Two Family Home (7 page)

“No, he's . . .” He was family. Just not biological family. But Myron was an adult, and he wasn't a prisoner. He could have friends who took him to lunch. Why couldn't Walker be that friend?

“You're not on the list of his family. That's why I ask.”

“So I'm not allowed to visit?”

“No, but Mr. Harris is my responsibility. I don't want to let just anyone take him out of here.”

“Just anyone? What do you think, I'm gonna kidnap him? That smartass old know-it-all?”

Lindsey raised her eyebrow at him.

Walker ran his hand over his face. This was going all wrong. “Look. Myron is a friend. Sometimes I take him to lunch. I don't always tell him beforehand. Obviously he's busy today. I'll come back another time.”

Lindsey's expression softened. Walker didn't want it to soften. “He really looks forward to the Bookmobile.”

“Why do you keep calling it the Bookmobile? It's not even a Bookmobile! It's a van with books that takes up too many parking spaces!”

Lindsey put a hand on his arm. He flinched. “I'm sorry, Walker. I don't think he even noticed you're here.”

Walker looked over to where Myron sat with the others, in rapt attention as the librarian read. Knowing Myron and his love for stories, Walker had to agree that, no, Myron probably hadn't seen him.

“But you're welcome to stay,” Lindsey said. “Doug will read another twenty minutes, then they all check out books and talk his ear off. We serve lunch right afterward. You can see if Myron wants to go out then. Although I should warn you, the lunch after the Bookmobile is when Myron and Eugene do their best literary debating.”

“They don't just clobber each other with books?”

She laughed. She laughed and Walker wished he hadn't made that stupid joke because she looked beautiful when she laughed.

He was losing his damn mind.

“I should go,” he said, but then he heard a “psst” and Myron was gesturing him over. So Walker pulled up a chair at the back of the group and sat and listened to the bearded man in the green dress shirt read a story.

W
alker didn't stay for lunch. Lindsey tried to pretend she wasn't disappointed, but she was no good at lying to herself. It was just that Walker seemed so different around Myron. Sure, he scowled and moped and it didn't look like he said much—although even she had trouble getting a word in edgewise with Myron. But he also smiled and laughed a little. As he was leaving, Myron shook his hand and pulled him in for a hug, whispering something in his ear and giving him a gruff kiss on the cheek.

Apparently Walker was capable of behaving in a way that encouraged warm feelings in others, after all.

And Lindsey's Curiosity Radar went into overdrive.

Detective Lindsey was not a side of her personality that she was especially proud of. Not ashamed, exactly, but Detective Lindsey had gotten her into more trouble than she cared for. For example, finding out her sixth grade teacher's orthopedic shoes did not hide a prosthetic leg after all. Or that her prom date was not a cross-dresser; he was just carrying around another girl's underwear.

“How is your lunch, Mr. Harris?” she asked, just as she would have asked any other resident. No big deal.

Myron ran his fork through a white blob on his plate. “These aren't real mashed potatoes, are they?”

Lindsey knew they were mashed cauliflower, because even though the residents were full-grown adults, some guys just didn't want to eat their vegetables. Besides, she had tasted them before they came out of the kitchen. They were pretty good.

Slathered in butter, they weren't bad.

Better than dessert, anyway. But she had never been a real big fan of Jell-O with fruit cocktail in it.

Lindsey rearranged the napkins on the table. “I saw your friend Walker was here.”

“Shame he couldn't stay for lunch.” Myron picked up a forkful of “potato,” let it fall back on his plate. It
plopped
.

“Yes, but at least he got to see you get into a cat fight with Mr. May.”

“Call me Eugene!” Eugene yelled from his table across the room.

“He started it!” Myron pushed his plate away, pulled his Jell-O closer.

“I'm pretty sure you were the one threatening him with a book, Mr. Harris.”

“Call me Myron. And that wasn't a book. That was a mystery with cats in it.”

“Hey, what's wrong with a cat mystery?” Gladys asked from across the table.

“Have you ever met a cat? If a human was killed, the cat wouldn't give a crap. The cat would just sit on the furniture and stare at the dead body until someone else came in to feed it.”

“Mr. Harris—Myron—be nice. Remember what Doug said?”

“Never judge another person's reading taste. Which is bullshit. Pardon the language.”

“Well, the whole thing made you miss a lunch date with your . . .” She waved her hand, waiting for Myron to fill in the blank. “With your Walker.” She cringed.

Myron sighed and looked a little guilty. “He's good to me, that boy.”

“You really look forward to the Bookmobile, so I was just surprised to see your . . . Walker visiting.”

“Yeah, he takes me out to lunch and walks me. It's the least he can do after he ratted me out to my daughter.”

“Ratted you out? What did you do?”

“I fell a few times. So what? Nobody ever died from falling a few times.”

