Hi all,
First off, I'd like to say that I would understand if everyone had given up on me, since I've totally failed to deliver on my posting schedule.
I've finally managed to write a few more chapters and I'm hoping I can keep going.
This next part hasn't been edited by one of my trusty beta readers, so perhaps the writing might not be quite so smooth.
Please leave fdk, and if you must throw tomatoes, not the 'canned' variety, I hope.
Yours Jenni
Previously on My Wife The Boss:
“I believe I have a headache starting, so I'll eat in my room,” the lady in the chair replied without turning around.
It was the reply the matron had expected, but before she left, she decided to give Liz an excuse to leave. “Are you coming, Liz?”
But clearly, Liz wasn't so faint-hearted. “I believe Miss Bowen-Timmons' closet could do with tidying out, so if you've nothing else for me to do, I'd like to stay.”
The matron returned Liz's smile. “Not right at this moment, but if you could come back to the floor before coffee at eleven, I think we can spare you to look after our favorite lady.” The matron almost choked on these last words as she closed the door with a firm click. She pitied poor Liz. It was obvious she was new and didn't know what she was letting herself in for, or she wouldn't have willingly suggested remaining in the lion's den.
*****
continued ...
The phone on Clark's desk rang and he picked it up absentmindedly, while he continued to concentrate on his latest column for the Sunday magazine. Lois had asked him to do a report on Jilin and its community, and he'd happily agreed.
“Clark Kent speaking,” he said politely.
“Clark, is that you?” the caller asked.
Suddenly, Clark's attention switched to the call as he recognized the voice. “Father Ninian?” He leaned back in his chair. “How are you?”
“I'm fine, Clark. This cold weather makes my old bones ache, but I'm as well as can be expected,” Father Ninian replied with his usual cheerfulness. “But how are you? I read in the paper about your latest heroics and your injuries. You are a brave man, Clark.”
“Thank you, Father, but those injuries are superficial and they're healing quickly.” Actually his wounds had closed up completely, leaving the new flesh fairly tender, the remaining bandages were only a disguise. He knew it was necessary, but he couldn't help but blush at the fabrication. “I did what anyone else would have ... nothing spectacular.”
“I'm not so sure,” the priest said, his voice becoming weary. “It seems to me that there are too many people prepared to pass by on the other side of the road these days. But I didn't call you to give you a sermon.” His tone brightened again. “I have information for you ... or I have someone here who has.”
“About the bombing?” Clark sat up straighter, hoping for a substantial lead at last.
“Not exactly ... but certainly someone who knows a little about the person in your drawing.” Father Ninian lowered his tone dramatically before continuing, sounding like a contact out of a spy movie. “Mind you, I don't know how reliable the information could be. I'm sure Patrick thinks he's telling the truth, but he's been on the streets for nigh on thirty years ... and been drinking for longer, I'm sure. He has been known to see pink elephants before today.”
“Is he there with you, Father?” Clark lost a little of his animation at Father Ninian's words, but he forced himself to remain positive. “Would he talk to me?”
“Yes, I have him here, and I think you should come over as soon as you can, because I don't know how long I can keep him here. He hasn't had a drink since last night, when he talked to me about the sketch ... except for a little glass of communion wine I gave him to persuade him to stay. I'm sure the good Lord will forgive me for my sins, but Patrick was in sore need of the hair of the dog that bit him. If he didn't get it here, I'm certain he'd go looking elsewhere, and without tying him down, I wasn't sure how else to stop him.” The old man took a large gasp of air, after rushing through his story.
Clark couldn't hold back a smile. “You are a saint, Father. Try to stop him from leaving and I'll be there as soon as possible.” It was at times like these that he missed flying.
“I'll do my best,” the priest chuckled. “There's still some wine left in the bottle ... but best get here before it's finished, or before Patrick becomes totally inebriated. I doubt I'll ever reach sainthood ... not when I'm giving away holy wine.”
“Thanks, Father. I'll be there soon.”
Clark replaced the phone on its cradle and, looking around, he spied Jim heading for Lois' office.
“Hey, Jim, can you tell Lois that I might have a lead on one of my stories, but I've got to run ... oh, and I need to borrow the Jeep.” He pulled his coat on as he backed toward the elevators, checking he had a set of car keys in his pocket.
“Sure thing, CK,” Jim answered, juggling a number of files in his arms. “Do you know how long you'll be?”
Clark called over his shoulder. “I'm not sure, but tell Lois I'll finish the Jilin article on time, even if I have to work late.” He pressed the button to call the elevator. “Tell her I'll call if I'm not going to make it back by lunch time.”
The elevator arrived and he hurried inside, heading down to the car lot and not to the roof as he once would have done if he was in a hurry. Not being able to fly to emergencies or interviews was pretty inconvenient.
All things considered -- he decided he really did miss the flying!
*****
Back at the nursing home, Liz had finished tidying Miss Timmons' closet. The old lady had some good stuff, but it was mostly old-fashioned, and very plain ... yet you couldn't hide quality. Clearly the old lady was still rich.
Liz had heard all about Miss Bowen-Timmons. Most of the staff had a story or two to tell about the old woman, and none of them complimentary, but Liz was kind-hearted and she preferred to give the lady the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she was just lonely. Liz had been told that apart from her minister and solicitor, no one bothered to visit.
