Here Comes the Groom (9 page)

“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” Polly found clean cups in the dishwasher. The smell of fragrant coffee mingled pleasantly with sharp-sweet citrus.

“He'll give up eventually.”

“I'm not talking about Dan,” said Polly, “I'm talking about Rosemary. How many nights this week has she been up?”

Jo scraped a sliced mandarin into a bowl, then reached for another. “I'm coping.”

“Are you?” Polly picked up her hand holding the knife. She was trembling with exhaustion. “How many, Jo?”

She pulled her hand free. “A few,” she admitted and concentrated on slicing.

Polly folded her arms, her expression set to charge nurse. “We talked about this.”

“Let's see how next week goes.” Her slices were getting thicker and thicker. “It could be a passing phase.”

“You made a commitment,” Polly said quietly.

The mandarin fell open; Jo gouged out the pips. “Look, I haven't got the energy to discuss this now.”
No, don't reinforce Polly's argument.
“I mean, I'm too busy with the
Chronicle.
” She and Kev were spending
hours analyzing CommLink's annual reports and cross-checking profit forecasts with actual performance. Trying to work out whether CommLink was bluffing by a process of deduction. Because thanks to Dan, Kev no longer trusted Jo's instincts. She'd begun to question them herself.

“You promised me,” repeated Polly. “And more importantly, you promised Rosemary.”

Something inside Jo snapped. She threw down the knife. “If you haven't got the guts to see this through, Pol, then quit! I can do this alone.”

“Ha,” the nurse retorted. “You're so damn tired you're delusional!”

“Oh, God, I'm sorry.” Jo gripped the table edge. “You know I don't mean it. You're the best thing that happened to both of us.”

“Then listen to my advice. You
can't
continue like—”

“What's going on?” Dan said casually. Neither of them had heard the back door open. Arranging himself next to Jo, he glanced from one woman to the other. “I could hear you arguing from the garden.”

Jo sent Polly a warning look. “We're discussing the best way to make marmalade.”

The older woman shook her head. “I'm sorry, Jo, but I need reinforcements.” She faced Dan. “When Rosemary was first diagnosed she chose a residential facility and had herself put on a waiting list for a place there when she needed full-time care.”

“Polly, stop there.” Jo tried to sound calm and authoritative but her heart hammered against her ribs.

“When the time came, Jo increased my hours instead,”
said the nurse. “I only found out when Pinehill phoned last month to see how things were progressing. Apparently Rosemary even made Jo promise to respect her wishes in front of the director.”

Jo went to the sink and rinsed her juice-covered hands. “She's not a burden,” she said to no one in particular.

“When I challenged her, Jo talked me into another deadline.” Polly continued to look at Dan. “Once Rosemary was getting up through the night more than once a week, then Jo would accept the need for residential care. I suspect that's been happening for some time.”

“She raised me. I'm not turning my back on her now.”

“Someone needs to talk some sense into you before
your
health suffers,” Polly said to her.

Jo concentrated on drying her hands but said fiercely, “I'm coping.”

Polly picked up her bag. “We need more sugar from the store if we're making this marmalade. Anything else you want me to pick up?”

Yeah, a new caregiver.
Jo bit her tongue against the sarcastic retort and shook her head. This betrayal was exactly why she kept her own counsel. She waited until Polly was out of earshot and snarled at Dan instead. “This is none of your business.”

“You're right,” he agreed. “Any chance of breakfast? I'm starving.”

Surprised, Jo blinked at him. “There's eggs…a loaf in the breadbox.”

He opened the fridge, taking out the eggs, butter. “You eaten yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet.”
Has Nan?
“I'll be back in a minute.”
Rosemary was still sound asleep, her mouth slightly open like a child's. Jo stood for a moment composing herself. After a few deep breaths the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach receded. She returned to the kitchen. Dan had already greased the skillet with butter and was mixing eggs in a bowl with a little milk.

“There's some cheese and tomatoes,” she said, “if you prefer an omelet.”

