Page 65 of Somebody to Save
He’d absolutely begun to win over Nana. She didn’t even grumble when she realized it was Beckett taking them home rather than me. I think she’d also begun to feel bad for me. With the nurse coming less and less, I’d spent more time over there. Thankfully both my employers were understanding, because thetime required to shuttle them from appointments and spending time at their house doing chores, I wasn’t working nearly as much as I was supposed to.
And Beckett was also exceptionally understanding. He’d never complained, or even looked like he might, when I often altered plans or declined a date invitation. He was always enthusiastic about helping or hanging out at their house instead. Even if it meant folding laundry while watching some reality TV show with Nana or helping Grams put away the groceries.
Somehow, I’d managed to significantly trade up in the man department. From a shithead ex, Owen, who complained every second I’d spent with my grandmothers, to a man who repeatedly asked me not to apologize for often prioritizing them.
I don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I did know that karma at least owed me that much.
Mr. Rogers must have said something funny because Beckett tossed his head back and let out a gruff laugh that made me smile. I watched the two men banter as I walked to their little corner of the room.
“Ahh, come to join us, Ms. Addie?” Mr. Rogers asked. His wide smile was easy, and I rested a hand on his shoulder as I peered around the two men to see what they were creating.
“What are you making, Mr. Rogers?” He was stringing larger pink and blue beads over a long piece of cord. His fingers were shaking slightly, but he didn’t let that stop him.
“A bracelet for my great granddaughter. Think she’ll like it?”
Smiling down at him, I nodded. “I think she’ll love it. You should use the stars, too,” I said, pointing to the clear sparkly beads with little silver stars on them. “Those are some of my favorites.”
Mr. Rogers began talking about his great-granddaughter, his favorite topic, and her new fascination with jewelry. I listened, as I always did, but my attention was split. Still seated on my left, I could feel Beckett’s eyes on me, and when I glanced at him, I confirmed that he was staring, with a little smile tilting his lips.
His own nearly complete bracelet between his fingers, it was hard to focus on anything but him.
“Well, let me know if either of you need anything,” I said.
“Why don’t you join us?” Mr. Rogers asked. “Take a break from hosting for a little while.”
I hesitated, mentally running through my list of things left to do, and glanced around the room. Then I looked at Beckett again, and spending time with him sounded better than anything else. I also hadn’t stopped moving for several hours, and I needed a break.
Rounding the table, I slipped into the chair next to Beckett and eyed the supplies laid out in front of us. I grabbed a clean sheet of thick paper and a tray of watercolors.
Under the table, Beckett’s leg brushed mine, and my eyes darted to his. The smile on his lips was proof enough that he’d done it intentionally. I licked my lips to try to hide my smile, but it was pointless. And when I glanced across the table, I realized Mr. Rogers had also caught on to our silent flirtation.
“Did you know I was married for thirty-five years?” he asked abruptly, darting his eyes between the two of us.
“Wow, thirty-five years is a long time,” Beckett said.
I dipped my paintbrush into the water, then into the purple, and brushed it across the paper, going for something abstract.
“It was. We met in college,”
“That’s really sweet?—”
“I was her professor,” Mr. Rogers continued, and my words broke off. Another quick look between me and Beckett, and I was yet again struggling to keep my expression under control. His knee bumped mine, and I narrowed my eyes at the paint in front of me.
“I swear it wasn’t as salacious as it sounds,” he explained. “She took my class, but we didn’t begin anything until after the term was over. And even if it was a little taboo with our age difference, it was wholly worth it. She was fifteen years my junior.”
“Fifteen, wow,” I said, unsure what else to add. If it were anyone else, I would have believed our conversation was random. But it was Mr. Rogers, and he was too perceptive for his own good. Or maybe Beckett and I weren’t as inconspicuous as I’d thought.
“It is. We had an amazing life together. Successful careers, lots of love, three kids, seven grandkids, and a few great-grandchildren later, and it was all because I fell in love with one of my students.”
“That’s beautiful, Mr. Rogers,” I said with a smile. The way he spoke about his wife is how I hoped my future husband would speak about me and our life together.
“It was. We had the perfect life. She passed away ten years ago. Almost to the day.”
My paintbrush fell out of my hand, sending paint across the table, but luckily, not on anything too important. Beckett’s reaction was less dramatic. He froze but was able to hang onto his bracelet.
Mr. Rogers was still intent on his bracelet, threading bead after bead down the clear cord. It was an interesting background to such a conversation. With people laughing and a cheery holiday tune playing over the speakers.
“I will tell you, it doesn’t matter how many years go by, the pain, it’s still there. It’s just a little more manageable now.” He took a deep breath, like talking about it brought the pain to the surface. But he shook his head and smiled up at me and Beckett. Like it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Her name was Shirley,” he said, then cracked a smile and let out a low laugh. “I used to say, one of the perks of her being so much younger is that I was more likely to die first. That way, you know…I wouldn’t have to live without her.”
