Third Strike's the Charm

by Nicci Carrera

“Francie!”

  Nora glowered.

  “Hey, Lonnie,” Francie said. “Looking good.”

  Lonnie Smith, a former showgirl, sat between Nora and retired bar-owner, Hugh Dallas.

  “Thank you,” Lonnie said. “Well, it sure is nice to see your bright and shining faces today. I’m getting tired of these faces here.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot,” Yvette Purdy said. “Sometimes silence is golden.” Yvette was dressed conservatively, in a brown shirt, jacket, and tan hounds-tooth skirt. No jewelry.

  “Hey, Hugh,” Francie said, waggling her eyebrows. “Get lucky yet?”

  “Not yet,” Lonnie said. “But he keeps trying. Are you joining us for lunch?”

  “We’ll see.” Cara didn’t need to add that it depended on how Sherry was doing. Everyone knew Sherry might not be having a good day, in which case, Cara and Francie would just visit with her in The Circle.

  The doors to the dining room opened, and the people who were able to push their own wheelchairs started to roll. Cara watched the silent stampede, and her heart sank. There was something sad about a big group of people waiting and then entering en masse.

  If Cara ran a facility like this, she would do it differently. She would have the dining room open all the time—no, she wouldn’t even call it a dining room at all, but a restaurant. A restaurant that was always open, so residents could come and go as they pleased. Sure there would be lunch hours and dinner hours, and breakfast…but more like a restaurant schedule, people wouldn’t have to line up at the door waiting.

  That single change would shift the atmosphere. Maybe the concept was that the residents’ suites were apartments, and the rest of the facility would be like a town, with restaurants, stores, a beauty parlor, and a town square. She shook her head. That would require a huge facility like this. A home would be more natural.

  Cara wheeled Francie down a long passageway and around an L-turn leading to a hall lined with rooms. Sherry, who had gone to the iconic 60s Woodstock music festival with Francie, was sitting in the common area rocking back-and-forth and holding a teddy bear.

  “Hi, Sherry,” Cara and Francie chimed as they approached. Cara parked the wheelchair next to Sherry.

  Sherry looked clean, her brown hair cut in an unflattering but practical bob. She rocked, stroking the teddy bear and staring out the window.

  Cara took a seat at a nearby table. Sherry could go to the main dining room only if accompanied. Francie took hold of one of Sherry’s hands and patted it. Sherry’s smile lit up her sweet round face and made her look young.

  “How are you, Sherry?” Francie said. “Have you been good?”

  Sherry nodded and smiled proudly. Francie mirrored her expression while Cara choked back tears and turned her head. In the old days, asking Sherry if she’d been good would have led to wicked laughter. Back then, Sherry and Francie reveled in being naughty. Now, Sherry couldn’t understand such humor. She was a shadow of herself but no less loved.

  Sherry rocked and smiled, her gaze riveted on her friend. She was happy. Maybe this would be an okay day.

  “Would you like to go to lunch?” Francie asked.

  Sherry nodded.

  Cara stood and took Sherry’s hand. Francie propelled her own wheelchair.

  In the dining room, a sea of white-clothed tables filled the high-ceilinged space. Cara chose one of the tables near the group of residents they knew.

  Lunch proceeded smoothly. Toward the end, the conversation at the other table expanded to include Cara, Sherry, and Francie. Lonnie pushed her chair back and said to Cara, “I wish they’d play some music you could tap your foot to.”

  Cara tuned into the Muzak playing over the speakers. It wasn’t bad, really, but like everything else about this assisted living facility, was stripped of all personality.

  “If they played some decent music, I’d have you out on that dance floor,” Hugh said, winking at Lonnie.

  “Honey, you’d better!”

  Hugh grinned. Lonnie had just made him a very happy man. Cara smiled.

  “Sherry would like some rock and roll,” Francie said.

  “Give me Tommie Dorsey and Gene Krupa,” Nora said.

  “The Duke,” Lonnie said. “Duke Ellington.”

