No One Like You (15 page)

She couldn’t help but smile. “Great Dane.”

“Atlas would never have forgiven you had you said
Chihuahua
.”

“How would he have known?”

“I’d have told him.”

“He is your buddy.”

“And your sidekick.”

True enough. Atlas kept his eye on her. The big dog was afraid she’d bake treats when he wasn’t looking and he’d miss out.

“Snow or sunshine?” Ry tossed out.

She wondered if he was trying to pinpoint her hometown. She had no plans to return to Maryland. Her answer was open-ended. “I like seasons.”

He nodded, kept it simple. “Books or movies?”

“Books.” She loved to read.

“Mysteries, thrillers, romance?”

She drew in a breath. “Self-help.”

That set him back. His brow creased. She knew what he was thinking. It was written on his face—did she have issues? Was she carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders or merely trying to improve herself? She wasn’t ready to tell him more. So she let him wonder.

“Psychologist or psychic?”

“I’ve never studied ink blots or stared into a crystal ball.”

“We have a fortune-teller on the boardwalk,” he told her. “My aunt, Madame Aleta, has the ‘sight.’ ” He used air quotes. “Stop and see her sometime.”

“Do you get readings?” Beth asked, surprised. Rylan seemed more logical than paranormal minded.

“Aleta predicted my home runs to within one last year.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “That’s amazing.”

“Halo keeps trying to schedule an appointment with her.” Rylan chuckled. “But she needs a calm mind to make a connection. He’s wired.”

“That I believe.”

“Song in your head or do you hear voices?”

“Does the Meow Mix commercial count?”

“Better than a monkey clanging cymbals.”

“Or a bongo-playing dog.”

“Atlas,” they said simultaneously. Then grinned at each other.

“Do you follow your heart or your head?” Ry asked.

“I listen to my gut.”

“I live by my intuition, too.”

They finished off their popcorn within a bite of each other. Rylan stacked the boxes, then made a long dunk shot into the distant trash receptacle. Beth admired his technique. Walking the boxes to the garbage can covered her skills. She wasn’t very athletic.

Not wanting their conversation to end, she continued with One or the Other. “Climb a mountain or trek the desert?”

“Surf the Gulf,” he replied, opting for his own answer. “Morning or night person?” he shot back.

“Morning. I’m up with the sun.”

“Atlas gets up early, too. The sooner you’re up, the quicker he eats. Rue and the dachs are more patient. Atlas has his own inner alarm clock.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “House, condo, apartment?”

“I like your cottage.”

“So do I,” he agreed. “Traveler or homebody?”

“I’ve been on the road a lot recently.”

He side-eyed her. “Touring the country or running away?” he snuck in.

Too personal. He’d hit a nerve. She hedged. “A little of both.” She had no place to return. She would drive until she relocated.

“What about family? Your parents have passed away. Do you have relatives?” He seemed concerned for her.

The thought of her stepmother and stepsister pressed heavily on her chest.

Rylan sensed her vulnerability, reached over, and took her hand. He held it lightly, rubbing his thumb across her palm.

Beth cleared her throat. She found it difficult to speak. Yet somehow she managed. “My dad remarried after my mom passed away. My stepmother put on a good face and pretended to like me while my father was alive. Once he was gone, she showed her dislike. Daily.” She shrugged. “I found my own way.”

“I’m glad you landed in Barefoot William.”

So was she.

“Wallflower or life of the party?”

“I have a strong back for holding up walls.”

Ry squeezed her hand. “I would have gotten to know you,” he said sincerely. “My parents taught their boys to mix with all the girls. Not just the popular and pretty ones. Their advice led to female friendships over the years, which I might have overlooked otherwise. A woman who likes my dogs holds a place in my heart.” He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and stood. He tugged her up beside him. “Let’s head home.”

The Gallery Walk came to an end. Artists were closing down their easels and packing up their paintings. Rylan and Beth had the boardwalk to themselves, yet continued to hold hands. There was comfort and companionship in his touch. She didn’t feel alone.

