The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel) (34 page)

* * *

As if things couldn’t get worse—they did.

Olivia pasted a smile on her face and forced herself not to think about Luke. Or about how she’d fallen and gotten burned again. Or anything other than the job she was here to do. She signaled to Miss Sadie to come forward, and to sit.

Millie sat on the end of her bed, still wearing her pink flannel pajamas and blue house slippers. The sun streamed in the windows, bouncing off the windowpane quilt and the pale-beige carpet. The team had thought taking Millie’s therapy to an area where she was comfortable—her apartment inside the Golden Years building—might encourage her to open up.

Kris stood in the back of the room, arms crossed, watching, ready to lend a helping hand if Millie decided to try any of the exercises. A quad cane sat to the right of Millie’s hand, waiting for use. Millie could walk with the aid, she just had chosen not to touch the cane or get off the bed.

“Miss Sadie loves to go for walks,” Olivia said. “She would be so excited if you took her for a walk.” Olivia signaled to her dog. The bichon let out a happy yip. “Did you hear that? She’s looking forward to going for a walk with you, Millie.”

Millie glanced at the dog, then the cane, and then turned her gaze back to the wall.

Olivia laid the looped end of Miss Sadie’s bright red leash beside Millie’s hand. “Do you want to pick up the leash? Start there, Millie. Just pick it up.”

Millie’s gaze dropped to the leash. She shook her head.

Olivia glanced at Kris, who shrugged. The team had tried about everything they could think of, and nothing had worked. Millie was determined to stay in her dark world.

Olivia bent down in front of Millie. Miss Sadie hopped onto Olivia’s knees and pressed her little body against her mistress’s chest. Olivia kept her gaze on Millie’s downturned head, her long white hair a shaggy mess, pale-blue eyes downcast.

How Olivia could relate. She remembered the days after her marriage imploded, when she’d realized the entire thing had been a sham, and she was the one who had fallen for her ex’s forever act. “I know how you feel, Millie. I’ve been there. Not on the same road you’re traveling, but on my own path. At the time it seemed so dark and lonely, like I was the only one who felt this way, and no one I knew could relate or understand. Then I met Miss Sadie, and I told myself I had nothing to give a dog, nothing to give to anyone, most especially myself. But she looked at me with that little face of hers, begging me not to give up on her, not to leave her in that shelter.

“I couldn’t walk away from such raw . . . need and hope.” Olivia ruffled the bichon’s head. Miss Sadie pressed harder into Olivia’s chest, a ten-pound doggie hug of gratitude and love. “So I took her home. She needed to be fed and walked and loved, whether I wanted to do any of those things or not. It didn’t matter if I was depressed or mad, or feeling sorry for myself. I had to put all that aside and place Miss Sadie’s needs first. This little dog saved me, and she wants to save you, too.”

Millie raised her gaze to Olivia’s. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes shone with unshed tears, but she didn’t speak.

Olivia gave Millie’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to give up on you, Millie, and neither is Miss Sadie.”

No response.

“I’ll be back, Millie. See you tomorrow.” Olivia got to her feet, gathered her supplies, and left the room, with Kris following along.

“That was awesome,” Kris said.

“Yeah, it would be if it had worked.” Olivia sighed. Every time she thought she was making progress with Millie, she was wrong. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job.

Kris draped an arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “The Hollywood ending only happens in the movies, you know. You’re making a difference with her, even if you don’t see it.”

Olivia thought of all the brave, good intentions she’d had when she’d moved to Rescue Bay. She fingered the letter tucked in the pocket of her skirt. She’d tried, tried her best; no one could fault her for that. But maybe the time had come to move on.

* * *

“Okay, Greta, spill. What are you hiding this morning?” Pauline narrowed her gaze and leaned in to study Greta across the small table. A jigsaw puzzle of the Eiffel Tower spread across the smooth oak surface. “Did you spike the nurses’ coffee with Kahlua again?”

