Monkey Wrench. Nancy Martin

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      “I’m perfectly sensible,” Rose snapped, putting an end to the discussion by getting up and preparing a delicious supper of homemade soup and whole wheat rolls that she popped out of the freezer and into her warming oven. The rolls were perfect with Susannah’s peach chutney, and Rose chattered at length about the soup recipe, one she felt Susannah could use in her TV program. Susannah was aware that her grandmother was trying to divert their attention from the problem at hand, but she allowed Rose to talk aimlessly about unimportant matters during the meal. Afterward, in the parlor, they enjoyed tea laced with brandy in front of a roaring fire. Talking local gossip, Susannah watched her grandmother’s every move and syllable for signs of illness, but Rose seemed healthy and happy.

      Rose always went to bed before ten o’clock. Since Susannah could hear her grandmother cheerily humming Christmas carols in her room, she tiptoed downstairs to telephone Roger.

      She got through to his answering machine.

      “Roger,” she said to the recording, “I’ve run into a problem with my grandmother. I may have to postpone my flight. I’ll call you in the morning when I know what’s going on. I—I’m sorry about this.” She wished she could say more, but it was difficult speaking to a machine. She ended by saying softly, “I’ll be in touch. Good night.”

      She hung up, wishing she could have talked with Roger personally. Although he wasn’t much of a listener where personal problems were concerned, he was a logical, unemotional thinker, which might be helpful. He could at least act as a sounding board for Susannah’s worries about Rose. She needed someone to share her feelings—someone who could help her decide how to help her grandmother without compromising Rose’s self-esteem and independence.

      “How do I help Granny Rose without making her feel like she’s incapable of taking care of herself?”

      A good answer didn’t occur to Susannah, so she went upstairs quietly and changed into her flannel nightgown. She left her bedroom door ajar in case her grandmother should cry out in the middle of the night, and climbed into bed. It was the same canopied princess bed where she’d slept during her childhood. The same gauzy white curtains festooned the frilly white bed that resembled—in Susannah’s mind—the grand sleigh of a beautiful ice princess who drove a pair of milk-white ponies over the snowy land she lived in.

      But the pleasant memories evoked by her bed didn’t make Susannah feel any better. She lay awake for a long time, wondering what she could do. So many of her friends had taken care of elderly parents, but Susannah had never imagined the day when Rose might be incapacitated in any way. Such a vital, fun-loving woman as Granny Rose didn’t deserve a slow, undignified slide into dependency.

      Yet there was no stopping old age, Susannah knew. Eventually, Rose would need a great deal of care and the responsibility would be Susannah’s alone. Somehow, she had to find a way to help Rose without hurting her pride.

      In a few hours, Susannah knew, she could be winging her way to a beautiful beach bathed by sea breezes. But only a completely selfish woman would abandon Rose when she was most in need. Susannah intended to telephone Roger in the morning to cancel their plans. She hoped he’d understand.

      Perhaps she’d invite him to spend Christmas in Tyler. She had often contemplated a more serious relationship with her boss. Perhaps now was the time. Roger might enjoy the endless entertaining, the hours of puttering in the kitchen while neighbors popped in and out to sample Christmas cookies and lend a hand. Roger might actually have fun decorating the tree with the hundreds of antique ornaments Rose and Susannah had collected over the years. Gilded fruit, yards of shining ribbon, garlands of pine—Susannah loved draping the house in finery.

      Perhaps Roger would, too.

      But lying in bed, Susannah knew that Roger wouldn’t care for a Tyler Christmas in the least. He’d hate the pointless chatter, the foolishness of decorations that would have to be stripped down in January. He’d have a terrible time making small talk with the old ladies who’d come for eggnog. He’d find the church service boring and the family traditions charming but foolish.

      Not that Roger didn’t have other good qualities, Susannah told herself hastily. He was a nice man, of course. He had a wonderful head for business and knew broadcasting inside out. He had been a big part of the team that made “Oh, Susannah!” a success.

      But he couldn’t sit in a kitchen drinking cocoa and gossiping about the Ingalls family the way Joe Santori had—not without yawning, checking his watch and dashing off to make important phone calls every half hour or so. Roger was very single-minded. His work was his life.

      Susannah felt the same way. Her work was important—the reason she got up every day. She loved the pace and the stimulation. Although trips to Tyler were relaxing and precious to her, Susannah thrived on her career.

      But oddly enough, she found herself dreaming about Joe Santori when she woke the next morning. She sat up abruptly and threw off the quilt, which had suddenly turned very hot. Just conjuring up Joe’s face caused a warm sensation to curl through Susannah’s body.

      “Why in the world is he floating around in my head?” she groused, reaching for the bedside clock to check the time. “Heavens, it’s after eight! I wonder how soon he’ll get here?”

      Susannah’s question was answered not by a voice, but by a tremendous thunk that sounded from the porch below.

      “What in the world?”

      She climbed out of bed and grabbed the white satin robe she had left draped over the rocking chair by the door. Pushing her rumpled hair away from her face, she went out into the hallway in her nightie.

      “Granny Rose? Did you hear that noise?”

      Rose had just emerged from her own bedroom, already dressed for action in a pair of baggy trousers and a sky-blue sweater embroidered with snowflakes. She was pulling a knitted cap down over her hair and looked ready to go out of the house. She also looked cheery and pink-cheeked—the picture of health. “Oh, that was probably the paperboy, Lars Travis. Sometimes he throws the paper from the street to build up his arm. Good morning, dear. Lars wants to be a football player, you see.”

      “Surely he’d get better practice on the football field.” Susannah sleepily put her arms through the sleeves of her lace-trimmed robe as she followed her grandmother down the hallway.

      Rose charged along the carpet as though powered by a full-throttle steam engine. “Oh, Lars practices whenever he gets the chance!” She laughed. “Good thing, too. He’s just terrible, you see. But he’s very charming. He’s the town gossip, to tell the truth. Almost as good as Tisha Olsen at the Hair Affair.”

      Susannah grinned. “He sounds like someone worth knowing. Granny Rose, where are you going, may I ask?”

      “Oh, I have a date at Marge’s Diner. I promised a friend I’d lend her my coffeepot.”

      “Hold it!” Susannah cried. “What about going to see Dr. Phelps?”

      Rose waved her hand breezily. “The office won’t open until nine, I’m sure. I have plenty of time to get down to Marge’s and back.”

      “See here, Granny Rose! Give me a minute to dress and I’ll drive you down. After last night, you shouldn’t be wandering around the streets of Tyler—”

      “Why not?” Rose demanded, spinning on Susannah and startling СКАЧАТЬ