Chapter Two #2
“We had the budget because of a grant from the government. You want it back, write me another proposal.”
“I write you one every year! And you apply for the same grants. And nine times out of ten, it’s a no. I can’t wait around for some stuffy business person crunching numbers in a federal office to get their act together.”
“Then cut down on travel costs.”
“That travel lets the residents leave this place every now and then. It’ll be like holding them hostage if I cut into it. You know how they like their day trips to the community center. Do you want a mutiny on your hands?”
Diane huffed, the sound almost a laugh. “Some of them are surprisingly spry for their age. Must be that yoga class you keep taking them to.”
“Diane, come on—”
“Julian, you know I think you do a great job with what you have. But you also know better than anyone that there isn’t enough money to hire someone else just to manage a music program.”
Julian shook his head, hating how familiar this conversation was starting to sound.
“Look, I know this is important to you.”
“Not just to me,” he said. “It’s important to this whole place.” Sure, he’d seen firsthand the way his grandmother used to light up to the right music. She may have forgotten names and dates and places, but music stirred something in her that even the dementia couldn’t touch.
When she’d looked at him in those moments, she was no longer lost to the disease.
She was once again the same woman who’d made Julian feel safe after his father had stopped calling and who’d given him the space to mourn when his mother was too busy vacationing to remember she’d promised to be at his basketball game.
Despite how hard Julian had fought for those relationships, they’d slipped through his fingers.
And music was the one thing that kept his grandmother from completely slipping away from him while she was still alive.
“You know I focused my studies on aging in postgrad.”
“I know,” Diane said. “And I know the literature. Music reduces anxiety and improves sleep and memory—”
“And slows cognitive decline,” Julian said. “It also builds a greater sense of community, making it easier to transition into life here at Glendale.”
“I know,” Diane said again. Softer this time.
“So why are we still having this conversation?”
Diane rubbed her tired eyes. “I want to help make it happen. I just can’t do it this year. I’m squeezing everything I can out of the budget, and what I really need most are some more nurses.”
Julian sighed. Shrugged. “I get it. Just figured I’d make my yearly plea so you don’t forget about me if some anonymous donor should come knocking.” He stood, accepting defeat. “Maybe I’ll put out a volunteer request again. Who knows, someone might bite this year.”
“Never change, Julian.”
He shot Diane a resigned smile before making his way back down the hall. He skipped the stairs and headed straight for the elevator, already thinking up a sign that might implore anyone in the community with an ounce of musical talent to volunteer their time.
“Hold it!” he called as the elevator door started to slide shut.
A hand shot out, grabbing the door as he jogged to close the distance. When the door opened again, a familiar face looked back at him. Charlie. And Doris.
Oh, for crying out loud! Bumping into them once was bad enough but twice?
That was some kind of punishment. Julian considered making an excuse about forgetting something, but then he caught sight of those hazel eyes.
As if a string of Christmas lights had hooked him around the chest, he felt himself being dragged into the elevator against his will.
Dammit.
“Thanks,” he said, charging straight through the awkwardness as the door closed, boxing them all in. “For holding the door. The residents like to make me walk up the stairs under the pretense they’re keeping me young and fit. I secretly think they just like to torture me.”
“No problem,” Charlie said. “Gram still gets mad at me when I don’t wear socks in the house.”
“I never wore socks, and now I have arthritis,” Doris said. “Coincidence?”
“Yes,” Charlie said at the same time as Julian said, “Probably.”
Doris clicked her tongue and huffed dramatically. “Well, excuse me for trying to save you years of pain and suffering.”
Julian and Charlie laughed, the sound triggering a spark of awareness. It felt good to laugh with her, and for a ridiculous beat Julian wanted to catch her hand, to see if their fingers still felt right intertwined.
No, no, no! He couldn’t want that. He couldn’t want her. Because he already knew what it was like to be left by her.
The moment passed, and Julian tucked himself into the corner of the elevator before his mind could drag up other nonsense. Like her little happy wiggle when she ordered food she particularly liked or the way she stopped to pet every cute dog on the sidewalk.
Charlie took a step back, too, settling against the opposite wall next to her grandmother, avoiding his eye.
He tried not to stare, but it was like opening an old photo album and being submerged in memory.
She looked the same but also different. Her hair was shorter and blonder, cut above her shoulders, which suited her.
And there were new curves in places that he remembered running his hands over.
Those suited her, too. She’d very obviously blossomed in their time apart, and though the years had been kind to her, there was something else that had changed.
There was something different, perhaps more reserved about her, as if part of her had been hidden away for safekeeping.
“How was the rest of the tour?” he asked before he could lose himself to that thought.
“Excellent,” Doris said. “Charlie’s had nothing but good things to say about the place.”
Charlie caught his eye then, almost reluctantly, but her lips turned up at the corners. She was really quite pretty when she did that, her eyes seeming to twinkle, though maybe that was just the strange overhead lights in the elevator and his imagination. Whose eyes actually twinkled? Get a grip.
“Glendale does have a reputation as the place where people have nothing but good things to say,” he said.
“I mean, the complimentary butterscotch candies in the lobby alone are worth five stars,” Charlie said.