“No, and for the record, I never did that.” Greta took a sip of tea, honest-to-goodness tea with no bourbon added, and fit a corner of the tower into place. “It was a rumored spiking.”

Pauline laughed. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Greta leaned back in her chair and grinned. Not admitting a thing. No one could blame her for something she never acknowledged as happening. “I’m just happy.”

“Did you say happy?” Esther cupped a hand around her ear. “You? You’re never happy.”

“Well, I am today. It’s a Monday, we’re not quilting, and Luke is in
love
.” Greta sighed. Finally, her grandson was living his life and moving forward. She couldn’t think of a better partner for the future than the beautiful, spunky Olivia. Greta leaned forward and fit in two more pieces,
click, click
. They fit as perfectly as Luke and Olivia. “What more could I ask for?”

“A clean bill of health?” Esther said. “A bigger check from social security? World peace?”

Greta considered something sarcastic in response, then decided she wasn’t going to spoil her mood. Even Esther couldn’t irritate her today. “I’m so happy, I
almost
said good morning to Harold Twohig this morning when I saw him walking to breakfast.”

“Almost?” Pauline turned a squiggly-shaped piece left, then right, and squinted at the already assembled pieces.

Greta grinned and reached over to pluck the piece from Pauline’s inept hands, then press it into the right spot on the tower’s spire. “It made me happier
not
to say it.”

Pauline laughed. Always neighborly Esther tsk-tsked. Around them, the morning room filled with people, some sitting at the card tables for a game of rummy or a crossword. Greta sipped her tea and wondered how long it would be before she had great-grandchildren to spoil.

The door to the morning room opened and Miss Sadie trotted in first, wearing her little red
THERAPY DIVA
vest and eliciting delighted gasps from the residents. Olivia followed behind the dog, wearing a soft white short-sleeved shirt, a poufy pale-blue skirt, and red kitten heels. Her hair was back in a ponytail and, on the outside, she seemed like her usual chipper self.

Greta nudged Pauline. “Here she comes. Doesn’t she look so . . .” Her voice trailed off as Olivia drew closer.

“Depressed?” Pauline supplied. “That’s odd. I’ve never seen Olivia look like that. She’s usually so sunny and sweet.”

“Me either,” Esther said. “Maybe she got some bad news today or her car wouldn’t start or the power company raised her electric bill—”

“Hush, Esther. I’m going to go find out what happened.” Greta got to her feet and crossed to Olivia. Miss Sadie came running up and nudged at Greta’s hand. She petted the little dog for a second, her gaze never leaving Olivia’s. The light didn’t shine in Olivia’s eyes, and even though she smiled, the gesture lacked its usual punch. “Why, hello, Olivia. How are you today?”

“Fine.” A monotone syllable. “Sorry. No time to talk today. I need to get to the rest of my therapy appointments, Greta.”

“It’s only quarter till. You have a few minutes to visit, right?”

“I really should . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. Sadness emanated from her like perfume, and Greta wanted to just reach out and hug the poor girl.

What had gone wrong between the weekend and this morning?

“You seem off today,” Greta said.

“A tough day at work, that’s all.”

“And personally, too?” When Olivia looked away, Greta knew Luke was behind that pain in Olivia’s eyes. “Has my grandson forgotten his manners again?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him lately.” Olivia raised her chin. “Maybe you can ask him yourself.”

By God, she had not raised Luke to be this stupid. How could he break this poor girl’s heart? Because that was what she saw in Olivia’s face.

Heartbreak.

“I’m glad I saw you today, Greta. I wanted to thank you, for everything.” Olivia took Greta’s hand in hers. “And for being one of my first and last friends in Rescue Bay.”

“What do you mean, last?”

“I just gave my notice to the center director. I’m going back to Massachusetts. I can’t save the house, I can’t get through to my patients. I can’t . . . make anything work here.”

“Oh, honey, don’t do that. Rescue Bay needs you.” And so did Luke, but clearly, her grandson was too big of a stubborn idiot to realize that. If he was here, she might have throttled him.

