Flannery pulled her pinky finger away from her mouth when she realized she was chewing the nail. Ever since Jack had brought the habit to her attention, she’d cut down on the physical display of her nerves. But sometimes …
A large, aggressive-looking black car pulled up to the curb. Black with tinted windows. That’s what he’d told her.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her sunglasses on and stepped out into the hot morning sun, reflected as it was off the glass building behind her and the concrete and asphalt of the city sidewalk and streets. One thing about summer—city dwelling seemed to make her only too aware of just how hot it got in Nashville.
The driver’s door of the car swung open, and Jamie—dressed in tan cargo shorts and a light-blue T-shirt with ankle socks and athletic shoes that showed off his toned, tanned lower legs—jogged around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. The back door.
“Good morning.” His shameless grin made her only that much more nervous.
Until she peeked into the car. Big Daddy turned and looked over his shoulder. “Morning, darlin’.”
She straightened and pinned Jamie with the glare that usually made editors and graphic designers squirm and agree to her deadlines no matter how tight. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Just get in the car.”
With one more glare, she climbed in, her twill khaki shorts sliding easily on the smooth leather seat. Jamie closed the door behind her. The cool, dim interior of the car made her shiver from the contrast to the heat outside. She pulled her glasses off again.
“Big Daddy, where are we—”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Her grandfather exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Jamie. She didn’t really like either of them right now.
Granted, she wasn’t necessarily a morning person. And even after getting up around ten last night and moving from the chair to the bed, her neck still hurt. Caylor’d been telling her about the absolutely fabulous massage therapist she’d found—she treated herself to a massage at the end of each semester as well as each time she finished and turned in a novel to her publisher. Flannery pulled out her phone and made a note to be sure to get the name and number from Caylor and set an appointment. She deserved it, after all the extra time she’d been putting in at work so far this summer.
In the front, Jamie and Big Daddy talked about some cutthroat game of cards they’d played—though it didn’t sound like any card game she’d ever heard of. Familiar landmarks rolled by as Jamie drove down Broadway, angling toward Vanderbilt and then slowing as the road narrowed in Hillsboro Village.
When he put on his turn signal to turn onto Acklen Avenue—right in front of the church—Flannery leaned forward, as far as the seat belt would allow. “Where are we going?”
“Ten seconds and you’ll see.” Jamie smiled at her through the rearview mirror.
Two blocks up, he turned left into a tree-shaded parking lot.
“Hillsboro Village Assisted Living.” She hadn’t been here since her early twenties, when the college group from the church took on the senior center as their volunteer project.
Big Daddy opened her door for her and offered her his hand. Though she didn’t need it, she took it and continued to hold it as they followed Jamie into the building.
Red, white, and blue bunting, streamers, and balloons hung from every corner of every wall and desk and countertop in the place.
Maureen met them near the reception counter and introduced Flannery and Big Daddy to several of the staff and the center’s director. Flannery filed each name away, grateful for their name tags on a day when she would be meeting dozens of new people.
A large contingent from the church’s senior adult group gathered in the front lobby, and after a few minutes—with Big Daddy and Maureen introducing Flannery and Jamie to everyone they hadn’t yet met—the director led them back to the community room.
“We need help setting up chairs in rows to face the stage, and tables along the back for food. And for those who can’t do that kind of heavy lifting, we could use your help with arts and crafts in the dining hall.”
Jamie and Flannery joined the nursing staff and a few other younger volunteers in setting out chairs, while Maureen and Big Daddy joined the group going to the dining hall.
“I suggested to Cookie that your grandfather probably shouldn’t be doing much vigorous activity today.” Jamie pushed a cart stacked high with heavy wood-framed upholstered chairs to the end of a half row already set out.
Flannery spun, watching her grandfather as he disappeared into the other room. “Why? What’s wrong?” She started toward the dining hall.
Jamie grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward the stack of chairs. “He says it’s allergies—that it always happens around this time of year. He’s just having a little trouble with catching his breath and his stamina.”
As a fellow seasonal allergy sufferer—probably inherited from him—Flannery could sympathize. But worry chewed at her enough that she spent the first few minutes of helping Jamie set out chairs praying for her grandfather.
“You…um…so are you surprised that this is where I wanted to bring you?”
Startled, she almost tripped over the chair she’d been pushing to the end of the row. Jamie stood there, hands in his pockets, rocking from heel to toe, deep lines between his brows, bottom lip pulled completely into his mouth. Wow, he was even cute when anxious.