  “Music belongs in church, and not for dancing,” Yvette said.

  “Even lobsta’s gotta have fun sometime,” Abner said.

  Cara giggled and sipped water. The talk of the former music greats made Cara flash on a place in Bar Harbor she’d visited with her friend Sin Bennson. A piano player there was playing a mind-blowing boogie woogie. “Hey, how would you all like to go for an outing?”

  The enthusiastic response lifted Cara’s spirits. As Sherry caught on to the spirit of the plans, a big smile and sparkling eyes lit her face. Sherry could go, too. If it was too much, Cara would take her home then come back and sit with the others until the end of the evening.

  On the ride home, Francie said, “That outing sounds great. Anything involving a bar and music is fine with me. I’ll have a gimlet. A double.”

  “Francie!” Cara smiled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “I hope Sherry can make it. That girl used to really love to party. You should’ve seen what we did back in the day.”

  “I’m not sure I would have liked seeing that.”

  “Oh, come on.” Francie swatted her on the arm.

  Cara giggled, then sobered. “I’ll talk to the caregivers and ask them to check with Sherry’s doctor.”

  “Yay.”

  Cara loved the sound of that. Fun was the purpose of this summer. In a way, she was glad Jason wasn’t around today. His absence helped her focus on Francie, but now she wondered where he could be. Not wanting to ruin the moment, when she settled Francie in for the night, she didn’t ask again about Jason.

  “Do you want me to spend the night?”

  Cara meant it as a courtesy so was surprised when Francie said, “You can stay in Jason’s bedroom.”

  “Francie!”

  “Jason’s not going to be there.”

  “Oh. When’s he coming home?”

  “Tomorrow sometime, I think. How ’bout a gimlet now? We can make it a girl’s night.”

  “Okay, we’ll just have one.”

  She managed to keep Francie to that but only by playing several rounds of gin rummy.

  ****

  Cara stayed with Francie the next two days and nights, but Francie wouldn’t tell her where Jason was. Francie reassured her he was okay but said she should let him be the one to tell her about his “adventure.” Francie said she’d let Jason know Cara was taking care of her and Jason said to say thanks.

  The sound of a car in the driveway announced his arrival at nine a.m. on the third day. Cara was in the kitchen fixing breakfast for Francie. From here she could see the front door, which was next to the dining room. The position was strategic for pouncing on Jason the moment he entered. The surprise factor would startle the truth out of him.

  But when the door opened and revealed Jason with taped-up hands, she was the one reeling from surprise. “Jason, what happened?” She came around to meet him.

  He shifted a duffel bag on his shoulder. “Hi.”

  “What happened to your hands?” He’d been in a fight, which wasn’t like him. Then again, she knew nothing of the private side of his years in pro baseball. Baseball. Garrett. “Does this have something to do with Garrett?”

  Jason’s brows arched. “How do you do that?”

  She’d guessed right! “It does, doesn’t it? Okay, you have to tell me what happened.”

  “Can I put my bag away first?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess.” She went to grab it, but he pulled away, tilting his head as if to say, really? “Well, hurry. I’m taking breakfast to your mom, and when I come out, I want you in the living room ready to talk.”

  “Since when did you become my mother?”

  “I’m your friend. So you owe me.”

  “Spea
king of mothers, what do you mean you’re bringing Mom breakfast in bed?” He shifted his duffel bag higher on his shoulder.

  She gazed up at him through her lashes. “Pretty much what it sounds like. You know, a poached egg in a cup, buttered toast, coffee—”

  He glowered. “I get the picture. That’s not the point.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know you were making a point.”

  “Cara!” He growled low in his throat, reminding her of that time in bed when his eyes were nearly black with desire—

  “What?” she asked, innocently.

  “You’re spoiling Mom.”

  “So?”

  “So what’s she going to think of me when you leave?”

  His words sank in, and she turned her attention to the eggs. A loud plopping sound made her jump, and Jason appeared in the kitchen without the bag.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’ve been there for my mom like a daughter. I’m grateful.”

