Lean on Me (ARC)

by Pat Simmons

  With mixed emotions about what he did, Marcus didn’t answer right away but feigned distraction as he stared at the wall calendar.

  “Marcus,” Demetrius said in a stern voice, reminding him too much of their father.

  “Nah, I was in a good mood this morning and felt generous. I invited them over this evening, so I’m cutting out early,” he said nonchalantly, as if short workdays were his norm when he usually he was the last to leave work, unless he had to meet a client. After a long pause, he couldn’t hold it in any longer and released a bark of laughter at his brother’s dumbfounded expression.

  “You had me going there, Bro.” Demetrius chuckled with him.

  “I’m serious.”

  His brother’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? There’s definitely more to this story than what you’ve been telling me.” He squinted. “Maybe I’ll invite myself to dinner.”

  “You can’t,” he said smugly and rocked back in his chair. “You’re entertaining Clark Baker for happy hour.”

  The potential client owned an office building downtown. His business would be a major win for the brothers.

  Pounding his fist on the desk, Demetrius appeared truly disappointed. “I want to meet these neighborhood menaces. Take pictures.”

  “Did I say they were menaces?” Marcus had a feeling that, after this evening, things would change. He didn’t know if it would be between him and Aunt Tweet or him and Tabitha. Would it matter?

  Chapter 9

  Tabitha was distracted as she sat in class, reliving what had happened hours earlier. Her aunt was making Tabitha look irresponsible. Maybe I am. She considered the possibility. Clearly, Marcus was taking advantage of her weakness to insinuate himself into her life to prove she couldn’t live up to her caregivers’ pact. The truce had been rescinded.

  She racked her brain in self-examination instead of listening to her instructor. Ava Elise had been more than kind, not pointing out her tardiness. What was she doing wrong with Aunt Tweet that Kym had done right?

  Tabitha had studied all the symptoms of dementia and what to expect—the cognitive functions, like memory loss; the behavioral, like restlessness and mood swings; the psychological manifestations, like depression; the physical signs, like unsteady walking; and a long list of others to watch out for. Tabitha knew them, could recite them in her sleep.

  She had anticipated all this, but the reality was her aunt wasn’t a textbook, but a real person who exhibited symptoms out of nowhere, not giving Tabitha time to process how to respond. Tabitha was starting to lose weight because of her loss of appetite, a trickle-down effect of being tired as a result of less sleep. The stress of her job wasn’t helping her to retain information she should have already known.

  When she had finally coaxed Aunt Tweet back in the house after Marcus drove off, her aunt had fussed while Tabitha freshened her up with a bath and dressed her. Resentment was building within Tabitha—not against her aunt, but the condition that plagued Aunt Tweet. Tabitha had to keep reminding herself that her aunt’s neurological abilities weren’t functioning properly.

  A fellow rep asked a question, jolting Tabitha back to the present to listen to Ava Elise’s response, then Tabitha drifted back to her musings. Now waking thirty-five minutes earlier every morning, Tabitha’s routine began with checking on Aunt Tweet, who seemed to be sleeping soundly.

  At least, she thought so before jumping into the shower for seven minutes. Seven minutes! To stay on a schedule, she had everything timed down to the minute, so how had her aunt wakened, walked out the door, and paraded down the street so fast?

  If Aunt Tweet was testing her as a caregiver, Tabitha was flunking. Exhausted, she yawned, feeling the effects of getting up a couple times during the night to do a head count in her house. As a result, she had become a light sleeper. One eye popped open at the slightest stir.

  She sighed and shifted in her seat. Concentrate, she chided herself, refusing to allow her home life to interfere with her livelihood.

  “Clinical trials show Porital is a proven winner to reduce spine, wrist, and hip fractures for postmenopausal women. Studies show the active ingredient is absorbed faster to help strengthen…” Ava Elise told the class, referring to a drug Ceyle-Norman manufactured for osteoporosis.

  Tabitha snapped out of her reverie.

