Buch lesen: «The Time of Her Life»

CHAPTER ONE

THE OLD PROVERB “change is the only constant” seemed to echo inside the empty house as Susanna Adams stood in the doorway of her home for the last time. And she kept standing there, somehow not ready to leave even though she’d done nothing for weeks but prepare. Apparently all the activity of packing and storing twenty years of memories in a portable storage container had been nothing but a diversion.

Once she left, she’d need to lock the door then drop off the key with the real estate agent. She wouldn’t be able to get inside her home ever again. What if this move was a huge mistake? Suddenly, taking that one last step symbolized everything she was leaving behind.

Glancing into the quiet darkness, Susanna took a steadying breath and tried to capture the moment in memory. She knew every square inch of this house by heart. The wall separating this foyer from the living area, a wall she’d often bumped into with her arms full of groceries. How many bruises had she sported through the years because some brainy architect thought the wall should extend beyond a clear passage to the living room?

Susanna had no clue. She only knew that without the kids’ photos marking their stepping stones through school years or Skip’s stuffed fish showcased front and center, the wall looked foreign. Only a wall surrounded by unfamiliar shadows.

Without her family, this house was just a house, the way it had been when a real estate agent had unlocked the door for the first time twenty years ago. Before she and Skip had filled every room with expectations and dreams.

They had been such big dreamers.

The thought grabbed Susanna around the throat, made her swallow hard. They’d bought this house while still in college, ignoring every bit of advice from their parents and friends.

“You’re too young to get married.”

“Finish college and start careers before settling down.”

“Live a little before saddling yourselves with a mortgage.”

She and Skip had filled this house with dreams of a life together where anything could happen. And did.

They’d started careers while having their family, had paced floors in the wee hours through colic while still managing to make it to work on time the next morning.

They’d been T-ball coach and Brownie leader. They’d taken turns as chaperone for school field trips. They’d been homeroom mom who baked designer cupcakes en masse and homeroom dad who tended every classroom pet from mammal to reptile.

“What’s the rush? You’ve got a lifetime to settle down.”

No, they hadn’t. They’d had only a limited number of years together, certainly not the lifetime everyone had promised. Thank God they’d ignored the advice and hadn’t wasted a second. As Skip was losing his battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, he’d said his only regret was not getting more time with her and the beautiful family they’d made.

That was still her only regret.

So, Susanna had forged on while he missed the teenage years, the championship games, the homecomings, the proms, the graduations. Survival helped her through grief, helped her focus on what was important—keeping life familiar for the kids. She’d been playing the roles of both mom and dad, keeping life moving in the direction she and Skip had intended for their family.

Now both kids were away at college. Bedtime stories and good-night kisses were a thing from the distant past as Brooke was three states away in Virginia and Brandon five states away in South Carolina. If she could ever take this last step and get on the road, she’d only be one state away from each.

Then selling the house wasn’t a mistake, was it?

What else could Susanna do? She had an opportunity for job advancement that would get her family back on solid financial ground for the first time since Skip had died. True, there was risk, but she didn’t like the alternative any better—continuing to knock around this empty house, losing her mind from loneliness.

The kids didn’t know. She was the parent, the only one they had left. She’d reared them to be independent adults. They needed to go off and experience life, not tie themselves to home, worried about leaving their mother alone.

But was she being selfish by selling the only home they’d ever known? Once she locked this door, none of them could come back to the one place they would always have memories of Skip.

She hadn’t realized how much those memories, and the tangible evidence of his presence in their lives, had kept him alive. But as she stared into the foyer, she realized how close he’d been in spirit, as if he’d only gone on a business trip and would be awaiting them at the airport to bring him home.

Now all visible reminders were packed away, their family scattered. Brooke and Brandon lived separate lives on separate campuses in separate states. Susanna was the only one left at home with the memories. Now she’d be forced to move on, too.

Was she ready?

Being a single parent was one thing. She’d had purpose to keep the family together, to help her kids deal with their father’s death. Being a single woman with a life of her own was another thing entirely.

That was something she’d never really done. After leaving home, she’d tackled college dorm life with her best friend beside her. Then, as a young bride, she’d moved from the dorms to this house with Skip....

Susanna honestly didn’t know what came next, what she could handle. She only knew that loneliness had grown all too familiar of late and something had to change.

Another deep breath.

