Failsafe

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  Clearly torn, he waited a moment before agreeing. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you so much for taking me in like this,” Charlotte said to Jake, more at ease now that she had seen his interaction with his grandmother. Charlotte took advantage of her close proximity to the older woman and put her free hand on Abigail’s arm to keep her steady as they left the room. The hallway was at least eight feet wide and had two padded benches situated along the wall to her left. They passed by a cozy living room with a brick fireplace centered on the far wall, a gun cabinet discreetly tucked in one corner. When they reached the long, straight staircase, Charlotte was glad she still had hold of Abigail.

  Slowly, they made their way to the top, and Abigail steered her to the right. “This is your room here.”

  Charlotte glanced down the hall to either side of her, realizing the house must be larger than she had originally realized. She looked through the open door. A wooden sleigh bed was situated in front of the two windows facing her. A wide dresser, complete with a large mirror, dominated the wall to her right, and a brass floor lamp stood beside the plush chair in the corner. A cream afghan hung over the back of the chair, and the quilt on the bed had clearly been hand-stitched.

  “This is wonderful,” Charlotte said, delighted. “Is one of these rooms up here yours?”

  “Oh, no. I have the downstairs bedroom now. The stairs are harder on my knees than they used to be.”

  “What about Jake?”

  “He stays in the apartment out back.” Abigail lowered her voice and added, “Except lately he’s been sleeping on the couch. I think he’s afraid I’ll disappear during the night.”

  Charlotte found amusement in the older woman’s conspiratorial tone. “Are you a troublemaker, Miss Abigail?”

  “That depends on who you’re talking to.” Abigail chuckled softly. “Do you need some dry clothes to change into? I might be able to find something for you to borrow.”

  “I have a change of clothes in my bag.”

  “Well, I can at least find something warm for you to sleep in,” Abigail told her. “I’ll let you get settled in. The bathroom is just across the hall.”

  Seeing Abigail start back toward the stairs, Charlotte set her shoes and satchel on the floor and hastened back to the old woman’s side. “Let me help you back downstairs.”

  “I can make it okay,” Abigail said, although Charlotte sensed doubt in her voice.

  “Just the same, we don’t want to put too much pressure on those knees.” Charlotte helped her down the stairs and into the living room they had passed a moment before. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, after I dry off.”

  “Take your time, dear. I think I’ll just rest a spell until dinner is ready.”

  After Abigail was comfortably settled, Charlotte went back to the room upstairs. With another look around, she uttered a quiet prayer of thanks. Regardless of the circumstances that had brought her here, for the first time in days, she would be warm. And maybe, just maybe, she would also be safe.

  * * *

  Jake nearly reached for the phone to take care of dinner. Then he remembered he was in rural Virginia, not New York City. Even the closest pizza place didn’t deliver this far out of town.

  He’d been home for two weeks now and still hadn’t quite readjusted to farm living. Of course, up until the last day or two, they had been subsisting on the many meals friends and neighbors had brought over to the house. Apparently the time had finally come for him to start taking care of himself . . . and his grandmother.

  Still wet from his ride in the rain, he decided making dinner could wait until he’d changed his clothes. He headed for the door that led to the breezeway connecting the main house with the extension his parents had built for him. After changing into a dry pair of jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt, he headed back to the kitchen.

  His abilities in the kitchen were limited, and he debated briefly over the few things he knew how to make. A look in the nearly empty pantry narrowed his options further, but he grabbed a can of tomato soup from the shelf and rooted through a drawer for a can opener. After pouring the soup into a pot on the stove, he buttered several pieces of bread in preparation for making grilled cheese sandwiches.

  He started to go check on his grandmother, but when he heard her voice followed by Hannah’s, he decided he would leave the two women alone.

  He wasn’t quite sure what to think of his unexpected house guest. The idea that she was simply out riding in the country alone was beyond strange, not to mention her clothes. What was that about? It wasn’t like she could be in a local play. The closest theater was forty-five minutes away. Yet she looked like she had literally stepped out of another century.

  Had he been in New York, he wasn’t sure he would have been so quick to invite her into his home, but here in the country, he didn’t feel like he had much choice. Just the thought of his mother’s sense of hospitality was enough to push him to do what she would have considered to be the right thing.

  Within minutes, the smell of toasted bread and melted cheese competed with the lingering stench of whatever his grandmother had burned in her latest attempt to cook. He really was going to have to figure out some way to keep track of her. Part of him had to admit that his sister’s idea of an assisted living home would ensure their grandma was properly cared for. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about her trying to burn down the house every time he turned his back. If only she could be happy living in such a place, he would consider it. Deep down, though, he knew she would be miserable. And if she wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t be either.

  As soon as the simple dinner was ready, Jake set everything on the table and headed down the hall in search of his grandmother and Hannah. Not surprisingly, he found his grandmother sitting in her favorite chair, a photo album open on her lap.