“Scrambled's fine. Got any parsley?”

“Tons.” Jo went out to the overgrown garden. The parsley patch had rioted through summer; now in autumn it had gone to seed. She was mixing her seasons up as badly as Nan. But she found some spring onions that hadn't been harvested and took them inside. Soon the pungent green onion mingled with the scent of buttery eggs. Jo realized she was hungry.

“I'll make toast,” she suggested.

“Good idea.”

She sent him a sidelong glance as she dropped two slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. Maybe he was biding his time, lulling her into a false sense of security.

“Relax.” His back to her, Dan stirred the eggs. “I'm not going to hassle you about Nan.” He turned off the element; found plates and cutlery. “Polly doesn't know you like I do. Of course you know how to juggle multiple obligations, not to mention keeping yourself healthy.” Jo concentrated on the toast. “You still jogging?”

“When I can fit it in.”
Which is never.
She resisted the urge to check her reflection in the toaster.

“And Rosemary seemed fine when she let me in this morning. She was off for a walk but postponed it.”

Jo's head shot up. She must have forgotten to dead-bolt the front door. The last time Nan had wandered they hadn't found her for three hours.

Dan glanced over. “Bread.”

A wisp of smoke rose from the toaster. Jo rescued the toast and joined him at the table.

Her stomach had started churning again.

Dan picked up his knife and fork. “Mom asked Dad for a divorce last night.”

“What!”

“I guess my appetite should be affected but frankly after missing dinner, I'm starving.” He handed Jo her cutlery. “I told them I was sick and tired of acting as an intermediary and to sort out their own mess… That worked really well.”

“Oh, Dan, I'm sorry.” Stunned, Jo started to eat. “I'm sure Pat regrets what she said this morning.”

“Dad doesn't.” Between mouthfuls, he related his conversation with his father.

“Poor Herman. Yet I kind of understand where your mom's coming from. Your dad started this by reneging on a promise…and don't even try to bring this back to the promise I made to marry you. I was drunk.”

Across the table, his eyes were very blue. “So both parties have to be sober for a promise to be binding?”

“Yes.”

“Any other provisos?”

Jo covered her bases. “And both have to be serious when they make it. It should be witnessed. And preferably on paper…a legal document.” That left out the beer mat.

Dan looked thoughtful. “Dad never signed anything
promising Mom he'd travel. Theirs was only a verbal agreement.”

She frowned. “Is that how he's trying to weasel out of it? No wonder Pat's had enough.”

He sat back in his chair. “You really think he's bound by this, don't you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said hotly. “Your mom trusted him and he's betraying that—”

Jo stopped, suddenly seeing the trap he'd laid for her. She put down her fork. “This isn't about your parents…or us, is it?”

Dan shook his head.

Jo pushed to her feet. The chair toppled to the floor. Throat tight, she flung open the back door. “Out…get out. If you really knew me you'd understand how I feel about Nan.”

He stood. “I do understand. You want to fix this and it's driving you crazy that you can't. Which leaves you torn between respecting her wishes and hanging on to her for all you're worth.”

She couldn't speak or she'd burst into tears. Holding the door open she blinked hard at the old-fashioned clock hanging on the opposite wall.

“Jo, you don't have to do this alone.”

The second hand jerked around the clock face. “If you really want to help then cancel the wedding.”

“I…can't. If I start letting you use delaying tactics we'll be eighty before we sort this out.”

Still she wouldn't look at him. “Don't lecture
me
on accepting reality until you can.”

He stopped in front of her, narrowing her view down
to one muscular shoulder and a cord of bicep under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“Sooner or later you're going to have to deal with the fact I'm serious about getting married. It would be nice if that happened before the wedding.”

D
AN QUASHED A FEELING
of futility as he waited in the coffee shop for Delwyn later that day. He should have kept his mouth shut this morning instead of wading in on Rosemary's side but he couldn't stand by when he could plainly see that the status quo wasn't working. So he'd given his opinion and alienated the woman he wanted to marry in two and a half weeks.