“Yeah—a little. But it’s a good surprise. I used to volunteer here when I was in high school and college—and I’ve been meaning to get back. But you know what they say about good intentions.”
A slow smile softened his features—what she could see of them around the mustache and beard. He’d trimmed it, but she’d really much rather see his dimples. She gulped a couple of deep breaths. Beard or no, the temptation to kiss him grew greater each moment she was with him.
Especially after seeing the note this morning.
Gawain + Ragnelle.
She’d taken it off the refrigerator and had been about to file it—to protect it, she told herself—in the lockbox with all the notebooks from yesteryear. But as she knelt there by the box in her closet, she thought about what the note represented.
Past pain.
Secrets.
Humiliation.
Embarrassment.
Personal joy.
Relaxation.
Contentment.
Fun.
Acceptance.
Love.
She’d put the note right back on the fridge. If she had time this week, she’d get over to the craft store and find a frame for it, because it did need to be protected.
Jamie + Flannery needed to be protected. Not Flannery. That’s how she’d entered—and ended—every relationship she’d had since high school. No matter what, protect herself from getting hurt.
Her knees gave out a little when she gave in to the urge to take a break and stand back and watch Jamie work. For all that he’d been an office-job guy, he must have spent a lot of time at the gym. His arms bulged with muscles as he lifted three and four chairs at a time from the stacks. Even with his T-shirt untucked, she could see enough of his shape to know that he had a trim waist.
How could a guy who looked like that—like some of the worst world-class jerks she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting—be the kind, caring, funny, self-deprecating dork (to use his own word) she’d always told herself she’d someday fall for?
Jamie finished setting out the chairs in his stack then turned and looked around the room. The creases between his brows vanished, and the corners of his mouth drew up into a smile—no, not just a smile, her smile, the one he gave just to her—when their eyes met.
A wave of euphoric dizziness almost pulled her into its undertow, and she grabbed the edge of the table behind her.
She loved him. She barely knew him. But she loved him. Enough that she’d do anything he asked of her, especially change her last name to O’Connor.
Jamie enjoyed getting to see Flannery in action. And the girl could move. Her lithe figure belied her strength, as she held her own against the burly orderlies in the physical labor of getting the community room set up.
Once the director deemed they’d put out enough chairs, she asked for help in decorating the space—hanging bunting, draping streamers, and blowing up balloons.
“I’ll do the balloons.” Flannery eyed the ladder a maintenance man carried into the high-ceilinged room, chewing on the nail of her pinky finger. Not fan of heights, huh? He’d file that away for future reference.
“Oh, I wouldn’t ask volunteers to go up on the ladder—staff only. Cuts down on liability. But do as many balloons as you can. What we don’t use for decorations in here, we’ll tie to the residents’ wheelchairs and walkers or give to the kids who come out to visit this afternoon.
Jamie offered to be a spotter, holding the base of the ladder steady while the guy at the top jiggled it around as he worked. He handed up tools and supplies as needed and helped move everything around the room.
They’d just reached the last corner when high-pitched laughter caught Jamie’s attention. It sounded like Flannery…but not. He exchanged a curious glance with the maintenance guy—two rungs up with heavy bunting hanging across the entryway to the dining hall.
Jamie turned. Three orderlies stood in a semicircle around Flannery, who—at that very moment—put a balloon up to her mouth and inhaled. She said something in a cartoonishly high voice, and all four of them laughed.
He didn’t know whether to join in the laughter or go pull her away. Couldn’t she see the three men were smitten with her?
“You’re a lucky man.” The maintenance guy tapped Jamie’s shoulder.
“I’m—what?” Tearing his gaze away from Flannery, he looked up.
“I’ve seen the way that gal looks at you. It’s not very often that a fella finds a woman who’ll look at him as her one and only, and that’s the way she looks at you. It’s easy to tell y’all have been together a long time, too. Not many would feel comfortable letting other men try to get their woman’s attention. But when you’re confident she loves you, and you alone, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He pointed to Jamie’s left side. “Now, hand me that hammer.”
With a man’s safety depending on him, Jamie had no choice but to steady the ladder, turning his back on Flannery. The laughter died down, replaced once again by the steady rhythm of balloons being filled and tied off.
