A Delicate Condition

Chapter One

It all began, innocently enough, one night when she was feeling sorry for herself.

Of course Dessa Franklin had every reason to feel sorry for herself. She wasn’t necessarily superstitious, but today’s overwhelming events had her seeking solace in a bottle of wine--drinking by herself in her tiny studio apartment. But no matter how much she drank, she couldn’t avoid the frisson of unease vibrating down her spine. Bad news always came in threes, so the saying went. Well, she’d already experienced her first two zingers, however, the day wasn’t over yet. What was going to happen next?

As she scanned the job listings on her laptop screen, she carefully massaged her sore neck. Her wrists hurt, too, thanks to the car accident and the airbag deploying in her almost-paid-up SUV. Her face had taken the brunt of the injuries, though. One black eye--a beauty of a shiner--plus a scraped nose and swollen lips. Quite an interesting look for her.

The only good thing about the accident was that it had been the other driver’s fault.

Whop dee do.

Tears threatened to spill, but who had time to wallow in self-pity? What was done was done, and now she had to move on. Dessa rapidly blinked her eyes to stop the moisture.

Ouch. Even that simple movement hurt.

Ha-ha. Joke. But obviously, more wine was called for. She might as well finish the bottle since she didn’t have to worry about getting up early in the morning. Not with today’s second helping of bad news.

The distinctive sounds of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun trilled from her smart phone, interrupting her Woe-Is-Me session. The song fit her best pal, Izzy Broadmoor, to a tee.

Hey, girl, what’s going down your side of town? came Izzy’s chipper voice.

Having a bit of a pity party here. Dessa gulped down the fruity taste of cheap merlot. Come over and get plastered with me?

Sorry, chickadee. No can do. Ricco finally got paid. He’s picking me up so we can hit the city lights. Izzy’s words were muffled. She was probably busy teasing her multi-colored hair. What’s going on with you? Did that butt-hole of a boss make another slimy move?

Dessa sighed. Yes and no. Big Boss Willard changed tactics and decided to pursue the new girl. Unfortunately the newbie is receptive to his advances, slime and all. And as a result, I no longer work at the Genealogical Research Center.

Out with the old assistant, in with the new. The second helping of bad news. Dessa bit back a laugh. With her face now resembling Frankenstein’s monster, she couldn’t blame Willard for switching his preference. That and, of course, earlier in the month, she’d turned him down flat not once but five times.

What? No way. Bummer. But, girl, you can fight back, right? Sexual harassment, and all that jazz.

True, I can fight the dismissal. But if I do win--a really big if--then do I really want to have to deal with Willard’s Willy again? I don’t think so.

Um, no. Hell no.

As Dessa stared at the laptop screen with today’s job listings, she concentrated on taking calming breaths...

Nope. Didn’t work.

Izzy screeched, Get a grip, chickadee. I can tell you’re down in the dumps. Look on the bright side. This is an unpaid vacation just until you get a better job. One without a butt-hole for a boss, so chin up, girl.

Unpaid vacation. Better job. Dessa felt her shoulders slump. The trouble was, she loved history--family connections in particular. She liked to pretend she was Sherlock Holmes, ferreting out clues to discover ancient family associations. And she loved working at the New England Genealogical Research Center. As a transplant to the Boston area, she’d enjoyed her new friends that worked with her in genealogical and genetic research. Some even loved doing karaoke on Friday nights as much as she did.

Dessa sobered up. Her new friends had worked with her. Past tense. Now she was one of the newly unemployed.

Do you want me to come over, girl? Ricco ‘n me can celebrate another time.

You’re a peach, Izzy. Dessa massaged the sides of her forehead. But I’m fine, really. Go have a dirty martini for me, okay?

After promising to see each other soon, Izzy terminated the call, leaving Dessa alone once again. Standing, she took a break from the computer to maneuver around the tiny space in her apartment. Rents were high here in the city. This studio, on the top floor of a beautiful brownstone, was basically just one room. Even the bathroom, though private, was located next door to it. Not the best of situations, but the studio was all she could afford.

High rents were the only game in town. Fingers crossed she’d be all right financially until she found another job. It would be tough but a couple of months of belt tightening with a strict diet of Ramen noodles wouldn’t do any harm. Hopefully, her unemployment wouldn’t last any longer than that.

She wrinkled her damaged nose. Maybe bad news didn’t come in threes. Please? Pretty please? She could hope, couldn’t she? The way her luck was running--

An email notification sound blared out from the laptop into her jam-packed room. It could’ve been a response to her job inquiries. As she hurried over to the table, the sound came again and again and...

What in the world? Dessa opened her email program to find ten new messages. Identical messages. More arrived even as she looked at the screen.

Oh no. Not my third serving of bad news! My computer picked up a virus?

Without her consent, more tears pricked at her eyes. Darn. Savagely swiping them away, she took another deep breath and prepared to run the antivirus scan. Then she stopped. The emails’ subject line caught her attention.

How do you fit in with the Franklin family?’

