A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (9 page)

Valerie couldn’t argue with that. “But isn’t Keith one of the most valuable employees we have? Wouldn’t it be stupid to jeopardize that?”

Pam leaned forward, forearms on her thighs, fingers laced together. “Look. This is the first time I’ve seen you express any interest in someone other than Greg, who is, may I remind you, your
ex
-husband. Triple-H can always find other employees. And I know this is going to sound like blasphemy to you, but your happiness is more important than that business.”

Valerie’s throat constricted. Why did Pam always seem wiser than her forty-two years when it came to the most important things? “All right. I still doubt he’ll ever have any interest in me. But if it happens, it happens.”

“Yes!” Pam shot a fist into the air. “Cupid’s got a target on yo ass.”

Chapter 8

Helen tapped her notepad with the non-writing end of a ballpoint pen as she tried to think of more questions to ask Keith. She twisted around to see the kitchen clock and immediately regretted the move. Her lower back jabbed her with a blunt pain—a pain she had no intention of telling Valerie about. She had seen enough doctors lately.

Keith would be there in about five minutes. What a farce. The only reason Helen had insisted on interviewing him was because she hoped it would dissuade Valerie from pushing another hunk on her. But Valerie had cheerfully agreed, and even suggested making that standard procedure when clients started with a new hunk.
Me and my brilliant suggestion
. Now she had to make the interview unpleasant enough that Keith would turn tail and scat.

She wished it were someone other than Keith. She remembered how kind he had been to her at the hospital, and she truly liked him. But she really didn’t need a “house helper,” or whatever Valerie called it. It was the principle of the thing.

The doorbell rang and her hands automatically went to her head to ensure every hair was in place. She stood slowly, picked up the pen and notepad, and went to open the door.

Keith greeted her with a smile that could melt icebergs. “Hello, Mrs. Palka. It’s good to see you again.”

Did he have to be so handsome? “Hello, Keith. Come in.”

“How is the ankle doing?”

“Quite well.” She hoped she sounded believable. She motioned him inside and to the couch, where she joined him. “It gives me a little discomfort now and then. But not enough to restrict my activities at all.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She licked her lips and realized her mouth felt a bit dry. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”

“No, I’m fine. But thank you.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just proceed.” She focused on her questions. “First of all, have you ever been convicted of a felony?”

His eyebrows rose and his upper lip twitched before he adopted a serious expression. “No, ma’am. I’ve never even been arrested.”

“Not even for a misdemeanor?”

“No, ma’am. My father was a police officer, so I had to keep my nose pretty clean. You know, Triple-H runs background checks on all of its employees.”

“Does it?” Now why hadn’t Valerie told her that? How embarrassing. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Uh . . .” She consulted her notepad. “What about your driving record? Any serious accidents?”

“No, but I did get a speeding ticket in . . .” His gaze shifted upward.

Aha! Now they were hitting some dirt.

“Nineteen ninety-five. I was 16. You know, teenage boys and cars.”

“That’s it? Nothing since then?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Hmm.” She couldn’t decide whether that sounded plausible or not. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“A Honda CR-V.”

“Is that one of those sport utensil vehicles?”

His upper lip twitched again. “Yes. It’s a small SUV.”

“Oh, that’s a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

“Those things sit very high off the ground. I have a lot of difficulty getting in and out of them.”

“Oh no, the CR-V is different. It’s only about as high as a normal car. Here, you can take a look.” He stood and pulled back the sheers at the front window so she could see the green CR-V parked on the street in front of the house.

She couldn’t really judge such things at a distance. “Well, we’ll see. Why would you have such a vehicle anyway? Aren’t those for driving in the mountains and such?”

“I do go to the mountains sometimes. But it’s also good for driving around here in the winter since it has four-wheel drive.”

She nodded, even though she’d never fully understood what that meant, since all cars had four wheels. But it certainly suggested wild driving to her. She returned to the couch and consulted her notepad. “How do you feel about scrubbing toilets?”

He smiled pleasantly as he sat down. “Never met a toilet I didn’t like.”

