THE MORNING AFTER THANKSGIVING, Meg reared up in bed and stared at Scott, mouth agape. “Surely you’re not going to work.”
He continued threading his belt through the loops. “It’s Friday.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving weekend. I thought—” She didn’t finish her sentence, giving a resigned shrug instead and climbing out of bed. Tousled from sleep, her cheeks flushed, he thought she looked beautiful…except for the sparks flashing from her eyes.
“I do have an ad agency to run,” he reminded her.
“And a sister to entertain?” With jerky movements, she put on her robe. “Just who is supposed to take care of that little detail?”
Scott pulled out a tie from the closet. This was no way to start the morning. He knew Meg was worn out, but why would she have assumed he’d stay home from work? She knew how busy he was. “It’s all about Kay, isn’t it?”
She shot him a look. “I have my hands full with your father. Today’s his appointment with the physical therapist.”
“Well, she and Mom can stay home and visit.”
“That’s all you know. Kay is insisting on going with us to the therapy session.”
“Might not hurt. She’d at least begin to understand what we’re up against.”
“I’d hoped you’d be along to help.”
Why did she always have to resort to doublespeak? “To help with what?”
“I can handle Bud and your mother, or I can tolerate Kay and keep her entertained. Doing them both at the same time is asking a lot.”
He looked at her closely. The lines around her mouth had deepened and her cheekbones were more pronounced. He got it. He was taking her for granted again. “I’m sorry, Meg. You’re right. All of us expect a lot of you, and we’re wearing you out.”
Defiance drained from her body, and she suddenly looked small, diminished. “It’s not as if I have a choice.”
He hung his head. It was true. Yet, despite the difficult circumstances, she was dealing with his father with tremendous concern and compassion, as evidenced by her loving words at dinner yesterday. “I’ll try to get home early.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Instead of the customary irritation in her voice, he heard weariness. When she started to walk around him to get to the bathroom, he put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her. “None of this has been easy. For any of us.” He gathered her into his arms, aware that while she didn’t resist, she didn’t relax into the embrace, either. “I’ll be home early.”
She looked up at him. “You mean you’ll try to be home early.”
Her tone reminded him of the many times he’d put business first. This couldn’t be one of them. “Meggie, I’ll be home early.”
Sitting in his office later in the day, he wondered how he could’ve been so confident. Stacks of files obscured the surface of his desk, along with videotapes for his review. He’d already fielded two urgent calls from the Jordan marketing department, defused another client and participated in an hourlong conference call with a third client. He swung away from his desk, then stood and stared out the window. Below, the Arkansas River—a bare trickle of water this time of year—meandered toward its meeting with the Mississippi. Traffic hummed along the interstate. The Friday after Thanksgiving. Biggest retail sales day of the year. Jordan stockholders were counting on it, and the future of Harper Concepts, in part, depended upon it.
“Scott, busy?” Wes stood in the doorway.
“Does an O.U. fan bleed red?” Scott waved him in. “What’s up?”
Wes closed the door, pulled an armchair over to Scott’s desk and sat down. “I need to talk to you about a sensitive matter—but it’s one we should deal with sooner rather than later. When we started the firm, we promised we’d shoot straight with each other, right?”
“Sure. What do we need to discuss?”
Scott was ill-prepared for his partner’s answer. “You.”
“Me?” His expression must have betrayed his bafflement. “What are you getting at?”
Wes held up his hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “You’re strung out, buddy. Taking on too much.”
“Come on, Wes, you know what I’m dealing with at home with Mom and Pops.” He sank into his desk chair.
“I’m not talking about home,” Wes said quietly. “I’m talking about here at the agency.”
Scott struggled to keep the lid on his temper. He was putting in fifteen-hour days. What did Wes expect? Barely controlling his sarcasm, he said, “Go ahead. Lay it on me.”
“Hey, look, buddy, this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me, either. But something’s gotta give. You’re burning the candle at both ends.”
“Meaning what?”
“In a word? Micromanaging.”
