Kiss Me Awake by Julie Momyer

a cruel twist of nature to watch someone you cared for deteriorate until there was nothing familiar but the shell.
    She was told this was to be expected. According to the medical world, any improvement at this point was impossible. So why did she always come expecting more?
    On the upside, Laurel’s quarters were cheery. There was a twin bed, a whitewashed nightstand and matching dresser with a beveled mirror mounted on top. Like the room, the attached bathroom was private.
    Jaida sank down on the bed beside Laurel and opened the crumpled envelope she brought. She slid her hand inside and for reasons she couldn’t explain, bypassed the newsprint, her purpose for coming today, and pulled out a frame with tiny orange stones encircling the perimeter.
    It was a color print of the two of them standing arm in arm in Laurel’s yard. Brilliant yellow flowers blooming on the sweet acacia tree dominated the background. She held it out for Laurel to see. “I framed this for you. It’s a picture of the two of us.” 
    It was one of the last pictures of Laurel before she’d been disabled by the stroke. Jaida watched her face, looked into her eyes. Was any of it familiar?
    Laurel’s jaw worked up and down, her larynx straining but turning out only a grunt. Her eyes flicked up at Jaida then dropped again to the frame.
    Again her jaw worked. “J-J-aida.”
    She said her name . The words were pinched and garbled, but she knew who she was. 
    Jaida lifted Laurel’s hand and pressed it to her cheek joy swelling inside of her. “Yes, it’s me. It’s Jaida.”
    Laurel jerked her hand away and tucked it close to her side. Like a pricked balloon her joy deflated. It was a reaction, not a rejection, she told herself.
    The bed creaked when Jaida stood. She set the picture on the dresser, tilting it enough so Laurel could see it. The photographs arranged on the wall were different than when she was here last. Spencer must have changed them up when they painted.
    The grin on his face in one of the pictures sparked something inside of her. She touched the tip of her finger to his lips. A smile touched her own then quickly slipped away when she considered the state of his humor the last time she saw him. But could she blame him? 
    The door swung open behind her, and she turned. For one insane moment, she expected to see him standing in the doorway instead of the chunky blonde aide.
    “Sorry to interrupt but it’s time for lunch.”
    “Thanks. I’ll bring her down,” Jaida said. She picked up Laurel’s sweater folded at the foot of the bed and draped it over her shoulders.
    “All righty.” The aide ducked out and closed the door.
    Jaida glanced up once more at the picture of Spencer thinking how odd it was that she’d never run into him here.
    She helped Laurel into the wheelchair then picked up the envelope she brought with her. For now, the newspaper clippings would have to wait.

10
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Hidden by the slant of afternoon shadows, Lance sat back in the wrought iron chair on Jaida’s front patio and looked up at the two-story Mediterranean. It was prime property. The front and sides were loaded with arched windows offering high dollar views. A shack on the beach would sell for a few million, and this was no shack.
    On her salary, Jaida couldn’t afford this house even with the top-notch broker she laid claim to. He smiled to himself recalling the line she’d fed him about her investments. She was quick and sharp. He appreciated that in a woman. Soon he would see just how quick and how sharp.
    The rumor making its rounds at the agency was that she inherited the house, but she could have ingeniously circulated that tale herself. He hadn’t yet confirmed it as fact and even if it proved true, it didn’t shed light on where the brand-new BMW came from or how she maintained her high-end wardrobe, or where the funds came from that she’d used to build her stock portfolio.
    But public records had exposed one of her