  Hannah sat on a straight-backed chair beside her. She had changed into dry clothes, but her new outfit was just as dated as the last one. A plain blue skirt fell to her ankles, and Jake saw her feet were bare. The blouse was a simple button-up, but it had the look of being home sewn rather than store bought.

  Her voice was warm when she spoke to his grandmother. “Oh, Miss Abigail. You are absolutely stunning in that dress.”

  “Why, thank you, dear. I made it myself,” his grandmother responded with pride. “Of course, that was before my arthritis started acting up.”

  “I’ll bet you could still sew circles around most people.”

  Jake found himself touched as he watched the exchange, a little surprised at the easy way Hannah spoke with the older woman. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Abigail looked up at him, confusion flickering over her face. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I started cooking something earlier.”

  “You burned that, remember?” Jake said patiently. “I made us some soup and sandwiches.”

  “Oh, how kind of you, dear.”

  Jake fought back a sigh. If she was calling him dear, that likely meant she was slipping away from the present again. Doubts plagued him as he turned and headed back to the kitchen. How was he supposed to take care of his grandmother when more often than not she couldn’t even remember his name?

  Chapter 15

  Charlotte woke to the steady sound of the rain beating down. Her head cushioned by a soft pillow, a down comforter keeping her warm, she nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. Then her memories of the day before surfaced in her groggy brain, and she forced herself to sit up. She looked around the bedroom. It hadn’t been a dream. This was a real house, and she had slept in a real bed.

  Though she had only been camping for five days, those cold nights and the hard ground made her appreciate just how lucky she was at the moment to be in out of the weather. She had indulged in a hot shower the night before and cleaned the shallow cut on her leg. She had also taken the opportunity to wash the clothes she had been wearing when Jake found her. She’d only had the soap and water in the bathroom, but at the
moment, she was appreciative of simply having indoor plumbing.

  Abigail had been kind enough to lend Charlotte a nightgown to sleep in. The nearly floor-length gown was a couple sizes too big and most decidedly old-fashioned, but, she thought wryly, it fit right in with the rest of her wardrobe.

  Charlotte climbed out of bed and put on the clothes she had worn for dinner last night. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of Levis right now.

  The steady rain and thick cloud cover made it darker outside than it normally would be at this hour, but when she looked through the window, she could see several horses standing in a nearby pasture, their heads raised in anticipation. Regardless of what the clock said, she knew what time it was—feeding time.

  With that thought in mind, she fought against the awkwardness of spending the night in a stranger’s home and made her way down the stairs as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven o’clock. The main floor was dark except for a small lamp that had been left on in the main hallway. When she turned toward the kitchen, she saw the backwash of light spilling out of the room.

  Remembering the burnt dinner from the night before, she quickened her step to find Abigail standing by the stove, a package of bacon in her hand.

  “Good morning, Miss Abigail. How are you this morning?” Charlotte saw the confusion on Abigail’s face when she turned to face her. Hoping to put the woman at ease, she added, “Do you remember me? I’m Hannah. You let me sleep here last night because of the storm.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course, dear.” Abigail’s expression clouded, and she looked down at the package of bacon as though just remembering it was there. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “That would be wonderful, but why don’t you sit down and let me take care of that?” Charlotte suggested gently.

  “You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest,” Abigail said with a strong sense of decorum.

  “Can I at least help?”

  She seemed to consider for a moment. “I guess that would be okay.”

  Relieved, Charlotte stepped beside the older woman. “Wonderful. Where shall we start?”

  * * *

  Jake glanced over at his computer, itching to turn it on so he could dive back into his story, so he could bury himself in his fictional world and escape the real one. Before he had come home and before the accident, mornings had always been his best writing time. He could hover for hours in the dream state that occurred when he just woke up, avoiding any sense of responsibility until he was good and ready to face it.

  Unfortunately, responsibility weighed heavily on him now, so much so that he didn’t dare put it off until he was sure his grandmother was safely occupied. Not that he could ever be sure she would stay that way for long. She didn’t like to sit idle, and she constantly reminded him of this fact in her repeated attempts to make excursions around the farm and into town. He actually enjoyed their frequent walks together, and he far preferred the scenario of her enjoying the countryside to the one of her standing in his mother’s kitchen and setting off the fire alarm.

  Jake forced himself to leave his quaint writer’s lair and head for the main house. When he saw his grandmother’s bedroom door open, he quickened his step, rushing toward the kitchen in the hope he could head off the next cooking experiment. He came to a quick halt in the doorway, amazed at the scene before him. The last thing he had expected was to find Hannah standing beside his grandmother, listening patiently to her explain how to use the stove.

  Where Jake would have cut his grandmother off and reminded her that he already knew how to use the basic appliance, Hannah listened attentively, even asking questions when it seemed appropriate. As Jake silently watched, Hannah guided his grandmother through the task of making breakfast, offering “help” when Abigail would have otherwise set herself up to fail. Turning a burner down before the bacon burned, remembering to flip the pancakes his grandmother had forgotten about. Even insisting on grating the potatoes for homemade hash browns so his grandma wouldn’t cut herself.