The Franklin family. There was no Franklin family; there was only her. Everyone else had passed on. She knew that for a fact since she’d thoroughly researched the genealogy records. Sure, her father’s lineage stretched back to the nineteenth century and beyond, but no one was still living. And her mother had been adopted. That line was a dead-end. As far as Dessa could find out, she had no living relations, adopted or otherwise.

She was totally, completely alone--family-wise. Goodness, she’d give anything, anything, to be part of a family again.

She glanced at the row of new emails. Was this a hacker? A voyeur? Some creepy Peeping Tom who knew her last name? How did this person get her personal email addy?

Get a grip! Get a grip!

Okay, she calmed herself. Reason--thankfully--settled in. The emailer’s handle was OlderThanDirt. Maybe this was some sort of a genealogical question.

She sat in front of the laptop and clicked open one of the messages. She read:

I am Verna Trembold. I come down from Frederica Grant Franklin, my mother. Roderick Tomer Franklin was my brother.

Omigosh! Dessa stared at the screen, her mouth wide open. Was this true? She’d known her Grampa Roddy’d had a sister, but she’d passed away years and years ago. During the bombing of Pearl Harbor. That was what her grandfather had said.

She consulted her handy dandy genealogy chart. Yep, here it was. Verna had been born in 1918, and died in 1941.

Evidently, the information was incorrect, or rather, may have been incorrect.

Dessa quickly typed:

I’m Roderick’s granddaughter, Dessa. He told me his sister Verna died during the attack on Hawaii.

The response came not a minute later.

No, no. Still here. I did check out for a bit. Time hopping, you know. An ancient secret I learned from two Tibetan monks in Oahu. It’s okay to tell you, though. You’re family. Anyway, that’s why I lost touch with everyone.

What? Dessa stopped reading. Time hopping? Tibetan monks? Oh no, was this some kind of a joke? Verna’s mind going? What would be the odds of finding a long lost relative only to lose them to senility?

She shuddered. Maybe Verna was only eccentric. Fingers crossed.

Back to the email:

But I did hear about my nevvy, Alexander, being born and then you also. You’re Alexander’s chick Odessa, aren’t you? I sure am glad to hear from you, child. Your poor dad died not too long ago, didn’t he? Dear Alexander. And your mother as well.

Any mention of her parents’ tragic deaths three years ago always saddened Dessa’s heart. But now, if it was true, here was a family relation! A great aunt. This was the best of all possible things.

You live here in Boston now, child?

Odessa typed back:

Yes, I do, Aunt Verna, if I may, in the South End. And you?

Two minutes passed. The email notification sounded again.

I’m stuck in the Older Than Dirt Assisted Living Facility in Back Bay. Not the real name, of course. TLC, they call it. You come visit me tomorrow, eh? Have lunch. Thursdays they serve roast turkey and stuffing. Yum. I’ll send my driver to pick you up ‘round eleven. What’s your address?

Dessa frowned. Darn it, her SUV was temporarily out of commission. She typed:

Maybe I should take a cab?

The reply came quickly.

Nonsense. Humor an old woman, eh? You’ll like Chadwick. He’s a hottie! Just type in your address and I’ll give it to him tomorrow. Gotta go now, Odessa. My attendant is threatening to turn off the lights.

What a pip her Grampa Roddy’s sister was. If the connection was true. Of course Dessa had a boatload of questions. Why hadn’t Verna let her brother know that she hadn’t died? Where had she been all this time? Time hopping, an ancient Tibetan secret... was Verna off her rocker?

And how did she get the email addy?

Sighing, Dessa also got ready to call it a night. Her sore body begged for sleep. Although the day had started out on a hugely bad note, it certainly did end up on an exciting one. Great Aunt Verna. How very mysterious!

So now there was the very real possibility that Dessa wasn’t alone anymore. Who could have foreseen that tomorrow she would be visiting her great aunt? Or a person who claimed to be her aunt, anyway. Not to mention that she didn’t have to ask for the impossible: a day off. Perhaps being dismissed from her job was a blessing in disguise.

Dessa couldn’t wait to share the good news. She texted Izzy.

Hey! A good day after all. Just found out my long-lost great aunt lives here. Gonna see her tomorrow. Have fun painting the town with Ricco!

After Dessa put her phone away, she settled into her bed.

That frisson of unease returned. Something, she didn’t know what, warned her that the unexpected little email was going to drastically change her life.

* * * *

When Chadwick opened the passenger door, Dessa swung her legs out of the luxurious Lincoln town car. Her great aunt had been right; the chauffeur was a hottie--all gorgeous six feet six of him.

She patted herself on the back for going all out on her appearance today. Her tight charcoal grey suit with pencil straight skirt showed off her slim figure, her four inch high black pumps worked their magic on her lower calves, and her sleek ponytail gleamed with brunette sophistication.

A pair of large dark sunglasses hid most of discoloration around her right eye, her lips had returned to their normal size with just a hint of puffiness, and her nose... well, her nose still showed scraped skin. At least it wasn’t two times its width as it had been yesterday.