“You might not like mine. I have bowel-control issues, and sometimes—” Oh, dear. Her cheeks grew warm. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to go into such detail.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right.” His tone conveyed impeccable sincerity. “It’s good for me to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Yes, it is.”
Throw him a zinger
. “For example, I prefer to have all of my unmentionables washed by hand. The washing machine is too harsh for them, even on the delicate setting.”

“Got it,” he said with a nod.

She cocked her head and squinted at him. “You mean to tell me you wouldn’t mind washing an old lady’s unmentionables?”

“Not if that’s what you needed.”

Sighing, she decided she’d had enough of the charade. “Come on now, Keith. Let’s be frank about how silly this is. You’re a medical professional who should be caring for sick people, not scrubbing toilets for an old lady who’s perfectly capable of doing it herself.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “All right, Mrs. Palka. I realize you don’t really need much help. But your daughter is concerned about you, and she just wants to make sure you’re well cared for. So I say let’s humor her. I can stop by for a couple hours each week, and if you don’t need anything, we can just play pinochle.” He shrugged. “Whadaya say?”

She admired the open honesty of his manner. Such a fine young man. She still didn’t want a “house helper,” but he was probably right. What harm could there be in having him stop by once a week? It might get Valerie off her back, and if Helen did happen to need something, wouldn’t she rather have Keith doing it than a complete stranger? “All right. We’ll give it a trial run. But just for one month.” No sense in making a permanent commitment.

“That sounds fair to me. And now”—he stood and extended a hand to her—“I believe you owe me a dance.”

“Oh!” She couldn’t believe he remembered. She gave him her hand and he gently helped her up. Then he slowly swayed her around the room while humming “Stardust.”

Perhaps this little arrangement won’t be so bad after all
.

Helen marveled at how nicely Charlie was dressed when he showed up for their first date. He wore beige linen trousers and a roomy yellow shirt that appeared to be silk. His outfit made her glad she’d worn her new pale-blue rayon pantsuit. But when she saw their “chauffeur” for the evening—Charlie’s grandson, Shane—she wanted to run right back in the house.

Neither Charlie nor Helen drove anymore, so Charlie had enlisted Shane to drive them to and from the restaurant. Charlie had assured her Shane was a good driver. “Only two speeding tickets, which is not bad for a 17-year-old boy in America,” he’d said. But the kid looked like he’d just escaped from reform school.

From the passenger’s side of the back seat, Helen had a clear view of the teen: crow-black dyed hair, a black T-shirt and a tattoo on his arm of . . . Dear God, it must be Satan! The tattoo was a head with a white-as-death face, zig-zaggy black eyes, and a red tongue sticking out as far as a serpent’s.

“Hi,” Shane said. Apparently even devil-worshippers could be polite.

“Hello.” Helen hunted for her seatbelt.

Charlie slid in the other side of the back seat and formally introduced Shane and Helen, who nodded to each other. Helen buckled her seatbelt, and Charlie followed suit. “This car actually belongs to my daughter, Shane’s mother, but he gets to use it tonight in exchange for giving us a ride.”

“Oh, how nice.”
Talk about making a deal with the devil!
She searched for any evidence of an airbag. Did they have those in the backseats of cars?

The boy delivered them to the restaurant safely, which didn’t surprise her too much; he needed the car for his shenanigans. She decided if he reeked of alcohol when he picked them up, she would refuse to ride with him. Of course, by the time she got in the car and smelled him, it might be too late. Oh, well. At least her Medigap policy was paid up.

“I know he seems a little threatening, but he’s a good kid,” Charlie said once they were seated in the restaurant.

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Ten minutes with a devil-worshipper and there she was, lying through her teeth.

Charlie chuckled. “The first time I saw that tattoo on his arm, I was afraid he’d gotten himself wrapped up in one of those cults or something. Then when I asked my daughter about it, she laughed and said, ‘Oh, Dad, that’s just so-and-so from . . .’ some rock band or other. She used to listen to them when she was a kid, and she turned out all right. So I figured if she wasn’t worried about it, I didn’t need to be either.”

Something dangerously close to a giggle leaked from her mouth. “Isn’t it funny how silly we can be sometimes?”
Not to mention paranoid and foolish
.

“Do you have grandkids?”

