Groom in Training

The warmth faded, and Steph felt horribly alone.

Chapter Two

Nick sat beside his mother’s bed, studying the butter colored walls with the large clock and a card with the day and date. Everything in the facility was geared for helping the elderly men and women hang on to what mental capacity they still had.

His gaze slipped to a vase of dying flowers on his mother’s bed table. The signature on the card was Martin’s. Nick winced, then lowered his eyes and spotted the menu sheet below it. He grasped the paper, reading the choices she would have for her next meals—meals she couldn’t eat without help. He looked everywhere but at his mother. The sight broke his heart. If he had Martin’s disposition, he could deal with this horrendous situation. Whenever Nick came to visit her, a lump grew in his throat so huge he thought he would choke on it.

A guttural sound caught his attention, and he shifted toward his mother. Her glazed eyes stared at him.

“Do you want something?” Nick knew he’d never understand what she needed.

He listened to her sounds, forcing an attentive look on his face rather than the frustration he felt. She tried so hard to form words.

His pulse skipped. “Water? Do you want water?”

The expression in her eyes validated his question. He grasped the water carafe, poured a fresh glass and bent the straw. She drew in droplets of water, some running down her chin, and when she finished, he took a tissue and wiped it away while searching for conversation.

“Martin’s new house is nice.”

An attentive look swept over her. “I helped him put away some dishes in the kitchen.” Should he or shouldn’t he? He decided to go with his instinct. “I found some of your crystal. A serving bowl and some dessert plates. A sugar bowl and creamer. They took me back to when we were kids. You always used those fancy dishes for holidays, remember?” The nostalgia twisted through him. No wonder he avoided these visits.

Her foot shifted, the only one that she could move, and she nodded.

Nick caught her flicker of gratitude. “We had a good childhood, Mom.” His mind flew back to his fights with Martin over toys and chicken breasts. Nick hated thighs, and he often confused one for a breast since they often looked alike to him. “Remember, Mom, when you gave up cooking whole chickens and only bought white meat?”

A grotesque sound burst from her throat until he realized she was trying to talk while laughing.

He’d made her laugh.

His stomach tightened. He had to visit more. As much as Martin irked him, his brother had been a faithful visitor, and he’d tried to motivate Nick to do the same. His glance shifted toward the vase of fading flowers. He could at least bring along a bouquet on his next visit.

Steph liked flowers. New blooms poked up from the ground in her garden. He’d noticed them though he had no idea what kind of flowers they were. Women seemed to like pretty things—flowers, sunsets, romantic movies and candlelight dinners. He’d tried to make Cara happy, but he’d failed. Time had been her complaint. He didn’t give her enough time. Maybe flowers and romantic movies weren’t that important. Maybe it was time? A faint shrug moved his shoulder. He had no idea what women wanted.

He wanted people to be real and truthful. Like dogs. Steph had said it the other day. Dogs wagged their tails, and he had no doubt they were content and happy. Humans weren’t that easy to read.

Nick looked at his mother again. How would Steph handle the situation with his mother? Would it even be an issue for her? His mother’s eyes flickered, and he realized he’d been silent too long.

He rested his hand on hers. “Martin’s neighbor is very nice.”

Her eyes brightened.

“She has a border collie, so Martin’s worried about Suzette and the collie getting together.”

Meaningless sounds came from his mother, and her bright eyes faded to frustration.

Nick patted her hand. “I know, Mom.” He detested his feeling of helplessness.

“Her dog’s named Fred. The two dogs rubbed noses and became fast friends.” A grin sprouted on his face. He and Steph had bonded, too, minus the nose rubbing.

His mother’s mouth twisted into a grimace though he suspected it was a smile. Then her head shifted a little, her gaze probing his. He guessed her question. “Yes, I like her.

We’ve only talked a couple of times, and if I—” If I what? If ever he needed to talk to his mom, today would be it.

Her brow knitted, and Nick relaxed. “You want to know how I really feel about her.”

Her face relaxed, giving him the answer. “I like her…a lot. I don’t know why. We’ve only met, but she gives me confidence.” That was it. Confidence. Though his mother lay so near, he allowed his stream of consciousness to be spoken aloud. “When Cara broke our engagement, I felt like a failure. I hadn’t understood what I’d done. I suppose I knew a little from her spiteful comments. I didn’t give her enough time.”

His mother’s eyes searched his.

“Now my time and energy is tied up with the business, so getting involved in a relationship is useless.” Or was it? “I need to understand myself before I involve anyone else in my life.” Would he ever understand himself? Doubt flooded his mind.

When he looked up, moisture had collected in the corner of his mother’s eye. Maybe he’d upset her with his rambling. Nick pulled another tissue from the box on her tray, wiping away the tears. This is what he couldn’t handle. He patted her arm and eyed his watch. “I’d better go and let you rest.”

He sensed a guilty expression spreading over his face. He couldn’t hide it. “If…when I come again, can I bring you anything?” He racked his mind for something to entertain her. She had always loved to read, but she needed two hands to hold a book. “Would you like a novel on tape? I could bring you something like that?”

She gave a little shrug, and he wasn’t sure if it was a yes or no, but what he did know is he had to come back again and soon. He rose and bent to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for listening. I love you, Mom.”

Sounds slipped from her lips, and he knew she’d said she loved him, too.

Nick hurried from the building, eager to breathe fresh air and wash away the scent of medicine and antiseptic. His chest weighed with emotions he didn’t want to feel. Life wasn’t fair. His mother had been a good woman, a faithful wife and a thoughtful mother. Why did God give her a devastating stroke?

He slid into his car, letting the thoughts settle into reason. God didn’t promise a life without pain or sorrow. A Scripture slipped into his mind, something about how in our weaknesses we become more powerful, because we turn to the Lord for strength. His mother’s power was her faith. One day she would be whole again in heaven.

His throat knotted. Nick grasped his own faith and sent up a prayer for the Lord to touch his weakness with greater strength. He needed to be a faithful son just as his mother had been faithful to her family—her boys—and to the Lord.

Nick flipped open his cell phone and hit his brother’s stored number. He’d nearly hung up before Martin finally answered.

“I’m leaving the nursing home now. Mom’s good. I talked about a few things—when we were kids. She even laughed. At least, I think that’s what it was.”

“I know it’s difficult, but you did the right thing. I’m glad you went.” Martin’s voice sounded different—less critical and more accepting.

“I am, too.” Martin’s reaction punctuated Nick’s decision to be a better son.

He said goodbye and flipped the lid on his cell phone. Why couldn’t he and Martin talk like that about everything? He needed to pray for Martin and for their relationship. One of these days, his brother would be the only family he had left.

A lump formed in his throat, and he tossed the cell on the passenger seat. Emotions. He hated them.

Fred’s bark zapped Steph to action. She dashed to the patio door, hoping she’d find Nick at the fence, but when her foot hit the flagstone, her stomach spiraled. Martin. Though he appeared to be an older version of Nick, his expression showed no relationship. Nick had warned her.

She drew up her shoulders and marched to the fence. “What’s the problem?”

“Keep your mongrel away from my dog.”

Steph winced and drew back from his index finger aiming at her nose. “The dog has every right to be in his own yard.”

“You think so?” His accusing finger swung toward the fence.

She eyed the pile of dirt where Fred had begun to dig. Her nerves tingled, and she feared she couldn’t get out the words. “I guarantee it won’t happen ag—”