That was just it, wasn’t it? He’d fallen, and fallen hard, for Flannery. But he really didn’t know her all that well. He knew her deepest, darkest secret—or at least, he hoped she didn’t have any others—but he didn’t even know her birthday or exactly how old she was, though he assumed within a year or two of his own thirty-five.
His new weekend roommate could be a fantastic source of all that kind of information—Jamie just needed to figure out how to get it without interrogating her grandfather.
They’d been e-mailing back and forth almost daily through the fansite—but not sharing anything personal. Through regular e-mail, several days lapsed between messages and responses—though she’d e-mailed him a couple of times a day since lunch Friday.
Cookie had told him that she’d fallen in love with his grandfather through the letters they wrote back and forth while James lived in Atlanta and Cookie was in college and nursing school. Could he and Flannery be doing the same thing—only with a compressed timeline due to the speediness of electronic mail?
Before he could join Flannery at the helium tank, she finished tying a long string to the last balloon, which she let float up to the ceiling. The orderlies had disappeared, and the maintenance guy collapsed the ladder and carried it out.
Jamie sauntered over to her, hands in his pockets, whistling to hide any trace of the doubts and questions plaguing him. “Having fun?”
She pulled her hands out from behind her back. Pinched between her fingers and thumbs were the necks of two balloons. She put one up to her lips and held the other one out toward him. “I couldn’t leave you out,” she said in her little-girl-cartoon voice.
Jamie inhaled a little bit of the helium. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
Flannery giggled, her voice returning to normal. They stood there for ten minutes, talking like little cartoon kids when they weren’t laughing too hard to form words.
With the last little bit of helium, Jamie said, “I’m really glad you came with me today.”
Flannery flung her arm around his neck and took in the last bit of her helium. “I’m really glad you asked me.”
Jamie put his arm around her and rested his hand in the small of her back. Their bodies weren’t touching anywhere else, but with only a little pressure, he could have her in his arms in a nanosecond.
“Where’s the party?”
They both turned in the direction of the loud voice, dropping their arms as if they’d been doing something wrong. An elderly man with a walker ca-chunked into the community room.
Jamie stepped forward, ready to assist if needed. “We were waiting for you. We can’t have a party without you, Fred.”
Fred’s entrance began the wave of people moving from the dining hall into the community room, ready for the day’s program to begin. Jamie offered his assistance to one of his favorite little old ladies, and Flannery was about to offer hers to another when the director pulled her to the back corner of the room. He couldn’t tell what they talked about, but the director seemed worried. Then Flannery reached out and touched the woman’s crossed arms, smiling and nodding as she responded. The director smiled and hugged her, pinning Flannery’s arms to her side briefly.
Whatever it was about, Flannery seemed to have made the woman’s day.
It took awhile for all of the residents, their family members who’d already arrived to spend the day, and the senior group from the church to shuffle into the room and take their seats.
The little kids, whose voices they’d occasionally heard from the dining hall during arts-and-crafts time, trooped up onto the stage. One of the two ladies with them sat down at the baby grand piano. The other one stepped out to the front of the stage.
“Please stand as you’re able for the Pledge of Allegiance and the singing of the national anthem.”
Jamie hurried to join Flannery at the back of the room as about three-quarters of the people in the room struggled back to their feet.
He got there just in time to “assume the position”—the stiff little soldier-man stance his father had drilled into him as a small boy—for the Pledge and anthem.
After the anthem, Big Daddy waved them over to the back row on the other side of the room. Flannery slipped her hand around Jamie’s elbow.
His feet didn’t touch the floor until they got over to where their grandparents had saved them seats and Flannery released his arm. He went in first—which meant Flannery sat beside Cookie, who put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Flannery leaned close and pressed her cheek to Cookie’s, and they both gave a silent air kiss.
Jamie collapsed into his chair. Cookie hadn’t liked any girl he’d ever introduced her to as a date, much less a girlfriend. Did Flannery meet her approval simply because Cookie had a crush on Flannery’s grandfather?
No. Because if Flannery and Cookie ever had a chance to sit down and talk privately, they would probably walk away from it best friends. Or close friends, anyway.
Flannery mouthed the words along with the children’s choir—”America, the Beautiful”; “My Country ‘Tis of Thee”; and the big finale of “This Land Is Your Land.”
Toward the end of the last song, the music leader turned around and waved her hands at the audience. “Everyone join hands and sing along.”