  “The best benefit of Porital is it’s an injection that works with calcium and vitamin D therapy,” Ava Elise added. “Well.” She smiled. “I think I’ve overloaded your brain cells enough this morning. Take an extra thirty-minute extended lunch.”

  Tabitha could use some fresh air. She gathered her things as her trainer made a beeline to where she was sitting. “How about Chipotle? My treat and I’ll drive.”

  It wasn’t an invitation but a summons. Tabitha had no choice but to comply. She feared a reprimand or termination was coming. On the short car ride to the restaurant, she could feel a spike in her blood pressure while Ava Elise hummed and focused on her driving.

  In the ordering line, her trainer gave no hint that anything was amiss. As promised, she paid the tab and advised Tabitha to find a table. She spied a nook that was as private as it could be for a public place where she was going to be humiliated.

  After Ava Elise gave thanks in a normal tone, she sampled her burrito, then wiped her mouth.

  Tabitha’s appetite was on hold as she waited for Judgment Day with her job.

  “So, how’s your aunt?”

  The gentleness in the woman’s eyes caused Tabitha to relax. This time, instead of bawling, she took a deep cleansing breath and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? Doesn’t she still live with you?” Ava Elise frowned.

  “Yes, she stays at my house, but she seems to always want to escape.” She paused. “I know Alzheimer’s is taking away the aunt I know and love, but I feel it’s taking a part of me too. Once I adjust to one dementia symptom, another one pops up. This morning, my aunt balled her fist at me. I thought she was going to hit me. This disease is scary,” she rambled on, then stabbed at her salad and forced herself to eat.

  Ava Elise reached over and patted her hand. “Hey, I know it’s hard to care for a loved one. My brother and I tag-teamed our mother’s care. Her mind was sharp, but her body was weak from COPD, diabetes, and a mild stroke. We shared everything—doctor’s visits, dialysis, bathing, cooking. It’s a physical and emotional strain on a caregiver.”

  Her trainer understood her. At Tabitha’s former company, she had represented a steroid drug to treat chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, COPD. She couldn’t imagine struggling for every breath.

  So you should have no complaints, she scolded herself. “The doctor said Aunt Tweet is in relatively good physical health,” Tabitha said, relieved. “She doesn’t look eighty-four, and she moves as if she’s in her seventies. No thanks to Alzheimer’s for her brain cells dying and memory fading.” She shivered at the thought of her aunt having more complications.

  Ava Elise took another bite of her burrito, then washed it down with a sip from her soda. “For three years, my brother and I watched our mother fall into depression because she felt she had become a burden on us.” She blinked and turned away. Quickly regrouping, she faced Tabitha again. “In truth, she was, but no more than the burdens we had put on her when we were children. The bottom line was she was our momma, so it was our pleasure. It wasn’t easy. Robert Jeffrey and I had to keep reminding ourselves that she was still alive and with us.” She paused. “Hold onto the good memories. That will keep you going. When we buried her, my brother and I had no regrets.”

  “No regrets,” Tabitha whispered. She wanted a life without apologies. Accepting the advice, Tabitha relaxed enough to enjoy her salad, realizing she was famished. “Thank you so much for sharing this. I’ve been a little distracted,” she admitted sheepishly.

  “Maybe more than a little.” Ava Elise
gave her a warm smile, expanding the space between her thumb and finger to demonstrate how much. “You’re a seasoned sales rep. I know you’ll be at the top of your game after training. Expect the unexpected with your aunt and plan accordingly, but you might consider getting help. If you get sick, who’s going to take care of you?”

  Tabitha had no answer. For the most part, she was healthy and seldom came down with a cold. In regard to getting help, she and her sisters had agreed to discuss other options if Aunt Tweet’s condition worsened. They hoped any talk about a nursing home as an option was a long way off.

  With a clear head, Tabitha returned to the classroom and didn’t miss a step in the lesson. Even the thought of accepting Marcus’s invitation didn’t annoy her as much as it had earlier in the day.

  That evening when they arrived home, her aunt hadn’t forgotten about going to Marcus’s house. “Hurry. You never keep a young man waiting.” She sounded like a drill sergeant while sitting on Tabitha’s bed.

