11. Chapter 11
11
Chapter 11
Don
At 1630 hours, Sandy’s party ended with the Emergency Alert and Sean’s abrupt departure—followed quickly by Bluebell’s hasty retreat. Don wished he knew what it was she and Sean had talked about on the porch that had upset her so much. Whatever it was, it had her bolting out of there lickety-split.
Nancy had sent a group text, asking everyone to meet in the conference room. Don looked around his bungalow full of his family and wanted out so badly his teeth ached. It was about time the team started taking the Sean/Bluebell situation seriously.
He made up some excuse about grabbing supplies, and took off, barely shaking Johnny at the door when he offered to come. “Stay with your mother,” he barked.
Johnny backed off as if Sweetie had taken a nip at him.
It wasn’t far to the conference room and Don’s legs chewed up the distance in no time. He’d have burst into a jog but didn’t want to alarm any of his nosey grandsons or son who may be watching him leave.
Polly and Rosa must have reported back to the group what Don already knew. Sean and Bluebell were perfect for one another and Jonah was a cad. His smile was as false as half the teeth in The Palms and his manners were too practiced to be real.
Not to mention, he had a wimpy handshake. His palm practically crumbled inside Don’s grip. Baby.
Now that they were on the same page, they could finally start moving forward. He was just glad they came to their senses before the hurricane hit. If his plans worked, they might just have this all resolved by the time the hurricane passed.
The main building was bustling with employees going through the hurricane drills they’d run a hundred times—like bees in a hive with Samantha in the middle, the queen, doling out assignments. She waved at Don as he passed, and he saluted in return. Normally he’d want her in the conference room, but she had enough on her plate as it was. Thankfully, they were prepared in large part thanks to Samantha. They had enough food storage at The Palms to last them through the Second Coming. Which was one of the reasons he’d decided moving here was the right choice.
Not only did it have all the latest care for those suffering from Alzheimer’s, not only were the houses practical and comfortable, the staff friendly, but they were always prepared for everything.
Before the hurricane started, all the residents in the main building would be relocated to one of three places on the property that were on main floors, in the middle of buildings, with no windows—as per regulation. Entertainment, including movies, card games, and puzzles stocked each location and the residents would be perfectly comfortable waiting out the storm.
Plus, The Palms had Samantha. She’d run everything with military precision—even if the real manager, Mr. Richardson, hadn’t shown up, and probably wouldn’t. The man was an idiot who pushed all of his work onto Samantha. And Samantha loved the residents enough to just do what needed to be done and not complain.
The chatter of whispered voices wafted out into the hall from the conference room, letting Don know his friends had all beat him there. He hated being last.
“What are we going to do?” Winnie whispered.
“Anything we can,” Nancy said. “This kind of thing isn’t always easy—”
Don burst into the room, the door slamming against the wall with a thud, and conversation stopped. His friends stared at him with wide eyes. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” He made his way to the murder/matchmaker board and flipped it around to the other side of whiteboard, then picked up a marker—it smelled like licorice. He drew three stick figures: one of Sean, one of Bluebell, and one of Jonah. “We’re going to take exhibit A.”
“Is that Sean?” Winnie asked.
He nodded. “And exhibit B.”
“We know that’s Bluebell,” Harry said, tugging at his mustache. “Because of the long hair.”
And an “x” through Jonah.
“And there’s the fiancé,” Walt said. “Because of the x.”
Don drew a heart around Sean and Bluebell. “We’re going to get these lovebirds together.” Don faced his friends, squeezing the smooth-sided, plastic marker in his hand. “Any questions?”
“Yes.” Polly pursed her red-tinted lips. “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?”
Don looked at his drawing. Seemed pretty clear to him.
“We don’t. Do. Breakups,” Nancy said in a clear, crisp tone that brokered no arguments.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Heat rushed to Don’s face. “We can’t let her end up with that . . . that . . .”
“He’s a perfectly nice man,” Rosa said with a soft voice. “Very handsome and polite.”
“The guy kicked Sweetie and Bear out of the house.” He pointed behind himself.
“He’s allergic to dogs,” Polly said, tossing up her hands.
“Sean and Bluebell are meant to be together,” Don said in the calmest and most collected voice he could muster. He’d spoken to generals with less respect than this group. “We’ve bent the rules before. Remember with Essie?” Both of her guys had been perfectly nice guys, and they’d still meddled.
“She wasn’t dating either man when we started match-making her,” Rosa said.
“And we were split on who we thought she should end up with,” Walt reminded him, tipping up the bill of his NASA hat.
Nancy stood from her chair at the head of the table, moved to the board, and erased Don’s stick figures. “We’re not here to talk about Sean and Bluebell.”
Don slammed the marker down on the tray under the whiteboard with an audible clink. “Then why in tarnation are we here?”
“We’re worried about you,” Winnie said, voice unwavering.
Don stared wide-eyed at his friends. Walt’s mustache twitched. Harry stared at the table. Rosa wrung her hands in front of her, while Winnie stared at him with glassy, emotional eyes. Polly tapped her moccasin-covered foot on the floor with a soft whap, whap, and Nancy held her ground in front of the table, her gaze never wavering.
Darn it all. It’s an intervention.
“I’m fine!” he bellowed.
Rosa flinched.
“Don, you’re not fine,” Nancy said. “And that’s okay. You don’t need to be, but you do need to grieve.”
