by Katie Powner
“But I have good news.”
She finished her bite and gave him her full attention. “Really? What?”
“I found us a place.”
“You found . . . ? Like, to live?”
He smiled. “Thanks to working the belt for the Duncans, we’ve got enough in savings for the deposit and first two months’ rent. It’s small, but it’s better than our apartment in Santa Clara.”
Apartment? Bea chewed the inside of her cheek. There were only a few apartments in Moose Creek. None of them could be considered better than where they lived in Santa Clara.
“Is it over someone’s garage or something? I didn’t know there were any apartments available around here.”
“No. Bea.” Jeremy set his sandwich down and glanced over at her dad. “It’s in Ponderosa.”
She looked down. What? Their only source of income was here. Dad needed her here. He’d never agree to move Grandma and Grandpa into the house if she moved away. And she’d just mentioned it to Amber the other day, and she said she’d be happy to stop in once a week to keep an eye on Grandma. Between her and Amber . . .
“I can’t run my company from here.” Jeremy’s eyes pleaded with her to understand. “Those three clients I told you about? They’re ready to sign. All of them. But I need to be more available. I need to be around other businesses.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
He raised his eyebrows. “I need better internet. I need . . .”
She felt the familiar stirring of uncontrollable emotions in her chest and struggled to conquer them. Of course, she knew they couldn’t live with Dad forever. They’d put a three-month limit on that. And she’d never imagined herself settling down in Moose Creek. But Dad was all alone. He needed her. Grandma and Grandpa needed her. And her only friend lived here. The pull of inertia was strong.
Jeremy’s words from before echoed in her mind. “I need you to choose me.” She looked over at Dad, talking animatedly with Marge. He’d come a long way from the broken man Bea left behind two years ago. Back then he’d been angry and hurt at her leaving. But now?
She dropped her hands to her lap, and her fingertips brushed her upper left thigh where her commitment to Jeremy was etched forever into her skin with black ink. Then her fingers moved to her belly. This was her family now. Jeremy and this little one she could almost feel in her arms.
“It’s a great place.” Jeremy reached for her hand. “Money will be tight for a while, but if I do a good job with these three clients, more will come. I know it.”
His voice, his expression, asked her to trust him. To choose. She swallowed the lump in her throat and put on a smile. It wasn’t the brightest and most convincing smile she’d ever given, but it was a start.
“When do we move in?”
FORTY-SEVEN
Mitch stood in front of his house, waiting. It was awkward. There was no reason for him to attend another meeting at the church about the Tucker fundraiser, but Marge had quite firmly requested his presence and asked him to give her a ride there. For some reason, he’d agreed.
Almost a week had passed since he’d told her all about his unexpected brother. He’d been surprised how easy it was to confide in her. How nice it was to have someone to talk to. But since that day, he’d felt uneasy whenever he saw her. Which was quite often. She never seemed to run out of reasons to stop by.
“Yoo-hoo.” She closed the front door of her house and jogged across her yard. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He shrugged and gestured toward his truck. They got in, and he started it up, letting out a long breath. What a day. He’d scheduled both care facility interviews for today so he wouldn’t miss any more work. Ralph had covered for him enough lately. He didn’t want to make the trip to Ponderosa twice anyway, and there was that stop at Jack’s Custom Leather he’d needed to take care of. But now he was tired. The care facilities had put him on edge, and he’d been disappointed to learn their protocol as one spouse deteriorated was to separate them from the other spouse. It made him ill to think of his parents being separated.
“Did you just get home?” Marge asked.
“Yeah.”
“And what have you been up to all day?”
He hesitated but couldn’t think of one good reason not to tell her. “Touring assisted-living homes in Ponderosa. For my mom.”
“Oh.” Marge struggled to adjust her seat belt. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“Didn’t realize what?”
“Oh, nothing.” She flicked a hand. “It’s not my place or anything.”
He grunted. “Okay.”
She messed with the strap some more. “It’s just I didn’t think you’d send her away. I mean, she’s lived in Moose Creek her whole life.”
A flash of annoyance scrunched his face. First Bea and now Marge? Maybe there was one good reason not to tell her.
She had no idea how he’d agonized over this decision. How he felt backed into a corner. He wasn’t sending her away. He was getting her the help she—and his father—needed. It wasn’t like he wanted to do this. It wasn’t like he was happy to be losing his mother only two short years after losing his wife.
He kept his mouth shut and remembered to drive the back way to the church this time.
“I suppose you don’t feel you have much choice,” Marge continued, “since you’re working full-time, and they live so far out of town. Obviously, it would be hard to keep an eye on them yourself.”
He suppressed a sigh. If it was so obvious, why was she surprised?
“And with Bea and Jeremy already living with you, it’s not like you can take in more family members.”
His heart squeezed. Bea had dropped the bomb on Wednesday. They were moving out next weekend.
“Not for long,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” She leaned closer and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “What’d you say?”
He waved a hand. “Nothing. Just . . . Bea and Jeremy got a new place. In Ponderosa.”
Her eyes widened. “Hmm.”