As Liz came back into the room, she saw Miss Timmons' eyes were shut, but she didn't think the lady was sleeping. There was something watchful about the figure in the chair ... yet something forlorn too.
“There now, Miss Timmons, your clothes are all stored away neat and tidy again, and I've put the winter clothes to the front ...”
“How dare you shorten my name!” The lady protested indignantly, straightening her spine as best she could. “It's Miss Bowen-Timmons!”
Liz gulped. She'd been shortening the name in her head because it was such a mouthful, but clearly the lady was not amused.
“I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to insult you. I've never known anyone with two second names before. You must be a real important person,” Liz said soothingly.
“I do have a certain status in this city,” Miss Bowen-Timmons answered, her voice mellowing just the smallest bit, though she knew well that her family's influence had waned long ago.
Liz wasn't about to give up on her attempt to befriend the lady. She'd worked with old people for a number of years and learned how to get around them. It seemed that Nancy had found a way to work her way into Ina's good books, so she didn't see why she couldn't do the same ... and if it made her position more secure, then so much the better. Her husband had lost his job due to downsizing and the family needed her salary.
“I'm sure you do,” Liz agreed, but Ina had closed her eyes again, dismissing her. Only Liz still wasn't ready to leave, not without leaving a good impression of herself with the old lady. She searched around her for a reason to stay, and her glance fell on the package on the side-table. “Look, Miss Bowen-Timmons, you haven't opened your mail. It really could be a gift.”
“I have no one who would send me gifts,” Ina answered, yet a pitiful note had crept into her voice, and this time Liz didn't believe it was engineering.
Liz moved closer, but decided not to sit in the opposite chair. “Don't you have family?” she asked, sounding interested ... and she was. This old lady was somehow pathetic.
There was a long pause as a tear squeezed itself free of Ina's eye and trickled down her cheek. “No ... not anymore. I had a sister once, but she died a long time ago.”
“I'm sorry,” Liz said candidly. She'd been an only child, and though she still had both her parents, she would have enjoyed a wider family circle. “And you don't have any children of your own?”
“Don't be stupid, girl,” Ina snapped back. “I'm a Miss. I have never been married. Of course I don't have children!”
Liz let the old lady's spite wash over her, hoping, once more, that the bad temper sprang from loneliness. “And there's no one else ... no nephews or nieces?”
“Hhmm ... I had a nephew once.” The old lady admitted, her head nodding, but whether in agreement or an involuntary twitch, Liz couldn't be sure. “My sister's son. I gave him a home when his no-good father ran away.”
Ina looked across at the aide, giving her an appraising glare. The foolish girl had opened the floodgates of her memory ... so, now Liz could hear the whole sordid tale.
“Sit down, girl.” She waved her hand over to a high-backed chair and waited until Liz was seated before she continued, though her gaze wandered back to the garden. “It doesn't seem like a life time ago that I used to take my baby sister to play in those grounds. Those were the good times ... before we were abandoned.”
There was a long silence, and Liz thought that Ina might have really fallen asleep, but finally, she went on ... her words quiet and edged with bitterness.
“In the end though, my sister grew up to be as foolish as my mother. Both of them believed in the false promises of a Lothario. Only that man was worse than my father -- he was off the minute he realized I had control of the purse strings. Didn't hang around long enough to know if he had a son or a daughter.” Ina's mouth tightened into a very thin line, her cracked lips almost disappearing. “He left me to care for them ... and I did. I tried my utmost to make both of them into god-fearing people, but it was no good. My sister died on me, and the boy, Thomas ... well, the least said about him the better.” The old woman's bony hands gripped her blanket. “I fed and clothed him, sent him to a good school; took him to church every Sunday, and saw that he read the bible every day. I prayed over him ... but nothing worked. He was a wastrel like his father ...”
Feeling a certain sympathy for young Thomas, Liz was almost afraid to ask. “What happened to him?”
“You mean the boy?” Ina turned back to the young woman, but she didn't wait for an answer. “He was never a good scholar, but I managed to get him into a reputable college. But was he grateful? No! He ran away. I've had a letter or two from him over the years, but it's mostly when he's needing money for some scheme or another.”
“And did you reply?”
“No. Of course not. I did my best for him and he threw my efforts back in my face. Why should I help him when he felt he needed me?” The whine was back in the old lady's voice. “He never considered that I might need him!”
The old lady was lonely and wanted to renew her ties with her nephew. Perhaps Liz could lend a hand.
“Miss Bowen-Timmons, perhaps the package is from Thomas. He must know you're still living here, if this has been your family home ... forever. Maybe he's sending you a Christmas gift to make amends for leaving you.”
“Oh yes, he used to live here, so I imagine he knows ... but I doubt he'd send me anything ...” Another tear slipped unheeded down the wrinkled face.
“But you won't know until you look. Would you like me to open it for you?” Liz asked gently.
Again there was another silence, broken only by Ina's rasping breath as she stared at the brown-wrapped package.
“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look,” she replied eventually. “And if he did want to come see me ... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give him permission. The good Lord teaches us to forgive.”
“Of course he does, Miss Bowen-Timmons, and especially at Christmas.” Liz lifted the package and looked for the edge of the wrapping, her hands working nimbly. “Christmas is a time for good will. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could spend this Christmas with your nephew ...”
*****
to be continued ...
