A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “The change in Agnes is astounding,” he said. “She’s barely moved since you left.”

  Tayte turned to Noah. “I haven’t told you yet, but we saw her neurologist today. I practically had to carry Grandma in and out of the car. The doctor wanted to hospitalize her so they could test her. I just couldn’t consent to it. At least not today. Once I got her home she refused to eat, and she hasn’t left the bed. I had to put one of those diaper things on her.”

  Nathaniel shook his head in sympathy. “Agnes has never spent a day in a hospital. Just the thought of it might have been too much for her.”

  “She can’t carry on like this,” cried Tayte.

  “You made the right decision, Tayte,” Noah said, placing a reassuring kiss on her temple. “We’ll work with her this weekend. Then you can decide what you want to do on Monday.”

  a pinched look came over Nathaniel as he studied Tayte. “It’s time for you to petition to get Agnes’s power of attorney. I’ll help you.”

  Tayte slumped in response to that news. Noah drew her close and drilled his gaze into Nathaniel. “Do you still need to talk to me?”

  Nathaniel glanced at Tayte, indicating that the matter was private. “Yes. But not now. It’s late. Come see me at my office.”

  The hair rose on Noah’s arms. “Then it’ll have to wait a few days. We’re all spent, and Tayte and I need some down time with Agnes.”

  “I understand,” Nathaniel said as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, “but call me early next week.” He glanced at Noah over the rims of his glasses. “We need to talk—as soon as possible.”

  Chapter 27

  Noah guided Tayte into the house before Nathaniel even reached his car.

  The old cuckoo clock sang ten times, adding to the couple’s fatigue. Tayte sank onto the sofa and curled into a ball. “The stress never ends. Grandma is falling apart, and now you’re going to be tied up with your uncle’s estate.”

  “My uncle’s estate?”

  “Why else would Nathaniel want to speak to you?”

  He hoped it was a simple estate matter. “Should we check on Agnes?”

  “Would I sound terribly selfish if I asked you to just sit here with me for a few minutes?”

  He sat beside her, and she scooted sideways, laying her head in his lap. His hand traced up her arm and neck into her hair, then back again to her fingers. Over and over he followed that path, listening as her breathing changed to a slow, peaceful rhythm. A smile curled his lips as he recalled how fearsome she appeared the first few times he saw her, like a warrior princess ready to take on all comers. In moments like this, she seemed childlike, anxious to be protected. He loved both sides of her. He needed both Taytes.

  Soft snores fluttered from her slightly opened mouth, indicating how exhausted she truly was. She barely stirred as Noah slipped her off his lap and onto the sofa. He covered her with one of Agnes’s old quilts and moved to open his computer, which was still sitting on the table from the previous night’s work.

  He returned to the old music sites, matching eras to titles, building a sizeable play list. Many were tunes he recognized from an old station his mother listened to. He came to realize that she had clung to songs of her parents’ era, causing him to wonder if those days at home remained the best days of her life.

  An hour passed like moments, with Noah growing more excited about his project as each old tune played. When he had thirty songs from 1949 to 1965 assembled, he slipped back into his jacket and loosely tied his tie. Then he carried the laptop back to Agnes’s room, and pulled a chair up near her bed. He began chronologically, playing tunes from her high school years—the songs she and Charles would have shared—gauging her reaction. There was none at first, but he increased the volume until there was no ignoring the music, and finally her eyes opened.

  “Hi, Agnes. How was your day?”

  She glanced at him, pouted, and closed her eyes again, drawing the covers up until her grumpy face was nearly concealed.

  “My mother used to listen to some of these songs. I bet you remember them too, don’t you? How about this one?” He selected “A—You’re Adorable” by Perry Como, one of the songs his mother sang by his bedside. It conjured forgotten, pleasant memories in him, and he hoped it would do the same for Agnes. She didn’t lower her covers, but he noticed her foot moving as if keeping time.

  When that song ended, he switched gears and selected what he assumed would be a romantic deal breaker—Como’s “Some Enchanted Evening.” Agnes became as still as stone. A moment later, she began to curl into a tighter ball. “Did you and Charles dance to that?” Noah asked softly. “That’s probably not such a happy memory. Sorry, Agnes.”