Hmm? What was that supposed to mean? The church parking lot was empty except for Frank’s Suburban. He parked next to it and turned off the engine.
She unbuckled with a thoughtful look on her face. “Now that’s something to think about.”
He slid from his seat and furrowed his brow. Whatever it was, he had the feeling he didn’t really want her thinking about it.
The meeting had been short. Frank had made faces at him whenever Marge wasn’t looking and remarked several times about how nice it was they could just ride over together. Mitch wanted to punch him. They used to do that kind of thing a lot when they were younger. Box and wrestle until they were laughing too hard to continue. Frank had been the brother Mitch always wished he had. He’d have to sit down with him soon and tell him all about the biological brother he now had, as well.
Mitch parked the truck in the carport. Marge had barely spoken on the ride home, which made him nervous. He didn’t mind the quiet or anything—in fact, he rather enjoyed it—but when had he ever known Marge to be quiet?
They walked around to the front of the house.
Marge fiddled with a giant star-shaped wire earring. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I’ve got your plate from the other day.” Mitch scratched the top of his head. “You want to come in and grab it? Those muffins were good.”
A huge smile split her face. “I just wanted to share. Couldn’t eat them all myself, you know.” She patted the curve of her hip. “I’ve got nowhere left to put it.”
He cleared his throat and tried not to stare at her abundant behind as she led the way into the house. She’d put just the right amount there, as far as he was concerned. He shook his head—he shouldn’t be thinking like that.
They headed for the kitchen. He hoped Bea and Jeremy were on a walk or a drive or in their room or something . . .
Nope. They sat at the kitchen table, drinking an orange smoothie in a large glass wi
th two straws.
“Hey, guys.” Bea smiled at him. “How was your meeting?”
“Uh . . .” Mitch pointed at the counter. “Marge is just picking up her plate.”
The plate had been washed and sitting on the counter for a couple of days. He handed it to Marge, the tips of his ears burning. He already felt weird around Marge, but when Bea was around, it was a hundred times worse.
Marge took the plate and sat down at the table. “Your father tells me you’re moving to Ponderosa.”
Bea nodded, a look of amusement in her eyes.
Marge turned around to face him, putting one arm on the back of the chair. “I’ve been thinking.”
That’s exactly what Mitch had been afraid of. “Oh?”
She stared at him for several seconds, her neck twisting awkwardly, before he realized he was being rude. He moved to the table and sat down.
“Much better.” She sat up straight. “Now, I know you’ve had a tough few years and that you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
He pinched the inside of his elbow. Where the heck was she going with this?
“I also know you don’t want to move your parents to Ponderosa,” she continued. “So here’s what I’m thinking. The hospital just bumped me down to two shifts a week, and at first I was disappointed, but now I see it was all for a reason.”
She paused for a breath, and Mitch sat perfectly still, afraid to look at Bea because he suspected she found this whole situation far too entertaining.
“You work Monday to Friday.” Marge gave him a serious look, and he noticed the wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced when she did that. He liked it. “I work Wednesday and Friday. We’re both home on the weekends. That means there are only two days a week you would need to have someone available for your parents.”
His nose scrunched. What was she talking about?
Bea pushed the smoothie glass over to Jeremy, her voice full of excitement. “And Amber already said she would love to visit with Grandma once a week. Grandma loves Hunter.”
“Wonderful.” Marge tucked her hair behind her ears. “That only leaves one day a week. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting volunteers for that.”
Mitch looked from Marge to Bea and back. “For what?”
“It’s settled then.” Bea squealed. “Grandma and Grandpa can live here. They don’t have to go to Ponderosa.”
Mitch gaped. This conversation had gotten away from him fast. As his brain caught up with what Marge and Bea meant, an uncomfortable feeling grew in his gut. The care facilities he’d visited today had both been nice. Clean and comfortable. The staff had been courteous and competent. But neither place had felt quite right. Neither place had a large outdoor area, and neither could offer the one thing his mother found more comforting than anything else in the world: a view of the Bridger Mountains.
But that didn’t mean he could move his parents into his house and allow all these random people to help care for them. Okay, maybe they weren’t random people, but still. They were his parents. His responsibility.
Marge touched his elbow, and he startled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
It seemed an impossibility, but he searched her face and believed her.
Bea folded her hands in front of her. “Dad, I get it, too. But people want to help. They love you, and they love Grandma and Grandpa. I think you should let Marge do this.”
He was still a little fuzzy on the details. “Do what exactly?”
“Help you.” Marge smiled. “Organize a schedule to have someone available for your parents every day of the week. Give you the opportunity to say no to those icky places you looked at in Ponderosa.”
“They weren’t icky.”
Bea turned solemn eyes on him. “But they weren’t home, either. Those people aren’t family.”
He huffed. Marge wasn’t either. Amber wasn’t. Whoever else Marge had in mind wasn’t. And he wanted to say so. He almost did. But then he thought of Frank. As real a brother as a guy could hope for all this time, despite no shared blood.
“What do you say, Mitch?” Marge asked.
