Maddie’s smile dimmed. “As the first step toward a nursing home?”
“Nothing of the kind. If Lillian responds to her new medication, she could well enjoy spending time with people her own age.”
“Her friends have been loyal,” Maddie objected. “People stop by fairly often to visit her.”
J.C. studied the obstinate set of her jaw. “But not to visit with you?”
Maddie looked down, fiddling with the dish towel still in her lap. “People my age have young families of their own to take care of.”
A situation he knew only too well.
“It’s difficult for someone who’s never been in this position to understand,” Maddie continued. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work … and it probably consumes most of your time, but I can’t walk away from my mother. It’s not some martyr complex. It’s my choice.”
“And sometimes there isn’t a choice.”
Maddie scrunched her eyes in concentration. “Your niece? Chrissy? You said something about how she was behaving. Is there a problem?”
J.C. explained how he’d come to be his niece’s guardian. “I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves.”
Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”
He stared at her long, slender fingers.
“Dr. Mueller? J.C.?”
“Sorry.” He pulled his gaze back to hers. “Chrissy’s been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And she was miserable.
“What about your babysitter? Do they get on well?”
“We’ve been through a parade of sitters and housekeepers. Can’t keep one.”
Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us. Does she go to the community church school? We’re in easy walking distance.”
“Don’t have enough on your plate?” J.C. was dumbfounded. Maddie claimed she wasn’t a martyr, but …
“It’s what we do.”
He felt as blank as he must have looked.
“You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”
It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”
The fire in her now stormy-gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I realize my situation isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. And I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”
She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.
Chapter Four
J.C. stood in front of his sister’s closet in her far-too-quiet home. Fran’s things were just as she’d left them. Not perfectly in order; she was always in too much of a hurry to fuss over details she had considered unimportant. No, she’d lavished her time on her family, especially Chrissy.
A cheery yellow scarf dangled over an ivory jacket, looking for all the world as though Fran had just hung it up. Anyone searching through the rooms would never conclude it had been a scene of death. Instead, it looked as though Fran, Jay and Chrissy could walk in any moment, pick up their lives.
Fran would be laughing, teasing Chrissy and Jay in turn, turning her hand at a dozen projects, baking J.C.’s favorite apple crumble, inviting friends over.
There hadn’t been an awful lot of time to ask why. Why had they perished? Especially when each had so much to give. Caught up in trying to care for Chrissy, the questions had been shelved.
J.C. was on borrowed time even now. He had thought he could make some sort of inventory of the house so that he could set things in motion, have the important contents stored, the house rented. But he couldn’t bring himself to even reach inside the closet.
Other people survived loss. As a doctor, he’d seen his share and then some. But how did they take that first step, put the gears in motion? Fran had managed when their parents passed away. She had thoughtfully sorted out mementos for each of them, things she had accurately predicted he would cherish. Now, he needed to do the same for Chrissy.
His friend Adam suggested hiring an estate service, one that could view everything with an eye to its current or future value. To J.C., the process sounded like an autopsy. Backing away from the closet, he tore out of the room. Striding quickly, he passed through the living room, then bolted outside. Breathing heavily, he sank into the glider on the porch, loosening his tie.
The breeze was lighter than a bag of feathers, but he drew in big gulps of air. He’d never been claustrophobic, but he felt as though he’d just been locked in an airless pit. He pictured Chrissy’s stricken face. Maybe it wasn’t so illogical that she wouldn’t step foot in the house.
Lifting his head, he leaned back, his gaze drifting over the peaceful lane. School was in session, so no kids played in the yards or rode their bicycles in the street. A few houses down, Mrs. Morton was weeding her flower bed and a dog barked. Not that there was much to bark at. Extending his gaze, he spotted a woman pushing a wheelchair on the sidewalk across the street. The color of her hair stirred a note of recognition.
Maddie Carter? Shifting, he leaned forward, focusing on the pair. It was Maddie, pushing Lillian’s wheelchair. Although Lillian could walk, she tired easily. Combined with the mental confusion, he understood why Maddie chose to use the chair.
They were within shouting distance when Maddie glanced across the street. Recognition dawned and she leaned down to say something to her mother. Walking a few feet farther, Maddie detoured off the sidewalk via a driveway and used the same method to reach the front of Fran’s house.
Trying to tuck his emotions beneath a professional demeanor, J.C. walked down the steps.
Apparently he wasn’t completely successful.
“What’s wrong?” Maddie greeted him, her eyes filled with sudden concern. Today her eyes picked up some of the green of the grass, rendering them near-emerald.
J.C. straightened his tie, but couldn’t bring himself to pull it into a knot. The strangled feeling from being in Fran’s house hadn’t dissipated. “This is my sister’s house.”
Understanding flooded Maddie’s expression. “Are you here by yourself?”
J.C. nodded. “Chrissy won’t come back.”
“What can we do?”
He glanced at the wheelchair. “Your hands are full enough.”
Maddie patted Lillian’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “My mother always enjoys visiting new places.” She met his gaze. Both knew most anywhere other than her own home was now a new place for Lillian.
The older woman smiled at him kindly. “Young man, you need a bracing cup of tea.”
Apparently even his patient could see his distress. “I don’t have the makings for tea.”
“We do,” Lillian replied, craning her head around and up toward Maddie. “Don’t we?”
“Yes, but maybe Dr. Mueller would like to just sit on the porch.”
“Well, now, I’d like that myself,” Lillian replied.
Shedding his own worries,