Dressing professionally gave her the extra poise she needed. After all, being handed a pink slip didn’t exactly help one’s self-confidence.

Chadwick extended his strong hand to help her up. The old lady is very excited to see you, Ms. Franklin. She talked of nothing else this morning.

Oh yes, I’m excited to see her, too. She reached back into the car and got the bouquet of flowers and the wrapped framed picture of her and her parents. It sounds strange but I’ve never met Great Aunt Verna before.

Not so strange, really. His grey eyes twinkled. In her younger days, the old dear zipped about the globe. Time hopping, she calls it. She tells us she never settled down until recently.

Hmmn. Maybe time hopping meant changing time zones. Dessa exhaled relief. How is it that you work for Aunt Verna? She probably doesn’t go out very often.

I’m actually employed by the Facility. Pampering the residents is what TLC excels at. I do odds and ends around here. Mrs. Trembold likes to think I work for her. She’s prone to flights of fancy, the old dear. But in a way, I do work for her--for all the residents. He gave Dessa a wink, then strode over to the assisted living facility’s ornate double doors.

When he opened one, a rush of floral-scented air rushed out at her. She inhaled deeply. Mmm, summery fresh, like mimosa flowers.

Check in with the reception desk on the left. Someone will escort you to Mrs. Trembold’s suite. He made an old-fashioned bow. Enjoy your visit.

Thank you ..., um, Chadwick. Was that his first name or last?

She shrugged. It didn’t matter. The main thing was that he seemed fond of her great aunt. He used ‘old lady’ and ‘old dear’ as terms of endearment.

Glancing at the interior marble columns, the large cushy sofas in the lobby, and expensively framed artwork on the walls, Dessa was impressed. TLC was definitely a posh assisted living community. Once she announced her name to the receptionist, she was guided down a wide corridor by a waiting attendant. They stopped in front of a solid oak door at the end of the hallway. The nameplate on the door read Trembold.

As she knocked on the door, the attendant made a bright smile. Verna? Your great niece is here to see you.

Well, what are you waiting for? Bring the gel on in, a wobbly voice rang out.

Nodding, the attendant opened the door. She didn’t enter. I’ll just let you two get reacquainted.

Now on her own, Dessa took small steps into the darkened room. Musty smells--not unpleasant--assaulted her nose. Decorations from the previous century, perhaps even from the one before as well, fought to attract her notice. The walls, from floor to ceiling, were stuffed with memorabilia--photos, paintings, old lamps, piles of books, ceramic dolls, etc. Not an inch of wall space escaped the clutter.

She blinked her eyes to shut out the cacophony of Verna’s miscellaneous possessions.

Over by the window, gel. An old woman--Verna?--sat stooped in an enormous rocking chair. Sit yourself down. Let me look at you, child. She gestured with a shaky hand covered in age-spots. I’ve cleared off a place for you.

Dessa smiled as she approached. This woman was definitely on her rocker, not off! She was a frail little thing with snow-white hair bound up in a braided bun. Verna removed large magnifying eyeglasses, and ran her rheumy bright blue-eyed gaze up and down Dessa’s suit-clad figure.

My oh my. You’re a sight for sore eyes, child. Love those high heels and skinny skirt. What a beauty you are! Got the look of my brother Roderick, don’t you?

As Grampa Roddy had a lantern jaw and piercing blue eyes, Dessa didn’t see the resemblance, not with her round chin and chocolate brown eyes.

Dessa kissed her great aunt’s withered cheek, then sat down. It’s so good to be here, Aunt Verna. Here are flowers and something else I thought you’d like.

You are the sweetest, child. Verna dipped her nose in the bouquet. Roses, daisies, sunflowers, carnations... a veritable potpourri of scents. Thank you. I’ll get one of those pesky attendants to put these in water.

I can--

You just let yourself be, child. It’s no bother. She beamed a yellowed smile. Tall and comely. A bit of a mystery gel with those eyeshades, eh? Do take them off.

Oh boy. Here come the questions. Dessa complied. I was in a car accident yesterday. Only bumps and bruises--nothing serious.

Verna tsk-tsked. Lordy. You’ve got the mother of all shiners, don’t you? You poor child. But still, you’re as lovely as sunshine. And don’t you look the image of my Roderick?

"Thank you, Aunt Verna. I don’t see the resemblance, but you look like my grandfather." She did, too. Squinty blue eyes, long-jawed face, and protruding ears. Maybe she really was Roderick’s sister Verna.

Verna giggled. Ah, let me tell you, he was a handsome devil in his day. All the girls swooned over Roderick!

Maybe that had been the case, but who could think of one’s grandfather as being a hottie?

Now let’s see what you brought me. With a quick rip, Verna tore away the wrapping. Ah! A picture of my nevvy--Alexander Tomer Franklin! Doesn’t he look like Roderick as well? And you, such a delightful child. Sighing, she set the picture on the windowsill. I’ve missed out on so much.

Aunt Verna, why--

"Tut! Let’s hold your questions until later, eh? Our meal will be here in a trice. Over turkey and biscuits we’ll catch up ‘bout you. You