A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  She fingered Nathaniel Briscoe’s last letter detailing probate complications and liens on her parents’ estate, delaying receipt of her inheritance from the logo idea they sketched on a fast food napkin a decade ago. Included in the letter were details on the reservation Nathaniel made for her at one of Frederick’s extended stay hotels.

  Ten minutes after midnight, the GPS announced that she’d arrived at her destination. She schlepped her luggage and seven paintings up to her room, showered, unpacked, read Nathaniel Briscoe’s emailed to-do list for the next day and fell asleep without setting the alarm. Fortunately, her phone beeped to alert her to an arriving email from Nathaniel, confirming that Sarah would also attend the medical appointments to provide updates on Agnes’s current situation.

  Tayte checked the time. She was already late for the meeting with Nathaniel. Fortunately, the restaurant was less than a block away. She ran her tongue across her sticky teeth and headed for the bathroom where she relented and modified her morning routine, emerging twelve minutes later with clean teeth, a scrubbed face, and her hair tied in a neat ponytail. She pulled a pair of crisply folded shorts from the drawer and a shirt from the closet, slid into ballet flats, grabbed her purse, and jogged to the Waffle House.

  The phone began ringing before she hit the hotel lobby, but she ignored it, choosing to avoid another fruitless conversation with Tyler or a preemptive apology to the waiting attorney. She was nearly thirty minutes late for their meeting.

  When she reached the restaurant, she found him dressed for business, seated at a table with a cup of coffee, alternating between fussing over his watch and tapping on the table. He dusted off a strained smile as she ran in and sat. “Good. You made it.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept.”

  Nathaniel offered another perfunctory smile that moved from her to the waitress arriving with two platters of food. “I’m due in court in thirty minutes so I took the liberty of ordering. I hope you like waffles and eggs.”

  She smiled and thanked Nathaniel. As beverages and toast arrived, the lawyer pushed an envelope her way and explained it as he smeared butter on his waffles.

  “Today will be a busy one, so I had my secretary print the email I sent you with all the times and addresses listed. Agnes refuses to give anyone her general power of attorney, but I did convince her to assign Sarah as her medical PA, and Sarah signed a document allowing Agnes’s medical information to be shared with you. Agnes defers to Sarah on most other matters, so she’ll be a critical ally until you’re able to get that PA authority, or unless you have Agnes declared incompetent, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

  “Also, I took the liberty of handling the paperwork to open a bank account in your name. Just sign here,” he pointed to an empty line, “and money from your trust will be automatically deposited each month. I’ll advance you a few hundred dollars. It’s not a fortune but it will help with expenses. You’ll need to stop by the bank and pick up the checkbook and make arrangements for an ATM card.”

  Tayte signed the document and opened the envelope so she could follow along on this information speedway.

  “The first of your two job interviews is set for this afternoon, at Delacourte Gallery on Carroll Street.”

  “I know that gallery. They took a painting of mine on consignment in April and sold it a week later.”

  “Well, that explains how I managed to get you an interview with only a call and a link to your work. Still, don’t assume the job is yours. With so many major universities cranking out talent within an hour’s distance, the area is swarming with unemployed artists and art majors desperate to be associated with any gallery, and Delacourte’s is highly respected.

  “My secretary did line up a few other options if that doesn’t work out for some reason. There’s an amusement place that hires artists to do caricatures. They pay on commission. And there are a few retail stores with openings.”

  Tayte grimaced. “No. I want the gallery job.”

  Nathaniel set his fork down and leaned forward. “The trust won’t completely tide you over until your inheritance clears, but you don’t need to rush into employment, Tayte. I can extend a loan to you against your inheritance. It might be better if you kept your schedule more unencumbered so you are free to be with Agnes in the beginning.”

  “I’ve thought about that. I just feel I . . . I need something familiar. Something that I love.”

  Nathaniel sat back and nodded. “Of course. I should have understood that. Your world has been completely upended.” He looked at his watch again, but this time regret, not irritation, shaped his expression. He waved to the waitress for the check.

  “I’m sorry we don’t have more time, Tayte. I really must hurry or I’ll be late for a probate hearing, but I’ll call you in a day or two, and you have my card with my office address and my home number. Please call me if there’s anything else I can do. Anything at all.”

  The concern in his voice overwhelmed Tayte. He understood that she’d forfeited everything on a gamble that might fail, for a relative who might reject her, in a place she didn’t belong. She looked down at her plate and breathed slowly before taking Nathaniel’s offered hand.

  “Thank you. You’ve been very kind. I know you represented my parents, but I don’t understand your loyalty to my grandmother. You’ve gone above and beyond anything I could have expected.”

  He laid several bills on the table and offered a thoughtful smile. “You inspire me, Tayte. You’re doing this out of love for a grandmother you don’t know. I’m doing it for a father I’m just beginning to understand.”

  “Did your father know my grandmother?”

  Nathaniel’s lips pursed and he nodded thoughtfully. “My father, Charles Briscoe, was your grandmother’s attorney. Actually, they grew up together after she arrived from Europe.”

  “I’ve never heard Grandmother’s story. Do you know it?”

