Rescued By Mr. Wrong. Cynthia Thomason
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chose to do with her life defies all logic. If she should forget to take her pills, or can’t find her inhaler in an emergency...” He ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. “I’m surprised I haven’t lost every hair on my head worrying about that girl. Maggie and I thought she’d eventually outgrow some of her allergies, but they’ve only gotten worse, and Carrie has only gotten more stubborn.”
Aurora took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry you worry so much about her, Marty.”
He smiled. Of all the people he knew, perhaps Aurora was the one who most understood. “One of these days, if I can pin Carrie down long enough, I’m going to make her do the sensible thing and stay here with me full-time.”
Aurora looked at him a few moments. “Oh, that should work well,” she said.
He chuckled. “I can dream about it at least...”
“Dr. Foster?”
Recognizing the voice of Maggie’s nurse, Martin stood and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. “What is it, Rebecca?”
“Maggie is refusing her food. She’s okay for now, but I thought you might want to come up and have a look.”
Martin turned and nearly ran into Aurora who had followed him from the kitchen. She nudged him forward. “Go. I’ll see myself out.”
He gave her shoulder a little squeeze as a goodbye and headed for the stairs. His life was caught in this awful middle ground. He was committed to the woman upstairs whom he loved beyond reason, and yet he had some strong feelings for the elfish, red-haired sprite of a woman he’d just watched leave. Aurora had come into his life as if she’d been sent to become a rudder for the difficult years he was having now.
And there was no denying the truth any longer. He cared deeply for her.
Less than a minute later, Martin sat at Maggie’s bedside. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, though her gaze was focused, as usual, on an indeterminate spot on the ceiling. “What’s this I hear, Maggie Mine? You don’t like your breakfast this morning?”
His wife looked pale, but otherwise she seemed as she did every morning, caught in the vacuum of her mind, a condition from which there was no escape. Alzheimer’s disease left struggling family members with far more questions than answers, like why did the heart keep beating strong when the mind seemed to have shut out every sound, sight, touch? It wasn’t fair, and to a healing man of science like Martin, it was fate’s dirty trick.
Martin pressed a spoon to Maggie’s lips. “It’s tea, darling, just the way you like it.” Her mouth twitched, but it was more an effort to keep the liquid from going in than a desire to taste it. Martin set the spoon on the nightstand. “That’s all right. You’re just not hungry. We’ll try later.”
Martin checked his watch. He was due at the hospital in forty-five minutes, and yesterday’s snow would make driving difficult. “I have to go, Maggie, but I’m planning to call Carrie in Michigan later today. I told you we all talked to her last night, and she seemed fine, but, I don’t know, I just feel that something’s not right.”
He fluffed Maggie’s pillow. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What do I know about intuition anyway? It’s just that, of all our daughters, she is the one most removed from us and the one who most keeps me awake at night. Jude is barely a half mile away in the barn. Alex is a mere three-hour drive away in Columbus. But Carrie, she travels the country, determined to save the forests while I sit here and fret.”
He bent and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I can well imagine what you would say to me, Maggie darling, what common sense advice you would give me. But I can’t change who I am any more than you can change who you are.” He smoothed a hand over her forehead. “It’s up to me now, to worry for both of us. And I’m doing a bang-up job of it.”
* * *
CARRIE OPENED HER eyes to a dull throbbing in her head. The room was still mostly dark, but it was morning. She could see sunlight streaming around the heavy window shades. A digital clock next to the bed read eight thirty. Surely she could take another pain pill now.
She sat up and carefully moved her booted leg to the edge of the mattress. The crutches were against the wall within her reach, so she stood on one leg, tucked the aluminum torture sticks under her arms and headed out the door, aware that the T-shirt she wore barely covered her fanny. Well, no time for modesty now. She had to use the bathroom.
When she had accomplished that task, including rubbing a bit of Keegan’s toothpaste over her teeth, she went into the living room. A fire still burned in the fireplace, turning the chill of the bedroom into a cozy warmth. She next needed to see to another necessity—food. She was starving.
She poured coffee into a mug left on the counter, and, fearful of spilling it while trying to reach a chair with her crutches, she stood against the counter and took a long, welcome sip. And wondered where Keegan was.
The question was answered promptly. The front door opened. A man’s heavy steps pounded the porch, an obvious attempt to rid his boots of snow. And then Keegan appeared with her suitcase in his hand.
“Good morning,” he said, whipping off his ball cap and shaking snow from the brim. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”
She blinked. “You have my bag.”
“I do. I remembered that we hadn’t locked the car yesterday, so I went to see if I could get your things. Luckily the bag was in that small area behind the seats.”
“What about all the presents? Were they still there?”
“Yes, I think so. Did you want me to bring them here?”
“No. They’ll be all right. You locked the car?”
“I did.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait to put on clean clothes.” She cringed before asking the next question. “How did the car look?”
“Still mostly like a pile of snow.”
“Great.”
“I scraped some of it off so the tow truck can at least find the vehicle.”
“Have you called anyone yet?” Considering that it was Monday, and Christmas was officially over, businesses should be operating as normal.
“No. We’re going to have to get someone from Sandusky where the hospital is located. That’s the closest town. I don’t want to make decisions for you. It’s only right that you talk to them and get the charges first.”
She recalled the salesman’s words when she bought the car. “It won’t be easy to get repairs,” he’d said. “But that’s true for all foreign makes.”
And then there’d been her father’s warning. “Don’t buy that car, honey. It offers no protection. Get something sturdy and solid instead.”
As usual she hadn’t listened. She had to have the adorable thing. “Like it matters what the charges are,” she said to Keegan. “I have to pay it.” She drank more coffee, relieved that the headache had abated some and she was beginning to feel more like herself.
Keegan took a skillet from under the stove and set it on a burner. “One thing though, Carrie... If the car won’t start, there really isn’t any reason to have it towed here to the campground. It should go back to the shop where it can be serviced. I use a guy named Grady. He knows engines and all the diagnostic tests they use on cars these days, and his prices are fair.”
“Does he know foreign cars?”
“I’m sure he does, though models like yours are a rarity around here.”
“I’ll call him.” Carrie stared longingly at the skillet. “What are you planning to do with that?”
He removed a tub of butter from his refrigerator. “After I get you settled in a chair, I plan to make bacon and eggs.