The Winding Road Home by Sally John Page B

those linens and be right back.”
    â€œDon’t you pay someone else to do that?”
    â€œWe’re short a couple of aides today. My job description doesn’t say I can’t do it! Sit tight.”
    He chuckled at that.
    Adele hurried out the door and jogged toward Graham. From the back, his height and breadth was almost intimidating. The top of his head appeared to nearly graze the low ceiling tiles. His shoulders occupied a lot of hall space.
    Why was it she kept noticing the man?
    â€œGraham.” She neared him.
    He stopped and turned, his furrowed brow questioning.
    She reached his side and touched his forearm. “It gets better. It does.”
    â€œEasy for you to say, Ms. Chandler.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

    Hurrying down the hallway, Graham tried to shut out the institutional gray-green walls, the faded black-and-white linoleum, the water stain on a corner ceiling tile. The totally overriding bleak, stark feel of the place. The vacant stares of wheelchair occupants as he passed them.
    The warmth of compassionate fingers touching his forearm.
    But of course he couldn’t.
    Because all of it revolved around Rand Jennings. And the man had always been an integral part of his life. There was no going backward. Adele Chandler, institutional green, the scent of waiting for death…all were permanent fixtures in his foreseeable future.

    Graham eyed Adele over the top of his reading glasses. She sat behind her desk, across from him, efficiently shuffling the myriad of papers he was signing.
    â€œOnly one more.” Her voice was lilting, as if she were always on the verge of expressing something wildly joyful.
    â€œMs. Chandler.”
    She didn’t correct him by reminding him of her first name. Perhaps she thought as he did, that it was best to keep the distance of formality between them. She met his gaze with a steady one of her own. Her eyes were large ovals that dominated her face. Not quite blue, not quite gray. Like a hazy summer sky. Warm and calm.
    â€œYes, Dr. Logan?”
    He intended to ask another question about hospice, but her tone matched her eyes, and he knew formality was not in the woman’s character. Allowing him to vent his pain came with running the nursing home. She wouldn’t hold it against him. Still…confession was good for the soul.
    He removed his reading glasses. “I’m sorry for being short with you earlier.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. I have this annoying tendency to invade people’s private space. I think it’s because so many of the folks here continuously need it. I forget that healthy adults don’t go around hoping somebody, anybody, will offer comfort.” She gave him a half smile. “I should have read the signals.”
    â€œSignals?”
    Her eyelids fluttered downward as she straightened papers. “You know. Those manly signals of self-sufficiency.”
    â€œOh, those. Evidently I wasn’t displaying them very well.”
    She looked back up as if to say something, gave her head a slight shake, and laughed. “Never mind. All right. We’re finished with the paperwork. Any questions?”
    He could think of only one. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Eight
    Five minutes before Tanner’s scheduled arrival, Kate heard the doorbell buzz. Shrugging into her overcoat, she opened the front door. He stood there, bundled in a black jacket, his hair grazing the thick turtleneck rising above the leather, his breath turning into white puffs on the night air.
    â€œHey, Sir Galahad.”
    The porch light shone on his puzzled face.
    â€œYou could have just honked.” She shut the door behind her. “You know how I feel about Sir Galahad, right?”
    He followed her down the steps. “Let me guess. Waste of energy?”
    â€œTo the max.”
    â€œI was just being polite. Fighting noise pollution.”
    She laughed, hurrying