  His eyebrows narrowed and he looked at his watch. “You should ask her. I know bits and pieces my father shared with me, but I’m not sure I can decipher the folklore from the truth anymore. Anyway, I’m afraid I haven’t been very attentive to your grandmother until recently, despite the fact that one of my father’s dying requests was that I look over her. I’ve dropped the ball somewhat. I’m trying to make up for my failure—for her, and for my father.” He gave Tayte’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll talk again. Good luck today.”

  Tayte regretted having arrived late. She would have enjoyed more time with him, time to settle her nerves and ask questions about Agnes and the area. She would like to know more about him, whether he was married or if he had a family. He’d said she inspired him. No one outside the art world had ever said that about her before, and then it was about her work. She wanted to understand the cryptic message about his father, but that would come another day.

  She left the restaurant having barely touched her food. In an effort to rein in her carb loading, she popped into a local grocery to pick up a few items. Back at the suite, as the last item was put away, she opened her few cupboard doors and her fridge and surveyed this meager but tangible security. She was settling in. She was taking control.

  Sarah called to check in. The neurology appointment was at eleven, with the doctor who had seen her grandmother on an initial visit arranged by Nathaniel and supervised by Sarah. She was grateful Sarah was accompanying her.

  At twenty-four, she was trying to fill two diverse roles. She needed to appear responsible enough to have a neurologist accept her as her grandmother’s caretaker and yet creative enough to convince a gallery owner to hire her and show her work. She wasn’t sure which items from her Miami wardrobe would accomplish that in Frederick’s urban/country community.

  She decided on wardrobe staples—a sundress and sandals. She brushed her hair into a bun, and headed to what the hotel manager called “The Medical Campus,” on Thomas Johnson Drive, where a mile long battery of imposing brick medical buildings lined both sides of the stre
et. As she pulled in, she called Sarah and was grateful to hear she was already waiting in the building’s lobby.

  Her first glimpse of Sarah took her aback. Years of worry now lined a face that seemed lively and fresh mere weeks ago. Tayte wondered if Agnes was the cause, and she froze, fearing what she had gotten herself into.

  The women hugged and offered trite greetings as they rushed to make the appointment on time. Within minutes, they were escorted into the doctor’s office for their conference.

  Dr. Nurin was Eastern European, in her early thirties, Tayte guessed. Her smile was warm and sympathetic, and Tayte liked her immediately.

  “It is very good to meet you, Miss Donnelly.”

  “Please, call me Tayte.”

  “Very well, Tayte. I am afraid I have little to report at this time. Agnes was nervous during her last appointment, so I was unable to assess her condition accurately. I did a basic check of her vitals and ordered lab work, which all came back quite normal, so I prescribed a low dose of Aricept to see how she would react. Your grandmother appears to have tolerated it well, but Mrs. Anderson has not seen any significant change. Do not be alarmed. These results do not surprise me. Aricept will not reverse symptoms, but it can slow down the deterioration and support cognitive function. We will increase the dose slowly and monitor her progress.

  “I would like to see her again and repeat the exam. The second visit often goes better as the patient is less apprehensive. Set this up with the office as soon as possible. In the meantime there are some things you can do to help your grandmother. Will you be living with her now?”

  Tayte glanced awkwardly at Sarah. “Not right away. I’ve rented a suite temporarily. I thought that might be easiest at first.”

  The doctor nodded. “I know you two have just barely met.”

  Tayte wondered how much the doctor knew about her dysfunctional family. She couldn’t run from her past now. “What can I do to help my grandmother prepare for this test?”

  “The test is not something you can prepare for, however, there are things you can do to help Agnes maintain cognitive function. Try to broaden her activities and help her use different parts of her brain. I know she runs a farm so her routine is probably similar most days. Get her some puzzles, word search books, things like that. Also, encourage her to use her foreign language skills. I know she speaks French. Does she also speak German? Do you speak French?”

  Tayte shook her head.

  “Ask her to teach you. Accessing her French will be very good for her. Physical exercise and a good diet are also very important for brain function. Make a list of what she eats and how much she exercises. The farm work keeps her muscles strong, but something cardio will increase blood flow to the brain. That is beneficial.”

  Tayte looked down in her lap and noticed she had squeezed the blood from her hands. The doctor noticed too and smiled sympathetically.

  “Do not become too overwhelmed. Dealing with dementia patients can be hard. Keep your expectations realistic. There will be good days and bad ones. Enjoy the good ones and expect the others. These patients do not like change, so take things slow. Enjoy your grandmother. She is really quite a remarkable woman.”

  Sarah placed a loving hand on Tayte’s back as they left the office and moved to the reception area to make a return appointment. Tayte wanted to cry. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  No attempt was made to sugarcoat the situation. “I know, sweetheart. No one is ever prepared for a loved one’s illness.”

  The two women got into Sarah’s car and caught a quick drive-through lunch which they ate in the parking lot before the next appointment.

  Sarah’s previously cheerful voice remained flat as Tayte revealed her fears. Both women picked at their salads. Neither had the power to lift the other.

