5. Chapter 5
5
Chapter 5
Don
At 0946 hours, Don stood on a stool in his closet, staring at a stack of Sketchers shoeboxes that Amelia had filled and labeled long before Alzheimer’s took her ability to remember things. He had a duster in one hand and a microfiber cleaning glove on the other, and his Dust and Clean spray in his tool belt—all products he’d purchased from Nancy’s Niceties. It was good stuff, smelled good too. Like lemons.
The boxes taunted him. Had since Amelia . . .
His phone beeped, but he ignored it. No doubt it was Wayne again with some spiel way too long for a text about how holding his feelings inside wasn’t healthy. Ridiculous.
Don focused on the boxes. He’d already pulled out four of the twelve—the ones she’d labeled “recipes”—but hadn’t gotten around to the other eight yet. There was one with seeds in it from flowers she’d found along the way and thought were beautiful, three more with handwritten letters she’d gotten over the years, one labeled arts and crafts, and two labeled photos—these were ones she hadn’t put in albums, but couldn’t bring herself to throw out—and one labeled Don.
There’d been a time when he’d begged Amelia to let him help her sort them out, file them properly, but she’d been firm. She liked her shoebox system and wasn’t about to let him mess with it. He loved that she’d always stood up to him.
He gritted his teeth, set down the duster and glove, and grabbed four more boxes. He headed to the kitchen, stepping over and around a mop, bucket, and slippery when wet sign in the hall, and set them on the table next to his can of Nancy’s Dust Destroyer, Nancy’s All-Purpose Cleaner with a Clean Citrus Scent, and Nancy’s Bleach Alternative that was tough on mold and mildew, then went back for the remaining four boxes.
Don had already taken photos of and uploaded all Amelia’s recipes to his computer. Samantha was going to come by later and help him organize them online so he could send everyone digital copies. He didn’t want any of her recipes to be lost to the family—she’d been an amazing cook. Amelia’d memorized them over the years, and never pulled her boxes down, but when she’d started losing her memory, Don had used them a time or two to cook for them. And bake . . .
He set the remaining boxes on the table, moved the bucket full of spare rags, his Magic Rub Out sponges, and toilet and toothbrushes—for scrubbing between tiles and hard-to-reach spots—off one of the chairs, and took a seat. He pushed the one with his name on it to the side and started on the arts and crafts box. Inside were clippings from The Palms’ newsletter.
Knitting, paper wreaths, handmade earrings, dress patterns, mobiles, garden chimes, and more. Nothing worth keeping. He tossed it in the large, black garbage bag that hung over the back of one of the chairs, and grabbed the next box. Seeds.
The doorbell rang.
“Come in,” Don bellowed.
The door cracked open, and Polly peeked in. “Don?”
He hadn’t seen the team much in the last couple weeks. Sean had gotten busy on a job with his underwater salvage company, and Don hadn’t been able to pin down the right girl for him anyway. So, they were on a hiatus for a time.
Polly pushed the door the rest of the way open, she had a shopping bag hanging on her arm.
Winnie came charging around her. “We have something important—” She came up short as she glanced around.
Don jumped to his feet. “Careful now, I just waxed the floor. You don’t want to slip.”
Nancy followed, Rosa close behind, and they both stopped as if hitting an invisible wall.
“Uh . . . Don?” Nancy stuttered. “Did you buy stock in my company?”
“Santa María,” Rosa said. “I can see my reflection in it.”
The ladies all glanced down except Nancy, whose eyes bounced from one cleaning supply to the other, counting. He had buckets of water and mops in a couple different places, wadded up newspapers in a bucket on the couch with the Clear Glass for cleaning his windows, and had pulled down all his curtains for washing, CLR—Calcium, Lime and Rust—remover in baggies mixed with water over his faucets, though she could only see the one on the kitchen faucet, and maybe not even that from where she stood, the oven was on self-clean mode—though he’d probably have to give it a proper go once it was done. He had his steam cleaner out for the carpets and rugs, his vacuum too, he’d taken the shades off his lamps to vacuum them with his hand vacuum, and the tulip covers off the chandeliers were in his sink for washing.
