Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(15)

Oliver smiled at the irony. Growing up, all Oliver had wanted was a dog. But despite the fact that he’d asked for one four Christmases in a row and every birthday during the same period, his mother had literally shuddered and ignored the request altogether. His father had impatiently declared dogs “a waste of valuable time.” To this day, Oliver had never owned a dog.

It occurred to him that as an independent thirty-year-old with his own apartment and free will, he could certainly get one now, but caring for his dad was just about all he could manage at the moment. Thank God for Janice. Oliver didn’t know what he would do without the dependable live-in caretaker.

Well, no. That wasn’t true. He did know . . . he’d have to put his father in a home.

And eventually, it would probably come to that. So far his father hadn’t been prone to the violent outbursts often associated with his disease—a particularly alarming development for male patients with Alzheimer’s, given that they tended to be bigger and stronger than their female caretakers.

Janice had been easily able to manage the worst of Walter’s tantrums, but if they progressed beyond throwing hard-boiled eggs, Oliver knew that even the sturdy Janice would be no match for the six-foot Walter.

For now, though, their system worked. Janet lived in the second bedroom of his father’s apartment, and Oliver paid her very well to cook, clean, and keep an eye on Walter.

She took off two days a week, during which Oliver took over watching his dad, and whenever possible, Oliver stopped by after work to give Janice some time to herself.

“I was going to go over to my sister’s for an hour or so,” Janice said as she washed Walter’s plate. “You want me to wait until you have a chance to grab dinner?”

“Nah, I’ll order a pizza or something. Who knows, maybe it’ll revive his pepperoni phase from last month.”

She smiled. “I swear, every time, it was like he never had a piece of pizza before. His happiness was a joy to watch.”

Oliver smiled at the recent memory, though he opted not to mention that pizza hadn’t exactly been a common occurrence in the Cunningham household while Margaret was alive. His mother had been a staunch believer in the merits of a home-cooked, balanced meal. Although, Oliver secretly thought that by balanced his mother had actually meant bland.

A few minutes later, Janice let herself out, and Oliver had just placed the pizza order and settled on the couch to watch the game with his dad when there was a knock at the door.

Walter didn’t even look away from the screen.

With an assessing glance to make sure his father wasn’t on the verge of some tantrum or destructive fit, Oliver recognized that Walter was completely lost inside his head and seemed perfectly content to stay in his chair.

Oliver stood and opened the door to Ruth Butler, his long-time neighbor and the onetime best friend of his mother.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at the petite woman as he bent to kiss her cheek. “Want to come in?”

“Oh, no, dear. You know I don’t care for televised athletics,” Ruth said, folding her hands in front of her as she glanced toward the TV. “How’s Walter this evening?”

Oliver shrugged. “An okay night, all things considered.”

“I stopped by earlier with some muffins, but he and Janice must have gone out. I’ll bring them by later, now that I know that you’re here. I didn’t want to leave them by the door. You know how Chantzy gets.”

“I do.” Chantzy was the aging corgi who lived next door and had once devoured a plate of cookies Ruth left on the floor outside the Cunninghams’ door.

“Now, Oliver,” Ruth said, using the same tone she’d used when he was a boy and had gone sprinting through the living room, disturbing Ruth and Margaret’s teatime. “I know that you’ve been very busy at work.”

“No more than usual,” he said, leaning on the door, knowing she didn’t actually give a crap about his architectural firm. “What’s up?”

“The board meeting this afternoon . . .”

Oliver groaned. “I missed it.”

“Yes, dear.”

“You know, anytime you guys want to kick me off that thing . . .”

He gave her his best grin, and she gave him a reproving look. “A Cunningham has been on the co-op board of 517 for three generations now. And with your father not able—”

“Yeah,” he said, just a touch curtly. “I know. What’d I miss?”

“We took the final vote on 2B.”

“Right. Who’d you decide on?”

“Well, nobody, yet. It was a tie.”

He silently groaned, realizing now why she was here. Oliver, and his missing vote, was the tiebreaker.

“All right. Who am I voting for?” he asked, knowing Ruth had strong opinions about most everything, and the residents of her building were the top of her list.

Her lips thinned. “Well, I’m sure I can’t tell you who to choose. And I’d have thought, with you living next door to the vacant apartment, you’d have a little more interest . . .”

“Who are my options?” he asked, suddenly envisioning a beer along with his pizza and puzzle downstairs in his apartment. Maybe a couple of beers.

“Well, there’s that nice couple from Connecticut. The Newmans. And then that young girl. The redhead.”