Jerica had been brave and trusting, held Sarah’s hand while the doctor put a line into her small arm to fill her with antibiotics. But not only had she had Influenza B, but also MRSA, a superbug infection. Sarah had sat with the family as Jerica’s organs began to shut down. She remembered every moment of those awful days.
Jerica died on a sunny day in early October, and the look on her parents’ faces had been like eternal winter. That had been two years ago. Sarah had stayed on the job another month but had been unable to shake the sense of loss and a new lack of faith in a medical system that should be able to save all children. The good work done at the children’s hospital couldn’t make up for Jerica’s loss.
Sarah quit, spent a month with her parents, helping around the house and in the garden, and simply absorbing the comfort of being home. Her sister, Kate, who was married and had beautiful four-year-old twin boys, visited regularly. Sarah had enjoyed them until they coughed or sniffled, whereupon she’d found herself listening for wheezing sounds and checking skin color while unreasonable fears mounted inside her.
“You’re just burned out, sweetheart,” her father had said when she explained her feelings. “You’ll recover. Or maybe you should find some other kind of nursing that isn’t so hard on you.”
Conducting a job search online, Sarah had discovered Coast Care in Beggar’s Bay and had worked for the owner, John Baldrich, for the past year. Most of her clients were seniors. They were sometimes cranky, but for the most part, they appreciated her visits.
Sarah guided her sturdy white Jeep through the maze of homes that made up the community and pulled into Vinny’s driveway. His house was a small two-bedroom with bright colors and a lot of style. Vinny’s wife, who’d died the year before, had had an eye for design.
Vinny met Sarah at the door as he always did, leaning heavily on his cane as he ushered her inside. He wore a bright red flannel shirt with gray sweatpants and had combed his thin gray hair. Horn-rimmed glasses sat on a formidable nose over a bright smile of original teeth.
“How are ya, gorgeous?” he asked.
She gave him a quick hug. Good. One of his cheerful days. “Great, handsome. How are you today?”
“Hungry! What are we having?”
“Vegetarian sausage and cheese omelet, and I brought you a few fat-free brownies for later, but don’t eat them all at once. Like you did the lemon bars, remember? Walgreens ran out of Tums because of you.”
He followed her into a small but well-equipped kitchen. Photos of his wife and children covered the refrigerator. “I had no regrets,” he said. “Those were the best lemon bars I’ve ever binged on. Want to get married?”
She turned the heat on under a frying pan and smiled at him over her shoulder. “Not today, Vinny. I have a meeting later with John Baldrich about you guys buying the Cooper Building to use as a seniors’ center.” She added sausage to the pan.
“What kind of meeting? I thought all we had to do was form a nonprofit corporation and the city would let us have it. We did that.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. There’s another buyer involved.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“Not sure. But I like to think city council will give priority to the seniors.”
“What does city council have to do with it?”
“They make the decision on whom to sell it to, because the city took possession of the building when the owner defaulted on three years’ worth of taxes.”
“What’s the decision based on?”
She turned the sausage and then added the omelet mixture she’d brought in a plastic container. “I think it all depends on how the city’s code is written. John’s checking it out.”
Vinny nodded. “He’s a good guy. I can’t imagine he makes a fortune. His rate for having you come every day during the week for an hour is ridiculously reasonable.” He grinned at her. “And you always do more than you need to. I hope he pays you more than I pay him.”
She made him toast, poured his orange juice and served his breakfast at a small table in a sunny window. While she cleaned the kitchen, she listened to stories she’d already heard about his great-grandchildren and his daughter’s promotion.
After breakfast she drove him to the seniors’ center in a building that the owner had decided to boot the seniors from to refurbish for a tenant who could pay higher rent. She helped him out of her car and walked him to the door. He leaned on his cane and squeezed her hand with his free one. “The omelet was delicious. Thanks, Sarah.”
“Have a great day, Vinny.”
“You too, gorgeous.”
His friends came to greet him and she left him in their care, probably to play pool and solve the world’s political problems. She drove on to Margaret’s.
* * *
AN ELEGANT WOMAN in her early eighties, Margaret Brogan lived in a little apartment in a downtown complex. She used a walker because of a fall that had left her with a painful limp. She dressed in soft, pretty colors, and her carefully tended helmet of white hair looked precisely the same every day. She always wore jewelry and lipstick and smelled of some spicy floral scent.
She always prepared her own breakfast of fruit, granola and yogurt, but loved to have morning coffee with Sarah. Suffering from mild depression, she refused medication, wanting instead to work through the issue herself. Her doctor thought the regular visits of someone who cared might help.
Margaret’s apartment was spotless. It had a blond coffee table with matching end tables, and a comfortable burnt-orange sofa and chairs. The tall, filigreed birdcage that stood by the window had plants in it, tendrils of ivy spiraling out. Three dining stools were lined up in front of a white Formica-topped bar that separated the living room from the white-and-yellow kitchenette. The rooms looked dated but stately, like Margaret herself.
“What did you bring today?” Margaret asked as she led the way to the kitchen.
“Blueberry muffins from the Bountiful Bakery. You got coffee going?”
“Yes. You have a date tonight?”
Margaret was very interested in Sarah’s social life. She, herself, had had a very active one as a young woman. It had resulted in a long marriage, three children scattered across the country and a lonely old age.
“I do, as a matter of fact. Ben and I are going to the Farmhouse.” Sarah put the muffins on plates and retrieved low-fat margarine from the refrigerator. She helped Margaret sit at the table.
“How’s Jack doing now that he’s back? My daughter lived a few houses down from Jack and his biological mother, Charlene Manning, when Jack was a boy. I used to babysit my grandson Marty at my daughter’s while she worked. Marty’s a lawyer now, you know...” She trailed off, then came back to the subject of Jack. “He and Marty often played together. Jack wasn’t wounded, was he?”
Sarah remembered the nightmare that had landed her on top of a very agitated Jack. “No, no serious injuries. I haven’t known him very long. I met Ben after Jack was deployed to Afghanistan and met Jack for the first time a couple of weeks ago.”
Margaret cut her muffin in two. “It’s unfair that a boy should have to go through even more than he did as a child.” Margaret seemed to be looking at an image in her mind and shook her head at what she saw there. “Charlene was a terrible mother, but she was as