“You mean I’m on top of things? Yeah.” He thumped his desk. “The buck stops here.”
Wes pointed to himself. “And here.”
Scott gave a nearly imperceptible nod of agreement. Knowing Wes had more to say, he leaned forward. “Out with it, then.”
“Scott, you’ve done an incredible job making this agency a force to be dealt with in the area. You’ve made great contacts and brought in a lot of business.”
Scott knew the other shoe was about to drop. “But?”
“You’ve hired good, savvy people. Talented people. We need to keep them.” Wes laid his palms flat on his knees. “So…let them do the jobs they were hired to do.”
“And they’re not?”
“Of course they are, but you’re hamstringing them. Every last detail has to be approved by you. That’s not exactly sending our employees a vote of confidence.”
Scott frowned, trying to process what Wes was saying, fighting the instinctive urge to defend himself. “Are you telling me we have a morale problem?”
Wes shrugged. “Maybe not yet. But it’s brewing. You have to give people like Brenda and Jim Tate room to maneuver. When they screw up, if they do, by all means bring it to their attention. Work with them. Until then, let these folks do their jobs without looking over their shoulders constantly. Trust the people you hired.” Wes paused, letting his words sink in. Then he went on. “As your friend, I need to say one more thing. You’re spending way too much time here. It’s like you’re deliberately burying yourself in work. What are you running from?”
Scott fought the instinct to bolt from his chair and pound a fist through the wall. The distressed look on Wes’s face stopped him. It couldn’t have been easy for his partner to confront him. Wes didn’t pull any punches. Never had. He was entitled to be taken seriously. “I need to think about what you’ve said. While I can’t say I like what you’re telling me, I appreciate your concern.”
Wes rose to his feet and extended his hand. “I know you’ll do what’s best for the firm. Find a way to do what’s best for yourself, too.”
After his partner left, Scott sat back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He’d think about the staff and their needs later. Right now, he had to mull over the more immediate question. What was he running from? When had he forsaken his family responsibilities in the name of business success? What had he expected from Meg? And, most important, what kind of changes was he prepared to make?
After a long, searching consideration of those questions, he leaned forward and pushed the intercom button. “Hazel, transfer any calls to Wes. I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.”
His normally imperturbable secretary let out an involuntary gasp. “You’re doing what?”
“Leaving,” he said, amazed by the buoyancy surging through his body.
MEG’S JAW ACHED FROM the effort to contain a primal scream. Kay had driven her crazy on the drive to the rehabilitation center and was continuing to do so in the waiting room. When she talked to Bud, she either adopted a honeyed, patronizing tone suitable for addressing a three-year-old, or she acted as if he possessed his full capacities, and then became impatient with him when he couldn’t respond on that level. Even Marie had picked up on Kay’s insensitivity, interrupting her daughter at intervals to remind her that while her father had some difficulty communicating, he wasn’t a child.
The final straw was Kay’s insistence on accompanying Bud into the therapy room. Marie and Meg trailed behind, but Kay sailed right out to the exercise mat to oversee the therapist as he put Bud through his paces. The first time Bud moaned in pain, Kay wheeled on the therapist. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”
Gripping the arms of her chair on the periphery, Meg stared, stupefied.
Calmly continuing with the leg flexes and extensions, the therapist turned his head to glance at Kay. Patiently he explained the purpose of the exercises, then said, “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to quit interfering here.”
“Interfering?” Kay’s voice rose in crescendo. “This is my father we’re talking about.”
“We’re doing everything we can to help him regain his strength.”
“I know some kind of therapy is necessary, but I don’t like seeing Dad in such pain.”
Bud, his face red with exertion, groaned. “Hurts me? Good.”
Infinitely patient, the therapist stood. “He’s working through the pain. That’s how we make progress.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Beside her, Marie had been fidgeting and clucking. Now, though, she got to her feet and walked over to her daughter. “Kay, stop it.”
Meg watched in fascination as Kay rounded on her mother. “I’m only trying to help.”
