On Temporary Terms

“Maybe I could have lunch with her one day.”

He gave her a sideways frown. “Are you suggesting that idea as a lawyer or as a decent human being?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Abby said, glaring at him.

He helped her into the car and closed her door. Even when she was mad at him, he felt a sexual pull. That reality didn’t bode well for his peace of mind.

When he was behind the wheel with the engine running, he apologized. “I’m sorry. No more cheap shots about your profession today, I promise.”

She grinned wryly. “Only today?”

He shrugged, feeling lighthearted and pumped about the evening to come. “I’ll take the rest of the calendar under consideration, I swear.”

The trip up the mountain was quick. When they arrived, Abby stepped out of the car and stared at his grandparents’ house in admiration. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here. I’ve never been inside, though.”

“Some of the exterior upkeep has been let go. Brody and I put a lot of sweat equity into cutting back bushes and fixing gutters...things like that. For a long time after Grandda died, Granny couldn’t bring herself to stay here with him gone. But now that she’s back, she’s happy again. This house was something they built together, just like the business.”

After unlocking the front door, he stood aside for Abby to enter. He tossed his keys into a carved wooden bowl on a table in the foyer and motioned for Abby to follow him. Raising his voice, he called out. “Granny. We’re here.”

He’d half expected his grandmother to be hovering by the front door, ready to greet her guest. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”

“I love all the artwork,” Abby said. “Everything is warm and welcoming, but so very unique.”

“Aye,” Duncan replied, half-distracted. “They collected paintings and sculptures from all over the world. Granny. Where are you?” He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and his heart stopped. A small figure lay crumpled in the center of the floor.

“Granny!” He fell to his knees, his heart pounding. “God, Granny. Call 9-1-1,” he yelled, though Abby was at his elbow, her eyes wide, her expression aghast.

While Abby fumbled with her cell phone and punched in the numbers, Duncan took his grandmother’s hands and chafed them. “Talk to me, Granny. Open your eyes.” Abby finished her brief conversation. “Get me a wet cloth,” he said. “The drawer by the sink.”

Moments later, she crouched at his side and handed him a damp square of cotton. Duncan placed it on his grandmother’s forehead. Her lips were blue. His heart slugged in his chest. CPR. He needed to do CPR. He’d had the training. Instinct kicked in. He began the sequence of compressions and breaths. Counting. Pushing. Praying.

Abby took one of Isobel’s frails wrists and held it.

Duncan shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Anything?”

“No.” Tears welled in Abby’s eyes but didn’t fall.

“Damn it.” He repeated the CPR sequence again. And again. Until his chest ached and his arms ached and his heart was broken. “I just talked to her half an hour ago.” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.

Abby put her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his. “I think she’s dead, Duncan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

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