Chapter 18

© Copyright 2007 by Elizabeth Delayne

Chad stared at Meredith. He had just arrived at her house after work for an evening, he thought, of relaxation with the woman he was coming to love. Yet, knowing a confrontation was brewing turned his stomach into knots. She was weary and resting less every night. The circles under her eyes proved said so.

In the past two weeks since the Fourth, her art had practically been sitting in the corner, untouched. She struggled on the things she had to, to keep her paycheck rolling in, but he never saw her lift a finger for her personal art work. He saw the sadness in her eyes, the dreams passing her by.

Now, she was mopping the kitchen floor after sending Britt off with their mother to another room. A broken bowl and red Jell-O in the trash can told the rest of the story.

“Is there anything I can do?” Chad managed.

Meredith looked up at him, the pain in her eyes turning his stomach over. “No, I’m almost through.”

“You could sit down, let me finish it up.”

“No, really. I’m fine—just give me a minute.”

Chad’s restraint broke. “How long is this going to go on, Meredith? You can’t do this much longer.”

“What are you talking about?” Her hands stilled the broom’s sweeping motion, her eyes lit with Irish temper.

“What am I talking about?” Chad’s long arm swept the kitchen in an angry motion. “This is what I’m talking about.” He stepped closer and gently took her face in his large hands. His thumbs rubber underneath her eyes faintly. “So is this. Meredith,” he continued carefully, the anger lifting from him, leaving concern, “you’re killing yourself and you’re scaring me in the process.”

“My mother needs me.”

“You’re mother needs help,” Chad reminded her as he stepped away, “and no one said you had to do it all by yourself.”

“The doctor says she’s getting better.”

“Do you think by watching her that she’s getting any better or that she’ll be better soon? You have so much to give—and you’re limiting yourself.”

“She’s my mother.”

“No one said that you were the only one who could help her.”

“It’s part of being a family.”

“Is that your only excuse?” He asked her. “I know what family is, Meredith. I know what it is to pay my dues. I also know what it is to loose. Maybe I’m the one who’s being selfish. I’ve lost one woman I care about—”

“I’m not Bethany.”

“No you’re not.”

The tone came out all wrong, sending a spike of pain into Meredith’s heart. Her lips trembled as she tried to respond. In some way … somehow.

Rolling over in his emotion, Chad wasn’t sure he could go back. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Things were taken out of my control before, and I lost. Maybe the situation’s different, but I’m not sure I’ll stand by and loose again. I’m not sure that I can.”

“I never said you had to,” Meredith reminded him, anger and fear rolling through her. She saw him leave, before he left—felt the loss, knowing she couldn’t hold on. She didn’t have the strength.

Chad stared at her, his jaw tight. Saying nothing more, he turned and walked out.

Meredith closed her eyes. She heard the door slam shut. But she’s my mother, Chad. You have to understand.

Is that your only excuse?

Meredith opened her eyes to look at the mop she still held in her hand, vaguely remembering why. Doubt filled her. Was she really doing the best thing for her mother, Kelly and Britt? Was Meredith all they needed? What else could she do? She remembered all the years she’d been away, calling only every so often, leaving Kelly and Britt to her mother, especially after her step-father died.

Bitting her lips, Meredith let the guilt slip over her. Tears slipped down her face. It’s the only reason I need.



Chad threw the door open to his van and climbed in, the vice grip he had on his jaw beginning to hurt. He slammed the door and looked back up at the house. Meredith’s home.

He closed his eyes in pain. He was falling in love with her. He could not deny what he felt, but he didn’t have to stay around and tie himself down further. It killed him to watch her destroy herself. One woman he loved had died, and there had been nothing he could do about it. An accident—what a strange word.

Chad could not stand by and loose another woman, especially not as she killed herself.

He would leave it to her.


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