He bought her an elephant ear and a candied apple on their way to his SUV. She ate the cinnamon-sugar fried bread on the ride home. She would save the apple for tomorrow.

Atlas and gang greeted them at the door with an exuberance that crushed Beth against Rylan. He curved his arm about her shoulders and supported her against the onslaught. She turned her face into his chest when Atlas tried to lick cinnamon sugar off her cheek. She breathed Ry in. Night air and man. Nice.

The Dane sniffed her candied apple through the paper bag she held.

She wasn’t sharing her treat. She walked quickly to the kitchen and put it in the refrigerator, nearly closing the door on Atlas’s nose. He was that close to snagging her apple.

“Walk?” Rylan offered his dogs.

Atlas and Rue spun in circles. The dachshunds bounced low. She collected their harnesses and helped hook them up. “Mind if I come with you?” she asked, not wanting to intrude on his time with his pets.

“You’re one of us, Beth. You don’t have to ask.” He handed her Rue, Oscar, and Nathan’s leashes. He kept Atlas on a tight lead until they reached the end of the driveway. Street lights were numerous. The night was bright as day.

“Atlas and I are going to jog.” He added length to the big dog’s leash. “Six blocks down to the cul-de-sac and we’ll loop back.” He grinned. “We’ll meet at his Rip Van Winkle corner.”

Dog playing dead in the middle of the road
. A memory she would never forget. She gazed after the two of them as they took off down the street. The Dane’s ears flopped and his nose was in the air, sniffing the breeze. Rylan was fluid. Athletic grace. He picked up his pace at the first cross street. Atlas bucked and charged alongside him.

Rue whined and the dachsies barked. They wanted their walk, too. Off they went. Beth easily controlled the three. She didn’t have Atlas pulling on her arm.

They strolled the neighborhood. Driveways and yards were well-lit. Front window curtains were drawn back, and she caught sight of family gatherings. Groups sat around tables, possibly playing cards or a board game. Perhaps catching up on the events of the day. Or enjoying evening coffee and dessert.

Homey,
she thought.
Togetherness. Sharing.

Nostalgia gave her a hug. She missed her parents always, but tonight the feeling was doubly strong. She was an adult, yet memories of her mom and dad made her feel like a kid again. Sadness and loss had her slowing her steps.

The dogs sensed her mood. They stopped and stared up at her. Beth swiped her palm across her eyes. Her chest felt tight, and her throat closed. She refused to cry. Tears wouldn’t bring her parents back.

A man rolled a garbage can to the curb.

A young boy rode his bicycle into the driveway next door.

A dog barked behind a fenced backyard. Rue and the weenies responded. A continuous chorus of howls erupted along the street.

“I heard you coming,” Rylan called to her as he and Atlas rounded the corner. He was running full out. Atlas ran circles around him. It was a sight to behold.

The Dane saw Rue and came to a skidding stop before her. He nuzzled her, and she nuzzled back. Ry bent over to catch his breath. Atlas turned his foam-flecked jowls on Beth.

Beth shook her finger at him. “Don’t you dare,” she firmly said.

They stood toe to paw. Instead of wiping his face on her, Atlas shook his head. Foam flew, getting her equally as wet. He head butted her hip until she scratched his ear.

“You’re doing laundry tomorrow,” she told him.

“He adds too much fabric softener,” said Ry. “He’s not great with fluff and fold.”

His comment made her smile. She passed Rue’s leash to Atlas. “Take her home.”

And he did. Rylan scooped up Nathan and Beth carried Oscar. They arrived at the cottage in no time. There, they unharnessed the dogs.

Atlas stood waiting for Beth.

Beth waited for Rylan. “Do you have anything further for me to do tonight?”

He shook his head. “I’m headed upstairs for some computer time. E-mails have piled up.” He lightly touched her arm. “See you in the morning.” He took the stairs two at a time.

At the top, he called down to her. “One or the Other. Giving speeches or listening to someone talk?” He sounded concerned about his presentation.

“I like listening. Your speech will be great,” she assured him.

