Dawson pushes past me with his key out. “I’m Boen Carlisle,” Boen says awkwardly. “I live next door.”
“Yeah, hi.” Dawson dismisses him as he unlocks the door. “Grammy!” he shouts, pushing it open. “Are you okay?”
The house is deathly silent. I hold my breath until a faint “Dawson?” is heard from upstairs.
“Are you okay?”
“Don’t come up here,” Grammy calls. “Well, maybe you’d better.”
I’m right behind Dawson as he races up the stairs, Boen following us. As we get to the second floor, Mrs. Gretchen appears, perfectly alive and wrapped in a silk robe. “I’m fine,” she says, hands raised in surrender. “No need to panic.”
“I heard a thump,” I tell her, gasping with relief.
“That wasn’t me,” she says with a disdainful sniff. “It seems Mr. Cullen slipped getting out of bed this morning, and I’m unable to lift him up. Maybe you boys can help me with that.”
It takes Dawson a moment to comprehend. “Get out of bed—”
“Did she say what I think she said?” I hiss to Boen as Mrs. Gretchen steps back into her room, where there’s an older man lying on the floor.
He’s naked.
“Hello,” Dawson says. I give him credit for the calmness of his greeting because I’m gawping at the sight of a naked man… and Mrs. Gretchen.
She hands her friend a robe, which he uses to cover the most pressing bits. “This is Mr. Cullen,” Mrs. Gretchen says with the poise of a queen. “My friend. My special friend.”
The hand covering my mouth can’t mask my giggles. “Oh, wow. Way to go, Mrs. Gretchen.”
Boen pushes past me and kneels beside Mr. Cullen, who struggles to put on the robe. “Are you hurt, sir?”
“It’s this bloody knee,” Mr. Cullen mutters. “I blew it out playing hockey years ago. Can never tell when it’s going to give out, it just goes.”
“And I can’t lift him,” Mrs. Gretchen says like having an injured man on her bedroom floor is a usual occurrence.
Maybe it is.
“I think we should call an ambulance,” Boen announces as he pulls out his phone.
Mr. Cullen reaches out a liver-spotted hand and grabs it. “If you think I’m being picked up and dropped off in some emergency ward, buck naked or dressed in nothing but a silk robe, you’ve got another thing coming. I’ll never hear the end of this in bridge club.”
He’s a crotchety one, but kind of adorable. He’s got a full head of hair, still good muscle tone, and from the glimpse I got, Mrs. Gretchen is one lucky woman.
I can’t stop smiling, thinking about Mrs. Gretchen and Mr. Cullen, and me and Boen, all in the same house last night, separated only by the wall.
That’s when I realize I’m still dressed in the same clothes from yesterday and left Boen’s without my underwear. I cross my arms across my chest and glance over at Boen, still kneeling beside Mr. Cullen.
Mrs. Gretchen laughs. “Oh, Thomas, this is too good not to share.”
“If you ever want me back in your bedroom, Caroline Gretchen, you’ll keep your mouth shut about it.”
My eyes widen until they practically pop out of my head. Whoa…
“I suppose I can keep it to myself,” Mrs. Gretchen murmurs.
I can’t help my giggle as Boen and Dawson, on either side of Mr. Cullen, help him onto the bed. And then Mrs. Gretchen kicks us out so he can get dressed.
“Mrs. Gretchen and him?” I ask, perching on the step below Dawson, knees tightly closed. Dawson looks slightly sick. “That’s so cool. I want to be her when I grow up.”
“It’s none of your business what she’s doing in her own home,” Boen snaps, standing on guard at the door. “Mrs. Gretchen deserves her privacy and your respect.”