He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. Now even his wedding planner was standing him up. Lesser—or more intelligent—men would have taken that as a sign.

He'd give Delwyn five more minutes. An incurable romantic, she'd reassured him that she wasn't going to let Jo's threat of reprisal prevent her from furthering the cause of true love. And she was a mine of useful information. Thanks to Delwyn, Dan knew what needed to be organized, when, and with whom.

His cell beeped. To his relief it was a text from Jo. U were right. Book on dementia
was
good. Before he'd left, he'd told her she needed to read it. Nice to know she still gave him the benefit of the doubt in some areas. She'd got to it quickly, which only showed how desperate she was.

He texted back. I'll always be your friend, Jo.

It took a few minutes to get a reply. Ditto.

Dan couldn't help pushing his luck. Picking wedding rings tomorrow. Want to come?

Her reply was instantaneous. &*%#@

Smiling, he snapped the cell shut. Jo wanted a family. And she was a pragmatist, she had to see the advantage of what he was proposing, particularly since he'd proved they had a sexual attraction. He could help her care for Rosemary.

He pocketed his phone with the nagging feeling that he'd missed something in this puzzle. And time was running out.

Across the street, Delwyn hurried out of Tim's Auto Mechanics, her head down. Her fiancé worked there…what was his name? Skinny guy, hairy knuckles and a genius with diesel engines. Wayne.

“About time,” Dan muttered, but instead of crossing the road, the plump sales rep turned left. She must have forgotten their meeting. As Dan went to the door to hail her, Wayne appeared at the garage doors in grease-stained overalls. Catching sight of Dan, he scowled and retreated into the gloom. What the hell was that about?

“Delwyn!” She spun around and Dan saw her puffy eyes, her red-tipped nose and quivering, blubbering mouth.

Uh-oh.

Delwyn crossed the road, her face crumbling, and he experienced a manly impulse to run. Ten yards away, she started to sob. Dan folded his arms. “What's wrong?”

“Wayne j-j-jilted meeee!”

It was a good ten minutes before Delwyn pulled herself together and by then everyone in the coffee shop
was glaring at Dan as though he were an ax murderer. Ignoring them, he poured her a glass of water and slid it across the table.

“Okay, what happened?”

Elbows planted in a growing mound of crumpled tissues, Delwyn took a noisy gulp of water and wiped her eyes. “Last night I told Wayne I'd organized a makeover magic package.” When he looked blank she waved an impatient hand. “That's a manicure, pedicure, waxing and bronzing treatment.”

“Maybe he's worried about escalating costs…your coach and horses weren't cheap.” Dan repeated his diplomatic reason for turning her down when she'd suggested they negotiate a two-for-one deal.

“Yeah, but I got a discount on the turtledoves,” she argued. “And anyway, you can't cut corners on your appearance on your wedding day.” Delwyn sniffed. “The photos will be forever.”

“I'm sure Wayne considers you beautiful as you are.”

“It's not for me, it's for him!”

“You want to wax and manicure
Wayne?
”

“Don't sound so judgmental. It's only to get the grease out from under his fingernails, tidy his eyebrows and defuzz his back.” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. “It's not like I'm suggesting a Brazilian for heaven's sake… Well, okay, I did suggest it, but
Bridal
magazine said they're getting popular with guys. Of course they don't do it the same for men as for women. It's more like putting shapes in the hair.” Delwyn's mouth drooped. “And a heart would have been nice.”

Dan shook his head to dislodge the mental pictures. “C'mon, the guy's got a point.”

“He didn't have to be so mean about it.” she glowered. “Wayne said I'm a bridezilla who cares more about the wedding than about him. And that I'm no longer the carefree girl he fell in love with. But I am, Dan, I am!” She kicked the back of the booth.

“Okay,” he said carefully. If he kept his mouth shut this time he wouldn't get into trouble.

