The Time of Her Life

by Jeanie London

  Always had been even as a little girl. Susanna’s mom always made the turkey no matter who hosted Thanksgiving. She started thawing the turkey three days in advance then got up at three in the morning to start cooking her “bird” as she called it. Mom would hand Susanna a fork and she’d take the first piping hot taste of the stuffing to determine whether or not the bird was close to ready. A lifetime tradition.

  “For the record.” Brooke tossed her hair off her shoulders and set her menu down. “I’m not a vegetarian. Just selective.”

  “You could select the duck,” Brandon suggested. “Looks like a turkey. Kind of.”

  “Um, you have fun with that.”

  Brandon shook his head. “I’m good with the grits, thanks. Not a fan of turkey.”

  “Really, Brandon. How come I did not know that?” Susanna had known Brooke didn’t care for turkey. Everyone had known because Brooke had always made a performance out of piling her plate high with everything else that graced the Thanksgiving table. But Brandon... “Why do I always remember you eating turkey then coming back for seconds and thirds?”

  “I was hungry.”

  Brooke rolled her gaze, but Susanna gasped.

  “Brandon, I can’t believe you never said anything. If I’d have known I would have baked a ham or something.”

  He shrugged, unfazed. Food was food, apparently. Then the waiter returned, and Brandon ordered for everyone, the way his father had once done when they’d dined out as a family. Brandon had only been thirteen when Skip had died, but clearly some things left a lasting impression.

  “Come on, we’ve got to say grace.” Brooke prompted when the appetizers arrived. She extended her hands to join the family in a circle. “Mom, you start.”

  Susanna began with thanks for the opportunity to be with her beautiful family. Brandon continued with gratitude to have his mom and sister within driving distance and their surprise visit. Brooke drew a deep breath, then said, “Lord, please bless our food, we ask with a shout. Save us all as we pig out. Some stranger cooked our meal and probably, uh, sweat. This food needs all the help it can get.”

  There was a beat of silence before they all dissolved into laughter, drawing notice from some other diners.

  Skip had always been the one renowned for his theatrical performances of grace that would leave the entire table howling.

  And in this moment, he was with them. He’d always be with them. Because they were his family. A unit. No matter how much distance separated them. No matter where they made home base. No matter who married and changed their name or added children, this family had always started with Dad, Mom, Brooke and Brandon at its center. Their family might grow up and grow, might move around near or far, might even physically have to say goodbye as they had to Skip, but they’d never lose each other because they were a part of each other, always.

  There was a part of Susanna that settled down, finally at peace, so reassured that whatever changes life might throw their way, they were intact. And would be. They’d roll with the punches, make time for each other and savor each moment they spent together. For the first time in so long, she felt excited for the future. And she could see that there was a lifetime of possibilities ahead of them because the urgency and anxiety wasn’t blinding her.

  No, her gaze was filled with her beautiful children, so grown-up now, her ears filled with their laughter as they chatted over the meal, providing glimpses of life in Virginia, in Columbia, in Charlotte, and sharing plans and dreams.

  Brooke wanted to go overseas for her graduate studies. As an art history major, she wouldn’t be through with school until there was a Ph.D. behind her name and her minor in French translated into language fluency that would allow her to hold her own in international business.

  Brandon surprised them all by revealing that while he intended to ride his scholarships as far as they’d take him, he wasn’t interested in playing pro ball or sports management.

  “Remember that ball camp I went to this summer?”

  “The ball camp that dragged you away from home two days after high school graduation? That the one?” Susanna asked.

  Brandon arched an eyebrow, clearly not missing the sarcasm. “A group of handicapped kids came to participate for a few weeks. It’s a summer program the university conducts to provide opportunities for service hours that the undergrads involved with sports have trouble squeezing in during the normal semesters. You wouldn’t believe the things these kids can do. Play ball. Race. Swim. You name it. They’ve got all kinds of equipment to help them work around their disabilities. It’s amazing.”

  Susanna and Brooke sat in silence for a moment, too surprised to do more than blink at Brandon’s unusual candor.

  “So you’re interested in working with handicapped kids?” Susanna asked.

  “No, Mom. Orthopedic surgery. I talked to Uncle Charles before I went to see my advisor about classes for next semester. I don’t waste time taking stuff I don’t have to. Turns out Uncle Charles knows the chief of orthopedics at a hospital in Greensville. Dr. Spellman. He was great. Invited me in to tour their program. Just went a few weeks ago.”

  “Wow, honey. How wonderful” was all Susanna could think to say on the fly. This had completely come out of left field. She wondered if Karan knew, because she hadn’t mentioned one word.

  Brooke recovered faster. “How are you going to keep up with the coursework while you’re playing ball?”

  Brandon looked affronted she’d question his ability and glared back with a narrowed gaze.

  “I think it’s great you’re so interested,” Susanna said, stepping in before the interaction took a turn. Siblings. “I guess you’ve been playing ball so long I assumed you’d go into sports management or something like that.”

