Carry the Light
Delia Parr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dedicated to

the memory of

Gizmo Jane:

The Panda Pup,

The Cheese Dog

and

Friend to All

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Chapter One

E scape was only a few steps away.

With that thought, Ellie Waters maneuvered through the maze of high school students reluctantly edging to their next period class, slipped inside her office and shut the door behind her. The room was not much more than a supersized closet, but it was her own space and she loved every crowded inch of it.

She made her way past two cartons of new textbooks sent by publishers to be considered for adoption, eased into the wooden chair at her desk, leaned back, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Ten quiet minutes; that was all she needed to regroup and replenish her sagging energy.

It was only noon, but she had already taught four classes, met with her supervisor for her annual performance review and had a parent conference. By hiding here and managing the paperwork that was only a part of her duties as the language-arts department head at Welleswood High School, she might be able to finish the school day in peace. In quiet. And without interruption. She sighed, fully hopeful her plan would work.

Until the telephone rang.

She opened one eye, stared at the offending instrument and wondered if there was an alarm attached under her chair that alerted the outside world that she finally had some downtime. When the telephone continued to ring, she opened her other eye, resisted the urge to answer and let out another sigh.

Just once, she would love to have ten minutes to unwind after changing hats from classroom teacher to department head. She had been the language-arts department head here for seven years now, but she had been teaching here for over thirty-five years. From experience, however, she knew that the pace of the school year was rapidly heating up now that March had arrived, and peace and quiet would be very precious commodities.

At the moment, she didn’t want to think about the school-board election next month or whether the community would vote to accept or reject next year’s budget. Nor did she want to think about the pressure she would soon be under from parents eager to make sure their children were recommended for advanced classes next year. But she did have to think about parent conferences scheduled for that evening, which made for an extra-long day today and an extra-tired day tomorrow, a Friday. Fortunately, she had the weekend to recover, and she looked forward to spending two very quiet, very peaceful days at home, grading the mini research papers she had collected this week.

The telephone continued to ring. Apparently, the caller was not giving up, but Ellie, just as determined to finish her paperwork before the parent conferences tonight, was letting the call go to voice mail. This year’s senior awards for the department had to be reviewed and organized for her supervisor, and if she didn’t make a plan to ration the department’s supplies, they would run out long before June.

When the telephone finally stopped ringing, then started up again less than a minute later, she let out one final sigh, gave in and reached for the receiver. “No peace today,” she muttered, and glanced down at the bottom desk drawer, where she kept a stash of candy. Not every telephone call was a problem or an emergency, but she was ready for either.

When she finally answered the telephone and heard her mother’s voice, she opened the drawer. She made a mental note to replenish her stock, and took out three dark-chocolate kisses. “Yes, Mother, I have time to talk now,” she said, unwrapping a kiss.

“I left three messages for you earlier, and one just now. You never called me back,” Rose Hutchinson grumbled to her daughter.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been teaching classes and I had meetings all morning. I haven’t had time to check my messages. Why are you whispering?” she asked, trying to divert her mother’s attention away from her criticisms. She slipped the chocolate kiss into her mouth and let it begin to melt slowly against the inside of her cheek.

“I’m talking as loud as I can manage,” her mother replied. “I’m sick, which you would have known if you’d bothered to call me today.”

Ellie straightened her back and swallowed the last of the chocolate kiss. “But I just talked to you last night. You were fine then. What—”

“I know I was fine. Until this morning. I feel awful. My neck hurts and my jaw hurts and my chest hurts. I called Dr. Stafford’s office and told the receptionist that I think I have the flu. He can see me this afternoon at four o’clock, but I just don’t think I can make it there by myself. I’m feeling too weak. I need you to take me,” she whined.

She went on before Ellie could respond. “Unless you’re too busy. Then I’ll have to take a cab. I’m sure the driver won’t mind helping me into the cab or waiting for me while I’m at the doctor’s office. Phyllis’s daughter always takes her to the doctor’s for her appointments, but then, her daughter has the sense to not be working anymore. She’s retired now, you know, so she can spend a lot of time with her mother, not that you would consider retiring—”

“I’ll take you. Of course, I’ll take you,” Ellie insisted, interrupting before she was compared unfavorably, again, to her mother’s friend’s near-perfect daughter.

Resigned, Ellie gave up any idea of taking a catnap this afternoon between the end of the school day at three and the start of parent conferences at six-thirty. Despite her contentious relationship with her mother, she did not resent her responsibilities as an only child. Taking her eighty-five-year-old mother to the doctor had become a frequent task in the past year.

Assuming Dr. Stafford saw her mother on time, which he usually did, and assuming her mother prolonged her appointment for a good fifteen minutes by arguing with the doctor, which she usually did, Ellie would be able to take her mother home, pick up whatever prescription she might need at the pharmacy, bring it back to her mother’s home, and still be on time for parent conferences tonight.

Unfortunately, dinner did not fit into this scheme, which meant Ellie would have to rely on the teachers’ traditional cookie tray for sustenance tonight—if someone in the administration had remembered to order it.

“I’ll probably need you to stop at the store for ginger ale, too. I’ll have to drink lots of clear fluids if I have the flu,” her mother said.

“I took you for your flu shot, Mother, remember?” Ellie asked, rather than point out that flu season was nearly over.

“Certainly I remember. I’m old, Ellie, but I’m not senile. And just because I had a flu shot doesn’t mean I don’t have the flu. Last year, Alice Williams got the flu shot and she came down with the flu, if you’ll recall.”

“I can pick you up at quarter to four,” Ellie replied choosing not to continue the argument. “Is that all right or do you need me to come over now?” she asked, with one eye on the mound of paperwork and the other on those two chocolate kisses sitting on top of her desk.

“Quarter to four is fine, but only if you’re on time.”

Ellie pursed her lips, cradled the telephone against her shoulder and slowly unwrapped another kiss. “I’ll be on time.”

“Well, I certainly can’t do anything about it if you’re not. With all the responsibilities you’ve had at school for the past umpteen years, I can’t imagine how you’ve survived without learning to be more punctual. Unless it’s just because I’m not important enough—”

“I’ll be there. Quarter to four,” Ellie interrupted again. She waited until she heard her mother hang up, then popped the kiss into her mouth.

Enduring her mother’s criticism was nothing new for Ellie. She honestly could not remember a single moment in all of her sixty years when she had truly pleased her mother. Rose Hutchinson had already lived a long and full life, and Ellie reminded herself that each day her mother was here was a gift. Each day, however, was also one more day for Ellie to be reminded again of how she had disappointed the one person who mattered most: her mother.

She bowed her head and knitted her hands together. She prayed for patience, for strength and guidance, so that she might find the path that would lead her to discovering the love and acceptance she still desperately wanted from her mother.

At four o’clock, Ellie and her mother were sitting in Dr. Stafford’s office. Dressed conservatively in black slacks, a black top and a plaid blazer, Ellie was also still wearing the sensible, lace-up oxfords she wore to school every day. In contrast, her mother had chosen to wear a bright aqua dress, calf-length and ultra-feminine, which did little to complement her full figure, along with pumps, a matching handbag and costume jewelry that included a large turquoise brooch, bracelet and dangling earrings.

Half an hour later, after Dr. Stafford had examined Rose Hutchinson and rendered a tentative diagnosis, Ellie fervently wished that her mother indeed had the flu. “Are you sure?” she asked the doctor. “Mother has absolutely no history of heart trouble, and her cholesterol level has been dropping since she started her new medication. When I talked to her earlier today, she wasn’t complaining about pain in her chest or arm. Aren’t those the signs that would have told us—”

“Don’t argue with the man,” her mother interrupted, as if she reserved that right exclusively for herself. “He’s the doctor. If he thinks I had a heart attack and I need to go to the hospital, then it’s best if I go—even though I’m not convinced he’s right, mind you. If you’re worried about getting back to school in time for those conferences, you can drop me off at the emergency room. Or I can always go by ambulance, can’t I, Dr. Stafford?”

“I do think getting you to the hospital as soon as possible would be best,” he said firmly, repeating his earlier recommendation, “although I don’t think it’s necessary to call for an ambulance.”

“I’ll drive her to the hospital right away and stay with her,” Ellie replied, clarifying her intentions.

“Good. I’ll call ahead so they’re waiting for you,” the doctor said. “Now remember, I’m sending you to the hospital as a precaution, Mrs. Hutchinson. I don’t want you or your daughter to jump to conclusions or to panic. The only way we’ll know for certain if you suffered a mild heart attack earlier today is to get you checked out thoroughly.” He looked at Ellie. “Not everyone has the classic symptoms you described, especially women, but based on what you’ve told me and what I’ve observed during my examination, I think we should be cautious and let the hospital run a few tests.”

Ellie watched as he and her mother bantered back and forth for a few minutes. After treating her for nearly thirty years, Dr. Stafford knew exactly how to handle Rose Hutchinson, a skill Ellie sorely needed.

He smiled at one of her mother’s heated rejoinders. “I suppose it’s possible you’ve got the flu. Let’s find out, shall we? If you’re right and I’m wrong, I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

Her mother’s eyes lit up. “How?”

