Sparkle

“I told you. Nothing serious.”

“Good. Then there’s no reason you can’t tell me what it is.”

Sheesh. It wasn’t like him to pry. “It’s just awkward, okay? A personal thing.”

“So it’s about girl parts? I know this’ll shock you, but I knew that your half of the planet had girl parts before this. I was even married. Twice.”

“It’s not about girl parts. At least, not exactly. Sheesh, sometimes you are so full of it!”

“Hey.” For a guy who was tall and lean, he sure could block a doorway. “If it’s cancer, a serious illness, damn it, you say. Right now. Quit messing with me.”

“I swear it’s nothing like that.” She almost blurted it out, but then stopped herself. She had no fear of Web judging her. It was just that mentioning plastic surgery would draw his attention to her face. Make him look at her.

Web had never looked at her before—not really. Not personally. And they had a darn good working and friendship relationship going. Why put an awkward pin in that haystack?

“Web, I’ve got a mama bluetick hound waiting.”

There. The magic words to make him move. He had critters waiting, too.

Poppy went on with her day and put the conversation out of her mind, although she had the oddest thought. Her last clip was at three, then she figured on a quick grocery run before heading home. But maybe after that she’d stop by Maude Rose’s apartment again.

There was no reason to. The idea just stuck in her mind and then itched there. There wasn’t much to still discover in Maude Rose’s place, but before they did a final cleanup and sublet and got rid of Maude’s last things…well, it just didn’t seem right to move so fast. It was like letting an old lady disappear as if she’d never existed and never mattered to anyone.

Poppy just figured she’d stop by if she had the chance, that’s all.

Even though Bren ran from the van, the rain managed to curl and whip around her. Her raincoat was soaked by the time she pushed open the door to the Righteous Senior Home, and she was gasping—mostly from laughter. On a rotten afternoon, what else could you do?

“How are you, Mrs. Price?” The receptionist smiled warmly at her. “Your dad will be so glad to see you.”

“I know. I felt bad that I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Well, almost no one manages to come every single day. He’s fine. You know we love him and take good care of him.” The receptionist glanced at her face, then quickly away.

Bren hung up her coat, almost reached up to touch her bruised cheek and then quickly dropped her hand and charged down the hall.

There were only two rest homes in Righteous. One was Peaceful Valley, where you could smell the urine before you even opened the door. Patients wandered the halls at all hours of the day and night, and the food was worse than baby pap. No one, obviously, went there if they had a choice.

And Bren would have had no choice for her father if it hadn’t been for Charles. The bland title of Righteous Senior Home didn’t do it justice. The place was immaculate. There were crafts and card games and church services and ice cream socials—something to do every hour of the day, and someone to coax even the most recalcitrant senior to do it.

Bren paused in the doorway to her dad’s room. Two paraplegics roomed together. Their choice. It gave them someone to talk to who had the same kind of problems—and the same interests. Both were addicted to chess, played via a computer screen. Her dad, Vane, still had use of two fingers, so he could click on moves that way, where his crony, Mr. Albertson used a wand between his teeth. When they weren’t playing chess, they were usually arguing politics with each other—occasionally to the point when they didn’t speak—for an hour or two.

Her dad’s hair had disappeared over the last two years. His bald head glowed like a target for a daughter’s kisses. She blessed him with one now and loved seeing his eyes light up. “Nice weather for ducks out there?” he rasped.

“Aw, heck. We need the rain.” She walked over to Mr. Albertson’s bed and gave him a buss on the cheek. “Aren’t you handsome today?”

“Aw, go on with you. Talk to your father. Make him see some sense.”

“Ah. We’ve been talking Middle East politics again, have we?”

She listened to the two of them bristle and expound for a few minutes as she brought out some creams from her bag. They took great care of her dad here. Far better than she could ever afford on her own—far better than Charles could have afforded for her.

But Charles had managed to get her father in the facility when they were first getting to know each other—weeks after the accident that took her mom and sister. Vane was still in the hospital at that time. She’d been seventeen, the only one in the family who hadn’t been in the accident, and she’d been so overwhelmed with grief and panicky fear that she’d had no idea what to do for herself—much less her dad.

Charles had. At nine years older than her, he was still a young minister back then, but he’d known the unspoken code in Righteous—that hospitals and health care facilities tried to pull strings for those who did selfless jobs in the community, like the priests and pastors and their families. So Charles had managed to get him in, and Vane had some disability insurance on top of that, so between the two, he’d had a darn near good life here.

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