simply wanted to fly under the radar for a while.
His conscience scoffed as he went inside to hook up his laptop.
Three years and counting. That’s a long penance by anyone’s standards.
Would it ever be long enough when four of his men drew a death sentence that day? A dull throbbing began to take root at his temples. A throbbing that could explode into a massive headache.
Sit. Breathe. Do the relaxation techniques you’ve been taught. You can interrupt this cycle.
But he had no time to sit and do the breathing exercises to relax the muscles that clenched when memories came flooding back. He needed to get the barn plans printed and get into that orchard. He’d offered his help. Painful head or not, he’d made a promise. Now he had to keep it.
He frowned, crossed to the slim desk in the narrow hallway, hooked the laptop to the printer, printed a double set of plans, then checked on Cleve.
The old man had dozed off in his chair. His food was untouched. Jax debated leaving it there or taking it back to the kitchen. In the end, he left it. Cleve might eat when he woke up or might forget to eat at all, another disease conundrum. He started to head out, but a group of photos on the nearby wall caught his eye. He moved closer.
A middle-aged couple snuggled a little girl who looked a lot like CeeCee. Bright blue eyes laughed into the camera while a younger Cleve’s salt-and-pepper hair lay against the little girl’s golden curls. His wife seemed amused and delighted by something. Their antics, maybe? And this picture was flanked by a half-dozen other pics of Libby at various ages. The grandparents’ love for her was obvious. He also noted a conspicuous lack of parents in the photos.
“Them were good times for the most part.”
Cleve’s voice startled him.
The printer clicked off right then, too.
The old fellow looked that way, frowned and lifted his plate of food. “Mother never lets me eat out here, she must be gettin’ daft in her old age.” He giggled as if he was getting away with something and began taking small bites of food. “She said, ‘Cleveland O’Laughlin, we’ve got a child to raise and we need to set a good example.’”
“She meant Libby, I expect?”
The old man frowned. “Who?”
Jax saw no sense in riling the old fellow up so he changed the subject. “How’s your breakfast?”
“Good enough. Could use more salt.”
Libby came in just then, Gert came along with her. When she spotted Libby’s grandfather, she crossed the room and gave the old fellow a quick hug. “Cleve, it’s me, Gert Johnson. I live over on East Third Street, remember?”
“I don’t remember much, but I do recall that pretty face and a white wedding gown when you and B.J. Johnson got married a ways back.”
“Do tell.” She crouched low and smiled at him. “That was a fine wedding, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” He nodded, then tried to angle a bite of scrambled egg onto a piece of toast. One hand missed the other and the egg fell with a light plop onto the plate. “I was just tellin’ Mother that we haven’t seen you folks in a while. Got any kids yet?”
Libby started to interrupt, but Gert rose to the challenge nicely. “Four, and they are my pride and joy. I’m just stoppin’ in with some of my bus drivin’ friends to do some apple pickin’ for you, so if you see any of us wanderin’ round, we’re supposed to be here. Okay?”
“It’s picking time?” He peered toward the window as if checking the leaves and the weather for confirmation.
“It sure is,” she told him, “and we’ve got the best crew on board to help Libby while you folks put things to rights.”
“Libby.” He frowned, stared at Gert, then Jax and then Libby. “I don’t know a Libby. My wife’s name is Carolyn. She’ll be out here soon, I expect, especially when she sees me eating in the living room.”
Unremembered. Unappreciated. Misunderstood.
Jax remembered the drill like it was yesterday, not a dozen years before. How his brothers shied away from Grandma Molly’s sharp tongue and wild ramblings because it hurt to be forgotten. It hurt to be overlooked by someone who loved you enough to raise you to be fine young men. He looked at Libby.
She’d wiped the frown from her face and moved forward. “I think Grandma would approve. She gave me her permission to let you eat out here when CeeCee and I moved in last year. She wanted you happy and healthy, Gramps.”
He frowned, then slapped a hand to the chair arm. “Oh, Libby! Yep, I recall a Libby now, a little girl, real pretty curls and we had to straighten her teeth. Cost a fair penny, too, but in for a penny, in for a pound, I like to say.”
“And very pretty teeth they are,” quipped Jax. He smiled at Libby to ease the moment, then raised the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I’m going to put a set of these in the truck, then I’ll take the pickers into the orchard. We’ll start filling sacks and bins. I saw a pile of apple sacks on the back porch.” Apple sacks were strong canvas bags draped around the neck, leaving both hands free to pick fruit.
“I washed the dust out of them over the weekend, so they were spared the onslaught of the wind,” Libby told him. “There’s about fifteen there. Take what you need.”
“Will do.” He reached over and touched Cleve on the shoulder. “I’ll be picking apples today, too. If you want to take a walk or give us a hand with the Galas, I’d be happy to have you by my side.”
“I’m fast,” Cleve warned him, and he puffed up his chest when he said it. “Folks couldn’t believe how fast I was when it came to apples, but I don’t let anything keep me down. Persistence runs in my family, you know.”
“I’m sure it does.” Jax stepped back.
Libby took Cleve’s empty plate and moved back, too.
She didn’t look pained by the old man’s pendulum swings of behavior and memory. She took the plate to the kitchen quietly, then rinsed it under a stream of water. He followed to use the side door but paused when he noticed three new crayon drawings of doglike creatures on the refrigerator. “CeeCee’s been planning her campaign, I see.”
“Oh, she has.” Libby sent the new dog images a bemused look. “She wants a dog in the worst way, so her renditions of Dreamer keep appearing throughout the house. There was even one on the upstairs bathroom mirror this morning.”
“I hear persistence runs in the family,” he teased.
“And then some,” Libby replied. “But I can barely stay afloat with what I’ve got going now. How do I add a dog into the mix?” She shrugged. “Maybe next year. I need to know where I’ll be before I can commit to something that’s going to be around for a dozen years or more. Do you have a dog?” she asked. For some reason, the question caught him off guard. He almost stuttered his reply.
“I did. Now I don’t.”
She