E
veryone in the audience was asleep. Including his grandfather.

Rylan Cates gazed at the senior citizens gathered in the lecture hall at the Barefoot William Retirement Village. One hundred folding chairs were set in rows of ten, only half were occupied. Of those seated, all had their eyes closed. Their heads were bent and their bifocals slid down their noses. Many snored. One man snored so loudly his body shook.

His grandfather had suggested the engagement a month ago. Frank had bragging rights on his grandson playing major league baseball and was proud of Ry.

Rylan had agreed. Yesterday, he’d put together a thirty-minute presentation.

His granddad had been the first to yawn, but the last to nod off.

Ry stepped from the spotlight and hopped off the small dais. Not a single person would miss him if he took a short break. Or even a long one. The snoring only grew louder. How could people sleep on metal folding chairs? he wondered. They had to be uncomfortable.

He’d planned to hand out Richmond Rogues T-shirts at the end of his talk, but he was no longer so sure. He’d brought large and extra-large sizes. Most of the men appeared to be medium; the women leaned toward small. They would drown in the cotton. Maybe the shirts would shrink in the wash. He could only hope so.

He located Beth at the back of the room and walked down the aisle, needing to speak with her. She was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to her interview. Prairie flower top, long skirt, cowgirl boots. Her curls went every-which-way, her eyes were a dark gray, and her lips were pursed. She was concerned for him.

His speech had bombed. He was embarrassed, too. He wished he had done better. A part of him had wanted to impress her. Unfortunately, he had not. Tongue-in-cheek, he asked her, “How’d you like my speech?”

She leaned toward him, whispered, “You only spoke for fifteen minutes. Why didn’t you finish?”

“I couldn’t be heard above the snoring.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry your audience fell asleep.” She meant it. “I spoke to the residents on their arrival. One of the ladies mentioned pasta salad was served for lunch. Carbs relax the brain.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. Then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “They zonked.” He couldn’t get the image out of his head.

“They should be stirring shortly,” she assured him. She reached for the circular switch on the wall and dimmed the overhead lights. “I don’t want the brightness to startle them when they open their eyes.” Her gesture was kind.

They moved to the lobby, which was only a few yards from the lecture hall. Sunshine streamed through the wide windows and domed skylight, and danced across the hardwood floors.

The area was bright and cheerful with its sand-toned furniture and lavender accents. A collection of dwarf palms stood six feet tall in natural ceramic planters in one corner. A deep purple impatiens plant added color to the counter at the reception station.

Beth picked up a pamphlet off a corner table. She flipped through the pages; found it informative. “The brochure lists all the monthly events and activities, including the speakers for the month of February. You’re one of many.”

“I’ll be the one remembered for putting everyone to sleep.” He ran his hand down his face. “Was I that boring?”

She lightly touched his arm. “I loved your speech. However, judging from the brochure, the interactive presentations appear to work best.”

“I should’ve tossed around a baseball?”

She looked thoughtful. “That might have proved strenuous, but film highlights of the Rogues season might’ve worked.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

“Earlier this month, a florist demonstrated flower arrangements. Those who attended got to plant African violets in clay pots.”

“What else?” he asked, curious.

“A nutritionist offered herbal remedies for colds, arthritis, and other ailments.”

Rylan would have enjoyed that lecture. He took vitamins. Nutrients built up his body. Staying strong was important in sports.

“Then there are the therapy dogs.”

He heard the smile in her voice.

“Three golden retrievers are brought in once a week. The seniors can walk, pet, and play with them.” She tapped one corner of the page, drawing his attention. “One of the dogs had cancer as a puppy and has only three legs. His name is Tripod.” She showed Ry the dog’s picture then pursed her lips. “Atlas could be a therapy dog.”

Ry had his doubts. “Not without a ton of training. He’s not aggressive, he’s just big. A head butt or brush of his tail would knock someone over. The women I’ve seen are frail.”