“I’ll make another donation to the Shawl Ministry at church.”

“We do need the wool,” her mother replied, and looked at Ellie for confirmation.

Ellie nodded. Working together with her mother and other volunteers, knitting shawls and afghans for members of the congregation who were celebrating special occasions or needed consolation during difficult times was one way Ellie tried to fit volunteer work into her hectic schedule—and spend time with her mother, too. Unfortunately, with a full-time job and tons of paperwork at night, she had not been as active as she would have liked, yet another bone of contention between her and her mother.

Her mother let out a long sigh. “All right. I’ll go to the hospital, but you need to write out your check first, Doctor Stafford. I’ll take it with me.”

Chuckling, the doctor left the room to make arrangements for them to be met at Tilton General Hospital. While he was gone, Ellie used her cell phone to call the school. Once the automated system picked up, she tapped in her supervisor’s extension, left a voice mail message and then left another message for her principal, telling both her colleagues that she would not be at parent conferences tonight after all.

As she finished, the doctor returned and handed her an envelope. “Give this to the emergency-room physician and be sure to have Dr. Marks paged. He’s expecting your mother. He’s an excellent cardiologist, and I’m certain he’ll be able to help her.”

Ellie tucked the envelope into her purse and helped her mother to her feet. When she looked into her mother’s eyes, she was surprised to see the same fear that was making her own heart beat a little faster. Apparently, despite her show of bravado, her mother was not quite as confident she had the flu as she had let on. “Everything is going to be fine,” Ellie whispered, and prayed she was right.

Life was good. Life was grand. Especially when life was filled with one of God’s finest blessings: chocolate!

Humming softly, Charlene Butler tied a bright pink bow on the gift package she planned to deliver tonight after closing her shop and heading out to the highway for her forty-mile ride home to Grand Mills, a small rural community in the Jersey Pinelands.

Inside the gingham-lined wicker basket, she had tucked all sorts of the chocolate specialties that had made Sweet Stuff one of the most popular stores on Welles Avenue, as well as the very center of Charlene’s lifelong dream to own a candy store.

Double-dipped, dark-chocolate-covered pretzels sprinkled heavily with pink jimmies, chocolate-raspberry fudge, chocolate-dipped strawberries and milk-chocolate-covered cherries were favorites she included in all the gift-basket orders she received for new mothers of baby girls, and this basket was no exception.

Although this basket had not been ordered at all. It was going to be a surprise gift from Charlene to Melanie Arbor, a member of her congregation whose adoption of two-year-old Kelsey had been finalized this morning.

When Charlene heard the shop door open, she stepped away from the worktable in the rear of the shop, walked into the main room and grinned as she navigated around one of the glass display cases filled with chocolates. “Aunt Dorothy! This is a surprise. I thought you were going on a bus trip today.”

“I did. Just got back. I thought you were supposed to close at five o’clock. It’s nearly six. You probably haven’t had dinner yet, either, and you have a long ride home,” she admonished gently as she stopped in front of the hutch that displayed a wide variety of vintage-era candy. “Makes a girl worry, you know.”

Charlene looked at her aunt, a girlish eighty-one-year-old spinster, and pouted. “I thought we had an agreement. You weren’t going to worry about me commuting to Welleswood, and I wasn’t going to worry about you living all alone,” she teased. Although her aunt’s dark gray hair was neatly permed and she wore her trademark scent, Tabu, Charlene did notice that the elephant pin on the collar of her aunt’s coat had lost several rhinestones. There was also a dark stain on one of her sleeves, which was unusual, since her aunt was usually very fastidious about her appearance.

Aunt Dorothy’s hazel eyes twinkled behind her glasses, but since the lenses were a bit smudged, it was questionable how much good the glasses did to improve her vision. “You’ll get no argument from me there. As a matter of fact, I was hoping you were still here. Annie Parker was on the trip. You remember Annie, don’t you? We worked together at the factory. Started the same day and retired the same day, as a matter of fact.”

“Sure I do. She lives at the Towers, doesn’t she?” Charlene asked, referring to the senior-citizen’s high-rise just down the avenue at the other end of town.

Aunt Dorothy nodded and started to help Charlene straighten the display of old-fashioned candy and gum, all in total disorder thanks to the numerous children who had stopped in after school today. “She had to give up the family home after Philip died a few years back. But to get to my point, she’s feeling a bit low. Today’s her daughter’s birthday. Jill would have been fifty-five, if she hadn’t been killed in that awful car accident two years ago. I would have forgotten all about it if I hadn’t been on the trip with Annie today. I feel terrible about forgetting. I should have done something extra nice for Annie to make today easier for her.”

Charlene cocked her head. “Something extra nice?”

“Maybe a gift basket. Just a little one. I know it’s late and you need to be getting home and you don’t really have any baskets made up because you like to personalize each one, but—”

“I’ve got one. I mean, I just finished making up a gift basket. You can take that one.”

Aunt Dorothy’s eyes lit with surprise. “I can? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Wait right here,” Charlene instructed. Within moments, she returned with the gift basket she’d made for Melanie, along with a white shopping bag. “How’s this?” she asked, and held the basket up for her aunt’s approval.

“It’s perfect, of course, but didn’t you make that up for someone else?”

“I was going to surprise Melanie Arbor on my way home, but I have time to make another. It’s Daniel’s bowling night. He won’t be home until late,” Charlene explained. She was more relieved than disappointed to have time for herself on her husband’s night out. Whether she spent that time at home or here in the shop mattered little. She set the gift basket into the shopping bag, handed it over and wrapped her hands around her aunt’s. “Here. My treat. Take this to Annie and tell her my thoughts and prayers are with her today, too.”

When Aunt Dorothy looked up, her eyes were moist with tears. “Thank you, Charlene. You might not be much of a businesswoman, since you wind up giving away almost as much candy as you sell, but you are a very precious woman. You know that, don’t you?”

Charlene swallowed hard and smiled. “It’s a family tradition. Makes a girl worry, you know, about being as good as her role model.”

Chuckling, Aunt Dorothy tiptoed up a bit to kiss Charlene’s cheek. “You’re twice as good as I am, which you’d know for sure if you ever found out some of my secrets. Which I’m hoping you won’t,” she teased. “I’m heading across the street to pick up some supper for me and Annie. Do you want me to get something for you to eat on the ride home?”

“Thanks, but I have half a sandwich left over from lunch. I can drive you to Annie’s if you like,” she offered.

“You need to get yourself home. Somebody’s bound to be at The Diner who can drive me. If not, I’ll call a cab,” her aunt insisted. “I’ll stop by and see you tomorrow. I’ll get up early and make some of those caramel brownies you like so much,” she added before heading to the door.

Charlene followed her aunt, locked up behind her and watched the elderly woman cross the street. Aunt Dorothy did not seem to have her usual bounce to her step, but after such a long day, neither did Charlene. She waited until her aunt had gone into The Diner—a family-friendly restaurant that had anchored the Welleswood business district for years—before heading back to the workroom again.

An hour later, with her heart still glowing from her visit with the Arbors, Charlene headed toward home. When she hit the highway, she polished off the half sandwich left from lunch and chased it down with a diet soft drink. Dinner on the run was a frequent occurrence in her life now, but that, too, was a blessing of sorts. She did not manage to get home for dinner with Daniel very often these days. Her hour-long commute each way solved the problem of sitting at the dinner table each night in silence with the man she had married forty-one years ago.

Once their two children had grown up and left home, the awkward quiet between them was like an uninvited guest, at first. Now the silence was an invisible, integral part of their relationship, a testament to the struggle of maintaining a marriage that neither of them seemed to know how to revive.

Dwelling on the sorry state of her marriage, however, was not how Charlene wanted to spend the rest of her drive home. Using her hands-free cell phone, she called her son, Greg, a physical therapist living in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, with his wife, Margot. When he did not answer, Charlene left a message and tried reaching her daughter, Bonnie, now a high-school guidance counselor who had moved to New York City straight from college to share an apartment with several friends who also had a love for the faster-paced city life. No answer at Bonnie’s, either, so Charlene left a message.

She often played telephone tag with the children, and it seemed that this, too, was another sign that the pattern of her life had changed. After being a full-time homemaker and stay-at-home mother, she found owning and operating her business just as demanding, but in different ways. Her mothering days might be well behind her now, but she was blessed to have the kind of store where she could channel her instinct to nurture to her customers.

Nothing, however, seemed to ease the yearning in her heart for the happy marriage she had once shared with Daniel.

For the better part of an hour, she concentrated on the heavy traffic and set her worries aside. When she finally pulled off the highway onto Magnolia Road, she hesitated for a moment, then called Daniel to let him know she was just fifteen minutes from home. To her surprise, he didn’t answer, so she left him a message, too, and then remembered that he was bowling with friends this evening.

A few moments after she hung up, her cell phone rang. She answered without reading the display screen, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Is this Mrs. Butler? Mrs. Charlene Butler?”

