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Was her heart still that messed up from Carly’s dad?
“Let’s talk next week sometime.” Anita felt more than a little hungry. She didn’t want to deal with Glenn right now, which was another strange thing. When she’d met him, she’d been charmed and was excited he’d asked her out on a date. Life had been much simpler then—and the past few hours had changed all of that.
“Sure thing,” Glenn said in an easy tone, as if he were already thinking of someone else. “We’ll talk next week.”
“HI, GRAMPS, HOW ARE YOU doing?”
Sam Davis already knew what was coming. His grandson only called on the days he was canceling. He adjusted the receiver against his ear—lately he’d had trouble hearing as clearly as he liked. “Doing about the same as yesterday.”
“Oh, that’s great to hear,” Wyatt said in a rush. “Really great. Hey, uh, look, I’ve had some things come up, and I’m afraid I won’t make it this afternoon. But I can stop by tomorrow, if that’s all right?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said. And he wasn’t. He’d been banished to this assisted living place a few months ago, and so far, he hated it. You’ll meet new friends, they’d said. You’ll love having all your meals prepared for you, they’d said. There are so many activities, they’d said. You’ll enjoy reminiscing with the others, they’d said.
It was all hogwash, and he didn’t really need to be here. So what if he’d fallen a couple of times. He’d been able to get up—eventually—and he refused to use a wheelchair. No matter how long it took him to make his way to the dining room or the other activities, a walker was better than a wheelchair. His body was turning against him, choosing the good days and bad days without his input. This morning had been good, but with the news of Wyatt’s cancellation, Sam might as well just stay in his room for the rest of the day. Do some reading, which would probably turn into napping. So be it.
He reached for the book on the coffee table in front of him and turned to his bookmark. He adjusted his glasses and read a half page of the large-type print, then realized he couldn’t remember what was going on in the story, so he restarted the chapter. How far he got, he didn’t know, because the next thing he knew, he was being awakened from a nice nap.
“Mr. Davis?” a young female voice said from his partially open doorway. “It’s time for our activity. Do you want me to help you into the wheelchair?”
Sam blinked at the dark-haired woman, trying to clear his mind from the dream he’d been having about Susan...again. This time, she hadn’t moved with her family. She’d decided to stay in Seattle and attend the community college. She’d been worried about a place to stay since room and board at the college was expensive. Sam had just been about to suggest they talk to his parents’ neighbors when he’d been awakened.
“I’m skipping the activity,” he said in a rasp. He cleared his throat. “My grandson’s not coming today.”
The woman named Ginny tilted her head, and her brown eyes went soft. “Oh, sorry to hear that. But I’m happy to take you anyway. You’ll enjoy yourself, and I’d hate for you to stay cooped up in your room.”
The whole place was like living in a coop.
Before Sam could protest, Ginny pulled the wheelchair out of the corner and grasped his arm. The woman was strong, he’d give her that—or maybe he’d weakened. Both were likely true.
“There you are,” she said after she’d strong-armed him into the chair. “Now, would you like a lap quilt?”
“No, I don’t want a lap quilt.” What was he? An old man? He tried to keep the bite out of his tone, but he doubted he’d been successful.
Ginny, to her credit, didn’t flinch or become upset. “We have lemon bars for dessert tonight. Do you like lemon bars?”
“I don’t like getting powdered sugar all over me.”
She laughed as she rotated the wheelchair toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Davis.” She began to push, then stopped rather abruptly. “Oh, were you in the Air Force?”
She must have spotted the row of framed photos that Wyatt and Paula had insisted on setting up.
“It was called the Army Air Corps back then,” he said.
Ginny reached for a photo and picked up the frame. He was standing in front of the B-29 Superfortress with his co-pilot Jeffrey. The man hadn’t made it through the war.
“Is this World War II?” she asked, awe in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Oh boy, did you fly in Europe?”
“I did.”
Ginny angled the picture as if to get a better spot of light on it. “What was that like?”
“What was it like dropping bombs on cities?” Sam asked. “Hell.”
She set the picture down carefully. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davis, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
