The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel)

by Jump, Shirley

  Then there was Luke and the barbecue at his house tonight that she’d agreed to go to. That was a whole other kind of complicated relationship. She’d intended just to have a one-night stand with him, one hot, unforgettable night. Yeah, that plan had gone well. What kind of woman planned a one-night stand with the neighbor but didn’t plan ahead for protection?

  A clear sign that she was more of a multi-night kind of girl. And look how well that decision had turned out. She’d screwed up a marriage, she’d screwed up a fling. Maybe she should just enter a convent and give up on men altogether.

  Inside the morning room, Greta, Pauline, and Esther were gathered around a stack of papers. As soon as Olivia approached, Pauline let out a squeal, gathered all the papers into one pile, then dropped her purse on top. Olivia grinned. “You ladies look suspicious today.”

  “Who? Us?” Greta gave Olivia a blank look. “We’re just talking about the Sweetheart Dance next month. Pauline thought it might be a good idea to do a little mixer, you know, to get some of the singles to pair up.”

  Olivia considered that. “I think anything that gets people here to be more social is a good idea.”

  Greta fingered the sheets. “And maybe we could get some of our younger staff to participate. You know, lead the way for the rest of us.”

  Olivia could read the attempt at matchmaking from ten miles away. No way was she falling for that again. “Or maybe you and Harold Twohig could have a couple’s peace treaty.”

  Greta scowled. “I would rather cover my face in fire ants.”

  “Oh, goodness, no, Greta.” Esther blanched. “When they bite you, they sting. You’d get all swollen up and—”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Esther. I wouldn’t really do that. Any more than I’d go out with Harold Twohig.”

  “I don’t know,” Olivia said with a smile. “Seems to me the lady doth protest too much. I think you secretly like Harold. He’s not a bad-looking guy, you know.”

  “If you like men who resemble earwigs.” Greta shuddered. “No, thank you.”

  Olivia laughed, then gave Miss Sadie’s leash a gentle tug. “You ladies have a nice day. I’m off to my appointments.”

  The chair screeched as Greta got to her feet and started walking with Olivia, telling Pauline and Esther she’d be right back. “So, have you seen my grandson lately?”

  Olivia’s cheeks heated, but she cleared her throat and willed the blush away. She’d seen Luke all right—all of Luke—just before he ran out of her house. But that wasn’t the kind of thing she’d mention to the man’s grandmother. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Every once in a while,” she said instead.

  “I called him this morning. And he called me meddlesome. Me. Meddlesome.” Greta shook her head. “I think he’s just being grumpy.”

  “Well, Luke does have grumpy down to an art.”

  “It’s because of all he’s been through,” Greta said quietly, her voice serious now. “He doesn’t like to talk about it or let people know what he is going through. He suffers in silence, I suppose you could say.”

  “I can understand that.” Hadn’t she done the same after her divorce? She’d retreated to her house and stayed there for days, as if solitude would make it better. It hadn’t. “But his friend is there now, and they invited me to a barbecue tonight.”

  “Oh really? He didn’t mention a friend at the house. Or a barbecue. With you.” A smile spread across Greta’s face, a smile that said she had a preacher and a church on speed dial. “That’s wonderful.”

  “It’s just chicken on the grill,” Olivia said, “nothing more. So don’t be getting any ideas, Mrs. Winslow.”

  “Who, me?”

  Olivia chuckled. “Yes, you. Don’t you remember talking me into walking you over to Luke’s, then running out the door to leave us alone?”

  Greta glanced at the ceiling. “Maybe. I’m not saying anything that might incriminate me.”

  “Listen, I appreciate the fact that you and the other ladies care about my happiness. It’s nice. It’s like having another family here, and that’s made this whole move easier.”

  Greta took Olivia’s hand in her own warm, soft one. “Sweetie, you are part of the family. I consider you the granddaughter I never had.”

