Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy)

  DEDICATION

  As always, I’d like to thank my husband, Good Paul, for his encouragement and support, as well as my good friend, Jeanne Rybarcyzk, who helped me discover Chicago-North RWA, the best critique group a writer could ever need.

  Special thanks also go to all the Chicago-North RWA members, particularly Deb Rittle, Margot Justes, June Sproat, Blythe Gifford, Christina Fixemer, and Jennifer Stevenson, with whom I share my writing life.

  Also, I’d like to thank Robert W. Walker for his helpful hints and guidance, as well as his son, Stephen Walker, for his cover design expertise. Last, but not least, thank you, Helen Ginger, for another great editing job.

  © 2011 Mary A. Gruner as Morgan Mandel

  Cover art licensed through istock.com, dreamstime.com and designed by Stephen Walker of SR Walker Designs.

  Published: December, 2011

  Choice One Publishing Co.

  P.O. Box 1993

  Arlington Hts., IL 60006-1993

  Email: admin@choiceonepublishing.com

  Website: http://choiceonepublishing.com

  Author website: http://www.morganmandel.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book have no existence outside the author’s imagination and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  FOREVER YOUNG

  Blessing or Curse

  By

  MORGAN MANDEL

  CHAPTER ONE

  A limp object lay sprawled in the parking lot where Dorrie was to meet her husband. It looked like, no it couldn’t be...

  Pulse pounding, she hit the brakes and flung open the door. A few steps, and she stood staring in disbelief at her husband’s still form. That red streak didn’t belong in Larry’s salt and pepper hair, nor should it mar his olive skinned cheeks, and trickle onto his white cotton shirt.

  She groped in her purse for the smartphone. Fingers shaking, she dialed 911. “There’s been an accident at the Life is for Living Institute. I need an ambulance. Hurry, please.”

  A helpless feeling engulfed her. If only she knew first aid, but in all her fifty-five years, she’d never bothered to learn. She had to do something, but what? Bending down, knees scraping the asphalt, she touched her husband’s hand. “Larry, it’s all right. I’m here.” She wanted to be brave for him, but couldn’t keep her voice from quavering.

  He whispered something she couldn’t catch, something about his iPhone.

  “I found it on the nightstand, Larry. It’s right here in my purse.”

  “Dorrie, I want you to keep it. Something’s…on it,” he gasped.

  She bent closer. “I know honey, all those songs and photos. They mean a lot to me, too. Don’t worry, when we get home tonight, we’ll share them together.”

  “No, more…Life is for Living isn’t…Forever Young isn’t…”

  He struggled to speak, but his voice faded in and out. He probably shouldn’t talk. Where was that ambulance? Her husband needed help.

  Larry flashed a weak smile and looked straight into her eyes. “Love ya,” he whispered.

  Stifling a sob, she completed the ritual. “Love ya, back.” In their thirty years of marriage, how often had they said those words to each other?

  His lips stilled. His hand slackened. His brown eyes stared unseeingly, as his face froze into a smile.

  This can’t be happening. Larry, you can’t leave me. It’s too soon.

  Blood rushed to her head. Roaring filled her ears. Larry couldn’t be gone. She’d prove it. Dorrie bent to kiss his lips. They felt warm and soft. He must be alive. Soon the ambulance would come, the paramedics would fix him, and he’d be all right.

  She glanced again at Larry’s still form. The truth hit, sucking her breath away. She didn’t need a medical examiner to tell her what she could see with her own eyes. Larry had left and would never return. Her stomach convulsed, her chest heaved with sobs.

  It shouldn’t end like this, not in the middle of a parking lot. Larry deserved better. So did she.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dorrie barely managed to pull a cream linen jumper over her head and clasp her damp gray/blond hair into a barrette before the doorbell rang. Lips set in a grim line, she rushed downstairs to the front door. She’d been waiting for this confrontation. Now she’d get to the bottom of things.

  The peephole revealed Larry’s boss, Roman Remington, standing before the backdrop of the blue Arizona sky. She’d never met him in person, but recognized the long blond hair and six foot frame of the Angel Man, famous for his infomercials. Probably in his mid-thirties, he seemed more handsome in person than on TV. Not that she cared about looks. She needed answers. The man had some explaining to do.

  Dorrie opened the wood planked door to an assault of mid-morning sunlight. It struck her swollen eyelids, making her squint.

  “Mrs. Donato, thank you for agreeing to my request. I’m dreadfully sorry about your husband, and wish I didn’t have to disturb you at a time like this. I’ll get this over as quickly as possible.”

  When he’d called, she’d been in too much shock to press issues. She didn’t feel any better now, but the desire to know consumed her. She stood ramrod straight, hands on her hips, staring up at him. “Before you come in, Mr. Remington, I’d appreciate you enlightening me on a few matters.”

  “Sure, anything you’d like, Mrs. Donato.”

  She flashed him an assessing glance, and frowned. Though her world had collapsed, he appeared unruffled, as if Larry’s death didn’t matter. What value did one employee hold in the scheme of a multi-millionaire’s life?

