A Family at Last. Jacqueline Diamond

      She appeared less than thrilled at the prospect of his company, but apparently, convenience won out. “Thanks. You probably planned to stop by and let your grandmother know you’d arrived anyway, right?”

      “Exactly.” He’d intended to wait until evening, when Mae Anne was less likely to be busy, but a party sounded like fun.

      It felt incredibly natural to walk out beside Karen, the top of her head barely reaching his chest as she held the door for him and the boxes. Chris shortened his stride to match hers as they strolled past the Green.

      Tiny flowers showed here and there in the grass. “Planting a garden this year?” he asked.

      “I always do.” Karen glanced toward him and immediately away.

      “Tell me what you’re going to plant.”

      She frowned. “Why?”

      “Because I’d like to hear about it,” Chris admitted. “Working in your family’s garden is one of my favorite memories.”

      Startled, she stopped at the intersection of Tulip Tree Avenue and Home Boulevard. “I thought Barry had to nag you into helping.”

      “I let him think so.” Chris decided not to mention how much he’d looked forward to working beside her. “What’ll it be? Tomatoes and zucchini and…?”

      “That depends.” When the light turned green, they crossed toward City Hall. “I let the residents choose what to plant. I also invite anyone who’s interested to come help in the garden, although a hired man handles the heavy work. Marquis Lyons, my director of food services, does marvelous things with the produce.”

      Chris was impressed. “What a great idea. I’m surprised Mae Anne never mentioned it.”

      “She’s got other things on her mind,” Karen said. “Serving on the town council is practically a full-time job.”

      Chris supposed so. On his visits with her, he’d heard quite a bit about the controversy regarding the construction of a shopping center, which, after months of hearings, had won approval the past December.

      There’d also been some discussion of opening a satellite medical office to serve the new businesses and homes, she’d told him; when he’d inquired about the possibility of building a local hospital, she’d regretfully informed him there was none yet. The doctors would have to continue admitting their patients and delivering babies in Mill Valley, a dozen miles away.

      On the far side of Home Boulevard, he and Karen reached the one-story white brick nursing home. After entering through a rear door, they followed a short hallway to the kitchen.

      Staff members whisked away the cake, freeing them to repair to the recreation room. He admired the way silver and blue garlands and shimmering tablecloths carried out the wintry theme.

      At one side, a group of seniors were holding a snowball competition, tossing foam balls into buckets. In the center, residents at a crafts table applied glitter to white mittens, while several women appeared to be crocheting small squares.

      “We make comforters and mittens for any residents who need them. Old people tend to chill easily,” Karen explained. “If there are extras, we give them to the poor.” Catching a signal from one of the aides, she excused herself to go help.

      A little apart from the bustle, Chris spotted his grandmother sitting in her wheelchair. While others played, he saw, she was reading what appeared to be some kind of report. Probably council business, he thought.

      He sneaked up to plant a kiss on her cheek. Chuckling, she responded with a hug. “I saw you come in,” Mae Anne said. “Getting along better with Karen?”

      “We’ve sort of struck a truce,” he admitted. “Besides, I figured if I helped carry the ice-cream cakes, I might get to eat some.”

      “I’m delighted you’re here. I mean here to live, not just to visit.” After she questioned him about his apartment, they made plans to attend church together the following day. At last, regretfully, his grandmother rattled the report. “Afraid I’ve got work to do. Go make yourself useful.”

      “Glad to,” Chris said.

      Karen had vanished. He hoped the staff was going to set up for dessert, because he couldn’t wait to sample it.

      In the meantime, Chris used his cell-phone camera to take pictures of the residents. From each, he requested the e-mail address of a friend or relative. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy seeing what you’re up to,” he told them.

      Most supplied their own e-mail address, as well, which they could access from the half-dozen computers along one wall. “I’d like a copy of all the photos to put in a collage,” one woman requested.

      “I’ll burn them onto a CD for you. And I’ll e-mail the other photos as soon as I get my computer set up at my apartment,” he promised.

      In Nashville, Chris had learned from the teen moms that many had never sent out pictures of their children. After he’d assisted them in doing so, the gratifying result had been to help to bridge gaps. Several had reunited with their estranged families, and one girl, abandoned by the baby’s father, had received unexpected support from his parents.

      As he tucked the cell phone into his pocket, Chris realized another woman in a wheelchair was watching him. When he started to take out the camera again, she waved it away politely.

      With a start, he identified the thin, graying lady as Renée Lowell—Barry and Karen’s mother. He remembered her as a vital, active woman, but obviously the traffic accident had taken a cruel toll. Still, it hadn’t dimmed her alert expression.

      As he was debating whether to approach her, a staffer began serving the cake. He decided to leave Mrs. Lowell to enjoy hers in peace. At least she hadn’t reacted angrily to his presence, which he took as a good sign.

      As for what was going to happen when, inevitably, he ran across Barry, he tried not to worry about it. He had so many fond memories of their younger years that he held out hope of becoming friends again.

      Now, he reflected ruefully, he’d be lucky if they didn’t come to blows.

      HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR her mother’s accident, Karen might still be focused on a career handling the dry details of business administration. Even after returning to school to earn a master’s degree in public health and landing the job running the nursing home, she’d believed she was best suited to dealing with budgets and personnel matters.

      Gradually, however, she’d discovered the satisfaction of getting close to older folks. Becoming directly involved in their care had enriched her life.

      She wished everyone could recognize the beautiful souls beneath the wrinkled faces. Too often, however, visitors marched through the halls as if wearing blinders. Even worse were the people who abandoned their parents or grandparents altogether.

      From time to time, Karen called a neglectful loved one to suggest a holiday visit. Often, she received a response such as, “I can’t bear to see her this way,” or “It’s too depressing.” Or sometimes false reassurances, such as, “Sure, just as soon as I find the time.”

      This puzzled her, since the intermediate-care facility took only patients in comparatively good condition. Although many had physical handicaps, they were capable of dressing and feeding themselves with minimal help.

      She’d expected Chris to be accepting, of course, given his closeness to Mae Anne and his experience as a physician. But Karen hadn’t expected the sight of him cheerily snapping pictures, talking to the residents and leaving them wreathed in smiles.

      He was charming all the ladies in the room and most of the men. Even Chita Hernandez, the solemn nurse who anchored the weekend and evening shifts, ruffled his hair as he scooted past her with plates of cake. Karen hadn’t seen Chita so taken with anyone since…well, ever.

      Avoiding him would be hard,