  Emotion burned Olivia’s eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she missed having family around her until now. With Anna and Dan more than a thousand miles away, having Greta and the other ladies serve as her surrogate family washed Olivia with warmth. She gave Greta’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you. It’s been hard for me, not knowing”—she drew in a breath, then decided if she kept running from the questions, she’d never have the answers—“why my mother left me her house but never had anything to do with me.”

  Confusion filled Greta’s light blue eyes, then sharpened as she put the pieces together. “That house on Gull Lane? The one that . . . Oh my. You’re Bridget Tuttle’s daughter? But I thought . . .”

  “Diana is my sister.”

  “Oh.” Greta’s lips pursed. “Oh . . . my. Well, I thought I knew about everything in this town. But I didn’t know this.”

  “No one did, as far as I can tell.” Olivia glanced at her watch and shifted her bag of therapy supplies on her shoulder. She could spare one more minute. And maybe, finally, if she started talking about what Bridget had done, she’d gain some closure, and some answers. “That’s what confuses me. Why would she leave me the house but not so much as a letter or a note? Why go all my life without contacting me? Why . . .” Olivia sucked in a breath, the last question lodged like a gumball in her throat.

  “Why would she give you up and not want you?” Greta reached up and cupped Olivia’s face, and in that simple touch, one that conveyed sympathy, understanding, and love with her soft, wrinkled palms, Olivia could have been Greta’s granddaughter. “People do stupid things all the time, honey. Things they regret. And sometimes the way they try to make up for the mistakes they make is just as bumbled, because they don’t know what else to do. Whatever your mother did or didn’t do, I’m sure she did it with love.”

  Olivia turned away. “She never even knew me.”

  Greta gently brought her attention back. “Maybe she knew you better than you think. I didn’t know Bridget well. I don’t think most folks did. She kind of stuck to herself and poured everything she had into that shelter. Sometimes people do things like that to make up for pain that lies deep, deep inside.” Greta’s wrinkled, velvety palm served as a balm against Olivia’s cheek. “And if you ask me, there’s no deeper pain than losing your child. Whether it was your choice or not.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just find your peace with all this. You may never have the answers. But if you keep letting the emotions of the past rule your present, you’ll never find your future, dear.” She straightened and gave Olivia’s arm a pat. “Now, you better get to your appointment. I know Millie needs you and Miss Sadie.”

  Millie. The one patient Olivia had yet to connect with. She dreaded the appointment.

  “She doesn’t show it,” Olivia said. “She won’t interact at all with me or the dog.”

  “Give it time.” Greta’s wise eyes softened. “She’s in a dark place, and she’s having trouble finding the light.”

  “I can relate to that. Thanks for all the advice, Greta. You’re the best grandma anyone could ask for,” Olivia said. She gave Greta a quick hug, then headed down the hall, with Miss Sadie trotting along, her little white tail wagging in anticipation. Miss Sadie seemed to sense the change in Olivia’s demeanor, or the more purposeful stride, and shifted into work mode at the same time.

  Before Olivia even reached the room, she knew they had their work cut out for them today. After several weeks of trying to engage Millie during the group appointments, Olivia and Millie’s therapy team decided to try some one-on-one with Miss Sadie and Millie to try to encourage her to step out of her self-enclosed shell.

  Thus far, most of the patients at Golden Y
ears had responded well to Olivia and Miss Sadie. The days when someone who had suffered a stroke lifted her arm to toss a treat for Miss Sadie, or a heart patient opted to walk farther down the path just because he was enjoying the time with the dog, warmed Olivia’s heart and told her she had made the right choice in giving up her retail job for this one.

  But then she encountered patients like Millie, who didn’t respond at all, whose walls stayed up, and who made Olivia wonder if a better therapist could do a better job. Those days she questioned her career choice and her skill.

  Olivia drew in a deep breath, then gave a light knock on the door before entering the therapy room. “Hi, Millie! How are you today?”

  No response. Millie sat in an armchair by the window, her hands in her lap, her long white hair brushed back from her face and hanging loose around her shoulders. She had on a pair of pajamas, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, and scuffed pale-pink slippers. Olivia knew, from talking to her therapy team, that Millie often refused to get dressed for the day or to do much more than basic care. Depression emanated from Millie in waves. Even Miss Sadie sensed it and slowed her happy dog pace as she neared Millie.