  “I’m not able to be as involved as I would like, Tayte. Things have come up at home. They’re going to require my attention, but you’re not in this alone. John’s nephew, Noah, has agreed to work at the farm and be Agnes’s helper for a while, at least until you make your plans. He’s a talented carpenter and more importantly, she likes him.”

  “She seems to prefer men.”

  “Not all men.” Sarah offered the first real smile Tayte had seen all day. “For some reason she just doesn’t care for Nathaniel Briscoe, poor dear. He’s as sweet as a lamb, and he has gone out of his way to help her, but she’s thrown him off her property at the point of a pitchfork. Let’s be grateful she likes Noah. He’ll help you make the transition.”

  The drive to the Department of Aging was brief. Tayte had high hopes that she’d leave this meeting with a laundry list of available services, but those hopes diminished as soon as she entered the third floor room of what appeared to be a forgotten government department.

  The dingy area had few chairs and seemed to be painted a color no one else wanted at the store. The bland décor further fatigued the aged clients and their bedraggled caretakers. A few times an hour one of three middle-aged, overworked counselors would emerge, call out a name, and lead a new family back to her partitioned cubby.

  Tayte’s silenced phone contained three missed calls from Tyler and enough games to provide a mindless and much needed distraction during the hour-long wait until her name was called. The assigned caseworker, a chunky, pant-suited woman named Diana, led them to her cubby and settled into her torn, vinyl chair as if awaiting another long story. Sarah did the honors, quickly explaining Agnes’s situation. Diana’s advice was general and the available help meager—services their situation either didn’t require or ones which Agnes would undoubtedly refuse, such as limited legal services, adult day care, and support groups for family.

  “I could recommend some paid services if I knew what help you needed.”

  Tayte didn’t really know what she needed. “I think we need help at her home.”

  “Do you mean maid and cooking services? I could recommend some private pay agencies. Or are you looking for occupational therapists to help with dressing and activities of daily living when her condition hinders those abilities, or when your grandma can no longer bathe and toilet herself.”

  Tayte’s head shot around to Sarah whose eyes were cast down, already glossing.

  “That happens?”

  The caseworker’s face softened as she pulled a few pamphlets from files and placed them in an envelope. “Here, read these, and then decide what you can handle on your own. Plan ahead for when you need help because full-time care is expensive. Here’s a list of things you need to consider. Does your grandmother have insurance, other than Medicare? Something that covers eldercare? Does she have financial resources to pay for a private nursing facility? Does she have an attorney? A will? A medical directive? Does someone have power of attorney for her? Answer those questions then come back in and we’ll make a plan.”

  The women left the office in silence. Tayte was shocked to see that Sarah seemed equally affected by the meeting. When they arrived back at the neurologist’s parking lot, they sat in the car for several minutes, neither of them knowing what to say. Tayte’s throat felt thick, and the knot growing in her stomach tightened into an iron ball. Her thoughts began trickling from her mouth, slamming her with guilt as she heard them being spoken. “I thought I’d finally found my grandmother, but what they’re really saying is I’ve already lost her.”

  She felt Sarah’s hand move to hers. No words. Just a gentle touch. She looked at the older woman and tracked the path of two tears as they squeezed under Sarah’s closed lids. Sarah made no effort to wipe them. “Just do your best to enjoy her, Tayte. Enjoy her for as long as you can.”

  * * *

  The fire of her morning optimism had cooled to defeat as the social worker’s words continued reverberating in her ears. It all sounded like a death sentence delivered with a slow, mind-devouring end.

  Adding to her distress was the maze of Frederick’s historic district with its narrow streets and limited parking. She drove on to Delacourte Gal
lery, arriving at the chic, brick building nearly forty-five minutes late. She grabbed her tote of completed canvases and headed in to wow the owner. Instead, she ran into a gaggle of distressed, tote-carrying people who were exiting. She caught snippets of complaints about the owner’s rejection of their work, and she sensed she was not only late but that she had missed her gallery opportunity.

  She timed her entrance to dodge a tall, shaggy-haired man wrestling a teetering stack of ornately carved frames. As she pressed past, another frame slipped, and the man fumbled into Tayte’s path.

  “Hey, watch out!” she griped as she stepped aside, swinging her bag to protect her work.

  He looked down upon her with embarrassment, stuttering out his apology. “I’m . . . s-s-so sorry. I didn’t see you.” His countenance changed, quickly shifting to alarm as recognition passed between the pair. He backed up and cleared the doorway for her while struggling to restack his load.

  Tayte knew she had been equally responsible for the near miss, but without another word, she sidestepped the man with the frames, heading for the elegantly attired man holding court with three tote-carrying admirers. He acknowledged Tayte, scanned a paper in his hands, and then crossed his arms.

  “I had one no-show. You are Miss Donnelly, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry I’m late. I had a personal matter to attend to this morning.”

  He nodded his gray head and offered a snide smile. “As did I. It’s called a family business. I hope your efforts proved as successful as mine. The gallery sales position is filled, and I’ve assigned all the available slots for the festival’s art show.” To the victorious three he said, “My assistant will be in touch. Congratulations. I look forward to working with you.”