  He closed down the folder marked 1949 and said, “Okay. Let’s try some songs from your album collection.” Noah selected singles from 1957 he felt were probably Tony’s— “Jailhouse Rock” and “Wake up Little Susie.” Agnes remained still for the first tune, but her foot started moving again during the second.

  In quick succession, Noah changed tempos and genres, from peppy country pieces to romantic ballads. Agnes did not crawl into a ball. He selected five more numbers from Sinatra, Pat Boone, and Johnny Mathis, and watched a transformation occur. After forty minutes, Agnes remained on her side but her eyes were bright. A hint of a smile even graced her lips.

  Noah had a new idea. He hit “replay,” and stood beside Agnes’s bed. “Catch a quick glance—I’m all dressed up,” he teased as he rebuttoned the top of his shirt and slid his tie into place. “All I need is a partner.” He extended his hand to Agnes and offered her a hopeful smile.

  Her gaze remained fixed on him, but she did not accept his offered hand.

  “Please, Agnes. I know you’re still in there. We miss you. I miss you, and I need you.” His eyes began to burn. “Please? Please dance with me.”

  Moments passed. The song played on and on. Noah maintained eye contact with Agnes while his hand hung in midair so long his arm began to shake. Finally, the covers shifted under Agnes’s chin. Next, her hand emerged. Noah reached for it, urging her to a sit and then to a stand.

  A ballad titled, “Tammy” began to play, bringing a wistful expression to Agnes’s face.

  “Do you remember this one?” Noah asked as he began to sway with her.

  Noah took her into his arms, mimicking a waltz position, and though he had no idea how to proceed, they swayed together. Agnes seemed pleasantly amused.

  “Did you and Tony dance to this?”

  She looked up at him, and in a voice dry and raspy she said, “He used to whistle it.”

  * * *

  Anger had driven Agnes from her home the night of the storm, serving as an able motivator to press on despite discomfort and fear. She could not bear another of the foul lies spewing from that girl, but she had no car anymore. They had taken that from her, made her a prisoner on her own farm, and so she sought her old friend, Lancelot, to carry her away to find Noah. He would help her. He would throw the dragon out.

  She found the old gelding right where she knew he would be, but she had arrived too late to be of any help to the old dear. Her anger boiled over at that granddaughter dragon. Agnes had cried into the wind, blaming her for his death. If only Tayte had listened. If only she had trusted Agnes.

  But Tayte would not listen. She would not trust Agnes. She had all the power now.

  The slide was easy and pleasant. The pull of the old memories had always been more powerful than the new. For years she fought their comforting tug to leave the current world and slide back. In her memories she was capable, strong, smart. Love and work anchored her in those days. Now she was small, weak, confused. She clung to her routines. Her animals needed her. Sarah anchored her. When her car was taken from her, Noah came. Then Tayte, who claimed to love her, turned everything upside down, and bit by bit, holding on became harder.

  Now Noah was rarely there. Sarah was gone. Agnes felt alone. Isolated. Afraid. Then Tayte’s words tarnished Agnes�
�s memories. She threatened to destroy Agnes’s home. Agnes knew she would soon have nothing, and so, she abandoned the fight. Surrendered to the pull. No talking, no working, no caring about food or this world. Each day she cared less, and then she succumbed to the pull of the rabbit hole.

  The more she withdrew, the deeper she fell. And then the music began.

  At first the songs provided accompaniment to her blurred recollections, but then the music sharpened her memories, stirred her emotions, and made her care again.

  Some of the tunes made her think of her father, whose tenor voice melded so beautifully with her alto. Agnes remembered off-key duets with Tony as she prepared meals. She remembered him dipping her to a whistled tune. She remembered singing her baby girl to sleep, warm winter fires spent with her family. She remembered love.

  Then Noah’s voice pulled at her, asking her to return. Love was in his voice. Love and need, and Agnes decided to fight again. The touch of his hand, the feel of his embrace—they conjured more memories, but more importantly, they imprinted new experiences on her mind.