Marie, in an uncharacteristic gesture, took her daughter by the arm. “Well, you’re not.”
From the mat, Bud exploded. “Go.”
Kay jerked away from her mother. “Somebody has to take charge here.”
“But it isn’t going to be you, Kay.” As if the dramatic hero had just swept in from the wings, Scott strode across the floor, letting the door to the hallway slam shut behind him. “Please excuse my sister,” he said to the therapist, who merely shrugged as if this was not an uncommon experience. “Mom, take Kay out to the waiting room.” He turned his back on them to kneel beside his father. Daggers aimed at Scott shot from Kay’s eyes, but she allowed Marie to escort her out.
Meg felt trapped in the middle. She didn’t really want to join the women in the waiting room, but she wasn’t sure she belonged with Bud and Scott, either.
“Pops, you doin’ okay?”
Bud grunted. “Better. Now.” He waved a hand at the therapist. “Go on. Hurt me.”
Scott rose, then approached Meg. “Thank you,” she whispered. She had no idea what he was doing there, but she had seldom been so glad to see anyone.
“I’m sorry, Meg. My sister has always been difficult. You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this.”
She got up and laced her fingers through his. “It’s not my idea of fun, but at least, for today, we’re in this together, right?”
A warm current flowed between their joined hands and the affection in his eyes made her feel almost beautiful.
“Dog.” Bud’s call caused them to break their gaze.
The therapist leaned closer to his patient. “What is it, Mr. Harper?”
“Dog. No!” He shook his head in frustration. “Dah.”
Scott squeezed Meg’s hand, dropped it and went over to his father. “What are you trying to say, Pops?”
“Dah. Ter. Want. Dahter.”
Scott’s face was tense as he struggled to understand. “Daughter? You want Kay back here?”
“No!” With the therapist’s assistance, Bud sat up. “Other one.”
“Other one what?”
“Other dahter.”
Scott looked momentarily puzzled, but then his features relaxed in an ear-to-ear grin. “Meg?”
Bud cackled. “Meg.”
Meg couldn’t breathe for the overflowing of her heart. Bud had just given her a glorious gift. She was loved. She was somebody’s daughter. At last.
Tentatively, she approached the mat and knelt beside Bud. “I’m here, Pops,” she whispered.
He patted her hand. “You. Good girl. But more.” His mouth moved in the effort to form additional words. “You. Dahter.”
Scott hunkered beside her, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh, Meggie, when I think I could’ve been at work…” He lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
Meg couldn’t tear her eyes from Bud’s look of love and approval. He reached up and traced a finger across her cheek. “No crying,” he said.
Meg sniffled through her laughter. “Okay,” she promised.
Bud lay back down and turned to the therapist. “Now. Hurt me. Again.”
Scott helped Meg to her feet and drew her to the side of the room. “That’s okay for Pops, but, Meggie, I don’t want any more hurt. Any more pain.” Unbelievably, his voice cracked when he went on. “I just want my family.”
In that instant something important passed between them. An unspoken promise. Maybe, finally, they both wanted the same thing.
AFTER EVERYONE HAD SETTLED IN for the night, Scott turned off the lights in the family room and made his way upstairs. He’d had little time to consider the implications of Wes’s remarks, what with the scene with Kay at the rehab center, followed by his mother’s attempts throughout dinner to placate his sister, who’d responded by trying to impress everyone with stories of her social life in Florida. Talk about high-maintenance. The woman wore him out. Yet, at the same time, there was something sad about her shallowness and her need to impress. He suspected that underneath it all she was upset about Pops’s condition, but was unable to deal with it.
Recalling his sister’s attempts to interfere with Pops’s therapy, Scott knew he’d done the right thing by leaving the office that afternoon. How often in the past, though, had he ignored Meg’s requests for his presence, his time, his involvement? How many moments had he missed like the one today when Pops claimed Meg as his daughter? Was he, like his sister, so wrapped up in himself and his work that he was missing out on what really mattered? Definite food for thought.