  Peeping out of the walk-in closet, Tabitha said, “I thought it was the man who isn’t supposed to keep a woman waiting.”

  “When you’re my age, that doesn’t apply.” She gave a dainty chuckle.

  Hmph. Tabitha was thirty-two, not eighty-four. The man, especially Marcus, could wait. The longer, the better. She didn’t ask or want his intervention. Only to appease Aunt Tweet was she making the effort.

  Chapter 10

  Questioning his judgment to get involved, Marcus arrived home early enough to shower and change. Since he had committed himself, he better put to good use his home training.

  His mother had drilled into him and Demetrius’s heads never to entertain a guest without offering a snack or drink—even if it was water. Although he could cook well enough to keep from starving, he stopped by Dierbergs, a local family-owned chain of grocery stores, for chicken salad, crackers, a Tippin’s apple pie, and bottled water. He thought that was plenty on short notice.

  It had been a while since he’d entertained a woman who wasn’t his mother in his house. With his brother and other guys, it was pizza and hot wings delivery. Years ago, there had been someone special in his life. Chelsie Dennis’s charm, knock-out looks, and grace had stolen Marcus’s heart, and he had reached out to his mother to guide him step by step for the meal via phone, versus her flying in town to cook it herself like she had wanted to do.

  Marcus reflected on the evening that had been perfect. Not long after their romantic dinner, it became apparent to him that Chelsie was more interested in what she could get out of the relationship without depositing anything into it. After he moved on, Marcus met Reba Green. She looked good on his arm, but they struck out on developing a deep connection. When that ended, he took a hiatus. Now, Marcus was determined to hold off by any means necessary for as long as he could to find a lifelong love like his parents’.

  Why was he even thinking about past regrets? His guests today were no big deal. He was simply doing what he did best, helping those in need and his two neighbors needed help—big time. It was almost five thirty when he discreetly peeped out his window. Tabitha had already parked in front of his home and was assisting Aunt Tweet. Her aunt wasn’t in her nightclothes this time, and Tabitha wasn’t in one of her stylish business suits or high heels. In her flats, he guessed she stood about five six or seven. He smiled at her faded jeans and dark sweater. She looked youthful and carefree, which was something he only saw once when she and her aunt was gardening. Other times, the woman had stress tattooed on her beautiful face.

  He opened the door and stepped out to escort them on the winding path to his porch. “Good evening, ladies. So glad you could make it.”

  “I want to see what you’ve done to my house, young man,” Aunt Tweet said as she latched onto his elbow for support. He reached back and offered Tabitha his hand. She declined, so he assisted her aunt solo up the porch stairs.

  Once they crossed his threshold, he pulled his phone off the clip. “Ladies, before I give a quick tour, do you mind if we take a selfie?”

  Aunt Tweet’s face glowed, and she smiled warmly at the suggestion. He imagined she was a looker when she was younger, because she was still polished and beautiful, as she’d aged gracefully.

  Tabitha gave him a suspicious expression. “Why? What are you planning to do with it?”

  “Fair question.” It wasn’t as if they trusted each other. Marcus grinned sheepishly. “Well, I kinda told my brother about this scenario. He’s intrigued. He wanted to meet both of you, but a business engagement got in the way. I won’t posted it on social media. It’s only to show my brother my neighbors.”

  “Trust me, I’m not only embarrassed that we put you in this situation, but leery of you luring an unsuspecting elderly woman into your house. Just so we’re clear, I pack Mace and will use it,” Tabitha warned him, then added, “My aunt knows self-defense, and something tells me her memory will kick in and she’ll give you a beat down you won’t soon forget.” Although she gave him an engaging smile, her stance was defiant.

  Not only had she questioned his honor, but she had an attitude on top of that. It was his turn to bite back. “This seems to me like a situation you can’t control. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be running away from you to my house.” His bark must have been too much because she flinched. The selfie would have to wait. “I’m sorry—”

  “Young man,” Aunt Tweet interrupted, pointing to the living room. “Kym, I’m ready for a tour of my house.”

