Groom In Training. Gail Gaymer Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ Martin asked me to walk Suzette again, and I thought I could do both.” He shook his head. “When I saw you, I forgot.”

      She suspected his friend hadn’t been thrilled. “You can’t do that to friends.”

      He released a ragged sigh. “I know. I’ve been told that before.”

      She’d wondered about him. Nick spent too much time doing his brother favors, and it seemed to affect his own life. Why did he do that? The question clogged her mind, but she kept it there and didn’t ask.

      “You’re quiet.” He plopped his hand on her shoulder.

      “Busy thinking.” He should do the same. “I have to do some housework today that I normally do Saturday.”

      “What’s happening Saturday?” His voice faded, and he patted her shoulder. “Sorry. That’s a personal question I shouldn’t have asked.”

      “It’s not personal.” His expression confused her—curious, yet wary. “Saturday I’m spending the afternoon having a dress fitting for a wedding.”

      His eyes widened, and his hand slipped from her shoulder.

      “Not my wedding, naturally. A friend’s. She’s getting married June 6. I’m a bridesmaid.”

      He looked embarrassed and grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

      Not really. She hated going dateless to a wedding. “I hope so.”

      His hand rose to her shoulder again and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, come on. You’ll look beautiful in that gown, and you’ll have a good time.”

      She gave a shrug and managed to grin. If she knew Nick better, he would make a good escort. Going alone was the pits. But she would survive without him. She’d been doing it for years.

      They were silent, and Nick’s hand slipped from her shoulder. And why hadn’t he suggested taking her to the wedding?

      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. СКАЧАТЬ