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Family friendly.
Really?
He needed to talk to Charlie.
4 (#ulink_7137f6e3-f0a6-5b9a-a581-515403738774)
Charlotte walked up the front steps of the extended-care facility with a heavy heart.
It was an attractive place, cheerfully decorated for the upcoming holidays, with wide, ice-free sidewalks, a gazebo and a small pond with a fountain, out of service for the winter, of course. A seven-foot snowman stood near the main entrance, with one chunky arm raised in welcome. His eyes and mouth consisted of colorful buttons, and his nose was the customary carrot. To complete the look, Frosty sported a plaid neck scarf and a spiffy top hat.
For all that, it hurt to think of Aunt Geneva as a permanent resident, to acknowledge that when she came home, it would only be for a visit.
She’d always been a homebody.
On a brighter note, Charlotte came bearing gifts. She carried a quantity of baked goods that would lighten anybody’s mood, Scrooge and the Grinch included.
Mrs. Klozz had definitely outdone herself, loading Charlotte down with spritz, oatmeal chocolate chip, molasses and peanut butter cookies, and that was just for starters.
She’d gain ten pounds a week if Millicent kept baking like this.
She stepped inside, juggling her purse and the big box of goodies she’d come to deliver.
There was a reception desk with a smiling middle-aged woman behind it, and Christmas music played in the background. A large fragrant tree in the corner glittered with lights and ornaments, and there was a display of opened Christmas cards on the desk next to a guest registry.
“Good afternoon and happy holidays,” the receptionist chirped. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Geneva Roberts,” Charlotte explained, setting down the brightly colored box festooned with ribbons. She could swear it weighed about twenty pounds. “My aunt’s friend baked a few things for the staff and tenants.”
“Oh, that Mrs. Klozz!” the other woman cried joyously. “Isn’t she lovely? Everyone will be delighted when we serve afternoon coffee.” Her smile flashed as bright as the Christmas tree in the corner. She wore dangling earrings shaped like tiny elves in green suits, and her cotton scrubs were printed with lavish red poinsettias. “You must be Charlotte. Geneva talks about you all the time. Please sign in and I’ll give you a map of the facility and direct you to your aunt’s room.”
Although she’d chosen the place and made all the arrangements for Aunt Geneva’s admittance, Charlotte hadn’t actually seen the building in person until today. Despite the shiny brochures and high recommendations from the family doctor, she’d had moments of doubt. Along with a few disturbing dreams, in which she’d glimpsed dingy halls smelling of antiseptic and glum residents clad in gray, like characters in a Dickens novel.
The reality was more than reassuring.
Just the same, it was hard to imagine her aunt being truly happy anywhere but that big old house on Maple Street, where she tended her garden every summer. In the winter she’d sit and watch her “programs,” as she called them, knitting or crocheting, while Can-Can slept next to her on the sofa and Mutley lay curled up on the rug at her feet. Charlotte could barely recall the days when her aunt had worked as a bookkeeper for a local supermarket because she’d immediately cut back her hours to make sure she was there to see Charlotte off to school in the mornings and greet her when she came home every afternoon. That was when she’d started taking in sewing, specializing in wedding gowns and outfits for the bride’s attendants. Eventually, she’d worked from home full-time; as a seamstress, she was constantly in demand. Suddenly finding herself with a small child to raise couldn’t have been easy, but Geneva had certainly made it seem that way.
And there’d always been that big old house. Geneva and her sister, Charlotte’s mother, had been born and raised there, and she’d inherited the place while she was still fairly young. There’d never been a mortgage.
Now, through an arrangement Geneva had made long ago, ownership of the house would be transferred to Charlotte.
She had mixed feelings about that.
On the one hand, she knew she’d cherish the place, couldn’t have stood to see it sold, torn down or occupied by strangers. On the other, having the deed put in her name meant Aunt Geneva couldn’t manage the place anymore.
And that was sobering.
Furthermore, owning a house, especially an old one, was a responsibility. While she was fine for now, financially speaking, Charlotte would have to get another job sooner or later, and Mustang Creek wasn’t exactly a hotbed of opportunity. Another advertising job seemed unlikely.
But she’d worry about things like that once Christmas was past and the New Year’s glitter had been swept up. Not that she and Mrs. Klozz would be having a party with champagne and confetti. More like white-chocolate biscotti and maybe a splash of something decadent in their coffee.
Yeah, she could see the spritely Millicent Klozz going for that. Just once a year, but the gleam in her eyes said she was up for a little innocent mischief now and then.
Someday she’d have to pursue the question of how Mrs. K. and her aunt even knew each other.
“Down that hallway.” The receptionist pointed to the map. “Take the first turn to the right. Her room is D-25. We have staff popping in, just in case anyone needs anything, so you’ll have to pardon us if there’s an interruption to your visit. It’s why we’re here—to be of service.”
