Page 34 of Under Pressure

The women nodded and Blue’s stomach went into a free fall much steeper than when she’d gone off the cliff that morning.

“That was quite the reaction.” Polly thumbed over her shoulder toward the store.

Blue cracked a smile; this time genuine. “Well, he deserved that.” No one would convince her otherwise.

Winnie patted her on the back and grinned down at her, a sparkle in her eye. “I can’t imagine Sean ever doing anything to upset someone, but there’s always a first time for everything.”

Polly chuckled. “Appears so.”

Their smiles were so warm and friendly, so genuine, like . . . Amelia. Amelia! Oh, and Don. How she’d missed them.

She sat up tall. “You wouldn’t by chance know Sean’s grandparents, would you? Amelia and Don Clayton?” Blue would love to see them. She brushed her hands over her hair. Oh, man. It’d been so long. So long. Being able to see them again would be the silver lining in all this, see Amelia’s smile and get one of Don’s bear hugs, would make this all worth it.

The women glanced at one another again, and a sinking feeling hit Blue hard in the gut. “What? What is it?”

Winnie tightened her grip on Blue’s shoulder. “Amelia passed away a couple of weeks ago, dear.”

This time, when the ground went out from under her feet, she saw no bottom—only a gray blur. She gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth, and the ring, Jonah’s ring, fell to the floor.

5

Chapter 5

Don

At 0946 hours, Don stood on a stool in his closet, staring at a stack of Sketchers shoeboxes that Amelia had filled and labeled long before Alzheimer’s took her ability to remember things. He had a duster in one hand and a microfiber cleaning glove on the other, and his Dust and Clean spray in his tool belt—all products he’d purchased from Nancy’s Niceties. It was good stuff, smelled good too. Like lemons.

The boxes taunted him. Had since Amelia . . .

His phone beeped, but he ignored it. No doubt it was Wayne again with some spiel way too long for a text about how holding his feelings inside wasn’t healthy. Ridiculous.

Don focused on the boxes. He’d already pulled out four of the twelve—the ones she’d labeled “recipes”—but hadn’t gotten around to the other eight yet. There was one with seeds in it from flowers she’d found along the way and thought were beautiful, three more with handwritten letters she’d gotten over the years, one labeled arts and crafts, and two labeled photos—these were ones she hadn’t put in albums, but couldn’t bring herself to throw out—and one labeled Don.

There’d been a time when he’d begged Amelia to let him help her sort them out, file them properly, but she’d been firm. She liked her shoebox system and wasn’t about to let him mess with it. He loved that she’d always stood up to him.

He gritted his teeth, set down the duster and glove, and grabbed four more boxes. He headed to the kitchen, stepping over and around a mop, bucket, and slippery when wet sign in the hall, and set them on the table next to his can of Nancy’s Dust Destroyer, Nancy’s All-Purpose Cleaner with a Clean Citrus Scent, and Nancy’s Bleach Alternative that was tough on mold and mildew, then went back for the remaining four boxes.

Don had already taken photos of and uploaded all Amelia’s recipes to his computer. Samantha was going to come by later and help him organize them online so he could send everyone digital copies. He didn’t want any of her recipes to be lost to the family—she’d been an amazing cook. Amelia’d memorized them over the years, and never pulled her boxes down, but when she’d started losing her memory, Don had used them a time or two to cook for them. And bake . . .

He set the remaining boxes on the table, moved the bucket full of spare rags, his Magic Rub Out sponges, and toilet and toothbrushes—for scrubbing between tiles and hard-to-reach spots—off one of the chairs, and took a seat. He pushed the one with his name on it to the side and started on the arts and crafts box. Inside were clippings from The Palms’ newsletter.

Knitting, paper wreaths, handmade earrings, dress patterns, mobiles, garden chimes, and more. Nothing worth keeping. He tossed it in the large, black garbage bag that hung over the back of one of the chairs, and grabbed the next box. Seeds.

The doorbell rang.

“Come in,” Don bellowed.

The door cracked open, and Polly peeked in. “Don?”

He hadn’t seen the team much in the last couple weeks. Sean had gotten busy on a job with his underwater salvage company, and Don hadn’t been able to pin down the right girl for him anyway. So, they were on a hiatus for a time.

Polly pushed the door the rest of the way open, she had a shopping bag hanging on her arm.

Winnie came charging around her. “We have something important—” She came up short as she glanced around.

Don jumped to his feet. “Careful now, I just waxed the floor. You don’t want to slip.”

Nancy followed, Rosa close behind, and they both stopped as if hitting an invisible wall.

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