He found Meg in the bathroom brushing her teeth. Sidling up behind her, he put his arms around her waist. “Alone at last,” he murmured.
She sent him a questioning look in the mirror, then leaned over the sink and rinsed her mouth. When she straightened up, a fleck of toothpaste remained on her lips. He knew exactly what he intended to do about that. He pivoted her in his arms and kissed her minty-fresh lips.
With her hands linked behind his neck, she cocked her head and studied him. “I’m trying not to raise my hopes unrealistically, but I have to tell you—seeing you walk into that exercise room today was one of the best things that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”
“Out of character for me, huh?”
“Your words, not mine. But, yeah.” She stepped back and poured lotion into her hands. “To what do you attribute this behavior?”
“A wake-up call from Wes.”
Her eyes widened. “Wes?”
Scott kneaded her shoulders with his fingers. “I want to tell you about it, Meggie.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “You go on to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Can you stay awake?”
“With a cliff-hanger like that? Of course.”
Meg deserved to know what Wes had said, but Scott had reservations, too. He didn’t want her to expect things to be totally different. And he didn’t need to hear any I-told-you-sos. Wes’s remarks would take time to process, and he’d be kidding himself if he didn’t admit his partner’s judgment had hurt. Still, in his gut, he recognized the truth of it. What was he running from? Failure. Pure and simple. At the agency. At home. The ultimate irony? The more he ran, the more he failed.
In bed, he cradled Meg in his arms and told her in painstaking detail about his conversation with Wes and about his own soul-searching. To her credit she listened until he’d exhausted the issue. Then she said something quite surprising.
“You are not your sister.”
He did a double take. She’d identified one of his fears—that he was selfish and thought only of himself. “Maybe not, but I’ve considered myself pretty important.”
“Because you are. To the agency. To me. To the children. To your parents. But, Scott, unlike Kay, you know how to love.”
For some reason, she was being more than generous. He grunted. “A quality I haven’t always exhibited.”
“Agreed.” She ran a hand over his chest. “But one you sure demonstrated today.” She hesitated, as if picking her words, before going on. “This afternoon? Well, I felt such love from you.”
The wistfulness in her voice tore him apart. Had he been so busy taking her for granted that he’d forgotten to cherish her? “Those feelings have always been there. I’ve just locked them away from you.” He kissed her temple. “No more.”
“But honestly, Scott, I don’t always expect you to put me or the family ahead of business. That would be unrealistic. But there are times—”
“When I need to listen and act. Like today.”
“Right,” she said. “And while we’re on the subject of confessions, I have one, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Something important happened this afternoon.”
“When Pops called you his other daughter? That had to be special for you.”
“Yes.” She snuggled closer. “You, of all people, know how I’ve always missed having a father. When I was a child, I guess I thought that all my troubles would disappear if only Super Dad would rescue me, brush away my tears, ease my loneliness, make everything perfect for me.”
He held his breath, aching with love for the sad little girl and for the woman who felt she was somehow incomplete. What she told him next, about sitting on the stoop wishing she had a dad like other girls did, ate at him. She’d only rarely talked about her father’s death, and obviously he’d never fully appreciated the depths of her longing. “Oh, Meggie,” he whispered, brushing her hair back off her forehead.
“Wait, there’s more.”
“I’m listening.”
She wove her fingers through his. “I’ve thought about it all day. Ever since your dad said that magic word, daughter. He’s the only father I’ll ever have, and I’m so grateful. But Scott, I realized something else. I haven’t been fair to you. Maybe I’ve tried to make you a father replacement.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. You’ve been the only man in my life. I expected everything from you. Craved it—everything. Attention, approval and, most important, love. But not just love—I expected you, all by yourself, to fill the well of my loneliness. It was too much to expect, and I’m so sorry. There was no way on earth you alone could ever have given me enough emotionally.”
He thought about her words and came to an inescapable conclusion. “I failed you.”
“No, that’s just it. You didn’t. I set an impossible standard for you.”
