When You're Expecting Something Else (11 page)

George pulled off his work gloves, and then the safety goggles. He gently wiped sweat and rock dust off his face using his already damp bandana, careful not to rub, in case tiny rock shards had settled on his skin. “Come on, Lydia! I mean it. We need to sleep a few hours if we’re gonna do any serious star gazing tonight.”

“I’m here, you don’t have to shout,” came Lydia’s soft voice, surprising him from behind. She pecked him on the cheek, still so much in love after all these years. Being retired had only brought them closer together, and since they’d bought the motor home and taken up outdoorsy hobbies, like rock hounding and star gazing, they both looked younger and felt better than they ever had living as workaholics in Silicon Valley, California.

The clanking of picks, hammers, chisels, and the sound of clunking rocks filled the silence as they organized their gear and sorted their bounty into the boxes in the back of their small jeep, the perfect sized vehicle to tow when driving the motor home, just the right size to unhook to drive into the field or into town as necessary.

“Not getting homesick, yet?” George teased, knowing full well that Lydia, once a homebody, had no qualms about being gone for weeks and weeks at a time, especially knowing they had Jared Wise as their neighbor. Jared would keep a good watch on their house while they were gone, of that they were sure.

“I left another message on Jared’s voicemail this morning after breakfast,” Lydia said. “I expected he’d call back before now. He must be busy.”

“You told him we’d be gone for another two weeks at least?” George questioned.

“No problem,” Lydia assured.

*****

Shannon Turner didn’t know what to do. Jared Wise wasn’t answering his phone. It wasn’t like him, but he owed her nothing just like she owed him nothing. They had that kind of relationship, just consenting adults who got together when the time and circumstances of their separate lives allowed. Still, she didn’t want to tell him what was going on with her over the telephone, and certainly not in an e-mail note, no matter how carefully worded.

It’s not like she was breaking up with him, she thought to herself. You can’t break up with somebody you don’t really go out with, but she liked Jared, and they’d had a good friendship. Just because it always took place in his bedroom didn’t mean it wasn’t also a friendship. They’d shared lots of pillow talk, and it some ways they knew each other better than other people they knew in more traditional friendships. In their own way they loved each other, though those weren’t words either would ever admit to.

They both always knew that eventually one or the other of them would meet someone truly special, and what they shared would have to end. Now, that time had come. She’d met Dwayne several weeks ago and they’d been in heavy flirt until last week when they crossed that line and became lovers. They wanted to give it an honest shot, to stay exclusive with each other to see where it took them.

Shannon had tried reaching Jared right away, but for some reason, he hadn’t been answering his phone or e-mail messages, which wasn’t like him at all. He still wasn’t. She wondered if maybe he’d also met somebody and didn’t know how to tell her. Or, maybe he wanted to buy some time to test it out with someone else and was dodging her calls. Whatever his reason, Shannon didn’t know what to do, although her decision was final. She’d be sticking with Dwayne and saying good-bye
to Jared.

As much as she hadn’t wanted to do it this way, Shannon called Jared’s phone one last time and said the words to his voicemail. It was over. Then she followed up with a kind, gently worded e-mail and said the same words again. Still, it felt really bad doing it like this. In her own way, she did truly love Jared, as she was sure he also loved her.

Chapter Thirteen

Marta Lewski greeted the moving truck with a smile and directed the movers with their dollies of heavy furniture and boxes toward the empty rooms in the back of Jared’s house. She couldn’t believe how smoothly everything was going. Jared grew stronger and more awake with each passing day, though his memory still faltered. Every time she mentioned his fictitious Aunt Margaret to him, he nodded as if he believed the woman actually existed. He’d even asked about her once, a clouded reference, his articulation of her name sounding more like
Maggie
than Margaret. But, much to Marta’s relief, he’d at least been fooled into believing such a relative did exist. It made everything seem easier.

“You mean Aunt Margaret, don’t you?” she’d said with a straight face while Jared puzzled his face and then nodded.

“You want this stuff all in that same room?” a burly, blue-suited mover asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“No, that’s Fred’s stuff. It goes in the room down the hall,” she pointed. Cassandra, Kaitleen, and Marta had all agreed to move Fred Thompson, a physical therapist they knew from San Francisco Geriatric Center, into the house along with Marta. Only the two of them would actually reside at the house. Fred was a competent physical therapist but easily manipulated, which always worked to their advantage. He was not privy to their fraudulent schemes, but a useful patsy, unbeknownst to him.

Dr. Mark Matthews, the attending Neurologist from Pacific West Hospital was scheduled to make daily house calls at first, and then taper off as Jared improved. As necessary, the orthopedic surgeon would be consulted. Marta was the only RN on the case. She wasn’t about to share her job with anybody else. She’d do the regular assessments, administration of medications, and assist Jared with most of his activities of daily living, known as ADLs,
 
except for those assigned to Fred. There’d be no nursing assistants for this assignment. Only the best for Jared, and Marta believed she was the best.

