a-soft-place-to-fall by Rakhibul hasan (free e books to read .TXT) 📖

rubbery scrambled eggs."

He made short work of his food then reached over and grabbed a bite of her muffin.

"Hey!" she protested then remembered that she had swept him out of Cappy's before he had a chance to grab a meal. She pushed her plate toward him. "Here," she said. "Eat."

He said something to her, something earthy and blunt and so sexual she almost melted right there on the spot. Kevin's praise had been couched in metaphor and allusion. It had vanished in the face of reality. Sam's praise was – oh, God, it was flesh and blood and pure heat and she felt it in every part of her body. It anchored her in the world yet somehow gave her wings.

A second later they were in each other's arms again. He backed her up against the refrigerator. She wrapped her legs around his hips and lowered herself onto his amazing erection, taking him deeper than she thought possible. He groaned as she tightened her muscles around him, and she grew stronger with every movement of her body, every sound of pleasure she drew from him. This was a kind of lovemaking she'd never known. There was nothing gentle about their coming together. Their union was fierce and urgent, as if they had waited all their lives for that moment and for all they knew, maybe they had.

#

"Start the waffles, Nancy," Warren called out. "They're pulling in the driveway." Max was beside himself with excitement. He leaped against Warren and placed his

big hairy paws on his chest and barked at full volume.

"I told you he'd be here," he said to the big yellow dog and threw open the front door. "Go say hello."

Max tore down the steps and galloped across the lawn full speed, barking at the top of his canine lungs. He skidded to a stop inches away from Sam and Annie, then threw himself at his master in a frenzy of pure pleasure.

"My second and third wives never gave me a greeting like that," Warren said as he walked down the driveway to meet them.

"Dog biscuits," said Annie, waving a large Milk-Bone. "Wins their hearts every time."

He slipped an arm through Annie's while Sam and Max bonded. "You look happy," he observed as they strolled back to the house. "I am," she said.

"He looks happy too."

She glanced over her shoulder. "He does, doesn't he?"

"I'm glad you two are getting along," he said, "because Sam will be working on the museum with you."

Her eyes danced with amusement. "I'm sure that was worrying you."

It was one of those days that made an old man glad to be alive. These two young people – they would always be young to him – had changed before his very eyes. Annie glowed with pure happiness. Her loveliness had always been shadowed with worry and, since Kevin's death, sorrow had taken its toll. This morning, with her thick curly hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face scrubbed clean of makeup, she was the girl he'd watched grow up before the sadness came to stay.

As for Sam – hell, he hardly recognized the boy. His laughter was loud and easy and his eyes never left Annie. The expression in them warmed Warren's heart. It was

everything he'd hoped for when the notion first presented itself. Not that he could take any credit for the laughter that rang out as they shared blueberry waffles and stories at his breakfast table on that sunny Labor Day morning. All he did was sell a house to Annie and give Sam a place to stay while he sorted out his problems. Love was a funny business. Just because you thought two people were right for each other didn't mean spit if the magic wasn't there.

And all you had to do was look at Sam and Annie to know the magic was present and accounted for.

You could keep your fancy offices and jet planes and the deals that made page one of the Wall Street Journal. This was what was real, he thought, as he watched the two children of his heart as they whispered over their coffee. This was what made everything else worthwhile. Pray God it was the real thing.

#

Hall and Ellen met up with each other in the doctors' lounge a little after ten a.m. Ellen, still in scrubs, ran a hand through her thick red hair and barely managed to

stifle a yawn. "So now I know why it's called Labor Day," she said as Hall poured them each a cup of coffee. "Who thought Perrin and Bradsher would pop the same day."

"It's the full moon," Hall said, handing her a cup.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Oh great. That doesn't bode well for the doings on the green, does it?"

They found an empty table near the door and sank wearily into their chairs. "Small town life beginning to pinch, Dr. Markowitz?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said with her characteristic honesty. "The social aspects can be a little overwhelming for the newbie. The most I ever did on Labor Day was readjust my beach towel."

"Welcome to New England," he said, wishing he had a bagel and cream cheese to go with the coffee, "where idle hands are the devil's workshop."

Ellen grinned at him. "Or something like that."

"It won't be so bad," he said. "It's not like we're being put in stocks or anything. Just a small booth near the barbecue pit where we hand out coupons for free health services."

"Burgers and mammograms to go," she said, shaking her head in amusement. "I have a lot to learn."

"You're doing fine," he said, noticing briefly the dark circles under her light blue eyes. "Everyone likes you –" he paused for effect "—even though you're a New Yorker."

She tossed a sugar packet in his direction. "Just wait," she said, laughing. "Next time we're down there for a seminar, I'm going to take you back to the old neighborhood and show you what real bagels taste like."

