by Peggy Jaeger
I had to admit, she made some kind of convoluted sense.
This was life with Nanny Fee, exhibit A.
“I’ve been asked to marry six times in me life, agreed to four of the proposals, and I couldn’t tell you the dates I was asked even if compelled to.”
I only remembered two of Nanny’s four husbands, numbers three and four. Number one died after a year of wedded bliss from the flu. Number two, my grandfather, died of a heart attack when my dad was ten. Three lasted the longest at twenty years, and number four a short six months.
Nanny had claimed to love each of them completely and was heartbroken with each death. I often wondered if people who knew of her much-wedded reputation thought she might be a black widow.
My mother had a different thought, claiming often and mostly under her breath, Nanny’s husbands had taken the easy way out when they couldn’t stand living with her anymore. I always thought this was mean and proved how much these two women disliked one another.
When we arrived at the orthopedic office, Nanny was brought right in and examined. I’d been worried she’d have an extensive list of questions to pepper the doctor with, the major one being if she could be discharged back to her home. My sisters and I had been grateful when she’d voluntarily signed herself into the Angelica Arms Nursing Home directly from the hospital. With two functioning arms, she’d been a handful. With one casted, we were concerned no one could be with her during the day to care for her since the three of us had to work. Nanny lived in the house we all grew up in along with Colleen. Recently, Colleen had become engaged, and her fiancé, Slade, was living with her now. While Slade adored Nanny, having her back home might not be the best situation for them.
It was the doctor who broached the subject of Nanny’s living arrangements.
“There now, I think I’d like to stay where I am.”
I don’t know who was more surprised, the doctor or me.
“Nanny? Are you sure?”
“Aye, lass. Being able to see me friends every day without havin’ to bother someone to drive me to the home has been wonderful. And Tilly’s come to depend on me more each day, ya know.”
Tilly Carlisle was a retired Broadway musical comedy headliner, Nanny’s best friend, and a fellow resident of Angelica Arms.
“She’s a mite more forgetful these days, and I’m afraid what would happen if I weren’t there to make sure she takes her meds and eats.”
The doctor agreed to her wishes and wrote a medical order for her to continue to stay in the facility.
On the drive back, Nanny was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Are you okay?” I asked when we stopped at a red light.
“Aye, lass. ’Twas the right decision.”
“You know you can change your mind anytime, don’t you? You don’t have to stay there if you don’t want to. You can live with any one of us, you know that, right?”
“I do.” She reached over and patted my hand. “It’s lucky I am to have the three of you in me life. Many at the home never see a family face but for Christmas or a birthday. Ach, it’s sad, ’tis, to get to an age where you’re forgotten. Where everything you’ve accomplished in your life is a memory only for you and no one else. Where the people you loved the most barely think about you anymore.”
I slid my hand from the wheel, pulled her mittened one into my own, and squeezed. “Well, we’ll never forget you or all you’ve accomplished in your life. Or all you’ve done for us. You’ve always been our cheerleader, Nanny, always been there for each of us. We were lucky to have you with us when we were growing up. You were the one who stayed with us after Eileen died, who got us through the terrible time when Mom and Dad…left.”
More than two years later and I was still angry about their move to South Carolina, asserting they couldn’t live in the house or the town where they’d lost one of their daughters. Apparently, it was easy for them to leave their remaining daughters, though. They hadn’t been back once to visit.
“Don’t be hard on them, lass. ’Tis a terrible thing to lose a child. A child is your child forever, no matter the age. Some never recover from the loss, the grief.”
“I get that, I do. But they forgot they had three other daughters who were grieving, too, and needed their parents to help them through it.” I shook my head, still unable to reconcile what they’d done by moving away. “They lost a child, yes, and we lost our sister. Maureen lost her twin, the person she shared exact DNA with, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain, Cathleen Anne.”
Heat washed up my neck from my chest to my cheeks. Thirty-nine years old, a successful lawyer, a grown-ass woman, and my grandmother was still able to make me feel like an errant, naughty toddler with a few words and a forceful tone.
When she called me by my rightful name, I knew she meant business, too. The hated monikers of our childhoods, Number One for me, Number Two for Colleen, then Three and Four for Eileen and Maureen was how Nanny addressed us on any given day. To have our proper names spew from her lips meant she was annoyed, pissed, angry, or disappointed—take your pick. The history behind the nicknames was a long one, involving two alpha females—my mother and grandmother—and their individual quests for dominance in the household.
At ninety-three, Nanny wasn’t about to change a decades-old practice, meaning we all sucked it up and accepted it.
Colleen, though, still blanches every time Nanny addresses her.
“Sorry.” I put the car into park in front of the nursing home.
I wasn’t at all surprised when she told me to include the grievance in my confessions before mass on Sunday morning.
After getting her settled back into her room, I bent and kissed her cheek telling her I’d call her later on.
With an impatient wave of her hand, she said, “Don’t be worrying about me, lass. It’s fine, I am. Get along to work now. I’m sure you’re as busy as your dear father always was.”
