It's Never too Late

Addy dropped her pen. Picked it up. Her stomach was fluttering, her nerves on edge. Her heart was going to start pounding soon, too. She knew the signs. A panic attack.

She had nothing to panic about.

Closing her eyes she focused on the calming sound of the fountain and made herself forget the man who might be sitting out there all alone.

* * *

MARK HAD TO WORK all weekend, split shifts with time off in between. But he was still up before dawn on Saturday—woken by the sound of Nonnie’s chair whirring by his door on the way to the bathroom. Out of bed and down the hall before his eyes were completely open, he bent to look inside the refrigerator. If he didn’t get the bacon frying, she’d do it herself. Because a good day started with a good breakfast and a good breakfast consisted of bacon and eggs. Every single day. Health experts might say that the cholesterol and fat was bad for you, but Nonnie was over eighty in spite of it.

“Adele had dinner with me last night.” Nonnie wheeled herself up to the table half an hour later, a jar of grape jelly, napkins and silverware on her lap. “She brought over a pot of kielbasa and red potatoes with fresh green beans.”

He’d sat outside and had a beer the night before, hoping she might join him, but she hadn’t. So he’d spent the rest of the evening with his tablet, trying to focus on his art history reading while his thoughts kept painting visions of his neighbor undressing, getting ready for bed...getting into bed.

He’d texted Ella twice.

“It was good,” Nonnie said, draping Mark’s napkin across his knee and stuffing the tip of her own beneath her collar.

“Good.”

“She’s a looker.”

“Who?”

“Who? Who are we talking about? Adele, that’s who. Don’t you think she’s sexy?”

His head was bent over his plate as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. “She’s all right.”

“There’re bound to be lots of men calling on her once they realize she’s here.”

“Bound to be.”

“Why ain’t you one of them?”

He knew where this was going. And knew better than to fight it. He lifted his chin. “Who says I’m not?”

He wasn’t. But he managed to shut down his nosy, matchmaking grandmother, which made the false implication worth uttering.

* * *

SATURDAY MORNING, Addy attended a meeting for students interested in writing for the school newspaper. She listened while the student editor, a long-haired, bearded senior named George pontificated about truth in reporting, about upholding university standards without hiding facts, about full disclosure and university pride. The paper’s adviser, a Professor Nancy Litchfield, reiterated most of the same.

Nothing was said about needing to have articles vetted by university staff before publishing.

With an article about border patrol in mind—just as an excuse to infiltrate their little group—Adele Kennedy signed up to be one of the year’s two new reporters.

* * *

“DID YOU GET that kid a job?” Nonnie asked as she and Mark sat over empty breakfast plates, drinking coffee Sunday morning before work.

“I got him an interview,” Mark said. He’d asked management to

give Jon a chance, and offered to train the kid on his own time. Entry-level line jobs were hard to come by. The kid might end up cleaning bathrooms to start with. But at least he’d be in the door. “It’s up to him to get the job.”

“They know he’s in school?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’ll work around his hours like they do with you?”