  Remington’s bland exterior belied compassion, making her speculate what would make him react. If she shoved him into the ocotillo cactus in back of him, would he flinch when his flesh hit the thorns? She resisted the urge to find out. More important matters required her attention.

  “Mr. Remington, maybe you can explain something to me. The police say they have no idea whose vehicle struck my husband. Apparently, the plates were smudged and your cameras couldn’t read the number. When I drove up, I didn’t see a guard anywhere near the station. In fact, the gates lay wide open. I’d expected more diligence from what I’d thought was a well run operation.”

  Irritation followed by regret, flashed through his blue eyes. “Mrs. Donato, you have every right to express your displeasure. Words can’t convey how deeply disturbed I am. This tragedy should never have occurred. My guard should have been there. That’s his job and he knew better. Believe me, I questioned him immediately upon word of the accident. He explained how an unanticipated intestinal emergency necessitated his abandonment of his post before he could arrange a substitute. It’s unfortunate his call of nature occurred at such an inopportune time.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Unfortunate? Inopportune? That’s not how I’d describe it.”

  “I’m sorry if that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to sound callous. Please, forgive me.”

  Dorrie nodded in resignation. The excuse did seem plausible. She couldn’t hold a grudge against anyone for being in the throes of a bodily function beyond his control. The poor guard probably felt bad enough as it was. Why make him suffer more? Like air from a pricked balloon, her anger dissolved, leaving a flat emptiness in its wake.

  She moved aside. “You may as well come in and take what you need.”

  Mr. Remington bent down to pick up a cardboard box and stepped into the front hall. She led him past the family room with
its cream and olive colored couches, recliners, and sun resistant drapes, then down the main hall until they reached the last room on the right.

  “Here’s where Larry worked,” she said, pointing to the den with its auburn and black jacquard carpeting and teeming bookcases.

  As she watched Mr. Remington enter the den she and her husband had decorated right after putting their bedroom together, a surreal feeling gripped her. It didn’t seem right for anyone to invade her husband’s sanctuary. Then again, nothing seemed right after the accident.

  She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She’d done enough crying at the funeral on Saturday, which she’d kept private, except for close friends and family.

  It had been all she could do to cope with her own and her in-laws’ grief, along with that of Larry’s best friend, Keith Nash, and his brother Steve, whom she’d almost married years ago.

  They’d offered comfort as best they could, though they’d all been reeling from the shock and pain. If only Jeanne had been there for support when Larry’s casket was lowered into the ground, but Dorrie couldn’t impose on her friend who caretaked a very ill father.

  Her mind had wandered off again. She had to get a grip on herself while Larry’s boss was in her home.

  Dorrie crossed into the room and handed Mr. Remington the grey laptop computer from Larry’s battered desk. “I believe this belongs to the Institute. It’s got one of your stickers on it.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but you didn’t use it, did you?”

  “No, I have my own notebook computer in the kitchen.”

  “Were they networked?”

  “No, Mr. Remington. Larry would never have breached the Institute’s security.”

  His face cleared with relief. She could understand that. With all the viruses and malware going around, one couldn’t be too careful.

  Determined to make a good impression at his new job, Larry had gone by the book, yet what had it gotten him? How ironic to be struck down in the parking lot of the employer he’d tried so hard to impress. All that care had gone for naught. Her lip trembled. She composed her face to keep from crying.

  Mr. Remington shot a sympathetic glance. “This must be hard on you, Mrs. Donato, especially since you were there when it happened.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes, it is difficult. I don’t expect it to get better any time soon. Reality hasn’t sunk in yet. Though I saw my husband buried, my mind plays tricks on me. I keep expecting him to walk in the door any minute.”

  Taking a shaky breath, she continued. “I’m lucky I didn’t see the accident itself. If I had, I know it would have been indelibly etched in my memory. When I got to Larry, I barely had time to say goodbye.”

  As the scene unfolded in her mind, her knees shook and the room dimmed. She heard Mr. Remington say in the background, “You can take comfort in the fact he didn’t suffer long. That’s a blessing of a sort, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, thank God. Still, you’d think the jerk responsible would have had enough decency to stop and see how Larry was. I can’t understand how anyone could be so heartless. That person should rot in jail.”

  “I understand your sentiments.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could have gotten a description, but all I saw was a silver SUV disappear up the mountain.”

  “That leaves it pretty much open. I own a silver SUV myself.”

  She gave a short laugh. “See what I mean? Most likely I’ll never know.”

  “You may be right. The driver is probably too afraid to come forward and confess.”

  She knew about fear, all right. Try sleeping alone in an empty two-story house after living with a loved one for thirty years. What good were stone walls surrounding her patio and backyard when anyone could pick a lock and waltz right in? Every creak in the middle of the night sounded like footsteps creeping up the stairway and along the carpeted hall to the master bedroom where she sleeplessly huddled. To call her misgivings the product of an overactive imagination offered small comfort in the dead of night.

  She’d even resorted to leaving the lamps lit, so it would look like she was moving around instead of tossing and turning in a bed made for two. Her precautions wouldn’t fool a savvy criminal, but were the only way she could cope.

