It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,8

the blinding daylight. He’d never have believed that the same sun that had been shining above him all of his life could be so completely different here. Brighter. And more active. He didn’t just see the Arizona sunshine, he felt it clear to his bones.

But it wasn’t his bones he was thinking about as he hit the first speed-dial button on the phone he’d pulled from its holster the second he’d left the guidance counselor’s office.

Nonnie was alone in a new home in a new town where she knew no one and had no ability to go anywhere on her own.

“I’m fine, Mark,” she said, answering after the first ring.

Relief flooded him, and he gave himself a mental shake. He was thirty years old, not ten.

“I’m done with my meeting and on my way home. Do you need anything?” His carefully schooled tone wouldn’t fool her.

Nothing did.

“Nope. And you don’t have to hurry home on my account. When Caroline told me this place was wheelchair accessible she wasn’t kidding. I love that water dispenser on the refrigerator. And do you know, she didn’t just put all of the dishes in the lower cupboards, she put one of those As-Seen-on-TV reach things in the pantry, too.”

Slowing his pace, he glanced around the campus he’d barely noticed in his determination to get to and through his meeting quickly. He saw lots of green. Trees. A large patch of perfectly manicured grass in the midst of all the desert rock. Hundred-year-old stone buildings. And some newer ones, too.

Nonnie was telling him about the front-loading laundry machines. They’d missed those when they’d come in the night before.

Truth was, he’d missed pretty much everything except getting his truck parked, unloading the suitcases from the truck and helping his aching grandmother into bed.

Then, after he’d dropped down to the couch in lieu of putting sheets on the bed in the second bedroom, he’d texted Ella to let her know they’d arrived.

She hadn’t texted back.

But she would. As soon as she realized that he was not going to desert her.

“I’ve already washed the clothes we dirtied on the trip....”

Great. Something else to worry about. The standard top-loading machines that he was used to gave him one less battle to fight in Nonnie’s tendency to overtax herself. She couldn’t get clothes in and out of them, which meant she couldn’t go about folding them and trying to put them away, either.

Not many people around on this hot August day. Classes didn’t start for another week. And the pavement sent up blistering waves of heat.

“So?” His grandmother sounded unusually chipper for a woman who’d recently spent several days in a truck traveling across the country.

And who had to be in incredible pain due to the same.

“So...” His natural reticence holding his tongue in check, Mark kept the phone to his ear and walked toward the truck. And then he smiled. “Okay, Nonnie, you were right. I found it.”

“And what is it you decided on?”

“Safety engineering. Fire behavior, hazardous material, physics, technical drawing, regulatory compliance, ergonomics, industrial hygiene...” Head spinning, he reeled himself in. “It’s a four-year bachelor degree with a graduate program that adds emergency management,” he finished as he reached his truck and unlocked the door. “If I’d had the training already, I probably could have saved Jimmy’s life. This is just what the plant needs.”

Because he was going home to Bierly. To Ella.

“Good.”

A wave of heat engulfed him. He climbed up into the front seat and immediately hopped back down again.

“Good?” He said into the phone, standing there staring at the blistering interior of his truck. “That’s all? Just good?” He’d upended his entire existence for “good”?

“It’s the beginning, Markie-boy.”

Reaching in, he turned on the ignition, set the air to its coolest setting and prayed the vehicle wouldn’t overheat before he could drive it and cool the engine.

“The beginning of what?” He didn’t like the sound of this.

“My plan.”

“I assume this plan has to do with me?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t you think you should let me in on it?”

“In time, Markie-boy. In time.”

At least she was counting on having time. He decided to leave it at that.

* * *

“‘HOLDING TUBE UPRIGHT, lift bowl and slide into place.’”

Addy read. Looked at the piece of half-inch tubing sticking out of the cement base, which was covered in river rock. And then at the river rock and cement bowl that were still in the box on the fold-up handheld dolly that lived in her trunk when she wasn’t using it to