They exchanged the obligatory offspring information; he had four kids and nine grand, while she had two of each. She told him about Valerie’s accident, since that had moved to the top of her worry list, and she always derived comfort from sharing a tale of woe with a new audience. The waitress brought their drinks and gave them the go-ahead to partake of the buffet.

Helen noticed her hand trembling as she served herself. She gripped the serving utensils with determination, vowing to hold her silverware steady while she ate.

Back at the table, she noted Charlie’s hand quivering as he buttered a roll. He didn’t have a condition, did he? Parkinson’s? Probably not, since she hadn’t noticed it before. He likely had the same “condition” she had that evening. How sweet!

He gestured to her plate, which had about half as much food as his. “You certainly are a light eater.”

She felt her face pinken. “Yes, I have . . . digestive issues.” She proceeded to list the various foods she couldn’t eat, a litany she’d grown accustomed to reciting whenever she dined with her lady friends. Why did it suddenly sound like a waitress rattling off salad dressing choices?

But Charlie’s forehead creased with sympathy as he nodded. “I have diabetes myself. But as you can see from my plate, I like to focus on what I
can
eat.” His jovial laugh reminded her that she, too, used to adopt a more positive attitude about life’s restrictions. How refreshing!

“Now that you mention it, I am grateful I can still eat ice cubes, because that’s my favorite food.”

His silver eyebrows drew together. “Ice cubes?”

“Did I say ice cubes?” She sensed herself blushing again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I meant ice
cream
.” She shook her head. “I seem to be doing that more and more lately. I mean to say one thing, and something completely different pops out.”

“Oh, yes, that happens to me, too,” he said with a chortle. “The other day, I asked my pharmacist what she recommends for indigestion, and I accidentally said
infestation
. She gave me the funniest look and said, ‘What exactly is it you think you’re infested with?’”

Helen laughed with a gaiety she couldn’t remember feeling in ages. Charlie seemed as adept at commiserating as any of her lady friends. How delightful!

“So are you from Evanston?” he asked.

She cut into a chicken breast and discovered it had the classic dryness of a banquet rubber chicken. “No, I grew up in the city. Rogers Park. How about you?”

“Evanstonian, all my life.” He speared some green beans. “How long have you lived there on Oak Street?”

“Let’s see, forty . . . forty-eight years. Good heavens, it doesn’t seem possible it’s been that long.”

“Seems like an awfully big house for a woman living alone.”

She started to give a response she hoped would sound reasonable when her throat contracted. The bite of chicken she’d just taken snagged in her windpipe, and she tried to breathe but couldn’t. She dropped her fork and clasped her neck. She gagged and struggled for air, mortified on some level, but too terrified to care.
Dear Lord, help me! My first date in 60 years, and this is how it’s going to end? With me choking to death? How could
—

A polar bear grabbed her from behind and slammed his paws into her diaphragm. The piece of chicken shot out of her like a spitball. She sucked in a huge gasp of air, coughed, then took another breath, appreciating the joy of oxygen as she never had before.

Charlie’s face appeared before her. “Are you all right?” He was kneeling next to her chair, holding her hand. Then she realized there were a number of people standing around their table, staring at her expectantly.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded weak, and she coughed some more. He offered her a drink of water, which did wonders for her prickly-pear throat.

The others smiled and congratulated Charlie. One man with a necktie—the manager, apparently—shook Charlie’s hand, thanked him, and said their meal was on the house.

The little crowd dispersed, and Charlie pulled a chair up next to her. “You do realize what happened, don’t you? You were choking.”

She wanted to run to the restroom and never return. “Yes.”

He took her hands in his, and she wondered how such large hands could hold hers so tenderly. Or were they paws?

“You—you’re the bear,” she said.

“What?”

“You saved me, didn’t you? You did that Heidelberg thing.”

“Heimlich. The Heimlich Maneuver. I learned it in a first-aid class. Never had to use it before, though.”

She gazed into his olive-green eyes. “How can I ever thank you enough?”

He gave an ‘aw-shucks’ look. “I’d have done it for anyone.”

But he hadn’t done it for just anyone. It was
her
life he’d saved. “You’re a very special man, Charlie.” Too special for her?

“Oh . . .” He released her hands, sat back, and waved off her compliment. “I’m not so special. I just wanted a free dinner.”

She smiled. Very special, indeed.