Heather Page 2

  The phone rang twice before the line clicked to life.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Grams, how are you?”

  “Hello, dear.” Two simple words and the warmth of the familiar voice soothed her tired soul. “We’re hoping to see you this weekend.”

  “I know, but there’s a fellow shadowing our group this month from France and Dr. Michaelson is stacking back to back surgeries for all of us like sardines in a can. “

  “You do sound tired. Are you getting enough sleep? Eating right?”

  The barrage of concern made Heather smile. She glanced over at the coffee pot and estimated the warm sludge she’d inhaled most likely did not constitute eating right. “I could use a nap.”

  “Lily’s been testing new recipes for chocolate cake.”

  Ooh, hitting below the belt. Her cousin Lily had managed to produce the most delectable confections since her first Easy Bake Oven. Though her cousin’s kolackys were hard to resist, chocolate cake was Heather’s weak spot and Grams knew it. She couldn’t blame her grandmother for going straight for the chocolate jugular. If she had a normal nine to five job, she’d be on her way to the lake right now, but life, her life, especially, was beyond busy. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Certainly not in days like this one. Escaping to the lake wasn’t an option. Not even for Lily’s latest chocolate cake creations.

  In the distance a husky, male voice boomed, “Fiona?”

  “I’m on the phone, dear."

  "With who?”

  "It's Heather, dear.”

  Before anyone could say another word, the General had picked up an extension and muttered her name through a momentary coughing fit.

  The unexpected sound took Heather by surprise. “Are you feeling okay, General?”

  “Never better," he rumbled. "We’ve missed you at dinner. It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sorry. You know how things go.”

  “I don’t.” The older man tried to muffle another cough. "But I might if we ever saw you.” Her grandfather’s brusque tone might have concerned her more if she wasn’t so fixated on why the man who never seemed to have caught even the common cold in his entire life was now trying not to hack up a lung.

  “Grams, do you mind if I talk to the General for a bit?”

  “Not at all. I love you, sweetie.” The extension disconnected and her grandfather coughed harder, and this time louder.

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” Anyone else and she wouldn’t have given a cough a second thought.

  “It’s nothing. Frog in my throat. I want to make sure you’ll be here for dinner on Sunday.”

  She knew better than to let her grandfather deflect the conversation. “Have you been to see Dr. Wilkins?”

  “That old coot? He doesn’t know what ends up.”

  "So you've seen him?"

  "I didn't say that.”

  “But you have. What did he say that you didn’t like?” She asked more firmly this time.

  “Are you coming to dinner or aren’t you?”

  "You forgot your pills, dear," her grandmother's voice sounded in the distance.

  Pills? She really didn’t like the sound of this. The man didn't even believe in vitamins. Holding her breath, she quickly considered her options. Grilling the former military man on the phone would get her nowhere fast. With a little—okay a lot—of careful tap dancing, she could rearrange things at the hospital well enough to get away a few days and see what was going on for herself. Even if it was just a cold, with a man as stubborn as General Harold Hart USMC RET, pneumonia could easily become a concern if he didn't take care of himself.

  "Well, young lady?" he groused.

  Only her grandfather could make one of the city’s most revered surgeons feel like a twelve year old caught stealing her first kiss on the family back porch. "I'll be home Saturday.” Sooner if she could make it happen.

  Warmth seeped into her grandfather's tone. "That's my girl.”

  Instantly, the cool deep voice of praise settled her nerves. Already feeling better about rearranging her schedule, and looking forward to a lot of chocolate cake, she smiled. Maybe soon she'd finally get a decent night's sleep.

  Chapter Two

  "So it's true?"

  Only a few days after her grandfather’s call, Heather turned off the highway onto Lawford's main drag and rolled her eyes at her sister on the other end of the line. "Not you too?"

  "Me too what?" Violet asked.

  "It's a three hour drive from the city, and so far I've heard from half the family tree. If the ride were any longer I'd probably hear from the other half as well. I'm spending a couple of days at the lake, not boarding a rocket to Mars.”