“More,” I said, leaning in for a hug. “But never too busy for you.”
A soft and bewitching grin bloomed on her face. It was easy to see the beauty she’d been in her youth when she smiled this way.
“There’s a darlin’ girl, you are.” She lifted up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Oh, now, before I forget. Olivia Joyner stopped by the other day.”
“Olivia? What was she doing here?”
“Her grandmother was admitted after breaking a hip in a fall last week. She’s down the hall, and Olivia spotted me name outside the door and came in for a chat. She’s always been such a delightful girl.”
Olivia was the same age as me, and we’d gone from kindergarten through Heaven High together. I wondered if my grandmother referred to me as a girl when she spoke to others.
“Is her grandmother okay?”
Nanny waved a hand and grinned. “Right as rain, she is, but the doctor wanted her looked after until he’s certain she can get up and about by herself again. Olivia wanted to care for her at home, but it was too much with her business and her daughter finishin’ graduate school and movin’ out, and all.”
“I didn’t realize Freya was old enough to have finished college, let alone grad school.” I should have, because Olivia gave birth to her when we were seniors in high school. Time, as I’ve often thought, goes by ridiculously fast.
“Aye. She’s leaving the nest, but Olivia says she’s ready.”
The corners of Nanny’s eyes slitted a bit as she regarded me. Uh-oh. Whenever Nanny tossed you a slanty-eyed glare, it meant you were gonna have a come-to-Jesus lecture. She opened her purse and pulled something out of it. “Before she left, she asked me to give ya this when I saw ya again.”
“What is it?”
“Her business card.” She handed it to me. “Said to give her a jingle when ya got the chance.”
Olivia’s name was written in beautiful calligraphy, her occupation listed below it, and her business phone number in the bottom corner of the card.
I hoped I was wrong, and she merely wanted a little legal advice.
“Well, lass, why do you think she wants to speak to ya? Wants to set you up, doesn’t she, being a matchmaker and all?”
Nope. It seems I wasn’t wrong at all.
Olivia Joyner was a fourth-generation matchmaker, and the fact she wanted me to call her about a possible set up was…uncomfortable to say the least. There were a few other words—like embarrassed and pitiful—I could add.
“It’s time, lass,” Nanny told me, her eyes softening as she stared up at me. “Time to move on. You’re still a young, beautiful, desirable woman. It’s time a man came into your life and brought some happiness along with him into it. Gave you babies to love. A fulfilling life. Olivia can help ya with that.”
I tucked the card into my coat pocket. “I have a full life, Nanny. Believe me.”
“Aye, lass, it’s busy you are with your career. But wouldn’t it be nice to come home to someone who loved ya? Who warmed your bed at night? You’re a healthy, vibrant woman. Ya’ve normal needs, you do, I’m sure.”
My earlobes burned with heat. There was no way I was having this conversation with my grandmother, a women old enough to have forgotten everything about needs, desires, and anything else sex related. Unfortunately, because this was Fiona, the four times married woman who’d been able to fit in love affairs with royalty between her marriages, there was no way she’d forgotten anything need or desire laden.
Looking for a diversion, I checked my watch and said, “Sorry, Nanny. Gotta run. I’ve got a full schedule this afternoon.” I bussed her cheek again and bolted from the room before she could say another word.
Back in my car, I took a deep breath and checked my phone to see if I had any messages, which I didn’t, not even from Heaven’s current writer in residence.
He was probably still rummaging through the public files. He’d want access to the subbasement at some point, and I hoped it wasn’t when I was neck deep in court cases. I could reschedule office hours, not my courtroom dates.
Since I’d finished earlier than I’d planned with Nanny’s doctor visit and my stomach was making itself known, I pointed my car in the direction of my sister’s inn. Maureen should be about ready to serve lunch to her guests, and if I played my cards right, I could finagle a little of whatever she’d made for myself.
All thoughts about matchmakers and needs were tucked into the back of my mind.
Chapter 4
“So she’s healing? No long-term bone worries or…anything?” Maureen flicked her hand in the air a few times.
“Fit as a fiddle, to quote her.”
Maureen nodded, her messy bun bouncing as she flitted around her kitchen. The youngest of my sisters was many things. Caring, smart, business savvy, an incredible baker and cook. One thing she wasn’t, though, was ever worried about her appearance. While Colleen wouldn’t leave the house unless she was camera ready with makeup, hair, and clothing choice perfect, and I dressed in feminine business attire, knowing clients expected their lawyer to appear professional and polished without being prissy, the baby sister in our family went for comfort over fashion every time.
Standing in her designer kitchen spooning her mouthwatering beef stew into bowls for her dining room filled with guests, Maureen resembled a sixties love child throwback, not the owner of an award-winning New England bed and breakfast.
Over the years, I’d been a witness to more debates than I could count between Colleen and Mo about their footwear choices. Colleen didn’t own a shoe without a three-inch heel or higher. Maureen would go perpetually barefoot if health-code violations weren’t a worry in a business possessing a commercial kitchen.
