Mr. Rush snorted, his fingers trembling when he tried to grip her hand.
Rick leaned down, patting Mr. Rush’s hand with his tanned one. “Good to see you, sir. I trust they’re treating you well?”
Mr. Rush nodded, and she was happy to see his eyes also lit up for Rick.
Tucking the blanket on his legs tighter around his waist, she asked, “How’s the food here? Please tell me they don’t give you the dreaded mushy green beans and applesauce?”
He snorted again and shook his head in the negative.
Patting his cold hand, she grinned. “Phew. Good thing or we’d have to riot, right? Maybe naked? Invite Mrs. Fedderman over? You know how much she loves to people-watch from her window in the buff.”
Rick laughed a deep chuckle of understanding. “Nobody knows that better than me.”
Poppy snickered and leaned back, taking in the cheerful room in soothing blue with framed, abstract artwork. “So do you need anything, Mr. Rush? Is there anything I can bring you? Do you have all your John Grisham books here?”
Mr. Rush nodded, lifting his bony finger to point at the closet in his room.
“Perfect. So, you wanna take a walk? I’ll drive,” she joked. “It’s a pretty great day out. A little nippy, but I know how much you love this sort of weather. We could sit under that tree and have some hot tea?”
He lifted his arm and snapped it back with remarkably great reflex, the corner of the right side of his face lifting in a shadow of a smile as he mimicked a whip.
“Excellent, I’ll grab your jacket and then you can lead on, my liege!”
“I’ll get the tea,” Rick offered. “I want to pop into the nurses’ station and be sure you’re behaving yourself, Mr. Rush. Okay?”
Translation—he was going to look in on Mr. Rush’s care and be sure he was getting what he needed. Gosh, he was really nice when he wasn’t being an asshole. He made her heart go all pitter-pat and soft.
Mr. Rush appeared okay with Rick’s suggestion, so Poppy popped the brakes off his wheelchair and wheeled him out into the hall, talking as she went and updating him on everyone back at Littleton.
She pushed them out into the sunshine and made a hard right to the park-like area, where picnic tables were scattered, and the sun peaked through the amazing canvas of color from the leaves.
Taking a seat on a bench, she looked him in the eye. “Do you like it here, Mr. Rush? You can be honest with me. Rick tells me you’re pretty happy here, but he’s sort of biased, you know? If they’re cruel to you or mistreat you or feed you all your meals from a blender, speak your piece. Just nod once for yes, you like it here, or twice for no, and if you hate it, I’ll find a way to get you out.”
The snow white of his hair bounced in the breeze when he nodded once, leaning into the effort by pushing his shoulders forward.
Poppy let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the picnic table behind her, closing her eyes and inhaling the fresh scent of fall. “Phew. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you hated it. I’m good, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to sneak you out of here without getting caught.”
He made a burbling sound in the back of his throat and lifted the half of his face still capable of moving in a smile.
“I know you’re laughing because you just had a frightening mental image of ninja Poppy, pushing your wheelchair at high speed, tryin’ to break you outta this joint.”
Mr. Rush lifted his hand and thumped the wheelchair’s arm, letting his head fall back on his shaking shoulders to indicate he had, indeed, pictured her making a break for it, and it was hysterical.
Leaning forward, she tucked his hand under the warm blanket and looked him in the eye. “So, listen Mr. Rush, I came to apologize to you. I still owe you three months’ rent, and you were nothing but nice to me about it. I thought I’d have it all when I got back from the show I was on the road with, but the guy running it ran off with what little profit we made and bilked us all.”
His groan slipped from his slack lips, and he attempted a sad/angry face, his lower lip jutting outward in a pout.
But Poppy shook her head. “Yeah. Boo-hiss, right? But forget that part. That’s not your problem, Mr. Rush, and I’m not here to give you any kind of excuses. I just wanted you to know that no matter what, I’m going to be sure you get that money. You were always so kind to me—when I was down, when I’d lost yet another audition. You never let me give up on my dream even though I should have given up on it a hundred years ago. But I appreciate you so much. I appreciate that when I was late with my rent, you let it slide more than once. I appreciate that you let me stay long after I should have gone so you could rent the apartment to someone more reliable. You’re a prince among men, Mr. Rush, and really, that’s rare these days.”