Greta waved toward the love seat that sat in a cozy nook near the French doors leading to the courtyard. Bright sunlight streamed through the doors and washed over the white cushions, which made the love seat a favorite reading place for many residents. Greta saw Colleen Morris shuffling toward the spot, a romance novel in one hand, and waved her off. “Come on, let’s sit down for a little bit and talk,” Greta said to Olivia. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

“Oh, I don’t know if—”

“You have time. It’s only quarter till, remember?”

“Okay. But just for a minute.” Miss Sadie lay down at Olivia’s feet, patient and quiet, her brown eyes on her mistress, her tail swishing softly against the tile floor.

Greta leaned over and whispered in Olivia’s ear. That Esther had the hearing of a nuclear submarine, and the last thing she needed today was an Esther lecture. “Do you need a little something to get your day off on the right foot, dear? Because I’m more than happy to share my Maker’s Mark with you.”

Olivia laughed. “No, no. But thank you. It’s a . . . sweet offer.”

“Good.” Greta patted Olivia’s knee. “I’m glad you said that, because I think what you need, more than a sip of my bourbon, is to talk.”

“Greta—”

“And talking is the kind of medicine that can’t be found in a bottle,” Greta went on, overriding Olivia’s objection. Her daddy had always said that. He’d sit little Greta down at the kitchen table, a platter of cookies between them, and get her talking about the book she was reading in English or the boy she liked in math. He’d ease in with the easy subjects, and eventually the tough stuff would filter through. How Greta wished her daddy were here now, with his cookies and his odd bit of wisdom. He’d always had the right word at the right time. “I know my grandson has yet to realize that talking is good for the soul, but I’m hoping you’re a lot less stubborn than that mule I helped raise.”

“Maybe less stubborn, but I’m definitely more of an idiot.” She shook her head. “I had this silly dream, and I thought if I came down here, I could make it come true.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Dreams are what fuels us, dear.”

“Yeah, well, mine just led me in the wrong direction, which is why I’m going back home.”

Olivia’s home was right here in Rescue Bay, with Greta, Pauline, Esther, and Luke. And yes, maybe even Harold Twohig.

“Maybe it was the wrong direction. Maybe it’s not. I think right now, you’re reacting with emotion instead of thinking this through.” Greta patted Olivia’s knee. “Now tell me what went so wrong. I promise, it will make you feel better.”

“Okay.” Then, like a waterfall held back too long by a big rock, the story spilled from Olivia. The abandonment in the hospital at birth, the loving adoptive mother and father in Boston, the lawyer on her doorstep, the house beyond repair, the sister who held her at arm’s length. “I could probably work through all those things and stay here. And I was. But then this morning, the electricity at the house went out. I think I cut a line or blew something. I don’t know. To me, it was a sign. I come in to work, and I think today’s the day I’ll get through to Millie, but no, it only got worse. There’s another sign. And after Luke . . . well, let’s just say I didn’t need a billboard to give me
that
sign. I started to ask myself what I was doing here. I’m looking for answers from a mother who’s never had any for me, and trying to build a life in a house that just wants to die.”

Greta sat up straight. Looked Olivia dead in the eye. “You stop that right now, missy. You are
not
allowed to have a pity party. If you want answers, you go get them.”

“Greta, Bridget is dead. I can’t get answers from her anymore.”

“Then go talk to her.” Her face softened and she clasped Olivia’s hand again. “After my husband, Edward, died, God rest his soul, I would go and talk to him at the cemetery. He never answered, of course, which was pretty much par for the course with him. Lord knows while we were married, I did enough talking for the both of us, but just being there and having it out with him made me feel better. I would stand in front of that headstone and yell at him for leaving me behind. Or tell him he was a selfish jerk for not showing me how to run the generator before he died. But most of all, I would tell him”—Greta lowered her voice, so no one would overhear her admit this out loud—“that I loved the old bastard and I missed him more every day.”