Beth read on. “The petting zoo brings Dalmatian guinea pigs for a visit. They’re white with dark spots. They weigh three pounds and are a foot long. Malcolm and Morris are quite the snugglers.” A further photo showed the guineas curled on an older lady’s lap. She sat in a rocking chair, smiling.

Rylan took it all in. He couldn’t arrange flowers or discuss herbs, but he did understand the appeal of pets.

He checked his watch and decided it was time to return to the lecture hall. Beth followed. He scanned the room. “Is everyone still breathing?” He had his concerns. One of the men in the back row was slumped low on his chair; his breaths shallow. “I’m tempted to stick a mirror under their noses.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “You put them to sleep, not to death. These people are in their eighties. They deserve a nap.”

His granddad was eighty-eight and a widower of twenty-two years. Frank still missed his wife. Emma was and always would be the love of his life. He was fortunate to have friends at the village—those old-timers who’d grown up in Barefoot William. Many had roots as deep as the Cates family.

Frank had avoided retirement for a long, long time—up until his citrus grove became a burden. There’d been days his bones had ached and his feet shuffled. He would fall asleep in his easy chair with both the television and living room lights left on.

Frank’s family had checked on him often, making certain his stilt home was clean and that he had plenty of groceries. His loved ones came together, anxious and concerned, when he’d fallen off a ladder while cleaning the outside gutters. It was a job too big for one man. He’d fractured his ankle.

A second fall on his front porch steps had shaken Frank thoroughly. He’d slipped on a puddle of rain water. That’s when he’d agreed to the move. The retirement community was perfect for him. It was the finest facility in Southwest Florida.

The village was gated and self-contained. Cars were obsolete. Golf carts and adult tricycles with big baskets provided outdoor transportation. Inside, the seniors rode motorized scooters or leaned on walkers and canes. Like Frank, a few still managed on their own.

The west wing of the facility was anchored by a small grocery store. A gift shop, hair salon, pharmacy, and library were also open for business. A medical team was on staff, and a hospital was close by.

The condominiums were large and comfortable. The seniors could move from their lifetime homes and still have room for their memories. Every condo had a kitchen, although most residents chose to eat in the main dining room. Meals were social. After-dinner decaf and dessert stretched into the evening hours.

All those in residence considered themselves related, whether they were or not. They were one big extended family. They faced aging together. That was their common bond. They held tight to each other and the years they had left.

Beside Rylan, Beth pointed to the front of the room. “Cora Salvo, the lady with the apricot hair in the third row, is wakening. Morton Potter, sitting next to her, has opened his eyes, too. I saw him yawn.”

It amazed Rylan that she remembered their names. She’d stood in the back and greeted everyone at the door while he’d set up in front. The exchanges had been brief, yet she recalled each one.

She gave him a nudge, suggested, “Go back to the podium. You don’t want anyone feeling bad that they fell asleep during your talk.”

She was right. Her concern for the residents touched him. He never wanted to disappoint his grandfather. He headed for the low stage while Beth turned up the lights. Applause broke the moment he stepped in the spotlight. The noise woke everyone still sleeping. Those in the front row gave Ry a standing ovation.

He appreciated their enthusiasm, even if they hadn’t heard his entire presentation. He had purposely cut it short when they’d all fallen asleep. He finished up with, “I have Richmond Rogue T-shirts, should anyone want one.”

Beth came down the aisle and joined him on the dais. She helped him pass out the shirts. “Morton Potter,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth as a brown-eyed man with a shock of white hair approached.

Puffing out his chest, Morton inquired, “Do you have an extra-large?”

“Morty played college football.” Cora Salvo wasn’t far behind him. “He likes sports.”

“You could use a double extra-large, Morton,” Beth said to him. “You have such broad shoulders.”

The man grinned. He still had all his teeth, either that or a solid set of dentures. Morton carried himself taller with Beth’s compliment.

Cora was a little bit of a woman. She was dressed smartly in a starched white blouse and dark pleated skirt. She added a wrinkle to her brow when she asked, “Any chance I could have two shirts? One for me and one for my roommate Lana Arnett. Lana wasn’t feeling well, so she went to lie down after lunch.”

