by Irene Hannon
“Does he have any grandchildren?”
“No. Patricia is all the family he’s got left.”
“I overheard her mention a hotel. I take it she doesn’t stay at the cottage when she visits?”
“No. It’s not up to her standards.” He straightened and gestured toward the room. “Let’s say goodbye.”
When they reentered, Henry peeked at them with one eye. “Is she gone?”
Christopher smiled. “For now.”
He opened both eyes. There was less life in them now than there had been earlier, Christopher noted.
“She’s gonna keep pushing for that old-folks home, you know.” Henry sighed. “Too bad you never got that elder-assistance program off the ground, Christopher.”
“What elder-assistance program?” Marci asked.
“Tell her about it,” Henry urged.
Christopher shoved his hands into his pockets. “The concept is to set up an on-island agency that would coordinate assistance from a network of government, private and charitable groups to allow older folks who need a little help to stay in their homes. There are a lot of resources already out there, and a lot more that could be developed. I envisioned it as a largely volunteer organization supported by area churches, businesses and civic groups.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“I told him the same thing,” Henry chimed in.
His neck warmed at the praise. “Unfortunately, working out the details of the plan and then implementing it will require a lot of legwork. And I haven’t had the time. It’s still on the drawing board.”
“Maybe someday.” Henry’s eyelids drifted closed.
Inclining his head toward the door, Christopher followed Marci out.
“Are you heading to the cottage now?” He paused in the hall.
“Yes.”
“I left your gloves under the cushion of the rocking chair on the back porch. They should have stayed dry, despite the rain.”
As they’d talked about Henry and the elder-assistance plan, the tension between them had evaporated. Now it returned full-force.
“Thanks.” She edged away. “I’ll see you around.”
Without waiting for a reply, she headed toward the exit.
As she disappeared around a corner, Christopher followed more slowly. He needed to get to the office. His practice was growing faster than he’d expected, and he had another full patient load today. But as he walked down the hall, his mind wasn’t on the colds and tick bites and sore throats and allergies he’d be treating for the rest of the day.
Instead, his thoughts were on an elderly man he’d come to love and a blonde-haired woman who was beginning to make her own inroads on his heart.
“What are you doing here?”
Startled by the sudden question after three peaceful hours in Henry’s garden, with only the sound of the gulls and the surf for company, Marci spun around, scattering an armful of weeds. Patricia stood on the other side of the rose arbor. And she didn’t look happy.
Planting her hands on her hips, Marci regarded the other woman. “Working in the garden.”
“I can see that. My question is why?”
Snippy attitudes had never set well with Marci. Her chin lifted a notch. “Actually, your question was what. I answered that one. As for why, the garden needed tending. I offered to help Henry with it.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “How much is he paying you?”
Marci did her best to hold on to her temper. “I’m not doing it for money.”
“Then what are you doing it for?” The woman’s gaze raked over her. “And just who are you, anyway?”
Shoving her hands into her pockets, Marci balled them into fists and stared Patricia down. She ignored the first part of the question. “I’m a friend of Henry’s.”
Patricia’s face hardened. “Do you have a key to the house?”
Given the woman’s suspicious—and insulting—tone, Marci decided the question didn’t merit a response. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She turned her back, retrieved the rake and began to gather the scattered weeds into a pile.
Three minutes later, she heard a car engine start, followed by the sound of tires crunching on oyster shells.
The woman was gone.
Leaning on the rake, Marci took a deep breath. It was hard to believe that obnoxious woman had the same DNA as Henry. Why had she come to the cottage? To look it over with an eye to selling? According to Christopher, she’d like nothing better than to oust Henry, put the house on the market and perhaps claim an early share of her inheritance.
It might come to that someday, Marci supposed as she set the rake aside and began shoving weeds into a yard-waste bag. But it didn’t have to happen now. Not if Henry had some help until he recovered.
She had three weeks left on the island, Marci mused. And lots of free time.
Much of which she intended to use to thwart Patricia’s plans.
Henry was asleep when Marci stopped in at the hospital on her way home later that day, but when she approached his room the next morning, she was prepared to lay out a plan for his return to his cottage.
As she drew close, however, she heard Patricia’s insistent voice echoing down the hallway.
“Dad, be reasonable. Your pension from the high school and the money you make tutoring aren’t enough to get you the kind of in-home help you’ll need. Face reality. You’re old. You’re hurt. You need to go into an assisted-living facility. It’s time to sell the houses.”
“I’m not leaving the cottage, Patricia.”
Squaring her shoulders, Marci stepped into the room. Henry’s face lit up when he saw her, and Patricia swiveled around.
Her expression was far less welcoming.
“Excuse me, Dad. I think I’ll visit the ladies’ room. It’s getting crowded in here.”
She swept toward the door, and Marci stepped aside to let her pass.