Charlene stiffened at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Aside from her family, no one called her on her cell phone for one very simple reason: she never gave out the number. She rolled her eyes, resigned to the idea that telemarketing had invaded the world of cell phones, too, and made a mental note to see if she could add her cell phone number to the national Do Not Call list. “What can I do for you?”

“Is this Mrs. Charlene Butler?”

A deep sigh. “Yes, I’m Charlene Butler, but I can assure you that I am definitely not interested in buying anything you might be selling. As a matter of fact—”

“Mrs. Butler, this is the emergency room at Tilton General Hospital. Your aunt, Dorothy Gibbs, asked that we call you. She arrived here about twenty minutes ago and—”

Charlene’s heart pounded hard against the wall of her chest, and her mind raced with questions that she hurled at the caller. “Aunt Dorothy? Are you sure? I was just with her. She was fine. What’s wrong?”

“The doctor is with her now. She appears stable at the moment, but she’s asking for you. We couldn’t reach you until she found the paper she had written your cell number on. Can I tell her that you’ll be coming to be with her?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Of course I will,” Charlene cried, blinking back tears as she looked for a place to turn around. “Tell her I’m on my way. It’ll take me an hour. Just tell her I’m coming,” she directed, praying that the good Lord would continue to keep watch over Aunt Dorothy.

Chapter Two

C harlene pulled into a parking space in the visitors’ lot across the street from Tilton General Hospital just after nine o’clock—well ahead of her husband, who was on his way from the bowling alley to meet her. She slammed the car into Park, grabbed her purse and locked up with a quick click of the remote.

She practically jogged toward the emergency room on the east side of the hospital, where she could see the steady pulse of the flashing red lights on the ambulance parked at the entrance. Her purse, which hung from her shoulder, swung in a short arc with each pounding step, mirroring the emotional pendulum that dragged her from fear that Aunt Dorothy might be seriously ill to the hope she had just had another one of her little “spells.”

When Charlene finally reached the entrance, she paused to whisper a prayer before passing through the automatic double doors. Inside, a security guard seated behind a desk cocked a brow, and she shifted the strap of her purse. “My aunt…Dorothy Gibbs…They brought her here…I need to see her,” she stammered.

His gaze softened when he handed her a visitor’s pass. “Information desk is straight ahead. Then take a number. Take a seat.”

She swallowed hard and glanced around the emergency room to get her bearings. Like most people, she supposed, she was not fond of hospitals. She had been fortunate to have raised two active children without ever needing to visit an emergency room.

As she might have expected, the air was heavy with anxiety and suffering, but also held a peculiar sense of boredom or, perhaps, a sense of resignation that she found disturbing.

Straight ahead, a bank of signs hung from the ceiling over a long, low counter in front of a series of five small, semi-partitioned areas. One sign read Information. Three were labeled Patient Registration. One read Intake. Non-medical personnel in business attire toiled with computers and paperwork at their stations, serving visitors and patients at the counter.

Charlene got in the information line behind two women and looked around. Through an opaque wall behind the security guard, she could see a good two dozen people seated in a stark, gray-painted waiting room, but Aunt Dorothy was not among them. Several children were lying on the floor, coloring or reading, while other youngsters raced back and forth between the restrooms and the water fountain.

The gray plastic chairs along the walls were nearly all filled with patients and their loved ones. An elderly woman sat alone in a wheelchair in the corner. Another woman lay on a gurney, her face to the wall. Everyone was waiting for medical attention. Charlene didn’t know if Aunt Dorothy had had to wait, too, or if she had arrived by ambulance. Either way, Charlene’s heart trembled with regret that she had not been by her aunt’s side.

At that moment, a pair of metal doors swung open on Charlene’s right, revealing the very heart of the busy emergency room, where she caught a glimpse of medical personnel hustling to care for patients behind curtained treatment rooms.

“Next.”

With her visitor’s pass in hand, she stepped up to the counter, where a middle-aged woman with frizzy orange hair sat filing a broken fingernail. Her name tag read Joy Wohl, but her bored expression was certainly joyless. “My name is Charlene Butler. I got a call from the emergency room saying my aunt had been brought here and that I needed to come right away. Dorothy Gibbs. Her name is Dorothy Gibbs,” she explained, anxious to see her aunt as quickly as possible.

Without making eye contact, the woman slowly turned and pressed a few keys on the computer with the tip of her emery board. She sighed, put down the emery board and handed Charlene another visitor’s pass, this one blue.

“Press the button to open the double doors. Once you’re inside, there’s a small waiting area to your left. Wait there until someone comes for you. You’ll need to keep this pass visible at all times,” the woman explained as she picked up the emery board again and resumed filing her nail.

Charlene nodded, peeled the backing from the blue pass and pressed it on her coat. She proceeded exactly as she had been told.

Too anxious to sit down in the waiting area, Charlene remained standing at the entrance, watching medical personnel hurry from a central station in and out of the treatment rooms. After waiting for five long minutes without any offer of help, she approached the central station. Not one of the three women behind the counter stopped working to acknowledge her; instead, an older woman dressed casually in khaki pants and a matching sweater approached, wearing a gentle smile. “You look like you need some help. I’m Kathryn Campbell. I’m a volunteer with the hospital’s spiritual-care team.”

“I’m trying to find my aunt, Dorothy Gibbs.”

The woman’s smile broadened. “Then you must be Charlene. Your aunt’s been asking for you.”

Charlene sighed with relief. “Then she’s fine. Will I be able to take her home?”

Kathryn Campbell’s smile deepened. “She’s in the emergency room, so I’m not sure I’d say she was fine, but she is resting comfortably. You’ll have to speak to the doctors about her medical condition. I’ve been checking in on her while she was waiting for you. She’s alert and oriented, and she’s feeling much better. She had a bit of an ordeal, but I’ll let her tell you all about that. To be honest, I think she’s still pretty frightened. If you’ll follow me, I can take you to her. She’s right down the hall.”

Charlene followed the volunteer down the hall to the third room, where the woman peeked in and then motioned for Charlene to enter. “She’s in the first cubicle. The curtains have been pulled to give her privacy, although she’s the only patient in the room at the moment. While you visit, I’ll see if I can find Dr. McDougal. She’s been treating your aunt. One of the nurses will probably be in to check on her shortly, and I’ll stop back later, too.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Charlene murmured. Unsure of what to expect when she saw Aunt Dorothy, she caught her breath and entered the room. An off-white curtain framed the far side of the hospital bed where her aunt lay, eyes closed, clutching her battered purse to her breast. The cubicle, like all of the emergency room, reeked of alcohol and medicines.

Aunt Dorothy appeared paler and smaller than usual, and uncharacteristically frail. Charlene approached the bedside slowly, and smiled when she caught the scent of her aunt’s perfume mingled with the pungent smells of antiseptics and medications. Relieved to see the gentle rise and fall of her aunt’s chest, Charlene ignored the monitors at the head of the bed, since she couldn’t make sense of them, anyway.

She slipped off her coat and placed it and her purse on top of the plastic chair beside the bed, trying not to make a sound. When she turned back to the bed, a pair of hazel eyes, dulled by fatigue, greeted her. Charlene stroked her aunt’s head, damp with perspiration. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Just resting,” her aunt said, and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. It looks like you might have to wait awhile for those caramel brownies I promised you. I don’t think I’ll be up to making them by tomorrow.”

Charlene returned the smile. “Don’t worry about the brownies or anything else right now.”

Aunt Dorothy closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry to be such a bother. After your long day, the last thing you needed was to drive all the way back here.” Her hands trembled as she shoved her purse toward Charlene. “Take this for me, will you, dear?”

“You’re not a bother,” Charlene insisted as she laid the purse near her own. “What happened? Why didn’t you call me earlier if you felt ill? I would have brought you to the hospital. Makes a girl worry, like maybe you had somebody else you liked better,” she teased.

Aunt Dorothy kept her eyes closed, but smiled again. “I really didn’t think I needed to come to the hospital. Not at first. I was visiting Annie, just like I told you earlier. We’d just been sitting around after dinner, talking, when I started feeling woozy. Then I had one of my little spells.”

Aunt Dorothy opened her eyes and blinked away a few tears. “Poor Annie. She didn’t quite know what to do. I started coughing and coughing, and I just couldn’t stop. Then I started sweating and I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart just started racing faster and faster. That’s when I got scared, too, so Annie called nine-one-one. The next thing I knew, I was in the ambulance. Let me tell you, riding in one of those things is not much fun. I never realized they were so bumpy,” she grumbled, but managed a lopsided smile. “The emergency medical technicians were a nice bunch of young fellas, though.”

Charlene chuckled. “You didn’t flirt with them, did you?”

Aunt Dorothy attempted another grin, but didn’t quite succeed. She looked out of energy. “Only a little. They were a tad on the young side, but they were awfully strong. They got me to that ambulance easily enough, and they took good care of me all the way here—all except for going over all those bumps.” She pointed to a basin of water and some cloths on the table by her bed. “I’m still feeling a little pasty. Could you wipe my face for me, dear?”

“What does the doctor have to say about your spell?” Charlene asked as she moistened a cloth.