Don whipped his gaze around. “What’s that look for? Did I miss a spot?” Nancy had a real discerning gaze. Not that she’d ever tell someone their house was dirty.
“That’s not what the look is for,” Nancy said.
“Would any spot dare evade you?” Polly placed her hands on her hips.
Rosa shook her head. “No, nunca .”
“What are you doing?” Winnie asked.
“Sandy’s surprise party is in a couple days.” He glanced at the piano, spotting a smudge. Quickly, he pulled a finely knit towel from his tool belt and headed over. He went at it. Nunca was right. No spot stood a chance.
The ladies exchanged a glance. “I think we’d better tell him.” Nancy ran her hand over her smooth head of hair.
“It might help.” Polly motioned to the room.
Don glared at the spot he’d just cleaned. Didn’t they know that when you deep cleaned, the room had to get worse before it could get better? Removing lampshades and rolling rugs was a necessity.
“I’m just gonna say it.” Winnie gave a decisive nod and took a step closer. “Blue St. James owns a shop at the pier.”
Don’s head whipped up and he dropped the rag on top of the piano. Blue? Sean’s Blue?
Nancy placed a hand on Winnie’s shoulder, shooting her an exasperated look. “But she’s engaged.”
This time, Winnie shot Nancy a glare. “Women who are madly in love and happy, don’t burst into tears when they see their exes.”
“They do if they still secretly love their exes,” Rosa said and pointed at Polly. “Remember Love Strikes Twice by Jillian Garner?”
Don liked that one. He, Rosa, Polly, Lydia Byrd, and Shirley and her parrot, Chuckles, had started a book club not too long ago. Love Strikes Twice had been a hilarious second-chance romance. Carter and Lorraine sure had a lot of miscommunications between them. The Secret Seven would’ve had them whipped into shape in no time.
Polly nodded. “Yes, but this might be different, Rosa.”
Nancy gestured to Polly, palm up, fingers pointed. “And what happened to our rule about breaking people up?”
Rosa shook her head. “We broke up Grace and Stephan.”
A pregnant pause followed where Nancy didn’t say that it was Stephan and therefore didn’t count as an actual breakup. She didn’t have to—they were all thinking it.
Nancy held out her hands in a wait gesture. “I’m not saying no, I’m just saying that we don’t really know much about the situation. That’s all. We need more information before we start trying to stop a marriage instead of plan one.”
Polly muttered under her breath, “Especially one with a ring the size of my head.”
Winnie threw her hands up, still looking at Nancy. “That’s all I was saying. That’s why I wanted to talk to Don.”
It took Don’s brain a minute to catch up as the bickering continued. Organize the relevant pieces of the conversation. His brain felt slower lately, but right now it was latching on to a name he’d heard a moment ago, one he hadn’t heard in years. “Bluebell St. James?”
They stopped their chattering, which had started to sound like a faint hum in the background, and glanced his way.
Rosa nodded. “She owns Leather and Lace Boutique and Soda Shop.”
A sense of rightness fell over Don, and before anyone could say anything else, he whipped his tool belt off and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Nancy called after him. “Where are you going?”
“To see Bluebell,” he said. He’d long ago claimed her as his granddaughter and wasn’t about to let this moment slip by.
“I’m coming with you,” Nancy said.
* * *
Don marched into Leather and Lace, his gaze darting around the store, his brain trying not to register the leather and lace of it. Nancy, the good friend that she was, white-knuckled the ride over in his golf cart. He tried to tone down his tank-like driving for the sake of her heart, but he couldn’t wait one more minute to see Bluebell.
He’d lost so much over the last few years with Amelia’s memories disappearing like fog over the ocean. He wanted one thing back and Bluebell had been a light in both their lives.
He found her organizing shoes on a shelf. “Bluebell?” he said softly, barely believing she stood in front of him.
She spun, her gaze falling on him in a second. A smile split her face lighting up places inside of him that had been dark for weeks. “Don?”
She looked different than the last time he’d seen her. Her long, dark blond hair was short and light blond now, and she was tanner than before but it was her.
He smiled and opened his arms for a hug. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his middle and squeezed tight at the same time his heart squeezed in his chest.
