IN FOR A PENNY (The Granny Series) (2 page)

“Miss Lillian, you’re not making sense.” He reached for her elbow. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Maybe we should take you to the clinic.”

She shook off his hand. “Stop treating me like a fragile old lady. I’m just fine. Can’t I plan for the future without everyone getting all worried?” Heaven help her, she had to be strong. There was no other option. “Please do me this one more favor without worrying too much about why. Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Good boy.

But the frown marring his evenly tanned forehead said he still wasn’t convinced she was right in the head. Lillian sighed but let him lead her back to the Torpedo.

“Nash, it all boils down to what you younger people call karma.” She slipped behind the wheel and Nash bent to close her door. “But in my day, we always said what goes around comes around.”

Chapter Two

Nash Talley abhorred grits. Didn’t matter how they were dressed up—butter, brown sugar, maple syrup or most especially ketchup like his momma had always eaten. They were grainy and gloppy and downright disgusting. He hadn’t taken a bite of them since he was a toddler.

So as he headed toward the Love ’Em or Leave ’Em Florist, why did his midsection feel full of cold, congealed grits?

Miss Lillian’s slow Southern drawl replayed in his head.
What goes around, comes around.
Maybe those words were a sign it was time for him to make the change he’d been planning for the past few years. Or was it too soon?

Quit overthinking it.
Obsessing.
That was what his therapist would have called it, but then that guy had been a waste of good money.

He pulled open the flower shop’s glass door,
then grabbed the strand of tinkling bells to keep them quiet as he slipped inside. He didn’t need anything else jangling around in his head.

But Winnie didn’t need the sound to know someone was in her shop. “Nash, sugar, it’s been a coon’s age since you stopped by.” The short, fluffy woman who’d been filling the town’s flower needs since as long as he could remember tied an elaborate bow around an arrangement of tie-dyed mums and then scooted around the counter to squeeze him in a soft-armed hug. “How’s Warner?”

He cringed at her touch, stiffening like a corpse inside her embrace just as he did every time she put that bear hug on him. Never slowed her down though.

Her rosewater scent wrapped around him, and Nash patted her once on the back with a flat hand. Least he could do for his late mother’s best friend.

When she finally let go, he stepped back and swallowed his anxiety. That lump of grits rolled over. He strained to make his facial muscles respond in a smile. “Some good days. Some bad days. Thanks for asking.”

“The most beautiful daisies just came in. I bet that would fix Warner right up.”

If only a handful of posies could cure dementia, people all over the world would be mobbing flower shops. It was hell watching his dad’s body live on while his mind made only cameo appearances. And it wasn’t cheap keeping him over at Dogwood Ridge.

She fussed with Nash’s suit collar. “Your momma would be so proud of the fine young man you’ve become. And Warner would be proud of how you’ve handled the family business.”

Thirty-five was hardly young, but probably seemed so to a woman pushing seventy. As far as making his parents proud, he doubted his dad would be thrilled with him. Nash was no longer doing the work his dad used to handle himself. Instead, he’d hired a staff and let them run the day-to-day operations.

“What can I do you for today?” When Winnie walked to the cooler, her polyester pants legs scratched together like a rap song.
“Got some yellow roses, daisies in more colors than you can shake a stick at and some ugly old carnations.”

He chuckled. “Miss Winnie, you’re never going to sell those flowers by calling them ugly.”

She lifted the reading glasses on the chain resting against her chest, gave him a knowing glance and then lowered them. “Ain’t tellin’ anybody anything they don’t already know and can’t see for their own selves.”

“Then why do you keep ordering them?”

“What’s a flower shop without carnations?”

True.

“Now, what’re you takin’ your daddy today?”

With the way Dad’s health had been lately, it felt like each bouquet was just one flower closer to a funeral wreath. The thought of processing his own father for his last hurrah shook him down to his pedicured toes. Nash took a steadying breath. Handling other people’s affairs was easy, but watching his dad’s decline was like hurtling down a mountain with one snow ski and no poles.
Terrifying. Helpless. Hopeless.