“Not much yet. They did some tests, but I haven’t heard back on them yet.”

Charlene gently wiped her aunt’s face, looking tenderly at the aged features that were so dear to her. “Did you take your insulin today?”

Aunt Dorothy’s eyes flashed. “I never forget my insulin. You know that. Between the trip and going to Annie’s for dinner, I probably just overdid it today. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will,” Charlene murmured, and set down the washcloth.

A nurse entered the room with a cup of ice, looked from Aunt Dorothy to Charlene, and smiled. “You must be Dorothy’s niece. I’m Sandy. I’m helping to take care of your aunt,” she explained before turning her attention to her patient. She scanned the monitors and checked Aunt Dorothy’s IV. “Feeling better?”

“Better, but I’m not feeling like myself at all. I don’t think I’m up to going home tonight,” Aunt Dorothy replied, surprisingly admitting to a frailty when she was usually so unwilling to be anything less than independent.

“Whether or not you go home tonight is up to Dr. McDougal. She’ll be here to see you again in a bit. In the meantime, I’ve brought you those ice chips you wanted.”

Aunt Dorothy took the cup of ice chips. When she tried to sip at some, her hand shook so hard she spilled a few onto her chest. “Look at the mess I’m making.”

The nurse scooped up the spilled chips and tossed them into a trash can. “No problem. The mess is gone. Do you want some help?”

“Charlene can help me,” Aunt Dorothy informed her.

Under the nurse’s watchful gaze, Charlene held the cup steady while her aunt took some ice chips, sucked them away and then took some more.

“Is there a preliminary diagnosis to explain my aunt’s spell?” Charlene asked.

The nurse looked at Aunt Dorothy. “Is it all right to discuss the diagnosis or test results with your niece?”

Aunt Dorothy swallowed the ice in her mouth. “Of course.”

“We’re still waiting for test results, so we can’t be sure,” the nurse began. “We’re concerned about her lungs, of course. They’re congested, which is why we’re limiting fluids for the moment, at least until we get the results of her chest X-ray. And we’re concerned about her heart. The symptoms she’s exhibiting are all consistent with CHF, but they may or may not indicate she’s had a heart attack. The electrocardiogram was inconclusive, but we’ll know from the blood test whether or not she actually suffered one.”

Charlene furrowed her brow. “CHF?”

“Congestive heart failure. According to what we’ve learned so far from her primary physician, your aunt was diagnosed with CHF over two years ago. We have some brochures about it that you can read, if you like, and Dr. McDougal will be glad to answer all of your questions once there’s a final diagnosis.”

Charlene looked at her aunt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Aunt Dot shrugged. “They’ve got fancy names for everything these days. All that CHF means is that my heart is slowing down and doesn’t pump as good as it did when I was younger. I’m eighty-one years old. Everything is supposed to slow down. For all the money they charge, the doctors should tell me something I don’t know.”

Charlene shook her head, but directed her attention to the nurse. “I’ll take one of those brochures, and I’d like to speak to Dr. McDougal as well. Do you think they’ll be admitting my aunt, or will I be taking her home tonight?”

The nurse patted her arm. “I wouldn’t plan on taking her home tonight. We’re hoping to transfer her to a regular room, as soon as one becomes available. We’ll know more when we have all the test results, which won’t be until morning. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on another patient. Just buzz if you need me to come back,” she instructed before leaving the room.

“Honestly, I don’t mind staying. They’re taking good care of me,” Aunt Dorothy admitted. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way back here, but I wanted to talk to you about my papers and such. Just in case.”

Charlene cocked her head. “Just in case?”

Aunt Dorothy sighed and patted the side of her bed. “Sit with me. I need to tell you where I keep my important papers, just in case I don’t get to go back home at all. And I need you to stop at the bank first thing in the morning, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I have money, but I shouldn’t think that you’d be needing any,” Charlene said.

“No, but I do need my living will,” her aunt whispered, and closed her eyes.

Chapter Three

I n less than a week, every aspect of Ellie’s existence had been flipped upside down and twisted inside out. Organizing the chaos in her life was her most urgent priority, and she had only today to do it.

She closed and locked the door to her office late Wednesday afternoon at the end of her first day back at work. She was carrying a briefcase full of student papers that the substitute teacher had collected for her to grade, along with a list of parents who needed to be called because she had missed parent conferences for the first time in her career.

She tried to be content, knowing that the substitute teacher was fully certified in language arts and was hoping to be hired for the upcoming year if there was an opening, so Ellie’s students had been left in very capable hands. She also tried to resist the sense that she’d let down her colleagues—she’d done her best to handle the overflowing papers in her mailbox and on her desk by relegating them into stacks labeled: To Do, To Distribute and To File.

The only thing not overflowing when she had returned had been her voice mail. The entire system had been shut down now for three days, much to the amusement of the faculty and staff, who watched the failed attempts to repair the system by the novice technicians the district had employed instead of calling in seasoned professionals.

Ellie hurried down the empty school corridor to the parking lot and carefully avoided the mini piles of dirt and dust left by the custodians as they swept their way from classroom to classroom. At her car, she stuck her briefcase in the trunk next to a small suitcase packed with comfortable clothes for her mother to wear home from the hospital tomorrow, and then plopped into the driver’s seat. The afternoon was so warm she was tempted to put down the top on her convertible, but since she would only have to put it right back up again at the hospital, she decided against it…for all of two seconds.

Grinning to herself, she put the top down anyway. After all, what good was having a convertible if you didn’t use it when you could?

She headed out of the parking lot and turned toward the avenue. At a red light, she kept time with the sound of her blinker by tapping her left foot as her mind raced back over the past few days and ahead to the next few weeks. Starting tomorrow, her routine would change. Drastically.

With the diagnosis of a mild heart attack confirmed, Ellie’s mother would be released from the hospital in the morning. Tests had also confirmed that she had coronary artery disease, CAD, and given her advanced age, the doctors had agreed against an aggressive course of action, deciding to treat her condition with only medication, a change in diet and a mild exercise program. If all went well, after recuperating for a few weeks, her mother would be living back in her own home again, although none of the doctors would speculate on how much time she might have left.

In the meantime, Rose Hutchinson was moving in with Ellie, which was a bit like inviting the wolf to move into the chicken coop and expecting the chickens to celebrate.

Ellie accelerated the instant the light turned green, hung a left and headed south toward the hospital. Before tomorrow morning, she had to turn the small den on the first floor of her stately old Victorian into a bedroom for her mother, put fresh linens in the downstairs bathroom and clean the house. She also had to stock the pantry with appropriate foods for a woman with heart disease, which meant a trip to the grocery store.

Somehow, she had to find time as well to stop at her mother’s house for more clothing and toiletries. Grading papers and preparing next week’s lesson plans would simply have to wait until the weekend.

Feeling overwhelmed and definitely in need of a friend who might help her face the challenges ahead, she eased into the visitors’ parking lot at Tilton General, took a ticket from the automated machine and found the last open parking spot at the far end of the lot. Then she turned off the ignition, pulled out the key and bent forward to rest her forehead on the steering wheel.

Reorganizing her life at home and at work would only mean her days would be temporarily more hectic. Coming face-to-face with the fact that her mother’s illness was progressive and ultimately terminal only increased her anxiety. She had called both of her sons twice to inform them about their grandmother’s condition. Alex and Richard had each promised to keep in closer touch by telephone and to come home soon. In the meantime, Ellie knew that if she hoped to establish a loving relationship with her mother, the time was now.

After praying for the gift of the time she and her mother needed together, Ellie put the convertible top up again, locked her car, grabbed the suitcase out of the trunk and headed across the asphalt parking lot.

Inside the hospital, she followed the now-familiar route to the visitors’ desk for a pass, took the elevator to the fifth floor cardiac unit and went directly to her mother’s private room.

She tapped on the half-open door. “Mother, it’s me, Ellie,” she said as she nudged the door open.

Straight ahead, wearing the aqua dress she had worn to the doctor’s office, her mother sat in a wheelchair with her hands clutching her handbag and her lips set in a forlorn frown. A large plastic bag sat on the floor at the foot of the freshly made bed. The heavy smell of disinfectant filled the air.

Her mother’s bottom lip quivered. “You took your sweet time getting here. I was afraid you’d changed your mind and decided to send me to a nursing home.”

Ellie put the suitcase on the floor, laid her purse and the visitor’s pass on the overbed table, and moved a chair to sit down next to her mother. “I told you that I had to go into work today, but that I’d be here by five o’clock. Why are you dressed to go home? The doctor said you wouldn’t be discharged until tomorrow, and I took the day off to bring you home with me,” she said gently, concerned that her mother seemed to be getting more forgetful.

“I got discharged right after breakfast this morning,” her mother countered. She opened her purse and pulled out a wad of papers. “See for yourself. I’ve been cleared to go home for hours and hours, but I guess you were too busy at work to leave. I would have called Phyllis’s daughter, but she took her mother to New York City today to see a Broadway show. The nurses were awfully nice to me, though. They gave me lunch and dinner, even though I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Ellie skimmed the paperwork and sighed with frustration. “No one called me. Why didn’t anyone call to tell me you’d been discharged early?” she asked, more upset with the hospital than with her mother.

