A Brand New Ending (Page 33)

Still, as much as she was on Kyle’s side, she was worried about Patrick. For her own peace, she decided to check on him and make sure he was okay.

She packed up the pie before she could change her mind and drove out to his house. She pulled up behind his battered Subaru, grabbed the pie box, and knocked on his door.

It was a while before he answered. His green eyes widened in surprise when he saw her, and he immediately succumbed to a wicked series of coughs.

She frowned and stepped into the hallway, taking in the thick sweatshirt, jeans, and fleece robe wrapped around him. “Are you sick?” she asked.

“Just a cold. What are you doing here?”

She put the pie on the table and studied his face. Definitely gaunt, with red-rimmed eyes and a swollen nose. “I brought you a pecan pie, fresh from the oven.”

He squinted in suspicion. “Why?”

She laughed and took off her coat. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I have no idea why I’m here.”

He snorted, but a tiny smile quirked his lip. The expression was a duplicate of his son’s. “Good. I’d rather you be honest.” He gave another series of coughs and grabbed a tissue. “Nice to know if I croak someone will find my body before next Christmas.”

“Don’t say stuff like that. What have you eaten today?”

“A Hot Pocket.”

She winced. “That won’t help. Do you have any chicken broth? Soup?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Nah, I don’t shop much. I’ll be fine, especially with a fresh-baked pie.”

She tapped her foot, half-torn about whether she should just let him be. The pie was enough of a gesture. She’d hated this man as much as Kyle, yet she couldn’t leave him like this. Not if he was sick and had no one to help.

Lord knows he would never go to the hospital or call 911 again after the ambulance debacle. Aw, hell.

“No pie,” she announced, scooping up the box and walking back into the kitchen. “Not until you have something healthy.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought the pie! Now I can’t have it?”

“Not yet. God, this kitchen is a mess. How do you even find anything in here?”

He followed her in, his slippers slapping against the wood floor. “Don’t need to find much but the toaster oven and microwave. I do the dishes every couple of days.”

She noted the half-full sink, the crumbs littering the counters, and the long row of empty coffee mugs. It took her only a few minutes to pull open his cabinets and refrigerator and find absolutely nothing that would help his cold. “You live like a twenty-something bachelor,” she scolded. “You’re only going to get worse if you don’t do anything to help your body.”

“I gave up alcohol. I stopped smoking. I got nothing left to give up, and I’m too damn tired to learn how to cook and have healthy habits at age seventy-one.” He blew his nose and glared. “If you came to give lectures, leave the pie and go. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be grouchy, or I’ll take my pie with me, Patrick.”

He grunted.

It took her a minute to make the decision. Rifling through her purse, she grabbed a scrap piece of paper, a pen, and scribbled down a list of items. “What are you taking for the cold?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His voice came out a bit rebellious. “I can’t. Alcohol is in most cough medicines.”

She nodded. “I’ll be sure to read the ingredients. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t touch the pie.”

“Where are you going?”

“Grocery shopping.”

“But—”

“I have no time for chatting. I’ll be back. Go to bed and drink water. You need to flush out the germs.”

He glowered. “You’re pushy, girl.”

“And you’re wasting my valuable time.”

Ophelia didn’t wait to see if he’d obey her orders. She grabbed her purse and her list and headed into town.

It only took her forty minutes to get everything she needed. She let herself back in, and heard snoring from the back room. Using her time wisely while he slept, she unpacked the groceries, donned rubber gloves, and got to work.

Singing softly, she attacked the dishes, sprayed the counters with bleach, then got a broth heated up on the stove. She kept it simple, adding only celery, carrots, spices, and chicken, then let it cook. The cabinets were stuffed with expired boxes that quickly went into the garbage, replaced by new. She sliced up peasant bread and put together a half-ass garlic loaf, sticking that in the oven. She was just finishing up when she heard him shuffle into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

She raked her gaze over him. “You look a little better. Sit. I have some soup and bread.”

He opened his mouth, and she prepped herself for some nastiness. She’d already expected it and made peace with her intentions to help him anyway. It was more for her at this point than for him. Ophelia just couldn’t leave him alone and sick with nothing in the house to eat or drink.

But instead of speaking, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. He seemed to have trouble swallowing. He nodded and sat down.

She served him a bowl of hot soup and a plate of bread slathered in garlic butter and parmesan. She squeezed lemon slices into a large glass of water, and had already prepared a pot of tea with honey and lemon.

He ate in silence, the hand holding the spoon shaking slightly. She wondered about his sobriety and how he managed, especially alone. But right now didn’t feel like a good time for questions. Even with the bad memories, she was glad she could help him.

“I picked you up a holistic cough syrup, lozenges, and Tylenol. There’s enough soup in this batch to last a few more days, and the tea I made can also be reheated. There’s sliced turkey in the fridge, and I got a ton of fruit—make sure you have an orange for vitamin C. You can’t get the same nutrients from juice, but there’s a bottle in there to supplement. I bought paper plates, cups, and utensils so you don’t have to worry about dishes. I already took out the garbage. The pie is in the fridge for your dessert. Drink tons of water. And next time, please answer the phone if I call, or you’ll be opening the door to the ambulance crew again. I gotta go.”

She shrugged on her coat, her mind already clicking madly through her to-do list and how she’d make up the time in her busy schedule once she got back to the inn. She was halfway to the door when she heard her name called.

“Yes?”

Patrick’s gruff voice broke. “Thank you.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t want to, still torn by what Kyle would think of her helping out his father. Instead, she left and pushed the whole encounter to the back of her mind.

Chapter Fourteen

“Are you dressed slutty?” Mia demanded over the phone. “’Cause I’ll make you change if you’re not in a skirt.”

Ophelia sighed. “Yes. I may even get arrested on prostitution charges. How does that sound?”

Mia squealed with glee. “Perfect! Pick you up in five. I have the whole night planned.”

The click in her ear sealed her fate. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out to hang with some female friends, and excitement flickered in her gut. For a few hours, she wasn’t going to worry about anything but having fun.

She swiveled one last time in the mirror to check her outfit.