I can handle things from here for now. I’ve rearranged things a bit. A few weeks away isn’t going to kill me.”

“Are you sure? There’s staff that can fill in for now.”

He shook his head. “I can conduct my business from anywhere, but the B&B is a hands-on operation, and when the boss isn’t around, things slide. I intend to protect your dad’s interests until he’s moved back to the inn and your mother can keep an eye on things.”

My mother gave me one of those looks then that said, Don’t let go of this one . She put her hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Thank you, dear. I know Ezra will breathe easier knowing that you’re there.”

With typical Jackson efficiency and flair, he threw himself into making sure everything ran smoothly — even better than when my father was at the helm. The kitchen was stocked, he oversaw the staff, he even made sure the bird feeders were never empty. One evening when we were short-staffed, I came back to the inn to see him waiting tables. I think that’s when I really fell for him. It was a huge load off my mother, and when she saw how easily he stepped in, she was free to spend all her time at the hospital without worrying what was going on back at the B&B.

By the end of the month, my mother was as bewitched as I was.

“I think you’ve found the one, sweetheart,” my mother whispered one night after Jackson had left the room.

How had he managed to do that? I wondered. It was as though he’d been around forever, already a part of the family. All my earlier reservations about him evaporated. He wasn’t some self-indulgent playboy. He was a man of substance and character. In the space of a few short weeks, he had become indispensable to all of us.

Dad was home from the hospital, still weak, but doing better, and Jackson and I were flying to New Hampshire to spend Christmas with my family. My cousin, Barry, and his wife, Erin, were coming with their daughter, and we were all excited about spending Christmas together.

We arrived Christmas Eve to falling snow and the perfect New England setting. The inn was decked out in holiday cheer. Standing in the small church where I’d gone every Sunday from the time I was a little girl, I felt at peace, my heart overflowing. My father had survived, and I was in love. It was like a fairy tale — I’d won the prince I never even knew existed in real life. He caught me looking at him and smiled that dazzling smile at me, his cobalt-blue eyes shining with adoration, and I could hardly believe that he was mine.

When we got back to the inn, my father opened a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for each of us. He put his arm around my mother. “I want you all to know how much it means to have you here. A few months ago, I wasn’t so sure I’d live to see another Christmas.” He brushed a tear from his cheek and lifted his glass. “To family. Those of us here, and to our darling Julie, in heaven. Merry Christmas.”

I took a sip, closed my eyes, and said my own silent Merry Christmas to my sister. I still missed her so much.

We sat down on the sofas by the tree to exchange gifts. My parents had started a family tradition of giving us three gifts, symbolic of the ones the wise men gave to Jesus. Jackson had a pile of three to open as well, and I was grateful that my mother had thought to include him. The gifts were modest but special — a sweater she’d knitted him, a Beethoven CD, and a hand-painted sailboat ornament for his Christmas tree. Jackson held the fisherman’s sweater up to his chest.

“I love it. This will keep me nice and warm.” He stood up and walked over to the tree. “My turn.” He took great delight in handing out the gifts he had selected for everyone. I had no idea what he had bought; he wanted to keep it all a surprise. I had mentioned to him that the gifts would be modest, and asked him not to go overboard. He started with my little niece, who was eight at the time. He had gotten her a lovely silver charm bracelet with Disney characters, and she was thrilled. For Barry and Erin, a Bose Bluetooth speaker, top-of-the-line. I was starting to get a little nervous thinking of the book on classic cars they had given to him and how they must feel. He took no apparent notice, but I could see from the expression on Barry’s face that he was uncomfortable.