Flannery didn’t just put her hand in his—she twined her fingers through his in a very nonplatonic gesture. Her shoulder pressed against his, and he swayed with her to the rhythm of the music as they both sang as loudly as they pleased—no one could hear them over the cacophony of voices filling the large room.
He was holding hands with Flannery McNeill. God, this is what I want. My career doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever You want. I’ll take a job as a garbage man or a street sweeper if that’s what You want. But my part of the bargain is that no matter what career it is, I get to keep Flannery.
Either God heard and answered or Flannery made the decision for Him, because when the song ended and everyone else in the room released each other’s hands, Flannery didn’t budge hers.
The center director took the stage as the children stomped down the steps and were then led out of the room. “And now we have some special guests with us who are going to do some readings.”
Flannery released Jamie’s hand. Maybe she’d just forgotten—
But then she stood up and left him—scooting past Cookie’s knees. Big Daddy stood so she could get out of the row, and she walked toward the front of the room.
“Some of you may remember her from years ago when she would come in and read to you for hours and hours each week. Flannery McNeill is going to read the poem ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” She stepped aside from the podium.
Flannery adjusted the microphone, moved something around on the stand, and then looked out at the audience, making eye contact and smiling. “ ‘Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere….’“
Read? Ha! Try recite. In all the years Jamie had spent the Fourth of July here, the program hadn’t changed, just the people participating in it. And no one had ever given such life to Longfellow’s poem. Jamie leaned forward, elbows on knees, and closed his eyes, nodding his head to the melody and rhythm of Flannery’s voice. When she finished, loud applause and cheers went up for her. And over even that, he heard a woman’s voice crackle out, “That’s her, I’m telling you!”
Obviously someone remembered her from her volunteer days.
She smiled and waved as she walked to the back row. Jamie wanted to kiss her. Instead he settled for putting his arm around her atop the back of her chair and resting his hand on her far shoulder.
Her ponytail tickled his arm when she leaned toward him. “Did I sound okay?”
He squeezed her. “You sounded great.”
The pastor from Acklen Avenue got up and read the Declaration of Independence—to a light smattering of applause, and then Kirby McNeill was invited to the stage to recite the Gettysburg Address.
Kirby braced his hands on the pulpit—and Jamie tried to envision him preaching a fire-and-brimstone sermon, then laughed at the absurdity of that idea.
“Whew. That’s a long walk up here from the back.” Light laughter met his banter. After a couple of deep breaths—Flannery and Cookielooked at each other, and Jamie could see the concern in Cookie’s eyes—Kirby started. “ ‘Four score and seven years ago…’ ”
Once started, he did just fine, and he received more applause and cheers than the pastor, but not quite as much as Flannery.
The program continued with a little more music and closed with a recognition of the veterans. Kirby stood when the U.S. Army song was played—and that didn’t surprise Jamie at all. According to Cookie, Kirby was a few years older than James, so he’d have been the right age to serve in World War II. Most of the men in the room around Kirby’s age stood as well, during one or the other of the military theme songs.
Flannery slipped her hand into his again, and when he looked at her, tears glistened in her eyes. She smiled and wiped away an escapee. “This part always gets me. I should remember to carry tissues in my pocket on Independence Day.”
Jamie made a show of patting the multiple pockets of his shorts, then slid his fingers under the sleeve of his T-shirt and stretched it out toward her. “This is what I use.”
Laughing through her sniffles, Flannery gave him a little shove with her shoulder. When the music ended, she was the first to jump to her feet, cheering and clapping. Jamie joined her, as did the rest of the younger people in the room. She leaned over Cookie, who sat to applaud, and hugged her grandfather.
“Lunch will be served in the dining hall in fifteen minutes, so please make your way into the other room.”
Instead of getting in the way, they stayed seated while the room buzzed with activity around them.
Cookie put her arm around Flannery and pulled her close. “You did such a lovely job reading the poem. It’s obviously one you know well.”
“I had to memorize it in eighth grade, and it’s stuck with me ever since. It’s always been one of my favorites.”
“Excuse me, Ms. McNeill?”
Flannery turned at a voice behind them. A middle-aged woman stood with her husband and children and a very frail older woman in a wheelchair.
“I told you she came,” the older lady said.
Jamie stood and moved his chair so that Flannery could stand and move around to talk to them.
The woman introduced herself to Flannery and started to introduce the old woman, but Flannery crouched down beside the wheelchair. “You’re Addie Parker. I used to read to you.” She took the woman’s ivory, veined hand in hers.