“They probably left a message for you at school. You just never called them back, which doesn’t surprise me. You never seem to call me back before I leave five or six messages.”

Ellie gritted her teeth. “I gave the hospital my cell phone number so I could be reached immediately,” she argued. “Can I take you home with me now, or am I supposed to let someone know you’re leaving?” she asked as she skimmed through the discharge orders, the diet plan her mother had to follow, more prescriptions than Ellie had ever seen at one time and a stapled set of papers that included information about the nurse who would be coming to the house.

“I think you’re supposed to tell someone. I don’t think you’re allowed to take me downstairs by yourself,” her mother said. “But do hurry. I’m getting sore from sitting in one spot all day.”

Ellie handed the papers back to her mother. “Keep these for now. I’ll check about what to do, and be right back.” She retraced her steps to the nurses’ station. Not recognizing either of the two nurses on duty, she kept her anger in check. “My name is Ellie Waters. My mother is Rose Hutchinson, in room four seventeen. I understand she’s been discharged, and I can take her home now. Is that correct?”

The younger nurse, who looked like she might have skipped high school and graduated from nursing school yesterday, at age sixteen, wore a badge that read, Cindy Morgan, R.N. Without speaking, she pulled out a chart and bounced over to the counter where Ellie was standing. “Your mother was discharged hours ago,” she said, frowning, “It’s too bad she had to wait all this time for you to pick her up, but at least you’re here now. Unless you’d like to go over her discharge instructions or her new prescriptions, all I need to do is call an aide to take your mother downstairs and wait with her while you get your car.”

Ellie drew in a long, deep breath. “I can look the papers over when I get home, but I would have come to the hospital immediately if I’d known she’d been released. Is there any reason I wasn’t called?”

The nurse flipped open the chart again and skimmed the paperwork. “I see they tried to reach you three times this morning. I tried once when I came on shift a few hours ago, but no one answered.”

Ellie let out a sigh. “Our phone system is down, but I specifically asked to be called on my cell phone. Do you see that listed anywhere?” she asked, using her assertive teacher voice, which kept all but the most defiant students in line.

Cindy the child nurse skimmed the paperwork again and had the decency to blush. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Oops,” Ellie repeated, shook her head and decided that incompetence was quickly overtaking obesity as a major health concern in America.

Any doubts she might have had about bringing her mother home with her rather than sending her to a care facility of some kind quickly vanished. “I’ll be waiting with my mother in her room. How long do you think it will be before an aide can come?”

“Ten minutes,” the nurse promised, her cheeks still pink with embarrassment.

Ellie checked her watch, smiled and marched back to her mother.

Precisely six minutes later, the aide arrived, stood right in front of the wheelchair and put his hands on his hips. “You see now, Miss Rosie, I told you that you’d be going home today before I did!”

“If someone had bothered to tell me, we’d all have had a better day,” Ellie grumbled to herself as she left for the elevator carrying her purse, her mother’s suitcase and the plastic bag with all the disposable whatnots her mother had collected during her stay.

Forty-five minutes later, Ellie had her mother resting on the sofa in the living room with the TV remote in one hand and the cordless telephone in the other. “I won’t be long,” she promised. “I have to go to the pharmacy, make a quick stop at the store to get a few groceries, and get some of your things from your house for you.”

“Don’t forget to turn out the lights before you leave my house,” her mother cautioned before a yawn interrupted her. “You never did have any consideration for the electric bill.”

“I won’t forget. If you need me while I’m gone, just hit the seven on the telephone. I have it programmed to call my cell phone.”

Her mother yawned again, turned on the TV with the remote and adjusted the sound. “I’ll be fine. I’ll watch the news,” she said, but Ellie could barely hear her over the high volume of the TV.

Thirty-five minutes later, Ellie emerged from the pharmacy with nine prescriptions, four over-the-counter drugs and pill organizers in different colors. She also had acquired the sincere belief that only someone with a master’s degree in science would be able to read the paperwork for each medication and organize the pills her mother would be taking three times every day.

She fared better at the grocery store. She was not a health-food purist, but she did prefer fresh fruits and vegetables when she cooked, and had no trouble finding a nice selection of produce. She picked up some lean, skinless chicken breasts and fresh tuna to add to the lean beef and pork already in her freezer, and a few low-fat dairy products, all in accordance with the dietary guidelines she had been given at the hospital.

Last stop: her mother’s house.

Ellie pulled into the driveway next to the darkened house, and turned off the ignition and headlights. She sat in the car for a moment, recalling childhood memories that were still painful. The tiny bungalow where she had grown up as an only child had always been her father’s house. After his death nearly a dozen years ago, it had become her mother’s house, but Ellie had never, ever thought of it as home, then or now.

She twisted the slim gold wedding band she still wore on her left hand. Home was where she had lived with her husband, Joe, and experienced the wonder of unconditional love for the first time in her life, until his unexpected death six years ago this past November. Home was where she and Joe had raised their two sons while they both pursued careers they loved. And home was where she lived now, surrounded by joyful memories, her faith and the fulfillment she still found in her career as an educator.

With loving thoughts of her late husband and her children and her little grandchildren tucked in her heart, she got out of her car and made her way into the house. She flipped the switch next to the front door for light. Little in the modestly furnished living room was familiar, since her mother redecorated as frequently as most women changed their wardrobes.

At the moment, the room was awash with tones of beige and white—on the walls, carpet and furniture. Instinctively, she slipped off her shoes and wiped her hands on her overcoat, surprised at how easily she could reclaim habits she had acquired as a child.

Turning on lights as she walked, Ellie heard echoes of her mother’s critical words, and recalled her father’s ever-present silence. In the front bedroom, more pale earth tones greeted her. She made quick work of choosing the clothes her mother would need for the next two weeks, grabbed some toiletries from the only bathroom in the house and placed everything in a large suitcase.

Lugging the suitcase, she turned off lights on her way back to the living room. With her shoes back on, she flipped the switch to turn off the last of the lights and locked up the house. Heading to her car, she prepared herself to go home and try one more time to win her mother’s love and approval.

She had the faith she needed to guide and sustain her, and after she made one stop tomorrow, she would have the only other thing she absolutely needed during the next two weeks: her own little replenished supply of her favorite candy.

Chapter Four

A fter seven seemingly endless days, Charlene felt as if she had spent an entire week in a playground, stuck on one end of a seesaw. The neighborhood bully sat on the other end and constantly taunted her by pushing her up into the air and holding her there before jumping off again and again, slamming her hard and fast to the ground.

In reality, she had spent every waking hour for the past week at Tilton General Hospital, a bizarre playground filled with mysterious flashing and beeping equipment, where Aunt Dorothy was recovering from her little spell—a mild heart attack.

Days, when Charlene was encouraged by the promise of her aunt’s progress, were invariably eclipsed by days when the bully, aka CHF and diabetes, yanked her down from hope to fear and doubt. Other than taking time to retrieve her aunt’s living will from the bank, she had taken only one other break, the morning that two women from the Shawl Ministry had stopped by to visit her aunt and deliver a lap shawl they had made for her. Charlene was also able to grab an hour alone when Annie Parker and Madeline O’Rourke, her aunt’s closest friends, came by each afternoon, which deepened Charlene’s desire for a supportive friend of her own.

Charlene was pleased, however, that once she had called her children, both Greg and Bonnie had come to the hospital to see Aunt Dorothy, although they each had had to get right back to their homes and had been unable to stay overnight to visit longer with Charlene.

Yesterday, her aunt had stabilized enough that the doctors discussed discharging her. Now, on Friday morning, Charlene and Daniel were in Aunt Dorothy’s room for a meeting with the hospital social worker, Denise Abrams. Fortunately, her aunt’s roommate had left earlier for a test of some sort, so the group that gathered about Dorothy Gibbs’s bed had plenty of privacy.

Charlene glanced at the faces and smiled to herself. No one was under fifty. Over the past week, she had seen a multitude of doctors, nurses, technicians and aides. Most of them were young enough to be her children, and she shuddered to think that at fifty-nine, she could be a grandmother to some of them. Although they all appeared to be competent and qualified, Charlene felt more comfortable with hospital workers who had been alive long enough to know that the best way to eat a Mary Jane was to suck on it and to remember a time when a chocolate bar, with or without almonds, cost only a nickel.

Aunt Dorothy sat in her bed, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. For the first time since she had entered the hospital, her hazel eyes held a bit of sparkle again, but she still looked forlorn and bedraggled.

Her pale blue hospital gown hung loosely around her narrow shoulders. Mottled bruises surrounded the small white bandages on the back of both her hands and at the crease in her elbows. Her complexion was pasty. Her dark gray curls were flattened in some spots on her head, while unruly clumps stood up in other places, making her look as if she was wearing a broken tiara.

