Walk Me Home

by Liza Kendall

  Our Lady of Mercy Hospital was an uninspired block of a building that stretched six stories high and was in dire need of an update. The linoleum tiles were a shade of depressive beige; the walls, a sickly green; the artwork, sporadic and unoriginal. The elevator groaned more than the patients, and the few live plants reached desperately for the windows and doors as if trying to escape.

  Charlie couldn’t blame Granddad for not wanting to be here.

  “Cook,” she heard him say from all the way down the hall. “It’s a verb! It means that someone does more than open a can or a box and slop the contents onto a tray.”

  Oh, yikes. He was not enjoying his lunch. Charlie thought guiltily about the vanilla pudding in her bag. She certainly hadn’t made it from scratch. But she wasn’t her grandmother, and this wasn’t 1959.

  “The hospital kitchen staff does the best it can, Mr. Nash,” the nurse said. “But you know as well as I do that we don’t have the budget for Kristina’s triple-chocolate mousse at Piece A Cake.”

  Charlie stepped into the room in time to see Granddad poke at a rectangle of neon green Jell-O. He gave it a withering glare as it jiggled. “Not. Food.”

  She almost felt sorry for the Jell-O, but she felt sorrier for the nurse, a young blonde who was wearing a fixed, too-bright smile and a name tag that said BRIANNE. Charlie nodded at her.

  Brianne nodded back.

  “Nothing in nature is that color,” Granddad growled. “Nothing. That was scraped out of an alien’s bedpan.”

  “Hi, Granddad!” Charlie sang. “How are you doing today?” She kissed his wrinkled, red-veined cheek, getting a snootful of Listerine.

  “Peachy,” he growled. “Couldn’t be better.” He stabbed the Jell-O again. “’Cept they’re still trying to poison me. Look at those weird yellow shreds in there!”

  “I think that’s pineapple,” Charlie said in a soothing tone.

  “That ain’t pineapple, girlie. It’s—” He searched among the ghoulish recesses of his brain. “It’s probably chicken beaks.”

  Ugh. “I seriously doubt that, Granddad.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put anything past ’em. If it ain’t beaks, it’s old number two pencils!”

  Brianne sidled to the door. “I’m just going to . . . check on another patient. You need anything else, Mr. Nash?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but it’d get my face slapped.”

  The nurse fled as Charlie choked. “Granddad!”

  He shrugged. “I’m a hundred and seventy, not dead.”

  “You’re only eighty-one, you old liar. Now, if you won’t eat the Jell-O, then how about that meatloaf?”

  He pushed the tray away. “That ain’t beef. It’s probably ground sewer rat.”

  Charlie sighed. “Yep, I think you’re right. You’ll probably get the tails as spaghetti tomorrow, cleverly disguised under a thick blanket of red sauce.”

  “Ha!” Granddad winked at her. “Good one. What’d you bring me?”

  If she didn’t give him the pudding, he was going to starve. Charlie pulled the two containers out of her bag and peeled the top off one, handing it to him with a spoon.

  “Thank you. It’s not your grandmother’s, but it’ll do.”

  “You’re welcome.” Charlie let him take a couple of bites. “So, speaking of Grandma Babe, I went by the old—” She broke off, not knowing what to call it. House? There was none.

  Granddad fixed a beady eye on her, continuing to spoon pudding into his mouth. “Yeah?”

  “Place. Well, it’s . . . sad. Awful.”

  He said nothing.

  Charlie took a deep breath. “And I know it didn’t seem right for a long time. But I think we should rebuild.”

  Total silence.

  “You know, rebuild the house, exactly as it was.”

  Granddad set down the empty pudding cup with a snap. The spoon knocked it over immediately and clattered onto his tray. “No.”

  The single syllable contained enough hostility and anguish that she should have backed off. But she didn’t. “She would hate having it look that way,” Charlie said quietly. “The yard all scarred and ugly. She’d want her house back.”

  “Yeah? Well, I want her back. Ain’t gonna happen.” His face settled into bitter old lines.

