Fast & Loose by Elizabeth Bevarly (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

for a sweater and arranged it over her mother’s shoulders and, together, the Calhoun women strode down the hall to the courtyard at the end. They sat on one of the benches, and Bree did what she could to elicit memories from her mother’s murky thoughts. Mostly, they talked about what Rosie had had for lunch, and about the nice woman who had brought her a book to read, and who Rosie liked better in the upcoming presidential election, Reagan or Mondale. Bree sighed and said she was thinking about voting for the Independent candidate herself.

RUFUS LEANED AGAINST THE SIDE OF THE CRESTVIEW Nursing Home that faced the parking lot, and watched the two women sitting on the bench with their backs to him. He was close enough to hear their murmuring speech, but not so close that he could make out what they were saying. He knew one was Bree, and that the woman with her bore enough of a physical resemblance that she was almost certainly a relative. He hadn’t meant to intrude on something private, something that Bree didn’t want to share with anyone. The only reason he’d followed her home after her shift was to make sure she made it home. He’d been worried that her car might break down again somewhere along the way and leave her stranded. He’d been puzzled when she didn’t follow her usual route and confused when she’d pulled in here. Initially, he’d kept on driving and told himself to keep going, that Bree’s car seemed to be running just fine. But something had made him turn around and come back. Visits to nursing homes were almost never fun. And he’d thought maybe…

Well. He’d just felt like maybe he should be sure Bree was okay.

The woman she was talking to didn’t look old enough—or sick enough—to be in a nursing home. From where he stood, she looked to be maybe fifty or sixty, and she chattered with animation and smiled often. Bree, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as happy. She smiled, too, but it wasn’t her usual smile, and there was a strain around her eyes that Rufus had never seen before. Whoever the woman was, Bree was worried about her.

He told himself to go, that he’d invaded Bree’s privacy long enough, that he never should have followed her, that doing something like this was skirting stalker territory, and God knew he wasn’t one of those. He loved Bree Calhoun, sure. But he didn’t want to be in her life where he didn’t belong. Certainly not where he hadn’t been invited.

When he pushed himself away from the wall and began to turn toward the parking lot, the motion, however small, must have been just enough to catch Bree’s eye. Before he was fully around, she was staring right at him, her mouth partially opened in surprise, her brows arrowed downward in what was obvious distress.

“Rufus?” she called out. And there was more than a hint of accusation in the word.

Lamely, he lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey, Bree.” Immediately, he launched into an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it home with your car being in the shape it is, so I followed you. I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t have any right. I’m a jerk. I know you can take care of yourself. I was just worried about you. I’m really, really sorry.”

She’d lifted a hand at the second apology, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He really did feel like a jerk.

“It’s okay,” she said, sounding very, very tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said again as he took a few tentative steps forward.

“Who’s this, dear? A friend of yours?”

It was the woman with her who’d spoken, and Bree’s shoulders slumped in defeat at hearing it. “This is Rufus, Mom.”

Mom? But Bree had told him her mother lived in Florida.

“He and I work together,” she added.

“Oh, at the copy shop?”

Bree shook her head. “No, Mom, I haven’t worked at the copy shop for almost ten years. I tend bar now.”

The woman, Bree’s mother, threw Rufus a rueful glance and blushed. “Of course,” she said a little unsteadily. “I knew that. You’ve been doing that since…Well, for some time now.” Then, very uncertainly, she looked at her daughter and said, “Right?”

And in that moment, Rufus knew the woman, Bree’s mother, had no idea who her daughter was. The bottom fell out of his stomach at the realization. Bree had never really talked much about her family in the past, even when Rufus had tried to pass slow shifts at the bar with her by asking the kind of bland getting-to-know-you questions people asked when they were trying to do things like pass slow shifts at the bar. She’d said something about being an only child and her mother living in Florida, and the way she’d said it, he’d gotten the impression the two of them didn’t get along. Nothing wrong with that. A lot of people didn’t get along with their folks. But he’d made a mental note to never ask her about it again.

“Rufus, this is my mom,” she said now. “Rosie Calhoun. Mom, this is Rufus Detweiler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, dear,” Ms. Calhoun said.

A million thoughts were zinging around in Rufus’s brain, but he managed to cover the few steps left between them, take her hand, and shake it gently. She laughed at the gesture, clearly thinking it funny, and he supposed women of that generation probably hadn’t done a lot of handshaking in their time.

“He’s charming…” she started to say to Bree. Then she must have realized she couldn’t remember the name of the woman to whom she was speaking, and both her smile and her hand fell. She regrouped quickly, but the sparkle was gone from her expression. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said to Bree, “but I’m terribly tired. Would you mind walking me back to my room? I think I need to rest.”

She turned