My Kind of Wonderful(6)

Gray backed him and shook his head. Nope, Hud didn’t sleep with his mouth open or snore.

Hud nodded. That’s right, he didn’t. He stood and… sent a waterfall of jelly beans cascading to the floor.

Kenna chortled, pleased with herself.

Realizing his phone was still buzzing, Hud pulled it from his pocket, saw the number for his mom’s nurse, and immediately answered. “Is she okay?”

At the question, his siblings’ easy, relaxed attitude vanished. Everyone sat straight up and watched Hud’s face carefully, good humor gone.

“She’s fine,” Jenny, the head nurse, told Hud. “But I really think you need to take away that credit card you gave her. Carrie isn’t so good with credit, as you well know.”

Hud rubbed his temple at the truth of this statement. The card was for emergencies because he knew what it was like to feel stuck and helpless. But he and his mom had different ideas on the definition of “emergency.” Last month she’d ordered two matching kid bikes, the exact bikes he and his identical twin Jacob had once begged her for—when they’d been eight years old. And then a week ago she’d ordered the drum set Hud had wanted for his birthday. His tenth birthday.

Kenna had commandeered the damn thing and now used it late at night to drive him crazy.

“What did she order now?” he asked Jenny.

The nurse hesitated.

Not good. Hud’s mom loved the Internet and the nurses let her have Wi-Fi access because it was a great babysitter. “Jenny,” he said a little tightly. “What did she buy?”

“A woman.”


Following her GPS, Bailey parked in front of a building adjacent to the hospital.

A nursing/support facility.

Checking in at the front desk, she found that she was expected and was given a guest pass.

She was guided to a room where people in wheelchairs were exercising. Their instructor at the front of the room was in a wheelchair too. She wore a headband, leotard, and leg warmers and had her class rocking out to “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar.

When she caught sight of Bailey, she waved and ended the class. “That’s enough for our seated Jazzercising class today, gang,” she called out. “Same place tomorrow. I’m bringing Sting and Queen.”

“In person?” one of the other elderly women asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, Sting didn’t return my calls and Freddie’s dead, but hey, we all gotta go sometime.” The teacher rolled toward Bailey and then shocked the hell out of her by standing up. “Hiya, I’m Carrie. Great to meet you.”

“You’re not…?” Bailey gestured to the wheelchair.

“Oh no. I just teach in the chair because they’re elderly. Plus they’re all—” She broke off to look around and make sure no one was looking at them. “A little…” She circled a finger around her ear, the universal sign for crazy. “But very sweet, each of them. Well, except Tony. Don’t turn your back on him, because he’s got octopus hands. Anyway, they don’t all need the chairs but I insist because sometimes they fall asleep and it’s less disruptive to the class to have them just nod off rather than fall over. The domino effect isn’t pretty. Follow me.”

Bailey followed her to a room at the end of the hall—a patient room. There, Carrie kicked off her shoes and climbed into the bed.

She was a patient here.

“Whew,” Carrie said. “Nap time. But this first. You’re my first choice for the Cedar Ridge project.”

Bailey looked around, more than a little confused. “You’re the publicist for Cedar Ridge Resort?”

“Actually…” Carrie paused. “‘Publicist’ might not be the exact right word.”

Oh boy. Knees weak, Bailey sank into the guest chair facing the bed. “And what would be the right word exactly?”

“Mom,” Carrie said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Cedar Ridge is family owned. It’s been a rough few years for the resort and the Kincaids. We need a boost.”

“Rough?” Bailey asked.

“Yes.” Carrie rubbed her temple. “The details don’t matter. What does matter is family. Memories. And what better way to preserve both of those things than a big picture to share with the world.”

“The mural,” Bailey said.

“The mural.” Carrie beamed. “One big pic to depict our favorite memories to share with everyone.”

“Okay,” Bailey said, thinking of her own personal favorite pic, one she kept as her wallpaper on her phone. It was herself, her mom, and her grandma in her grandma’s studio, all covered in paint and laughing together. “I get that. It’s a memory that can’t be erased with time.”

“Or a brain that has a hard time locating all its files.” Eyes suddenly suspiciously shiny, she knocked on the side of her own head. “Like mine.”

Bailey met her gaze and felt her heart squeeze.

“And I think the people who ski at Cedar Ridge would love it,” Carrie said. “A family-run resort like this one needs a centerpiece that people can talk about. Something other than the fact that the man who started the place was a deadbeat dad who mortgaged the resort to its eyeballs, couldn’t keep it in his pants, and vanished on his kids.”