  Charlie opened the second container of pudding and set it on his tray. “Isn’t it time to let the past go? Haven’t we grieved long enough? Isn’t it time to move on?” She hesitated and then said, “I was with Lila this morning, and Jake stopped by.”

  Granddad turned to face her full-on, his rheumy eyes overflowing with resentment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His whole body seized with tension. Then he picked up the second container of pudding and threw it at the wall. White goop splattered everywhere.

  A couple of long moments went by as Charlie stared at it, stunned. She thought about yelling at him or stomping out of the room. But then they’d both be acting like five-year-olds. She took a deep breath; then she got up. “Really? Couldn’t you have thrown the bird-beak Jell-O? Now you have nothing to eat.”

  Granddad hunched his shoulders and turned away from her. His ropy, veiny hands clenched the sheets. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Hey,” she said, and moved to his side. “Hey.” She put her arms around him. “It’s okay.”

  He was unyielding; he couldn’t or wouldn’t respond to the physical touch. “Ain’t never gonna be okay.”

  Charlie bit her lip and then took a chance: “Just listen for a second. Please. They’re still broken, Granddad. Jake is still broken. Lila’s still broken. From what I’ve heard over the years, all the Braddocks are broken. My brother is broken. You’re definitely broken,” she added with a wan smile, gesturing to his hip. “And I am, too.”

  “The Braddocks have been broken for as long as I can remember,” Granddad said, his eyes narrowed. “Only one of them worth my spit is Declan there, and building on the land never did nothin’ to make his demons go away. Not my problem, never was.”

  “What I’m trying to get at is that there’s one broken thing I know we can fix. Grandma’s house.” Charlie gave Granddad a squeeze, then straightened. “You need a purpose anyway. Let’s rebuild the house. What do you say?”

  “I’ve got a purpose,” he said. “If the Silverlake Town Council will just listen to me. We have got to balance the budget in this burg. We’ve been running at a deficit for years now, and it’s plain to see what needs to be done: get rid of that useless paid fire department!”

  Charlie’s heart sank. Not this again. Every time she swooped in for a visit, she got an earful of Granddad’s plan to “get rid of that useless paid fire department.” Thankfully, it never went anywhere. She got up and moved to the paper towel dispenser, intent on cleaning up the mess.

  “If I could get out of bed,” Granddad said, “I’d be going to the next town council meeting and have this handled in a jiffy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Charlie murmured, her face to the wall as she scrubbed. It never did any good to argue with him.

  “You listening to me, Charlie-Girl? I’ve done a lot of talking. Now it’s time to do something. But I’m gonna need your help.”

  Something in Granddad’s manner and in the tone of his voice made Charlie pause and give him her full attention this time. Something that made her more than a little uneasy. “Don’t even think about what I think you’re thinking about, Granddad,” she pleaded. There was no way she’d out and ask, no way she’d take a chance on busting those old wounds wide open, not even in the middle of a hospital. But was that a hint of revenge in Granddad’s voice?

  Charlie let out a shaky breath, marveling at how fast her heart was beating. She loved her Granddad more than anything, but Jake loved the firehouse more than anything. She didn’t want to be part of anything that took even more away from him t
han he’d already lost.

  “I have been lobbying the council for a decade,” Granddad ranted, “and they turn a deaf ear. But now I have statistics. Numbers that prove that every town around here of this size has a volunteer-only fire squad. This year, I will win. Imagine: seven guys in free lodgings, with benefits, on salary to lie around in their skivvies with their thumbs up their bums! It’s not just offensive; it’s criminal.”

  A cough came from behind her, and she whirled to see Jake Braddock standing there. In an instant, a familiar heat infused her cheeks. Oh God. How much had he heard?

  He stood there, an ironic smile playing over his lips as he stared at Granddad. It didn’t reach his dark eyes. His shoulders filled the doorway, and he seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the room.

  “Hi, Kingston,” said Jake calmly. “How you doin’? I’ve, uh, temporarily gotten dressed and removed my thumb from my bum. I’m here for your physical therapy.”

