Finding Home

by Irene Hannon

  “Okay. Go ahead and finish.”

  “I got done with my homework early on Wednesday and tonight. I know you told me to stay inside, but I’m tired of being alone in the house every night. It’s boring. I didn’t think anyone would care if I went down to The Point to look at the trucks and stuff. Nobody’s there after four, except the guard, and I didn’t hurt anything. I don’t know why he got so mad.”

  The mere thought of her son wandering around among all that huge equipment sent a shiver through her. “He got mad because you were trespassing—and because a construction site can be dangerous.”

  Jarrod broke off a piece of the roll and crumbled it on his plate. “It’s not dangerous if you’re careful. And I didn’t touch anything.”

  “A place like that can be dangerous even if you’re careful. You’re lucky Mr. Walsh didn’t follow through on his threat and call the sheriff.”

  Her son bowed his head. “Yeah. I guess. I won’t go back anymore.”

  Cindy could tell he meant it. Now. But if he got bored again—or adventure beckoned—the temptation might be too strong to resist.

  “Maybe I need to think about aftercare again until school is out.”

  “Aw, Mom.” He shot her a stricken look. “I’m gonna be twelve in two months! I’m too old for a babysitter! I won’t go back. Honest. I don’t like that guy, anyway. He’s mean.”

  Yes, he was. But Cindy kept that opinion to herself as she pinned her son with her strictest, cut-no-slack look. “Is that a promise, Jarrod?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I trust you to keep it. But you did break our rules by going in the first place. You know there are consequences for that. What do you think would be a fair punishment?”

  “No TV for three days?” His expression was hopeful.

  “Nice try. Let’s make it a week because you broke the rules twice.”

  His face fell. “I guess that means no video or cookies tonight either.”

  “No video, but I think the cookies would be okay.”

  His demeanor brightened a few watts. “Awesome!”

  “Here you go.” Genevieve rejoined them and set two lidded disposable containers on the table. “That pot roast will heat up real fine in the microwave tomorrow for lunch.”

  “We’re gonna make cookies when we get home,” Jarrod offered.

  “Now that sounds like a fine activity for a Friday night. You two have fun.” With a lift of her hand, she hurried over to seat some latecomers.

  As Cindy transferred their food to the two boxes, Jarrod propped his elbow on the table and settled his chin in his palm, his face thoughtful. “I wonder if that guy has any kids.”

  “Why?”

  With one finger, Jarrod traced a ring of water left on the table by his glass. “I kind of feel sorry for them if he does. I bet he wouldn’t take them on hikes in the redwoods or help them bake cookies. He isn’t anything like Dad.”

  Cindy swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat as she scraped the last of the carrots into the second container and locked the lid in place. “No, honey, he isn’t. Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her son slid out of his seat, and as they wove through the tables toward the exit, she, too, felt sorry for the man’s children—if he had any.

  And for his wife.

  Because living with a stern, bad-tempered construction company owner who she suspected rarely laughed would be no picnic.

  * * *

  Scott stopped outside the assisted-living facility to take one last, deep breath of the crisp salt air. Over the past eleven months that exercise had become a ritual, an attempt to psyche himself up for the distinctive and unappealing aroma that clung to Seaside Gardens—and every facility like it. An unsettling combination of death, age, excrement, disinfectant, mass-produced food and air freshener.

  He’d checked out half a dozen of the finest such facilities in Eureka, and the obnoxious smell was omnipresent. It was even here, at the best of the best. It would be one thing if there was no choice; he could cope better with that. But Gram didn’t belong here.

  Trouble was, she thought she did—and she was as stubborn as he was. Once she’d decided this was where she was going to die, nothing he or the doctors or the counselor she’d sent packing had tried had convinced her otherwise. Including prayer.

  Nevertheless he persisted, closing his eyes to repeat the words he said before every visit.

  Lord, give me strength. Show me how to reach her. To lift her spirits. To give her hope.

  Straightening his shoulders, he stepped inside, nodded to the evening receptionist—and kept walking. Mandy would talk his arm off if he gave her half a chance. After almost a year of daily visits, he knew most of the employees—by design. As he’d discovered, even in an upscale facility like this, the staff was more attentive to the depressingly small number of residents who had regular visitors.

  He paused at his grandmother’s door, hoping he’d find her sitting in the easy chair in her private room, dressed in the capris and soft knit sweaters she used to favor, reading one of those romance novels he’d always teased her about. He’d supplied her with plenty of them over the past few months—yet all of them remained untouched in a sack in the corner of her room.

  Instead, the scene was the same as it had been last night. And the night before. And the night before that.

  Barbara Walsh was in bed, dressed in a cotton housecoat, the sheet pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were closed. Her hands were folded on top, at her waist.

  She was still as death.

  Shaking off that depressing thought, Scott scanned the room for clues about her day. Her half-eaten dinner tray rested on the beside table; she hadn’t bothered to go to the dining room for her evening meal. Her walker was out of reach; she hadn’t used it except to go to the bathroom—with assistance. Her Bible lay unopened on the nightstand beside her; she hadn’t turned to it for comfort, as had been her practice in the old days.