  To Cara’s horror, tears welled, and her lower lip trembled.

  “Oh sheesh, Cara! Please don’t cry. I really don’t need that on top of what I’ve just been through.”

  Oh. An opening. Cara’s tears dried. “What have you just been through?”

  “My friend getting shot, for one thing.”

  Her blood ran cold. “What?”

  “I didn’t mean to tell you. You tricked me,” Jason said this with a note of admiration.

  Her stomach knotted. “Garrett was shot? Wait. Francie’s egg.” She slid a spoon into the boiling water and lifted out the egg, placing it in a small cup designed for soft-boiled eggs.

  “He’s okay.” Jason stood, a smile tugging at his lips. He buttered some toast and added it to Francie’s plate. “It’s good to be home.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Cara hoisted the tray, which she’d decorated with a dahlia in a vase.

  “I could get used to this.” Francie scooted herself up against the headboard, patting the side of the bed by her legs.

  “That’s exactly what Jason is afraid of.” Cara sat on the bed carefully so as not to upset the tray.

  Francie giggled and cracked the egg with the tap of a spoon, carving off the top of the shell and dipping into the white. The yolk ran a bit.

  “You made a perfect egg.” Jason had followed her down the hall. “Well done.”

  “No…easy. Francie doesn’t like her eggs well done.” Biting her lip, Cara turned back to Francie.

  Francie had her eyes closed and was chewing, a slight smile on her lips.

  “At least I know when I’ve been beaten. Or does Mom not like scrambled any more either?” The sound of Jason’s footsteps in the hallway was followed by the click of the bathroom door. Twenty minutes later, he emerged with wet hair. He wore shorts, no shirt. Cara had to jerk her gaze away from his muscular chest with the sprinkling of dark hair.

  “You eying my son, Cara?” Francie said.

  Cara’s face heated. “No, of course not.”

  “Why not? He’s fine.”

  “Stop it.” The heat in her face intensified.

  Francie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh come on, what do you take me for, a prude?”

  “No, but you’re his mother. It’s…I don’t know…”

  “You do know. But you don’t want to tell me. But tell me. What is it?”

  “Francie, you’re my boyfriend’s mother.”

  “Oh, so you admit he’s your boyfriend then?”

  “No! You tricked me.”

  “Now you know how it feels.” Jason’s voice came from behind. She turned to find him wearing a T-shirt, thankfully. Although it wasn’t completely one-hundred-percent better than his naked bod, the coverage was an improvement. He leaned against the doorframe.

  Despite herself, she smiled. He was right. Francie was often one step ahead of her, just as she, Cara, was frequently a step ahead of Jason. There was a sort of symmetry to it, but she couldn’t quite sort all that out right now.

  Jason disappeared. Cara finished with Francie then cleaned up. She slipped down the hall and knocked on his door. He emerged, his hair rumpled and eyes unfocused.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I really do need to hear the rest of the story.”

  “No you don’t. Not as much as I need to get some sleep.”

  “I want to know why you need some sleep and the details of what happened. Is Garrett really okay?”

  He covered a yawn with his fist. “Yes.”

  “Does your mom know what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then I’ll meet you in the living room, and you can tell me.” She marched down the hall and perched on the couch.

  Jason appeared a few minutes later and sat on the chair. “I don’t want you to take this as meaning you can boss me around in the future. But I owe you an explanation, I guess.”

  Jason mentioning the future lifted her spirits. Hmm. Her spirits had been low? Yes. Jason’s unexplained absence had bothered her. In her imagination, he had gone to Vegas and married one of the many girlfriends he’d had when he was playing.

  Jason explained what happened, a terrifying story.

  “I don’t understand why the bookie shot Garrett. I mean you paid him, right? By the way, if you don’t mind my asking, where did you get the money?”

  “From working at your family’s food truck, matter of fact.”

  “You could save from that?”