“What I need to do, is to get Sean,” he held up one finger, “and Blue,” he held up his other hand and pointed that finger, “together.” He joined them.
Polly stood up this time, standing shoulder to shoulder with Nancy’s. “We, me, Nancy, and Walt know what you’re going through. We’ve been there. But Don, you’re taking this avoiding-your-emotions thing too far.”
“I’m keeping busy,” he snapped.
“You had the interns scrubbing the cracks between the granite in the foyer with toothbrushes,” Rosa said.
“I helped them,” Don said.
Rosa nodded. “ Si , but they didn’t like it.”
“You have all the retired men running early morning laps like they’re in the army,” Harry added, almost reluctantly. “Buck almost had a heart attack.”
“If Buck ran more and ate less, that wouldn’t have been a problem,” Don said. “He’ll thank me when he’s ninety.” Though, it might already be too late for the guy to make it to ninety. Man was too fond of baked goods. Hmm. Maybe if Don talked to Bruno about getting him on a better diet . . .
“The point is,” Nancy interjected. “You keeping busy is affecting more than just you. Not everybody wants to stay busy twenty-four hours a day.”
“Twenty.” Don fisted his hands on his hips. He’d gotten at least four hours of sleep a night, and considering everything he needed to get done, that was pretty good.
“What’s next, Don?” Polly asked. “You gonna have maintenance sweeping the sand? Gonna make the PT team run all their methods past you? Gonna create a meal plan for each of the residents with Bruno?”
“Stop,” Harry whispered behind her. “You’ll give him ideas.”
Don didn’t know what to say, the situation was quickly slipping through his grasp.
“We just want to help you,” Winnie said. “We love you, Don, and want to be sure you’re okay.”
“You’re so busy, querido , you’re running circles around everyone.” Rosa griped the edge of the table with one hand. “But what you’re really doing is avoiding your corazon .” She placed a hand over her heart.
Always back to the feelings. “Have you been talking to my son?” My land!
Nancy shook her head, sending her blond bob shifting around her face. “No, but obviously he thinks you have a problem too.”
“Losing Amelia—” Polly started.
Don shook his head. “Don’t,” he croaked.
“It was a huge loss, Don,” Polly continued. “She’s been your whole world for so long. You’ve got to allow yourself time to—”
“Wallow in despair?” Don threw a hand up. “That’s not productive or helpful.”
“But sometimes it’s necessary,” Winnie said. “Don’t you think?”
Don shook his head. “There are more important things to deal with right now,” he said, turning back to the board. “Now, I have a plan. I just need to dig up dirt on Jonah.”
“ Carino ,” Rosa said, disappointment coloring her tone. “He’s a nice guy who obviously loves Bluebell.”
“You have to leave them alone,” Polly said. “Bluebell isn’t for Sean.”
Don faced his friends again. “I’ve got a gut instinct about this guy, and I’m telling you he’s no good.”
“You don’t like him because he’s standing in the way of Bluebell and Sean, and that’s not a good enough reason,” Nancy challenged.
Don shook his head. “He’s shifty.” He could feel it. There was something not quite right about that guy. Like his charming exterior might fall away any moment, revealing the toad beneath. “Who has teeth that white?”
Nancy and Polly glanced at one another. Polly gripped Nancy’s hand and then let go. They took their seats.
“Are we back to the whole we-don’t-do-break-ups thing?” Walt asked.
Nancy rested her head in her hand and nodded.
They’d never get anywhere at this rate. “Fine, we’ll take a vote then. Who’s for breaking them up?” Don raised his hand.
He was the only one to raise his hand.
“And who’s for keeping our noses out of it?” Nancy asked.
All the women raised their hands.
Walt and Harry did nothing.
Polly turned on Walt. “You’re not helping.” She looked at Harry. “You have to vote.”
Walt shook his head. “Everyone grieves differently. Maybe this is what he needs to do.”
A well of gratitude for his friend threatened to overtake Don. The women were either glaring—Nancy and Polly, or looking worried—Winnie and Rosa. Well, that was that. He stepped forward and placed his palms on the long table, letting the edge dig into his palms. “Either help me or leave,” he said, careful not to let the words sound too harsh. He loved these gals like they were family, but he had a mission to complete.
A small gasping sob escaped Rosa.
Nancy stood. “I don’t want to leave, Don. We have your best interest at heart. But if this is what you want, then . . .”
She helped Rosa, who was softly crying now, stand. They walked out.
Winnie held her chin up as she walked around the table, but it was quivering. “This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” She followed after Nancy and Rosa.
Polly stood next and stared down at the table, red lips pursed. “We care enough to leave,” she said like it was an explanation, then walked out as well.
An ache formed in Don’s chest as he watched them leave. He hadn’t wanted them to leave, he just realized, but he’d forced the issue, and now his team—his biggest support system had just walked out the door. Regret stabbed at his insides, but he had work to do.
With one last glance in his direction, Nancy pulled the door closed behind them. It felt so final. Like the lid on Amelia’s coffin closing. He shook off the morbid thought. They’d forgive him. Those gals always had his back, through thick and thin. If he really needed them, they’d always be there.
“Now you’ve done it,” Harry said.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Walt leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Are you here to help or what?” Don asked.
“Help, of course,” Harry said.
Don swallowed the thick lump in his throat—it was time to make things happen. “Here’s the plan . . .”