by Amy Lamont
Tired of the game, Mandy took a deep breath. Subtlety was not working. She squared her shoulders, ready to demand some answers.
“Grandma,” she said, as soon as she rejoined them at the table, “please tell me how you met Mitch. Is he really a handyman?”
“Oh, no. He’s helped with some repair work around the house, but he’s not a handyman. I met him when I adopted him.”
Well, didn’t that just clear everything up? Not. “Adopted him?”
Grandma Abigail laughed and reached over to pat Mitch’s shoulder. “I met Mitch when he was in Afghanistan.”
“Afghanistan?” The word alone sent a chill through Mandy. But then the rest of what her grandmother said registered and Mandy decided she’d stepped into an alternate universe. She either missed something here or her grandmother was getting senile. “You met him while you were in Afghanistan?”
“Well, of course I wasn’t in Afghanistan,” Abigail said, her smile wide. “I was doing volunteer work with Hands from Home when I was given Mitch’s contact information. I wrote him a letter and sent him a little care package, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”
Mandy bit down on her lower lip. Why did Hands from Home sound so familiar? Then it hit her. Her grandmother had told her all about it in one of her letters. She’d written a cheerful note about the organization and what it did for deployed military men and women. Grandma Abigail knew how much her letters and care packages had meant to her husband when he’d been sent away from home and family. She’d said she couldn’t wait to start lending support to the troops who were now in similar circumstances.
“Mitch was in Afghanistan and you adopted him?” Mandy tried to get everything straight.
“Yes. The first time we got in touch was several years ago now, wasn’t it?” she asked, turning to Mitch.
“Yes, ma’am. I got your letter and the box with the cookies and the quilt you made.”
“Oh, I can’t believe you remember what was in that box!”
Mandy tried not to let her jaw hit the table as her grandmother all but simpered at the man sitting across from her.
“Of course I remember. I still have that quilt. It comes with me everywhere.”
Grandma Abigail reached across the table again and squeezed Mitch’s hand, her expression soft, before turning back to Mandy. “And that was the beginning of our friendship. Mitch and I exchanged letters for the better part of a year while he was overseas. And we ended up staying in touch ever since.”
“And you started visiting Grandma once you came home?” Mandy was trying to absorb the fact her grandmother considered the brawny man sitting at her table a friend. And judging by the conversation and affection, a good friend at that.
“No, Mitch was in North Carolina when he first came back and then he was deployed again. Just a few months ago he was reassigned here and we had the chance to meet in person for the very first time. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Wonderful? Mandy wouldn’t exactly phrase it that way. She could understand why Mitch would be nice to Grandma Abigail considering their history, but he’d obviously been here to visit on more than one occasion. Her grandmother treated him with the same loving affection she showed her grandchildren, and he seemed at ease in her home. It was clear her grandmother considered Mitch more like one of the family than just a friendly acquaintance.
As Mandy pondered the odd relationship between these two, her brain caught up with the rest of what her grandmother said. She finally put voice to the fact her mind and her heart were trying to ignore.
“So, you’re a soldier, Mitch?” Mandy asked with a little trepidation. She already knew the answer. Of course, every man in her life had to be involved in the military. Her breath struggled its way up her chest as she looked at the virile man across the table from her, imagining him in Afghanistan, far from home and his loved ones. She felt a small lump forming in her throat.
“No, ma’am.” He sat back in his chair, completely at ease. “I’m not a soldier.”
His answer startled her out of her thoughts. “You’re not?”
“No,” he said, a wide, cocky grin spreading across his face. “I’m a Marine.”
Mandy’s heart beat double time. He was so handsome and sure of himself. Spending most of her life as an army brat and growing up with military men, she’d always appreciated those qualities. There was something appealing about a man who was ready for any and all situations. Men you knew you could count on to take on whatever life threw at them.