  His mouth watered at the aromas now filling the kitchen, and his stomach grumbled in anticipation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a breakfast such as this that hadn’t been served in a restaurant . . . or delivered by one.

  His reservations about letting Hannah stay last night faded, and he finally stepped forward. He crossed to his grandma and kissed her on the cheek. “It smells good in here. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Hannah turned, her hair tied back with a strip of cloth. Her cheeks flushed slightly as though she was embarrassed to be standing here cooking. “Everything is almost ready. Maybe you and Miss Abigail could set the table?” she suggested, phrasing her words as a question.

  “Sure.” Suspecting Hannah knew she would be more efficient without his grandmother’s help, Jake crossed to a cabinet and pulled out three plates. “Grandma, could you get the silverware?”

  He was a little surprised at how eagerly his grandmother helped him with the simple task. Encouraged by her enthusiasm, he suggested she pour the juice for everyone while he helped Hannah carry the food to the table.

  After they all sat down and passed the platters around the table, Jake picked up his fork and scooped up a bite of hash browns. The taste immediately spurred images of his mother’s cooking, of the many mornings he had sat here with her, starting their day together. He took a second bite, savoring the flavor and the warm memories it invoked. “This is great. It tastes just like my mom’s.”

  The wariness he still sensed in Hannah diminished beneath the kind words. “The highest of compliments. Thank you.”

  They ate in companionable silence until Abigail announced, “I think I’d like to go to the library today.”

  Jake clamped down on his exasperation before speaking. “Grandma, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out in this weather. Why don’t we wait a day or two, then I’ll drive you to town to check out some books.”

  “I suppose I can wait,” she said, clearly not thrilled about her plans being thwarted.

  Jake noticed Hannah glance awkwardly at the window. Guessing at the reason for her discomfort, he found a possible solution to both of their problems taking shape in his mind. “I heard this rain is supposed to be pretty steady at least until tomorrow.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him. A little jolt shot through him when her dark eyes met his. This was what his heroine would look like, he realized suddenly. Some of the tension of the past week melted away, and again he found himself excited to get back to work. He could also hear his mother’s voice in his head as he considered Hannah’s options. Obviously, he couldn’t send her out in this kind of weather.

  As much for her benefit as for his, he said, “I don’t suppose you would be willing to stay another night? You could keep my grandmother company while I’m working.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” Her voice was casual, but Jake sensed the hope in her words. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You would be doing us a favor.” Jake heard the eagerness in his own voice, but he didn’t care. “Grandma would love the company, and I really need to catch up on things.”

  Hannah gestured to the window and the steady rain outside. “I wouldn’t think you could get much done in this weather.”

  “Actually, Max will take care of the farm. I have a project I’m working on in my studio.”

  “Your studio?”

  “My dad built an extension of sorts on the east side when I graduated from college,” he explained. “That’s where I’m living now. It’s a full-sized apartment, but I use the living room as a studio to work in.”

  “Oh.” Hannah seemed to ponder her options. When she spoke again, Jake thought he heard relief in her voice. “I guess I can stay if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  Jake took a bite of pancake and let out a breath of appreciation. “I definitely don’t mind.”

  Chapter 16

  Charlotte stood by the tall window in the living room and st
ared outside. Finally, after three solid days of rain, the sun was peeking through the remaining clouds, the blue sky now visible in patches.

  The grandfather clock behind her chimed. Abigail’s decision to take a nap twenty minutes earlier was yet another indicator of the time of day.

  Charlotte knew she should gather her things and put some miles between her and this place, but after growing accustomed to the simple niceties in life, she wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the wet ground or living off emergency rations again.

  The thought of what her future might hold after her meeting in Raleigh caused a heaviness to come over her. For most of her life, she had made goals and plans, always looking to the future. After graduating from college, she had learned to love living in the present and enjoyed working with her father even though she knew he could very well do his job alone. Now she was faced with a completely blank slate, and she had no clue how to build herself a future.

  She wondered briefly if Jake might have a couple of trash bags he would be willing to part with. The only times she had seen him over the past two days had been at mealtimes. Abigail had a strict schedule of when it was time to eat, and apparently Jake knew it well. Inevitably, right as she was putting the food on the table, he would walk through the kitchen door.

  Her one extra night at the house had already extended to two, and she didn’t know if she could press her luck by asking if she could stay yet one more night. She was debating going to talk to Jake about her plans when the doorbell rang. She tamped down the sudden paranoia that surfaced but couldn’t bring herself to open the door, even as she assured herself that the visitor was surely a friend of Jake’s.

  The doorbell rang again.

  A glance down at her dated clothes reaffirmed her decision to let the door go unanswered. Besides, it wasn’t her business to be answering this family’s door. She stayed in the living room, wishing the window beside her afforded a view of the front porch. A minute stretched out, and the doorbell rang a third time.