The Chocolate Comeback (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 7) Read online

  Isaac refused to put him in an institution. Except for a few periods of respite care in a group home, Mark had spent his life with their mother. Now, newly married to a decent guy who wanted to show her the world, she deserved some freedom, and Isaac was happy for her.

  When Mom had hesitantly approached him, teary with new love and dreadful guilt over her special-needs son, Isaac immediately decided to adjust his lifestyle to accommodate Mark. He would strike out on his own. He’d reached the point in his career where he could manage his clients’ investment portfolios from anywhere, and eighty-hour workweeks in a huge firm weren’t doing him any favors.

  Being able to work from home, while enjoying a quieter, slower life, had seemed like the perfect way to start getting to know his brother again. While driving through Montana on business several years ago, Isaac had stayed a few nights at a bed and breakfast in Marietta, and the little town had stuck in his mind. Real estate was reasonable, the people were friendly, and the air was fresh and clean.

  Maybe he’d take up horseback riding again. Start some hobbies with Mark. Get involved in the community.

  It had sounded so simple, so romantic. So doable.

  Three weeks after the move, Isaac was still reeling from the hard landing of reality.

  “Why can’t I stay home with you, Isaac?” Mark pushed a spoon through his oatmeal. Routine was vital to his well-being. Unfortunately, they’d yet to establish one.

  “We’ve been through this, Mark. I’ve got to work. And so do you. Your work is at the May Bell Care Home.”

  His phone buzzed and Isaac grabbed it off the counter, noting with dismay that the caller, a longtime investor looking to expand his holdings, was a half hour early.

  “Isaac Litton,” he said, pulling a paper towel off the roll and handing it to Mark.

  “I want brown sugar,” Mark said.

  Isaac gestured at Mark to eat his breakfast. He’d planned the call for after his brother was safely on the bus, but some things couldn’t be helped. He went downstairs to his office to take the call in relative quiet.

  The client had just begun outlining the details of his inquiry when a thump sounded upstairs.

  “Excuse me one moment,” Isaac said, pressing the mute button. “Mark? Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  He took the stairs two at a time, to find his brother on the floor in front of the refrigerator, crying and holding his ankle.

  “What happened, buddy? Are you okay?”

  Mark only had a few minutes before the bus was due to arrive. A knock sounded downstairs at the door. Was it the bus driver already? Was everyone early today, or was Isaac just late?

  “I’ll be right there,” he called down the stairs, hoping his voice carried to the screen door. A moment later, the landline in his office rang.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “I wanted brown sugar,” Mark sobbed. “I wanted to get it all by myself, so you’d be proud.”

  The landline continued to ring. Combined with the beeping of his cell phone and Mark’s snuffling wails, it made him want to yank his hair out.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not at all.

  Chapter Two

  They’d missed the bus. Of course.

  Isaac maneuvered his luxury vehicle off the residential street and onto the main road. It was only a twenty-minute drive to the May Bell Care Home, but that wasn’t what bothered Isaac the most. It was the precedent they were setting. If Mark couldn’t adjust to this program, Isaac had to find something else for him to do.

  And there wasn’t anything else.

  “I wish I could drive,” Mark said.

  “Here we are.” Isaac pulled to a stop in front of the building, shuddering at the image of his brother behind the wheel. He popped the locks and waited for him to get out.

  “Have a great day, buddy. See you later.”

  But Mark was no more enthused now than he’d been at home. He crossed his arms. “I don’t like work.”

  Mark’s eyebrows beetled together, his hair flopping over his forehead. He needed a haircut. And his glasses were smudged and crooked.

  Isaac took them off Mark’s face and cleaned them with a corner of his shirt. “It’ll be better soon.”

  “Can we get ice cream instead?” Mark looked at him hopefully.

  Isaac sighed. “Sorry, buddy. How about I walk you in?”

  Mark blew out a breath, sending bits of spittle onto the dashboard. “Okay.”

  To his surprise, Mark took his hand as they made their way down the sidewalk. His brother’s fingers were damp. Was he really that nervous?

