Healing Hearts. Syndi Powell
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for the wedding. And Coach Petrullo needed an update on Johnson’s health. He answered them all. He’d make it work. Because that’s what he did: took on the impossible and it happened.
His phone buzzed with a new text message. Bad day. Can you come home early?
He checked the time. Not even noon, and the day nurse wanted him to leave already? He replied that he’d stop by at lunchtime. He could kill two birds with that stone: get something to eat and check up on his mom. Then he’d drive out to the practice fields and talk to both Johnson and the coach. Life was all about multitasking.
He glanced out the window again, the gray February skies muddying his mood, turning it cold and dark. Images of Dr. Sprader crossed his mind, bringing a ray of sunshine to dissipate his gloomy state. Sure, she had appeared as if she were angry at him, but when he watched her with her patients, she had radiated something akin to kindness and compassion. A sort of contentment or...peace.
He straightened his tie and stood up. He didn’t have time to think about what he didn’t have. Better to focus on what he did.
He grabbed his wool trench coat from the hook behind his office door and stopped by his assistant’s desk. “I’ll be taking an early lunch today and stopping by practice to check on Antonio. Any messages before I leave?”
Dalvin huffed. “I keep this place a well-oiled machine. Nothing happens without you knowing.”
Zach clapped Dalvin on the shoulder. “You’ve got my number in case anything does come up.”
Dalvin pointed at his computer screen. “What do you think of these as wedding favors?”
Zach bent forward, scrunched his face. “We have to have favors, too?”
Dalvin shrugged. “I read about them on Pinterest.” His assistant pulled several sheets and fanned through them. “These are all the wedding details that still need planning.”
“That’s why I have you.” He sighed at the papers. “We’ll review them when I return.” He glanced at his watch. “Hopefully before four.”
“You got it, boss.”
Zach took the elevator to the parking garage below the building and walked to his sleek, black luxury SUV. Being an agent meant keeping up appearances, so he spent more than he should to project a successful image. He hit the key fob and unlocked the door before sliding into the leather seat and starting the powerful engine.
The drive from his office to his mother’s house took about a half hour on a good day, but the recent snow had left the roads slushy, slowing drivers. He arrived at the house he’d grown up in and parked behind the day nurse’s car. He took a deep breath before trudging up the snow-covered driveway to the back door. He unlocked it and jogged up a few steps into the kitchen. He turned right and found Dolores sitting at the dining room table, her head in her hands. She looked up at him when he called her name.
“Thank goodness you’re here. She’s been asking for you.”
He raised an eyebrow at this and took his coat off, hanging it on the back of one of the four chairs. “She remembers me today? That’s new.”
“Well, she’s been calling for your father, but she means you.” Dolores stood and pulled the edges of her pink cardigan closer together. “When I tried to explain that you’re at work, she threw her cereal bowl at me.”
He noted the dried milk spots on the cardigan. “You’re a saint for putting up with all of this.”
“And here I was thinking the same thing about you.”
A shriek from the back bedroom caught his attention. He walked down the short hallway to his mother’s room and opened the door. “Mother, I’m here.”
Her blank eyes lacked focus as he stood in the doorway watching her. “I knew you’d come home,” she said.
He stepped over clothes she’d probably thrown in a fit of temper and took a seat in the recliner next to her bed. “I always come home.”
“Because you’re a good man, Robert.” She reached out and touched his cheek.
“I’m Zach. Your son.” The doctor had said it was good to remind her of the reality despite her stubborn hold on the past. “Dad died when I was ten.”
She blinked. “Zach.” Her eyes searched his. “Zach should be home from school soon. Such a well-behaved boy. Smart. Just like his father.”
She put a hand on his, and he patted it before rising from the chair. “I’m just going to grab some lunch and then I have to go back to work, okay? But you be good for Dolores. She takes excellent care of you.”
“I want you to stay.” His mother pouted like a three-year-old who couldn’t get her own way. “You promised you’d take me for a picnic.”
“It’s the end of February, Mom. We have to wait for the warmer weather.” He noted the time and got a bottle of pills from the top of the dresser. Shaking out two pills into his hand, he said, “It’s time for your medicine. This will help you feel better.”
She took the pills like an obedient child, then fixed her gaze on the window. When she faced him again, he could tell he’d lost her once more. Her eyes looked at him, blank and confused. “I’m so tired.”
He helped her lie back on the bed and covered her with the quilt Nonna had made. “I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you take a nap? You always feel better after.”
She snuggled into the covers and closed her eyes. “Wake me when Robert gets home.”
“I will, Mother.” He watched her for a moment, then left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He paused before continuing down the hallway. “She’s taken her meds, Dolores, so she’ll sleep for you.” He shrugged into his coat. “Text me if you need anything.”
“You can always calm her down. That’s a gift.”
He gave a nod, wishing he had the gift of restoring his mother’s memory. That would have much more worth. From his car, he stared up at the house. He’d had to move in last year when his mother’s condition had worsened. No longer able to care for her from a distance, he’d given up his apartment and most of his personal life to be the dutiful son.
And most days, he didn’t regret it.
* * *
IN THE LARGE commercial kitchen, Page and April took their places at a stainless steel table where cooking utensils and fresh ingredients waited to be transformed into something edible. April wrinkled her nose as she picked up the recipe card. “Homemade pasta? Maybe we’re not ready for this class.”
“I got the night off to come here, so we’re not chickening out.” Page glanced around the kitchen as more students started to filter in. “Besides, I want to make this pasta so we can eat it. I’m starving.”
“I told you to eat something before we came.”
Page brushed off the suggestion. “I was feeling nauseous at the time, but I’m fine now.”
April frowned at her friend. She’d been complaining more often about feeling sick lately. Considering it was Page, this wasn’t unusual. The fact that she tried to downplay it was a concern, however. “Have you seen your oncologist lately?”
“Stop worrying about me. We’re here to mark another item off your list.”
Mrs. Rossi entered the kitchen, and the din of conversations among the students died down. She smiled at each of them. “I’m glad to see so many new faces mixed among my seasoned students. If you saw the recipe cards, you’ll know we’re making pasta tonight. It’s an ambitious task for the first class, but you’ll find that fresh pasta will make a big difference to your cooking.” She picked up an apron and held it up in front of the students. “You’ll find aprons below the table for your use, unless you’d rather go