I hope you’re having a wonderful May! So far this month, I’ve attended a wedding and had a birthday. Pretty soon, it’ll be time for final exams and that big breath of relief that we all take when finals are over. And graduations! Do you know anyone who’s graduating this year? I do a weekly Bible study with a gal that’s graduating college this month. I need to get on the ball and get her a gift…or at least a card. (I didn’t even remember a card for the wedding…but I did order their gift…the day before the wedding. My organizational skills *might* be faltering.) ^_^
Anyway – Happy May!
Today is Part 9 of “A Day in the Life.” If you haven’t read the previous sections yet – or want to refresh your memory – you can find those here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6. Part 7, and Part 8.
****
“Me, me, me, me, me!” Amaria jumped up and down, reaching as far as her little arms would let her as she tried to grab the single cookie I held aloft over both their heads.
Alistair, on the other hand, crossed his arms and gave me a bored look.
I wasn’t fooled, though. They both wanted that cookie, and they wanted it bad.
“We’re going to see Miss Glenda today.”
Amaria stopped jumping, fisted her hands on her hips, and gave me the stink eye. “No.”
“We’re going to see Miss Glenda today, and the two of you will behave the entire time.”
Alistair’s eye twitched.
Amaria’s voice got louder. “No.”
I didn’t know the first thing about African American hair. At first, I’d thought I was supposed to wash Amaria’s hair each night. Oh, what a disaster that had been. And I hadn’t known how to comb it, braid it, or do anything with it afterward. She’d ended up in tears, and her brother had tried to physically restrain me from reaching for the comb.
Apparently, Maxie – who knew nothing about caring for a child’s hair in general, let alone the souped-up curls the twins sported – had hired a woman who came to their home twice a week to treat and style the kids’ hair. Alistair’s didn’t need much more than an occasional cut and the right kind of product to keep it from drying out too much. Amaria’s hair, though, was more complicated than college calculus. I could probably handle a little calculus if given enough time. Her hair, though…I loved that sweet, little, sometimes wily face too much to put her through my hair ministrations.
Their regular hairstylist was out of town, though, and we were heading out to visit her sister, a trichologist used to working with adults more than kids. She didn’t have the tender touch or hairside manner of her sister, but the results were always masterful. The kids, however, couldn’t care less about her hair genius. Her crabby exterior was too off-putting for them. That, and the twins swore she purposefully pulled extra hard on Amaria’s hair.
Splitting the cookie in two, I continued to hold it just out of their reach. “It’s Miss Glenda or me.”
Alistair’s eyes widened, and the air of disinterest he’d cultivated crumbled. His eyes darted around the room, as though looking for an escape. His nickname for his sister came out in a guttural whisper, the syllables full of tense breath. “Ahh-mee…”
Amaria’s gaze snapped to her brother then flew back to me. “Wait a second. What did you just say?”
I put the two halves of the cookie on the kitchen counter and pulled the steal-toothed comb from my back pocket. “You heard me. It’s either me or Miss Glenda. I’m fine either way. The choice is yours. What’ll it be?” Honestly, if it came down to it, I’d probably put them in baseball caps before I’d force them to let me comb their hair…but they didn’t need to know that just yet. I seriously needed to have their regular hair gal teach me a thing or two. Incompetence didn’t sit well with me.
Amaria sidled up to her brother’s side, one hand still fisted on her hip while she rested the other on his arm. The daggers shooting from her eyes were in contrast to the woebegone sound of her voice. “Miss Glenda. We’ll behave.”
I gave a little clap and shoved the comb back into my pocket. “Fabulous. You guys can each have half of a cookie now. If everything goes well at Miss Glenda’s, we’ll stop at the store and pick up ice cream on the way home.”
I preferred to think of it as rewarding rather than bribing. After all, I’d be a complete hypocrite if I bribed the kids. I’m pretty sure I’d judged at least one parent for doing that at some point during my years teaching Sunday school. Walking in someone else’s shoes was like being served a daily dose of humble pie. Man, did I ever have a lot to learn about life and grace.
****
“Tell us a story.”
Who could say no to Alistair’s pleading brown eyes?
I could. That’s who. “Dinner’s over, and it’s time for me to hit the road.” And I would be back in ten short hours.
“Please.” Now his sister was in on it, too.
“Listen, guys. I’d love to tell you a story, but it’s time for me to leave.”
Amaria muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “You wouldn’t have to leave if you lived here.”
I ignored the remark and started looking for my purse. Where on earth had I left it?