  Jake’s gaze moved to Charlie’s face, and their eyes locked. For a split second, she imagined that the steel in his gaze had softened, and she thought her knees might buckle without them exchanging even a word.

  The hot blush that had started in her cheeks began to spread over every inch of her skin. Her pulse kicked up, and her heart took a dive for her stomach.

  Help, thought Charlie. Granddad may need physical therapy, but if I keep running into Jake, I’m going to need the other kind before long.

  “You should probably close your mouth now, darlin’,” Jake said, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “Unless you want me to take your temperature? You look a little flushed.”

  Chapter 5

  Jake hadn’t expected to see Charlie again so soon, but there she was, blue eyes wide with alarm at the sight of him. Her blond hair was windblown and half hanging out of a clip at the nape of her neck, where a rapid pulse beat. Looking mortified, she closed her mouth without a word.

  What a day. He focused every cell in his body on looking cool, detached, and professional. I could care less about her, he told himself, and I am not intimidated by Kingston Nash.

  I am not that confused teenager anymore. I don’t need his approval.

  He’d be damned if he’d let either Charlie or this wrinkled old coot see him sweat . . . or guess that each of his feet had weighed a thousand pounds on the walk down the hallway to room 217. Part of him still felt sixteen, still felt guilty and helpless and lost. He guessed that around this family, part of him always would.

  He kept his expression nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just caught her flying off a ladder. As if he didn’t remember the way her hair smelled like sunshine, or how soft her skin was. The way she’d felt in his arms.

  She ducked her head and mumbled something unintelligible.

  He tried very hard not to notice how her jeans and sweater clung to her curves as she balanced on those silly high-heeled boots and scrubbed something that looked like mayonnaise or pudding off the walls. “What happened here?”

  “I threw something too early,” the old man snapped. “Could have aimed it at your head.”

  “Nice. I’m happy to see you, too.” Of all the patients in the tri-county area, he had to get this one? Seriously? He could probably have weaseled out of it or traded shifts, but it stung his pride to do that.

  I am not intimidated by Kingston Nash. He said it to himself yet again. Nash was just a crotchety old bag of bile and bones. He might’ve paid for the new roof on First Presbyterian Church, but he never had a kind word to say about anyone, and especially not Jake himself—even though he and his boys had physically put the roof on the church.

  Seven guys in free lodgings, with benefits, on salary to lie around in their skivvies with their thumbs up their bums!

  Old George would love that one. Jake tamped down his irritation.

  “What in seven hells are you doing here?” the old man growled.

  “You heard me,” Jake said evenly. “I’m here to help with your physical therapy. You’re on my rotation schedule.”

  Nash snorted. “Get outta my room.”

  “How ’bout you get outta that bed instead?”

  The old man glared at him. “Which part of ‘get out’ did you not understand, boy? They need to send me a professional.”

  “I am one. Had you forgotten? That’s what my degree is in. That’s why I volunteer here at the hospital, and not at the food pantry or the animal shelter or the rec center, like the other guys.”

  “Get this pyromaniac away from me, Charlie, before I . . .”

  Pyromaniac? That hurt. Jake raised an eyebrow. “Before you what, Kingston? Beat me to death with your plastic drinking straw?”

  Kingston gaped at him.

  “Come on, old man. What are you afraid of? Let’s get you out from under those covers so you can at least give me a good kick in the shins. What d’you say?” Jake moved toward the bed.

  “I have somewhere better to kick you,” Nash returned. “Charlie, get rid of him.”

  She stood up and tossed a wad of paper towels into the trash can near the door. “Granddad, you need to do the exercises in order to get better and walk again.”

  “I ain’t gonna do ’em with that . . . that . . .”

  “Very nice guy?” Jake suggested. “Model citizen?”

  Charlie moved toward the bed and twitched the covers off her grandfather’s bare, pale, bony legs.

  “Stop that! Get away from me!”

  “You’ve already thrown food today, Granddad. Can you please stop acting like a toddler and behave? Do your therapy?”