“I’m glad to know Aunt Geneva’s being looked after,” Charlotte responded in a genuinely grateful tone.
The room was easy enough to find, and Charlotte’s throat tightened when she saw the wreath on the door was the paper one she’d made in the fifth grade, battered after all these years but carefully preserved, with pieces of tape keeping it together. She had to stand there for a moment and compose herself before she knocked.
“Aunt Geneva?” she called tentatively.
When the door opened, the familiar face lit up in a smile of joyful recognition. “Charlotte Jean,” Geneva said, opening her arms. “You come here.”
Charlotte reciprocated her aunt’s warm hug 100 percent. To her relief, Geneva looked much the same, healthy, with a hint of pink in her cheeks, wearing a patterned pink top and white slacks, slippers instead of shoes. Her space was furnished with pieces brought from the house. The parlor table with the old lamp, that green chair, the faded rug under the coffee table...
“Let’s go sit down. I’ve made tea.”
The routine was familiar and therefore comforting. Smiling, she glanced over at Aunt Geneva’s treasured antique teacups, lined up on a shelf next to the mantel.
“Everything here is so nice,” Charlotte said honestly, noticing framed pictures of her at various ages on the walls. The sight made her throat constrict again. “Do you like it?”
Her aunt looked thoughtful as she went straight to the green chair, a book propped on one cushioned arm. “Well, let me put it this way. It’s restful. I don’t think I realized how anxious I was until I moved here. Before that, I used to wake up in the middle of the night, more often than I like to remember, and wonder if I turned off the stove or locked the doors or made sure the cat was inside.” She stopped speaking, just long enough to bite her lower lip. “I forgot my medication now and then, nothing drastic, but still not good. I probably fed Mutley ten times a day because I lost track of whether I’d done it or not and I didn’t want him going hungry. One night I let him out and forgot to let him back in. It was cold. The next morning there he was, shivering on the porch.” Moisture glistened in her eyes for a moment. “I’d like to think I’m smart enough to know when I need help. The doctor says I’m suffering from a mild case of dementia, and I don’t disagree. Let’s face it, honey, I’m no spring chicken. Let me put it this way. I no longer want to live alone.”
It was a practical attitude, but one that Charlotte found hard to accept. Geneva seemed so entirely normal.
And she clearly missed Mutley and Can-Can.
Pets were allowed at the retirement center, Charlotte knew, but that didn’t mean Geneva was up to taking care of them.
She perched on the edge of the couch, folding her hands, choosing her words carefully. “I’m back now,” she began. “We could—”
“No, we can’t,” her aunt interrupted kindly, but with conviction. “I won’t have you putting your own life on hold, Charlotte. I do pretty well most days, although I need extra care. Besides, you’ll have your hands full with that big old house. It needs a new roof, by the way.”
Charlotte nodded, smiling. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve known about that for a while.”
“I think the furnace is from the Roosevelt era,” Aunt Geneva remarked, pouring tea for both of them and picking up her cup. “It was installed some time during his third term, if I remember correctly. If it quits, go down to the cellar and give it a good kick. So far, it’s holding up, but that’s not going to last indefinitely.”
Charlotte laughed. “I love you,” she said.
“Not as much as I love you,” Aunt Geneva retorted on cue. It was an old game. “Now, tell me what’s been going on with you. How’s what’s-his-name? The veterinarian.”
“You know perfectly well that we broke up a long time ago. And you also know his name is Jaxon.”
“I was so sure he was the one,” she mused sadly.
Charlotte sighed. “He’s actually here in Mustang Creek.”
Aunt Geneva looked delighted. “I knew it! Oh, I am so going to win that bet with Millicent Klozz.”
What?
“You two bet on my love life?” Charlotte was laughing again, but still chagrined. “Or lack thereof? No wonder Millicent knew his name.”
Aunt Geneva waved a frail hand. “So he’s in town. What happens next?”
There was only one answer. “I have no idea.”
* * *
If the choice was either to share a couch with a bloodhound or move into a Christmas-card house like this one, well, no contest. Unfortunately, things weren’t that simple.
The complication? Charlie.
Despite the cold, Jax paused on the snowy sidewalk to take it all in.
He’d seen pictures of the old place, of course, and Charlie had told him dozens of stories, but this was his first actual, real-time visit.
So he savored the moment, admired the wraparound porch, the ornate front door, the shutters, the gables and arches. A picket fence surrounded the spacious—make that huge—front yard, and Jax knew there was even more room around back. He knew about the big garden plot and the clotheslines and a couple of gnarled old apple trees, still producing fruit every summer.
Jax sighed, suddenly wistful, opened the gate and started up the recently shoveled walk.
Getting closer, he could see that the paint was peeling in a few places and the roof over the porch sagged.
His knock was answered by an elderly woman who flung the door open wide and beamed at him.
“Jaxon?”
“Yes.”