  "Almost the same thing," her sister teased. "I mean, you have to admit, it's been months since the last time you showed up for dinner and even then, Grams hadn't had time to serve dessert before you turned around and drove back to work.”

  "It was an emergency and time was—"

  "Of the essence. Yeah," Violet chuckled, "we know, and we all love you for it, but the last few years your life is always a matter of life and death. You can't blame us for being a bit surprised by the sudden shift in free time.”

  Thankfully, baby Kyle was so improved she felt more steady about leaving Boston. "It's not like you're up here every week."

  "No, but I do usually make it for the last Sunday dinner of the month. There's no such thing as a life and death yoga emergency that would pass muster with the General.”

  Heather laughed into the phone. The General—after all no one would dare call him Grandfather, never mind Gramps—had trained his grandchildren well. Family time was sacred. But that wasn't all her grandfather's doing. Her six cousins were as much sisters to her as Violet and Rose. Getting together with them wasn't a hardship, and maybe the cousins who actually lived year-round at the lake, would have some answers for her about her grandfather’s health. "I'd love to keep talking but I'm almost there.”

  "Okay, see you on Sunday.”

  "On Sunday.” Wasn't that a riot? The two of them lived in the same city and they had to drive to the lake to see each other.

  Turning up the road, seeing the white, sprawling main house with its Victorian porch and rows of hedges instantly warmed her heart. The croquet set always set up in the front lawn only added to the charm. She allowed herself to breathe in the still, country air and savored just how different it was from the bustling fumes of city life. She seriously needed to make the time to come home more often. And that was something else she, her sisters, and their cousins had in common. Raised in different cities, even though they'd only spent summers together full time at the lake, each of them considered the old place home.

  Scanning the massive front porch for any signs of her grandparents, the mere sight of the dark green rockers swaying with the afternoon breeze gave her heart a kick. She really did love this place. Grabbing her bag from the back seat, she hauled it up the wide steps. Not bothering to knock, she stepped inside just in time to catch sight of her grandfather standing in the middle of the living room balancing a massive box in his arms.

  Pivoting for a better view of the front door, he teetered to one side, did a semi pirouette and for a split second she thought he was going to lose the battle with his balance and fall over.

  Before she had time to run her mind down the list of possibilities for what combined with old age had coughing and dizziness as symptoms, she dropped her bag with a thud, bolted across the entry hall, and grabbed his arm, grappling for control of the heavy stash. Lady and Sarge, her grandfather’s two golden retrievers, stood growling like sentinels on either side of her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” her grandfather barked in his military officer voice.

  “I could ask you the same question.” She tugged once more at the box, carefully studying his face for any additional sign of distress.

  “I'm retired. Not decrepit.” He won the battle of the box and pulled away fr
om her.

  The two dogs shifted closer. Their tails wagging, she mindlessly patted one on the head, ignoring the rough tongue washing on her hand and studied the stubborn old man before her. Pleased to see him standing steady with clear speech and focused gaze, the physician in her still wanted to hammer a hundred questions at him. The two wagging tails swishing at her grandfather’s feet told her the wobbly moment wasn’t critical, but she still wished she could check his blood pressure and heart rate. "Of course you're not decrepit, but you have staff to help with heavy lifting.” She glanced around. "Where is George anyhow?"

  "His niece is getting married this weekend so he's taking a long early vacation.” The General set the box down on top of a stack of similar sized boxes.

  "What is all this?"

  "Your grandmother has decided tatting isn't for her. She's donating her supplies to the nursing home across the lake."

  Who knew tatting supplies could be so heavy. "Are there any more?"

  "This was the last of them.” A cough punctuated the end of his sentence.

  "How long have you had the cough?"

  "I don't have a cough. Just a frog in my throat.” Another cough escaped despite her grandfather's efforts to stifle it.

