The Road To Echo Point

The door latch was cool beneath her hand, the door opened easily, silently. She sucked in a breath, rattled by what she saw—Ian, a pair of Arizona State University maroon-and-gold sweatpants slung low on his hips and nothing else. Shirtless, he was more Greek god than hulking monster.

Ian fumbled in his pocket and took out a key. He barely got it clear of the lock when a figure came through the doorway and bounced off his chest.

He didn’t grab the figure. Instead, he stood there, arms hanging at his side, talking. Just talking.

Daisy jabbered in rapid-fire succession. Not a word made sense.

Ian inclined his head as he spoke to Daisy, his voice low, reassuring. “It’s okay, Mom, I’m here. It’s me. Ian. Everything’s okay.”

The jabbering slowed to English. “I was trapped. Somebody kidnapped me and locked me in there to die.”

“No, Mom. I locked the door so you wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t get lost.” Daisy straightened, the top of her head barely reaching Ian’s chest.

“Sometimes you don’t remember so good.”

“I remember perfectly.” She smoothed her wild hair. Stabbing a finger in Vi’s direction, she shrieked, “She did it. She broke into our house and locked me in my room. She stole my paintings!”

“Shhh. You remember Vi, our guest.” He laid a hand on his mother’s withered arm. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the bathroom.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured.

The two walked down the hall, hand in hand, one robust, the other tiny and confused.

Vi shook her head and shuffled back to bed, where she flip-flopped for more than an hour. What about this Alzheimer’s stuff? What was it she had read? Progressive, no cure. Eventually fatal. Not a pretty picture. The old lady would die. But what happened in the meantime?

Sighing, Vi contemplated the mess she’d made. Her futile attempt to outrun the past had sent ripples through three lives, four if she counted the dog. The thought of Annabelle with her bandaged hind leg and Daisy with her irrational tantrums made Vi want to crawl under the covers and hide. She’d messed up big time and turned life upside down for everyone involved.

Was she any better than her dad? Letting her emotions get the upper hand until she lost control and did something stupid? Something that hurt another living being?

Vi shook her head. She wouldn’t accept that. There was a world of difference between her and her dad. She intended to make things right for Daisy and Ian. But she wasn’t a trained nurse, or even a social worker. What if she screwed up? The woman could have gone through that glass panel today. If the fall hadn’t gotten her, the glass would have sliced her to shreds. This was too much for them to expect of her.

The decision wasn’t easy, but it was best for everyone involved. She would leave in the morning. Call her attorney. Have him explain everything to the judge. Sell her car, if necessary, to pay for a qualified nurse….

IAN POURED HIMSELF another cup of coffee. Thank God for the senior center. Tuesdays and Thursdays were what kept him going. The first few hours were exhilarating. Freedom beckoned, with endless possibilities. What should he do first? Read? Jog? Work at the computer? Sleep maybe? At nine in the morning, the world looked rosy.

But the crash always came. Along about noon, he’d come down off his high. The responsibility would drop on his shoulders like a rack of free-weights. By two o’clock his gut started churning, tying itself in knots. Fear? Disappointment? Dread for sure. Maybe even a little guilt. He could do better. Be more patient.

Vi staggered around the corner, interrupting his thoughts. Her pink terry cloth robe was belted haphazardly, her black hair wild. She scratched her head, leaving a big cow lick behind.

He shook his head. This couldn’t possibly be the same woman. He let his gaze rove from her face, down her neck, to where the nubbly fabric dipped between her breasts. The ratty old robe was an improvement over the power suits and country club casual stuff. Breasts?

Ian shoved his mind into reverse.

Breasts. The boardroom barracuda had breasts. Imagine that.

He shook his head, bemused.

“Morning, Vi,” he drawled, his gaze seeking out more visual clues, from her shaggy pink slippers upward. Breasts meant hips and a waist. But the bulk of her robe kept everything else hidden.

He stifled a sigh of disappointment. The deprivation was getting to him. Abstinence had never been one of his strong points.

“Morning,” she mumbled, shuffling past.

He winced as she slammed a cupboard door. So did she.

“Where the hell do you keep the coffee cups?”

“My, aren’t we cheery this morning. Upper left.”

She turned, briefly, to fix him with a bloodshot glare.

“Too much partying last night?” He hid a smile in his coffee cup. That’d get a reaction.

Vi grunted, noncommital.

Was she even conscious?

She poured herself a hefty cup of coffee and gulped down a good third of it. The woman might have nerves of steel, but her esophagus had to be cast iron. She closed her eyes and sighed with bliss.

“Cream, sugar?”

“Uh-uh.”

He raised an eyebrow. Impressive.

“Sorry about all the noise last night.”

She waved a hand and grunted as she shuffled past him, back the way she had come.

It was at least half an hour before she returned for her second cup. This time there was a little life in her step. And the light of battle in her eyes.

She poured another healthy cup and slurped away.

He waited. He was good at that. A fight was coming, he was sure of it. Couldn’t really blame her—who would voluntarily stay here? It was different for him. This was his promise to keep, not hers.

He’d hoped things would be different. Hoped her arrival would come on a good day. When she’d fall under Daisy’s charm before she realized what she was getting into. And maybe, just maybe, she’d stick with them until Annabelle could get around under her own steam.

Ian shook his head, amazed at his own gullibility. He could dream, couldn’t he?

At best, she’d last a couple weeks. He needed to make sure they got at least that. But how? He couldn’t hold her by force. Maybe appeal to her humanity?

One look at her straight spine and hard gaze and he gave up on empathy. The woman didn’t have much. Nope, he’d have to appeal to her sense of self-preservation.

“Where’s the dog?” a gravelly voice asked. He did a double take and, sure enough, the words seemed to have come from her. Maybe her esophagus wasn’t indestructible after all.

“I carried her out back. There’s a fenced yard, lots of shade. It’s the place where she knows she’s off duty. Fresh air and sunshine’ll do her good.”