Tears welled in her red eyes. “And Wayne said since he's not good enough as he is, I should find someone who m-matches my perfect day.”

The poor bastard. Dan forgot his resolution. “Look, you can fix this. Go over and apologize for trying to change him.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me,
I'm
the victim here.” Angrily, she wiped away her tears. “
I'm
the one who's spent the past six months weighing everything I eat. And all for a guy so selfish that he won't even try and improve. You know what? I'm
glad
I'm not marrying him.” Her lower lip quivered. “But my wedding, Dan,” she bawled, “my beautiful wedding.”

Disgusted, he handed over another paper napkin and thanked God he wasn't marrying for love.

 

“I
CAN'T BELIEVE
Dan was so insensitive,” Delwyn complained over the phone. “He ended up taking Wayne's side, can you believe it? You'll be pleased to know I'm not helping him marry you anymore.”

You were still helping him?
“I'm glad to hear it,” Jo said mildly. By the light of the full moon, she was
clearing the weeds around the gone-to-seed parsley. “Anyway, I'm sure you two will work something out.”

Once the parsley was weed-free, she moved on to the mint. It was nice to be outside for a change, to feel the chill on her bare legs under her dressing gown, to smell the wet grass and admire the stars.

Nan had settled early tonight.

Aided by techniques suggested in
Contented Dementia,
it had taken Jo only thirty minutes to put her grandmother to bed, instead of the usual hour. She could see herself managing again.

“No,” said Delwyn, “Wayne doesn't deserve me. You and I will be spinsters together.” Jo heard a gulp.

She made a mental note to call in to the garage on her way to work and talk to Wayne.

Someone somewhere had a fire burning, she could smell it faintly on the breeze. Winter was coming with its late dawns and early dusks, with cold feet and a slap-you-awake chill when you stepped outside the house. Jo shivered.
I'm alive, alert, awake,
she reminded herself silently. And stopped before
enthusiastic.
Sighed. “Go to bed, Delwyn,” she said. “Things won't seem so bad in the morning.”
One day at a time, don't look too far

ahead and you'll be okay.
They exchanged good-nights, Jo took in the stars one last time and turned back to the house. For a few seconds her brain couldn't process what she was seeing.

Through the downstairs window flames illuminated one corner of the dark kitchen. She started to run.

Inside, light flickered on the hall walls and smoke hung in the kitchen doorway like a gauze curtain.
“Nan!” Bursting through it, Jo took in the room in one frantic glance.

The frying pan blazed with burning oil. Flames licked up the tiles behind the stove and around the edges of the range-hood. Three feet away from the fire, Rosemary was a wraith-like figure in her nightgown, poised to throw a jug of water.

“No!” Diving forward, Jo tackled her grandmother's legs. The plastic jug flew into the air, splattering water as they both fell heavily to the floor. A few drops hit the fire and it roared and shot higher.

Scrambling to her feet, Jo half dragged, half carried her grandmother into the hall. “You're hurting me,” Rosemary whimpered.

“I'm sorry,” Jo gasped, but didn't loosen her grip until she'd hauled the old woman to safety.

Propping Nan against the banisters, she wrenched open the fuse box and cut the power then raced back into the kitchen, raising her hand against the blast of heat. Jerking the fire extinguisher away from the wall she thrust it at the blaze and pulled the nozzle.

Nothing.

Jo shook the canister, then frantically pulled again. “Do something, do something!” Still nothing. On a sob she remembered the pin, fumbled to remove it and tried again. A shot of foam hit the fry pan. Smoke billowed.

Coughing and shaking, Jo swept the nozzle left to right, keeping it low. The fire died, but she kept spraying until nothing came out, then flung the canister away. Her legs gave way.

On hands and knees she crawled back to her grand-
mother. Rosemary lay curled on her side, cradling her left arm. “It's an air raid…get me into the shelter.”

Jo smoothed her grandmother's tangled hair. “It's over,” she rasped. “The all-clear's sounded. You're safe.”

“My arm hurts.”