“Two is fine.” Rylan handed them to her. “I hope Lana feels better.”

Cora lowered her voice, shared, “It’s gas from the Italian dressing on the pasta salad. A tablespoon of Pepto-Bismol and she’ll be back to her old self.”

A woman with copper-colored hair introduced herself before Beth could make the connection. ““I’m Grace Mayberry. I’m ninety-six and the oldest resident at the village.”

“A proud distinction,” said Ry.

“Grace has a birthday next week,” Beth informed him.

Grace smiled. “February sixteenth. You’re invited, Rylan Cates, if you’d care to come. Your pretty assistant, too.”

“Thank-you. We’ll check our schedules.”

“Don’t let spring training stand in your way,” Grace said. “My birthday will be great fun. Parties are held in the activity room. There’ll be cake and ice cream. Even chocolate. There will be dancing, too. You can box step, can’t you, young man?”

Rylan nodded. He could manage the square.

“I’ll save you a dance then,” promised Grace. “I don’t cha-cha anymore. It throws out my hip.” Her shirt in hand, she leaned on her cane and walked back down the aisle.

A tall, thin woman with thick glasses came next. She narrowed her gaze on Ry. “What sizes are your shirts?”

“Large and extra-large,” he told her.

She squinted further. “What sizes did you say?”

He repeated them to her.

“Small?” she tried again.

Beth intervened. She raised her voice and called the woman by name. “Turn up your hearing aid, Iris.”

Iris proceeded to do so. “Better now,” she said after making the adjustment.

Ry glanced at Beth, keeping his voice low. “How’d you know?”

“Her hearing aid is small, discreet, but I saw it when she straightened her glasses and the arms pushed back her hair.

His assistant was observant.

Once Iris could hear, she asked one final time, “The sizes?”

“Large is the smallest we have,” Beth told her.

Iris contemplated. “I could wear the shirt with a gold belt, couldn’t I? Fancy it up a bit.”

“That you could do,” Beth agreed.

Iris accepted her shirt and stepped aside.

The remaining Rogues shirts were quickly passed out. The room soon emptied, until only his grandfather remained. He was a tall man and still carried himself well. His face was weathered, but he had a full head of gray hair.

“Beth.” His gramps cordially shook her hand before giving Ry a fist bump. Man to man. “I’m so proud of you, son. You’re the best speaker this month.”

Ry wasn’t going to debate him. Everyone felt better after a nap. Life moved on. He would make sure each resident at the village had a ticket to at least one home ball game, should he want to attend. He’d have Beth check with the events coordinator tomorrow. Set up transportation to and from the stadium.

“Thanks for inviting me to speak. How about a shirt? I have a few left,” he offered.

“I have several,” his granddad replied. “I wear your number sixteen jersey on game day. Rogues fans gather in the TV room during the regular season. We cheer you on with popcorn and root beer floats.”

Ry felt a lump in his throat. Frank honored him. For as long as he could remember, his grandfather had brought his own baseball glove to the park. He always liked sitting in the centerfield stands. He backed Ry’s position.

Rylan would do his best to hit a home run over the wall during spring training. He’d airmail Frank a ball.

His granddad cleared his throat, lowered his voice. He put his hand on Ry’s shoulder. “I overheard Grace Mayberry invite you to her birthday party. Don’t feel obligated. I’ll buy her a gift and sign the card from all three of us.” He included Beth.

“She seems to like sweets,” said Ry, recalling her comment on ice cream and cake, chocolate.

Frank frowned. “Sweets don’t always like her. Grace is diabetic and needs to monitor her sugar. We all keep an eye on her.”

“I’ll be at Grace’s party, even if Rylan can’t make it,” Beth decided on the spot. “I’ll request the night off.”

Ry would give her the time, whether he attended or not. He had several evening obligations scheduled.

“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” he asked his grandfather.

“Bingo,” said Frank. “You can stay and play if you like. We’re allowed guests at all activities.”