Addie beamed up at the family towering over her. “I told you. Flannery O’Connor used to come and read to me every week.”
Flannery looked stricken—but only for a moment before she laughed. “Mrs. Parker—I used to come and read Flannery O’Connor to you. My last name is McNeill.” She stood but kept hold of the lady’s hand.
“You can’t believe how worried we’ve been about her mind over the last ten or so years. Every time she’d start in on why Flannery O’Connor never came to read anymore, we just thought she was going senile. Flannery O’Connor was always her favorite author, so we thought she was just confused.”
Flannery patted the back of Addie’s hand. “Because of people always connecting my first name with Flannery O’Connor, I avoided reading her as long as I could. But Addie didn’t want anyone else but O’Connor, so we read her. I think that’s the first time I ever had an appreciation for the writer my mother admired so much as to name me for her.”
Proud of her for not going off on her rant about how much she hated that comparison, Jamie couldn’t help but be grateful she hadn’t been the daughter named after Sylvia Plath.
Addie’s family wheeled her away—after Flannery promised to come read to her again sometime soon.
Most of the crowd had made it into the dining hall. Jamie held out his hand toward Flannery.
“Y’all go on ahead. I’ll be along in a minute.” She headed out the opposite door.
Jamie followed Cookie and Big Daddy into the room, and they found four seats at a big round table in the corner. Food was served family style, with large platters of baked chicken and corn on the cob, and bowls heaped with potato salad and coleslaw. Jamie served plates for both himself and Flannery, but he waited to start eating until she came.
But when she still hadn’t come when everyone else at the table was halfway through with their food, he knew something was wrong. Excusing himself, he stood and went back through the community room to the hallway into which she’d disappeared.
Flannery leaned against the wall, hand covering her eyes, her breathing ragged.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie pulled her into his arms.
“I’m such a horrible person.”
He almost laughed—until he realized she was serious. “No you’re not. What are you talking about?”
“Addie,” she sobbed out. “She’s been asking about me for ten years. But did I ever make the time to come back here? She wanted me—needed me—and as soon as I finished school and got out into the real world, I completely forgot about everyone here. I’m so s–s–selfish and self-centered.”
He thought about teasing her that selfish and self-centered were pretty redundant with each other—the way she teased him about his inadvertent, and sometimes purposeful, grammatical errors in his e-mails. But grief rattled through every breath she took—now wasn’t the time for teasing.
“You can’t change the past. But you can change. You can start coming up here with me every week.”
She pulled back from him, and her teary eyes darted back and forth looking into his. “Every week? What do you do up here every week?”
“I’m the caller for Thursday night bingo. I have been since I was thirteen years old, when Cookie would bring me up here because she couldn’t leave me at home alone.” He reached up and pushed the damp ends of her bangs out of her eyes. “So while I’m calling bingo, you can come up and read to those who want it. How does that sound?”
Flannery ran her fingertips down his jaw, tickling his beard. If he had a purr box, he could definitely out-purr Liam right now.
He couldn’t stand it any longer. Hooking his hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward and kissed her. The pillow softness of her lips was even better than he’d dreamed. Her hand flattened against his cheek, and she kissed him back.
Heart racing, he pulled back and then gave her another light kiss. He blinked a few times before he could see her clearly. “I’m s–sorry. I know you d–didn’t want the b–beard—”
Flannery pressed two fingers against his lips. “It’s not so much the beard as what it represents.” She frowned. “Well, actually, it is the beard, too.”
He captured her hand in his and kissed the fingertips touching his lips. “The beard will be gone before the cookout this afternoon—if you don’t mind being a little late so that we can stop by my house on the way so I can shave. Either that, or you can ride with Cookie and Kirby over there, and I’ll just meet you.”
“I’ll go with you.” She watched her own fingers as she ran the backs of them down the facial hair. “So you’ve made up your mind?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have. I’m—”
His cell phone rang—the new ringtone he’d assigned to Cookie. He released Flannery to pull the phone out of the cargo pocket on the side of his shorts’ leg. “Hey, Cookie, what’s—”
“Is Flannery with you?” Her voice sounded frantic.
“Y–yeah. What’s wrong?” He flashed a concerned look at Flannery, grabbed her hand, and started toward the dining hall.
“It’s Kirby. I think he’s having a heart attack.”