Maxie walked into the living room to find me standing there, hands on my head, as I glanced everywhere I could land my eyes. Amaria held onto one leg, Alistair the other. They’d resorted to physical coercion. That’s what I called it, anyway. I’m pretty sure that, as their nanny, I wasn’t supposed to say they were acting like spoiled brats. Besides, one look into their eyes was all it took to see the need there. Need was a whole different animal than demand or entitlement.
“Everything okay?” Maxie’s voice filled the cracks and crevices forming in my hardened exterior.
“Why won’t you let Miss Zee stay and tell us a story?” Amaria let go of my leg long enough to shove her hands onto her hips and stick out her lower lip.
“Uuhhh…” Maxie caught my eye and lifted an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I just said it was time for me to go.”
He picked Amaria up and balanced her where his hip would be if he’d been born a woman. As it was, he was hipless, and gravity wasn’t working in his favor. His niece began to slide down his side. With pure brute force, Maxie pulled her back into place and secured her there. “I can read you a story.”
Alistair, still holding fast to my leg, shook his head. “Miss Zee tells the best stories. You just read ones we already know.”
And…that was where I drew the line. I pulled the boy from my leg and squatted down in front of him. “Is that a kind and respectful way to speak to your uncle?”
His lower lip jutted out to match his sister’s.
“What if I told you I liked Amaria’s voice better than yours, so from now on, she’s the only one allowed to speak to me?”
His stubborn show of rebellion instantly gone, Alistair’s lip trembled.
Which was, of course, my undoing.
I pulled Alistair in for a hug and held him tightly. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I promise I’ll make time to tell you guys a story. In the meantime, though, try to appreciate the wonderful gift God has given you in your uncle. Be thankful for what you have instead of saying it’s not good enough.”
He sniffed, and I kissed the top of his head.
“Think you can manage?”
He nodded in my arms, and I gave him another tight squeeze before letting him go.
Alistair trudged over to the couch and pulled my purse out from where he and his sister had apparently hidden it behind the behemoth piece of furniture.
I gave Amaria a quick kiss on the cheek where she rested, still in Maxie’s arms, and waved goodbye to everyone as I made my exit.
Before the door closed behind me, I heard Alistair’s resolute voice, “I’m sorry, Uncle Max. You’re good enough. I promise…”
I wouldn’t have minded staying late to tell the twins a story. They were exhausting, but I enjoyed my time with them.
The problem wasn’t them. It was their uncle.
Ever since my desk had been moved into his office, I’d found him increasingly…distracting.
When I’d been at Manda’s desk by his office door, even though the wall that separated us was part glass, his desk was further back than mine, and so he was almost always behind me. Since the move, though, he was constantly in my line of sight. I could be diligently clacking away at my keyboard in an attempt to dig up information on something Maxie had asked me to research, and I would look up for a second – and there he was.
Or I could be returning from a trip to the restroom, and – boom – there he was.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he was sixty years old with age spots and a hooked nose. Or even if he was exactly who he was – but married. He wasn’t either of those things, though, and as a result, my subconscious couldn’t seem to help itself where he was concerned.
He was typing something at his computer one day, and all I could think about was what it would be like to have those strong hands cup my face. He had decided to move his desk one day – by six whole whopping inches – and he’d looked so strong and sure of himself. It made me wonder what it would feel like to have those arms wrapped around me in a hug.
Maxie was entirely too distracting. At that point, the only thing preventing me from throwing myself at him was maintaining a semblance of distance. Sticking around to tell the kids a story would not aid that desire. Sticking around to tell a story would result in all four of us cuddled together somewhere – either on a couch or in one of the twins’ bedrooms – and a cozy scene like that would do little to squelch the electricity that seemed determined to warm up my insides whenever I looked at Maxie these days.
I had it under control, though. He was my boss, and whatever I felt for him was a passing fancy. My imagination would move on eventually.
It had to.
****
Thank you for joining me this month! I hope you enjoy the rest of your week and do something wonderfully fun this month!
Heather Gray loves coffee, God, her family, and laughter – not necessarily in that order! She writes approachable characters who, through the highs and lows of life, find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her. And, yeah, her books almost always have someone who's a coffee addict. Some things just can't be helped. Despite their different lives and situations, Heather’s characters have something in common. They're all flawed...but loved anyway.
Happy May Day to you too.
When I realized it was a new month, I thought, we’ll get the next installment sooooon!
I gobbled this one up as quickly all the others, and loved it! It’s getting closer (she said, clapping her hands with glee).
Happy May to everyone!
Oh, I’m loving this story!!! Did you decide how many installments you’re going to do??
Thank you for stopping by today, Mary! :-)
Haha! I’m kind of clapping my hands, too! I can’t wait to see these two get their happily-ever-after! :-)
Same to you, Paula!!
