The Man Behind the Pinstripes. Melissa McClone
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than that,” Gertie said.
“Thanks, but you need this time alone with your grandchildren.” Becca’s eyelids blinked rapidly, like the shutter on a sport photographer’s camera. “I can’t make it anyway. I’m covering a shift for a vet tech at the twenty-four hour animal hospital on Wednesday.”
“That’s too bad,” he said.
She toyed with her napkin, her fingers speeding up as if someone had pressed the accelerator. A good thing the napkin was cloth or it would be shredded to bits.
“It is,” Becca said. “But I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time together.”
Her saccharine sweet voice sounded relieved not to be a part of the dinner. Maybe she had seen through him. That would be a first. “You’ll be missed.”
As much as a case of poison oak.
A dismayed expression crossed Grams’s face, washing over her like a rogue wave. Her shoulders hunched. “You’re working that night, Becca?”
The tremble in her voice sent Caleb’s pulse accelerating like a rocket’s booster engine. Unease spiraled inside him. He reached for his grandmother’s hand, covering hers with his. Her skin felt surprisingly warm. Her pulse wasn’t racing. Good signs, he hoped. “Grams? You okay?”
She stared at her hands. “I forgot about Becca working on Wednesday. I do have an assistant who reminds me of things, but …”
Grams shook her head slowly, as if she were moving through syrup not air.
Caleb understood her worry. His grandfather had suffered from Alzheimer’s, a horrible disease for the patient as well as the family. Being forgotten by the man who’d held their lives together for so long hadn’t been easy. But even at the worst of times, Grams had dealt with the stress of the disease with raw strength and never-ending grace and by making jokes. He’d never seen his grandmother act like this. Not even when she’d been stuck in bed with an upper respiratory infection over a year ago. “No worries. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
“That’s right,” Becca agreed.
Caleb wondered if she knew something about Grams’s health, but hadn’t told anyone. Except Becca looked genuinely concerned.
Grams gave his hand a feeble squeeze. “I should be able to remember a detail like Becca’s work schedule.”
“I never told you about next week’s schedule.” Becca’s voice was soft and nurturing and oh-so-appealing. “I received the call this morning about what shifts I’ll be covering. You haven’t forgotten anything.”
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