All They Need(49)

The train pulled into a station and Mel shook herself. She didn’t want to waste more time thinking about Owen. He’d consumed enough of her life.

As for Flynn…

She didn’t want to think about him, either, but for very different reasons.

It was too late, however. Her mouth was already curving into a smile as she remembered that stunt he’d tried to pull with the mayonnaise.

Flynn Randall was a goof. She never would have guessed in a million years, but he was. He was naughty and he was cheeky and he was fun.

I like you, Mel Porter.

She gazed out at the passing cityscape as the train left the station.

The feeling is mutual, Mr. Randall. Extremely mutual.



FLYNN SPENT A LONG TIME in the shower on Saturday morning. Head bowed, he let the water wash over him and tried to steel himself for the day ahead.

It didn’t matter that his father had agreed to this meeting. It didn’t matter that they were all going in with their eyes open, determined to listen and be patient. He didn’t want to sit at a table and discuss options for his father’s care once he was beyond caring for himself. Flynn didn’t want to be rational about something that made him want to bang his head against a brick wall with anguish.

But he would. As would his father and his mother, because the only other option was to bury their heads in the sand, which really wasn’t an option at all.

When the hot water finally ran out, he toweled off and dressed. He thought about breakfast but decided he couldn’t eat. Feeling heavier than lead, he drove to his parents’ place.

His father answered the door, his hair damp from the shower. His gaze was sharp, his demeanor familiar and affectionate.

“Dad.”

They exchanged hugs.

“Come in. Rosina’s making waffles. Anyone would think it was a special occasion.”

He gave Flynn a small, self-deprecating smile as Flynn walked past him and into the house. Then his gaze dropped to the folder in Flynn’s hands and his smile flattened. He didn’t ask, but Flynn knew he’d guessed what was in the folder: information on in-home nursing care and other support organizations for late-stage Alzheimer’s patients and their caregivers.

“I don’t suppose it’s too late to cancel and suggest a day trip somewhere instead?” his father said.

“Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Oh, nice answer. Leaves me with bugger all room to maneuver.”

“I learned from the best,” Flynn said as they entered the dining room.

“What did you learn, and from whom?” his mother asked, looking up from arranging a large bunch of camellias in a vase on the cherry-wood sideboard against the wall.

“How to get his own way, and from me,” his father said.

“Oh. That. I’d like to think I had a hand in that, too. I’m no slouch at getting my own way, either,” his mother said.

“True. Although logic would dictate that it’s impossible for two people to both always get what they want all the time,” his father said. “Someone has to miss out.”

“Agreed—unless they both want the same things.” His mother angled her cheek for Flynn’s kiss. “There you go, darling—the secret to thirty-odd years of happy marriage, in a nutshell. Find a woman who wants the same things as you.”

Flynn was very aware that beneath the banter and lightheartedness there was an edgy undercurrent. He pressed his molars together, wishing he could fast-forward through the next few hours and cut to the part where the hard decisions had been hammered out.

He crossed to the window and his thoughts drifted to Mel, as they were wont to do these days. He wondered if she was up and about yet, and what time her working bee was scheduled to start. Then he thought about the way she’d giggled like an idiot when he’d arranged her knees under the table at the burger place and smiled faintly.

“Would you like a coffee or a tea before we get started?” his mother asked from behind him.

Flynn turned to face his parents. “Tea, thanks.”

“How many waffles would you like?” she asked.

“I’m not hungry right now. Maybe later.” His gut was too tight to welcome food.



“Okay, then. Let’s get this show on the road,” his father said decisively, taking a seat at the head of the table. He’d set himself up with a notepad and pen, along with a sheet of printed notes. His reading glasses sat on the end of his nose and he surveyed Flynn and his wife over the top of them, every inch the former CEO of Randall Developments.