Jared wasn’t near able to ambulate yet, but he needed regular exercises to build strength. For now, Fred had him using a triangle bar attached over the hospital bed that had been moved into Jared’s room, though he couldn’t do much more than shift his position slightly, exercising his one good arm. Fred also helped Jared with toileting. Marta focused on chores that would help advance her romantic plans. Better if her nursing duties focused on the necessary nursing tasks for the immediate, and then ever so slowly progressed to more sensuous duties, beginning with innocent aromatherapy back rubs. Marta was already becoming adept at what she called “therapeutic touch.”

The timing couldn’t have been better for moving Fred into the house. His landlord was putting his apartment up for sale. With Fred’s gambling problem, he was also short of cash. So, it fell perfectly into place to move Fred’s whole apartment of belongings into one of the other empty bedrooms. It made Marta’s moving in seem less suspicious. Of course, they had signed permission from Aunt Margaret to cover everything, thanks to Kaitleen’s trusted friend, Julius, who was an expert at creating the fraudulent paper trail they needed.

Marta smiled at the thought of her new living space and all her new furniture and accessories, thanks to Jared’s Bank of America credit card. She’d even asked him. Or, rather told him with a question mark: “Your Aunt Margaret wants me to buy some nice furniture for my room. She wants me to be comfortable while I’m helping you, just like you do. Don’t you, Jared?” She’d smiled her sexiest smile at him and slightly batted her lashes. Of course, Jared had nodded.

“Marta!” Fred called now. “Jared wants to know where his cell phone is. I can’t find it around here.” Marta rushed to Jared’s bedside and dismissed Fred to supervise the rest of the moving. It was all his stuff still left in the truck anyway.

“Hi sweetie,” she said, brushing her hand against Jared’s cheek. “Nice to see you awake.” More and more she liked to use terms of endearment,
sweetie,
honey,
or
darling,
when she greeted Jared.
 
“I think your phone may have gotten lost in the accident. Remember, you had the car accident. Is there somebody you’d like me to call for you?”

Jared struggled to remember. Who should he call? He knew he liked to keep his phone nearby, but he still felt puzzled about so many things. “Pappy,” he finally said.

Marta remembered how Jared always greeted his grandfather by walking into the hospital room and calling out, “Hey, Pappy, I’m here. Wake up, you got work to do.” Of course Grandfather Wise never responded. He’d been in a coma since the day he’d gone to live there.

“Your Pappy’s still in the coma, Jared,” Marta said, her eyes meeting his with empathy and compassion. “He’s still at San Francisco Geriatric Center. Do you remember about that?”

As usual, when he couldn’t quite remember, Jared closed his eyes. Marta pulled the bedside chair up close and rubbed his good shoulder. She’d read in the admission paperwork when Grandfather had first come to the geriatric center that he’d tripped and fallen while taking his daily walk. That was four years ago.

“Remember, Jared, Pappy fell down and bumped his head. He fell over a curb and knocked himself out for a few minutes. Then he got up and walked home. Remember, he put some frozen peas on his bump, and then slept in his easy chair. He never woke up again.” She deliberately spoke to him as if speaking to a child.

“That’s right. Pappy hit his head,” Jared mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Pappy, wake up. You got work to do…” His voice lacked energy, but the words were right. He sounded like a lost, forlorn little waif.

“That’s right, Jared. You’re starting to remember now. Good job,” Marta praised. Then she pulled the cover up and kissed Jared on the forehead, much like a mother might do. “You sleep now. I’m going to go and see if the movers are finished yet. I’ll check back in on you, and bring your medicine in a little while.”

Jared nodded but didn’t open his eyes. Instead he thought about Pappy. Vague black and white images stirred in his brain…he, a little boy crying… Pappy lifting him high on his shoulder…he, too big to be carried. He was a five-year-older and supposed to be a big boy.

“It’s okay to cry today,” Pappy said. “I’m crying, too. See.” Then Pappy wailed at the top of his lungs like he was three or four years old, surprising young Jared. “Cry with me, Jared,” Pappy had said, while tears cascaded down his old, weathered face. “Come on, Jared. You and me have something to cry about today. Help me. Cry with me. It’s our work for today.”

The memories turned from black and white to colored. Pappy wore a green shirt. Jared remembered the feel of the shirt against his bare legs while Pappy had held him in his arms. He remembered wearing blue shorts that day.

Hesitantly, the young boy ventured to wail like Pappy. Then before he knew it, slippery tears shined on his face, too. He knew they were slippery because Pappy rubbed his face to his own, mixing and mingling tears, and their faces slid back and forth on each other’s. “Louder, Jared,” Pappy said, until Jared wailed as loud as he could, until he was hic-cupping and gulping.