  He shrugged. “Ready for a change, I guess.”

  Reaching across the table, she patted his hand. “I’m excited for you.”

  Brandon grinned his father’s grin, and then they were back to eating and chatting and being thankful for their enthusiasm about the future. Susanna shared stories about The Arbors and got excited about their visit in a few short weeks. They made plans for celebrating Christmas in their new home base. And by the time they were sipping coffee and sharing a dessert, Susanna couldn’t help but think how proud Skip would have been of his kids.

  That thought lingered, and he felt close as they wrapped up dinner and headed back to the car, which they’d parked on the street. It had been light when they’d entered the restaurant but dark now, so they didn’t see a man emerge from the shadows until he startled them with a gravelly voiced greeting.

  Brandon stepped around Susanna, keeping her and Brooke close as he herded them along, saying, “Have a good Thanksgiving, man.”

  Susanna saw him press something into the man’s hand. Cash, she guessed.

  “God bless you,” the man replied with a shake of his grizzled head. No smile.

  They continued on their way to the car without comment. Brandon had assumed control of the situation quickly, and kindly.

  Skip would have been so proud of his son.

  Of all his family.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SUSANNA RETURNED TO The Arbors more content than she’d felt in a long time. There was only one more situation that needed resolution...and Jay’s departure at the end of the transition period would resolve that problem.

  Her newfound peace manifested itself in a night of deep sleep, a refreshing change from the anxi
ety-riddled hours she’d endured since her arrival in Charlotte.

  But as luck would have it, the ringing cell phone awoke her on the first night of her return. Bleary-eyed from deep slumber, Susanna attempted three times to answer the call before depressing the right button.

  “Yes,” she ground out.

  “Sorry to wake you, Susanna,” Walter said apologetically. “But I’ve got a situation here.”

  “What?” The word barely scratched past the gravel in her throat.

  “Pipe break.”

  For a beat of silence, she stared into the darkness, wrapping her brain around what Walter had said.

  Pipe break?

  Sleep fell away fast. “Please tell me the first floor.”

  “Wish I could. Third.”

  “On my way.”

  Susanna reacted. She didn’t bother with a bra but pulled on sweats and a pair of deck shoes before taking off at a run. She opted for a fast drive in her car to the facility.

  Robbie from security waited in the main lobby and opened the main doors when he spotted her, saving her the effort.

  “Walter put in a call to Mr. C. too,” he said. “But he’s not here yet.”

  “All right, so where are we?”

  Robbie gave her the rundown as they made their way to the employee stairs. “Ryan heard the leak on a walk-through. By then it was coming through Mrs. Mason’s second-floor bathroom.”

  “She’s been evacuated?”

  “Put her in the respite room.”

  Susanna nodded approvingly. “Have we figured out where the leak is coming from and has anyone turned off the water?”

  Walter emerged from the employee stairwell, wet from head to toe, sodden shoes squeaking on the concrete with each careful step. Kimberly followed him with a stack of dry towels.

  “Glad you could join us, Susanna.” Walter shot her an ironic smile. “The leak is in Mrs. Harper’s room.”

  “Thank God for small favors.” Mrs. Harper was currently ensconced in her temporary room on the first floor.

  Walter nodded, which sent wet white hair flopping heavily onto his forehead. Kimberly reached up with another towel to stem the flow into his eyes.

  “It’s a mess up there,” she added.

  “Tried to shut off the main for that wing, but I couldn’t get the valve to budge,” he explained. “Ryan got some tools, but we proceeded to snap the valve right off in the valve seat.”

  “Oh.” Susanna dragged her gaze over wet Walter. Not good. “Is there a main, main for the facility?”

  Robbie frowned, and Walter arched a bushy eyebrow. She wasn’t sure if their silence meant the facility couldn’t be without water or if they’d have to call the water department to access the main valve. Either way, she’d clearly reached the limit of her plumbing experience. “Has anyone called Chester?”

  “He told me to get into the plumbing cabinet in Mrs. Harper’s room. Said there’s some sort of shut-off valve in there. Ryan and I had a go. We weren’t sure what we were supposed to be turning, and it was hard to see with all the water. Afraid we’d break something else and make matters worse.”

  “Okay, then. What are we doing to contain the water?”

  “Ryan’s sopping it up in Mrs. Harper’s room, and Jane is in Mrs. Mason’s room, keeping it from running down the wall—”

  “Jay’s here.” Robbie headed back toward the door.

  Jay strode through the doors wearing running pants and a scowl, and the rest of them stood there united in their relief at the mere sight of him.

  Susanna included.

  Jay would know what to do.

  “Welcome home,” he said before Walter launched into an explanation yet again and Jay sprang into action, reaching for the employee stair door and maneuvering around Walter with an impatient “We just need the angle stop. I got it.”