“Come on in, Marci.” Henry summoned her with a weary gesture. “I’m sorry about Patricia. Her mother and I raised her better than that. But my refusal to sell the cottages has her in a snit. I never could figure out why she put such stock in the almighty dollar.”
Marci pulled a chair beside the bed and sat. “I’ve been thinking, Henry. We’ll need to see what Christopher says, but I’ll be here for three more weeks. If that’s long enough to get you over the hump, I’d be happy to help you out at the cottage. That way you wouldn’t have to go to the assisted-living place.”
Moisture glinting at the corners of his eyes, he reached out to take her hand. “That’s a very generous offer, Marci.”
She shrugged. “I’m at the cottage a lot anyway, working on the garden. And I’m tired of lying on the beach. We might be able to put together a plan.”
His eyes brightened. “I like the idea. Let’s see what Christopher says about it. I’ll talk to him when he comes by later.”
Patting his hand, Marci rose. “And now I’m off. That patch of weeds in the right corner is on my hit list today. You won’t believe all the beautiful flowers that are emerging.”
“I can’t wait to see them.”
“Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No. You gave me what I needed most. Hope.”
With a smile, Marci stepped through the door…and found Patricia glaring at her. The woman jerked her head down the hall, indicating Marci should follow, and stalked away.
For a second, Marci considered ignoring the command. But she supposed she’d have to deal with Henry’s daughter at some point. And she’d rather do it here, with other people around, than risk another encounter in the privacy of Henry’s backyard.
Marci followed Patricia into the deserted waiting room, where the woman turned to her in fury.
“I heard what you said about caring for my father at the cottage. Why are you butting into his life?”
“I want what’s best for him. He’s my friend.”
“A very new friend, according to m
y father. He told me last night you only met a couple of weeks ago. And that you’re a visitor to the island who will be leaving next month. I also learned you’re a waitress. Not the best-paying profession.”
Folding her arms, she gave Marci’s jeans and T-shirt a snooty scan. “I can see where you might be looking for a way to make an easy buck, Ms. Clay. But don’t waste your time. My father might own valuable property, but he isn’t wealthy. He is, however, a gullible man who tends to think the best of people and is therefore vulnerable to exploitation.”
Once more her gaze raked Marci. “You never did give me a straight answer to my question yesterday. I’ll ask it again. Why are you being so kind to my father?”
Reeling from the woman’s implication, Marci struggled to find her tongue. “I like him.”
“If you liked him, you wouldn’t have let him do physical work. He’s eighty-five years old. That fall could have killed him. And it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pushed him to clean up the garden.”
Blindsided by the inference, and suddenly awash with guilt, Marci didn’t even notice Christopher until he appeared in the doorway of the glass-enclosed room.
“Hello, ladies.”
Patricia twisted around, acknowledging his presence with a stiff dip of her head. “Doctor.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation.” He stepped into the room, his demeanor grim. For the first time since they’d met, Marci saw anger in his eyes as he moved beside her in a protective stance and addressed Henry’s daughter. “I can assure you, Mrs. Lawrence, that Henry was eager to restore some order to his garden. He didn’t have to be pushed. But as you know, he tends to overextend himself.”
“That’s exactly why I want him in a place with professional oversight. I’m sure Ms. Clay’s offer of assistance is very generous—” she smirked at Marci “—but I don’t believe she has the appropriate medical credentials to care for my father. Do you, Doctor?”
Christopher shot Marci a look she interpreted as apologetic. “I do agree that Henry’s physical well-being would be better served by a short-term stay at an extended-care facility. But if he improves as I expect him to, there’s no reason he can’t return to his cottage. And that will be far better for his psychological well-being long-term.”
He’d nixed her plan before she could even present it, Marci realized in shock. Worse, he’d betrayed Henry.
Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, she tightened her grip on the strap of her purse. Ignoring Patricia, she brushed past Christopher. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another commitment.”
Without waiting for a response, she strode down the hall.
Fighting back tears.
How could Christopher do this? He knew Henry didn’t want to go into assisted living! Okay, so he had said it would be a short-term stay. But from what she’d seen of Patricia, she wouldn’t put it past the woman to sell the cottage out from under Henry while he was away.
Spotting a ladies’ room, she pushed through the door, swiping at the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She needed a few minutes to get herself together, muster her chutzpah.
And then she intended to give Christopher a piece of her mind.
As Christopher turned the corner in the hall where Marci had disappeared, he caught a quick glimpse of her entering the ladies’ room. Slowing his pace, he stopped opposite the door, leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. Although he’d promised to join Patricia in her father’s room to discuss the next steps, Marci was his top priority. The look of betrayal in her eyes before she’d practically run down the hall had been like a punch in the gut.
Three minutes later, when the door opened and she emerged, he straightened up.
She saw him at once, and the mutinous tilt of her chin told him this was going to be a hard sell.
