Page 54 of Anchored

“Nope. I’m all yours for the day.”

She smiles up at me and I can’t think of a single time Macy looked at me that way. Not that I should compare the two. There’s really no comparison. It’s just that I’ve assumed all women were like Macy after the razzle-dazzle of dating is over, when the truth might be something else entirely.

“Just what I wanted to hear,” she says coyly. “Let’s go find where that music’s coming from. I guarantee Grandma Gracie isn’t far.”

I thread my fingers through hers and we head for the main pool deck, Mookie leaving her mark along the way. If I ever get lost, I sure hope I have Mookie with me to sniff out her own form of breadcrumbs. Maple tells me how much Gracie loves music. Growing up, she’d play Maple records all summer, introducing her to every decade of sound, giving her an appreciation for it all.

“Karaoke?” Maple wrinkles her nose as we follow the bend in the path and see the pool up ahead. A reedy and shaky voice blares from the speakers while the tune of some ’70s song helps out in the background. The song mercifully ends and a smattering of applause leads into the next singer.

“Yeah, these blue hairs love their karaoke,” I mumble, recalling the time it got out of hand one night and one of our male residents broke a hip when he danced on a table during his number. Everything was going fine until he stripped his shirt off and started whipping it in a circle. The momentum caught up to him and the whole thing fell over with him at the bottom of the rubble. After that, I made a strict rule that karaoke couldn’t mix with alcohol. And we got rid of the tables. And I had staff keep a much closer eye on the residents during karaoke days.

“There’s Grandma.” Maple points to a cluster of women in lounge chairs, with Gracie in the middle.

They had an array of brightly colored sun hats, sunglasses, and drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. Gracie already had pink spots on the tops of her shoulders and Nancy had white zinc smeared down her nose. Pat’s head was down, nose in a book, ignoring the singers. We headed their way while I wondered if those fancy drinks had alcohol in them. I was only gone a day and a half. Certainly Debbie hadn’t bent the rules already, had she?

“You’re back!” Gracie cried as Maple bent down to hug her grandma. “And just in time. It’s karaoke day!”

Nancy shimmied her shoulders in her lounger. “Hey, you should sing, Maple!”

Maple looks at me with fear in her eyes. I remember the singing I heard in the car yesterday. And what her useless ex told her. I put my hand on her back and whisper encouragement in her ear. “Go sing if you want to.”

She bites her bottom lip, but before I can reach up and rescue it, a new voice comes over the speakers. Nurse Megan. Our heads swivel to see her on top of the riser at the far end of the pool, microphone in hand. She shoots a wink to the crowd, but I can’t help feeling it was purposely aimed to my side of the pool deck. The music starts and she begins singing surprisingly well. Her red hair flips this way and that in the breeze as she tosses it back and forth seductively. She’s singing some Harry Styles song about adoring someone.

“Is it just me, or is Nurse Megan confessing her love to me?” Nancy squawks so loudly, I wince.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s you she’s lookin’ at, hootchie mama. She’s looking at Holt!” Gracie responds. Just as loudly.

I feel all heads in the area turning to stare at me. Inwardly, I groan. This crush of Megan’s has gotten out of hand. I’ll have to have a word with Debbie and see what can be done about it.

“Are you flipping kidding me?” Maple whispers through clenched teeth that might somewhat resemble a smile. If I didn’t have my glasses on.

I put my arm around her waist. “It’s okay. I’ll have a word with her later about being professional. She knows we’re together.”

One of the kitchen staff whizzes by with a tray of the umbrella drinks. Maple snatches two off the tray. I think she’s going to hand one to me, but she double-fists them both, slugging back the first in one long gulp and then sipping on the second one. The whole while her gaze is drilling smoking holes into Megan across the pool.

“Maple, sweetheart. Are you okay?” If this were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of her ears.

“Maple, I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but I think you better get up there,” Gracie drawls. “She thinks she’s some kind of siren.”

I open my mouth to try to get Maple out of there, but she suddenly shoves both glasses in my gut, and I have to take my arm off of her to rescue them before she lets them spill to the ground. Maple rolls her shoulders back, takes a deep inhale, and then lets it out, a serene smile returning to her face.

“What just happened?” I ask, leaning in to study her. How did she go from fuming mad to yoga zen in half a second?

“Sometimes you have to do things you thought you’d never do. Not to prove it to anyone else, but to prove it to yourself,” she says cryptically. With a flip of her hair, she marches off, heading for the riser where Megan is finishing up her song.

I groan, watching her go and knowing what she’s about to do. I just hope it gives her what she needs—a healing from a dipshit who’s left an imprint on her. My heart also knows a thing or two about that.

Gracie and Nancy cheer, seeing Maple grab the microphone from Megan with a smile I know is forced. Nancy nudges Pat away from her book and Pat joins in on the cheering. The music starts and it takes me a couple notes to realize Maple has jumped into the deep end. She chose an upbeat Whitney Houston song about wanting to dance with someone.

The first lyrical “yeah” in the microphone, followed by a whoop, has Gracie, Pat, and Nancy on their feet. I drop my chin to my chest and pray for the best. Then I lift my head and watch my girl slay karaoke.

And I do mean slay. She kills every note deader than a doornail. Each falls flat or sharp. Her timing’s off and her voice wobbles. Megan lets out a loud snicker from the side of the pool, mean-girl energy pulsing louder than the music. Others wince, not to be mean, but because it really is dreadful.

But Maple’s too sweet to be laughed at. Too brilliant to be stifled. Too caring to be left alone on that riser. Before I know what I’m doing, my feet are carrying me to her. Just as she hits the chorus, I put a hand on her back, lean in, and sing with her. My arm slides around her back and her hips fuse to mine. I’m giving her someone to dance with. Someone who loves her. I can fight it all I want, but I know what this is in my chest. This overwhelming feeling to rescue her from anything that could hurt one hair on her head.

By the next chorus, we’re dirty dancing and singing our lungs out right there in front of my employees and residents. Maple’s face is lit up like the full moon in a blanket of darkness. I’d humiliate myself daily if it gave her this much joy.

And the even funnier thing is, when she takes a breath to sing the last verse, we realize the entire pool deck is up on their feet, shuffling, waving canes in the air, and shimmying geriatric hips. Sunny Shores karaoke has turned into a party.

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