Forever Found

by Allyson Charles

  Marla’s grandfather pushed his tiles back into the center of the table and slid his reading glasses up to his bald crown. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to call my granddaughter sweet thing.”

  “Thang, not thing.” Ric scratched his head with the tip of his pencil, the yellow tip disappearing into his greased-back silver hair. “And you’ve only told me twice.”

  Marla flipped over her tiles, fighting her grin. Her deda and his best friend never failed to lift her spirits. They bickered like an old married couple, and it wasn’t surprising. Their friendship had lasted longer than most marriages.

  Her grandfather sighed and shot her an apologetic smile. “That’s because before this morning you called her sweetheart, sweetie pie, and sweetness.”

  “Don’t forget sweet cheeks,” Marla threw in, knowing it would drive her deda nuts. She mixed the tiles around, the ceramic clacking.

  “Don’t remind me of that one.” He glared at his friend as he drew new tiles. Her grandfather’s long fingers were curled with arthritis, and he carefully set up a long row.

  “Oh, lighten up, old man.” Ric laid out the double sixes. “Our girl doesn’t…doesn’t…” His face twisted and his eyes screwed shut as he sneezed. “Aaa-shit!” Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped under his nose.

  “Bless you.” Marla nudged her grandfather’s glass out of his arm reach. It had taken a direct hit from that sneeze. “Did you both get your flu shots this year?” She looked around the room at the dozen or so senior citizens reading or playing games and rubbed her chest. The community room of the assisted living facility was tastefully decorated in warm golds and greens, with large windows that looked out onto a small garden. Everything was tidy and well-maintained…and boring. Her deda said he liked living at Golden Acres, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. About his health and about his happiness.

  Her granddad’s phone buzzed, and it vibrated off the table, landing next to Maddie’s tail. Mad jumped to her feet, quivering, and huddled next to Marla’s legs.

  “It’s okay, girl.” Stroking Mad’s back, Marla swallowed down the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her whenever her girl took fright. And the rage when she remembered the cause. “It was just Deda’s phone.” She picked it up and handed it to her grandfather, then urged Mad to lay back down.

  Flipping his eyeglasses down to his nose, Deda held his phone at arm’s length and squinted. “Your dad,” he told Marla. “He wants to know if you’re going home for the company picnic.”

  Marla scowled. She pushed three tiles out to form an arm. “I already told him I wasn’t sure yet. Why’s he asking you?” Her grandfather was her mother’s dad, and had always been the odd man out at family gatherings. Her dad’s family was one of the first families of Detroit, one that had helped build Motor City. Deda had eked out a living as a piano player in its seedier clubs. But to her dad’s credit, he never looked down on his father-in-law. He always treated him like one of the family.

  That understanding, however, hadn’t extended to his daughter and her decision to move to Clarion Township to look after Deda when he’d gone through his cancer treatment.

  “Probably because you dodge most of his calls.” With his index finger, he poked out a return message. “I’ll tell him you still haven’t made up your mind.” He stared at her from under his bushy steel-gray eyebrows. “Though you really should go home more often. This time of year is especially hard on your dad.”

  The back of her eyes burned. “It’s hard on all of us.”

  “Michael would have turned forty-two next week.”

  She nodded. She kept track of the date, too. That day was hard, though not as hard as the other anniversary. Neither got any easier by talking about it. She cleared her throat and pasted on a bright smile. “Besides, this is my home now, Deda.” She turned toward Ric and raised an eyebrow. “And I saw that.”

  With a shrug, Ric pushed the two dominoes he’d snuck looks at back into the main pile. “Central Michigan doesn’t seem like the most exciting area for a young woman. Maybe you should move back to Detroit. Be easier to find a husband there.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She picked up five tiles until she could play. “There’s men enough here.” And some damn good-looking ones, too. Tall men, with dark hair and perpetual scowls on their faces… She squirmed in her seat. Yes, some very good-looking men. But not the marrying kind.

