Page 32 of Day Break

Lane set the wine and glasses down before turning on the gas firepit, then he sat down next to the chair I’d taken. He poured the first glass and then said, “My grandfather has requested that I not ask you any questions.” He handed her a glass.

“And?” I asked, before taking a sip.

“And,” he said, slowly as he sipped some wine. “It’s been years since I’ve gone against his wishes, but I have to know some of the basics.”

I’d expected as much. After all, the past two weeks had been more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. If it ended now, at least I had some money to get back to the city. What I would do then, I had no clue. “Okay,” I finally said. He could ask, though I may not answer.

He leaned back in the chair and watched the fire for a moment.

“Do you have any experience caring for the elderly?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered easily.

“Is this your profession?”

“No,” I answered as I took another sip of wine. So far so good.

“What is your profession?” he countered.

“I’ve been both a cook and maid,” I answered, only hiding a little of the truth. I had never been paid anything for my time. Actually, I’d never been paid for anything I’d done in the past. That hadn’t been allowed. The tasks had been my duty. The only thing I’d been made for.

Lane seemed to take my answer in and toil over it for a moment.

“How did my grandfather find you?” He shifted slightly until he was almost facing me.

I took a deep breath. “He didn’t. Byron did.” I motioned to the dog. “He pulled me off the beach, and I found your grandfather lying face down on the dining room floor. He had a small cut on his forehead.” I touched the spot on my head. “I cleaned it and patched him up. When he refused to let me call someone, he agreed I could stick around so I could watch him for the rest of the day.”

While I conveyed this, Lane sat up straight and set his wine glass down. Worry flashed behind his eyes.

“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” he asked, his tone sharp.

“Your grandfather wouldn’t let me. He’s very persuasive,” I added, not wanting to give him the whole truth. That I’d been afraid to call anyone for fear of what would happen to me. “Then he offered me a job tending him.”

“What exactly does that entail?” Lane asked.

“Cooking, cleaning, laundry, managing food orders and yard maintenance. He’s asked that I take that patch of land and do a small garden. I plan on planting a few things this weekend.”

Lane was frowning now. “Are you proficient in all of those tasks?” he asked.

“Sure, none of it is really difficult.” I sighed and looked into the fire. “I’m most concerned about his health. He doesn’t like fresh vegetables. He needs them in his diet, so I’ve come up with a few menu items where he won’t even know he’s eating them.” I smiled. “He had a spinach quiche the other morning.” I chuckled remember how much George had enjoyed it. “He asked for seconds.”

Lane was quiet for a moment. “Why are you wearing my sister’s clothes and staying in the rooms above the garage?”

I looked down at the outfit. “George asked me to stay close to him. The clothes…” I bit my lip and thought about lying. Then gave up. “The clothes I had were ruined,” I finally said. “He offered. I do plan on using my first paycheck to purchase my own clothes,” I assured him. “I’ll return everything that I borrowed then.”

There were long periods of quiet as we both sipped our wine, listening to the crickets and the hiss of the gas firepit.

The stars were out, and I looked up to the half-moon, remembering how just two weeks ago I was sleeping under it not a couple hundred feet away, unaware of how close I had been to giving up on life.

Byron rushed over and started to get up on the chair with me. I set my wine down and pulled him into my lap. He snuggled down and laid his head on the arm of the chair and fell asleep.

“He likes you,” Lane said softly.

“We were friends long before I knew George,” I said with a sigh. “He would bring me apples,” I said softly, unaware of what I was giving away.

The wine had made me feel as if I was floating. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d had a glass.

“Why are you and my grandfather now calling him Byron?” Lane asked.