  “Yes, I can see that.” Heather blew out an exasperated breath. She could also see the man had lost some weight. Another symptom to add to her list.

  One white bushy brow shot up higher than the other, the General's piercing gaze a wordless censure of her sarcasm. Even at his age and a few pounds lighter, standing just over six feet tall, with a broad back and strong shoulders, no man, or granddaughter, would dare to challenge him. A long silent moment passed before the superior officer took a backseat to loving grandfather once again. "Your grandmother is on the back porch with Hyacinth. You go on and say hello and I'll take your bag up to your room.”

  "That's all right, I can—"

  Another glare flew in her direction and Heather realized as grown up as she was, pulling medical rank over this man was going to be harder than she thought. "Yes, sir.”

  Part of her wanted to tackle the older man and insist he sit through an exam. At least let her take his blood pressure and listen to his lungs. The other part of her knew tackling a grizzly might be more productive and moving on to plan B would make more sense, so she did the only thing a smart, competent, disciplined woman could do—make her way through the kitchen in search of backup.

  "I don't believe my eyes," Lucy, the housekeeper and cook who had been with the family since before Heather was born, exclaimed. "Ms. Fiona said you'd be coming, but I didn't believe it.”

  Before Heather could respond, she found herself in a bone crushing hug. Memories of being a scared little girl on a stormy night and Lucy holding her close, telling funny stories, played like an old movie in her mind. Just like the comforting gesture had done all those years ago, her tensions and worries dimmed.

  "You'd better go see your grandmother.”

  One more quick squeeze and Heather moved outside to find her cousin Hyacinth—Cindy to anyone younger than her parents—seated, elbows on the card table, hands up like a referee at a football game, and their Grams wrapping yarn around them.

  Heather would be eternally grateful to her Aunt Virginia for declaring her daughter, born only a few months after Heather, would be named Hyacinth. Through the years her sisters Violet and Rose had fielded enough jokes and teasing over having the same names as Mrs. Bucket of British comedy fame’s sisters. Had Heather been named Hyacinth, the jokes would have never ended.

  "Well, Callie said you'd be coming, but I don't think I believed her.” The bright grin covering Cindy's face gave away the love behind the tease.

  "Not you too?" Not sure how Callie—Calytrix by birth—knew of her visit, Heather gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she strolled past her cousin, turned and stuck her tongue out like she would have when she was ten years old, then leaned over to give her grandmother a kiss on the cheek and a fast hug.

  "It's nice to have you home.” Grams set the yarn on the table and pushed to her feet. With her sleek silver hair, porcelain doll complexion, and infectious smile, Fiona Hart was the only woman Heather knew who could get away with wearing a paisley caftan. "Does your grandfather know you're here?"

  Heather nodded. "Met him in the entry, moving boxes.”

  "Yes. Such a dear. I'll see about getting us a couple of glasses of lemonade. Pull up a chair.” Grams turned to face Cindy. "You stay put. I'll be right back.”

  Cindy nodded and Heather waited for her grandmother's back to disappear into the house before addressing her cousin. "How did Grams get you away from the animal clinic in the middle of the day and rope you into this?"

  "I've been asking myself the same thing. There's a feral cat living under the porch who has had what we think is her second litter. Lucy has been working on that feline for months and with the kittens ready to be weaned, Grams finally managed to coax mama kitty into a kennel. I'm going to take her and the kittens back to the clinic. I'll spay her and find good homes for them all.”

  "So, you're here to pick up the cats?" Heather asked.

  Still holding her hands upright in the touchdown position, Cindy nodded.

  "And the yarn thing is just—"

  "Grams being Grams," Cindy finished the sentence, the two women chuckling at the mutual understanding. "I am, however, getting a free midweek dinner out of the deal.”

  "There you go.” Heather leaned back in the chair.

  Arms still spread wide holding the yarn taut, Cindy leaned forward, glanced quickly over each shoulder and skewered Heather with a pointed glare. "I love you, cuz, but there’s no way you’d show up at the lake on short notice just to say hi. What the hell is wrong?”