  “Yeah?” Ric slapped down a double three and tossed a smirk at her grandfather. “When’s the last time you went out on a date? I swear, you act more senior than me. Playing dominoes at the old folks’ home, knitting with the biddies in the sun room. You need to have a little fun, Toots. You won’t stay young forever.”

  Didn’t she know it. A tiny thread of panic whispered through her chest. The big four-oh was only eight months away. And what had she accomplished in those four decades? No career. No achievements to speak of. She spun the emerald ring on her right fourth finger around with her thumb. Sure, she’d aced her classes for her two master’s degrees, but no one was looking to hire an expert on the constructed Elvish languages of Tolkien or the dress of women in ancient Rome. At least not in Clarion Township.

  Ric crowed as he emptied his remaining stack of tiles, and her grandfather glowered. The anchor tattoo on his arm jiggled as he dumped his tiles over. Marla looked at the two fondly. These men had worked hard all their lives, provided for their families, fought in a war even. And she’d done…nothing.

  “There’s nothing wrong with knitting and playing games with her deda.” Her grandfather patted her hand. “My girl is an old soul. From a different era.”

  There was that word again. Old. The ‘coming from a different era’ bit didn’t help, either. She rested her other hand on top of his. His skin was warm, but felt as delicate as butterfly wings. She forced a smile. “Thanks, Deda.”

  Maddie sat up and rested her head on Marla’s thigh, a reassuring comfort. Marla scratched behind her dog’s ear. At least she wasn’t an old woman with cats. Still, it wouldn’t hurt her to get out and have a little fun. She’d moved to Clarion Township to help out her deda while he’d been sick, but she’d settled into the slower pace of life here easily. Too easily. Her life in Detroit and New York had been parties, and charity galas, and dinners with the mayor. Now she was lucky to go out to dinner with her financial planner.

  Small-town living had its advantages, but was she in danger of rusticating?

  A woman sitting on the sofa near their table turned the page of her large print book, and her shawl slipped off her shoulder to the floor. Marla slid off her seat and picked up the multicolored crocheted triangle. Marla recognized the yarn. Mrs. Hansen had made Maddie a sweater in the same bright colors. She placed the shawl around the woman’s narrow shoulders. “Here you go, Mrs. Hansen. We can’t have this beauty getting dirty.”

  “Thank you.” The woman gripped Marla’s hand with her own trembling one. “Have I ever told you how much you look like my Jeannie? I’ll have to introduce you two next time she visits.”

  Marla swallowed but kept her smile bright. Mrs. Hansen had been saying the same thing for over a year. Her daughter had yet to visit. “That sounds good. I’d like to meet her.” And knock some sense into her. “Are you coming to our next knitting circle? I’ll be here tomorrow at ten with some new patterns.”

  Mrs. Hansen beamed. “I wouldn’t miss it. It’s so nice that you spend time here. You’re just like one of us!”

  Marla flinched.

  “Are you playing next game?” Ric shouted.

  Marla squeezed Mrs. Hansen’s shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’m being paged. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” She trudged back to her table and grabbed her purse from under her chair. “I think I’ve lost enough today.” And had enough of feeling ancient. The retirement home was closing in on her like a crypt. She kissed Ric and her grand
father on their cheeks. “Be sure to eat at least one of the vegetable dishes tonight, would you?”

  Her deda rolled his eyes. “It’s prime rib night. There’ll be a baked potato.”

  She tapped her hip, and Maddie trotted to her side. “Doesn’t count. And neither do chives.” She wagged her finger at him. “I’m onto you.”

  “Bah.” He shooed her away. “Get out of here.”

  “And go have a little fun,” Ric added. “Nice as Golden Acres is, I don’t want you reserving a room here just yet.”

  Neither did Marla. Making her way to her car, she pulled hers and Maddie’s scarves out of her bag. She and Maddie hopped into her convertible, and she tied the scarves over both their hairstyles. Maybe it was time to let loose. Go a little wild. Past time. She was in a rut and her vitality was slowing seeping away. She was like an Ent regressing into a tree.

  She considered her options. There weren’t many. She could go to the Pins ‘N’ Pints, see if she could find some trouble there. But on her last visit she’d had a rather heated discussion with the manager when his bartender had tried to pass Absolut off as Ciroc vodka. She might not be welcome.

