Page 1

Chapter 1

Dahlia

“Now, Mrs. Marooney, you have to stop flirting like that, or there will be a riot on our hands,” I say with a laugh as I push the eighty-five-year-old woman down the hall in her wheelchair.

“My dear Dahlia, I’ll stop flirting with younger men when I’m dead and buried.”

I can’t help but grin as I shake my head. Those younger men are in their eighties themselves and can’t help but offer winks our way as we pass. Up ahead, I can hear the faint drift of the saxophone—courtesy of Emmit Pine, a seventy-six-year-old musician who moved into our care facility three months ago.

This dance was his idea, and since he donated enough money to keep the lights on for the next five years, every employee here ran with it. Including me. Though my reasons had little to do with making him happy and more to do with making all our residents happy.

Since the Pine Meadow Senior Care facility caters mainly to the wealthy, a lot of the people here don’t have family to visit. Either because they don’t have them, or there is no relationship to speak of. It’s sad, but for whatever reason, money and loyal family don’t seem to go hand in hand these days.

The care is top-notch, though, which is how I ended up working here in the first place. My grandfather needed a place to spend his final years with round-the-clock care, and I’d needed a job that allowed me better hours than I was currently getting as an ER nurse. The family discount Pine Meadow provided had offered a solution to both of those problems.

Grief rears its ugly head again, forming a tight knot in my chest.

Three months, he’s been gone now.

Three long months without my best friend and only living family member.

“How you doing back there?” Mrs. Marooney asks.

“Huh? Oh, fine.” I use one hand to push the glasses back up my nose.

“Yeah?” She turns her head to look up at me. “You got quiet. You’re not one for quiet.”

“Just thinking about my grandpa.”

Mrs. Marooney’s expression saddens. “He was a good one, your grandfather.”

“Thanks.”

She reaches up to pat my hand. “Even if he never was one for flirting.”

I snort as I keep walking. “He and my grandmother were married for sixty-two years before she passed. She was always the only one for him.”

“Lucky ones. Maybe husband number two could’ve been the one,” she says. “If he hadn’t⁠—”

“Run off with the secretary. I remember,” I finish for her. “Here we go.” We turn the corner, and I push her wheelchair into the rec room, which has been completely re-decorated to match the theme of the evening: The Roaring 20s.

Caterers dressed in period clothing carry trays around, while those residents still able to dance sway on the wooden dance floor. As I look around, I’m grateful to see that a few family members accepted the invitations we sent out last month, though not nearly as many as there should be.

It makes me so sad when none of the family bothers to show up. Especially since I’ve seen how quickly they’ll show up for a check after someone passes. That’s happened a time or two since I started working here, and it churns my stomach each and every time.

What I wouldn’t give to see my grandfather on his feet, a smile on his wrinkled face, as he danced around the room. He’d loved to dance. Even pushed me to take lessons when I was a teenager. I’d have danced until my feet fell off to make him happy.

Grief wells up again, and tears sting the corners of my eyes as I park Mrs. Marooney’s wheelchair beside a table and put the brakes on.

She beams up at me, a bright smile on her face. “Dear girl, this is magnificent.”

“Good.” I smile, her joy relieving a bit of my grief. “I’ll be back in just a bit, okay?”

“Okay, dear girl.” She turns her attention back to the dance floor, smiling and clapping as she does.

With her settled, I head back out of the room to catch my breath. My grandfather was the closest thing I’d ever had to a dad. He and my grandmother took my mom and me in when Dad left us. For that, I’m eternally grateful. Mom was never the same after that.

Then the accident took her and my grandmother out of our lives, leaving just me and Grandpa. He’d tried so hard to bury his pain and support me, but it took a toll on him.