  The dance steps didn’t return at first, but Noah needed a teacher. She searched her mind to retrieve the information, to please him, and as she and Noah moved and smiled and laughed and twirled, she felt the return of happiness.

  The door was slightly ajar. Agnes thought she saw something break the beam of light glowing from the hallway, but she was too engaged in the moment to pay anything else much mind. Noah tried a slight dip, and she obliged, laughing a throaty chuckle that rolled on for several seconds. She felt hungry and thirsty for the first time in days. Despite the pleasure of the dance, her knees felt weak, and her stomach and head felt giddy from that slight exertion. She leaned more heavily against her partner and said, “I’ve missed you, Tony.”

  The dancing stalled for a second, but his arms retightened around her. “I’ve missed you, Agnes. Do you remember your old friend, Noah?”

  Noah? Oh, yes . . . Noah. She smiled at him.

  He hugged her to him. “I just knew you were still in there, Agnes. Tayte and I have been scared sick about you ever since the storm. Did you hear us talking to you?”

  She stiffened at the mention of Tayte. “I heard you.”

  Noah’s stance tightened, and Agnes knew he had heard the change in her tone. He pulled back to look at her, confusion replacing his smile. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  She knew he was disappointed with her. She shrugged to avoid the question.

  “Are you angry with us?”

  Another shrug. She planted her feet, and in response, Noah pulled her back to him, picking up his awkward dance again.

  “Whatever we did, we’re so sorry. All that matters is that you’re back now.”

  Two more songs played, and she remained a stiff and unwilling partner through the first. Noah began singing in her ear during the second, and she yielded to the moment, giggling again. When the music ended, soft crying replaced the melody. They both looked toward the sound. Noah set Agnes on the bed and went to the door, but before he arrived, Tayte opened it and stepped into the room. She pasted a wide smile that belied her wet, red eyes.

  “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Grandma.”

  Agnes harrumphed, returning an abrupt jerk of her shoulder in reply.

  Tayte glanced at Noah and retreated, crying, and Agnes heard him follow her, making his choice.

  The urge to use the bathroom suddenly overwhelmed her, and she made her way, holding on to the wall. When she came out, she found Noah and a reluctant Tayte waiting for her. She headed for her bed, but Noah took her arm and guided her to her chair.

  “We know we upset you, Agnes. Tell us what we did so we can make things right.”

  Agnes jutted her chin forward and pointed at Tayte. “Her! She’s the one!”

  Noah took Tayte’s arm, preventing another retreat. “Agnes, we all make mistakes. Please just tell Tayte why you’re angry with her so we can fix this.”

  “I heard her. I heard everything—what she said about my farm, my animals, and the things she said about my father.” Agnes touched her lips and spit three times as if dispelling the cursed words from her house.

  The accusations left Tayte aghast. She covered her mouth with her hands and looked at Noah. “I told you,” she said as she tried to escape, but Noah held her in place. “Let me go. She hates me. She’ll never forgive me.”

  Agnes harrumphed her assent to the charges, hoping Tayte would leave, but Noah leaned against the doorjamb and held on. He loved this young dragon. Why? She was bossy and rude. Still, he hung on to her and pled for her to stay.

  “You can’t run from this, Tayte. Explain things to Agnes. Trust her.

  The words pleased Agnes, but there was a catch in Noah’s voice each time he spoke to Tayte, who stood there, trembling like a cornered rabbit. Part of Agnes cheered for this victory, while an unbearable ache tore at the motherly part of her. She sensed the importance of this moment. She wondered if she should forgive the girl, but having the upper hand felt too good.

  Tayte’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry for what I said, Grandma.”

  “And why should I believe you now?”

  The normal square of Tayte’s shoulders slumped into a narrow round. A dark, errant curl fell cross her tear-smeared left eye. She made no effort to brush it away. Instead, she offered a soft shake of her head as a tepid reply. It was barely enough to move her hair.

