Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
BIANCA
“She’s okay,” Emily says, her eyes full of tears as she meets me at the door to Luanne’s unit.
She has one of the simpler, cheaper setups: one room with an attached bathroom.
“I’m sorry you came all the way here on your day off, but I was scared, and the RN on duty said it was okay if I called you, and—”
“I’m glad you did.” I pull her into a tight hug, eyeing Luanne, who’s sitting on the loveseat in front of her bed. Her wheelchair is parked next to it, her cane resting up against it. Her warm brown skin has its usual healthy tone, thank goodness, and she appears in good humor.
“You gave Em quite a scare, Luanne.” I steer my medical cart into the room, following Emily in.
“Pish.” Luanne waves a hand. “It was just some bad indigestion. I told her as much. You know the food they serve here is an insult to the stomach.”
“The taste buds maybe, but flavorless mush is very digestible.” I give Emily a quick hug and then step away to examine Luanne, who’s half-heartedly watching reruns of some prime-time cooking show. The doctor’s already come and gone, but I take her vital signs again, for my own peace of mind.
I find nothing abnormal for a woman her age.
I smile encouragingly at Emily. “She’s a tank, aren’t you, Luanne?”
“You need a class on how to sweet-talk women, Bianca,” Luanne says. “No lady wants to be compared to a tank. Doesn’t matter how many men she has on her roster.”
I snort, thinking of Giovanni. “Maybe I’ll ask my new roommate John for some charm lessons.”
Luanne sits up a little straighter, her eyes gleaming. “Emily told me you had a handsome boy living in your house, sleeping right next door to you. Do you have a photo of this young man?”
I scoff. “No, and I’m not going to creep around and snap photos of him, so don’t ask, you jezebel.”
Luanne cackles as Emily lowers onto the cushion beside her.
My friend still looks shaken, not that I’m surprised. Em doesn’t have many people she’s close to, and unfortunately for her, two of them are senior citizens with more years behind them than ahead.
She’s supposed to be working today, but she stopped in to bring Luanne a book and breakfast, and found her still in bed at eight thirty—definitely out of character since Luanne is always up with the birds. She summoned the on-call doctor, and also me, and took the day off work.
“What’ll make you feel better, Luanne?” Emily asks, reaching over and rearranging a stack of books on the coffee table.
Luanne glances longingly out of the little window across from the couch, which looks out on a patch of ugly pavement. It’s a depressing view that would suck the joy out of anyone.
If you ask me, the residents of The Rotten Apple don’t get out near enough. I try to liven things up with my clubs, but no amount of art can mimic the feeling of a fall breeze on your face. People need fresh air on their faces at least once a day to feel fully human.
While we could bring Luanne out back, there’s nothing out there beyond a boring stretch of green, without even a working bench to sit on.
My mind summons an image of our sweet little pumpkin patch. The tent’s stuffed with stacks of pumpkins, jars of honey and homemade jam, and the nonnas’ sweet treats. Outside, the apple trees stretch out in the distance, the bold green grove of firs just beyond them.
And I think about Giovanni—slick, charming, and so very easy on the eyes. I know Luanne would perk up at the mere sight of him.
“What about some fresh air?” I suggest.
“Really?” Luanne asks, longing thrumming through her voice.
“I could take you two to the opening of the pumpkin patch so you can meet my new roommate and choose a few pumpkins for the front room. You, Em, and I can carve them next week.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea after what happened this morning?” Emily asks, her brows knitting together.
“I’m feeling right as rain,” Luanne says, already reaching for her cane. “It would do me a world of good to get out of here.”
“We’re not heading for the hills just yet,” I tell her with a smile. “I’ve got to clear it with the staff. We’ll borrow one of the vans so we can bring your wheelchair.”
She can make her way around with a cane on her good days, but the field is bumpy and uneven.
Luanne rolls her eyes. “You can carry me on your back for all I care.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Emily asks her, adjusting her nose ring, one of her nervous tells. “We could stay here and choose what to read next for book club.”
“I don’t want to just read about life, Emily, dear. I want to live it while I still can. I’m not done yet.”
Emily bites her lip, then heaves a sigh. “I do want to meet Giovanni, and I’m in the market for some gourds. Mr. Campbell’s letting me do the window display myself this year at the bookstore.”
Luanne laughs. “Finally, that disagreeable man is doing something right.”
She thinks Mr. Campbell makes Emily work too many hours, at an unfair wage, which is partially true. Although, I suspect that the only reason he hasn’t sold the bookstore is for her.
