He spent the rest of the afternoon getting a shave and haircut, then went back home to his condo. The cleaning service had stopped by, and unlike his office, the place was spotless. Not that it was hard to clean. He had minimal furniture, he never cooked—the food delivery services knew him by name at this point—and he wasn’t home enough to make a big mess. Mostly it was his bedroom and adjoining bathroom that needed attention.
After setting his briefcase on the rectangular kitchen table he never used, he went to the spare bedroom that served as his second office and sat in front of the computer.He was turning over a new leaf, starting now. He had to decompress from the constant stress and busyness he’d put himself under. The best way to do that would be to get out of Hot Springs. Probably Arkansas too.
Taking Brenda’s advice, he searched for vacation packages. Hawaii. Jamaica. Greece and the rest of the Mediterranean. South Korea. Brazil. The world was his playground now. He had the money, and now the time, to go anywhere and do anything. And after Sunday brunch he would hop on a plane and be on his way to somewhere relaxing, where he didn’t have to think about work or his calendar. A tall order indeed.
It wouldn’t be easy, but he had to rest and recharge. His career and patients depended on it.
Chapter5
“For the last time, Aunt Bea, I’m not taking dance lessons.” Olivia slid a large platter into her aunt’s full dishwasher and reached for a detergent tablet. They had just finished eating lunch, something she and her aunt and uncle did after church at least twice a month. She’d barely sat down at a table laden with delicious, fresh summer food—ham-salad sandwiches, tomato-and-cucumber salad, purple hull peas, homemade potato chips, green beans, cracker candy, mini brownies, and fresh-squeezed lemonade—before Aunt Bea had brought up the ballroom lessons. “That’s my final answer.”
Aunt Bea stuck out her bottom lip and continued to ladle the leftover salad into a storage container. “But it will be so much fun. Your uncle Bill and I are going. So are Erma and Myrtle.”
Bad enough she was a seventh wheel with her friends. She didn’t need to be a fifth wheel to the Maple Falls elderly set. “I hope y’all have a good time.” She dropped the tablet into the compartment, shut the door, and started the washer. Therewere still several pots and pans that needed handwashing. She turned on the hot water and waited for it to get warm as she rinsed off the Dutch oven Aunt Bea had used to make the purple hull peas with both bacon and a ham hock. The result had been delicious.
Her aunt grabbed a dish towel and stood beside her. “You don’t have to do the dishes, sugar.”
“I don’t mind.” She put the stopper into the sink’s drain. “You made so much food today, you could have hosted the entire congregation for lunch.”
Aunt Bea sighed. “I know. Bill got onto me this morning about it.”
Olivia turned to her aunt. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly,” the older woman blurted, averting her gaze. She grabbed a brownie from the plate next to the country-blue, owl-shaped utensil holder, the wordsBea’s Kitchenwritten on its pudgy stomach. She crammed the sweet into her mouth. “Mmf ffmm unf.”
Olivia not only understood what her aunt said but also knew she was lying. “Everything is not fine. Not when you make this much food.” She squirted detergent into the sink and plunged the Dutch oven into the suds.
Aunt Bea finished chewing. “I just wish you’d go dancing with us.”
Olivia gestured with her soapy hand. “You made all of this because you want me to take a lesson?”
“Erm, yes. That’s why.”
Another fib. Something else was going on here, but she wasn’t going to press for more information if Aunt Bea wasn’twilling to give it. They did the dishes in silence, Olivia washing and her aunt drying. That was another clue that something was up. Bea was a talker.
By the time the dishes were done, Olivia couldn’t stand the silence anymore. She yanked the plug, and the bubbles gurgled down the drain. “If it means that much to you, I’ll go.”
“You will?” Immediately, Bea hugged Olivia, accidentally slapping her on the backside with her damp towel. “You should wear that bright-pink dress. The one with the flared skirt.”
“What’s wrong with wearing my work clothes?”
“Nothing.” Aunt Bea folded the towel in half, then in quarters. “But you look so attractive in that dress.”
“I wore it exactly once, to Viola and Keith’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary eight years ago.”
“Do you think it still fits?”
Olivia narrowed her gaze at her aunt. “All right, what’s really going on here? Why do you want me to dress up for a dance les— Oh.”
Alarm lit up Aunt Bea’s round face. Her fingers scrunched the freshly folded towel in her hands. “Oh what?”
“You’re setting me up.” Olivia crossed her arms. “Who is it? Does Ms.Abernathy have a male assistant?”
“I have no idea. And I’m not setting you up. I promise.” The cotton cloth in her hands was now a wrinkled ball.
“Forget it, Aunt Bea.” Irritated, she grabbed the damp towel from her aunt, dried her hands, then hung it neatly on the ring next to the sink. “I refuse to engage in whatever plan you’ve cooked up.”
“But, Olivia—”