“Before we get to that, I need to know if Miss Lillian has a regular order she takes over to Gabriel’s Acres.”

“Used to be every week, just like clockwork. Now, she’s doing every other week. Good stuff for her momma and daddy. Roses, lilies, baby’s breath, orchids, whatever I’ve got that’s extra special. Cheap mess for Harlan.” She leaned closer and whispered, even though no one else was around. “You ask me, I think Harlan must’ve done something that stuck in her craw before he up and passed away. She knows how I feel about carnations but she makes me bulk up that arrangement with the sorriest of them.”

Some secrets weren’t his to tell.

Winnie shoved her hands into her apron. “I’m not complaining, mind you. I never have to hunt her down like I do some customers. Not that I’m one to gossip or anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Lillian finally agreed to let me deliver them without a fussy preapproval. You’d think she’d have trusted me sooner, but then she’s a Summer and you know how they can be.”

“But we’d never gossip about that,” he said.

“Of course not. Everyone loves Lillian. Even if she likes to have her way all the time.” Winnie’s jealousy aside, she did have a point. Miss Lillian giving up control was out of character.

Nash pointed toward the case. “I’ll take that bunch of bright red daisies with the white pom-pom mums today.” Dad always seemed to respond best to bright colors.

“Nice choice.” Winnie pulled out the arrangement and waddled to the counter to log the sale in her book.

As she was about to close the ledger, Nash stuck a finger inside to keep it open. “While you’re in there, move Miss Lillian’s orders to my account.”

Winnie squinted up at him, her eyes disappearing into her fleshy cheeks. “Now, why in the world would you do that? You know how she is, pride a mile long and back as stiff as my ex-husband on those little blue pills.”

A tidbit he didn’t need to know. But then again, a man who ran a funeral home was privy to secrets.
Sometimes too many.

“Anything wrong with a man being neighborly?”
That Lillian had asked him the favor was none of her business. There was a time when he’d liked having a Summer indebted to him, and that first favor had been a doozy, but this wasn’t like that at all.

Her right eyebrow shot up. “If you want to take your life into your hands, it’s your own business. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be saying ‘I told you so’ quick enough.”

Thank God he hadn’t shed his suit coat or she’d notice the wet patches in his armpits.

Favors.
He hated doing favors that messed up his orderly routines, but he didn’t have much choice on this one. “I’ll risk it.”

“Suit yourself.”

Nash paid for his father’s flowers and headed up the street. Dogwood Ridge Assisted Living was across from the post office and catty-corner from the library. He crossed at the painted pedestrian walkway. Most people in Summer Shoals still jaywalked, but he loved those yellow stripes, evenly spaced and perfectly painted.

He keyed in this month’s code at the front door. He’d donated the security system before he brought his dad here to live. Dad might not remember him half the time, but Nash never forgot his dad’s safety and happiness. As much happiness as it was possible for him to feel.

“Hello, Mr. Talley!” The bright-faced nurse was a new addition to the staff, hired only a month ago. She wore a sleek blond ponytail, not a hair out of place, and her green eyes sparkled.

He’d been flirting with the idea of asking her out.
Maybe in another place, another time. But here and now? What woman would be interested in a straitlaced funeral home director? Now, a man of independent means who collected art and sipped martinis, that might interest a woman like her. One day. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

“Afternoon, Tina.” He took one daisy from the bunch and handed it to her.

She spun it between her fingers. “That’s so sweet.” She skirted the counter, and he noticed how her starched scrubs outlined her trim figure. She could’ve been perfect for him.

“How’s my dad today?”

Tina patted his arm in that sympathetic manner that meant he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “He’s been asking for your mother.”

Never a good sign.

“But I was able to talk him into spending some time in the recreation room. He settled down once he had something to do with his hands.”

Nash worried how his dad might function if he wasn’t under the great care of Dogwood Ridge, and now Tina specifically. That might just rock Dad’s already precarious mental boat. And Nash’s own mood lifted each time he saw the pretty nurse. In their own way, they both needed Tina.

