On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard

shrugged, feeling lighthearted and pumped about the evening to come. “I’ll take the rest of the calendar under consideration, I swear.”

      The trip up the mountain was quick. When they arrived, Abby stepped out of the car and stared at his grandparents’ house in admiration. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here. I’ve never been inside, though.”

      “Some of the exterior upkeep has been let go. Brody and I put a lot of sweat equity into cutting back bushes and fixing gutters...things like that. For a long time after Grandda died, Granny couldn’t bring herself to stay here with him gone. But now that she’s back, she’s happy again. This house was something they built together, just like the business.”

      After unlocking the front door, he stood aside for Abby to enter. He tossed his keys into a carved wooden bowl on a table in the foyer and motioned for Abby to follow him. Raising his voice, he called out. “Granny. We’re here.”

      He’d half expected his grandmother to be hovering by the front door, ready to greet her guest. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”

      “I love all the artwork,” Abby said. “Everything is warm and welcoming, but so very unique.”

      “Aye,” Duncan replied, half-distracted. “They collected paintings and sculptures from all over the world. Granny. Where are you?” He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and his heart stopped. A small figure lay crumpled in the center of the floor.

      “Granny!” He fell to his knees, his heart pounding. “God, Granny. Call 9-1-1,” he yelled, though Abby was at his elbow, her eyes wide, her expression aghast.

      While Abby fumbled with her cell phone and punched in the numbers, Duncan took his grandmother’s hands and chafed them. “Talk to me, Granny. Open your eyes.” Abby finished her brief conversation. “Get me a wet cloth,” he said. “The drawer by the sink.”

      Moments later, she crouched at his side and handed him a damp square of cotton. Duncan placed it on his grandmother’s forehead. Her lips were blue. His heart slugged in his chest. CPR. He needed to do CPR. He’d had the training. Instinct kicked in. He began the sequence of compressions and breaths. Counting. Pushing. Praying.

      Abby took one of Isobel’s frails wrists and held it.

      Duncan shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Anything?”

      “No.” Tears welled in Abby’s eyes but didn’t fall.

      “Damn it.” He repeated the CPR sequence again. And again. Until his chest ached and his arms ached and his heart was broken. “I just talked to her half an hour ago.” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.

      Abby put her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his. “I think she’s dead, Duncan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

       Five

      Abby hadn’t realized she could hurt so badly for a man she had known for such a short time. The two hours that followed were nothing less than a nightmare. A parade passed through the house... EMTs and ambulance drivers and Isobel’s personal physician and eventually a representative from the local funeral home. At long last, the elderly woman’s tiny, cold body was zipped into a dreadful black bag and loaded into the back of a hearse.

      If she’d had a choice, Abby wouldn’t have chosen to witness that last part, but Duncan wouldn’t leave his grandmother and Abby wouldn’t leave Duncan. Somewhere along the way, he had withdrawn inside himself. He spoke when necessary. He thanked everyone who helped. He made decisions. He signed papers. But the man who had picked her up at her home earlier that evening was gone.

      At last, they were alone. The sprawling house echoed with silence and tragedy.

      “You should eat something,” Abby said quietly. “Let me fix you a plate.”

      He didn’t respond. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.

      They had been standing at the front of the house watching as the vehicle bearing his grandmother’s body drove away. Quietly, Abby closed and locked the door and took Duncan’s arm. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

      As soon as they entered the room, she winced. It was impossible not to remember seeing the small, sad body lying forlorn and alone in the middle of the floor. The doctor believed Isobel likely suffered a massive cardiac event and had died instantly without suffering.

      Abby had searched Duncan’s face to see if this news brought him comfort. Nothing in his anguished expression told her that was the case.

      Now, as Duncan stood irresolute, she eased him toward a chair. “Sit,” she said firmly, as she would with a child. She bustled about the unfamiliar kitchen, finding plates and cups and silverware. By the time the coffee brewed, she had scooped out small portions of the appetizers that were to have been Isobel’s contribution to the evening’s social hour. Baked Brie with raspberry jam. Fresh minced tomato and mozzarella on bruschetta. Mushrooms stuffed with sausage and ricotta.

      She put a plate in front of Duncan and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Try to eat something,” she said. He stared at the food, but he didn’t see it. That was painfully obvious.

      Her heart breaking for him, she poured two cups of steaming coffee, carried them to the table and sat down beside him. She took his hand in both of hers, worried that his long fingers were cold. “Talk to me, Duncan,” she said quietly. “Talk to me.”

      He blinked as if waking from a dream. “She was with me at the office this afternoon. She was fine. I talked to her on the phone after five. She was fine. How could this happen?”

      “Miss Izzy was an old woman. I guess her heart gave out.”

      “I should have been here.”

      She heard the reproach in his voice. She understood it. But it stung, even so. Duncan was hurting, and he needed a place to direct his pain.

      “You heard the doctor. He thinks she died instantly.”

      Duncan’s eyes flashed. “But she shouldn’t have died alone.”

      There was nothing to say to that.

      Abby picked up a fork and forced down a few bites of food, though she didn’t really feel like eating at all. She was hoping that Duncan would follow her example by rote. After a few moments, he did. He cleared half of what was on his plate, drank one whole cup of coffee and poured himself a second one. Then he paced the kitchen, his agitation increasing by the moment.

      Abby was at a loss. “Should we call your brother and your father?” she asked.

      He glanced at his watch. “They’ll all be asleep by now. No need to wake them. Granny was very specific about her funeral arrangements. The entire family came en masse for Grandda’s services. She was honored and glad to have us here. But she insisted that when her time came, no one was to come back to the States. She wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread on top of the mountain.”

      Suddenly, Duncan walked out of the kitchen. She followed him. His mood was volatile, so she was worried. Down the hall, he opened the door to his grandmother’s bedroom and stood there. Not entering. Only looking. Her bed was neatly made. The novel she had been reading earlier, perhaps before napping, lay facedown on the mattress.

      Abby slipped an arm around his waist, trying without words to offer comfort where there was none. A minute passed. Then another.

      Duncan was immovable, a statue in a house that had become a mausoleum. When he finally spoke, his words were barely audible. “Do you think she knew how reluctant I was to come here and stay? That I didn’t really want to learn the business? That my heart wasn’t in it?”