  The relief was tangible. Everyone had such faith in Jay. That was his gift and what made The Arbors so special.

  Susanna chased after Jay. “Go dry off, Walter,” she said before the door slammed shut behind her.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she finally caught up in the hallway outside Mrs. Harper’s room.

  He met her gaze, green eyes filled with resigned humor. “Have a good holiday?”

  She laughed. “Lovely, thanks. You, too, I hope.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I did.”

  There was a laundry cart in the hall with stacks of dry, neatly folded towels, supplying Ryan, who was inside on his knees in the flood, damming the flow of water.

  “Hey, Mr. C., Ms. Adams.” He flashed a wet grin while layering another sodden towel onto the makeshift dam in the bathroom doorway.

  “Toolbox?” Jay asked.

  “In there, on the vanity. Hope you brought swim goggles.”

  Jay gave a snort of exasperation, or maybe laughter. Except that he didn’t look all that amused. “Get out of here. Go dry off. Don’t drip on the carpet.”

  “Yeah, right.” Ryan pushed himself to his feet, scrubs soaked and molding every inch of his young body in thin cotton. “Chester’s got a wet-vac.”

  “Thanks for your help, Ryan” was all Susanna said as she averted her gaze politely.

  But she was pleased that his dam-building effort had been fairly successful because the carpet beneath her feet didn’t feel squishy until she got close to the bathroom door.

  “How may I help?” she asked while grabbing a few towels from the cart.

  Jay stepped over the dam, bracing himself with a hand on the doorjamb. “Ugh, what a mess” was his only reply as he quickly surveyed the damage. “We’ll have to gut this whole bathroom, and probably Mrs. Mason’s downstairs too.”

  “What a blessing that Mrs. Harper has already been relocated. Who knew?” was all she could think to say.

  “Yeah, well. You’ve got a point.”

  Then Jay was on his knees, giving her a prime shot of his backside as he leaned into the narrow space between the vanity and commode. Water sprayed out, not violently but steadily, and he tried to avert his face, which obstructed his ability to see inside. “I’ve just got to get down in here....”

  If only this had been the first floor. The bathrooms in the nursing center were utilitarian, tiled with floor drains. But these were apartments in every sense of the word except for the lack of kitchens and any appliances that could be left plugged in, or on. The ALF floors, for all their monitoring and security, accommodated residents with limited-assistance needs.

  Susanna continued to buttress the swollen dam. Her efforts were decidedly unhelpful at best, compared to Jay who was stretched out in that narrow space, getting rained on full in the face as he twisted around to work inside the cabinet.

  And what a sight he made from this angle, providing a full shot of his backside. The running pants proved worse than Ryan’s scrubs because once wet, they clung to Jay like a second skin. He moved one way and she could see the muscles in his thigh flex. Another way and she could see the muscles in his butt flex.

  She made an honest effort to avert her gaze, but his sweatshirt rode up, treating her to skin and lots of it.

  Was seven years really that big a deal?

  The question popped into her brain unbidden, causing that embarrassed flush to start its aching crawl over her skin. But embarrassment didn’t prove an effective deterrent, either. Every move he made brought her gaze riveting right back to the sight he made, squirming around in that spray, cre
ating a wake every time he moved, long legs stretched, in all their shapely glory.

  “Damn it,” he finally exploded, creating a tidal wave as he shoved himself up, thrusting wet hair back from his forehead and swiping at his face. “This is ridiculous. There’s plenty of room to get in there, if I could just see.”

  She held out a dry towel. He snatched it and swiped his face again.

  “May I help?” Her voice, so small over the bubbling that echoed in the confines of the bathroom, got his attention.

  “You’re smaller than I am. Maybe you can avert the spray, so I can see.”

  “Of course. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Get wet.”

  “Please.” She grimaced, resisting the urge to flinch while grabbing the doorjamb and stepping carefully into the flood.

  “You get in first and hold this against the flow.” He handed her back the towel she’d given him. “I just need two seconds to get a good grip and turn the valve.”

  Then Susanna was on her hands and knees in the water, which saturated the fabric of her sweats in a slow rise up her thighs. She imagined the sight she flashed Jay, then sputtered as the spray caught her full in the face.

  “Oh.” Wrangling the towel into the cabinet, she felt her way to the break by touch rather than sight.

  Using the towel’s bulk as lever, she blocked the stream enough so she wouldn’t get sprayed in the face anymore.

  “Good.” Jay maneuvered behind her, around her, his big body close and closer, until she could feel every hard inch of him spooning against her.

  There was no gentlemanly excuse me. There was no acknowledgment whatsoever of this ridiculously intimate position. There was nothing at all except the feel of their bodies pressed close for the first time.

  “Try to aim the water that way,” he growled against her ear, a rough-silk sound that filtered through every inch of her. “I can’t get a grip.”

  Her unexpected reaction spurred her into motion, and she bunched up the sodden towel and tried to direct the flow away.