That wasn't true, but Lindsey wisely kept her mouth shut. She knew Myron's health condition. He'd had a series of mini-strokes that left little damage, in the grand scheme of things, but nonetheless prevented him from living completely independently. He'd lost some mobility on his left side, leaving him with a small limp and a hand that could not grip. Stairs were pretty much impossible unaided.

And he was forgetful. Not about big things, like people's names and the relative merits of the major American writers of the twentieth century. But his bluster had made it hard to spot that he was constantly leaving the stove on, forgetting to shower. He was vulnerable, and he was just unwell enough to be dangerous.

He also refused to leave Willow Springs. That was why his daughter moved him to Shady Grove.

Lindsey hadn't met his daughter, Darlene, yet, but she'd spoken to her on the phone. She was quiet and sounded very sweet, and expressed mucho gratitude for the care Myron was receiving. And she expressed mucho mucho guilt that she couldn't get down to see him more than once a month, if that. But she lived on a small farm and it was over two hours away when the roads were good, which they often were not, and she had three boys and . . . Lindsey had heard many excuses from family members about why they could not visit their parents once they put them in a home. But as she spoke to Darlene, Lindsey found it difficult to maintain the hardened heart with which she usually listened to these excuses. She knew that Darlene called her father every morning once the kids left for school, and every night after dinner. She saw in the guest book that Darlene did in fact come down almost once a month. But Myron had insisted on Shady Grove, and Darlene knew he would be well taken care of.

By Walker.

Lindsey gave her head a mental slap. Of course. The neighbor. The duplex with the stairs. Walker ratted him out . . . because Myron lived next door to him. Myron was the gardener. Myron was the guy who'd lived in her apartment before.

Small world.

Small town.

So, if Myron used to live next door to Walker . . . No, she shouldn't grill a poor old man just to get information.

“How long have you known Walker?”

Myron shrugged. “Since he was a kid.”

To Myron, everyone under the age of sixty was a kid. “That's a long time.”

“Eh, I lost track of him after he moved away with his no-good father. But he came back to town and bought the house I was living in, and he didn't kick me out so he could . . . what's that called? Toss it?”

“Flip it?”

“Yeah. He didn't toss me out just so he could flip it. There's another guy in town who does that. But not Walker.”

“Walker seems . . . nice,” Lindsey gently finished.

Myron laughed. “He ain't a junkyard dog, but only barely. But he's a good kid. He takes good care of me.” He cleared his throat.

“Well, he seems to like you. So he's clearly insane.”

Myron smiled. “Nah, he ain't got a real family so he has to put up with me.”

Lindsey's beeper went off. Mae Mitchell needed her afternoon meds. Lindsey paused, then quickly unpaused in horror. No matter how good the gossip was suddenly getting, digging up dirt on her landlord, who apparently was capable of human emotion after all, was not more important than making sure people's blood sugar was okay.
Even though it's getting good,
she thought, as she hurried over to Mae.

 

He sniffed along the side of the road. The road itself actually smelled really good, but last time he explored that, he almost got run over. Not fun. And he already knew that those cars were much faster than he was, although sometimes he still liked to try to catch one.

Still, next to the road there was plenty of grass, and a while back, he smelled a deer. He never smelled deer in the yard, not since the old guy planted all that stinky green stuff.

But he wasn't just here to smell the deer, even though he sort of lost track of his mission every time he picked up the scent. No. No matter how good the deer smelled, it was more important that he find out where those two were going every day, and to make sure they really came back.

Sometimes they'd go in separate directions, which made it tough. He could never decide which one to follow, and he would get so tired running around in circles that he would just go to sleep under the porch. But today he decided to follow the lady. And then—the guy showed up! Maybe they were going to the same place after all!

Which meant they would come home together. Which meant he had to hurry. He didn't know why he had to hurry, but suddenly he just felt like he had to RUN.

T
wo days.

It was two days since she'd seen Walker. She'd knocked on his door after work the night after the Bookmobile. Just for a friendly chat about his old pal, Myron. And also to apologize for misjudging him. He might be an abrasive jerk, but he was also apparently quite kind.

She was still working on the apology part.

It didn't matter. He hadn't answered, and rather than make herself look (more) desperate, she called Mary Beth to see if she wanted to hang out. But Mary Beth's baby was sick, so Lindsey called Billie the dog wrangler. But Billie's boyfriend was sick, so she promised a rain check. So Lindsey stayed home and talked to her mom and watched TV and pretended not to look out her kitchen window at the garage. She was feeling lonely and annoyed that the only two people she knew were not available. Then she was annoyed at herself for being annoyed at them, because it wasn't their fault that they all had someone to take care of and Lindsey was home alone in sweatpants after taking care of people for a living all day.

If only she had someone to take care of.

Nope. No. No one to take care of but herself. That was what she wanted. So she took a bath, took care of herself, and felt a little better about life in the morning.

