She signaled her departure, turning the walker and heading past the nurse’s station at a slow and steady pace. Despite the pain she must feel with each step, she didn’t give up. He admired her tenacity.

“Looking sharp, Albert,” she sang out as she cruised past an old man with cataracts that practically obscured his irises. Albert raised his hand in greeting, and Charlie patted his knee as she passed, drawing a smile from him.

Shady Lane was more like a hospital than a home. The floors were plain linoleum, the primary lighting fluorescent, and the chairs populating the lobby and halls resembled those in a doctor’s office. The pictures lining the hallway walls had probably been purchased in bulk. Open doorways revealed two beds to a room with only a privacy curtain separating them. TVs were mounted in either corner, competing volumes screeching out into the hallway. Windows in the rooms were small, most with blinds closed. They passed a comatose woman in a bed, her mouth sagging, her curtain open as the nurse adjusted something on her monitor.

He hated himself for thinking it, but this wasn’t a home. It was a place people came to die. He understood now why Charlie had stared at the check he’d written as if it were a lifeline. That money would change her mother’s life. He wished he’d written double the amount, but he knew Charlie would never have taken it.

“Did you do your walk already today, Mom?” Charlie asked, leaning in close enough to Sebastian to give his heart a kick with her sweet scent.

“Three rounds. One more to go.” Francine pointed to the pink bakery box in Charlie’s hand, eyes twinkling. “I want to hear all about the sculpture you have planned for Sebastian’s building, so let’s have tea first.”

She parked her walker by the open lounge doors, then moved from chair to chair, holding the back of each one, until she slid onto the cushions of the sofa. At least here, the furniture appeared more comfortable. A larger TV than those in the rooms sat against the wall at the opposite end, surrounded by a grouping of chairs.

“Sorry, Mom, I forgot the china cups and plates,” Charlie said as she headed to the coffee service on a long bar against the far wall.

“I’ll survive,” her mother answered sweetly. When Sebastian set down the vase in the middle of the table, she said, “Lovely—now sit.” She patted the sofa beside her, then winced.

“Are you all right?” The sudden pain on her face stole his breath away.

“My hand is simply acting up.” She rubbed the center of her palm as best she could with her crooked fingers. “Now tell me all about this marvelous building of yours.”

He was still reeling from the pain he’d seen shoot through her, but she was already past it. Amazing. “Charlie’s pieces will bring the place to life.”

“I hear you have a fountain. And lots of glass to let in the sunlight.”

She didn’t look longingly toward the window that faced the parking lot, but he knew she needed a garden. Flowers. Sunshine. Charlie would use every penny of her commission to provide those things for her mother.

“Here’s your tea, Mom. Sorry about the paper cups.” She set down a cup filled with milky liquid in front of her mother and another for Sebastian, the coffee black and steaming.

He smiled his thanks while Francine said, “Don’t worry about the china, dear. This is just wonderful.” Then she whispered to him as Charlie returned to the coffee bar for her own cup, “She’s so good to me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Most people don’t receive any visitors at all, but Charlie comes at least twice a week, often more.”

He thought of all the lonely people in nursing homes, their final years spent in a bed without a single visitor, a curtain providing their only privacy. It made him appreciate Charlie even more. She wasn’t merely a talented artist and a dedicated teacher. She was also a loving daughter.

She carried another cup, plus three paper plates balanced along her arm as easily as if she’d been a waitress in a past life. “I could have gotten that,” he said, getting up to take one of the plates.

“I’d rather you two enjoyed chatting with one another.” She pointed to the whole bear claw he held. “That one is for you.” She handed half a bear claw to her mother and kept the other half for herself.

“We always share,” Francine explained. “I could never eat a whole one.” She took a bite, eating with a dainty sound of pleasure. “Aren’t they to die for?”

He couldn’t help but turn his gaze to Charlie as he said, “Totally to die for.”

As they ate, he noted that each of Francine’s feet was encased in an ankle brace, and her fingers bent at odd angles. When she spoke, her voice quavered as if the muscles of her throat didn’t quite work properly. Lines he associated with someone fifteen years older than seventy crisscrossed her face as though her pain had risen to the surface and marked her forever. Yet she chattered happily as if her body hadn’t turned against her, and she was dressed in her Sunday best, a pretty blue skirt with a flowered sweater. She told them stories about this resident or that, and they laughed good-naturedly at the antics of the people she lived with. She wanted to know more about his new headquarters and what Charlie would be doing for him. Her mind was sharp, and she was interested in everything.

Last night, after he tossed his sketchbook, he’d opened his laptop and read everything he could about degenerative osteoarthritis, from the Arthritis Foundation to WebMD. He’d looked up eminent surgeons, doctors, facilities. Sebastian understood how it felt to watch one’s mother live in such agony. His parents had brought their troubles on themselves, but he’d still felt the pain of watching them fall apart, the anguish of not being able to do anything. He didn’t want that for Charlie.

So he would fix it.

* * *

Her mother had been completely charmed by Sebastian, just as Charlie had known she would be. “Thank you for coming to see my mother. She loved the flowers and all the attention.”

“I see where you get your strength, and your joy for life.” He gave her a smile before turning his attention back to the road. “Your mother has both in spades.”

Sebastian hadn’t said a word about the state of the home, but she’d seen his eyes taking in everything, from the floor to the walls to the furniture. He would have had to be blind to miss any of the second-rate accommodations.

“I’m going to call Magnolia Gardens on Monday to put Mom’s name on the waiting list. I know she’ll love it there. The gardens are gorgeous.”

“How long before she’ll get in?”

Her own sense of guilt almost made her imagine for a moment that there was censure in his words. “Maybe a couple of months.”

“Do they have good doctors?”

They were adequate, but honestly, she was more concerned about the environment her mother would live in. “They’re good, but they can’t do much for Mom except manage her pain.”

He switched lanes on the freeway before saying, “I’ve been doing some research on the Internet. There’s a hand surgeon at Stanford who’s the top in his field in severe degenerative osteoarthritis. And an orthopedic surgeon down in Santa Cruz specializes in ankles.”

Staring was all she could manage. Charlie didn’t blab to everyone about her mother’s problems, but she had told a teacher or two, her dean, the secretary. None of them had tried to help before, though. Only Sebastian, who had immediately jumped in.

“I can’t tell you what it means to me that you thought of her, even before you met her. But I’ve taken her to all the doctors. She’s past anything they can do.” At least nothing she could have afforded beyond what Medicare paid for. Charlie couldn’t stop another stab of guilt.

They’d reached their exit, and he let the car roll to a stop at the light. “There could be new surgeries, new treatments that have been developed in recent months. Maybe it won’t help. But it couldn’t hurt to see the doctors.” He looked so earnest.