  “Yes. I live here, so it’s not hard.”

  But he made barely more than minimum wage. He must not spend any money except for the drinks once a week when he went out with the gang. He’d still have expenses, but yes, it was possible, with a great deal of discipline. He’d certainly changed from the pitcher who squandered his money.

  “Why would they rob you when you gave them the money? Do you need some ice for that?” Cara stood. “Here, let me get it.” She went into the kitchen and prepared a bag of ice, wrapping it in one of the clean dishrags.

  “The bookie’s runners didn’t do this.” Jason followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. He was doing a lot of leaning against walls. Jason Ward was a lot of things—secretive, frustrating, sexy, unpredictable, but right now, Jason mostly was tired. Well never mind, she told herself, she wanted to hear the whole story.

  Jason continued. “Ironically, the exchange with the runners was the safe part of the trip. Just as we were walking away from the meeting, we were mugged.” He paused and looked off into space. “I’ve always hated Atlantic City.”

  “You talk as though you’ve been there before.”

  He studied his swollen hands. “Yeah…I have.”

  “With baseball?”

  “No. Long before that.”

  She was confused. She’d known Jason her whole life, at least until they were eighteen, and they broke up. “Before you were eighteen?”

  He moved out of the doorframe, standing straight and staring at the floor.

  “We were inseparable,” Cara said. “I don’t remember you and your mom going to Atlantic City.”

  Without removing his gaze from the floor, he said, “We didn’t.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t remember you going alone to see your dad.”

  “I sneaked out. I guess Mom never told you. I didn’t know for sure if she had. I thought you might know.”

  “No. She didn’t say anything.”

  “She probably didn’t want to alarm you.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t call the police.”

  “She did.”

  Cara stared at him, her mind whirring. “I can’t believe news like that wouldn’t have hit the rumor mill. With the big mouths in the sheriff’s department I wouldn’t be surprised if it showed up in the Lobster Cove Anchor.”

  He chuckled. “Mom didn’t call the police here. She guessed where I went. She called the police in Atlantic City.”

  Cara started washing dishes, setting them in the drying rack.

>   “It’s more efficient if you use the dishwasher.”

  “Sometimes we need things to be inefficient, Jason.”

  He nodded, fatigue showing around his eyes and in the shadow of whiskers on his face.

  “What did your parents do?”

  “Came and dragged me home by the ear.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Jason snorted. “You’re tough.”

  “Tell me what happened to Garrett, please. I need to go home to do some stuff.”

  “I tried to get him to come back with me, but he wouldn’t. I found out he didn’t have a place, which was what I expected. He’s been living in his car. So I found him an apartment and cosigned for it, giving them a deposit and the first couple months’ rent. But I wish he would’ve come here. I don’t trust him not to get into trouble again down there by himself.”

  “And well you shouldn’t. It would have been better to bring him here. Francie was okay with it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good,” Cara said, thinking about Francie’s past with alcoholics, specifically Jason’s father. She was generous to take in another problem man who would most likely disappoint her son. But that was Francie…kind and generous. “Is there any way I can help?”

  Jason smiled. “If there is, I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

  Cara nodded and moved close enough to smell his soap. “You take care of yourself. And call me if you need anything. Tell your mom goodbye for me.”

  “I will.” Jason followed her to the door. “Thanks.”

  She stopped on the landing and smiled, then slipped out the door. Jason was in the window beside the door, wearing a tired smile. She waved and walked away. Knowing he was watching her until she disappeared in the trees that divided their properties, she was both self-conscious and comforted.

  Chapter Five

  Cara’s phone vibrated. She shot upright in bed and grabbed it from the nightstand. It was four a.m. The call was from Francie. Blanca groaned in the other twin bed while Cara’s heart pounded.

  “Hello? Francie? What’s wrong?”

  “Cara? It’s me. Jason.” His voice was tight.

  Fear clawed through her. “Jason?” His name came out as a croak.

  “It’s Mom. She can’t breathe.”

  “No!”