Everything should be fine. The setting was lovely—Mr. Rush couldn’t have picked a better nursing home in which to spend his golden years.
Yet, she couldn’t define this wave of panic filling her as they neared Mr. Rush’s room. She’d asked Rick if she could take some time away to see him, so she could at least explain what happened and how she fully intended to pay back the rent she owed.
But Rick had insisted he drive her after last night. He wasn’t taking any chances leaving her alone until they had time to talk to this doctor, January Malone, Nina, and Calamity mentioned as someone who might be able to help. He’d declared himself glue, and he was sticking to her no matter what.
His words had warmed her from the inside out, and it was silly and girlie and ridiculous to give them any more attention than was due. Despite her strong attraction, Poppy had to remind herself they hardly knew each other, for gravy’s sake.
Rick was a good enough guy, and that was all this was. She saw that now, felt it in her bones as she’d gotten to know him.
He wouldn’t want to see her hurt, his sense of integrity was too strong, but it had nothing to do with anything else or she’d feel that, too, right? She had to stop creating romantic scenarios in her mind before it did them harm.
She renewed that vow as they walked together, her taking care not to brush against him as they plodded toward Mr. Rush’s room and focused on seeing her landlord again.
According to Rick, via Mr. Rush’s doctor, he understood everything going on around him. He just wasn’t able to articulate as such in words, though he was working in physical therapy every day. But if he could understand what was happening and could hear her, that was all she needed.
As their feet ate up the white tile, Poppy smiled at how active and happy the seniors they passed were. Everyone was smiling and waving to her as they went about their day.
And that was an enormous relief. Rick had told her he’d ensured Mr. Rush’s facility was one of the best, and he hadn’t been kidding. From the rec room in bright, happy colors with plenty of sun and board games in every corner, to the dining room with vaulted ceilings, fabric napkins, real china and plenty of staff to care to the seniors’ every whim, to the nurses who were incredibly sweet and informed, he’d been nothing but truthful.
Still, just as they approached the door to Mr. Rush’s room, her stomach revolted, heaving and rolling. She stopped, gripping the handrail on the wall, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
“Hey, you okay?” Rick’s concerned face loomed in front of hers, swaying to and fro in her blurred vision.
Swallowing hard, she breathed in and out, something she’d done a lot of since this all started. Poppy held up a finger. “Just gimme a sec.”
What the hell was going on?
Rick leaned into her, offering support with the strength of his bulk, and she found she was grateful. There was a moment when she thought she might pass out from the cold sweat under her thick jacket.
But it finally passed and as she straightened her spine, wiping her clammy hands on her faded jeans, she looked up at him. “Sorry, I was just a little warm there. Let’s go see a man about some late rent.”
He smiled at her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face in an intimate gesture she instantly blushed over. “You’re a good egg, Poppy McGuillicuddy.”
Pushing the door, Rick held it open for her. As she entered the sunny room, positioned directly in front of a park-like setting just outside the window, Poppy had to fight a gasp.
Rick had also warned her that Mr. Rush had lost a great deal of weight since his stroke, and to be prepared for the physical changes. At the time, she thought she had mentally geared herself up for seeing him as anything other than the lean man who was as spry and sharp as a twenty-year-old.
In fact, she’d given Rick a great deal of credit for keeping such close tabs on a man he’d only done business with. But to actually see Mr. Rush, sitting in a wheelchair, the left side of his gentle face slack, his cheekbones almost poking from his skin, Poppy really had to draw on every skill she’d ever acquired as an actress.
Yet, his glistening blue eyes lit up when he saw her, and he grunted.
So she smiled, wide and as bright as she knew how. “Mr. Rush! Holy cow, are you a sight for sore eyes!” Taking the chair opposite his wheelchair, she reached for his hand, the skin papery dry. “You rook mahhvelous!” she declared, doing her best impression of Billy Crystal’s infamous Fernando Lamas.
He frowned at her and blew a raspberry as though to dispute her claim, the wrinkles on his forehead creasing into his snow-white hairline, but his eyes were warm and smiling.
Never kid a kidder, he’d always said. She tapped his wheelchair with her fingers. “Okay, so you’ve got some new hardware and you could use a haircut, but you’re still as cute as ever.”