Chapter 2

Harley stacked the dinner trays onto the trolley and noticed that, once again, Mrs. Neeley hadn't eaten a thing.That poor little old woman was going to waste away to nothing if she didn't start taking in some food. "There has to be something we can do to get her to eat."

Nurse Rosa glanced up from the charts where she recorded everything the residents consumed, be it solids or liquids."If you can think of a way to get that little sweetheart to eat, then you truly are the miracle worker everyone says you are."

Harley frowned down at Mrs. Neeley's untouched tray.The unappetizing smell of overboiled and unseasoned green beans, what might be carrots or yams, and a mound of brownness that did not resemble the chunks of beef listed on the menu sheet hit her full in the face when she lifted the clear plastic lid.

"Wow." She wrinkled her nose and braved another hesitant sniff. The food wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.She barely dipped her little finger into the pale yellow pudding and touched it to the tip of her tongue."Yuck." She hurried to replace the cover over the mediocre meal. "I would have to be starving to be thankful for that plate. How many diet restrictions is she under?"

Rosa flipped to Mrs. Neeley's chart and squinted through her reading glasses as she tapped the ink pen against the board. "No salt, sugar, fat, or dairy. No gluten—and very little red meat." She shook her head. "Bless her heart. With all these restrictions, she'd find cardboard tastier than the recommended meals we serve here."

"She's ninety-six years old.The woman should be able to eat whatever she wants to, for heaven's sake. Who wants to live forever?"Harley snorted a disgruntled huff as she pushed the trolley full of dirty dishes into the kitchen and began loading the industrial-sized dishwasher. If she lived to be ninety-six years old, she was going to eat whatever she wanted. Anyone trying to restrict her diet could just kick rocks.

"You better not let Dr. Langerson hear you talking like that."Rosa pushed her dietary chart cart into its cubby at the end of the counter and locked the wheels in place."These old folks are a gold mine to that man. He intends to keep them alive and kicking as long as possible."

"I want to keep them alive and kicking too, but, my gosh, there is such a thing as quality of life.If I'm ever doomed to living on a case of pills, eating tasteless food, and rooming in a sterile, lonely environment—then hand me a gun and make sure it's loaded, so I can be on my way to a better place."

"Harley!What a thing to say."Rosa made her usual scolding sound, clucking her tongue like a ticking time bomb, as she trundled out of the kitchen to hand out the evening meds.

Harley flipped her long dark ponytail behind her shoulder as she clicked the door shut on the dishwasher and started it with a spin of the knob.She didn't care what Rosa thought about her belief in living and dying. While it was important to take care of yourself and be as healthy as you could be, it was foolish to make yourself miserable and drag out that state of being miserable for as long as possible.

She rinsed her hands, dried them off, and returned the kitchen towel to its bar on the counter. An urge to help poor Mrs. Neeley nagged at her like the gnawing of a headache that refused to be ignored. "I will find her something tasty if it's the last thing I do." She yanked open the refrigerator door and sorted through the contents in search of something delicious and tempting. "None of this would tempt me. Moving on." She closed the door and went to the freezer, pawing her way through the frosty goods. Surely, there was something tasty hiding in here. She flipped over a bag of peas and spotted a hidden treasure. "Jackpot. This will be perfect."

Rosa's granddaughter had been to visit and loved orange sherbet popsicles. One of them was still in the freezer.It wasn't sugar free, but that was okay because Mrs. Neeley was not diabetic.Not dairy or fat free either, but the dear old lady had never had issues with either of those things. Rosa said the doctor just automatically put everyone on those restrictions. The popsicle was totally illegal and perfect.

"Okay, let's put this in a bowl, and then we'll sneak it to her."She pulled a small plastic bowl from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer. As she made her way to Mrs. Neeley's room, she softened the sherbet off the stick and into the bowl.A glance down the hall made her quicken her step. She wanted Mrs. Neeley to have enough time to enjoy her treat before Rosa came to her room with her meds.

After a light knock on the door, she opened it a crack and called out, "It's Harley, Mrs. Neeley. May I come in?"

"Of course, dear," the sweet old lady said. "I always enjoy your visits."

Harley popped inside, excitement building about sneaking the treat to her kind friend. "I know you've already had dinner, but I've brought something I think you'll really like. But it's our secret.Can you keep a secret?"She placed the small bowl on the bed table, scooted it in front of Mrs. Neeley, then gently curled the elderly lady's stiff, arthritic fingers around the spoon.