His eyes widened. "How did you know I was thinking about a bagel?"

She leaned forward, elbows on the cheap formica tabletop, and fixed him with a kind but serious look. "So what's wrong," she said, lowering her voice so only he could hear her. "You look like hell today."

He thought about the way Annie Galloway had looked when she walked out of Cappy's hand-in-hand with Sam Butler. "I forgot Willa and Mariah were spending the night," he said, dodging the real truth.

"Where are they now?"

"Stevens from Pediatrics said they could color in the sun room while I met up with the Perrins."

"And that's it?"

"That's all I'm going to tell you."

"She's a fool," Ellen said, "and you can quote me on that."

"You're a good friend, Markowitz," he said, "but you don't know what you're talking about."

Ellen smiled and said nothing at all.

#

Claudia didn't sleep a wink all night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Annie and that man and her stomach started to churn and she found herself reaching for the antacid tablets she kept on her nightstand. Finally she gave up and went downstairs to the kitchen and made the deviled eggs for the Labor Day picnic. If she remembered right, Annie would oversee the goings-on at Annie's Flowers while Claudia and Roberta and the rest of the Golden Age Volunteers hustled for donations for the new senior citizens center the hospital planned to build.

She arranged the two dozen deviled eggs on the round glass platters with the egg-shaped depressions made especially for the cholesterol-laden treats. The platters had belonged to her mother and to her mother's mother before her. Her granddaughters found it hard to believe there had ever been a time when such deadly fare had not only been consumed in quantity, but had merited its own service pieces as well.

She dearly wanted to sample one of those buttery-yellow, eggy treats but she didn't dare. She had lost a husband and son to the cruelty of heart disease and she wasn't ready to offer herself up on that particular altar just for the sake of egg yolk and mayonnaise.

By six a.m. she had made the deviled eggs; three dozen pinwheels of ham, cream cheese, and scallions; a medley of lightly steamed veggies and a virtuously low fat dip to enjoy with them. Everything had been carefully wrapped then stowed in her refrigerator until it was time to load them into Susan's minivan for the trip into town.

She took a bath, attended to her morning needs, then made herself eat a breakfast of bran cereal, skim milk, and decaf. All of that only took her up until seven-thirty which meant another four and a half hours until it was time to leave. She considered tidying up the front rooms but they were already immaculate. Since John's death, she had found herself taking great comfort from routine chores. She did the wash on Mondays, the floors on Tuesdays, the bathrooms on Wednesdays. Thursday nights were reserved for supermarket shopping. Once you added in her work schedule at Annie's Flowers and the hours she put in as a Golden Age volunteer, you had something that looked like a full life. It helped to know there was a reason to get up in the morning, some place where she was expected to be.

What was it the young people called it? Anal retentive or was it obsessive-compulsive. Either way, she was afraid the term fit. "You're getting too set in your ways, Ma," Sean had said the last time he came home for a visit. "Loosen up. You'll live longer."

Well, Sean, she thought as she settled down with the new John Grisham, when you get to be my age that may not sound quite so inviting.

#

As usual Susan was running late. She had to fix breakfast, clean up, make sure Jack knew where everything was and what he was supposed to bring to the picnic later, then put herself together in a reasonable facsimile of a successful real estate broker at a town picnic. She hated business casual dressing. How much easier things had been in the 1980s when all you needed was shoulder pads and a silk dress. She opted in the end for a nice pair of walking shorts, her best sandals, and a camp shirt. She wouldn't win any fashion awards but it would do.

She pulled up in front of the house where she'd grown up about quarter after the hour. She'd expected to find Claudia standing in the foot of the driveway, tapping her foot and glancing pointedly at her watch but to her surprise there was no sign of her mother anywhere.

"Oh great," she muttered as she pulled into the driveway and shifted into park. Claudia was probably inside on the telephone, reading poor Jack the riot act because her daughter was a few measly minutes late. If only her mother would learn to cut them some slack, but that was like asking the earth to stop spinning. Claudia was the way she was and only an act of God could change her.

Okay, Ma, you made your point. You can come out now.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, stared at the clock on the dashboard then over at the quiet house.

She's your mother, Susan, even if she does drive you crazy. Get your butt out of the car and go see what's going on.

The back door was open. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. "Sorry I'm late, Ma," she called out, "but you know how it is with kids."

No response.

Her heartbeat quickened.

The kitchen was neat as a pin. No surprise there. Your average hospital operating room harbored more germs than her mother's trash bin.

"Ma?"

Still no response. Oh God. Terrible things happened to old people every day of the week. Wicked falls down the