  He nodded at the elderly woman. “Of course.” Then he frowned and faced the woman he knew as Tabitha. “Your name isn’t Tabitha?”

  “It is. Kym’s my older sister. Aunt Tweet stayed with her before me.” She whispered, “I accept your apology. I shouldn’t have said anything about my Mace. You would have found out eventually if you tried anything. I’ll act civil.”

  Shaking his head, Marcus found himself enjoying their sparring, so he grinned. “Me too. Truce number two?”

  She giggled. “I’m losing count.”

  “Come this way.” He held out his arm, and Aunt Tweet rested her hand gently on it. He waited for Tabitha to do the same. She scrunched her nose and placed her fingers on his arm. He flexed his biceps, and she pinched him.

  Marcus laughed at their antics. Even though he didn’t know much about Tabitha, he admitted she was more than a beautiful woman. She was strong, independent, and, despite his initial impression of her, she did care about her aunt.

  He couldn’t explain his slowly growing attraction toward her; at the same time, he was concerned about Tabitha’s inability to seize the upper hand as her aunt’s guardian. He didn’t know if his invitation would hinder or help her, but he hoped it would curtail Aunt Tweet’s clandestine visits to his porch. He focused on his tour guide abilities. “As you ladies can see, the marble tile accents the bleached wood on the bannister. The railing still has some of the original pieces. Although the builders designed this house to have a majestic appearance from the outside, it’s only three bedrooms and three baths, and I’m updating the kitchen.”

  For the first time, Tabitha seemed to drop her guard and took note of her surroundings. What had drawn Marcus’s attention when he had shopped for a house was the L-shaped staircase that blended well with the beige, peach, and tan of the only ceramic-tiled floor in the house. Every other room had oak hardwood floors that gleamed. His mother thought the foyer screamed elegance when she first saw it; he thought the floor would be an easy mop job.

  A large glass sconce on each side of the arched opening to his living room was his mother’s doing. She also took delight in strategically placing every wall hanging and piece of furniture to create what she described as the “ooh and ahh effect,” as two matching bold-red, cushioned benches held court under the stairs.

  There was an elaborate wood carving on the King Frederic console table under a ridiculous huge painting to the even heavier round table
in the middle of the foyer. Its sole purpose, according to his mother, was to display an oversize vase with silk flowers. What a waste of space, he thought.

  Tabitha spun around slowly. “This is nice! Are those closets?” She pointed to the twin narrow doors on each side of the massive, carved-wood front door.

  He nodded, amused that his house wowed her.

  “Clever and a nice touch. How long have you lived here?” she asked as they both kept their eyes on Aunt Tweet, who was slowly wandering into the next room as if she were a home inspector.

  “Four years,” he said, stepping into his living room. A wood-carved fireplace with a mirror above the mantelpiece commanded the room, and a pair of arched french doors opened to mock porches. The sole piece of furniture was a large blue sofa with an attached chaise between the two walls. This was purely a for-show room. He essentially lived in three rooms: bedroom, kitchen, and, when he entertained, family room, also known as his “man cave.”

  Aunt Tweet made herself comfortable on the sofa and seemed content to stare out the window. Tabitha peeped into the adjacent kitchen but didn’t step farther until he invited her.

  “This is a slow work in process,” he explained about some missing overhead cabinets, “but I can’t update it like I want.”

  “That’s because you purchased it after the houses in Pasadena Hills joined the ranks of National Historic neighborhoods on the U.S. Department of Interior National Park Service National Registry of Historic Places,” Tabitha informed as if she was reading from Wikipedia and without running out of breath.

  “Yeah. I know. I researched the neighborhood before buying here and was impressed by the meticulous details of each home. This house…” He paused and glanced back. Her aunt hadn’t moved. “I never learned so much about architecture until I became a homeowner. Pasadena Hills has Tudor, colonial, and Georgian revival designs, as well as Cape Cod, minimal traditional, and Creole French homes,” he said, not to be bested by her knowledge. “I’m the proud owner of Georgian revival architecture.” He grinned.