These things just take time, her mom had warned her in an uncharacteristic show of support. So the next day after work, when Billie called to say that Andrew, the boyfriend, was still sick but driving her crazy, Lindsey took her up on the offer of a movie. And when, this morning, Mary Beth called to apologize for not being able to hang out earlier, but the baby was all better now, Lindsey got an idea.

The idea had nothing at all to do with Walker, which made her feel very proud. However, it also involved discussing a little with him beforehand, which also made her feel very proud.

After a morning of kneeling in her mess of a garden, Lindsey got her chance. She hopped out of what-some-would-call-a-garden to stop Walker on his way to the garage.

“Hey!”

He stopped short. He looked a little like a deer in headlights, which Lindsey could verify, having almost hit her first deer on the way home from the movies the night before.

She tried again. “Hi.”

Now he looked like a puzzled deer in headlights.

“Listen, I'm going to have a few people over tonight. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“I don't know. I thought maybe you might have to . . . work . . . late.” She lamely indicated the garage.

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Here in the garage. Where you work.”

He didn't say anything at first, and Lindsey hoped that he was gearing up to give her a lengthy and satisfying explanation about why his art needed to be a solitary endeavor and that, in fact, he was not making meth.

Finally, he spoke. “It's fine.”

She tried not to let her disappointment show. “We won't make too much noise.”

“Okay.”

“It's just a few people. You're welcome to stop by,” she added, hopefully. But not too hopefully. She didn't want to scare him off. With normal human hospitality.

He just looked at her, and she held his eyes, trying to decipher the look. Was he flattered? Was he pleased? Was he horrified that she would invite him over to a girls' night wine and cheese party?

“No, thanks. I have to work.”

And he headed into the garage.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes. She would never make it as a detective. She would have to distract herself with unpacking her wine glasses.

Walker picked up a mallet. Now she was going to have a girls' night? That wasn't quiet at all. That was why he missed Myron. Myron never had girls' nights where women came over and . . . Walker didn't actually know what happened on a girls' night. He had seen a bachelorette party at a bar once. Walker didn't really hang out at the kind of bars that would be appealing to people in furry tiaras. But they made themselves at home anyway, and Walker left that night with his ears ringing and his wallet lighter. They shrieked a lot. And he might have been cajoled into buying a few rounds.

He thought that would shut them up.

Also, they were pretty.

He didn't know why Lindsey's girls' night bothered him so much. It had nothing to do with him, as he'd so eloquently told her. His exciting Saturday night plans included staying in the garage, hammering pieces of scrap metal into shapes. He might even drink a beer while he worked.

So what if he didn't need to socialize? He was a lone wolf. He didn't need a pack—his dad had taught him that. He howled once, hammered the metal twice.

“There's only one thing you can count on in this world, kid,” Red Smith was fond of saying. “And that's that people will always let you down.” He spent Walker's entire childhood proving himself right. The best present Red ever gave his son was getting indicted for fraud two weeks after Walker's eighteenth birthday. Ten years in federal prison, and it was all the other guy's fault. The judge had it in for him. The guy who bought his work shouldn't have been such a rube. It didn't matter. Walker hadn't seen Red in over ten years, and he was okay with that. He sent a letter every year on Red's birthday—only because Myron insisted—but that was it. Never got a reply. Never wanted one.

What did Pollyanna know about what he wanted? Nothing. She didn't know anything about him. He didn't need anyone. He heard noises coming from the open windows in her apartment. So he cranked up the music and pounded the hell out of some scrap metal.

 

Lindsey held the door open and tried not to squeal with glee. Mary Beth inched past her with a tower of pastries baked by her stepfather. She was followed up the stairs by Billie from the vet's office and her best friend, Katie. They were getting settled in when the doorbell rang, and Grace, who was engaged to Mary Beth's brother, and Helen, a librarian who worked with Grace at Pembroke College, came in bearing wine.

Grace held up a bottle in each hand. “Semester's over, baby!”

“Sorry this isn't a more exciting way to kick off your summer break,” Lindsey said.

“No, this is perfect—Jake didn't have to pretend he was okay missing poker night to celebrate with me,” Grace explained.

“So we're the next best thing?” Mary Beth teased.

“He would have stayed home and you know it,” Helen said, nudging Grace with her hip.

“Yeah, but then he wouldn't owe me any favors when I get home tonight.”

Everyone laughed, except for Mary Beth, who grimaced at the thought of her brother and favors. But she grimaced with love, Lindsey thought.

She was still nervous, though. She really wanted MB and Billie and their friends to like her, and she wanted to like them. Lindsey had met plenty of friendly people here in Willow Springs, but that wasn't the same as making friends. She needed friends. She was a social person. And she had never lived anywhere where she didn't know anyone.