She was a queen held captive on her throne. An IV line snaked from the back of her hand to several bags hanging on a stainless-steel pole, and wires linked her to monitors that measured her heart rate and blood pressure. A urine bag and catheter tubing were discreetly concealed beneath sheets near the floor, and bars on both sides of the mattress gave her something to hold on to, helping her to shift more easily in bed.

Charlene stood next to the pillow, resting a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. Daniel held on to the top rail with one hand on the other side of the bed. Charlene studied him as he told her aunt about the young boys’ basketball team that was coming to camp in the state park this weekend.

The crisp white sheets on Aunt Dorothy’s bed offered a stark contrast to Daniel’s perpetual tan, acquired from a lifetime working as a park ranger. He was a stocky, well-muscled man with dark, wavy hair. He had passed on his cleft chin and love of the outdoors to their son, Greg, while their daughter, Bonnie, had inherited his fabulous blue eyes and the tendency to be reserved and not to reveal thoughts and emotions.

Standing with him, as she had done for more than forty years, Charlene realized again how physically unlike one another they were. She had often said that her figure resembled a salt-water taffy: plump from top to bottom. She had pale skin and hair she’d kept light, long after time had darkened it and later turned it white.

Her life, since she’d married Daniel, had been built around her home, her children and her church. Unfortunately, by the time the nest she and her husband shared was empty, they had become strangers who had two children in common, but little else—except that they both loved Aunt Dorothy.

Grateful for his support during the past week, Charlene glanced at the end of the bed, where Denise Adams stood next to the papers she’d brought to the meeting and stacked in neat piles on the table Aunt Dorothy used to take her meals. For a woman who spent a good part of her professional life helping patients and their families make the transition from hospital to home, the social worker had an unusually stern and rigid turn to her mouth, and the expression in her light brown eyes was pure business.

Charlene was not impressed—until Daniel and Aunt Dorothy finished their conversation and Denise started the meeting. “As you know, Dorothy, Dr. Marks feels you’re just about ready to leave the hospital,” she said in a sweet, soothing voice that immediately set Charlene at ease.

For the life of her, however, she would never get used to hearing the hospital staff refer to her eighty-one-year-old aunt by her given name. Unless requested by the patient, titles and last names, Charlene had learned, were taboo under new guidelines that were supposed to guarantee patient privacy. But no one had asked Aunt Dorothy what she preferred.

“I wouldn’t mind staying a few days longer,” Aunt Dorothy murmured, clearly reluctant to return home and resume the independent life she had always led.

“We’ve got a number of options for you and your family to consider, which is why I thought it best that we all be here together,” Denise replied. “I thought I might briefly explain what those options include. First and most importantly, we all realize you’re not quite up to living alone again.”

When Aunt Dorothy nodded, Charlene lightly pressed her fingertips against her aunt’s shoulder to offer support. She was relieved that the social worker had not come right out and said Aunt Dorothy would never live alone again.

Denise smiled. “We have several alternatives you can consider.”

Aunt Dorothy stiffened and blinked back tears. “Not a nursing home. Please. I—I never, ever want to give up my home and spend my last days in a nursing home,” she whispered.

“You really don’t need to move permanently into a long-term-care facility,” the social worker assured her, clearly avoiding the words “nursing home.” “You could benefit from a short-term stay in any one of the rehab facilities in the area, if you have the resources. While you’re there, you could consider selling your home and moving into an assisted-living facility. I could help you and your family in that regard, as well.”

Charlene, seeing the devastation and panic in her aunt’s eyes, didn’t hesitate—not even to consult Daniel. “Aunt Dorothy, you can come live with us until you’re strong enough to go home again,” she offered.

Relief flooded her aunt’s features. “I wouldn’t be in the way. Not for an instant. And I’d be good and quiet, too,” she promised, looking from Charlene to Daniel and back again.

Charlene smiled and glanced at her husband, albeit belatedly, for his approval.

He looked at her aunt, instead, and smiled. “You can live with us for as long as you like.”

The social worker frowned. “As I recall, the two of you don’t actually live in Welleswood,” she said to Charlene.

“I have my business here, but we live in Grand Mills,” Charlene replied, wondering why that should make any difference.

“Near the edge of the Jersey Pinelands,” Daniel added.

The woman’s frown deepened. “That’s a good hour away. Being that far from Dorothy’s physicians could present problems. When she experiences another episode, which seems likely given the progressive nature of her illness, there might not be time for you to bring her back here.”

“You could change doctors for the time being. People do that all the time,” Daniel suggested. “I’m sure the hospital could transfer your records to a closer facility.”

Aunt Dorothy blinked back a fresh wave of tears. “But then we’d have to change back again when I move home. That’s an awful lot of trouble for everybody.” She sighed and worried the tissue in her hands. “It seems to me the good Lord should just call me Home, but He doesn’t appear to want me yet.”

Before Charlene could comment, the social worker responded, “Perhaps a better alternative would be to hire someone to live with you at your own home, assuming you have both the room and the resources. Whether you choose a home health aide or a companion, you’d receive the help you need and be able to keep the same doctors.”

Aunt Dorothy’s face lit with interest before she dropped her gaze.

Charlene swallowed hard. Hiring anyone to live with Aunt Dorothy full-time was well beyond the elderly woman’s means, but even if it wasn’t, Charlene could not imagine letting a stranger care for her beloved aunt. “We’re family. We take care of one another,” she murmured, patting her aunt’s shoulder. “I have to come to work in Welleswood five days a week anyway, so why don’t I just move in with you, temporarily, until you’re up to living alone again,” she suggested, unable to bring herself to suggest that Aunt Dorothy would never actually be well enough to live by herself again.

Based on the literature she had read, and what the doctors had told her, the progressive nature of CHF—combined with the complications of aging and diabetes—meant that Dorothy Gibbs would probably never be self-reliant again. But pointing that out now, when her aunt was so vulnerable, just didn’t feel right to Charlene.

She looked over at Daniel again. “You could come and stay with us for weekends, couldn’t you?”

He winked at Aunt Dorothy. “Why not? You’re still my best girl, aren’t you?”

“I can’t ask you two to uproot yourselves like that,” Aunt Dorothy argued, but her voice was soft and unconvincing.

“You didn’t ask. We offered,” Charlene countered, grateful for her husband’s support.

“I’ve been promising you all winter that I’d come take a look at that backyard of yours once spring came and clear it out for you,” Daniel added. “It would probably be a whole lot easier for me if I had a few weekends where I could work in the yard without driving back and forth.”

Aunt Dorothy batted her lashes at him and smiled demurely. “I haven’t had anyone over for Easter brunch for years. Not with the yard so overgrown. It’s lovely to think we could have brunch by the creek again this year. Do you think Greg and Bonnie could come, too?”

“The kids aren’t coming home for Easter this year, remember?” Charlene prompted, to remind her aunt that they had talked about this when Greg and Bonnie had visited her.

“Greg and Margot are spending the holiday with her parents and Bonnie is going to Spain as a chaperone with the Spanish club at her school,” Daniel added. “Charlene and I will be there, though. I can’t promise to have the yard cleared out by then, but I’ll try.”

“You’re such a strong man. I just know you’ll have my yard looking better than it ever did by Easter,” Aunt Dorothy said confidently.

Watching her husband and aunt chatting, Charlene blinked hard. Aunt Dorothy was actually flirting with Daniel, and he was absolutely beaming!

“I think you’ve found a wonderful solution.” The social worker smiled proudly, as if the idea had been hers. “I’ll speak to Dr. Marks this afternoon. From what he told me earlier today, our patient might even be able to go home tomorrow,” she offered. Then she packed up her papers and left.

“My house keys are in my purse. You took that home with you, didn’t you?” Aunt Dorothy asked as she took a fresh tissue from the box beside her bed.

“As a matter of fact, I still have it in the trunk of my car. I wasn’t sure if you’d need anything in your purse or not.”

Her aunt smiled. “Good girl. Instead of staying here all day, why don’t you go to my house and air it out a bit? You could move a few things around to make up the spare bedroom for you and Daniel to use while you’re staying with me. Just stick anything in your way up in the attic or anywhere else you find room. I’m afraid there isn’t much in the refrigerator, either, except for a few old leftovers that probably need to be tossed out.”

She paused to mop her brow with the tissue. “Unless you need to get to Sweet Stuff. You haven’t been at your store all week.”

“The store is fine. Ginger King offered to work full-time for me this week so I could be here with you. I’ll get your house ready, instead,” Charlene reassured her.

“What about you, Daniel?” her aunt asked.

“I’m afraid I have to get back to work. I’m on duty this weekend, but I can start on that yard of yours next weekend,” he promised.

“Well, go on, then,” Aunt Dorothy said, waving them both away. “You two have important things to do.”

After a round of hugs and kisses, Charlene walked to the elevator with her husband. “Thank you,” she murmured as they waited side by side for the elevator.

He nodded, but kept his gaze on the arrows over the elevator. “Sure. Nothing else made much sense.”

The down arrow lit up, a bell sounded and the elevator doors opened. “It won’t be for long,” Charlene offered as they stepped into the empty elevator, saddened to think Aunt Dorothy’s days on this earth were nearing an end.