"Harley—a secret?But why?And you know I'm not much hungry these days. Nothing tastes good anymore."Mrs. Neeley stared down at the bowl, her hand shaking as she hovered the spoon over the sherbet.

"Just try one bite. For me. Please? Just one?I promise it's not the usual tasteless glop from your diet." Harley glanced back at the door that she'd left barely cracked open. Rosa would be here soon.She was three rooms up and very efficient when it came to handing out the pills.

With a resigned sigh, Mrs. Neeley barely dipped the tip of the spoon into the melting orange dessert.After touching it to her tongue, she licked her lips and stared up at Harley in amazement.

"Why Harley, that tastes mighty fine." She dipped the spoon into the sherbet again, took a bigger bite, and was soon shoveling it into her mouth as fast as she could eat it.

"What's going on in here?"Rosa stood at the door with Mrs. Neeley's chart and the small paper cup of meds.

"You just leave her alone!"Mrs. Neeley flourished the spoon like a weapon while motioning for Harley to stay close.

"What have you got there, Mrs. Neeley?" Rosa arched a brow at Harley as she sauntered toward the bed.She made a show of rubbing her nose to hide her smile.

Mrs. Neeley curled an arm around the empty plastic bowl as though attempting to hide it.

"I have an empty bowl here. Must've forgotten to put it on my lunch tray before Harley picked it up."The elderly lady smiled, her eyes sparkling with the innocent lie. She winked at Harley and slid the spoon underneath her bedspread.

"I'll take it for you, Mrs. Neeley, and here, let me straighten your sheets."Harley couldn't resist smiling as she recovered the spoon from the bedclothes, then patted the sweet lady's shoulder.

"See if you can get me more of that fine ice cream," Mrs. Neeley whispered as Harley adjusted the pillow behind her.

"I'll do my best," Harley whispered back.

Rosa followed Harley out of the room and fell in step beside her."What did you feed that little old lady?"

"Your granddaughter's last sherbet popsicle. By the way, you need to get some more."With a wink and a grin at the kindly nurse, Harley grabbed her jacket off the hook and waved as she headed out the door.

The river'sgentle expanse of ripples, nudged along by the balmy night breeze, glistened like silver, like liquid mercury beneath the caress of the moon. Harley wriggled her bare toes in the soft clumpy grass of the riverbank as the mighty Mississippi lapped at the shore. A deep inhale treated her to the soothing scents of the river—not the brininess of the sea but an earthy, primordial fragrance teeming with life. Skipjacks broke the surface, making Harley smile. Silly fish tempted by the sparkle of the moonlight and the hopes of snacking on water bugs. She loved living at the river's edge. Her camper wasn't much, but it was hers, and her job at the nursing home enabled her to live on her own. She'd found out the hard way that she couldn't depend on anyone but herself.

A heavy sigh worked its way free of her. Now that it was summer, maybe she should get a second job. That way, she wouldn't have as much time like this. Time to muddle over what could have been—what almost was. If she had a second job, she'd be so exhausted by the time she got home that she'd drop into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as she ate her sandwich for supper. She slowly nodded as she tossed a pebble into the water. Yes. A second job would not only keep her too busy to think, but it would also grow her savings at a faster rate. Money wasn't the problem, though. Too much time on her hands was the bait that made her inner demons come to life and rip through her heart and soul. A second job might just do the trick. She should definitely look into that.

When she was at work, surrounded by all those sweet, cantankerous old people, she was fine. Her demons stayed asleep and buried deep in the darkness of her memories—right where they belonged. But when she left, when things got too quiet, that was when it happened. When it all came crashing in. All the memories and the cruel game of if only. Alone time was a dangerous trigger that brought all her poor decisions back to life.

If only she'd never met Scott, never trusted Scott, and, most importantly, never agreed to marry Scott. If only she'd never walked into that back room at church on her wedding day to find her friend Sue on her knees in front of him with his pants down around his ankles. Those damn if only'swould stab you in the heart every time.

She stiffened her back, sitting up straighter as she pulled in another deep breath and kept her gaze locked on the water. "If only I could float downstream to the ocean and never come back. Be as free as a piece of driftwood on a rolling wave—now that would solve all my problems."

