“How’s the decorating going?” Gramps asked, and Abbey could see the anticipation in his question. He’d clearly been waiting to ask. She dared not tell him that she’d dragged Max to work with her when he was sick, or that he’d made Nick do sock races, and to make things even more interesting, she’d decided to remind Nick of one of the saddest times of his life.
“Totally fine,” she said with an encouraging expression.
“Good, good,” he said, his face cheerful.
“Gramps, why do you get so happy whenever I mention this job?”
He grinned at her. “When I was younger, I was an airline pilot. I loved it. It was the thing that got me up in the mornings. There was nothing more exciting than feeling the lift of the plane at my hands. My flying time was that one time each day when I was in complete control of everything, and it made me the happiest. Later in life, I found that same joy in woodworking. It was my form of art, and I expressed myself through it. When I see you head off to Caroline Sinclair’s in your scrubs, your hair pulled back in that little curly ponytail of yours, and I watch you wave goodbye, you don’t have the fire in your eyes like I had at my jobs. I’ve only seen that fire in your eyes a few times.”
“When did you see it?” Abbey asked.
“The first time I saw it was when you got that pottery kit for Christmas that year. Remember that, Leanne?” he said to her mother who’d come in quietly for a cup of coffee. “She didn’t open the rest of her presents until the next day!” He looked at Abbey, and said, “You had mud up to your elbows, the kitchen sink full of clay—we worried you were going to clog the drain. You made me a bowl. Remember it?”
Abbey nodded. She knew the feeling he was talking about. Her mom had found that clay kit and wrapped it up as a surprise. When Abbey opened it, she remembered thinking how wonderful Christmas was because of surprises like that one.
“I enjoy taking care of Caroline.”
“I’m not doubting you do, but it’s out of concern for her well-being. It doesn’t inspire you like your art does.”
“Speaking of the Sinclairs,” Abbey said, looking at her watch, “I need to go take the eldest to the doctor.”
They all said their goodbyes and when she got near the front door to let herself out, Señor Freckles was sitting on the doormat, blocking her way, his little cat chin raised in her direction, his tail thumping slowly against the floor.
“Would you like to let me out?” Abbey asked the cat as he stared at her.
He didn’t move.
She took a step toward the creature, their eyes locked in some sort of weird, animal-human staring contest. “I will win this battle,” she teased, reaching for the doorknob. As she did, Señor Freckles darted away, rounding the corner to the hallway. Abbey shook her head and let herself out.
* * *
“Oh,” Abbey said, startled, as Nick answered the door of his house. “Is Richard sick?”
“No.” He opened the door wider to let her enter.
Snow was falling again. It was very early in the year to have snow, but there was a southern slow-moving system that just wouldn’t leave, hovering over Richmond. None of the snow had managed to stick, though, leaving a sloshy mess on the roads.
“I just wanted to catch you before you started work to see if you had any information about my grandmother.”
“I took her to the doctor this morning,” Abbey said. “They ran some tests. We should get a call in the next day or so, but my intuition tells me there may be some kind of arrhythmia.” She saw concern on his face, and, since she wasn’t a doctor, she couldn’t tell him for sure what was wrong. “That’s only my guess, though. And sometimes arrhythmias don’t cause a problem at all.”
“But.”
“But sometimes they can be life threatening, which is why I made her see a doctor. We just want to keep ahead of anything that may be changing as she ages.”
He nodded.
“I’m glad to see your concern for her,” she said. “She says she wishes you would visit more.”
“I visit her as much as I can with my workload.” He took in a breath and let it out. “But I’ll try to stop by more. The rest of the furniture arrived for the other rooms. I hope you’ll find it where it all belongs,” he said.
“Would you like to see it?” she asked, hoping he’d feel obligated.
“I can’t. I have work to do. I really should get back to it. I was just checking on my grandmother.”
“You can’t spare five minutes to walk upstairs and see what your seventy-five-thousand-dollar investment is getting you?” she said with her best persuasive smile.