She had to take this next step in life as an individual or else she’d remain here, feeling left behind, pining for everything she’d once had.

Life was change. Susanna knew that, and the kids could travel on school breaks far more easily to her new home in Charlotte, North Carolina, than they could return to New York where she was now. That was the reality of the situation. She’d figure out how to move on, even if she couldn’t see beyond placing one foot in front of the other.

Memories would travel with them wherever they went.

One last glance into that shadowy interior... Susanna pulled the door shut quietly, slipped the key into the lock and turned the bolt for the last time.

* * *

JAY CANADY MOVED PAST doors in the administrative corridor, pausing only to glance into the financial office.

“Got a call from the gatehouse,” he said. “The new administrator is on her way.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply but kept going until just shy of the front lobby, a spot where he could view the comings and goings around the reception desk, while remaining mostly hidden from view.

Mostly was the operative word. Jay wasn’t fooling anyone around here. And certainly not the daytime receptionist. Amber routinely accused him of lurking behind potted palms to catch her tweeting on her iPhone during her shift.

He wasn’t doing anything of the sort, but as owner and property administrator of The Arbors, A-list memory-care facility and family business, he was fond of hiding. Moments when he wasn’t in popular demand were few and far between.

But hiding never worked for long. Especially with Amber. She didn’t need X-ray vision to find him on any one of the sixty acres that made up the property. She wielded that iPhone like a lightsaber, texting him whenever he wasn’t within earshot and getting miffed if he didn’t reply immediately.

Jay should institute a new policy: no cell phones on shift. Radios only. But what was the point? In the very near future, none of his policies would mean squat.

The thought made him smile. As soon as the new property administrator walked through the door, everyone around here could start reprogramming their internal GPSs to take problems to someone else for solutions.

“Got your fingers crossed?” a voice crackly with age asked.

“You betcha.” Jay raised a hand to display the good-luck gesture. He didn’t bother turning around to see the man who’d shuffled up behind. Careful steps had announced Walter’s approach long before he’d reached his destination.

Like Jay himself, Walter Higgins was a fixture around The Arbors. The longtime chief financial officer was another employee who could track down Jay no matter where he was. But Walter had the distinction of being an employee who also had a role in Jay’s personal life.

Not that the entire staff couldn’t him call 24/7. They could and did. Often. But Walter’s calls weren’t always work related. Not only had he been managing The Arbors’ finances since before Jay had been born, but Walter had become an honorary grandfather since Jay’s real granddad had passed away.

That connection had been cemented when Jay’s late grandmother, after grieving the loss of her forty-year marriage, had gotten involved with Walter. Jay had never asked—never would, either—but he suspected Walter had loved Gran all along and stayed single until he got his chance to woo her into an honest relationship.

Jay would certainly miss Walter. But selling The Arbors didn’t mean giving up the people in his life. He had some work to do proving that to Walter, though.

The electronic hiss of sliding doors dragged Jay’s attention to the main lobby. His breath tightened in his chest as a dark-haired woman in a business suit strolled through with brisk steps.

“I thought you said they were sending a middle-aged widow with grown kids,” Walter grumbled.

“Widow with college kids.” The distinction obviously made a difference. “Northstar provided a bio. If memory serves—and it still does, which is always a good thing—the new administrator is around forty. Not middle-aged.”

Not for Jay, who was pulling up the rear at thirty-two, or for Walter, who was pushing eighty-six. “I’m not even sure that’s her. There wasn’t a photo.”

“She could be my granddaughter, Jay. My great-granddaughter.”

“How’s that? You never had any kids.”

Walter grunted, narrowing his gaze at the reception desk. The woman currently greeting Amber wasn’t Jay’s idea of what a widow with college kids would look like, either. The suit emphasized her curves. She wasn’t tall, but not short, either. Just really curvy.

Withdrawing a business card from her jacket, she handed it to Amber, who leaped from the chair on immediate hyperalert. Reaching across the desk, she extended a hand in welcome.

Walter scowled harder.

Judging by Amber’s actions, this woman was the new administrator, whether she was what Jay expected or not. The woman flashed an easy smile that animated a heart-shaped face framed by a tumble of dark hair.

She was a very beautiful woman, which really shouldn’t be the first thing Jay noticed. Not if he planned to retire from the memory-care business with some peace of mind.

Competent. Experienced. Professional. Compassionate. Those were the things he should be looking for.