“I'll get h-h-help.” Teeth chattering—from the shock, she imagined—Jo went outside, found her cell where she'd dropped it and rang the emergency line as she raced inside. “I n-n-need…an ambulance.”

As she gave the operator the address she pulled coats out of the closet and covered Nan, then sat beside her and stroked her frail back while her grandmother moaned and cried.

“It's okay, I'm here. Everything's going to be fine.” Repeating the words over and over in a smoke-dry rasp until her voice cracked and faded.

Out of the dark, came a thin accusatory voice. “You broke my arm.”

 

J
O LET HIM HOLD HER;
that's how devastated she was.

Dan kept his embrace gentle though he wanted to crush her into his very bones with the enormity of his relief.

Her head on his shoulder, they sat on the hospital sofa waiting while the doctors x-rayed and set Rosemary's arm, which Jo had broken during the tackle that saved the old lady's life. Oil and water didn't mix but Nan had forgotten that. Thank God Jo hadn't or they'd both be in the burns unit right now—or worse. His hold tightened.

Dan had coaxed Jo into showering and changing
into the clothes he'd picked up at her request. His gut swooped remembering the kitchen—the charred wall behind the stove, the floor swimming in foam and black ash.

He'd opened all the windows before he left. Despite the shampoo, her damp hair still reeked of smoke. Dan resisted the urge to bury his face in it only by leaning his head against the wall so hard he could feel a bruise forming.

Jo stood up. Hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket, she walked up to the glass partition separating the small waiting room from the bustle of reception and scanned the corridor in both directions. “What's taking so long?” Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes smudged bruises.

“They want to do a good job.”

“Yes, of course.” She sat down again, taking the chair opposite. Withdrawing from comfort she felt she didn't deserve.

She had no reason to blame herself but she did. For relaxing her guard after settling Rosemary for the night. For being outside when her grandmother got up. For forgetting to turn off the master switch on the stove. “I'm being punished for not keeping my promise to Nan,” she'd said when she phoned for his help.

She hadn't raised the subject since and neither had Dan. He understood Jo couldn't talk about this right now if she was going to hold herself together. Understood that was why she'd called him and not Polly.

“Are you staying overnight with her?” He kept his tone matter-of-fact.

She nodded. “And then at Pinehill until she settles
in.” Jo dropped her gaze. “She can't go home with the house the way it is.”

“Stay at the farm.”

“No. You and Polly were right. It's time, Dan. I was selfish—I put my feelings before her personal safety…. Please don't disagree. It's true.”

She wasn't going to listen, so he went and sat beside her, not touching her, just being there. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and forced a smile. “So, what's the latest on your folks?”

“Herman's still at the farmhouse.” Casually he took her hand and warmed it between his. “Mom's saying she should have asked for a divorce years ago.”

She entwined their fingers. “Do you think they're better off apart?”

“If they are, then I'm in trouble. Herman and I work fine together on a temporary basis but I'd run the place differently…no question.” Hearing footsteps hurrying down the corridor, he paused. Jo's grip tightened. An orderly walked by without glancing in. “There is one good thing come out of their separation,” Dan continued. “Dad's so grumpy that the dogs are finally changing loyalties.”

Jo managed a weak chuckle and he felt like he'd won something.

“Jo?” Doc Stone entered the room and she shot to her feet. “All fine,” he reassured her. “A simple closed fracture, it should heal without any trouble.”

“Can I see her now?”

“Yes, of course, follow me.”

Jo turned back to Dan. “You don't have to stay.”

He hated to be shut out again. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Her gaze pinned his. “Only one.”

Dan looked away. “Give Nan my love.”

Without another word Jo followed the doctor. Dan loosened the fists in his pocket and headed out to the brightly lit parking lot.

She was angry and he didn't blame her. He should back off the wedding while she dealt with Rosemary. But he broke into a cold sweat even considering it. He felt like a marathon runner five miles out from the finish line. Putting one foot in front of the other. What happened at the tape, Dan had no idea.