And now here she was, in a kitchen full of food with potential friends and, thanks to her own shopping spree and Grace and Helen's contribution, more wine than six women should probably consume.

But gosh darn it, they would try.

“Nice spread,” Grace said, dipping a piece of bread into the spinach-artichoke dip. “Oh my god!” she said around her mouthful. “Amazing spread.”

“Thanks,” Lindsey said, digging the corkscrew out of the drawer. “It's my mom's recipe. I was going to make her salsa, but I couldn't find the right kind of peppers.”

“Right, you're from Arizona. Whole different set of food out there, I bet,” said Mary Beth.

Lindsey shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal. But she did miss the food. They had a Mexican restaurant in Willow Springs, but it was nothing like what she was used to. And the grocery store had all of the basics, but no exotic surprises. Well, except for the pawpaw jam she bought from the Women's Club van parked outside the grocery store. It tasted like mango and banana and was apparently native to the region. She'd looked it up online, and the leaves looked sort of like something growing on the nursing home grounds, but definitely not something she had ever seen before.

Anyway, she thought she could grow some of what she wanted in the garden out back, but she was also going to have to accept that not everything in Kentucky was going to be the same as what she was used to.

Which was the point, right?

Boo.

It was a perfect night, so they forewent the Girl Movie selection and pulled every chair she owned onto the porch. Mary Beth joined them after stopping to call home, her cheeks flushed from just half a glass of wine. “Sorry, I just had to check up on Will.”

“How's he doing with my perfect cousin, Cody?” Katie asked.

“Oh, he's fine. Will's got the baby thing down. Bottles, blankies, all that stuff.”

“But?” Lindsey prompted.

“I just hate to leave him! I already moved my office into our spare bedroom, but I feel guilty every time I leave to show a house. This is the first time I've been out socially all month. I feel like I should be home with them! No offense, Lindsey.”

“Oh.” Lindsey started to feel her own guilt for pulling MB away from her family.

“But as Will rightly pointed out,” said Grace, refilling MB's wine glass, “you need to take a break. And there'll be plenty of diapers to change tomorrow and he
will
save the really poopy ones for you.”

“I don't remember him saying that,” MB said, sipping her wine.

“Maybe Jake said that,” Grace conceded.

“Hmm. That sounds like something a little brother would say.”

Lindsey just smiled as the two women bantered. She'd met Will once, and had heard a lot about Jake from Grace and MB, but didn't really know them well enough to know why their comments were funny. She didn't even have any siblings of her own, so how would she know what a little brother would say? She felt the strange sensation of watching the whole conversation from the outside of the fish bowl.

Probably just the wine talking already.

“Anyway, Will said Jake would pick us up when he's done with poker night. That's not too late, is it?” MB asked Lindsey.

“No, it's fine. Stay as long as you want.”

“Thanks. So—” Grace turned to Lindsey. “How about you? Have you got a man to annoy you?” MB shoved her shoulder lightly.

“No,” Lindsey laughed. “No one to annoy me but myself.”

“This is a cute house. You lucked out,” said Billie. “It seems to be in great shape.”

“Yeah, I guess Walker takes good care of it.”

“So, no random doors falling off or towel rods collapsing?” asked Grace.

“No!” said Lindsey, shocked. “Has that happened here before?”

“It happened to Grace,” said MB.

“Yeah, right after she sold me the house,” said Grace.

“Hey, Jake helped you out!” Mary Beth obviously thought her brother's handyman skills compensated for any lack in the house itself.

“Yeah,” said Grace, her face going a little dreamy. “Yeah, he did.”

“And now it's in perfect shape,” Katie said with a shrug.

Grace snorted. “Now the plaster in the bedroom is cracking. It's Jake's fault. He keeps tinkering. I tell him to just leave well enough alone, but he can't help himself.”

“The joys of cohabitation,” said MB.

“Consider yourself lucky, Lindsey,” said Billie. “God, that sounded really annoying. I used to hate it when people in a couple would tell me how good I had it as a single person.”

Lindsey laughed. That was one of her least favorite things in the world. What was wrong with wanting her own space? What was wrong with not wanting to be Mrs. Brad?

“Trust me, I know. You think any man would put up with that blue velvet couch in there?” Katie pointed through the open screen door. “No offense.”

“None taken. I love it. I can't help it if that tacky couch speaks to me. Although apparently I'm the only one.”

“No . . . it's great.”

Lindsey laughed again. “It's fine! You don't have to like it. You don't have to live with it, right?”

Katie raised her glass and took a drink.

“Anyway, your reaction is nowhere near as bad as Walker's.”

“What do you mean?” asked Helen, and suddenly all ten eyes were on Lindsey. Apparently she wasn't the only one starved for information on Walker Smith.

“Well, he saw it when it was delivered, and it was pretty clear that he was not impressed.”