He’d noticed one of four.

Dressing professionally was a start, he supposed. And what did competence, experience or compassion look like, anyway? Jay shook off the thought. Worry was getting the best of him, but he wouldn’t admit that to Walter, who sought any reason to launch into The-Arbors-is-your-responsibility lecture again.

Jay had heard the arguments and the lectures. More than once, thank you.

“Okay. She’s professional,” he said. “Attractive. Stylish. A bit younger than I expected—”

“A bit?”

“Haven’t had access to her personnel file,” Jay reminded. “Technically she works for Northstar Management.”

“Which is why I can’t figure out why I’m adding her to our payroll. She doesn’t come cheap, Jay. You’ll be eating a fair sum if this deal falls through.”

The deal wouldn’t fall through. “We’ve got to assume some risk. It’s only fair. Northstar would acquire this property tomorrow if it wasn’t for me insisting on a transition period.”

As much as Jay wanted out of here—and he did in a big way—he couldn’t leave without witnessing Northstar’s procedural changes and being reassured they would uphold The Arbors’ standard of care. This new administrator had six months to actualize Northstar’s promise to provide growth potential while maintaining the excellence of service established by Jay, and generations of his family before him.

That was the best he could do. He was leaving, although Walter still hadn’t given up hope he might yet dissuade Jay. But the decision was made. He’d worked hard to put together a plan to insure the future for The Arbors, the staff and residents.

Walter could grouse all he wanted—the only thing left to do was get through the transition. Jay almost felt bad for the new administrator. Walter wouldn’t be a pushover. He’d compare her to Gran, whose shoes were awfully big to fill, as he was so fond of saying. So big that not even Jay had filled them.

But Walter only wanted what was best for The Arbors. That much Jay knew. The rest of the staff, too. They were all competent and experienced professionals. Well versed in what it meant to be an employee at The Arbors.

The Compassion to Care.

That catchphrase had been around since the very beginning, when Gran had started the place to care for her mother during an era when not much had been known about Alzheimer’s disease.

Gran had wanted to provide some quality of life, so she’d transformed a wing of the house on Granddad’s farm into an ALF, an assisted-living facility. This was long before Jay’s time, but he knew she’d added one bed at a time so her mother would have pleasant companions to fill her days.

Gran had learned all she could about Alzheimer’s care and kept up with the research. Her tiny ALF had grown from one bed in the main house to one hundred and twenty beds in a new three-story facility with a nursing center on the ground floor. The Arbors had become an A-list memory-care community with a long waiting list for admission.

Would this around-forty widow with college kids have the compassion and ability to carry on Gran’s legacy? Northstar Management had promised to send the perfect person to replace him so he could get on with living his life. Finally.

He’d given so much to this place that, if he didn’t get out soon, there would be nothing left of him. This place was sucking him dry.

“And you really won’t close the deal if you’re unhappy with—what’s her name again?” Walter asked.

“Ms. Adams. Ms. Susanna Adams.”

“If you’re unhappy with Ms. Susanna Adams?” Everything about Walter, from the creased white eyebrows to the hard stare in his eyes, which still read between the lines, broadcast his doubt.

“Really, Walter? You’re questioning my integrity?”

He shook his head. “Just your ability to see clearly.”

The same could be said about Walter and his stubborn refusal to even consider a future with Northstar. He’d seized any chance to talk some sense into Jay, had been rallying the troops to his side at every opportunity.

Fortunately, the troops knew who signed the paychecks and didn’t have Walter’s personal family ties to risk the potential consequences of a mutiny. Jay had shocked them all with his decision to sell. Now he was a wild card, and no one was sure how hard they could push him. Jay knew that as well as he knew everyone in The Arbors. If he hadn’t hired an employee personally, his mom, dad, gran or granddad had.

“I’ve covered all the bases, Walter. You know how many hours I spent with the attorneys creating the contracts. I know you didn’t forget because they billed you. And Alzheimer’s isn’t contagious. Not even with as many years as you’ve been here.”

Walter folded his arms over his chest, rocked back on his saddle shoes with his mouth compressed into a tight line. He’d promised Gran to look after the place until his dying breath, and he meant to do exactly that. Did all this stubborn resistance stem from worry that the new owners might force him to retire because of his age?

Jay hadn’t considered that before. “The very last thing I want is for the residents to sacrifice standard of care or my employees their jobs.”

