Almost Heaven. Charlotte Douglas
hugged her grandmother, breathed in her signature scent of lilacs and reveled in the warmth of the familiar embrace. “It’s good to see you, Nana.”
“We missed you at Christmas.”
MJ fought rising guilt. “You know I had to work. I photographed seven weddings over the holidays.”
Her earnings had given her a precious few weeks off in January, time to add to her portfolio of the faces and places of the city in preparation for an exhibit of her own someday.
MJ lived for that someday.
“Wait!” Nana, who seldom raised her voice, had spoken loudly to Grant, who was still at the curb. “Is Gloria with you?”
“No, ma’am,” Grant replied. “She’s at home. And none too happy about it, either.”
Nana’s relief was evident. And MJ’s curiosity blossomed. Gloria? Jodie’s latest letters had said nothing about her brother’s girlfriend. An uncomfortable sensation settled over MJ and she shrugged it off. She was beyond jealousy. After all, she’d ended her relationship with Grant long ago when things hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. She was actually surprised he hadn’t married and had children by now, but she didn’t stop to analyze why such a prospect annoyed her.
“You can set the bags in the front hall,” Nana said to Grant, who had followed MJ up the walk.
Nana held open the door and MJ and Grant stepped inside.
“Here she is, safe and sound, like I promised,” Grant announced, “so I’ll be on my way. Gloria’s not happy when I’m away too long.”
MJ couldn’t picture Grant with a clinging vine type. He’d evidently changed a great deal in the past six years. She gave herself an inward shake. She didn’t need the distraction of an old relationship now and was glad he was leaving. But her relief at his impending departure was short-lived.
“You’re not going now,” Nana said in her soft drawl with its underlying hint of steel that defied contradiction. “I know you had breakfast at 5:00 a.m., as usual, and it’s almost noon. I have lunch ready in the dining room. We can talk as we eat.”
“This is family business,” Grant said, apparently anxious to return to Gloria. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Nana said. “You’re Jim’s partner. That makes you family. Besides, I need your help.”
MJ watched with undisguised amusement as Grant relented. Not even his strong will could refuse the command in Nana’s tone. He followed Sally Mae into the dining room and pulled out a chair for her at the head of the table. MJ sat on her grandmother’s right. Grant took a chair at Nana’s left, looking as if he were attending his own execution.
Nana reached for the silver pitcher in front of her place. “Iced tea?”
MJ’s nerves had reached their breaking point. “This isn’t a social event, Nana. I want to know what’s wrong, and I want to know now.”
Her grandmother set the pitcher down with a thud and for a fleeting instant looked as if she were going to cry, something MJ had never witnessed in her twenty-eight years, not even the night her grandfather had died.
MJ held her breath as, with apparent Herculean effort, Sally Mae regained her composure and spoke so softly, MJ strained to hear.
“Your father,” her grandmother said in a voice without inflection, “has left your mother.”
Chapter Two
Grant’s reaction to Merrilee’s dilemma surprised him. He drew on all his self-control to keep from rising and going to her. Touched by the distress on her face, he craved to pull her into his arms and to comfort her. But she hadn’t wanted him six years ago and she sure as hell didn’t want him now, especially when her world had just caved in.
Irritation at his inadequacy consumed him. He could calm a raging bull, soothe a four-hundred-pound sow with blood in her eye, pacify a wild stallion and handle wild-eyed feral cats. But today, just like six years ago, he was helpless to communicate with, must less console, one small but incredibly beautiful and desirable woman.
“Daddy left?” Merrilee’s face had gone white, her eyes, the color of a Carolina mountain sky, had widened with shock and, for an instant, Grant feared she would faint. “What do you mean?”
Sally Mae’s aristocratic features twisted into a wry grimace. “You may have spent the last few years among Yankees, but surely you still understand plain English. Left means exactly what it says.”
“He’s moved out?” Merrilee looked as if she was having trouble breathing.
Grant fought the impulse to close his eyes against her distress.
“In a word, yes,” her grandmother replied.
For Merrilee’s sake, Grant wished Sally Mae hadn’t been so blunt, but he didn’t know how else she could have broken such unpleasant news except straight-out.
“Why?” Merrilee insisted.
Grant clamped his jaw to keep from interfering. Working day-in and day-out with Jim Stratton, Grant had witnessed the transformation in his partner and friend, but informing Merrilee was Sally Mae’s responsibility. Grant just hoped the older woman would break the details more gently.
“It’s a long story,” Sally Mae said.
“This has been going on for a while?” Merrilee’s face flushed, color returning with her anger. “Why didn’t anyone let me know?”
“Things didn’t come to a head until yesterday.” Her grandmother’s grim expression added years to her appearance. “No one thought Jim would go that far.”
That much was true, Grant thought. He’d believed his partner’s foolish actions a temporary aberration. He’d never guessed that Jim would take such drastic measures.
“What about Mom? Is she okay?”
“I haven’t spoken with your mother for several days,” Sally Mae said. “She’s staying at her apartment in Asheville.”
“Her apartment?” Merrilee’s confusion was evident. “I thought you said Dad moved out.”
Sally Mae took a deep breath, the only outward sign she was struggling for control. “I’d better start at the beginning. Last summer, your father started putting in long hours, pushing himself too hard. He seldom slept or took time to eat.”
MJ turned an accusing glance on Grant. “I thought you were supposed to help him. Isn’t that what a partner’s for?”
“We’ve both been up to our necks.” Grant met her gaze and, although her anger stung, refused to take it personally. His conscience was clear. “Old Doc Gregory over in Walhalla died. Jim and I have been taking up the slack until a new vet takes over his practice.”
“Are you telling me Dad’s lost his mind from working too hard?” Merrilee asked her grandmother.
“Oh, Jim’s not crazy,” Sally Mae said quickly. “But overwork, sleep deprivation, lack of good nutrition, and the realization he’s not getting any younger have left his judgment impaired.”
Merrilee shook her head and a strand of hair the color of sunshine on corn silk fell over one eye. Grant squelched the urge to reach across the table to push it back. Merrilee had made it clear long ago she didn’t want his touch.
After the way she’d dumped him so abruptly, had refused to answer his phone calls or letters, had acted as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth, had caused him endless sleepless nights and heartache, Grant should take satisfaction at her distress.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
All he wanted was