Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“I’ll do that.” He slid his phone back into his pocket. “So where’s home this week?”

“The house I’m renting is on Hudson Street. Right around the corner from Cherry. It’s a really cute place, but it’s going to take me a few days to settle in.”

“Hey, if you need help with anything, just let me know.”

“I might take you up on that. Thanks.” Carly opened the driver’s-side door of her car.

“So I’ll give you a call when the article is finished.” Ford closed the door for her after she’d slid in behind the wheel.

“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”

Carly started the engine, waited for Ford to back out of the driveway. He hit his horn one time as he drove away, and she waved in return. She drove straight across Old St. Mary’s Church onto Hudson, where she made a left turn. A few blocks down, she pulled into her driveway and sat in the car for a moment, studying the little house that so quickly and unexpectedly had become her home. Smiling, she went inside and dropped her bag on the dining room table on her way to the kitchen. She opened and closed the cabinet doors, then the drawers. It was all so woefully empty, especially for someone who loved to cook. Her kitchen at home was well stocked with just about everything she could ever need, and there was no point in replacing everything here, but there were staples that she just had to have. Driving back to Connecticut to pick up some household things was out of the question. She didn’t have a few days to waste. She made a list of her absolute necessities, then weighed the pros and cons of running out to find a store nearby that carried everything she wanted, or ordering online.

Online, with overnight delivery, won out. She could pick up some takeout for dinner and have a simple breakfast in the morning, and by this time tomorrow night, all of her purchases would have arrived. Satisfied with her decision, she opened her laptop and began to order her must-haves. When she finished, she drove into town and picked up dinner from the Thai restaurant on Charles Street, then went back to her house to eat and finish unpacking her clothes. A summer storm was brewing and the temperature was beginning to drop, so she opened all the windows to let out the warm air of the day and turned on the ceiling fans in the bedroom and the living room.

By ten P.M., she was exhausted, but the only thing left on her to-do list was to grab a quick shower before she fell into her new bed in her new bedroom. She stretched her legs and sighed, listening to the drum of raindrops on the roof, so pleased to have accomplished so much in so short a time. She was well on her way to falling asleep when it occurred to her that Ford could have offered to email his article to her instead of bringing it over himself. Smiling into her pillow at the thought of seeing him again so soon, she turned over and went to sleep.

“WELL, now I know how Cleopatra felt, riding on one of those litters, being carried by handsome young men.” Grace forced a smile as the two EMTs lifted her and carried her from the bottom of the steps to the top of the staircase, where Dan and Lucy waited with a wheelchair. “Without the canopy, of course.”

After she’d been deposited into the chair and the footrests adjusted to accommodate her broken leg, Grace wrinkled her nose and frowned. “A wheelchair. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be forced into using one of these.”

“It’s only temporary, Mom.” Ford came up the steps carrying some of his mother’s belongings that they’d gathered from her hospital room. “Where do you want your stack of get-well cards?”

“It depends on where you’re going to hole me up, doesn’t it?” she grumbled as Lucy began to wheel her down the hall to the family’s living quarters.

“Thanks, guys.” Ford saluted the EMTs before following the chair.

“Good luck,” one of the guys tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the lobby.

“No kidding,” Ford muttered under his breath.

“You got this?” Dan asked.

“Oh, sure.” Ford continued down the hallway. “You’ve got work to do. Go do it.”

“Thanks. Let me know if Mom needs anything.” Dan turned and went down the steps.

“Mom,” Ford called when he reached the open door of the family suite.

“In here,” Lucy returned the call.

Ford went into the living room and found his mother staring out the window.

“I’m trapped,” she told him. “Trapped in an aging body and a cast that weighs more than the rest of me.”

“Mom, it’s only—” he began.

She cut him off. “Temporary. Thank you. You don’t need to keep telling me that. But how would you feel if you were stuck someplace and couldn’t go where you wanted to go, or do what you wanted to do?” She glowered at him.

He could have replied that he was starting to feel a bit of that himself, stuck in St. Dennis, playing Jimmy Olsen when he’d rather be out on the Bay, but he knew better than to even hint at the comparison.

“I understand, Mom, but right now it can’t be helped. So we do what we have to do to get past this, right?” He could have been talking to himself. “Isn’t that what you always told us?”

Grace sighed deeply. “I’m sorry to take it out on you. I’m just so frustrated. I’ve never had a broken bone, never been dependent on anyone to do a damned thing for me, and yet, here I sit. Even need someone to get my tea for me.”

“I know it’s tough on you. I do understand.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “But we’re all here to help you, and none of us mind fetching your tea.”

“Am I going to be stuck up here on the second floor until this cast is off?” Tears welled in her eyes.

“You want to go downstairs, outside, to Cuppachino for coffee in the morning, you let me know. I’ll make sure you get to wherever you want to be, Mom.”

“You’re a good boy, Ford.” She reached out to take his hand. “There are no words to tell you how happy I am that you are here right now.”

“I’m happy to be here,” he said, surprising himself when he realized how much he meant it.

“Here’s your tea, Mom.” Lucy came into the room carrying a tray with a carafe, a cup, and a plate piled high with scones and croissants. “Franca baked these this morning. She thought you might want a snack.”

Lucy set the tray on a small side table on the left side of the wheelchair, within reach of her mother’s good hand.

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Grace muttered. “Who does she think is going to eat all of that?”

“I’m sure she was thinking you’d be sharing with your son. Your favorite son.” Ford reached for a scone. “Oh, boy. Chocolate.”

“You’re just like you were when you were a kid.” Grace smiled for the first time that morning.

Ford pulled over a side chair and straddled it.

“Careful,” Grace warned. “That chair’s an antique. Queen Anne. Been in—”

“—the family for years. Same as it was when I was a kid.” He grinned at her, took a bite of the scone, and she laughed.

“I may have to marry Franca,” he said before taking another bite. “We should keep her in the family.”

“Every family should have a great pastry chef,” Lucy agreed. “However, Franca’s already married.”

“A technicality.” He finished the scone and reached for one of the napkins on the tray.

“You got crumbs on the floor,” Lucy pointed out.

“We have housekeeping service here, right?” he asked, only half kidding.

Under his mother’s glare, he got up and picked up the crumbs and dumped them into a nearby trash can.

“Mom, can I get you anything else?” Lucy asked.

“No, dear. Now go on to your meeting or you’ll be late. Not the best first impression for a potential client.”

Lucy started for the door. “If you’re sure …”

“Luce, I’m here. I can handle it,” Ford reminded her. After his sister closed the door behind her, he asked Grace, “Want to read my latest article for the Gazette?”

“You have next week’s article finished already?” Grace set her cup down on the wheelchair’s tray, the crumbs already forgotten.

“I do. Complete with photos.”

“Yes, of course I want to see it.”

“It’s in my room.” He got up and headed for the door. “Back in a minute.”

It actually took him seven, but he’d have thought it was an hour judging by his mother’s impatience.

“What took you so long?” She held out her left hand and he gave her the pages he’d printed out.