“Former employees.”

“Not yet they’re not. And not until I’m sure everything is moving in the right direction.” The twenty-first century, to be exact. “I’ll never expand The Arbors as a private company the way Northstar can with Fortune 500 financial backing. They’re top-notch in senior care. The absolute best in the nation. We need to stay on the cutting edge with research so we can continue to provide the care Gran wanted.”

“You’re on the cutting edge. Your grandmother single-handedly got the Alzheimer’s Association to fund the research at University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She’d have talked them into conducting it right here in Charlotte if UNC had been outfitted to handle the clinical trials.”

“Seven years ago.” Before everything had changed. Before his mom had wound up a resident in the facility she’d once help run. Before Gran had died. Before his dad had died. Before Mom had died. Before everything had become Jay’s responsibility.

“Don’t see why you can’t do the same, Jay.”

Jay was not going to defend himself, not standing in the hallway whispering. Walter was dead wrong on this, whether or not he admitted it. Gran had had Granddad to help, and income from the farm to foot the bills while she devoted herself to her Alzheimer’s crusade. She’d had Mom to help before she’d had to care for Mom, and Dad to help after Mom couldn’t. After Dad had died, Gran had Jay.

Jay didn’t have anyone. Well, there was Drew, of course. Major Drew Canady, Jay’s older brother who’d been smart enough to run off and join the Marines. He’d seen the handwriting on the wall and had made sure he wouldn’t be around to get stuck running the family business.

Now Drew had a life when Jay couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done anything but spend every waking moment dealing with the never-ending demands of this place. Dementia care frightened off most women fast, and he didn’t have time for his friends anymore.

So when in hell was Jay supposed to make time to lobby the state legislature or Alzheimer’s Association or pharmaceutical corporations or private medical research facilities and run The Arbors with its endless assessments, intakes, evaluations and treatment plans?

There were two hundred and fifty employees. There were one hundred and twenty residents, and most came with families who needed to be reassured, educated, informed and answered to about quality of care. There were volunteers and private companions and churches and all the outside resources that ministered to the residents to provide quality of life.

And quality of death. How many nights had Jay hoofed it here in the dark to meet funeral directors and deal with grieving families after a resident died?

Walter knew better than anyone what running this place entailed, and he’d heard all these arguments before. He might not want to retire until he was wheeled out of his office on a gurney, but he wouldn’t live forever.

Neither would Jay, and he had no intention of spending the rest of his life without actually living. And life wouldn’t start until he left The Arbors.

* * *

SUSANNA SMILED AT THE young woman behind the reception desk, who didn’t appear much older than Brooke.

“Good morning,” the girl said, the lilt to her voice all Southern charm and novelty to a born-and-bred Yankee.

“Good morning.” Susanna handed a business card to the young woman whose engraved badge identified her as Amber.

Susanna had already reviewed personnel files, so this young woman must be...

Amber Snelling, first-shift receptionist.

Currently working on her BSc in Operations Management.

Daughter of the Activity Director.

Amber glanced at the business card, eyes widening. “Ms. Adams!” She was on her feet instantly, extending a hand. “Welcome to The Arbors. We knew you were coming in today, but Mr. C. didn’t tell us when.”

Mr. C. would be Jay Canady, administrator and owner. The man hadn’t told his staff when she would arrive, which meant he couldn’t be too worried about them being on their best behavior. That said something about Mr. C.’s confidence in his employees.

“I came from Raleigh and wasn’t exactly sure how long the drive would take.”

“Raleigh. Wow.” Amber said. “I hope Mr. C. brought you through Asheboro so you didn’t deal with the traffic on 85.”

Mr. C. hadn’t brought her through Asheboro because Susanna had let her GPS lead the way. “I’m happy to report the traffic wasn’t bad at all.”

Of course, traffic was relative, and Susanna only had New York to compare.

“What time did you leave?” Amber asked.

“Around five.”

She glanced at her computer display. “Hmm. Not too bad. Mr. C. told everyone you’re from New York—as if I couldn’t tell from your accent. Have you been to Charlotte before?”

Susanna shook her head.

“Well, make sure you ask about shortcuts while you’re learning your way around. Of course, if you’re anything like Mr. C., you probably won’t get off the property all that much. But be aware that some shortcuts are better than others. Someone around here is bound to know which is which.”

“Thanks, Amber. I’ll remember that.”