  “Miss Sadie wanted to say hello,” Olivia said, then gave the dog a signal with her finger. Miss Sadie plopped onto her butt and let out a little yip.

  No response.

  “Why don’t we start with something simple today?” Olivia said. She fished in her pocket for a Cheerio, Miss Sadie’s favorite snack. “Would you like to give Miss Sadie a snack?”

  Millie shifted in her seat and shook her head. Olivia bit back a sigh.

  “Are you sure? She’d really love it if you did.”

  Millie ignored her.

  Miss Sadie glanced over her shoulder, with that What do you want me to do now? look. Olivia reached in her bag and pulled out a trio of colored cups. “Millie, I’m going to hide a treat for Miss Sadie. How about you point to which color cup you want me to hide it under?”

  No response.

  Olivia tried for another ten minutes, but Millie either ignored her or looked away whenever Olivia asked her a question or tried to engage her. Miss Sadie even tried sitting right in front of Millie, eager to interact, and except for a brief flicker of something that could have been a smile or could have been annoyance, there’d been no response. Finally, Olivia gave up, packed up her bag, and headed out of the room.

  “How’d it go?” Kris, the occupational therapist on Millie’s team, asked when Olivia came out to the nurses’ station.

  Olivia sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Maybe nothing, hon,” Kris said. The short brown-haired woman had worked at Golden Years for ten years now and almost always had some bit of wisdom to impart. The other therapists on the team looked to Kris for guidance and leadership on a daily basis. “Sometimes the patient needs to make the choice to be open to the therapeutic process. Millie has to decide she’s going to leave all that emotional weight at the door, and just . . . do it. We can’t force her. She has to decide on her own.”

  “I’ll keep working with her.” Miss Sadie let out a little yip. “And so will Miss Sadie.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Kris smiled. “You never know when the breakthroughs are going to come. You just have to be patient and open. And don’t forget to leave your own emotions at the door, too. Sometimes patients sense your stress, and that just adds to the wall they have up.”

  “I know. I just feel like such a failure. All the other patients have responded so well.”

  “You can’t change everyone’s life in one day, O Super Handler.” Kris grinned, then went back to work.

  Olivia headed off to her group appointment and thought about what Kris had said. Had she let her own frustrations show today? Brought her worries and stresses about the house and her mother to work? Next appointment with Millie, Olivia vowed to leave all that at the door, as Kris had said, and make the patient the priority.

  By the time she had finished her appointments for the day, a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirled inside her. When she got into the driver’s seat of her car, Miss Sadie hopped across the divide and cuddled into Olivia’s lap. “Silly girl,” she said softly, giving her bichon a loving pat. “Read my mind, huh?”

  Miss Sadie let out a little yip and pranced a bit before settling down again.

  “Maybe you should be the therapist and I’ll be the assistant. Would you like that, puppy?” Olivia rubbed Miss Sadie’s ears, then let the warm, slobbery love of a dog wash over her. The unconditional devotion eased the tension in Olivia’s shoulders, and by the time she had Miss Sadie strapped into her seat and the car in motion, the anxiety had dissipated.

  She swung into the driveway, parking to the left of Diana’s car. Miss Sadie beelined for the dog door and headed inside the house, undoubtedly for an after-work nap. Olivia headed toward the shelter. As she traveled the well-worn path, she realized her mother had walked this same path. Her mother’s shoes had been the ones that flattened the grass, scuffed up the dirt. And now, Olivia was following in those footsteps.

  Diana stood in the doorway of the shelter. Olivia had never seen a picture of Bridget, but she suspected their mother looked much like her daughters. Was she seeing a younger version of her mother? Seeing the way she looked when she’d built this shelter and embarked on her mission to save homeless pets?

  “What?” Diana said when Olivia approached. “You’re staring at me.”

  “I’m sorry. I just . . . well, I’ve never seen a picture of our mother and I wondered if she looked like you.”