“I expected you to be busy with Patricia arranging Henry’s move to assisted living.”
He took her arm. “We need to talk.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he tugged her toward a door marked private.
He knew his surprise move was the only reason he was able to propel her into the supply room. Once inside, he closed the door and stood in front of it.
Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks as she faced off against him, her antagonism almost palpable. And the redness around her eyes told him she’d been crying.
“I’m not selling Henry out, Marci.”
She glared at him. “You could have fooled me. You know he doesn’t want to go to assisted living! You said yourself he’d wither and die in a place like that, just like your grandfather did.”
“That’s true. But I also saw the results of his latest tests this morning. His blood count isn’t rebounding as quickly as we’d like. And he’s having a lot more discomfort than he’s letting on to visitors. That should all improve. But it will take a while. And for the first week or so, I’ll feel more comfortable if he’s got round-the-clock care from medical professionals. After that, assuming we can arrange for some home help for him, there’s no reason he can’t return to the cottage.”
“If his daughter doesn’t sell it in the meantime.”
Christopher fixed her with a steady look. “She can’t do that. I have his power of attorney.”
He knew the instant she grasped the implication—that Henry trusted Christopher more than he did his own daughter—because the tension in both her features and her stance eased subtly.
“Okay.” She blew out a long breath. “I guess I overreacted. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for caring.” He gentled his tone as he reached over to brush away a streak of mascara from her cheek. “His daughter could take a few lessons from you.”
His fingers lingered on her skin, and for a long moment their gazes locked. He saw a quick flash of emotion—strong enough to stop him in his tracks—before she took a jerky step back and swiped at her eyes.
“I just…” She stopped. Swallowed. “I just don’t like to see people being used.”
The sudden hard edge to her words raised Christopher’s antennas, but she continued before he could follow-up.
“Besides, as Patricia pointed out, if I hadn’t convinced him to fix up the garden, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Her voice got husky, and she blinked away a new batch of tears.
A muscle clenched in his jaw, and his anger surged again, as it had when he’d discovered Patricia berating Marci. The caring woman standing inches away deserved gratitude, not insults. “Henry’s been wanting to clean it out for a long time. He was thrilled when you offered to help. Don’t let her make you feel guilty about that.”
Tempted to once again touch her face, he shoved his hand in his pocket instead. “I overheard some of the rest of what she said, too. Including her insinuation about your motives. That comment was more indicative of her character than yours, Marci. Don’t let it bother you.” He propped a shoulder against the closed door, wanting to extend this private moment as long as possible. “Are you headed to Henry’s?”
“That was my plan.” She fished a tissue out of her pocket and swiped at her nose. “But with this new turn of events, I think I’ll go back to The Devon Rose and see if I can get on Heather’s computer. As part of my last social-work practicum, I got some experience finding assistance for seniors. I’d like to search the net and see what I can come up with for Henry. I’d also like to take a look at your elder-assistance plan sometime, if you don’t mind. It might give me some ideas.”
“I’ll be happy to share it, although it’s rough. I keep it at my office.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You know, our office manager isn’t there on Saturdays. You could come by and not only get the plan, but do some research on her computer.”
“Are you sure I wouldn’t disrupt anything?”
Only his heart.
“No. This will work out fine. Let me finish up with Henry, and I’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes. It’s easy to find
.” He pulled out a prescription pad, jotted down the directions and tore off the sheet.
She took it from his outstretched hand and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. “Okay.”
When he didn’t move away from the door at once, she gave him an expectant look. One that contained both trepidation and a whisper of yearning.
Henry had been telling him for months that he needed to move on. Maybe it was finally time. Even though he suspected Marci had secrets, perhaps they weren’t deal breakers, as Denise’s had been. Perhaps…
“Christopher?”
At Marci’s question, he moved away from the door. Now wasn’t the time or place to explore that possibility. “Sorry. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She edged past him without meeting his eyes and took off down the hall.
As he watched her walk away, he found himself again comparing her to the woman who had soured him on romance. And the differences were obvious. Denise had used tears to get what she wanted; Marci did her best to hide hers. Denise had been needy; Marci reached out to those in need. She was also smart, intelligent, spunky, kind, attractive.
So why hadn’t some guy claimed her by now?
Was it because the secret she harbored had given her an aversion to romance?
Christopher didn’t know the answer to that question. But he knew he needed to find it before she boarded the plane back to Chicago in three weeks.
Chapter Eight
This was really good stuff.
As Marci finished reviewing Christopher’s notes on his elder-assistance program, she leaned back in the office manager’s chair, impressed. Although he’d claimed to have done little, that wasn’t quite true. He’d made a number of contacts in the community, and his idea had been met with a positive response. He’d compiled a list of contacts yet to be tapped. And he’d researched some of the services already available to seniors on Nantucket. It was an excellent start.