  The May Bell Care Home was a residential facility for special-needs people who required full-time professional care. The day program they offered provided the ones who lived in the community a safe place to go during the day and supervised activities to occupy their time.

  Isaac had toured it on one of his fact-finding missions to Marietta. He’d spoken at length to the director of care, who’d assured him it would provide the social and occupational enrichment Mark needed.

  Apparently, he’d heard what he wanted to hear.

  Forcing himself to view it through Mark’s eyes, he winced.

  The flat-roofed building was an obvious addition, tacked on some years ago without any attempt to make it blend in with the existing structures, as if no one expected it to last. It had a cinderblock foundation, two windows, and no curbside appeal.

  “Here we go,” Isaac said, opening the door.

  Immediately, his heart sank. When he’d toured it earlier, he’d entered from the care home proper. Today, as he came in from the outside door, the scents of fresh spring air, budding plants, and fertile soil contrasted starkly with the room, which was musty with glue, old paper, and body odor.

  A wooden table ran the length of the room, and folding chairs were set up at intervals, about a dozen in total. Blunt scissors, popsicle sticks, and various other materials were laid out in front of each chair.

  A mock-up of what Isaac guessed was their project of the day stood propped in a mason jar in the center of the table.

  It was a flag with the words Buy Now on it. This was the occupational enrichment?

  Social enrichment looked even less likely.

  About half the chairs were full, with three stations taken by people in wheelchairs. Two of them were elderly men with vacant eyes and drool on their chins. The third was a tiny woman with gnarled fingers who bent over her project as if it were the most important task in the world. The other occupants appeared to have varying degrees of physical or mental infirmity, some participating in the task, some rocking, some moaning, and one muttering under his breath.

  A middle-aged woman with frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail hurried up to meet them.

  “Mr. Litton,” she said, tipping her head at Isaac. She wore a gray bib apron with the May Bell Caregiver logo on it. Mrs. Hatcher, Isaac recalled. “I worried when Mark wasn’t on the bus.”

  “Sorry we’re late.” Isaac peeled his hand from Mark’s grip.

  Mrs. Hatcher turned to Mark, slowing her speech and pitching her voice higher. “Hello, Mark. Let me take your things to the locker.”

  “I’m hungry,” Mark said in a small voice.

  Isaac opened his mouth, but Mrs. Hatcher beat him to it.

  “You know the rules,” she said, taking Mark’s elbow. “Lunch is at noon.”

  Mark jerked his arm back.

  “Now, Mark,” Mrs. Hatcher said. “Let’s not start with this already. It’s too early for a time-out.”

  Time-out? Her syrupy voice almost made Isaac miss the threat that lay beneath. Wasn’t behavioral modification antiquated thinking?

  “Say goodbye to your brother,” Mrs. Hatcher instructed.

  Mark threw himself at Isaac, his customary bear hug tighter than usual.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours. Okay, buddy?” Isaac could feel Mark trembling.

  Mark walked awa
y with Mrs. Hatcher, his shoulders hunched, his head down. As he approached the table, he threw Isaac a look of such misery that his heart turned over in his chest.

  “Wait,” Isaac said.

  The woman stopped, her eyes flickering between Mark and Isaac. “Take your seat, Mark, while I speak with your brother.”

  “He didn’t eat much breakfast,” Isaac said. “He’ll probably be happier if you let him eat his apple while he works.”

  Mark hovered at the work station assigned to him, watching the interchange.

  “Mark, take your seat.” Mrs. Hatcher’s voice was sterner this time.

  She turned back to Isaac and gave him a small, tight smile. “Mr. Litton, he’ll be fine. We go through this every morning with him. He’s only acting out because you’re here.”

  “Acting out?” Isaac repeated in disbelief. “He said he was hungry. And he’s been coming for two weeks. Are you saying that he’s always hungry and unhappy when he arrives?”

  He thought of the oatmeal Mark hadn’t eaten that morning. Was his attempt to improve his brother’s diet and lifestyle causing problems here?