He shrugged and pressed the button for the lobby.

“Maybe it might do us both some good to spend a little time apart during the week,” she said, giving voice for the first time to the fear that the indifference that had marked their marriage these past few years might be too great to overcome.

He let out a long, deep sigh. “If that’s what you want,” he said hoarsely.

And her heart trembled.

Maybe that’s what he wanted, too.

Chapter Five

S till shaken by the notion that living with Aunt Dorothy might also be an odd, unexpected trial separation of sorts, Charlene walked up the slate walk to her aunt’s house on Lady’s Creek Drive. Dwarfed on either side by a copse of majestic oak and maple trees older than Welleswood itself, the one-story cottage looked sadly neglected.

Using the set of keys retrieved from Aunt Dorothy’s purse, Charlene unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room. Memories of happier times assailed her, and she swallowed hard, praying there might be more time to share with her aunt and more memories to create.

Once her eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, she pulled up the shades on the windows to let in more light. The living room was dated, yet neat, and was obviously in need of a good cleaning, just as she had suspected. Before she could continue walking through the house, however, there was a sharp rap at the front door.

She recognized the visitor standing on the porch and wished she had not bothered to answer the door at all. “Hello, Mrs. Withers,” she murmured, and managed a smile for her aunt’s elderly next-door neighbor.

A pair of curious brown eyes tried to see past Charlene into the house. “When I saw your car in the driveway I came right over,” she said, holding her buttonless coat together with both hands. “I heard poor Dorothy has passed. Is it true?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, it’s not true. Not at all. Aunt Dorothy is recovering from a slight heart attack. She’s coming home tomorrow, we hope,” Charlene said, anxious to correct the woman, who had a well-earned reputation for gossip and exaggeration.

Agnes Withers furrowed her brow. “Really? I heard she had a real bad heart attack. Then I heard—”

“I’m sure my aunt will tell you all about it when she’s home and up to having visitors,” Charlene interrupted. “I just came by to straighten up a bit for her.” She decided not to share more, for fear of adding to the gossip.

The neighbor leaned forward a bit. “You need to move in. That’s what you need to do,” she whispered, as if someone might be lurking behind the overgrown bushes to overhear her. “Dorothy won’t admit it to anyone, not even her doctor, but the poor dear can’t see well enough these days to take her insulin right. Half the time I’m here, she either fills that needle with too much or too little, and I have to fix it for her. Sooner or later, if that heart of hers doesn’t give out first, she’s going to take an overdose or go into one of those diabetic comas, all because she can’t see to get her dose right.”

“I hadn’t realized it was a problem,” Charlene admitted.

“Well, it is a problem, but you can’t tell her I tattled. She’ll get mad at me, and I couldn’t bear losing my very best neighbor.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“And don’t mention I heard she was dead, either. She’d really get mad at that,” the woman added.

“No, I won’t,” Charlene promised, eager to send the woman on her way.

Mrs. Withers apparently had other plans in mind, and took a step closer. “I’d be glad to help you straighten things up for Dorothy,” she offered.

Charlene tightened her hold on the door frame. “That’s so kind of you, but I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can take care of things here, but maybe you could do something else for me…and for Aunt Dorothy.”

“Of course,” the woman replied, although disappointment laced her words.

“Considering the rumor that she had passed on, maybe you could call your friends to reassure them that she’s doing much better and that she’ll be coming home very soon.”

“Absolutely. I will. I’ll make the calls right away.” Good as her word, she turned and walked away.

Relieved and convinced Agnes Withers would put the rumors to rest, Charlene went into the dining room, where more memories greeted her. Then she headed into the sun-drenched kitchen, where light poured onto the cracked red-and-green linoleum floor through a pair of windows facing the overgrown backyard. On the red Formica countertops that had faded to pink, Aunt Dorothy had new hypodermic needles and used ones. The room itself was orderly, but like all the other rooms, it needed a good cleaning.

Charlene opened the refrigerator and found a few Styrofoam boxes of leftovers on the shelves, beside all sorts of single-serving condiments. The freezer was packed with more Styrofoam containers covered in ice crystals and frozen meats dating back as far as two years.

She inspected the bedrooms on the other side of the house. She poked her head into Aunt Dorothy’s bedroom, where she detected the stale smell of Tabu, but instead of going inside to pull up the shades, she flipped on the light with the switch near the door. As she expected, the room was as tidy and as sadly worn as the others and just as needy of a cleaning.

Sighing, she turned out the light and bypassed the bathroom to look in the spare bedroom, where she would be staying alone during the week and with Daniel on the weekends. When she flipped on the light, she gasped and stepped back. There had to be a bed in this room somewhere, but she couldn’t see past the three tall dressers and the dozen or so tall tin cabinets and wardrobes huddled together, leaving only a narrow aisle.

Charlene groaned out loud.

There was no way she could get all this stuff up into the attic as Aunt Dorothy suggested. Dismayed, she closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on positive thoughts. Unfortunately, they were as thin as Aunt Dorothy’s bedspread.

Charlene let out another groan and opened her eyes. Cleaning the house would take hours and hours. She would probably be up half the night, which meant she could barely spare time to drive home to pack some clothes for herself, let alone think about spending her last night of freedom with her husband.

Worried that he might think she was overeager to be apart from him, she inspected the spare bedroom again to figure out the quickest way to make the room habitable.

If the wardrobes and cabinets were not too heavy, she might be able to shove them closer to the wall, along with one of the dressers. She opened one cabinet and found it stuffed with bags: grocery bags, shopping bags, plastic store bags, garbage bags and even a few small white bags from Sweet Stuff.

She tried one of the wardrobes. It held so many blouses there wasn’t room for one more. Another cabinet was filled with recycled glass jars that her aunt had labeled for flour, sugar, pancake mix and more. Charlene opened one jar, saw the remains of several brown critters and promptly screwed the lid back on.

The other four wardrobes were packed with clothing, just like the first, and the remaining cabinets held a variety of rusted canned goods, laundry products, cleaning supplies, string, rubber bands and what looked like several years’ worth of newspapers.

Charlene’s first impulse was to pick up her cell phone to call and order a Dumpster; instead, she simply closed all the drawers and doors. She had heard that many people who had lived through the Great Depression in the 1930s never recovered from the deprivations of that era, and Aunt Dorothy’s spare bedroom held proof that it was indeed true.

From what she was seeing Charlene suspected that Agnes Withers’s concerns about Aunt Dorothy’s competence were valid. Charlene was going to need to monitor her aunt much more closely than she had thought. She also had to do something to repair her troubled marriage, or she would spend the rest of her days with a heart as weak and broken as Aunt Dorothy’s had been found to be.

Chapter Six

A t six-thirty on Saturday morning, Ellie laced up her sneakers and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. She slipped the spare key into the waist pocket in her walking pants and zipped the pocket closed. Another pocket held her cell phone and a mini change purse. She tapped in the security code on the alarm pad, opened the back door then quickly reset the alarm and slipped outside.

Setting the house alarm reminded her that her cell phone was still programmed to vibrate. She hadn’t used that mode much until her mother had gotten sick and Ellie had needed her cell phone on when she was teaching. Rather than resetting the cell phone now, she moved it into a smaller pocket so she could feel the vibration if someone called.

She drew in a huge gulp of crisp, fresh air, feeling her spirits lift with joyful thoughts of total freedom. For the next forty minutes or so, she would be completely alone with her thoughts on her first power walk since her mother became ill and moved in with her. Fortunately for both of them, their body clocks were as different as their personalities. Ellie liked to go to bed and get up early. Her mother liked to watch late-night TV and spend her mornings sleeping in. Once Ellie returned to work next Monday, she expected to see precious little of her mother. She hoped to build a more positive, loving relationship between them in the few hours they would have together.

Ellie stretched her muscles for a few minutes, then headed across her small backyard to the alley behind the house. As usual, the neighborhood was quiet at this hour. She quickly covered the two long blocks to the avenue and turned right toward the center of town. With virtually no traffic to worry about, she walked in the street close to the curb, avoiding the nuisance of going up and down the curbs at cross streets.

Block after block of residential homes, a mix of single-family Victorians, converted duplexes and World War II-era twin homes now called town houses soon gave way to the revitalized business district. New brick sidewalks had replaced cracked and broken concrete. Planters on each corner had recently been filled with fresh dirt and mulch, and sat waiting for volunteers to plant colorful flowers that would bloom from next month through the end of summer.

When a sparkle in the street caught her eye, Ellie smiled and stopped to pick up a dime. She started walking again as she slipped the coin into the mini change purse she carried for her funny money—change she found on the ground and had fun collecting in a cookie jar at home before donating it to a local charity. She had given nearly forty dollars to the new girls’ crew team last year, but she hadn’t yet decided on this year’s recipient.

She kept her pace quick. When a pair of early-morning joggers passed her, she didn’t feel a twinge of envy. Walking briskly was a good way to strengthen her post-menopausal bones and heart without adding stress on her knees.

