“Melanie, I’m sixty-two years old. I’ll be fine. Besides, Katie and I have our day all planned out. We’re going to color and play some board games, then we’re going to make sugar cookies this afternoon.”
I arch my brows at her. “I must have missed the page that listed sugar cookies as part of your new heart healthy diet plan from the hospital.”
“Don’t worry, they’re not for me. Katie wanted to bake today, and I thought it would be fun if we did something we could decorate together.”
“All right,” I relent, feeling a bit better about the situation.
I’d much rather stay home with them, but at least the diner is closeby. Ordinarily, I’d be heading into the city to my part-time accounting job, but after Mom came home I quit the dentist’s office in order to pick up extra shifts at the diner.
God knows, we’re going to need the money. I don’t even want to imagine the size of the medical bill that will be coming soon. My stomach bottoms out just thinking about it.
I can’t deny how much I could use the money Jared was going to pay me for posing for him, but that’s obviously off the table now. Even though I had decided not to go through with the arrangement after that first day at his studio, Jared’s disappearing act two days ago here at my house and the radio silence that’s followed has made it clear to me that he has no desire to continue with the painting, either.
When it comes to me, evidently, he has no desire for anything.
I felt foolish enough in the minutes after he left. Two days later, I feel like an epic idiot for letting myself believe there was something more than just the attraction that had been burning between us. I shared a piece of my soul with him that day. I told him things only my closest friends know because I thought he might be the one man who could understand.
I thought he might have cared about me, even a little.
Instead, what he apparently felt for me was pity.
And regret.
I can still see the uncomfortable look on his face, the way he retreated from me physically and emotionally after I told him how my own father had such little regard for me and the rest of his family he attempted to kill us all.
Jared’s words come back to me, replaying on the same endless loop that’s been running since I watched his car vanish up the street.
“If I’d known, I never would’ve started any of this with you.”
Now he knows, he’s gone.
And I’m left feeling like a ridiculous joke.
I thought Jared had been struggling against his desire for me after I kissed him and nearly threw myself at him in my living room. Instead, he was no doubt just waiting for his chance to break away and make his escape.
Since rehashing any of what happened between us is a colossal waste of time, I pour myself a cup of coffee and rally my thoughts back to reality and things I can control.
Or try to control, that is.
I frown when my gaze catches on the piece of paper tucked inside the mystery novel Mom’s been reading. Slipped between the pages as a makeshift bookmark is the medicine log I printed for her.
I take it out and unfold it. “Mom, did you take your aspirin and other morning meds yet?”
“Yes, honey. I took them with my oatmeal and tea about a half hour ago.”
I wave the blank page at her. “You didn’t mark it off on the chart. You do know that’s the whole point of keeping a log, right?”
“Rules, rules, rules,” she says, as I set the paper down in front of her at the table.
As if I don’t have enough to deal with in the handful of minutes before I have to leave for the diner, the front doorbell rings. Setting my coffee on the kitchen counter, I walk through the living room to see who it is. I open the door and find a middle-aged woman dressed in pink hospital scrubs standing on the stoop.
She glances down to check the clipboard she holds in her hand before greeting me with warm brown eyes and a pleasant smile. “Good morning. I’m Rosa Cortez. I’m here to see Elaine Laurent.”
“Elaine’s my mother. I’m Melanie. Can I help you?”
“Oh, yes.” Her kind eyes flick down to the clipboard again and she nods. “I haven’t arrived too early?”
“Too early for what?”
She gives me a confused look. “I’m your mother’s home healthcare provider. I’ll be coming here to take care of her for the next four weeks.”
“I don’t understand. No one at the hospital mentioned this to me.”
“We’re a private service,” she says, cheerfully unfastening the work order from her clipboard and handing it to me along with her ID and credentials from what I recognize as the premier in-home nursing firm in the area. According to the document, Rosa has been contracted to provide hands-on care for my mom in our home from nine-to-five every weekday for a full month. Medicines. Meals. Bloodwork. Errands.
The list is extensive. And, I’m sure, very expensive.
“I didn’t order this.” I shake my head and try to push the paper back at her before I’m tempted to dream I could even begin to afford it. I’ll be working for the next twenty years just to pay off Mom’s hospital stay, never mind something like this. “I’m sorry, Rosa. You seem very nice, but there must be some kind of mistake. I can’t pay for this kind of service.”
“Oh, no, miss. It’s all been taken care of already. The contract’s prepaid.”
I frown. “Prepaid? By who?”
She gestures for me to flip the page over. I scan down to the bottom of it and my gaze settles on the bold, aggressive scrawl of Jared’s signature.
Rosa begins explaining more about