“And I’m used to leaping every hurdle put in front of me.”
Once, he’d wanted to give her everything…be her everything. Was that just a naive notion? Had years of diapers, heaps of plastic toys, mounting bills and social and business pressures diminished his desire to complete her? He hoped not. But he would have to start paying more attention. Working at it. Beside him, Meg made a little noise that sounded remarkably like laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“The root of our problems is pretty obvious,” she said. “Golden Boy meets Poor Little Match Girl. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
He smiled to himself. She’d nailed it.
They lay quietly, lost in thought.
JUSTIN STIRRED A SPOON through the remnants of his cereal. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in the kitchen window and the smell of stale coffee lingered in the air. Dad and Gramma had just left to take Aunt Kay to the airport, and Mom was helping Grampa with his exercises. Hayley, big surprise, was still sleeping. He picked up his cereal bowl and drained the last of the milk. Two hours to go before the televised football games started. Two hours to rake leaves.
He slid off the kitchen stool, put his bowl in the sink and grabbed an old O.U. sweatshirt off the peg in the utility room. Here was the thing: Why didn’t his stupid sister ever have to rake leaves? Wouldn’t it be just too bad if she broke her fingernails or got her hair dirty? He went into the garage, took the rake off the hook on the wall and headed outside. A stiff breeze scattered the fallen leaves. No sooner would he rake them into piles than they’d fly all over the place with the first gust of wind. He touched his nose, still tender from the fight. Dad would not be pleased if he didn’t at least go through the motions. Starting in the corner near the fence, he raked toward the driveway where he could easily bag the leaves.
Something weird was going on with his family, but he didn’t have a clue what. Aunt Kay had hardly spoken to anyone at dinner last night. Even Gramma had been quieter than usual, and she didn’t fuss over Aunt Kay like she usually did. When they were eating dessert, Aunt Kay had started in about Grampa’s therapy, like she was some expert. But almost before she’d begun, Grampa had pointed his finger at her and said, “Stop!” Dad had changed the subject then, and afterward, it had been as though Gramma were trying to make it up to Aunt Kay in case her feelings had been hurt. And Mom? She hadn’t said much at all, which wasn’t like her. He didn’t get it. But then, he was just a kid. What was he supposed to know?
He wrestled the big green trash bag open and scooped up the leaves. He kind of liked the smell—like old gym socks and sun and dirt. After he filled the bag, he grabbed his shirttail and wiped the sweat from his face, careful not to put any pressure on his black eye or nose. He never would admit it, but he’d be glad when school started again. It was boring hanging around adults all the time. One thing he’d noticed, though—his mom and dad weren’t arguing as much. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too high, but it sort of looked to him like maybe they liked each other again. That funny feeling he’d had a couple of months ago crept back into his stomach, reminding him how scared he’d been then.
“Hey, dude, havin’ fun?”
He’d know that voice anywhere. He took his time tying the trash bag before he looked up. “What’s it look like?”
Sam Grider, one foot on the ground, rested on his bike at the foot of the driveway. “Nice face,” Grider said, studying him.
“You, too,” Justin said, pointing to the cut on Sam’s chin.
Grider hopped off his bike and walked it closer. “So,” he said, “what’s the story with your grandpa?”
Justin leaned on his rake, never taking his eyes off the enemy. “He had a stroke. It affected his body and his speech. Know anything about that?” Justin couldn’t be certain, but he thought Grider hung his head—not much, but a little.
“My mom tried to explain it to me. And, hey, look, I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said your grandpa was a retard.”
“Maybe next time you should think before you open your big mouth.”
Grider’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t charge. “Yeah, that’s what my mom told me.” He nodded toward the rake. “When’ll you be finished?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I dunno, I thought we could get some more guys and go down to the park. Play touch football. Then afterward, maybe I could come home with you.” This time he actually did hang his head. “You know, apologize to your grandfather.”
