Spin dipped her Grumbacher paintbrush into the yellow-gold mix on her palette. Hand raised, she tried not to let her wrist shake as she put a dot on the canvas. She smeared it and landed a dollop of color on the number 123 portion.
Hell’s bells!
Disgusted, she set the paintbrush down and took a break. She left the glassed-in sunporch and walked outside to look at the pond.
She stood on the covered veranda, her liver-spotted, gnarled hands holding on to the railing. For some ungodly reason, hot tears pooled in her eyes.
She blinked.
Borrowed time. That’s what she was on.
Inhaling, she took a deep breath of the meadow grass, smelled the fragrance of aspen leaves and wild columbine. She held it inside her frail lungs for as long as she could. She wanted to remember for when she got to heaven.
“Hi, Ms. Goodey-Leonard!” one of the staff called cheerfully. Spin turned to see that cute little nurse walking onto the porch with a tall woman following her. “How are you today?”
“I’m still alive.”
The nurse giggled, her fresh-faced complexion golden in the indirect sunshine. “You sure are!”
Spin sized up the dark-haired woman, who wore attitude like a coat. She was pretty, but the look in her eyes was bruised. She was in self-torture.
“Ms. Goodey-Leonard, this is Jacquie. She’s volunteering at the Sunrise for the next few weeks, and she’ll be here to visit with you.”
“Visit me for what?”
“Play cards, take a stroll in our garden, share a snack at our coffee shop, write letters for you—”
“Everyone I loved is dead accept for Morris, my great-nephew, and I talk to him on the phone.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jacquie muttered, rolling her eyes and exhaling sharply. Then, in a soft tone to the nurse, she said, “I didn’t volunteer for this job. Can’t you assign me to someone else? Someone who’s bedridden, in a coma, and I’ll just watch television in their room.”
Spin might wear small hearing aids, but they were hypersensitive and she could radio in on things that others might miss.
“You don’t have to have a kitten. I don’t need anyone to write a letter for me. I can do it myself.”
Pushing the glasses farther up her noise, she took a hard look at Jacquie and made a fast inventory. She had the goods, but a bad attitude went with that. A woman scorned. That was obvious in the way her concealer didn’t quite cover up the dark circles beneath her puffy eyes. Women didn’t bawl like that over missing a clothing sale. A man was involved.
Spin perked up. Hearing about a love story gone wrong would kill half the afternoon. The painting could wait.
“I need a letter written,” she said bluntly.
Jacquie’s expression clouded. “But isn’t there someone else I can—”
“Dear, I feel some abdominal gas coming on from that cabbage soup I had for lunch,” Spin said to the young nurse, then feigned a grimace, clutching her midsection. “Get me something for it. I’d hate to soil myself. Hurry along, now.”
The nurse hightailed it to the infirmary.
Spin’s arms dropped as soon as the nurse was out of sight.
Jacquie’s eyes widened. “If you’re going to have an accident, go to the bathroom.”
“So what was his name? Some sugarpuss—wasn’t he? How long did you know him?”
“What are you talking about?” Jacquie demanded, her brown eyes hard with attitude. “I’m getting that nurse.”
“Don’t bother.” Spin’s grip was slight but firm as she grabbed hold of Jacquie’s arm. “Sit down with me. I’m not going to shit my pants, but my knees are ready to give out. I’ve been standing at an easel for an hour.”
Something within Jacquie reacted. Who was this old bird that she could bull crap her way to giving a nurse the slip? Then talk as if she were born in a naval yard, yet appear as frail as parchment?
It hit Jacquie. She reminded her of…herself.
Clenching her jaw, Jacquie wished she wasn’t in an old folks home. Damn Sheriff Lewis and his fake-and-bake tan to hell. He’d pulled her over the night of her birthday, after she’d left Max Beck’s place. The sheriff could have written her up for a DUI. God knows she’d been juiced. Instead of hauling her butt to jail, he’d arranged for Deputy Cooper to come out, get her and drive her home—but with two conditions. She promised never to drive drunk again, and she had to perform one month of voluntary community service. He’d done the picking. The Sunrise Trail Creek Seniors Home.
Along with a bitch of a hangover she hadn’t been able to shake after Drew left, Jacquie had literally been taken for a ride. This was her punishment—sitting with an elderly woman who was staring at her as if she could read her mind.
“Are you sure you don’t need to use the bathroom?” Jacquie asked, suddenly antsy and nervous to be here. She didn’t like that undressed feeling that rose when Spin looked at her through those diamond-encrusted glasses.
“Don’t insult me.” Spin sat on one of the patio chairs and let out an audible sigh. “So tell me. Am I right? It’s a man. You didn’t shove his clutch anymore?”
Jacquie didn’t respond.
“I’d been around the block a few times before I met my Wally, and it was no picnic. Men can be assholes.” Gazing at her over the rim of the glasses, Spin asked, “Ever heard of a Judge Harrison?”
“No.”
“Good. Because he was the biggest asshole of all time.”
Jacquie needed something to settle herself, and longed for the soothing smoke of a Virginia Slim. “Harrison’s a former boyfriend?”
“Humph!” Spin’s spider-veined hands cupped the arms of the chair. She had yellow-gold paint on her fingers. “Get a pad of legal paper and come back here with a pen, too. You’ll find them in the rec hall. Go on.”
A moment later, Jacquie came back and asked herself why she was even doing what this woman asked. She sat down once again, pad on her lap. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Spin repeated. “Start writing exactly
