Lois tossed him a kitchen towel. “Before you sweat all over my clean kitchen floor.”
He wiped his face and draped the towel around his neck. “Where’s Dad?”
“He . . . had to go out this morning.” Lois shot Eunice a look of warning.
“I was hoping to take him out to lunch. When’s he getting home?”
“I don’t think he’s going to be home until late this afternoon, Paul.” Lois set up cups and saucers. “Which means you can go with Eunice and Timmy and me to Griffith Park and the zoo.”
“Oh, joy.” He held both ends of the towel. “What’s Dad’s pager number?”
“He didn’t take his pager with him.”
Eunice saw that Lois had no intention of telling Paul that his father was playing golf. “I’d better take a shower,” Eunice said. Maybe if she was out of the kitchen, Lois could talk to Paul.
“Let me get mine first.” Paul headed for the door. “I need a shower more than you do.”
She sat on the stool again, depressed. Sooner or later, Paul was going to find out where his father was and be hurt that he hadn’t been invited.
Lois poured Eunice some coffee. “If Paul comes with us, he’ll have a good time and he won’t be around to see his father stroll in with his golf clubs. I think David is avoiding the moment when Paul asks him why he retired.”
More excuses.
Lois took a container of half-and-half from the refrigerator, filled the little cream pitcher, and placed it carefully on the counter beside the sugar bowl. “I’m glad last night is behind me.”
“It was a very beautiful program.”
Lois’s face softened. “Yes, it was. The leadership managed to kill gossip before it started. A few people left the church, but they did so quietly.” She poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat down. She added cream and sugar and stirred slowly. “Last night went a long way toward making the transition easier on the congregation.”
“Are you going to be all right, Mom?”
“Actually, I’m doing better than I expected.”
“In the den?”
She smiled sardonically. “My sciatica is acting up.”
That would be the story Paul would hear if he asked why his mother wasn’t sleeping with his father.
Paul went with them to Griffith Park. Timmy stayed with his father, drinking in every word Paul told him about the various animals, while Lois and Eunice hung back and talked.
“Everything has been handled quietly,” Lois said, “which is best for the church. The last thing I want is to cause disunity in the body, not to mention the disillusionment to some of the newer members. David is sorry about everything, of course.”
Was he repentant, or just sorry that his ministry had come to an end? Eunice wanted to ask, but didn’t want to cause Lois any more hurt.
Her mother-in-law had prepared a picnic lunch. They found a quiet place in the shade near an expanse of lawn. Lois had also thought to bring along two gloves and a baseball. The smaller one looked well used; the larger, new. Eunice couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Paul play catch with their son. She relished every moment of it. “Hold the glove up, Tim,” Paul called to their son. “That’s it! Good catch, Son!” Tim beamed.
The day was almost perfect until they pulled up in front of the house. The garage door was open and Paul’s father was lifting his golf clubs out of the trunk. “He had to go out, you said.” Paul jammed on the parking brake. “Nice try, Mom.”
Lois leaned forward in the backseat and put her hand on his shoulder. “We had a very nice day, Paul.”
Paul took the keys from the ignition. “I’m heading back to Centerville tomorrow morning.”
“I thought we were going to Disneyland,” Tim said from the backseat.
“Another time, Son.”
“But Dad . . . ”
“I have more important things to do than go to an amusement park!”
Eunice turned in the front seat and forced a smile. “You know your father wouldn’t break a promise to you, Tim. He has to go back, but we don’t. You and me and Grandma will head for Anaheim tomorrow morning, and spend the entire day at Disneyland. We’ll rest a day and then go to Universal Studios.”
“Cool!” Tim bounded out of the car and headed for the house. Lois got out and followed him.
Paul glared at Eunice. “What about school?”
“Tim’s teacher knows he won’t be back until Monday.”
“I suppose I’m supposed to drive back down here and pick you two up on Friday.”
“Don’t put yourself out, Paul. We can always ride a Greyhound bus home.”
“Suit yourself.” Paul shoved the door open, got out, slammed it, and strode up the walkway.
Eunice sat in the car for a moment, watching her father-in-law polish his Ping golf clubs before she got out and followed her husband into the house.
Samuel leaned his weight into the edger as he trimmed the last foot of grass from along the pathway to the front steps. He swept the blades of grass into a dustpan, dumped them into the green recycling bin in the garage, and hung up the broom and edger. He was tired, but he felt good. He loved the smell of freshly cut grass.
In deference to Abby, he took off his shoes and left them next to the step before entering the house through the garage. He could smell banana bread baking. Abby wasn’t in the kitchen. Samuel headed for the door to the backyard, but the timer pinged. He turned off the oven. Picking up the pot holders, he opened the oven and pulled out two loaves of banana bread and set them on the cooling rack.
