Page 16 of Anything for You
PS. I am not actually an esquire but once I tossed in the middle initial it just felt weird, so let’s pretend you didn’t see that, or chalk it up to my recent mood-reading stint with historical romances.
By the time I’d read the letter a third time, Bear had curled up on his bed in the living room and I’d been smiling consistently enough to make my cheeks a little sore.
Dove’s writing read just like she spoke—stream of consciousness and with a funny lilt to her words that felt both bolder than I ever expected and completely endearing. She was smart and funny and self-deprecating in the most charming way I’d ever experienced.
I didn’t often instantly like people I hardly knew, but I liked her. I enjoyed being around her, and that was a supremely odd thing to think considering our longest interaction had been when she was grieving and I sat silently by.
And yet.
Her presence next door felt like the difference between coming back to a darkened home and coming back to a porch with the light left on. Even if no one was there, it felt good knowing someone had thought of it.
It was one of many reasons Dr. Corrigan was supportive of the move to become a landlord. No more being an island on my own. I could still seek solace in the farm and in my house, but I wasn’t isolated. There was value in that.
And it was a small step toward… more.
Dove and I didn’t interact, and yet here we were… doing just that.
I’d had an extra pie after Kenny, Cookie, and Beast came over for tea the other day, and I’d thought she could use a little something. She hadn’t given me much to go on in terms of understanding why she was so upset, but everyone could use pie, right? A little something sweet didn’t make anything materially better, but it didn’t usually make anything worse.
And now, she’d brought me donuts. She would’ve had to drive to town, get them, and then bring them back.Andshe’d thought of Bear.
The letter was easily the best part. And though it’d been years since I’d handwritten much of anything except notes on recipes, later while taking Bear out and adjusting a sprinkler in the apple orchard and checking the eastern field for something Connor had mentioned, I thought about what I might say.
Then I worked on something to give her since she’d mentioned she’d be at work. I wasn’t certain what time she got home, but usually by six, her little sedan rolled up to the side of the cabin. I could make something for dinner and dessert, but that might be overstepping.
Would she want a meal? Not tonight, but sometime?
Maybe I could ask her.
Probably way too much, though.
Once the hand pies were in the oven, I sat down to pen a response.
CHAPTER TEN
Dove
Nan grinned from behind her wine glass, crow’s feet winging from the corners of her eyes like fireworks shooting into her hairline.
“You seem to be doing well, little Dove.”
Her hand was steady as she set the glass down. Her eyes were clear, skin seemed fairly well hydrated, and even her strength had improved in the months since she’d moved in.
“I am. I like my new place, and I’ve been able to take a few days off lately, which has helped.”
She didn’t need to know I’d quit one of the jobs now that the house was sold and I could use some of the money from the sale to help pay for her housing. I didn’t want to dip too far in, but my friends had sat me down a few weeks ago and begged me to ease up on myself. They’d seen the signs of burnout.
I’d made the move last week after my crying jag on theporch steps to quit one of my part-time jobs that typically had me working nights or weekends, or both. Now I primarily worked in the clinic and occasionally took shifts at the hospital ER. I’d done a stint in palliative care and home health last year, mostly to develop my skills in those areas with an eye toward helping Nan if we never got a spot at Silverton Springs or ended up needing to turn it down due to finances.
Thankfully, here we sat with her looking healthy and eyes bright, assessing me with her sharp gaze.
“Good. You were working yourself too hard. And I’m sorry I let you.” Her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed in that way that told me she was unhappy.
“It’s not about permission, Nan. I’m thirty years old. I loved living with you, and I miss you a ton, but I’m so happy you’re happy here.” My eyes got a little glassy as I reached for her hand, which she readily took. “You are happy here, right?”
She covered my hand with both of hers. They were warm and so soft. The skin at her wrists was paper-thin and showcased the amazing collection of veins and blood vessels that kept her system going. With knobby knuckles on each finger, thumbs bent from age and arthritis, and nails painted bright magenta, these precious hands held mine, and I couldn’t keep the tears at bay.
We’d had enough check-ins like this, I didn’t doubt. But hearing the words again, having the reassurance that all the stress had been worth it, and everything was really as good as we’d anticipated… it eased some of the merciless ache that caught me off-guard a few times each day. The reminder I didn’t have the one person who’d been my safe place when no one else was, and that someday, I wouldn’t even be able to visit her, stung.