“Don’t forget peach cobbler Wednesdays,” Julian added. “A cannot-miss experience.”
“And this bopping elevator music.”
Julian nodded. “Have you seen the matching walking club tracksuits yet? Not even just cotton. We sprang for the poly-cotton blend.”
“What?” Charlie gasped. “No. And here I thought the postcards for sale in the art room were really tipping you over the edge.”
“Hey, those are hand drawn by the residents themselves,” Julian pointed out. “And every purchase goes straight back into the bingo prize fund.”
“Oh, well, I’ll have to buy one now,” Charlie said, nudging Doris. “Wouldn’t want the bingo prize to be lacking.”
“It’s caused riots in the past,” Julian said.
Charlie smirked. “Can’t have that.”
“You know, one day you two will understand how riveting a game of bingo can be,” Doris cut in. “I could do without the world’s slowest elevator, however. I’ll be seventy-five by the time we get to the fourth floor.”
Charlie burst into laughter, the sound filling the tiny box like chimes, melodic in a way that made him want to hear it again.
Julian silently cursed that desire the second he had it. This was the woman who’d ghosted him. Who hadn’t cared enough to even tell him that she’d moved on. She could take her smile and her laugh and her twinkly eyes and shove them—
“And how did your meeting go?” Doris asked him.
“Oh.” Julian sobered, returning to thoughts of budgets and grants. “Not as well as I’d hoped. But I should have known that.”
“Did it have anything to do with that aria you had?” Charlie asked curiously, catching her lip between her teeth in a way that was far too distracting for this small of a space.
Julian tugged on the collar of his shirt.
“I was actually showing our executive director some of the donations we’ve received recently,” he said.
“Trying to butter her up to get funding for a music director. Unfortunately it’s not in the budget this year.
Or any year, judging by the way things are going.
” He sighed, trying not to let the defeat overwhelm him.
“But that’s life. Just another hill to climb.
I guess I’ll try going down the volunteer route again. ”
“I’m sure someone will jump at the chance to volunteer,” Doris said.
“Problem is I think I’ve already squeezed all I can out of the community. At least anyone that can carry a tune.”
“Oh, well, if carrying a tune is your only prerequisite, Charlie can do it,” Doris piped up.
Charlie opened her mouth, looking from him to her grandmother, slightly horrified. “Um…no. I’m very busy.”
“You’d do a favor for an old…friend.”
“Gram—”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Charlie scowled at her.
For a moment Julian thought Doris had been about to say old flame, and he was going to throw himself out the elevator door the second it stopped. But then he took a second to actually consider Doris’s suggestion.
Charlie was a Juilliard grad. She was far more qualified to be hosting a music class than he was. If she’d volunteer, he could relaunch the program temporarily.
Then again, did he even want her to volunteer? That would mean spending time with the person who stomped on his heart all those years ago with zero regard.
He’d been hoping to avoid her and Doris, if only to hide from all the damn memories that had resurfaced at the mere sight of her, but how could he even consider throwing away an opportunity like this for his residents?
If Charlie was willing to do this, then he had to put his past feelings aside.
He would. “Do you think you’d have the time? ”
Her eyes cut toward him, the heat of her stare making the space between them swelter, but he knew he couldn’t look away.
He couldn’t give into the strangling tension that stretched between them without giving himself away, without revealing that he was remembering everything, so he locked in and held her gaze.
“She’s got nothing but time,” Doris said. “Isn’t that right?”
“I have your entire house to get sorted,” Charlie muttered. “Which is going to take loads of time.”
“I don’t need loads of time,” Julian said. He lifted his hand, fingers measuring out a pinch. “Just a little of it.”
Charlie’s nostrils flared. She’d always been a little feisty, and he’d liked that spark.
“Toss some stuff in storage and sell the rest. C’mon.” Doris bumped her shoulder. “You’re going to need something to keep you occupied while you wait for things to sell and for your parents to get back for Christmas.”
“I don’t know if I was planning on hanging around until Mom and Dad got back.” Charlie glared at her grandmother, and they seemed to be having a sort of silent conversation. Julian would have looked away, but where else was there to look? “All right,” Charlie conceded after a moment. “Fine.”
Doris nodded approvingly.
“Really?” Julian said. It wasn’t the most enthusiastic yes, but it was still a yes. “I wouldn’t want to put you out or anything.”
“She’d love to,” Doris insisted.
“Apparently I would love to,” Charlie said. She gave him a thin smile.
“Okay, great.” He wasn’t a fool. This was definitely the last thing either of them wanted.
But if he had learned anything in this job, it was to take people up on their offers, no matter how sincere they were.
It was easy to ignore the elderly and to push their needs aside.
So if he wanted to bring music back to Glendale, then he needed all the help he could get.
Even if that came in the form of a reluctant ex who probably wished she’d let the elevator door slam in his face.
The elevator stopped, and the door opened. Julian walked out, turning to them. “I’ve gotta run, but find me tomorrow,” he said to Charlie, “and I’ll show you the music room.”
“I can’t wait,” she muttered, her tone heavily sarcastic. The door closed as her eyes narrowed, cutting toward her grandmother.