  In an instant, sympathy flooded Diana’s green eyes and softened her features. “Actually, she looked more like you.”

  A rush of hot tears raced up Olivia’s throat and to the back of her eyes. “She did?”

  Diana nodded. She cast her eyes to the ground, and Olivia read an echoing pain in Diana’s eyes. No wonder the two of them kept circling each other like wary dogs. They each came into this with their own hurt and betrayal. Olivia with Bridget’s abandonment, and Diana with Bridget’s secrets.

  Diana reached into her back pocket and tugged out a cell phone. “Actually, I have a couple of her on my phone. They’re from last summer, before she got sick again.” Diana scrolled with her fingertip, then flipped the phone’s screen toward Olivia. “This is Mom.”

  Mom.

  Olivia stared at the image of a tall, thin woman with long blond hair and a wide smile. But it was her eyes—laughing, dancing green eyes that peeked out beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat—that grabbed Olivia. “She looks happy.”

  “She was. When she was here, at least. This place was her life.”

  Olivia detected a note of bitterness in her sister’s words. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one left behind. Olivia danced her finger down the image, skirting along the lines of Bridget’s floral-print sundress, her neon-pink flip-flops. “What was she like?”

  “Unpredictable. Spontaneous. Devoted to the dogs.” Diana shrugged, then tucked the phone away. “I never saw her as much as I wanted to. She was always here.”

  “What happened?”

  “Cancer.” Diana let out a low curse and shook her head. “She wouldn’t let anyone else run this place, even though I offered, and it fell apart. Did I add stubborn to the list? Because she was that, too.”

  “And your dad? I mean, is he . . . still around?”

  Diana was shaking her head before Olivia finished the question. “I don’t know who my father is. Or yours. Mom wasn’t much for long-term relationships.”

  “Oh.” The picture Diana painted of Bridget was filled with contradictions. A woman devoted to her cause, but not to her children. Or her home. Had she poured everything she had into the shelter, with nothing left over for the people in her life?

  “Listen, I better get back in there and make sure Jackson isn’t spoiling those puppies too much.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I’ve got it under control. Thanks.”
The words were friendly, but the message was clear. Diana wanted some time alone, some distance from the painful subject of their mother. She stepped away, then turned back. “If you could bring out a bowl of warm water and some rags, that’d be great. I bet these little guys could use a bath.”

  An olive branch. Olivia nodded, then headed inside. She fed Miss Sadie, let Chance out, then grabbed a bucket and a stack of old T-shirts. Miss Sadie clambered onto the sofa, tucked herself into a ball, and fell asleep under the warmth of the waning afternoon sun. Chance, however, came outside with her. “I bet you want to see your family, huh, buddy?”

  Chance wagged his tail, his ears perked. He nosed the door of the shelter open and wriggled inside, then trotted down the hall and around the corner to the kennel. Diana greeted the dog, then bent down and peeked at his wound. Chance whined until she released him, then tiptoed into the kennel.

  Jackson’s face, annoyed and aggravated when his mother was around, exploded into a smile at the sight of Chance. “There you are.” He wrapped his arms around the golden’s neck, then gave him an affectionate ear rub. Then Jackson glanced up at Olivia. “Where did you find him?”

  “Right here, a couple weeks ago. I took him into your mom’s office, and she fixed him up.”

  “He’s healing really well,” Diana said to Olivia with a nod of appreciation, before returning her attention to her son. “He’s going to be just fine.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Good.” Jackson redirected his attention to the dogs. Angry teenager still filled his face. The cold war between parent and child was nearly palpable.

  “I brought the water and rags,” Olivia said, hoisting the bucket. “Do you want some help?”

  Diana glanced at the rambunctious puppies, wrestling and tumbling all over each other. “Each of us take one?”

  Jackson nodded. Olivia dropped to her knees, put the bucket between the three of them, and doled out the rags. They each grabbed a puppy, then took turns wiping their wriggling bodies. The female slid between Olivia’s wet hands and scampered to the side before Olivia could scoop her up again. “They’re so slippery.”