They walked down the echoing hall toward the rec room. The large space framed with windows on all sides should have felt cheerful, but even the sunlight streaming in couldn’t overcome the scent of age and antiseptic.

Mismatched tables were scattered throughout the room, making it look chaotic and tired. At a square table in the corner, Dad sat by himself stringing brightly colored macaroni onto strands of yarn. He peered over his glasses as he stabbed the yarn through the holes one by one.

What a waste. At one time, Dad had been a compassionate funeral director, offering care and support to those dealing with the most difficult times of their lives. And oh, how he’d loved his work. When he’d begun to let little details slip through the cracks, Nash had covered for him.

The day his dad wandered away from the funeral home right smack dab in the middle of Harlan Fairview’s graveside service, his dad’s dream—and Nash’s nightmare—of passing down the family business had become reality. Nash had believed his own dreams of running an art gallery and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous were over because good elder care—especially for dementia patients—didn’t come cheap.

At that time, Talley Funeral Home was the only way Nash could pay the bills. But after five long years, the tide was finally turning Nash’s way. Now it was just a matter of timing.

Tina left his side and rushed over to calm two women squabbling over the Wii.

Nash headed for the macaroni table. “How are you today?”

His dad looked up, his eyes cloudy and confused. Not a good day at all.

“I have to get this necklace finished for my wife. Our anniversary is soon and she’s the best thing in my life.” His hands shook as he lifted the tangled mass of pasta and string. “Would you help me? Could you please? Help me make more rubies just like these.” Warner pointed an unsteady finger at a puddle of red-painted noodles.

“Absolutely.” Regardless of the sweat stains, Nash shrugged out of his jacket, carefully hung it on the chair back and slipped a craft apron over his head. Then he sat across the table from his dad.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” His dad disentangled his right hand and held it out to Nash. “I’m Warner Talley, owner and funeral director at Talley Funeral Home.”

Nash played along, just as he always did, and shook. Then under the cover of the table, he wiped the red paint off his hands and onto the apron. “Very nice to meet you. I’m Nash.”

“Pleased to meet you, Nash.”
Not one flicker of recognition crossed his dad’s face. That gut-piercing pain should’ve dulled long ago, but it never did.

His dad peered over his bifocals. “Are you married?”

“No, sir.”

“Too bad.
Marriage is good. I have a wonderful wife.” Warner looked around the room then back at Nash. “Do you know my wife, Melba?”

His heart clenched. “I bet she’s lovely.”

“She’s a knockout and, while I’m confessing—” Warner motioned Nash to lean in closer, “—my girl makes the best cornbread dressing.”

Dad was right about that, only Mom had been dead for a long time and they hadn’t eaten cornbread dressing since.

Nash pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket and wiped the space before him. The pasta was sticky from the paint or maybe from too many flimsy fondles by old hands. He forced himself to pick through the pieces and separate them, then washed a coat of red over the macaroni and spread them out so they’d dry evenly.

“Gold ones too,” Warner ordered.

Nash picked out more noodles and painted them with the glittery gold paint. He lifted one for Warner’s approval.

“Perfect.”

Nash kept his tone casual as he squirted some antiseptic gel onto his hands. “How do you like living here?”

Warner looked around as if he were seeing the facility for the first time. “Oh, I don’t live here, but they let me come and stay. I live in Summer Shoals but my wife is away. The people here are the kindest souls.” Warner pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Have you ever heard of Summer Shoals?”

Nash swallowed hard.
That’s where we are right now, Dad.
“What if you had to leave here?”

“It’s not good timing.” Warner’s brows knit together. “I can’t go today. I told you that Melba’s away.”

The worry etched on his father’s face broke Nash’s heart. He’d thought he could wait to live out his own dreams, but even Dad’s good days weren’t all that good anymore. Relocating Dad would probably be hard on him, but being away from Dad would kill Nash, so he wasn’t left with many options. Especially if he was going to ever live the life he so desperately wanted.