  God, she missed Larry. Not only because he’d kept her company, but for a myriad of other reasons. He’d been her soul mate, and the man she’d expected to grow old with. Tears welled at the thought of spending Thanksgiving on Thursday without him, not to mention Christmas and her senior years.

  Dorrie bit her lip. She would not cry in front of Larry’s boss. She must stay focused, and get him out the door so he wouldn’t witness a breakdown. “Except for the books, you’re welcome to take whatever you wish. It’s yours, by rights, anyway.”

  To keep out of his way, she crossed the room to lean on the oak doorframe. In a haze, she watched him gather the papers and folders from Larry’s battered brown desk and ill matched cabinets to deposit in the cardboard box. Though Larry had had his hopes pinned on a new desk from an office shop in Phoenix, he’d been practical enough to wait until he could afford to pay cash. Too bad he hadn’t given in and enjoyed that small luxury. No wonder people say don’t deny yourself because life is too short. She shivered, as the impact of the saying struck her.

  Before long, the room took on a barren look, as if Larry had never inhabited it. It didn’t seem right that inanimate objects should survive their owners. At thought of the randomness of death, her breath caught and her skull pounded. She crossed her arms to ward off a fresh case of shivers.

  Mr. Remington looked at her, his blue eyes clouded with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I think so,” she said, swallowing a lump in her throat. Maybe she’d been wrong in her assessment of him. He did seem to care about her feelings. Unfortunately, that made matters worse. She couldn’t handle sympathy, not with the pain so fresh. If only she could sink onto the floor and bawl her eyes out, but sharing her misery was not an option.

  He turned. “Anything else you can think of?”

  Dorrie straightened and gazed around the empty room. He seemed to have gathered everything of concern, that is, except Larry’s iPhone which she would not give up. She’d purposely left it upstairs so Mr. Remington wouldn’t claim it. When Larry had bought the phone a few months ago, he’d mentioned something about setting it to sync documents to the work computer, with the exclusion of private photos and songs.

  The phone did contain classified information which belonged to the Institute, but that aspect didn’t concern her. She had no idea what the mumbo jumbo meant, and had no inclination to decipher it. The phone had belonged to Larry, had been bought with his hard-earned money, and he’d specified she keep it. Those were good enough reasons not to hand it over to someone who’d not appreciate the sentiments. She had, however, discontinued its service to save money.

  Right now she couldn’t face reminders of her life with Larry, but when she was strong enough she’d like to access those photos and songs. It was her right as Larry’s wife to do so.

  Her mind skittered again to other matters. She must place an ad for Larry’s van as soon as Mr. Remington left. Hopefully, she’d get a good price, enough to pay for the remaining funeral expenses. She had so much to remember when it was so hard to think.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Remington looked at her, expecting an answer. She avoided his eyes. “I don’t recall anything else. You should have everything.”

  He secured the strings over the hooks on the box and picked it up. They walked across the Travertine tile to the front door.

  Hand on the wrought iron knob, he turned to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Donato. Sorry again to disturb you.”

  “I understand, Mr. Remington. You have an important business to run. I can’t expect it to shut down because of one person.”

  “Not just any person. If it’s any consolation, I considered your husband extremely gifted, hardworking and a valuable asset. I’ll have
a hard time locating anyone approaching his capabilities.”

  Her eyes welled again with tears. “Larry would have been pleased to hear that. He so wanted to make good at the Institute, and very much admired you. He called you a genius.”

  “It’s all in a day’s work.”

  “Not everyone’s. You should be very proud of yourself. You’ve invented such wonderful products: weight loss pills without side effects, those age spot removers—oh, and that Forever Young pill you’ll be introducing.”

  He blinked. “Larry told you about the young pill?”

  “Nothing specific, only that he’d been testing it for the Institute.”

  Mr. Remington’s mouth set in a grim line.

  Dorrie gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Remington. I know nothing about biogenetics. If I did, I’d be applying for Larry’s job. Being a receptionist at the local high school doesn’t bring in the big bucks, no matter how pleasant the atmosphere.”

  He put the box down. “So, you’ll stay on here in Scottsdale?”

  “I can’t afford not to. With the real estate market so tight, I can’t move anytime soon.”

  He flashed an assessing look. “Would you consider changing jobs?”

  She gave a short laugh. “That’s about as hard as selling a house. I haven’t noticed any plum positions I’d qualify for.”

  “I may have an opening at the Institute. Send me your resume and I’ll review it.”

  “Thank you Mr. Remington. That’s very kind. After I get my head on straight, I’ll do that. I must admit, though, my work history will show a gap. Before I was fortunate enough to get hired by Foster High, I was out of the workplace for five years caretaking my mother. She passed away shortly before Larry and I moved to Scottsdale.”

  “That’s a shame about your mother. You’ve had double tragedies to deal with.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate your sympathy, Mr. Remington. It’s not been easy going, that’s for sure. Life goes on, as they say. With the grace of God, somehow I’ll survive.”