  “Not with him.” Kingston rang the bell for the nurses’ station. Charlie shot an apologetic glance at Jake.

  Jake dragged a hand down his face, then leaned against the wall near the door. He flattened his shoulders against it, sighed, and tried to ease a kink out of his neck. No dice. They all waited in tense silence for a nurse.

  Mia Adams, whom they’d gone to high school with, came into the room within seconds. “Everything okay, Mr. Nash? Hi, Jake. Oh, Charlie—hello!” She smiled warmly. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Mia!” she exclaimed. “Yes, it has. How are you? I didn’t know you were a nurse.”

  “She is a nurse,” Kingston growled. “That’s why she’s here in my room, wearing scrubs. And no, everything is not okay. I need a different physical therapist. Get this joker outta my room.”

  Mia looked from him to Jake and then back again. She was a very pretty redhead, with cinnamon brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She took in a deep, measured breath while Kingston glared at Jake and then turned his gaze back to her.

  Mia exhaled. “I do understand that there’s some . . . history here . . .”

  “History! Ha.” Kingston snorted. “You could call it that.”

  “But if the hospital staff had someone else to send, they would have,” Mia said. “We’re short-staffed, so the options are very limited, Mr. Nash. We’d really appreciate it if you could work with us. With him. With, uh, Jake.”

  Kingston fidgeted and avoided her gaze. He looked around, perhaps hoping to find something else to throw. He screwed up his mouth, tucked his chin, and challenged them all from under his bushy gray eyebrows. “My hip hurts something fierce. I’m not wiggling or rotating anything.”

  “Are you in severe pain?” Mia asked him. As she moved into different light, Jake noticed that she had huge dark circles under her eyes.

  “Nah. I’m getting ready to run the Boston Marathon. Of course I’m in pain!” He banged a fist on his tray. “That’s why I’m extra specially delightful today.”

  Was he making a joke? Jake wasn’t sure.

  Mia put a hand on Kingston’s shoulder. “Do you need some Percocet?”

  “What I need is my youth back.”

  “It’s on back order,” Mia told him with a straigh
t face.

  “Ha! Good one.”

  “You won’t stay sharp, but a little Percocet would ease your hip some. How bad is it?” she asked him.

  Kingston glowered at Jake. “Well, that depends on what this fool’s gonna do to me, don’t it?”

  Well, well. What a surprise. The old man’s decided to cooperate. “Nice job, Mia,” Jake murmured. Kingston Nash’s reputation for being as sharp as a tack was a reputation he clearly didn’t want to jeopardize.

  Mia smiled back at Jake; next to her, Charlie bit her lip and looked away.

  Jake forced himself not to wonder too much if she was jealous. He focused on Kingston and gave the man a nod. “We’ll start with thirty minutes on a unicycle.”

  “Ha!” The noise of appreciation escaped Nash before he could strangle it. He looked annoyed. “So you’re not only a drain on the taxpayers; you’re a comedian.”

  “Yep, and since I lie around all day with my thumb up my bum, I have nothing better to do than torture old men.”

  Nash snorted.

  “So you might as well let me earn my keep.” Jake cast a professional eye at the withered muscles of Kingston’s thighs and calves. They’d start with some basic stretches and rotations, then move on once he proved his stamina.

  “Stop looking at my legs, you pervert,” Nash groused.

  “He can’t help himself, Mr. Nash,” Mia teased. “You’re quite a looker.”

  Old Kingston rolled his eyes, but his cheeks went pink. Unbelievable. Jake began taking him through some simple exercises, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping shamelessly as Charlie and Mia caught up.

  “So you’re still living in Dallas, your grandfather tells me,” Mia said.

  “Yes. I work with a real estate development company. I stage properties, try to make them as appealing as possible before they go up for sale.”

  “You like it?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Charlie shrug. “It’s okay,” she said. “I like the interior design aspect. But sometimes they have restrictions; I’m here to attest that there is such a thing as too much beige.”