A sharp pain shot through her chest. The problem with that is it’s an illusion. He was a Marine, a military man. She’d learned the hard way that when it came down to it, they couldn’t be counted on when you needed them. They made promises that were beyond their control to keep. In the end, all that self-assurance and dependability meant nothing.
She looked up at Mitch again. That brash smile remained on his face. He obviously expected his announcement to meet with some reaction, but Mandy couldn’t bring herself to mouth platitudes about his service or give words to her anger over the sacrifice he might one day be called on to make.
“It figures,” was all she managed to get out, and a small semblance of satisfaction surged through her when the cocky grin slid from his face.
* * *
After lunch, Grandma Abigail didn’t hesitate to put everyone to work. With the precision of a drill sergeant, she had them clearing the table and piling dirty dishes in a sink full of soapy water. As Mandy washed them, she spotted something she hadn’t noticed when she first reflected on the comforts of her grandmother’s kitchen—a cigar box sitting on the shelf by the back door. Her eyes filled up as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and stepped over and put a hand on the box.
“I can’t believe you still have this.” She cleared her throat and rubbed the worn wood grain of the box her grandmother had kept by the back door for as long as Mandy could remember. One of her grandmother’s rules was no smoking in the house, but one of her grandfather’s vices had been a cigar after dinner. The two settled on a compromise early in their marriage. Her grandmother kept a spot by the back door for her grandfather’s cigars, and her grandfather always took the cigar outside to smoke, no matter the weather. Mandy closed her eyes and her nose was teased by the remembered scent of her grandfather as he walked in the back door with hints of cold air and tobacco still clinging to him.
“Of course I still have it.” Abigail opened the box, revealing its contents—a cigar, a lighter, and a photo of Mandy’s grandfather sitting on the back steps in his winter coat, a fat cigar held between his fingers and a rakish smile on his face. “It helps me keep your grandfather with me always.”
“How can you bear it? Doesn’t it just seem like a constant reminder of losing him?” Mandy’s voice escaped in little more than a whisper, and she was only vaguely aware of Mitch excusing himself from the kitchen.
Abigail wrapped an arm around Mandy’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “It doesn’t remind me of losing him, sweetie. It reminds me of the good things we shared together.” She gave Mandy another hug and then chuckled. “Every time I look at that cigar box, I think of your grandfather sitting outside in the cold just so he could smoke one of those stinky cigars. I swear that man would’ve let icicles grow from his nose before admitting it was too cold to go out for a smoke.”
Mandy sniffled and smiled fondly, remembering her grandfather’s stubbornness, a trait a few family members insisted she’d inherited from him. But maybe things were different for her grandmother because she’d had the better part of a lifetime with her husband. Maybe if she’d lost him at an early age, she’d feel the same anger and resentment Mandy sometimes did.
Abigail went on almost as if she could read Mandy’s thoughts. “Oh, I’m not saying I don’t miss him more than I can stand at times. But when I think back on our life together, even the tough times and losing him before I was ready, I know it was all worth it. I wouldn’t take back even a second of it to skip
over the pain.”
Mandy nodded, but the painful squeeze of her heart told her she wasn’t ready to agree with her grandmother.
* * *
Mitch accepted the last plate from Mandy as soon as she finished rinsing it. He dried it with a blue-checked dishtowel while she let the water out of the kitchen sink.
She had surprised him. He’d seen pictures of her in Miss Abigail’s collection of family photos on the fireplace mantle, but in most of them she looked like jailbait. He hadn’t paid too much attention beyond the growing anger he’d felt at Abigail’s family for leaving the elderly woman to take care of her home all by herself.
But when he’d opened the door to find Mandy on the other side, it took him awhile to remember he was pissed. He’d been blown away by a pair of big brown eyes beneath a dark fringe of bangs. His gaze had wandered over the full curves shown off by her soft gray dress.
Even now, knowing Mandy was partly responsible for the situation Miss Abigail was in, Mitch had a tough time keeping his eyes off her. His gaze followed her trim form as she stretched to put the last dish in the cabinet. She may be tiny, but her bare, slender legs seemed to go on forever.