Caroline would be a puddle of tears right about now if she were here. His mother would be silent and stubborn, insisting on her independence. His father would not speak, but his eyes would be steely and determined. None of that mattered, though. It was up to him now.
“I’ll think about it.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Bea felt a little guilty about moving ahead with Marge’s plan before Dad had made his decision, but not much.
“Which day would work better for you?” She pinned her phone between her ear and shoulder to lift her suitcase onto her bed. “Wednesday or Friday?”
Amber didn’t hesitate. “Wednesday. It would be the perfect way to break up our week. Me and Hunter are always looking for reasons to get out of the house.”
“Great.” Bea opened her closet and eyed her clothes. “I’ll let Marge know. Thanks, Amber.”
“We’re excited about it.” Her voice changed to baby talk. “Aren’t we, little mister?”
Bea smiled. “Cool. Well, I better get back to packing.”
“I’m not excited about that part,” Amber said.
“I know.” Bea looked around her little bedroom. It was familiar and comfortable, but it was time to move on. “We’ll come back to visit as often as we can.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Hunter will be walking soon.”
“So?”
“So you’ll be way too busy to think about me.”
Amber laughed. “That’s true.”
They said good-bye, and Bea tossed her phone on the bed. How had she gotten so settled into this place in less than three months? She was going to need another bag if she was going to take her winter gear. And where had her vitamins gone? She couldn’t keep track of anything these days.
She thought again about Grandma June, and her heart twisted. What exactly had Dad told her? From the beginning, the doctor had mentioned the possibility of the disease being classified as early onset due to Grandma’s age and had warned them about the rare familial variety. But had anything ever been determined for sure? She hadn’t been to any of the appointments and had relied on Dad for the information.
He’d been more irritable than usual and unable to fix the fridge. She’d been forgetful and had lost everything from her hair dryer to her favorite pair of socks. A chill swept over her. As unlikely as it seemed, she couldn’t help but wonder. Familial Alzheimer’s? She’d tried to put it out of her mind from the beginning, not wanting to overreact. It wasn’t a serious consideration. But what if . . .
“Yoo-hoo. Anyone home?”
Bea shook the unpleasant thoughts from her mind and stuck her head out the door into the hall. “I’m up here.”
It no longer surprised, shocked, or dismayed her when Marge showed up at the house. It was still awkward, but at this point, Bea was just happy her dad had another friend. Frank was great and all, but he had seventy-some congregants constantly vying for his attention.
“Oh my.” Marge bounced up the stairs and stood in Bea’s doorway. “You’re busy.”
“Just packing.” She opened and closed the little drawer in her bedside table. Where had she put her vitamins?
“We’re going to miss you.”
Her use of the word we kind of made Bea cringe but also made her smile. “You’ll have your hands full with my grandma.”
“I suppose so. What’s the matter?”
Bea stuck her fingers in her hair. This kept happening. She swore she just had her vitamins. Fear nipped at her. “I keep losing things. My brain just won’t work right. It’s almost like . . .”
Marge plopped onto the bed. “Like what?”
“Nothing.” Bea dropped her hands to her sides. “I’ve just never been so forgetful.”
“Ah, baby brain.” Marge picked up some clothes and started folding them. “I remember it well.”
B
ea’s brow furrowed. “Baby brain?”
“Of course. Everyone gets it. Between the hormones and tiredness and extra stress, your brain goes haywire when you’re pregnant. It’s like it starts redirecting half of its resources to preparing for the baby.”
“But it feels like it’s not working at all sometimes.”
Marge nodded. “When I was pregnant with Jonathan, I forgot my own birthday.”
Hope burst and spread in Bea’s chest like an egg cracking open. Her forgetfulness was normal?
“One time—I think this was when I was pregnant with Sarah—I ordered takeout from The Baked Potato and then never picked it up and made spaghetti instead.”
Bea laughed. “They didn’t call you about the order?”
“Well, they did.” Marge grinned. “But I couldn’t find the phone.”
They both giggled. Bea never would’ve imagined herself giggling with Marge, but it wasn’t so terrible. Marge was kind of pushy. And nosy. But nice.
“I was afraid I was losing it,” Bea confessed.
“You’re not losing your mind, sweetie.” Marge’s smile remained, but her expression grew more serious. “You’re becoming a mom.”
As Mitch drove home from his parents’ house, clouds hovered over the mountains, blocking out the highest peaks. He wondered if that was where the answers were. Up at the very top. Hidden.
He’d gone out to see his mom and dad after work for the past four days, but he was still conflicted about what to do moving forward. His mom had alternated between knowing what day it was and thinking it was 1998. Neither he nor his father had been able to figure out what made the difference. Why some days were worse than others. Even so, Mitch felt sure about one thing. Whatever was going on in her mind, she was more at peace now than maybe ever before.
Mitch had talked to the doctor by phone, who told him it was unusual but not unheard of for an Alzheimer’s patient to suffer so inconsistently and deteriorate so quickly. Dr. Wilson had also asked about her diet and recommended more tests to check for any new infections or issues. Mitch had scheduled the tests for Friday just to cover all the bases. Something told him, though, that they weren’t going to find any underlying causes for her decline.