Tribute

in that blank in her grandmother’s life?
    Badly enough, she admitted. The answer to that single question could finally give clarity to the bigger question.
    Why did Janet Hardy die at thirty-nine?
    CILLA FOUND BRINGING Steve home both thrilling and terrifying. He was alive, and considered well enough to leave the hospital. Two weeks before, she’d sat beside his bed, trying to will him out of a coma. Now she stood with him as he studied the farmhouse. He leaned on a cane, a ball cap on his head, dark glasses over his eyes, and his clothes bagging a bit from the weight he’d lost in the hospital.
    She wanted to bundle him inside, into bed. And feed him soup.
    The terror came from wondering if she was competent enough to tend to him.
    “Stop staring at me, Cill.”
    “You should probably get inside, out of the sun.”
    “I’ve been inside, out of the sun. Feels good out here. I like the barn. Barns should always be red. Where the hell is everybody? Middle of the day, no trucks, no noise.”
    “I told all the subs to take me off today’s schedule. I thought you’d need a little peace and quiet.”
    “Jesus, Cilla, when did I ever want peace and quiet? You’re the one.”
    “Fine, I wanted peace and quiet. We’re going in. You look shaky.”
    “Goes with the territory these days. I’ve got it,” he snapped at her when she started to take his free arm. He managed the stairs, crossed the veranda.
    The scowl smoothed away when he stepped inside the house, took his first look around.
    “The plastering looks good. Getting rid of that door over there, widening the opening, that works for you. Better flow.”
    “I’m thinking of using that area as a kind of morning room. It gets nice light. Then later on, if I’m still inclined, I could add on a sunroom, put in a hot tub, a couple of machines, some nice plants. Down the road.”
    “Be sweet.”
    And because she heard the strain in his voice, she nearly fussed about taking him up to bed. Instead she tried a different tack. The first step would be to get him upstairs.
    “We’ve done a lot on the second floor. The master suite’s really coming along. You’ve got to see it.”
    These steps were longer. She all but felt his weaker left side begin to tremble on the journey up. “We should’ve taken Ford up on his offer. You’d be more comfortable at his place.”
    “I can walk up a damn flight of steps. Got a headache, that’s all. Goes with the territory now, too.”
    “If you want to lie down . . . I’ve got your pills right here.”
    “I don’t want to lie down. Yet.” He pushed her offered hand aside. Again, some of the strain eased on his face when he studied the new bedroom space. “You always had an eye. Good lines, good light. Nice closet, doll.”
    “A girl’s best friend. I built the organizer yesterday.” She opened the door, gave a Vanna White flourish.
    “Cedar paneling. Good work.”
    “I learned from the best.”
    He turned away to limp toward the bath, but she’d seen the look in his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. Sexy, classy,” he said of the bathroom. “Deco deal. Glass block for the shower wall? When did you decide on that?”
    “Last-minute change. I liked the effect, and the way it looks with the black-and-white tiles.” She gave up, just leaned her forehead on his shoulder. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
    “What if I can’t do this anymore? If I can’t handle the tools? It takes me longer to think, and these headaches about drop me.”
    She wanted to hold him, hug him, nuzzle him into comfort. And instead flicked at him with mild annoyance. “Steve, it’s your first day out of the hospital. What did you think, you’d walk out swinging a hammer?”
    “Something like that.”
    “You’re on your feet. You’re talking to me. The doctor said it’s going to take time. Just as he said you’ve already made an amazing recovery, and there’s every reason to believe you’ll get it all back.”
    “Could take months. Even years. And I can’t remember.” A trace of fear eked through frustration. “Goddamn it, I can’t remember anything that happened that night after I left here. Can’t remember going to the bar, or hanging out, trailing Shanna home like she says I did. It’s blank. I can remember getting on the bike. I can remember thinking I might just score with Shanna of the big brown eyes and amazing rack. Next thing I remember is you yelling at me, and your face leaning down