  She could call up Steven. He was a friend as well as her financial planner. But their dinner discussions always devolved into how her portfolio was faring and how her father’s tennis game had improved. Steven was a frequent partner of her dad’s. He was a nice man, a trustworthy one, but their dinners weren’t what she’d classify as fun. Nothing that would get her out of this funk.

  She wanted excitement. Heat. An image of a surly vet raced through her mind, and the hair on the back of her neck rose. Gabe wasn’t what she’d classify as fun either, but in her dreams, he sure knew how to show her some excitement. Maybe it was time she explored what could happen between them in real life.

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t seem to like her, but he didn’t seem to like anyone. He must have needs. Why wouldn’t he want to meet them with a willing woman? Her mind whirled. Sex was a surefire way to feel alive again. Make her feel desired. Wanted. Surly men might not be good for conversation, but they did have their purposes. Especially hot, surly men.

  She turned the key, and her XK purred to life. Like she hoped to be purring soon.

  “Let’s go home, Maddie.” Because when a seduction was in the works, a change in wardrobe was in order.

  Gunning the engine, she gave a rebel yell and raised her hand in the air, letting the breeze wash through her fingers. Excitement pounded through her blood. Her and Gabe. If she had the courage to go through with it, their liaison could be just what the doctor ordered to get her out of this funk.

  She grinned. Young-ish and free. It was a great day to be alive.

  * * * *

  Gabe adjusted the swing arm of the overhead light and examined the deep gashes running the length of the dog’s body.

  “Thanks for coming in on your off day.” Brad Cohen, the owner of the rescue shelter and one of the few people Gabe called friend, stroked the tip of the unconscious dog’s ear.

  Gabe shot him a look, and Brad held his hands up. “Sorry. Of course, you’d come.” He looked back at the chihuahua and raked a hand through his sandy hair. “The woman who found him and brought him in said she’d be interested in adopting the little guy. If he survives. She seemed to have become attached to him just on the drive over.”

  “Dogs will do that to you.” Gabe flushed the cuts with purified water.

  “Do you think he’ll make it?”

  “He should. Most of the abrasions are superficial. These bites run deep but they’ll heal.” He pointed to the dog’s back, where some of the fur was missing. “I don’t know what made these scrapes. A broken kennel maybe.”

  Swallowing his anger, Gabe focused on the detailed work of stitching the pup up. He could take his rage out later, on the basketball court or his heavy bag. Right now, the dog deserved his sole focus.

  “Hey, Brad.” Dax, the shelter’s volunteer and resident pain in Gabe’s ass, strolled into the exam room. He stretched his lanky frame, his Oregon State T-shirt riding up to expose a pale strip of skin on his stomach. “Did you get that message from Debbie and Eugenie? They…Jesus.” He circled the table and shoved a hank of auburn hair out of his eyes. “What happened to him?”

  Gabe shared a look with Brad. His friend didn’t need his professional opinion; the signs were fairly clear.

  Brad gripped the back of his neck. “Looks like he was attacked by another dog. A woman out jogging saw a garbage bag moving and found him tied up in it.”

  “I don’t get it.” Dax wouldn’t. He was fairly new to the shelter and still thought the best of people.

  Gabe tried to disabuse him of that fantasy. “Looks like he was bait for a fight, and the owner tossed him out to die since he wasn’t useful anymore.”

  Brad scratched the chihuahua’s chin. “Poor guy.”

  “What?” Dax’s voice was low, and his face flushed an angry red. “People still have dog fights? That’s barbaric.”

  Gabe tied off a suture. The new nylon sutures that came in the kits Marla had ordered knotted like a dream; not that he’d ever mention that to her. “We like to think we’ve evolved, but humans are still the bloody assholes we’ve been since the beginning of time. We just hide it better now.”

  “Jesus, downer much?” Dax frowned, his shaggy curls dipping low over his forehead. “This is some effed-up crap, no doubt”—he swept his arm at the dog—“but it’s not an indictment on the entire human race. Most people aren’t evil.”