  Conclusion? No transformation had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Not that he’d expected one. But he hadn’t given up yet, even if she had.

  He moved beside the bed and touched her shoulder. “Hi, Gram.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked at him, as if orienting herself. “Don’t you have better things to do on a Friday night than visit an old lady in a nursing home?”

  At least her mind was still sharp.

  “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.”

  She snorted. “Then you’re the one who needs a doctor, not me. You’re a young, handsome man. You should be out on a date.” Her words were sassy, like in the old days, but her tone was listless.

  “Thirty-seven isn’t that young.”

  “It is when you’re seventy-seven, like me.” She peered at him. “Why don’t you patch things up with Angela? I bet she’d take you back.”

  Discussing his former girlfriend wasn’t on his agenda for the evening. “Did you walk today?”

  “You’re avoiding the subject.”

  “That’s right.” He retrieved the walker and set it beside the bed. “Let’s take a stroll.”

  “I’m too tired.”

  “You always say that.”

  “That’s because I’m always tired.”

  “You wouldn’t be if you moved around more. Exercise energizes.”

  “You’re going to badger me until I get up, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.” They had the same discussion every night.

  “Fine. Let’s not waste a lot of breath arguing. I’ll need it for this marathon walk you always insist on.”

  She threw back the covers and with his help swung her legs to the floor, stood and steadied herself on the walker.

  “I hate this thing.”

  “If you’d go to physical therapy, you wouldn’t need it. A broken hip doesn’t have to be disabling.”

  “I did go to physical therapy. It hurt. And I didn’t get any better.”

  “It�
�s supposed to hurt—and you quit too soon. Rehab takes time.”

  “I don’t have time.” Her tone was flat. Resigned.

  Scott blew out a breath and counted to five. “Gram, you’re only seventy-seven. The doctors all say you could recover and go home if you put some effort into it.”

  “Home to what?” She gripped the handle of the walker as a spasm of grief twisted her features and her shoulders slumped. “Without Stan, it’s just an empty house.”

  That was the crux of the problem, Scott knew, as he guided her toward the door and started down the hall beside her. Gram had never recovered from his grandfather’s death a year and a half ago. After fifty-five years of marriage to her best friend, the loss had been devastating. And after falling and breaking her hip, she’d given up.

  “The house isn’t empty at the moment.”

  She shot him a distressed look. “I feel terrible about that, too. Giving up your apartment to save money just to pay for this place...” She shook her head. “I don’t know why the good Lord doesn’t take me. Everyone would be happier.”

  “I wouldn’t be.”

  “You’d have your life back.”

  “Gram.” He stopped and faced her. “You’re a major part of my life.”

  “I shouldn’t be. And I wouldn’t be if you still had Angela. You’ve never told me what happened, but I bet she got tired of you always running over here to see me instead of taking her out. Not to mention spending a fortune on a lost cause when you could have used the money for a down payment on a nice house.”

  Shock rippled through him. “Is that what you think?”

  “What else could it be? You two went out for close to three years.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “You had nothing to do with our breakup. There was just something...missing. I should have ended things a lot sooner than I did.”

  Skepticism narrowed her eyes. “Is that the truth?”

  “I’ve never lied to you.”

  She conceded his point with a nod. “True enough. Since the day your parents died and you and Devon came to live with us, you’ve never given me a lick of trouble. That overdeveloped guilt complex of yours always kept you in line, prodded you to do the right thing. Like waste a lot of time with an old lady.”

  “Love is why I’m here, Gram. Not guilt.”

  “Sometimes those two can get tangled up.”

  “Not in this case.”

  A sheen appeared in her eyes, and she patted his hand. “Nice to know. But then again, you’ve always been a good boy. Always had your head on straight. Which is more than I can say for your sister. She called today, by the way.”

  “She must need money.”

  “She does—but she knows better than to ask me for it these days. If I were you, though, I’d be expecting a call.”

  “What’s her story this time?”

  “She had to cut back on her waitressing to go to a bunch of auditions, so she got behind in her rent. Something about a new off-Broadway play she’s being considered for that could be her big break.”

  “In other words, the usual.” Scott had always admired Devon for chasing her dream, but after ten years the emergency pleas for cash were getting old. “I hate to say it, but if she hasn’t gotten her break by now, I doubt she ever will.”

  “I told her the same thing this afternoon. She wasn’t happy.”

  He chuckled. “I can imagine.” His sister had the same red hair he did—and a temper to match. “What did she say?”

  “Among other things, she implied I was being rude.”

  Rude.

  The word echoed in his mind as his grandmother launched into a blow-by-blow account of her conversation with his sister. That boy’s mother had called him rude earlier, at the café, and he supposed he had been. But he’d always been a straightforward, call-’em-like-I-see-’em kind of guy. Especially when he was aggravated.

  “Are you listening to me, Scott?”

  His grandmother’s question pulled him back to the present. “Sorry. My mind wandered for a minute.”

  “I noticed. We’ve gone far enough anyway. I’m getting tired.”