Sean and Bluebell had only dated nine months, but in that time, she’d become as precious to him as his own granddaughters. When the two broke up, he and Amelia felt like they’d lost a granddaughter. And now, here she was, so soon after he lost his Amelia.
This had to be Amelia’s doing. An angel’s work.
A wave of emotions fell over him, and his throat tightened up. He swallowed hard to clear the lump forming there.
“Don!” Bluebell pulled back. “It’s so good to see you. You look amazing! Still working out every day I see.” She laughed; the sound lighter than the foam on a wave.
He grabbed her shoulders needing to know she was real and solid. “You live here?” He couldn’t believe it was a coincidence.
She nodded. “Six months now.”
He shook his head. Could hardly believe the luck.
Blinking rapidly, she lifted her hand and showed him the head-sized ring Polly had muttered about. “And I’m engaged.” Her eyes were tight as she said it, her smile forced.
“Congratulations,” Don said on autopilot.
Bluebell glanced toward the door, and Don peeked over his shoulder. Nancy stood there, going through a rack of clothes, pretending not to glance their way. “I guess your friends told you I was here?”
“So glad they did.” He closed his eyes and hugged her again. Gaining Bluebell hit a tender spot.
“Me too.” She swallowed hard. “I heard about Amelia.”
His heart thudded hard, that squeezing sensation returning full force. “Three weeks ago.”
“I’m so sorry, Don.” She pulled back to look up at him, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know how much she meant . . . to your whole family.”
Don shook off the impending doom and noted that she hadn’t used Sean’s name. That meant she felt something for him. Good or bad, at least she wasn’t indifferent. “She wouldn’t want us to be unhappy.”
Bluebell swiped at a tear. “She wouldn’t, would she?” She gave a watery chuckle. “Amelia loved seeing her family happy.”
“Are you?” Don ducked down to catch her eye. “Happy?”
“Well, yeah.” She lifted her ring hand again. “Engaged, remember?”
He scrutinized her, and wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. No real joy in her pronouncement. No light in her eyes. Just a statement of fact that appeared to make her uncomfortable.
She bit her bottom lip and glanced down at the floor. “How’s Sean handling . . . things?”
Okay, so she could say his name. That was . . . a start. “He’s been better,” he said, letting the words settle and watching her. Would she ask for more information about Sean?
Her eyes glassed over again. She knew how much Sean’s grandma meant to him.
“Sandy’s birthday party is on Friday,” Don said. “Why don’t you come? I know she’d love to see you; Wayne too.”
She spun the ring around her finger. “I don’t know, Don.”
“Bring that fiancé of yours,” Don added quickly before she could reject the idea altogether.
“Really?” Bluebell asked, a happy smile spreading over her face.
Nancy sidled up next to them. “You’re coming to Sandy’s birthday party?” She glanced at Don and then back to Bluebell, her jaw set.
Bluebell laughed and threw her hands up. “I guess so!”
“Great,” Don said.
He wrote all the details down for Bluebell on a sticky note, and after one more big squeeze, he and Nancy headed out.
Nancy waited until they were several steps from the door before she let him know what was on her mind. “What are you thinking inviting Bluebell and her fiancé into a houseful of Clayton men?” she seethed. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” she tugged at her tracksuit sleeves and squared her shoulders.
Don felt a grin tugging at his face. The sensation was tight, like clay breaking. “I was thinking that I’d like to meet the man who’s going to marry her. Make sure he’s a good guy.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re hoping he’ll get eaten alive.”
Turning quickly, he faced her. “No, what I’m hoping is to not see my grandson go to pieces. And he is, Nancy. Sean’s not handling Amelia’s loss well at all. Bluebell can help.”
“Are you sure it’s him not handling it well?” Nancy asked.
He placed his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nancy gripped the handle of her purse on her shoulder. “You know what I mean, Don. It’s okay to grieve.” She arched a brow. “Did you forget I’m a widow too? I know what it’s like to wake up and not know what you’re going to do that day because every day before that your life revolved around someone else’s care.”
“I’m fine,” Don said as he turned and marched toward the golf cart. “Just worried about Sean.”
And soon, he wouldn’t have to be anymore. Bluebell was the answer to all his prayers.