  ***

  “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been hanging on to both aces this whole time?” the General barked at Jake from across the table.

  Any other man would have cowered under the General's brusque demeanor, but having grown up spending most of his summers, along with half the kids in town, playing and hanging out at Hart House Jake understood that was just his way.

  “You’ll want to eat this, dear.” Smiling, Mrs. Hart pushed his plate of chocolate cake closer to him. “I’ve often thought if we could just get world leaders to sit down over cake they wouldn’t be so grumpy.”

  Jake chuckled softly, picking up his fork before taking a huge bite of the cake. After all, last slice or not, he wasn’t one to look Lily's fudge cake in the mouth.

  “Are we going to talk cake or play Whist?” Lily, the baker in the family, raised her eyebrows from her grandparents to Jake.

  He had no idea how often Lily played with her grandparents and their friends, but the girl was a card shark if ever there was one. Which, possibly, was why she was looking at Jake like he’d just lost his mind.

  “Play cards.” The General tapped his finger on the table at Jake. “And pay attention.”

  Lily repressed a snort of laughter.

  From the table across the porch, Ralph, their friend and neighbor, leaned away from his own card game. “Now, Harold. This is Jake’s first time coming around to play in years, don’t go chasing him away. We could use some young blood around here.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lily set her cards down and crossed her arms at their retired neighbor. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  Ralph chuckled. “Now don’t get all girly on me. You know we love you. Why don’t you remind the boy how not to tick off his partner before the General pilfers my shillelagh to knock some sense into him?”

  It had been years since Jake had heard Ralph tell his stories of working on the commuter trains as a conductor and carrying a small shillelagh to casually thunk troublemakers with. To hear Ralph talk about the good old days, anyone would think the man single handedly saved the railroad from hoodlums and crazy people.

  “Go on, now,” Ralph urged, winking at Jake.

  Hiding a snort of laughter behind a forced cough, Lily
turned to him. “You always bleed trump first. Then play your aces, but never sit on your best cards.”

  “Exactly.” The General tapped his folded cards on the table top. “Turn your losers into winners.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jake resisted the urge to salute. When the General had popped by the hardware store a few days ago to pick up a pipe wrench and a snake to unstop a clogged drain in George’s absence, Jake hadn’t expected the older man to tack on an invitation to play cards. It had been ages since he’d graced the porch of the Hart House during a card game, and though he’d tried as gracefully as possible to take a rain check, somehow by the time the General had left the store, Jake was committed. “Bleed trump,” he repeated.

  “And don’t hold your aces. Remember,” the General spouted and Lily mouthed in tandem with him, “rules are rules for a reason.”

  “Yes, sir.” He smothered the urge to smile. Once a military man, always a military man. Even if Jake hadn’t grown up with a military grandfather of his own and served for Uncle Sam himself in the Marine Corps, he’d still know that uttering the cliché rules were meant to be broken would be enough to give any commanding officer apoplexy. The General was no exception. Gathering the cards, he passed them to his left.

  Like her cousin Rose, Lily sported flaming red hair that blossomed from the top of her head in a high ponytail. Her bright green eyes still laughed as the game moved on.

  The hum of water pressure kicked up a notch and he turned to Mrs. Hart. “You running the dishwasher or washing machine?”

  “Not likely,” she laughed. “No, that’ll be Heather upstairs. She and Cindy were at the clinic with the animals all afternoon. She’s been holed up in that guest room on some super serious phone call since dinner.”

  “Well,” Floyd tapped a card on the table, “that’s what happens when you have granddaughters with important careers.”

  Thelma Carson, owner of the antique store, and a member of the town’s unofficial Merry Widows Club, nodded. “That’s right. And isn’t that a blessing. Poor Meredith LeBlanc. Three adult children and not a single one showing any signs of moving out and growing up.”