She wiped both hands on her apron and offered one that seemed to hold a slight dusting of flour. “I’m Millicent Klozz,” she said.
“Yes,” he answered. “Hello.” Of course you are.
Her smile was welcoming, and she stepped back, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Don’t stand out there in the cold,” she said cheerfully, raising her voice to be heard over the happy barking of the dog at her feet. “Come on in. You can choose your room.”
He was being steamrollered, and he was letting it happen. Enjoying it, even. But he also knew he was playing along, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He couldn’t just move in; Charlie, who couldn’t possibly know what was happening on the home front at the moment, would freak when she found out.
And he wouldn’t blame her.
Come on in. You can choose your room.
Indeed.
If he’d known Millicent better, and if she’d been about a hundred years younger, he would’ve quipped, “That’s easy. I’ll take Charlotte’s room.”
He didn’t say that, of course.
But he might as well have, because the sweet old lady answered as if he had. “Behave yourself, you rascal,” she mock-scolded, with a twinkle and a little ringing laugh. Then she bustled up the stairs, which looked like solid walnut and, with some refinishing, would amount to a showpiece.
Jax recovered quickly, deciding he must’ve imagined at least part of the exchange. “Maybe we ought to wait,” he called after her, hesitating at the foot of the stairs. “Talk this over with Charlotte.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine with the idea,” Mrs. Klozz said merrily, standing on the landing and gazing back at him with an expression of mild and totally benevolent impatience.
Well, that confirmed his suspicions anyway. Charlotte had no clue what was going on. The situation was downright odd—and kind of funny, too. Like something that might happen in a Christmas movie.
“She doesn’t know,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Klozz told him, still blithe. “I’ll handle it. Now, if I were you, I’d take the larger one on the east side of the house, but then, I’m an early riser and I like a good dose of sunlight first thing.” She paused, regarded him with a smile. “Come along, dear. I don’t have all day.”
Despite his reservations, Jax climbed the stairs.
When he reached the top, Mrs. Klozz led him down a long, well-lit hallway. There was more fine woodwork, all of it intricately carved, and a huge stained-glass skylight cast beams of dancing color everywhere.
The place was almost magical, and Jax knew Charlotte loved every plank and pane and peg of it.
Then, why had she left? Meanwhile, Millicent launched into the tour. “Wouldn’t this house make an excellent B and B?” she said with an expansive gesture and a contented sigh. “That’s the bathroom door,” she informed him, pointing. “It doesn’t latch properly, so you might find Mutley in there once in a while. He likes to sleep next to the register. He’s a darling, but he sheds. You don’t mind pets, do you?”
Considering his vocation, he should hope not. “Um, no, ma’am.”
Her smile was back on high beam. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a veterinarian. I swear, sometimes I don’t think my memory is any better than Geneva’s, bless her heart. You’ll want to watch out for Can-Can—the cat—because she finds men irresistible and likes to lounge on the window seat in your room in the morning. It’s the eastern exposure, you know.”
His room. Right.
Until Charlotte came home.
“Naturally, Mutley will adore you,” the lady prattled on. “He’s a sweet soul, like most dogs. Still, enough can be enough, and if you forget to close your door at night, you might find him in bed with you. Can-Can, too.” Before Jax could wedge in a comment—he was still playing along, humoring the old woman—she continued. The merriment was gone, and she looked just plain sad. “They miss Geneva. And so do I.”
Jax opened his mouth to say something kind—he hadn’t decided what—but he missed his chance.
Millicent had brightened again. “Come to think of it,” she said, “Mutley could use a walk. Would you mind once you’ve got a minute? I worry about icy sidewalks at my age.”
Jax replied that he’d be glad to walk the dog. He looked down at their furry escort and smiled.
Mrs. Klozz stopped in front of a door and opened it, gesturing for Jax to step inside. The early riser’s bedroom, he assumed.
He went in. The room was big, the floor hardwood, and instead of the flowery wallpaper he might have expected in a house inhabited by women, there was just paint. No frilly curtains at the bay window, either, and the cushions on the built-in seat underneath were plain, too. The bed was antique, a brass four-poster, covered with a colorful homemade quilt. An old hope chest sat at the foot, and he saw a sturdy desk and chair on the far side of the room.
Jax could imagine living here, sleeping in this room, working at the desk, surveying the snowy landscape from the window seat.
This game, he thought, was getting out of hand. Charlotte would never agree to Millicent Klozz’s plan.
But he found himself wishing she would.
Once again Millicent seemed to be reading his mind. “Don’t you worry about a thing, young man,” she said quietly. “Charlotte is a sensible woman, and she will see reason.” A confident sigh followed. “She’ll be gone a while longer, though, handing out cookies and catching up with Geneva. In the meantime, would you mind taking Mutley out for that walk?”
Jax, still bewitched and bewildered, was grateful for the distraction. “No,” he said. “Not at all.”