Yes. And then I changed it. Then I changed it again. Then…well, you get the idea. ^_^ I had it all mapped out in my head, but as I started writing it, the ending felt rushed, and I don’t like it when stories have a nice steady slow burn romance going and then all the sudden in the last chapter the people are madly in love…so I’m trying not to do that. The next two installments are written, and it’s still not quite wrapped up…but it’s getting much closer! :-)
This story if so fun! I can’t wait to see how these two end up getting together.
I am going to go back to the beginning and read the other installments and then I will be back to this part. I do serial fiction on my blog for fun and it’s cool to see you doing it as well. I read the first part and was already hooked but looks like you close comments after a certain amount of time (like my blog) so I couldn’t comment there. Anyhow, be back after I go through the other parts today.
Okay, I just read through all the parts and if my daughter doesn’t know how to read by the end of our school year it is all your fault because now I’m late to start her homeschooling day, but dare I say that it was worth it? I hope you release this one as a book. It is very engaging!
Thank you for sharing this story with us! Have a Great week and stay safe.
I’ve loved this story!
*Cackles gleefully*……now we’re getting to the juicy parts….lol!!
Happy May Heather!
To: Heather Gray, Author
From: Arthur Schlockmeister, Chief Administrator, Whispering Pines Senior Convalescent Home
Ms. Gray,
I am thoroughly disconcerted and very nearly irked. Having had no response to my previous missive (https://www.inspyromance.com/a-day-in-the-life-part-8/#comment-77062), which I admit was, as my secretary Ms. Morganthaler assured me, “pathetically needy”, I am now reduced to considering drastic measures here at WPSCH. And let me just say that this month’s episode has proven to be no help at all in that regard.
I am not ignorant of the ways of storytellers, Ms. Gray. I know full well that you seek to give us characters with whom to identify and story arcs that lead us to be better people. Do you realize, however, the overwhelming conundrum that this has become in my work and indeed my life? I make full confession that, as troublesome as “A Day in the Life” has been, I have steeled myself to the task of reading every episode. How could I do any less than enter into the life and struggles of our residents?
As the chief administrator, I very much identify with Jacob Maximillian Short. We both shoulder the weighty burden of leadership. Although, it is probably more true that I aspire to emulate Mr. Short since, as Ms. Morganthaler also points out, my resolute and inspirational gaze is also quite “pathetically needy”. It seems that my best efforts are consistently and frustratingly inadequate.
I had been content with my state in life until I realized that I also identify with Miss Prentice. I have not just two strong-willed and mischievous wards but 57 of them. And Mrs. Miller’s ardent pursuit of Roger the massage therapist is not the least of it. Agnes Farsickle has gotten it into her head to encourage the entire Ladies’ Tuesday Night Bible Study to love and good works and readily admits that she is not worried about getting to the good works part any time soon. Inadequacy does not begin to describe my feelings when I face such challenges.
It is with fear and trembling that I also admit to you (and I do ask you to keep it in the utmost confidence) that I also identify with the twins, Alastair and Amaria. While I cannot claim their brash confidence, I can easily see myself in their deep concern in facing the hairdresser. I do not have unruly hair, but instead mine is absent. It has reached the point where the salon will no longer shampoo my hair before cutting. They merely wet it down with window cleaner and buff the top to an embarrassing shine. They do cut the remainder but I receive a sixty percent “light duty” discount. Not only inadequate but humiliating as well.
I was planning to discontinue the distribution of your episodes here at the home, but just this morning received a five-page petition signed by six staff members and every resident, including Angus Rodriguez who has been in a coma for over a year. I would have suspected foul play but, having seen the effects of your writing on one and all involved, I would not be surprised at anything where Angus is concerned.
So, we shall continue our faithful reading and sharing of your ongoing story. I fervently hope to find my own story arc leading to a better place, even though Ms. Morganthaler says my “fervent” is still only “pathetically needy.”
Sincerely yours,
Arthur Schlockmeister
Agh…waiting again ;(
Yay! I’m glad you’re enjoying it! :-)
I think comments are shut down after 30 days or something like that – with so many blog posts each year, it’s hard to keep up if we don’t shut the comments off at some point. ^_^
I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story, Lisa! And I’m sure your daughter will be reading like a champ before school’s out. I mean, after all, if you’re late to start school because of reading, then at a minimum she’s going to pick up on your love of reading and want to get in on the action! :-)
Have a marvelous day, Alicia – and thank you for stopping by! :-)
I’m so glad, Melynda! Thank you for letting me know! ^_^
Gleefully is almost always better than maniacally when it comes to cackling!! :-)
Mr. Schlockmeister,
I am so terribly sorry that your previous missive went unanswered. It appears that I missed an entire packet of mail that day. Upon receipt of your current letter, I went in search of the mysteriously missing missive and found it along with several others. I’m rather embarrassed to find myself in this situation. Alas, I can only ask your forgiveness (and hope that this doesn’t mean I am soon bound for WPSCH).