Amber glanced in the direction of the administrative offices then surprised Susanna by continuing the conversation. “When you do manage to get out of here, visit Concord Mills. It’s a huge shopping mall by the Charlotte Speedway, so when you go make sure you plan to spend the whole day.”

“Then I’ll have to bring my daughter when she comes to visit. Shopping is one of her favorite things to do.” When Mom was swiping the plastic, anyway.

“Your daughter doesn’t live with you?”

“Only in between semesters. She’s in her third year at William and Mary.”

“I’m in my third year, too. At UNC. But I’m probably older than your daughter. I work here full-time, so I never take more than three classes. My degree is taking forever.”

Susanna wasn’t sure how to reply and went the philosophical route. “I’m sure when all is said and done you’ll look back and think school took exactly as long as it should have.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Did The Arbors encourage staff to be so friendly, and chatty, or was Susanna sampling real Southern hospitality? She didn’t want to cut off the conversation rudely, but she needed to let the owner know she was here, so she didn’t appear late.

When she opened her mouth to prompt Amber, a man suddenly appeared with an older gentleman in step behind him.

“Mr. C., Mr. Higgins. Guess who’s here?” Amber announced.

“I see.” The younger of the two gentlemen inclined his head to acknowledge the receptionist. Then his gaze fixed on Susanna as he strode toward her, all broad shoulders and quick energy. His smile was wide and fast. “Jay Canady, Ms. Adams. Welcome to The Arbors. Walter Higgins, our CFO.”

For a moment, Susanna stared. That voice. Deep-throated, like honey melted in whiskey, not a drawl, but soft, stretching vowels that made every syllable distinctive. It took another moment to realize he was waiting for a reply. She’d stopped breathing. Literally.

What on earth was wrong with her?

“A pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” she managed. Then she was shaking hands and making more chitchat while distracting herself with memory associations so she wouldn’t forget names.

Walter Higgins, dapper elderly chap with a bow tie. CFO, my old job.

Jay Canady, aka Mr. C. The man who wants to sell off this gorgeous facility.

Not that she would need a memory prompt to remember him.

Susanna had reviewed the man’s biographical data. Although she knew he was thirty-two years old and the third generation to run this facility, Jay Canady wasn’t what she’d expected.

He was all chiseled lines and ruthless masculinity. Neatly trimmed blond hair contrasted sun-scorched skin that suggested he spent time outdoors, a fact reinforced by his toned physique. And his eyes were the greenest green she’d ever seen.

Susanna wasn’t sure what she expected a man who ran a memory-care facility to look like, but she hadn’t expected hints of David Beckham and Eomer from The Lord of the Rings.

“Northstar promised to send us the perfect property director, and here you are,” Jay said.

“Perfect for The Arbors, anyway,” she said quickly. “I can’t imagine any place lovelier. The drive from the gate was breathtaking.”

“You should see the arbors in spring bloom,” Walter said.

“She will,” Jay said. “But not until spring. Now let’s get you settled before the parade begins. Everyone wants to meet you. I’ll take you to your new office so you can settle in before I give you the dime tour.”

The dime tour? How charming. With a polite hand on her elbow, Jay whisked her from the lobby and down a corridor of administrative offices.

“Welcome to The Arbors, Ms. Adams,” Walter said about halfway down the hall. “Say the word when you’re ready to tour the financial offices. We run a tight ship. You’ll be pleased.”

“I’m sure I will, Walter. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same.” If Walter had been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. He was such a dashing gentleman.

“I understand Walter’s been an employee since the beginning,” she said after he vanished into an office, leaving her alone with Jay.

“Before, actually. My grandmother hired him before she ever broke ground on this place.”

“That continuity of staff says a lot about your facility. It’s not common nowadays.”

“Has plusses. Minuses, too. Our out-of-house tax attorney was around since the start, too, but he didn’t trust computers, so he wrote everything by hand.”

“That must have presented some challenges,” she said diplomatically.

Jay pulled a face. “He finally retired. We hired a new firm that conducts twenty-first-century business. But I suspect Northstar will reassign those out-of-house duties.”

She liked that he put business practices immediately on the table. “Once we start going through everything, I’ll be able to tell you for certain. One of our partners is Rockport Investment Banking. I think you’ll approve their caliber of service.”

Jay didn’t reply before they reached the office at the end of the hall labeled with a simple gold plate: Administrator.