He shook his head at his wandering thoughts. Man up, Marine. A pretty face and hot body aren’t good excuses for leaving Miss Abigail on her own so long.
He squared his shoulders and pulled his thoughts from Mandy’s most obvious assets. He reminded himself why he was so angry with her and the rest of her family. The anger made it easy to push aside any attraction.
“Guess we’re done here,” Mandy said.
“Not quite.” Mitch stood straight and allowed his blank face to fall into place. Miss Abigail had gone to lie down for a nap after he and Mandy volunteered to finish up the dishes, so this seemed like the best time to get some things off his chest.
“What?” she asked. Her eyes surveyed the kitchen. She frowned, and a small V crinkled her forehead. “Looks like we got everything.”
He took a step closer and held his body rigid. He wasn’t a guy who used intimidation tactics on women, but he wanted to make it clear her family’s neglect of the elderly woman who had come to mean so much to him was unacceptable. In fact, in this case, he hoped she was a little intimidated. “I have a few questions and I’d like some answers.”
“Excuse me?” Mandy stood to her own full height—not more than a few inches over five feet. She plunked her hands on her hips and leaned slightly forward.
Mitch fought hard to keep his lips from twitching. He’d been known to reduce a few new recruits to tears, but here Mandy was, ready to go toe-to-toe with him. She tried to put on her own intimidating face, but her fighting stance combined with the tapping toe of her flat black shoe with its little bobbing bow, gave him the strangest urge to laugh out loud. And then maybe kiss her.
This is Miss Abigail’s granddaughter. There would be no kissing. But obviously a change in tactics was called for. And Mitch was nothing if not a good tactician. He relaxed his posture and offered her a boyish smile. “Sorry, force of habit. I’ve been dealing with Marines for too many years.”
Mandy relaxed a bit, but her frown remained. “And you feel you need to deal with me?”
“Look, I have some questions…concerns about Miss Abigail. I just want to help her.”
Mandy’s mouth and eyes softened. “Okay. If you think there’s something I need to know, I’d appreciate it. Why don’t we go sit down in the living room?”
Once they settled comfortably into overstuffed chairs, Mitch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he decided on the best way to proceed. He always thought carefully before taking action, but once a course had been set, he followed through. As soon as he heard Mandy was coming he’d decided to confront her. While she wasn’t entirely what he expected, he wasn’t going to let her appearance or her obvious affection for her grandmother steer him off course.
“I’m worried about Miss Abigail.”
2
“Is something wrong? Her health?” Mandy’s voice squeaked out, and she slid forward onto the edge of her seat.
“As far as I know, her health is as fine as any woman’s her age.”
“O-o-kay.” Mandy crinkled her forehead. “Then what’s wrong?”
“I want to know why a woman of Miss Abigail’s age has been left alone for so long by her loving family.”
Mandy involuntarily pushed back into her chair at his harsh tone. “What are you talking about? My family and I talk to Grandma all the time.”
“Talk, yes. A phone call is easy. But why hasn’t anyone been here to help her? She’s not a young woman, and for her family to leave her in a house that’s falling down around her ears is unforgivable.” Mitch’s fists clenched. “She’s been neglected, and in my book, this type of treatment is no better than abuse.”
Mandy sat motionless, repeating Mitch’s words over in her head. Was this man, this complete stranger, accusing her and her family of abusing her grandmother? She jumped to her feet. Heat surged through every pore of her body. She stood directly in front of Mitch. It didn’t matter how well the man filled out a T-shirt, he wasn’t going to get away with such outlandish accusations.
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded, and barely controlled the impulse to reach out and poke him in his shoulder. “My grandmother is fine. We check in on her almost every day. We haven’t had the luxury of being able to visit as often as we’d like, but we love her dearly. How dare you accuse us of being abusive!”
