“What do you mean she’s still in bed?” Hunter asked when Pam informed him that Mimi wasn’t in the common room. “It’s after lunch.”
Pam shrugged. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Nonsense,” came the voice from a nearby doorway.
He turned to see his Mimi wearing the pink robe he’d bought her for Christmas last year and a pair of matching slippers.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She grimaced. “I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing a robe,” he pointed out. “You never wear a robe in the middle of the day.”
“I wear this robe plenty. It’s my favorite.” She motioned to Pam.
“That’s right,” the woman agreed. “I see her in it all the time.”
But she’d never worn it during one of his visits. Instead, she was always dressed in a pantsuit or a dress, her hair perfectly coiffed, her lipstick on and eyelashes in place.
“I’m fine.” She waved another hand as if to say the subject was closed. “Now tell me you gave the slingshot subject a little more thought”—she motioned to the white bag in his hand—“and changed your mind about bringing me contraband.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s just a muffin,” he said, holding up the bag. Because he’d done plenty of thinking the night before about all his great-grandmother had done for him. And all she asked in return? A slice of lemon loaf and a slingshot. Since he wasn’t about to make it past the front desk and Beatrice Tucker, the dietician who monitored all of the food that came in via family members, he’d picked up a healthy alternative that couldn’t be confiscated.
“The cookie didn’t work. Stella Blankenship is allergic to peanuts and accused me of trying to send her into shock, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing if I could have convinced her to take at least one measly bite. But Beatrice caught up to us and confiscated the blasted thing so I didn’t even get a chance to stab her with the EpiPen.” Clara waved a hand. “A muffin isn’t going to work unless there are some nuts hidden in the center like a file in one of those cakes they sneak into a prison.” Hope fueled her gaze. “There’s no chance of that, is there?”
“The muffin isn’t for her. It’s for you.”
“I’m not allergic.”
“I know that. There are no peanuts in it. It’s bran.” Brandy Tucker had told him it was perfect for anyone on a restricted diet when he’d stopped by the bakery that morning. He’d been after a dozen of Jenna’s favorite cupcakes. A gesture that had caused a raised eyebrow and a questioning look from Brandy Tucker McCall.
* * *
But in all honesty, he’d bought the cupcakes as a consolation gift because he wasn’t going to see Jenna tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or any other night.
He was putting a stop to their arrangement before things got any more complicated.
Before Hunter DeMassi got in over his head to the point that he stopped thinking about the good of the town because he was too busy thinking about her. Wanting her.
Falling for her.
Hell, no.
The truth had hit him over the past few days as his thoughts had been more and more consumed by their after-hours activities, to the point that he’d almost blown his cover out at the still site. He’d been so busy thinking about Jenna that he’d almost missed a new camera that had been set up a few yards into the tree line. Proof that they were suspicious that someone was on to them.
He couldn’t get careless again.
He had work to do. A town to run. His sanity to preserve.
“It’s good for you,” he added when Mimi stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “It’s low in sugar.”
“What’s the point of a muffin if it has to be good for you?” She glanced up. “I didn’t stick around this long so that I could spend my glory years eating bran. How depressing is that?” she asked Pam.
“I think it’s nice that he cares about you,” the nurse told Mimi. “You’re lucky to have someone who loves you so much.”
“I am, aren’t I?” A smile touched her lips, along with a hint of sadness. “At the same time, there is such a thing as caring too much.” A frown pulled her expression tight. “You spend too much time here. Don’t you have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shouldn’t you be at the church picnic?”
“I already put in an appearance, drank a glass of tea, and now I’m here.”
“I’m not talking about keeping up appearances. I’m talking about living. You should be out living instead of babysitting a sick old woman.”
“I’m not following you.”
“You used to have so much life in you. Now you’re just going through the motions.”
“I used to be hell on wheels to quote you.”
“Exactly.” A smile touched her lips. “You were a handful back then. But then you had to go and grow up.”
“That’s a good thing, Mimi.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. We all have to grow up sometime and let the past go.” The sadness was back then. “Even if we don’t want to.”
“What’s going on, Mimi?”