  “I realize that this is still very new to you,” Mrs. Hatcher said. “I understand you haven’t lived with your brother long, either. We, on the other hand, have extensive training and experience with people like Mark. Trust me when I say that we know what’s best for him.”

  The subtle disapproval attached to her words annoyed Isaac. The truth of her words only made it worse.

  “Change upsets our patients,” she continued. “Strict adherence to routine is what allows us to maintain control and keep the day running smoothly. Ultimately, that’s what everyone wants. Mark.” She pointed a finger without looking. “Sit down. Get to work.”

  Mark took his seat, lifted his safety scissors, and began cutting the plastic sheets into large triangles. His bowed head and slumped shoulders said more than Isaac wanted to know.

  “I’m sure that’s what you want, Mrs. Hatcher,” he said. “That and the fee I’m paying to have my brother in this program. And Mark’s only your patient if he’s sick, so don’t call him one.”

  What was he doing? He needed Mark to come here. He couldn’t look after him on his own all day. He’d never get anything done.

  “What would you prefer I call him, then?”

  Isaac looked over at his brother. “You can call him Mark.”

  Mrs. Hatcher’s gaze hardened. Her shoulders went up as her lips disappeared. “Mr. Litton, the needs of our… participants… are our number-one priority. Are you implying otherwise?”

  The little woman with the gnarled hands was watching them avidly, as was a man about Mark’s age who sat across the table.

  “I’m not implying anything,” Isaac said. “I’m saying it flat out. I see Mark not being allowed to eat when he’s hungry and being told to do a task he doesn’t want to do. Mark’s needs are not your priority, so don’t tell me they are. I’d like to speak to the director of care.”

  “Ha!” The man across from Mark slapped his hand on the table. “Ha-ha!”

  Mrs. Hatcher’s face turned to ice. “The director is away right now. I’ll be sure to pass on your concerns. However, my patients are becoming agitated, so I think you should go.”

  She took his elbow, much the way she’d taken Mark’s earlier, and nudged him toward the door.

  Isaac stood his ground. “Not until Mark gets his snack.”

  Mrs. Hatcher spun on her heel, went to the locker, and retrieved Mark’s backpack. Finally. But instead of handing Mark the apple inside, she set the bag on the table in front of him.

  “Looks like you’re going home early today, Mark.”

  Mark jerked his head up. “I am?”

  She turned to Isaac, a look of challenge in her eyes. “You are. Whether you come back or not is up to your brother.”

  “Yay!” said Mark.

  “Yay!” said his friend across the table. “I’m hungry too. I want burgers. And fries. With Mark.”

  It sounded like boogers and flies.

  “You want to take Paulie with you, as well?” Mrs. Hatcher asked. “How about Abe? Or Scottie?”

  “Yeah, Paulie!” Mark said.

  Shuffles and murmurs indicated more comprehension than Isaac had guessed. He lifted both hands. “Whoa, everyone. No need to be hasty. I’m looking to open a dialogue here.”

  “A dialogue that will be continued later, with the director, Mr. Litton.” Mrs. Hatcher pulled Mark out of his chair. “Have a good day.”

  Mark clutched at his sleeve as Mrs. Hatcher shepherded them out the door, closing and locking it behind them.

  “Don’t get too excited, pal. Let’s go get some food while I think this through.”

  Mark’s loopy grin warmed Isaac’s heart but not quite enough to make up for the chill of dread creeping up at the thought of all the empty hours ahead of them.

  What the heck was he going to do now?

  *

  DeeDee awoke late the day after the dinner party, grateful again that Maddie had offered to let her crash at her apartment. Mom was a little too excited to have her prodigal daughter home again, and evading her questions without outright lying was exhausting.

  Her mom didn’t need to know how much time her famous model-daughter spent running back and forth between coffee outlets, getting yelled at because the coffee wasn’t extra hot anymore. What did they expect when she was getting orders for eight people at once? Or the times she’d had to run back to exchange a cup because someone insisted it was caffeinated when they’d expressly requested decaf. As if you could taste caffeine.

