Page 10 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

From the first line, their voices harmonized and blended as if designed for each other, and Maggie’s jaw hung slack.

After the first verse, she beckoned Prescott to her. “What do you think?” she whispered.

“She acts. She sings.”

“She dances too.”

“Better than all that, she has presence. She’s my Viola.” He stared up at the pretty blonde. Why wasn’t she already a star?

The setting sun cast golden light on Grandpa’s darling bungalow, Maggie’s home since she’d moved to San Diego after joining the USO.

At the same time, Grandpa had come home from a long stay in the hospital after breaking half a dozen bones falling off the roof.

Maggie crossed the lawn edged by Grandma’s flowers, dormant for the autumn. After Grandma entered the sanitarium for tuberculosis, the ladies from Grandpa’s church kept the garden going, knowing what it meant to him. Knowing the man could kill flowers with a single touch.

A sparrow hopped across the path. Grandpa and Grandma had been turtle doves too, meant for each other.

Would Violet Lane ever find another love? If the way Prescott had looked at her meant anything, it could be soon.

A twinge of pain in Maggie’s chest, and she puffed it away. Crush or no crush, both Prescott and Vi deserved happiness.

Maggie opened the front door and crouched down. “Hello, Tobias.”

Tobias bounded over, one ear pricked, the other floppy, and Maggie ruffled the mutt’s gray and white fur. Grandpa had found the puppy on the streets the day Grandma died, and Tobias had absorbed all the love Grandpa poured upon him and poured it right back.

“I’m home, Grandpa.” She hung her purse and hat by the door. “Let’s have a quick dinner. Thank Your Lucky Stars is playing at the North Park Theatre, and you’re my date.”

In the living room, Grandpa sat in his armchair with his canes beside him.

With a stony expression.

How unlike him. “Grandpa?”

“I got a letter from your father today. You wrote to him, told him about my money troubles. Without asking me.”

Maggie tensed, gave him a sheepish smile, and passed him to enter the kitchen. “I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I also know Papa has plenty of money.”

“Why does he have plenty of money? Because he doesn’t spend it.”

True. Maggie grimaced and pulled a can of tomato soup from the cupboard.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Grandpa frowned over his shoulder, over the countertop.

Maggie squeezed the can opener over the lid. “I wrote that letter right before I got this job. I didn’t think they’d give it to me, and you told me—”

“That was for your ears only.”

And only under duress after she’d seen his bank book. Maggie cranked the key of the can opener. Grandpa had sold his hardware store to pay for Grandma’s treatments. His own hospital bills had depleted his savings. Even with Maggie’s wages, they couldn’t cover expenses.

Maggie dumped the soup into a pan with a satisfying slorp. “I thought Papa could help.”

“He already does.”

“He does?”

“We were doing fine.” A growl lowered his voice.

Maggie hadn’t heard that growl since she and her little sister, Rose, had dug up Grandma’s gazania. She opened the icebox and removed a bottle of milk.