  “Because in spite of everything I’ve done wrong, I love you. I wish I could tell you I’ll change, Grandma, but the truth is, I like order. I need it. This is how I’ve always been. Maybe it’s because I grew up in chaos, but I have a history of walking away when things get messy. That’s not a very flattering trait, but it’s who I’ve been. But now, I want to be here, with you.”

  Her breath shuddered before she continued. “This farm and its needs overwhelm me. I thought the paintings in the attic were the answer to all our troubles, and then I discovered that they’re surrounded by trouble as well. It was too much for me to handle, so I panicked and said things I didn’t really mean. That’s the truth.”

  Her head lifted as she faced her grandmother, but Agnes remained aloof.

  “I gave up on my parents, and I doubt I’ll ever get over that regret. I miss them. I miss being loved by them. I don’t know what happened between you and my mother. What would make her tell me you were dead? But when I heard you were still alive I thought that maybe, just maybe, I had a second chance to be part of a family again.” She sniffed. “I do love you. I want so badly to be the granddaughter you want, but it seems you were happier before I moved in. Perhaps the best way to love you is to leave.”

  Tayte slipped from Noah’s hold and left the room. He began to chase after her, then, head down, his eyes on the floor, he stopped and let out a mournful sigh. Agnes knew he was somehow disappointed in her. She stepped toward him and flashed her most charismatic smile. “We do not need her,” she said. “We were doing fine before she came.”

  “I need her, Agnes. You do too.” His stare pinned Agnes in place. “How many times did you forgive Angeline? How many more times would you have forgiven her if she’d come back to you? You’ve told me you’d never turn her away. Then why can’t you forgive Tayte?”

  Their eyes remained locked as if Noah were examining her soul. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and knowing the interview would not end until she answered, she confessed the truth behind her dislike of Tayte. “Because I was never afraid of Angeline.”

  Noah’s brows pinched together. “You’re afraid of Tayte?”

  “I am not so brave as I pretend.” Agnes’s face drooped as old memories returned. “The war frightened me. I was not courageous. I became determined. People respected that. They listened to me. Maybe they feared me a bit. But now? I see pity in their eyes, and in mine.” She thumped her chest. “I feel fear right here, like a lump. Can you imagine how terrifying that is?”

  “Yes, I can.”
r />   Vague recollections of previous conversations they shared confirmed the truth of Noah’s words. “Perhaps you really can, Noah.”

  “I can too.” Tayte’s timid voice came from the doorway. “I would never hurt you, Grandma.”

  A pang of guilt struck Agnes, then doubled as Noah rose and moved to Tayte. He placed a tender hand on her shoulder while keeping his eyes on Agnes.

  “Of course you wouldn’t, Tayte. Not physically, but I don’t think that’s what Agnes is saying. How does Tayte frighten you, Agnes?”

  She looked at Tayte’s face, twisted in hurt. Part of her wanted to withhold her sympathy, but she began to see Angeline standing there, connecting her to this bossy waif. Her voice softened, but she directed her words so Tayte would not misunderstand. “Perhaps you have known hurt, but you do not know the hurt of feeling small. Of being treated like an idiot.” The words were thick with French intonations. “That is how you make me feel.” She paused to let her words sink in. “You think you know what is best for me, but you do not know me. Not really. All you see is an old, forgetful woman.” She thumped a hand to her chest. “I am still much more than that.”

  Silence hung in the air like a choking fog. Tayte swallowed, and the sound carried across the silent room.

  “Noah likes me as I am, but not you. You treat me like a child because I am not as I once was. Love shouldn’t depend on who a person was, or what they could be, but on who they are right now.” Agnes tapped her head with her index finger. “I still have so much in here,” she moved her finger to a spot over her heart, “and also in here.”

  “I know that. Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry I made you feel small.”

  The agony of regret gave life to Tayte’s apology, and Agnes’s ire rushed from her like air from a balloon. She shook her finger at Tayte. “You can help me, but I can still teach you a thing or two as well. I know you like to clean, so clean, but stay out of my room unless I invite you.” She pulled her blanket over her chilled shoulder. “And don’t move my things. I like them where they are.”