Justin eyed the other boy, considering his offer. He still wasn’t Grider’s number-one fan, but playing football sure beat being called a retard or having your face mashed in. And Grampa sure deserved an apology. “Okay,” he said with what he hoped was an indifferent shoulder shrug. “Let me fill another bag first.”
Grider threw a leg over his bike. “See you at the park,” he said, before pedaling off down the street.
SATURDAY NIGHT MEG SHOVED the last of the sheets into the dryer, hit the switch and slumped against the utility-room counter. The steady hum of the dryer motor and the warm, fabric-softener-scented air created a welcoming cocoon. She used to think of laundry as a chore; now it provided her with an excuse to hide away, at least for a little while.
To Meg’s delight, Marie had accepted an invitation from Jannie’s mother to play bridge. This was the first time her mother-in-law had agreed to leave Bud for an evening. A change of scenery would do her a world of good. Justin was parked in his bedroom watching a movie on TV, Hayley had gone to a party with Jill, and Scott had taken his laptop into the sitting room, working there and keeping Bud company. Despite the ironing piled in the basket, Meg welcomed this rare time to herself.
Today had been the best day she could remember in months. Last night, sharing their deepest vulnerabilities, she and Scott had been more honest with each other than she could ever remember. She’d found herself wanting to comfort him and make up for those many lost opportunities to give something to him. The depth of her emotions had both delighted and frightened her. Love was such a fragile gift.
She’d held the memory close throughout the day, clinging to the hope that their marriage was entering a new phase. Maybe with Kay’s departure, things would settle down and she and Scott would have time to build from last night’s revelations.
Kay’s visit had been exhausting for all of them. The woman exuded negative energy. It broke Meg’s heart to recall the puppy-dog eagerness with which Marie, in particular, had greeted her daughter. Whatever hopes she’d nurtured that Kay would pitch in and help with Bud had vanished within the first few hours of her visit. Watching Bud and Marie gamely make the best of the situation had given Meg pause for thought. She mentally fast-forwarded thirty years. What kind of adults would Hayley and Justin be?
As she set up the ironing board to press the Thanksgiving tablecloth and napkins, she thought about her children. Had she made life too easy for them, never denying them anything? She’d indulged their every desire…from the new gotta-have-it toy to the latest in clothing fads. Why? Was it easier than saying no? Or was it her own insatiable need to compensate for a childhood of penny-pinching?
She tested the bottom of the iron with a wet finger, satisfied with the quick hiss. She had believed she was doing the right thing by making their lives comfortable.
Is that what Marie had thought about Kay?
Absorbed in the question, she nearly scorched the linen napkin beneath the iron. Hayley. Self-consumed, moody. Was it a teenage phase—or something worse?
With a vengeance Meg attacked a stubborn wrinkle. Scott had often accused her of indulging their children—a mild indictment compared to his suggestion that she’d sacrificed him and their marriage on the altar of perfect motherhood.
And yet?
She ironed a sharp crease into the folded napkin and reached for another. A vivid image popped into her head. Her father-in-law’s defeated expression when Kay had seemed unable to face the reality of his condition. Her blind insistence that he would soon be “good as gold again.”
Is that what she and Scott had to look forward to? A daughter incapable of compassion or empathy? A son who thought success would arrive on a silver platter?
Smoothing another wrinkled napkin on the ironing board, she realized she was selling both kids short. After all, Hayley was working patiently now with Bud on his speech therapy. In fact, she seemed to enjoy those one-on-one times with her grandfather. Justin had spent most of the morning raking leaves, and they’d both expressed to her their bewilderment at Kay’s behavior.
Still, like it or not, she couldn’t excuse herself from her role in spoiling them.
Or from focusing all her attention on her children instead of her husband.
BUD TRIED NOT TO STIR in bed. He didn’t want to disturb Marie. In his mind he snared the word for his problem. Insomnia. He hated it. Lying here staring at the ceiling. At the night-light in the bathroom. Listening to Marie saw logs. Hearing the occasional car drive past the house. In the old days, he’d have gotten out of bed, gone into the family room and read or watched TV until he grew drowsy. Now he had to hoard his energy for his twice-nightly trips to the bathroom. A fine kettle of fish.