  He didn’t protest as she turned back toward her room. They’d covered more ground than usual. “If you walked several times a day, you’d build up your stamina and endurance.”

  “So you keep telling me. However, I’m more interested in where your mind wandered. It’s not like you to get distracted.”

  “I know. It’s kind of weird.” He told her about finding the boy on the construction site and his encounter with mother and son in the restaurant earlier in the evening, glossing over the in-your-face tactics he’d used.

  “You’ve never belabored an incident like that before. Safety trumps everything—including good manners—according to you. I wonder why this little run-in bothered you.”

  She posed it as a rhetorical question, and he didn’t bother trying to answer.

  But as he got his grandmother settled for the night, kissed her forehead and walked outside, the question lingered.

  And suddenly, as the image of angry sky-blue eyes flashed across his mind, he had his answer.

  It wasn’t the anger that had bothered him, however. It was the deep-seated hurt lurking just below the surface. The boy’s mother had looked like a woman who’d endured her share of challenges and heartaches. A woman who didn’t need any more stress piled on her slender shoulders.

  Yet he’d dumped another load of it on her.

  The overdeveloped guilt complex Gram had mentioned earlier reared its head as he walked toward his car. Yes, the kid had been out of line. Yes, his parents had been negligent. He’d had every right to confront the mother. His zero tolerance for danger on the job site was completely justified.

  However...he could have been more diplomatic. Used a bit more finesse.

  He opened the door, slid behind the wheel and inserted the key in the ignition. He needed food, not regrets. Why lament a situation he couldn’t change? All he could do was try to be nicer and make amends should their paths cross again.

  And for some reason he found himself hoping they did.

  Even if it required eating a little crow.

  Chapter Two

  “Do you have a minute?”

  At the query from her boss, Cindy took a surreptitious peek at her watch before she looked up from her piled-high desk. 4:58 p.m. So much for the resolution she’d made over the weekend to leave on time. It had lasted all of one work day.

  “Sure. Have a seat. Let me move that stuff out of your way.”

  She started to rise to clear the chair on the other side of her desk, but Elaine waved her aside. “This baby may be slowing me down—” she patted her six-months-pregnant bump “—but my arms work fine.” After depositing a box of old photos on the floor, she lowered herself into the seat. “I have good news and bad news. I’ll lead off with the bad news. Sarah handed in her resignation this morning.”

  Cindy blinked. “Wow. Two resignations in one month?”

  “It’s a first—and not a happy one for us. Sarah’s husband got a job offer back East. He’s already gone, and she wants to follow ASAP. We’ve got her for two more weeks. I’m glad he finally connected somewhere after being unemployed for eighteen months, but it’s a bummer for us. The hours are long enough here as it is.”

  “Tell me about it.” Cindy surveyed the boxes and files that covered her desk and lined the walls in her small office.

  “That brings me to the good news. I have candidates lined up for both empty positions. The woman I interviewed this morning will be an excellent fit for Brett’s job. We’re going to make an offer this week.”

  “What about Sarah’s job?”

  Elaine folded her hands over her rounded stomach and grinned. “How would you like a promotion?”

  A few beats of silence passed as Cindy digested the unexpected offer. “I’ve only been here a year.”

  “But you came to us with excellent credentials from
your museum work in Dallas.”

  “That was twelve years ago.”

  “You haven’t lost any of your skills. I was sorry I couldn’t offer you a higher-level job to start with. Now I can.”

  When she named the new salary, Cindy caught her breath. She and Jarrod were doing okay, but the extra money would help. A lot.

  “That sounds great, Elaine. Thank you.”

  “Exemplary work deserves to be rewarded. However...there is a downside. I know you’ve been trying to keep regular hours, and I understand that. You’ve had some rough months, and Jarrod needs you. But as the collections and displays manager, you’ll be responsible for the Summer Sizzler exhibit. Because you’re new in the job, the project will probably require extra hours. Is that a problem?”

  Was it? Cindy had helped Sarah last year with the display for the annual fundraising drive. It had been complicated and time-consuming, but six years of doing it had allowed Sarah to pull it off with ease—and do a stellar job. “Barnstorming, Balloons and Blimps” had chronicled area history from a bird’s-eye perspective, garnering widespread media attention and encouraging generous—and much-needed—contributions from residents.

  Topping that would be tough.

  But with the fundraising kickoff only five months away, a pro like Sarah would surely have things well under way. She could make this work without too many extra late hours if she skipped her lunch breaks and came in earlier.

  “It’s not a problem.” She gave Elaine a confident smile. “And thank you for the opportunity.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad I had someone well-qualified close at hand. Because I’ll be out playing new mommy—” she tapped her tummy “—I won’t be much help. But I know you’ll do a great job.”

  “I’ll meet with Sarah tomorrow to go over the project.”

  “Perfect.” Elaine hoisted herself to her feet. “Now go home. While you can.”

  As Elaine disappeared through the door, Cindy shut down her computer and stuffed some documents in her briefcase to review after Jarrod went to bed, still marveling over the unexpected promotion. Not a bad way to end a Monday.

  Yet as she grabbed her purse, doubt began to erode her euphoria.