“We all went to war. I came home. He didn’t.”
His voice held survivor’s guilt even all these decades later. It was something she’d encountered with military patients in the past, and even with some of her parents’ friends. That strong emotional burden so many carried always left Morgan’s heart achy.
“She never remarried, but not for the lack of us trying.” A look of determination on his face, he continued to edge off the bed. “It didn’t take long after I got back stateside to realize I couldn’t sway Maybelle with my lackluster charms. And then I met Carla. She was a bright girl with a smile that you could feel all the way to your core.” He smiled at the memory. “We loved each other and had a nice life. She was a good wife and mother to our boys. I miss her and feel blessed to have shared over forty years with her by my side. I’ve no complaints on how my life turned out. It’s been a good one.”
Despite the pain his movements were causing, he wasn’t a complainer. Except about taking his medications. He took them, he just never wanted to.
“But this old noggin still works well enough to not pass up an opportunity to see Maybelle. The sight of her always brings me back to my teenage years.” Gritting his dentures, he swung his legs off the edge of his bed. “Did you say they’ll be singing? She has a good voice. An alto.”
Morgan had heard Maybelle sing at church. The woman did have a lovely voice. She was impressed that John commented on it and wondered if church was where he’d heard her sing, as well.
“Here, take my hand while you get into your wheelchair,” she offered, making sure the brakes were locked so the chair wouldn’t roll.
“Getting to see Maybelle and you trying to hold my hand?” John teased. “Today must be my lucky day”
Morgan smiled. “It must be.”
“Or maybe not.” He gave the wheelchair a disgusted look. “If I thought I wouldn’t embarrass myself worse, I’d take my walker. Being in that thing is humiliating. Not that the walker is a lot better, mind you, but still.”
There wasn’t anything embarrassing about using a wheelchair or a walker, of course, but her heart went out to him. “We can try the walker, if you want, but then we’d have to find a seat for you in the community room. If you take the wheelchair, I can park you anywhere you’d like,” she pointed out. “I bet I can situate you where Maybelle is directly in your line of sight, so you can look at her the whole time without getting a crick in your neck.” She waggled her brows. “There are advantages to having wheels on your seat.”
“Smart thinking.” John’s eyes twinkled as he made his way into the wheelchair. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“And here I thought it was because I kept delivering your medicines so you can get better and bust out of this place,” Morgan teased and was still smiling when she rolled him into the assisted living’s community room. But when she saw the group standing to one side of the room near a tall, heavily decorated tree, her jaw dropped. Why was Andrew there?
“Isn’t that your firefighter?” John asked loud enough that it wouldn’t have surprised Morgan if Andrew had heard. Eek.
“Shhhh,” she hushed, instantly regretting that she’d shown him that particular photo. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t looked at the picture dozens of other times. Had she really needed another peek? It had only been two days. “He’s Greyson’s firefighter, not mine.”
Whatever he was, he made breathing difficult and her cheeks hot.
“You sound out of breath, Morgan.” John cackled. “Did I gain a few pounds in the last minute, or are you struggling today?”
She was definitely struggling, but not from pushing John’s wheelchair, and he knew it.
“Keep that up, and I’ll turn you to where you have no view of Maybelle,” she threatened.
He didn’t sound too worried as he said, “You wouldn’t.”
He was right. She wouldn’t. But, making her voice as fierce as she could pull off, she said, “Try me.”
He sighed. “Here I thought you were sweet.”
Morgan’s lips twitched. “Looks can be so deceiving.”
She sure hoped hers were and that she looked as if she was unaware that Andrew was there, when in reality everything in her was focused on his presence. Was he there to help with the singing? Well, duh, of course that’s why he’d be there. Why else would he be? And he was holding a guitar. Did he play?
John laughed. “That they can. Find me a spot with a pretty view and my lips are sealed.”
Smiling despite how shaky her insides felt, Morgan parked John’s wheelchair to where he had a direct, unobstructed view of where Maybelle and the other Butterflies had claimed seats by hanging their jackets over some chairs. The women were talking to Pastor Smith, his daughter, Sarah, and a few others who’d come to help with the singing.
Catching her Grammy Claudia’s eye, Morgan waved. Having noticed the movement from his periphery, Andrew glanced her way.
She wasn’t surprised when he grinned and nodded his head in her direction in acknowledgement. Oh, my. If breathing had been difficult before, it was outright impossible now.
“You have a fan,” John pointed out, sounding amused.
Morgan snorted. “Maybelle looks especially lovely in that blue sweater, don’t you think? It matches her eyes perfectly,” she said, hoping to distract him from additional Andrew comments. Then, leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “You owe me.”