As usual, an apron covered her from chest to knees. Today’s was black with white lettering and Get your fat pants ready splayed across the bodice.
“And she wants to stay at Angelica Arms? Indefinitely?”
“She does.” I spooned in some of the delectable, steamy stew, my insides sighing with appreciation. “God, Mo, this is insane.”
“Word,” Colleen said. “I’m glad I happened to drop by. I didn’t even realize it was close to lunchtime.”
Maureen slanted our sister a glance, her lips pressed together in a smirk. “Yeah, it’s funny how often you lose track of time when it’s mealtime.”
Colleen stuck out her tongue.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Younger than you.” She slid the spoon into her mouth and shot me a grin.
Maureen shook her head, her lips clamping together, the hint of a dimple appearing on each cheek.
Of the three of us, Maureen was the one who kept her feelings closest to the vest. I knew the tiny smile she tossed me over her shoulder meant she was pleased to have family in her kitchen.
“Hey, who’s the new guest with the puppy-dog eyes?” Colleen asked, after finishing her stew. “I spotted him in the dining room when I got here. About six two, needs a haircut? Looks like a runner, and he’s got the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I knew exactly who she was referring to.
“Mac Frayne,” Maureen said. “He’s writing a book about Josiah.”
“Good Lord, who would want to read about him?”
“Apparently, Frayne’s publishers,” I told her. “He’s been given access to the personal archives by the historical society.”
“Sucks, for you,” she said, her lips dipping into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to babysit him when he’s doing his research since Leigh’s out on maternity leave? Isn’t that one of the dumb society rules you have to follow?”
I told her it was.
“What’s up with him?” Colleen asked. “He looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”
“He’s had a pretty rough couple of years,” Maureen, a faithful fan of internet research, said.
“He looks it,” Colleen said. Before she could add anything else, her cell phone chirped. “It’s tomorrow’s groom.” She rose from her chair and handed Maureen her bowl. As she left the kitchen for privacy, she connected the call and put on her best wedding-planner-in-crisis-control voice. “Caleb, what can I do for you on this lovely day?”
“It’s eerie how fast she can switch to professional mode, isn’t it?” Maureen said.
“Scary, too. What did you mean Frayne’s had a rough couple of years?”
Maureen was the one of us who resembled Nanny the most and in more than her physical appearance. When she shot me a familiar raised eyebrow and inquisitive glare, I could imagine what Nanny had looked like back in the day when she’d scolded our father for a boyhood malfeasance.
“Don’t you ever research anyone?”
“When it’s for a court-case background check, yeah, of course I do. Frayne’s not a case.”
“Still, I’d think since you’re gonna be working together you’d like to know a little about him.”
“First of all, I’m not working with him. I’m merely, as Colleen so aptly put it, babysitting him. Second, I prefer to find out about people the old-fashioned way, by engaging in conversation face to face, instead of stalking their profiles on social media.”
“I don’t stalk.” She stirred the stew. “I simply like knowing a little something about the people who stay here for more than a night.”
“Call it whatever you like. Now, what do you know?”
“I thought you wanted to get to know him yourself.”
“That snotty voice didn’t work when you were a kid, little sister, and it doesn’t now.”
She had the grace to pout.
“Frayne’s not exactly a talker,” I said. “So, spill.”
With a sigh deep with resignation, she began adding water to the sink to wash the dishes. “His wife and daughter were killed in a car accident.”
“Oh, how horribl
e. What happened?”
“Distracted driver rear-ended them, sending their car off an elevated road and into a stream.”
I shook my head, sickened at the thought.
She turned from the sink, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Apparently, the teenager who hit them got off. The road was icy and hadn’t been sanded. The defense lawyer argued about culpability. You can read about it online. You’ll understand it more. The end result was Frayne’s family was killed. There was another adult in the car with them, too. A man.” Her delicate eyebrows rose.
“Was he identified?”
“Just by name.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Three years. Frayne was interviewed after the trial by a local reporter. That’s online, too. There’s nothing about him anywhere after the interview, though. It’s like he disappeared off the planet.”
Until he showed up in, of all places, Heaven. We were both silent for a few moments.
“So sad,” I said.
“Yeah. It is.” She heaved a big sigh and then leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’m sure there’s a story there with the other man in the car, though.”
“Why?”
Her shrug spoke volumes. “Gut feeling.”
I let that thought settle for a moment. Maureen was very intuitive—our grandmother would say fey. And she was usually correct when she had a hunch about something.
“So, what’s up with you for the rest of the day?” she asked.
“I’ve got a couple client meets this afternoon.” I did a quick sweep of my cell phone, pleased to find no emergency texts or missed calls. “An evening full of prep for tomorrow’s wedding, a long hot bath, and then a hot date with George.”
“How’s he doing?”
“The same. He’s stiff when he moves, but once he gets going, he’s able to get around okay for a few minutes. I wish I could ease his pain a little.”
“Aren’t you allowed to give him over-the-counter stuff? When I was trolling around for therapeutic foods, I saw it mentioned once or twice. Some OTC pain relievers are okay in moderation.”