To address some of your concerns –
I find it quite telling that you relate to Maximillian. He is a bit stuffy and has difficulty in communicating emotions other than haughty indifference. That is just his surface, though. Underneath that, he’s a warm and loving individual who has sacrificed greatly for those he cares about, including all the people in his charge both in his personal and professional life. He has a deep abiding loyalty, a keen intelligence, and is quite the snappy dresser. While I can’t speak to your clothing choices, I am certain that I sense the same sort of care and loyalty in you that I find so compelling in Mr. Short.
As for relating to Miss Prentice – I completely understand! I once taught English to a class of fourth graders…who were all boys. While none of them were terribly interested in attending a study on love and good works, they did love to test my patience with their jokes about bodily functions and with the strange odors that occasionally emanated from their bodies. I do not envy you the task of wrangling your 57 residents. If Ms. Farsickle is any indication, the task may be a bit like herding cats.
Perhaps Ms. Farsickle’s Bible study is truly innocent. I am certain she must be focusing on the love of God and how gracing in the love and grace of God leads us to good works. Although, I did recently hear of a study on love whose central tenets were all pulled from the Song of Songs… Surely such a thing would not be occurring at WPSCH. You are far too astute an administrator to allow such shenanigans, I am sure. Although…if it puts a denture-filled smile on people’s faces and a bounce in their orthopedic-shoed steps, perhaps such a study would not be entirely inappropriate. After all, we are never too old to learn.
If I’m being entirely honest, one of my favorite things about Miss Prentice is that she simply wants to be seen. Her months of looking for work and getting turned down at every opportunity developed a bit of an inferiority complex in her, and she is still struggling to overcome that. I think that we all, on some level, desire to have someone who sees us – someone who acknowledges our hard work, who appreciates what we do, and who, when they look at us, sees us. Perhaps this is just my experience, but I think that too often, we tend to look through people rather than at them. We fail to see them, to see their story, and to value them as individuals. I think the fact that you can relate to Miss Prentice with the trials of twins that she faces tells me that you, sir, are someone who sees people. While your residents may give you endless heartburn and indigestion, I believe they are in the best of hands in your are, for you see them with all their quirks and oddities, and you have yet to turn tail and run screaming into the night. I don’t in any way think that this is a commentary on your sanity. Rather, I think it speaks to your commitment and care for your residents. Besides, sanity is a luxury that we can’t all afford.
I am so terribly sorry to hear about your experience with the hairdresser! I sense that these events have left you questioning the efficacy of visiting the hairdresser at all. If I am being frank, I would say that, as long as they don’t pull out the Turtle Wax, it is probably acceptable to continue visiting them. Ever the optimist, though, I would also point out that a lack of hair is not the most terrible fate a person can face. Many people regularly visit salons to have hair removed from their person. If I had to choose between not having hair where I ought to have it and having hair sprout up in all kinds of places that it ought not naturally grow, I would likely choose – were I male, that is – to be in your position. I am sure that your “light duty” hairstyle gives you a distinguished and imposing appearance. And think about all the time you save each morning by not having to worry about organizing a headful of hair into some sort of proper style. Kudos, indeed!
Angus sounds like a delight! Stunning, startling, and a bit disconcerting – but a delight nonetheless. As for Mrs. Wilson – perhaps her interest in Roger’s magic hands is purely medicinal. Unless you fear for Roger’s safety, it may be wise to give her the benefit of the doubt. Having said that, it might behoove you to install security cameras in the massage room. Not that Roger needs protecting. I’m sure he is entirely capable of respectfully fending off any untoward advances that might be thrown his way. However, to protect the reputation of WPSCH, security cameras might be a wise move.
I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Schlockmeister for your note. I find you not remotely pathetic or needy, and I am thrilled that you will continue to allow “A Day in the Life” to be a part of your residents’ lives. I will also do my utmost to pay timely attention to all mail in the future so that I do not leave you in doubt about your importance and that of your residents. After all, readers are what makes the world go ’round. Metaphysically, of course.
Have a marvelous day! Now, I am off to go buy stock in a chap stick company…
With sincerity and gratitude,
Heather Gray
It’ll be here before you know it! :-)
She’s actually doing great but she announced today that she’s not ready to read all the time like me so I should just hold off until she’s not six. lol.
I get it! Not a complaint at all :)