Kay. They’d said goodbye this morning. He remembered now what she was like. Disappointment. Whose fault? No matter. Too late. She was back in Florida. A relief. Sad, but true.
Not like Meg. That daughter loved him.
Scott? That boy needed to shape up. All work? Not good. Family, wife. Yep, shape up.
Then his thoughts drifted to the motor home. In his mind, he saw himself breezing down the highway, the open road before him, the beauty of nature filling his soul, Marie at his side. Never again.
Careful not to wake Marie, he rolled over on his side. Okay. He’d tried not to think about it. Had refused to look at the brochure. He didn’t want to think about it now, either. But he couldn’t stop. He squeezed his eyes shut in the effort to blot out the mental image. The cover with all those color photos of the building with its fountains and rosebushes and picnic benches. Of rooms decorated to resemble a four-star hotel. Of the idiotic, happy-looking old people who smiled as if they’d just discovered a combined cure for hemorrhoids, acid reflux and arthritis.
Sunrise Manor. “An adult community.”
Come on. Call a spade a spade. An old folks’ home. Ancient geezers shuffling to dinner in their house slippers. Blue-haired ladies waiting to bat their mascaraed eyes at any man still breathing. Not for him. Motor home.
He clenched and unclenched his fist. Not for him, either.
Scott’s house? Bile worked its way up his esophagus. No.
Sunrise Manor? Marie called it a nice facility.
Facility? Tomb.
But staying at Scott’s house? No good choices.
Sunrise Manor. Okay. Visit. Look and see.
He lay awake for a long time wondering how his life had arrived at this conclusion. Coming into this world with nothing, accumulating possessions, then watching them shrink back to very little. No longer a boy. An old man. So quickly.
He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he heard a car pull into the driveway. He looked at the clock. Hard to read it exactly, but late. Very late. He lay still, listening. He heard the front door ease open. Granddaughter?
A muffled sob or hiccup. Then the car backed down the driveway, and through the bedroom window, he watched the lights fade as the vehicle disappeared down the street. He listened for his granddaughter’s tread on the stairs. One step. A stumble. Two steps. Three. Four.
Then, with a sickening thud, the sound of a body thumping, falling, followed by a moan and silence. His heart raced. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grappled for his walker.
By the time he managed to lever himself up and start for the hall, someone had flipped on the stairwell light. He arrived just as Scott thundered down the stairs.
As if awakening from a bad dream, Bud gaped. Heaped on the hallway floor was his granddaughter, her makeup smeared, her hair disheveled. Scott hunkered beside her, cupping her face in his hands. “Hayley, can you hear me?”
Meg tore down the stairs, and behind him, he felt Marie’s hands steadying him. Scott and Meg exchanged a look that stopped Bud’s breath. “She passed out,” Scott said.
Meg crumpled beside her daughter. “She must be sick.”
Scott gathered Hayley in his arms and rose to his feet. “Not sick, Meg. Drunk.”
Drunk? Bud tried to figure out the word. The child? Drunk?
Scott cradled his daughter protectively. “She reeks of beer.”
Hayley’s head lolled against Scott’s shoulder and she moaned again. Her eyes fluttered. “Daddy?” Bud could barely hear her.
“What is it?”
“I’m so dizzy.”
Scott glanced at Meg, then nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s get her to bed.”
“No,” Hayley said. “Bathroom. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Meg and Scott hustled Hayley up the stairs. Bud couldn’t move. This didn’t make sense.
Marie linked an arm through his. “Oh, poor Hayley.”
Poor Hayley. Yes. But poor Scott. Poor Meg. A problem.
He allowed Marie to lead him back to the bedroom. Problems. Lots of them. Him. Stroke. Marie. Houseguests. Another problem.
He crumpled into bed. One choice. Sunrise Manor.
End of the line.