Mitch stood, his broad frame towering over her. He leaned in close as he spoke through clenched teeth. “How dare I? I dare because I’m the one who’s been here trying to help keep her from living in squalor. How do you and your family expect her to keep up with this house all by herself?”
Mandy’s heart raced. She could actually feel the blood rushing through her veins and the flush staining her cheeks. If he thought she could be intimidated with his drill sergeant ways, he was crazy. She grew up surrounded by military men and their autocratic attitudes. Watching her mother and grandmother, she’d learned exactly how to handle this kind of man, and the key was to give as good as you got. Instead of backing down, she took a step closer.
“We have not been neglecting her. She has never so much as hinted she needed help here. And I would hardly call this,” Mandy waved her arms around to encompass the comfortable and well-appointed living room, “squalor.”
She stood close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. As she held his gaze, his lips twitched. If she hadn’t been right under his nose, she might have missed it.
Being short and delicately built, people sometimes treated her as if she was also child-like and brainless, so his amusement in the face of her anger was nothing new. But coming from this man, it managed to stir her fury all the more. She fought the temptation to stomp on his foot. Despite the overwhelming anger, she knew that action wouldn’t go a long way in proving her maturity. Plus, he obviously thought there was some reason for concern over her grandmother.
Mandy took a step back to create a little space between them. Screaming at him wasn’t the way to deal with this situation. And she needed to know if he had reason for his concern.
“Look, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume you’re accusing us of neglecting Grandma out of your own concern for her well-being. Let’s agree to disagree on whose right or wrong for now. What exactly has you so worried?”
Mandy’s calm tone seemed to cool some of Mitch’s anger. His shoulders remained tense, but he backed off a few steps. She fell back into the soft cushions and he took his seat again, too. Okay, this seems a little more neutral.
“For starters, the house needs a lot of work. I know your grandmother isn’t poor, but I don’t know if she could afford to hire someone to fix everything that needs fixing around here.”
Mandy nodded. Her own observations about the outside of the house lent some credibility to what he was telling her. But a sagging
porch, some peeling paint, and neglected gardens didn’t exactly fit her definition of the word squalor. “I noticed her garden and a few things outside, but in here looks pretty good. I appreciate your concern, but it really doesn’t seem like anything my grandmother couldn’t take care of.”
“Her garden?” His clipped tone and the note of disbelief in his question warned Mandy his anger lingered below the surface. “The garden is the least of Miss Abigail’s worries. The first time I came here, I managed to catch her as she almost fell when she put her foot through the back steps. I came by once on my day off to see if she needed anything, and found her standing in an inch of water in the kitchen because one of the old pipes had burst. She had to change bedrooms because the roof started leaking directly over her bed one night during a storm, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, she tried to push the bed out of the way herself.”
Mandy shivered a little as his voice got progressively quiet as he went on. It reminded her of her father. Her dad wasn’t a man to lose his temper easily, and when he did, he wasn’t given to yelling and screaming. Instead when he got really mad, he tended to get very quiet and still. Mitch’s body and voice reminded her of those few times she or one of her brothers had pushed her father past his boiling point. But it was one thing for her to deal with her father when he was like that. He loved her, and no matter what, he would never hurt her. She was never in danger when her father got angry.
Mitch was a different story. He was a stranger. There was something almost predatory about his stillness. And he was a trained Marine. He could be a dangerous man to those he considered adversaries. Everything about him in this moment was putting her on edge, and she pressed on carefully.
“I…I had no idea things were so bad. And I know my parents would have been here if Grandma had told them about any of those things. She never so much as hinted to me….” Mandy trailed off, scenes from the last few years and months playing in her head. A few weeks ago, her grandmother said something in passing about some repair work her cottage needed. The comment was casual, but her grandmother was the type of person who referred to a blizzard as a few flurries. The offhand remark alarmed Mandy enough that she’d immediately made plans to come to Kismet Beach. But that was the first time her grandmother had mentioned needing help. Wasn’t it?