As she scooted closer to the water's edge, the rhythmic lapping of the water against the shore eased the tension in her shoulders and calmed the churning in her gut. The ebb and flow of the tides urged her to come along and play. The distant magic of the ocean called to her, slyly working its way up the mighty Mississippi and whispering to her on the shores of her Kentucky home.

Harley studied the moon as she lay back on the bank just out of reach of the lively waves. "Maybe I could build a raft and float out to sea never to be seen again. Drift off to a magical, faraway land where the love of my life awaits—a love who would never betray me or make me feel like a naive fool."

She waited for the crickets and cicadas to comment on her plan to change her life. Unfortunately, she spoke neither cricket nor cicada and couldn't benefit from their advice even though the grasses and trees almost vibrated with the sheer intensity of their songs.

With a snort at her own silliness, she shook herself free of her melancholy. Self-pity never got anyone anywhere. Time to buck up and get on with it. She dragged herself to her feet and meandered down the moonlit beach. After finding a piece of driftwood, she crouched and poked holes in the sand just to watch as the water filled them in faster than she could dig them.

Tired of the childish game, she stood and stared down at the driftwood, marveling at its intricate knots and whirls making patterns with no beginnings and no ends. "I wish there was someone out there for me. A good someone. Someone kind and loving." She smiled down at the stick. "Find him for me. Okay?" Then she gave it a quick kiss and tossed the piece of wood as far out into the water as she could. She watched it bob and swirl, keeping her gaze locked on it until it floated out of sight. Then she climbed up the riverbank to her lonely bed.

"Harley?What kind of name is Harley for a girl?" asked the old man in a rude, growly loudness that echoed across the community room.

"You leave our Harley alone, or I'll unhook the call light for your bedpan!"Frail Mr. Thomas shook his fist at the shriveled man Harley pushed along in the wheelchair. Mr. Jenkins was the newest member of the senior citizen's home, and she hoped to find him a few new friends in the sunny dayroom.

"Now Mr. Thomas, let's be nice. Mr. Jenkins doesn't know the story behind my name, and I don't mind telling it again." Harley positioned Mr. Jenkins beside the bay windows overlooking the pond where the geese were currently swimming with this year's goslings. After locking down his wheels, she tucked the blanket around his frail knees to ensure he didn't catch a chill.

She pulled up a chair beside him, straddled it with her long legs, and propped her chin on its back to prepare to tell the tale she had told many times, but the elders never seemed to tire of it. "You see, Mr. Jenkins. My parents were married for many, many years before I was born.So many years that they decided they would never have children."

As Harley continued the story, she couldn't help but smile as she remembered the devotion her parents had always had, and still had, for each other. "They were so convinced they would never be able to have children that they bought a pair of Harley Davidson motorcycles and hit the open road. But apparently, the open road was exactly what they needed. Because after their first big run, my mother found out she was pregnant with me. Hence, my name—Harley."

Mr. Jenkins peered at her through glasses so thick that the lenses distorted his eyes. "Well, that's the damnedest thing I believe I have ever heard."

With a heartfelt wink, she solemnly nodded and made an x on her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die. It's the truth."

"Well, just where are these parents now?" Mr. Jenkins scowled at her, making it apparent that he wasn't about to be outdone, and was determined that she realized how miserable her life was—simply because of her odd name.

"Last time I talked with them, they were in South Dakota. I'm not sure where they are now. Once I grew up and moved out, they got the bikes back out of storage and hit the open road again." She smiled at the poor old guy, feeling more than a little sorry for him. He was so miserable, he was determined everyone else should be miserable as well.

"So, they deserted you." He shook his head and swayed from side to side in his seat. "I know how that feels. You can't count on anyone but yourself." He seemed to curl into himself, sinking lower in the wheelchair and staring down at his hands in his lap.

Her heart ached for the unhappy little man. She wished she knew of a way to help him battle the cruel reality of growing old and being tossed aside. She scooted her chair closer and gently scooped one of his hands into hers.

"What did you use to do for a living, Mr. Jenkins? Before you came to live here. Tell me about yourself."

His eyes narrowed as he slowly lifted his head. He jutted his sharp chin to a defiant angle. "Don't placate me, girl. Just go away. Don't you have a bedpan to empty or someone's wrinkled old ass to wipe? There have to be all kinds of things you need to do other than sit here with me."

She leaned closer until her nose almost touched his and met his hardened glare with one of her own. "Mr. Jenkins, all I have to do is live until I die. Now, start talking."