  Her cell phone dinged, and she fumbled to pick it up from among the magazines, tissues, pens, and hand-cream vials she’d tossed on the bedside table.

  It was an email from one of her former roommates, reminding her that her portion of the rent was due. The woman seemed oblivious to the fact that DeeDee hadn’t lived there for almost two months.

  Maybe she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she was jealous because Jon had picked DeeDee and not one of them.

  DeeDee’s stomach quivered. Moving in with Jon had been a huge mistake. She tossed the device into her bag without responding, pulled on her favorite silk robe, and went to do what she did best—get coffee.

  She walked through Maddie’s apartment, fingering the throw on the couch, looking at the tasteful watercolors on the walls. It was a little domestic and ordinary for her liking, but Maddie had never shared DeeDee’s driving need to be different, to break free.

  A note was propped against the now-cold coffee pot, a key fob next to it.

  Make yourself at home! If you want to use the car, the keys are on the hook. I got a ride with Mick. I’m taking the afternoon off so we can catch up properly. See you soon! Love, Maddie.

  Oh, Maddie.

  DeeDee swallowed against the lump in her throat. She was so lucky to have such a sweet, generous sister. Some days, it amazed her they were related at all, let alone twins. Maddie seemed to have gotten all the goodness, leaving DeeDee a beautiful, empty, self-centered shell.

  Me-Me-DeeDee. Ditzy DeeDee. It was what they’d called her in high school and for good reason.

  After sniffing the coffee, she dumped it into the sink and started a fresh pot. She went to the living room and plopped into a comfy-looking overstuffed armchair to wait. Clementine, Maddie’s little fur ball of a dog, leaped into her lap.

  “Ouch!” DeeDee made shooing motions with her fingertips as the dog’s nails bit into her legs. She’d have scratch marks on her skin.

  Scratches. Scars. What did it matter now?

  Clementine planted her hind end on DeeDee’s thighs and stared up as if sending an urgent mind message.

  “I don’t speak dog, in case you’re wondering.”

  The dog blinked. Licked her chops. Was she hungry? For a chunk of DeeDee?

  “Get in line.” She hesitated, then stroked the dog’s silky head with one finger. Clementine’s stubby tail wiggled and her
pink tongue darted out to lick DeeDee’s wrist.

  “If that’s a taste test,” she said, “let me stop you right now.”

  The dog resumed staring. DeeDee stared back. She hadn’t been surrounded by so much quiet in a long, long time. What did she do now?

  This wasn’t an in-the-moment, waiting-for-coffee question, but a bigger, more global what-do-I-do-with-my-life-now question.

  Part-time work for Cynthia wouldn’t pay enough to cover her credit card debts, and she wasn’t about to approach Maya’s Models, the tiny local agency she’d dismissed in favor of New York. If it was even still operational, which she doubted.

  The refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen, the sound like a gunshot in the silence. DeeDee jumped, and the dog let out a snarly yelp, scrambling off her lap to sit, trembling in outrage, at the door.

  “Nothing personal, Clem,” she said, her heart thudding in her chest.

  If a woman screamed in an empty room and no one heard it, had it really happened?

  Clementine whined, dancing back and forth in front of the door. A moment later, Maddie’s key turned in the lock.

  “Hello, darling!” Maddie bent to pick up her pet and nuzzled her.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” DeeDee returned.

  “Did you take good care of DeeDee, my love?” Maddie asked Clementine in a baby voice. She waved Clem’s little paws, then kissed her nose again. “Mick says hi. What do you want to do today? I’m guessing you haven’t been out.”

  Her hair was mussed, her cheeks pink.

  “Gotta watch the beard burn, sis,” DeeDee said. “It’ll wreck your complexion.”

  Maddie wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t care. It’s totally worth it.”

  “Gag.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “Ha.” That was DeeDee’s line. It had always been her line. As long as she could remember, people had been jealous of her—her hair, her skin, her legs, her lips.