Emily puts on a brave face. “Let’s go see about some pumpkins.”
It takes us a couple of hours to leave, because The Rotten Apple has its own gravitational pull.
It keeps sucking you back in every time you try to step out the door.
One of the residents, Helen, wanted us to sample her homemade spaghetti (delicious), and another woman told us a seemingly endless story about a dog.
I made a mental note to arrange another therapy dog visit and then sent her over to Helen’s for some spaghetti.
“A remarkable crowd as always,” I say as I pull into the dirt lot next to the apple barn and the pumpkin patch, marked by a bright white tent. There are only six cars in the lot, and one of them is Giovanni’s Range Rover. Another belongs to Fiona. “I warned Nonna Rose those flyers were bad.”
Emily cringes. “I had to bribe Mr. Campbell with Altoids to get him to put one up in the bookstore. I thought you said Isabella was going to run some social media ads.”
“She did,” I say dismally, rubbing my forehead.
“It’s only Friday, and the autumn leaves still aren’t nearly peak. There’ll be more people over the weekend.”
“Sure.”
Probably not enough, though. Never enough. Everything’s been bad for a few years now, and this past year, it got much worse.
We spring Luanne and her chair out of the back and make our way toward the pumpkin tent.
When we enter it, Giovanni is standing behind the counter with a baseball cap on, wearing the same shirt from earlier. A couple of women are gathered near the register, holding pumpkins but obviously in no hurry to leave. He’s talking to one of them, and the other looks to be waiting for her turn.
He grins at me over the shoulder of the woman he’s talking to, and Luanne whistles.
“Why’re you hiding him out here, Bianca?” she asks in an undertone that could probably be heard from space. “You should be bringing him all around town.”
“He’s not my new dog,” I hiss, but I have to laugh. I like seeing her enjoy herself.
Emily gives me a sidelong glance as we head deeper into the tent. On one side, there’s a collection of pumpkins of all different sizes, and the other display tables are loaded down with local goods and all kinds of pumpkin and apple treats.
“Did he look like that when he gave you your first kiss?” Emily finally asks.
Luanne gasps. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I sigh as I drift toward the display tables, trying to figure out what I could get for Luanne that would cheer her up without making her sick. Maybe a cinnamon broom?
They’re still staring, so I say, “It was no big deal. It was the worst kiss I ever had.”
Luanne’s gaze settles back on Giovanni. “I don’t believe you for a second.
Just looking at that man could get a woman pregnant.
” She waves a hand toward the two women at the register.
The first one has set her pumpkins down and is leaning toward him, her chest pressed out. “They’re giving it a try, looks like.”
Emily covers her mouth, but the laughter spills out anyway.
I roll my eyes, thinking but not saying, Try having him live in the room next door to you.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t let it affect me, having him so close, but every time I wake up at night, I think about Giovanni lying in my brother’s bed, the sheets bunched up around his waist…
Plenty of men sleep naked, and I’ve wondered if he’s one of them. If those familiar walls have gotten an eyeful of him.
But that doesn’t mean I have a thing for Giovanni. He’s nice to look at, is all, and it’s been a while since I’ve spent this much time with a good-looking man.
I went on a few dates after breaking off my engagement, but none of them were mind-blowing.
The first one was probably the worst. Rhett was at the same restaurant as us, and he came over for a “chat.” Once my date realized my ex-fiancé was part owner of his place of employment—one of the apple cideries in town—he insisted we were better off as friends and left.
I clear my throat and gesture to a carafe of warm spiced cider. “How about some cider?”
I start pouring ciders and am topping up Emily’s cup when Giovanni walks over.
I point at his handwritten name tag.
“John,” I say with a laugh. “I’m going to take a photo of that and send it to your grandmother.”
“So I’ll tell your grandmother you don’t eat breakfast,” he threatens with a grin.
Emily and Luanne are watching us with way too much interest.
A couple of other guests walk in and start a slow walk around the tent, checking out the displays.
I clear my throat. “Giovanni, this is Luanne, the patient who gave us a bit of a scare this morning, and this is my best friend, Emily. Luanne, Emily, meet Gio—John. He and his grandmother are staying with us until the end of October.”
“Why would you call yourself John?” Luanne asks, wheeling her chair closer to him. “That’s no better than someone named Richard choosing to be called Dick.”
He rolls on his heels. “It’s easier for people to pronounce.”