  Gabe grunted and finished bandaging the dog’s wounds. If Dax wanted to be naïve, that was his right.

  Dax, however, apparently didn’t share Gabe’s live-and-let-live philosophy. “Someone brought this dude in. Good person. Brad started this shelter. Good person. You’re fixing him. Semi-good person.” He ignored the glare Gabe sent his way. “And I’m here volunteering almost every day. If this were Dungeons & Dragons, I’d say the world is mostly lawful good.”

  “You’re only volunteering here because you’re forced to by the Crook County court system.” Brad crossed his arms. “But we get your point. Gabe is overly pessimistic. But that’s nothing new. He always has been and always will be.” He clapped Gabe on the shoulder. “It’s part of his charm.”

  “Can you two please get the hell out of my exam room?” Why did he have friends again? Although Dax didn’t really qualify. He ate Gabe’s food and had taken over Gabe’s guest bedroom, but he was more a barely tolerated acquaintance than a friend. He’d let this acquaintanceship get too damn cozy.

  “Hey, he’s getting better,” Dax said, jerking a thumb at Gabe. “He said please.”

  Gabe picked up the half-used roll of gauze bandages and chucked it at Dax’s head.

  Brad yawned and strolled to the door. “I’ll make a report about this to the police.” He nodded his head at the dog on the table.

  Gabe’s back tensed, but he nodded.

  Brad disappeared, and Dax started to follow him out. He paused at the door. “Hey, speaking of you being an inconsiderate bastard…”

  Gabe growled, but Dax ignored him. “I have a date tonight and was hoping you wouldn’t insult this one if I happen to bring her home.”

  “Not your home. My home.” The reminder had been given often enough it should have been carved in stone and planted at the foot of Dax’s bed. Gabe’s bed. “And come on. She didn’t know eggs came from chickens. Thought the magic supermarket gods somehow created them. I had to correct her.”

  Dax shoved his hands in his jeans front pockets. “Yeah, she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it’s rude to tell someone not to speak until her IQ equals her shoe size. You’re really a much pleasanter person when you don’t talk.”

  Gabe considered. Maybe that time he had been too harsh, although he really didn’t think t
he woman even understood the insult. But he could do silent. He preferred it, when not provoked. “It’s not the same woman, is it?”

  “Nah.” A grin split Dax’s face. “Sally’s ditziness grated on my nerves, too. Now Gemma is something else. She’s a grad student with the sexiest little librarian glasses.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll stay out of the living room while she’s over.” If he didn’t have to get anything from the kitchen. Or if there wasn’t anything good on TV to watch. He turned his back on Dax and went to his supply cabinet.

  “I wasn’t done telling you about her. She likes to wear these tight jeans and her a—”

  Gabe cracked his neck. “Get out.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said a voice that sent a surge of lust down his spine.

  Gabe spun around.

  Marla leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed and one toe planted in front of the opposite foot. She’d changed from her shorts, but her long tan legs were still on display in a thigh-length dress and suede ankle boots with spiked heels. The tail of her braided hair draped over her left shoulder to rest on her breast, the pink, gold, and peach strands standing out in stark contrast against the deep blue color of the fabric.

  She turned her impish smile on Dax, and Gabe glared at the undeserving swine. “That sounded like the beginning of a promising story,” she said.

  “Marla!” Dax stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t you look smokin’?”

  Gabe’s shoulders turned to granite. “Don’t you have some dogs to walk?” He’d call Judge Nichols on Dax’s ass if need be. Dax was on probation and under his charge. Well, his and Brad’s. Gabe wouldn’t let Dax slack on his watch. Or flirt.

  “No, I’m good.” Dax cocked his forearm on the doorframe above Marla’s head and grinned at her. “Have I told you how much the dogs love the new playroom you designed? I think some of them don’t want to get adopted out now. They’re too happy here.”

  She patted his chest, and Gabe’s own chest burned. “That’s sweet, but nothing takes the place of a forever home. I just want to make it as comfortable as possible for the dogs until they get one.”