She didn’t answer for a long moment as if lost in her own thoughts. But then she smiled and patted his hand. “It makes no nevermind. So tell me all the juicy gossip. Did Gerald have a penile implant? ’Cause that’s what Maureen told Stella who told Janine. Said she heard it from Lorelei herself. Said everybody is saying that he wasn’t discombobulated, but in actuality he was. Gerald just had a penile implant to repair everything so that Haywood wouldn’t think he got the best of him.”
“If the man had to have an implant then Haywood definitely got the best of him.”
“So you’re saying it’s true.”
“It’s not true. It’s ridiculous. I was just saying that a penile implant is not winning any war.”
“Told you, Pam.” Mimi glanced at the nurse. “No penile implant.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Clara waved a hand. “Good for him, disappointing for the rest of us.”
“You don’t seriously like seeing the Tuckers and the Sawyers going at it all the time, do you?”
“It makes no difference what I like. It’s a fact just like the sun rising and setting. That’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years here. You can try all you want, but you can’t change people. They are who they are. You can only change people’s perceptions of you. Like you did.”
“But I did change, Mimi.”
A gleam touched her eyes. “Let’s hope not. I think I’m ready for my nap.” She turned to Pam before Hunter could ask her what she meant. “Take care,” she told him.
“I’ll see you next time.”
She didn’t answer and a strange sense of worry wriggled through him. “What’s up with her?” he asked Pam after she’d signaled an orderly to take Mimi back to her room.
“I don’t know. She woke up yesterday complaining that she was still tired. I called the doctor. He sent out some medication for her until he gets in for rounds tomorrow. He said it’s probably just her age catching up to her. I should be so lucky as to be in that good of a shape when I’m ninety-two. If I ever get there.”
“You and me both.”
His Mimi was getting old. It made sense that she would start to slow down mentally as well as physically. Even say a few off-the-wall things.
“You used to have so much life in you. Now you’re just going through the motions.”
Like hell. He wasn’t going through the motions. He was still living, all right. Living a better life than the one he’d had. He was making a contribution to the world. Doing some good. Paying it forward instead of stuck in a selfish rut just worried about his own happiness.
He’d spent far too long chasing the rush of a good ride, feeding his own need for excitement.
But the world didn’t revolve around him and no way was he just going through the motions now.
His Mimi was wrong. Confused. Old.
He knew that.
So why did her words still bother him so damned much?
* * *
Clara’s baby was dead.
Jenna sat on her grandfather’s overstuffed plaid chair—the last piece of furniture still left in the house—and reread Clara’s words of anguish and grief and blinked against the burning behind her eyes. Denial rushed through her and her heart all but stopped as she read the heartbreaking words …
… I held my beautiful baby girl for the first and the last time. I held her for hours even though they kept trying to take her away from me. I prayed for her to open her eyes. For her skin to pink up and warm to the touch. But my prayers went unanswered. Like always. They finally took her and left me with nothing but my self-loathing. She’s gone and I have only myself to blame because I couldn’t save her from the inevitable, just as I couldn’t save you from the hatred of an entire town …
Jenna folded the paper and stuffed it back inside the envelope. There were still six more letters that she’d intended to get through before finishing up the last of her packing. Brody and his guys were anxious to get started on the demolition. Something that should have happened days ago, but she’d been too busy with work to empty out what little remained in the house.
Too busy with the letters.
With Hunter.
She’d been stalling, putting off the inevitable just as Clara had been when she’d held her baby and refused to let go.
But Jenna was doing just that.
It didn’t matter that the letters continued and there were still a few odds and ends in the kitchen cabinets, life had to go on. Clara’s life, where it had seemed more like an intriguing soap opera before, now seemed more real this time. The pain palpable. Jenna knew that she could no more keep reading than she could put off the demolition of the house, or keep up the agreement with Hunter. All three—the letters, the packing, Hunter—had been a distraction from the reality of what she was doing.
Evolving.
Changing.
Saying good-bye.
But things were getting too real now. The feelings too intense. Forget a distraction. All three were sucking her in, pulling her in different directions and she needed to get back on track.
It was time to let go of the letters.
The house.
Hunter.
Time to move on.