She passed the town’s newest restaurant, La Casita, and the ice cream parlor, Scoops, where a good number of her tenth-grade students would probably congregate tonight after the basketball game. With her heart and her feet hitting a steady rhythm, she passed other storefronts: The Deep End, an eclectic gift boutique; the unisex beauty salon; The Purrple Palace, a pet shop catering to felines. All the stores were new to the avenue.

When she spied Pretty Ladies, a hair salon that had survived in the small town’s shopping district through the mall-building era and now thrived in the boom of the revival, she made a mental note to call later today. She needed to make a home appointment for her mother to have her hair done.

Growing traffic on the avenue in the heart of the business district forced Ellie onto the sidewalk in front of The Diner, where the air was heavy with the smell of sizzling bacon. Inside, seniors who shared her habit of rising early were taking advantage of the breakfast special and the owners’ policy of encouraging the patrons to linger long after they finished eating.

Beyond The Diner, she stopped to pick up a penny, crossed the street and passed Sanderson Realty, the only real estate office in town. The closer she got to McAllister’s Bakery—voted best of South Jersey for the past seven years—the harder she found it to concentrate on anything but sugared pastries.

She didn’t slow her pace, but she did take several good whiffs of air, savoring the luscious aromas of butter, cinnamon and apples that drew the line of people waiting to enter. She deliberately didn’t carry money with her on her walks so she wouldn’t be tempted to stop and take home more calories than she would burn. She had another plan for where her calories would come from today.

To avoid the line outside the bakery, she returned to the street and hugged close to the parked cars until she reached the bank, which was the one-mile mark from her home. She used a pedestrian walkway to cross the street and start the return mile toward home. She had one destination in mind—Sweet Stuff.

Before the day ended, she needed to replenish her candy stash, at home and at work. Although it was way too early for the candy store to be open, she wanted to check the store’s hours on Saturdays and see if they had been extended for the Easter holiday.

When she had to stop at the corner for a turning car, Ellie spied two quarters in the street and gleefully added them to her mini purse. Approaching the candy store, which shared an entryway with a recently opened health-food store, she was convinced this was the oddest pairing of businesses ever to grace the avenue.

At the door of Sweet Stuff, she read the sign listing the store’s hours. Saturday, noon to five. She sighed. Charlene Butler had not extended the hours yet.

Disappointed, since her free time was so limited, Ellie turned away to resume her walk home. She had taken only a few steps before the sound of insistent tapping made her turn around. The rapping was coming from inside the candy store. Ellie looked closer and saw Charlene standing at the window, waving her back to Sweet Stuff.

Ellie met Charlene at the door.

“You’re up early as usual, I see. Come on in.” Charlene’s smile came straight from the good spirit everyone in Welleswood had come to know and love. Charlene was Ellie’s favorite store owner on the avenue.

Ellie hesitated. “I only stopped to see if you’d extended your hours yet for the holiday. I had no idea you’d be here this early.”

Charlene chuckled. “Neither did I. The high-school crew team ordered a whole slew of chocolate, oar-shaped taffies for their fund-raiser. I promised Ginger King I’d meet her here at nine to help finish them before she opened up for me. And since I haven’t been in all week, I thought I’d come in extra early to catch up.”

“Then I shouldn’t interrupt you,” Ellie said, remaining outside. “I’ll come back when you’re officially open for business.”

Charlene frowned for a moment before reaching behind the door to flip the Closed sign over. “There. For you, we’re open, and don’t think for a moment that I’m being patronizing. There are a couple of boxes I need to bring up from the basement, and I can’t do it by myself. I should have known better than to have the delivery guys put them down there. Since you’re here, I could really use your help before you pick out your candy.”

Ellie chuckled, inhaling the gloriously decadent smell of chocolate as she stepped into the store.

Charlene shut the door and flipped the Closed sign back into place.

“You’re one of the few people who doesn’t lecture me about having a sweet tooth,” Ellie said. “How has it been for business to have a health-food store open next door?”

Charlene grinned. “The owner, Andy Johnson, is nice enough, I suppose, and I can’t argue with the idea that we have to take good care of our bodies. Heck, I stock low-calorie, dietetic treats here for anyone who needs them. I just prefer to celebrate my customers’ lives with old-fashioned sweet stuff. It’s as simple—and fun—as that.”

“Hence the name of your shop,” Ellie said. “Sweet Stuff.”

Charlene’s grin widened. “Exactly. I just try to make sure my customers don’t overindulge. ‘Seek moderation in all things.’ That’s what my pastor always says.”

She led Ellie past the glass-fronted display cases filled with the usual variety of chocolates and a dazzling array of chocolate Easter specialties. “From the moderate amount of candy you buy, I’d guess you were a kid who could make a box of candy last through an entire movie.”

“I usually saved some to take home, too,” Ellie admitted, fully aware that she’d had the candy-stashing habit from an early age.

Charlene shook her head. “And I usually ate all my candy before the movie started, which might be why I haven’t been able to find my waist since grammar school and you’re so trim.”

“Exercise helps me keep the weight off,” Ellie said. “I started walking along the avenue every morning right after my husband died six years ago. I’ve found it’s a great way to clear my mind and forget my troubles before the start of the day.”

Charlene sighed and tugged her blouse back down over her hips. “I probably should take up walking. But I’m having a bit of a problem just squeezing in the time I need to be at the store and at home.”

“I know you commute to Welleswood, but I don’t know where you do live.”

“Actually, I’ll be living here in town for a while,” Charlene confided, pausing to straighten a display of chocolate-covered Easter eggs. “Do you know my aunt, Dorothy Gibbs?”

Ellie nodded. “She’s a darling. She lives over on Lady’s Creek Drive, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. I’m staying with her temporarily,” Charlene replied. She explained about her aunt’s recent hospitalization as she led Ellie toward the workroom and down the basement steps.

Ellie listened to the sad tale, and shook her head in sympathy. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard your aunt was in the hospital, but I’m glad she’s home now.” She was surprised that she and Charlene hadn’t bumped into each other at the hospital, but she assumed her mother’s private room explained that. As they crossed the basement, Ellie told Charlene about her similar situation. “Caring for my mother is going to be a lot more difficult and more time-consuming than I ever expected,” she finished, not mentioning anything about the added challenge of living day to day with constant criticism or the idea that if she had the support of a loving husband, as Charlene did, the challenge might be less difficult.

“I’m finding myself facing much the same with my aunt,” Charlene offered. Then she pointed to two large cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. “The boxes aren’t all that heavy. They’re filled with little stuffed Easter animals, but as you can see, they’re a bit unwieldy for me to handle by myself.” She looked back at the staircase and shook her head. “I’m not even sure how the two of us are going to manage getting up those narrow steps with them.”

Ellie eyed the boxes and studied the staircase for a moment. “Having four hands instead of two will help, I think. That’s what I could have used raising my children—or trying to control twenty-five students in a classroom when I first started teaching. There were days I wished I’d been born an octopus.”

Charlene chuckled. “I think I had a few days of my own like that. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

Ellie bent to pick up an end of one box. “If you take the other side, I’ll try backing up the steps, and you can direct me,” she suggested.

Working together, they managed to get the first box upstairs with only a few stumbles—and lots of giggles along the way.

Before Ellie followed Charlene back to the basement for the second box, she set her cell phone, which had almost fallen out of her pocket, on a shelf near the worktable for safekeeping. “If you’re going to be in Welleswood for a few weeks, will you be going back home on Sunday mornings for church?”

“I don’t really want to be that far away from Aunt Dorothy, although the price of gas alone would be reason enough not to travel back and forth. I’ve really been feeling the pinch commuting lately,” Charlene replied. With her back to the steps, she hoisted up the end of the second box. “I’ll go first this time. I’ve got a bigger cushion to land on when I fall back and thump down on a step or two.”

“You don’t have a security camera anywhere recording us, I hope,” Ellie teased as she grabbed the other side of the box.

“Me?” Charlene giggled and started walking backward toward the steps. “Trust me, you’re safe. Adding a dead bolt to the front and back doors was one big concession to store security.”

“Careful,” Ellie cried. “The bottom step—”

“Whoa!” Charlene tripped, plopped down on the third step and started giggling again as she struggled to shove the box away from her chest to get back to her feet. “That’s it. Here’s an idea. Unless you’re directing me, there’s no conversation until we get this box upstairs. Then I’ll make us both a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and some Belgian chocolate shavings that are so decadent you could almost swoon.”

Ellie’s mouth watered. “Okay, but first, let me invite you to come to church with me tomorrow. Services start at ten o’clock.”

“I accept. Ready?”

Ellie adjusted her hands to get a better grip on the box, and nodded. This time they managed to get the box upstairs without either of them stumbling again.

“A job well done,” Charlene murmured. “Thanks.”

Ellie smiled. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.

Ellie had lost touch with a few friends after she was widowed—she just wasn’t comfortable socializing any longer with couples, always being the fifth wheel. But she could certainly use a friend like Charlene, who would understand the hopes and fears she had about her mother and who would be in town without her husband, on weekdays, at least.

Maybe together, as friends, the two of them just might be able to help each other—to meet the challenge of caring for their elderly relatives and in other ways, too.

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