Where He Belongs

His legs unsteady, he stood. Norm had always seemed invincible to Wade, a big, burly man with thick arms and calloused hands. A quiet man who taught him to track and shoot deer. How to rebuild the truck he rolled when he took that curve too fast, and what to do when the girls started calling.

A calm, patient man who’d lost his temper only once in all those years, when Wade had smarted off to Rose. Wade had never done it again.

And now that strong man lay dying.

“Sir?”

A deep ache gutting his chest, he moved to the foot of the bed. His eyes burned as the nurse slipped the oxygen mask over Norm’s face and adjusted the pillows.

And suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed space. Air. He strode from the room and straight through the crowded kitchen.

“Wade. Hey, Wade!”

He shoved open the door and stalked outside. Damned cancer! He jerked his helmet off his bike and dragged it over his head. How could it spread that fast? And why hadn’t Max called him sooner? He yanked on his leather gloves.

“Wade, wait up.”

He straddled the Harley, then scowled at Max, who’d followed him outside. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d had a relapse?” he demanded. “I’ve got money, for God’s sake. I could have taken him to Baltimore to a specialist instead of using that quack out here.”

“He’s been seeing a specialist. At Johns Hopkins. He’s been going there for over a year.”

His stomach plunged. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to. We all did, but Norm convinced us to wait.”

“I see.” And suddenly he did. Clearly. The whole town had known Norm was dying and no one had bothered to tell him.

“We thought, well, with everything else you’ve been through…” Max spread his hands. “We didn’t want you to worry.”

“Right.” He snapped down the visor on his helmet, cranked the key in the Harley’s ignition and revved the engine. Like hell they didn’t want him to worry. They didn’t tell him because he wasn’t family. Because he didn’t belong here. Never had, never would.

Because in Millstown, nothing changed. He rammed the bike into gear and shot off.

The cold wind gusted across the Potomac River, thrashing the woods at Mills Ferry and rattling the stone mansion’s windows. Erin McCuen leaned against the bubbled glass and shivered. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to turn up the heat before her grandmother got sick.

Desperation surged but she ruthlessly quelled it. She couldn’t panic, no matter how deep in debt she was sinking. Somehow she’d pay those bills.

“Did you go to the bank?” her grandmother asked from the chair beside her.

“Yes, Grandma.” She sighed. “Everything’s fine.”

“…stealing my money. They think I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry. The bank account’s just how you left it.” Empty, and likely to stay that way. She glanced at the red bird perched on the feeder outside the window. “Look, a cardinal. I think those sunflower seeds did the trick.”

She helped her grandmother hold the binoculars in her trembling hands so she could get a closer look. Thank goodness cardinals didn’t migrate. Her grandmother had lost so much in the car wreck—some speech and motor skills, short-term memory, the ability to make her beloved quilts. Watching birds from her sunroom was the only pleasure she had left.

And Erin was going to make sure her grandmother could watch those birds from the security of her home until she died—no matter how dire their finances.

Pushing back the familiar swell of anxiety, she set the binoculars aside. Then she picked up the faded quilt from a nearby chair and wrapped it around Grandma’s shoulders. Ever since that accident, the bills had mounted. Medicare covered the bulk, thank goodness, but without a supplement, she had to pay the rest. And while she struggled through the insurance nightmare, submitting claims and juggling payments, her historic home rotted away. She couldn’t begin to fund the repairs that money pit demanded.

So she’d started tutoring after teaching high school all day. She’d slashed expenses, sold furniture and even mortgaged Mills Ferry, the family’s estate for ten generations. In desperation, she’d borrowed money from their neighbor, Norm Decker. Still, the bills piled up.

Her stomach roiled. She was frugal by nature and any debt made her nervous. Hovering on the edge of bankruptcy like this drove her wild. But what could she do? Even small changes confused her grandmother and agitated her for days. Losing her home would destroy her.

So she struggled to hold on to the house. But unless a miracle happened soon…

She heard the front door close and she patted her grandmother’s shoulder. “Lottie’s here, Grandma. You keep watching the cardinal. I’ll be back as soon as I set out dinner.”

She crossed the front parlor they used as their family room and entered the spacious foyer. She’d closed off most of the house after the accident to cut utility bills—the attic and cellar, every spare bedroom, the dining room and entire third floor. She’d moved her grandmother into the first floor library for easier access, and herself into the smallest bedroom upstairs.

She’d also tried to rent out the master bedroom. Unfortunately, Millstown didn’t attract tourists and no one had answered her ad.

“It’s getting cold out there.” Lottie removed her long, woolen coat and looped it over the coat tree in the entry. “If this keeps up, we’ll get snow for Thanksgiving.”

“I sure hope not.” With their ongoing drought, they needed the moisture, but snow meant higher heating bills, which she couldn’t afford.

Lottie removed her beret and fluffed out her short, gray curls. “I put your mail on the hutch.”

“Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it.” She glanced at the basket heaped with bills and rubbed the insistent throb in her forehead.

“Another headache?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. A retired nurse, Lottie had moved into their renovated spring house when her husband died. In exchange for room and board, she cared for Grandma while Erin worked. And she was a godsend. Erin couldn’t have managed without her.

She headed into the kitchen. “The casserole’s ready. I hope you don’t mind tuna again.”

“Tuna’s fine, but I thought you were going out with Mike tonight.”

“No time. I’ve got essays to correct.”

“You keep turning that man down and he’s going to lose interest,” Lottie scolded from behind her. “He’s a good man, too, something you can’t take for granted these days.”

Erin grabbed the hot pads from the counter and opened the oven door. Lottie was right. Mike was a good man, the type who’d cheerfully settle down and support a family. And she enjoyed talking to him at work. A lot. But she didn’t have time to date these days. “He’s got his own grades to do. He understands.”

“Maybe, but you still need to relax. You’re always working and volunteering.”

“Being busy isn’t a crime.”

“No, but people take advantage of you, hon. The town won’t fall apart if you say no for once.”

She removed the casserole from the oven, set it on the counter and took out the side dish of beans. So she did more than her share. She didn’t mind. She loved helping her community.

Lottie sighed and opened the silverware drawer. “Well, don’t blame me when you drop from exhaustion. By the way, I stopped at Norm’s on the way home.”

“How is he?”

“Not good.”