Abby wasn’t in the backyard. He came back inside. “Abby?” He found her sitting on the bedroom floor, fighting for breath, her back against the edge of their bed.
“Abby! Honey, what’s wrong?” He gathered her in his arms, trying to slip his arm beneath her knees.
“No!” She gasped, her lips blue. “Don’t lift me.”
“I’m calling the doctor. Don’t move!” He scrambled for the phone, knocking it off the side table onto the floor. He righted it and punched in 911. As soon as he gave the dispatcher the information she needed, he hung up and knelt beside Abby. Drawing her into his arms, he held her tenderly. “Hang on, honey. They’re on their way. Hang on. Hang on.”
He could hear sirens in the distance. Easing Abby back onto the floor, he grabbed the bedpost and pulled himself up. Wincing against the pain in his knees, he hurried along the hallway, opened the front door, and went out just as the paramedics pulled up. “In here.” He beckoned them and hurried back inside and down the hall. “Abby. They’re here, honey. They’re on their way in. Hang on, honey.” He was fighting tears.
“The bread.”
“It’s on the counter, sweetheart. I turned the oven off. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re going to be fine. You’ll be fine.” He took her hand and felt her squeeze his weakly.
“Calm down, Samuel, or we’ll have to call another ambulance.” Her forehead was beaded with perspiration. He kissed it and held her close, unable to say anything past the lump in his throat. Don’t take her from me, Lord. Please don’t take her. Not yet.
When the paramedics entered with their equipment, there was no room for him. He stood back, watching as they took her vitals, talked to a doctor, started an IV drip, and lifted her gently to the gurney. “I’m going with her.” Samuel followed them down the hall and out the front door. Millie Bruester was waiting at the front gate, asking him what she could do to help. “Lock up the house, would you, please?” The paramedics were lifting the gurney into the ambulance, and Abby was lifting her hand. “I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t worry about anything, Samuel. Just go. Go!”
The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever. When they arrived, the paramedics wheeled Abby into the emergency room, where a doctor met them and was apprised of her vitals as they wheeled her through double doors. Samuel tried to follow, but a nurse intercepted him. “I need some information, sir. You need to fill out the
se forms.”
“But my wife—”
“Dr. Hayes is with her, sir. He’s an excellent doctor. She couldn’t be in better hands.” She held out the clipboard with the forms. “I’ll be at the registration counter when you’re finished.”
A few minutes later, he held the clipboard out to her. “Is there a telephone I can use?”
Smiling, she took it back and nodded toward his right. “The telephones are at the end of the waiting room between the rest rooms.”
Pay phones! He dug in his pocket. It was empty. He reached into his back pocket and remembered he had left his wallet on top of his dresser in the organizer his daughter had given him. What need did he have for his wallet while mowing the lawn?
Lord, Lord . . .
“Samuel.” He saw Eunice hurrying toward him, Tim right on her heels.
“I thought you two were in Southern California.”
“We returned about an hour ago. I was just unpacking when Millie called. We came right away. How is she?”
“They won’t tell me. She’s with the doctor.” His voice cracked. Eunice wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. He put his arm around Timmy’s shoulders and pulled him in close. They all wept together.
“Don’t give up, Samuel.” Eunice rubbed his back and began to pray aloud as naturally as she took in air. Timmy pressed closer, and Samuel held on tighter as Eunice asked Jesus to be with them, to heal Abby’s body, to give them strength and patience. When she finished, the three of them remained in the embrace.
“I was going to call my daughter, but I haven’t even got a dime in my pocket and I forgot my wallet.”
Eunice reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her change purse. “You forgot something else, too, Samuel.” She smiled up at him through her tears.
“What?”
“Your shoes.”
As soon as Stephen heard the news about Abigail Mason, he called his work site, told them he wouldn’t be coming, and headed for the hospital. He bought an arrangement of flowers in the gift shop and asked the receptionist where he could find Abby. When he reached the private room on the second floor, he tapped on the door before easing it open.
Abby smiled at him from behind her oxygen mask as Samuel stood and shook his hand. Stephen was shocked at how small, thin, and pale Abigail Mason looked in the hospital bed. And Samuel had aged in the last few days.
“More flowers.” Stephen grinned and put the arrangement of pink rosebuds alongside a small basket of daisies on Abby’s bedside table. Another rolling table had three more arrangements with cards tucked in them, and two more were on a shelf. “You could start up your own shop, Mrs. M.”
She chuckled. “When I woke up, I thought I was attending my own memorial service.”
Samuel took her hand between both of his.
Stephen had to agree it wasn’t all that funny. “I was in Sacramento and didn’t hear you were in the hospital until this morning.”
“Were you seeing your daughter?”
He had picked up Brittany at Kathryn’s new digs in Gold River. For the first eight months of her new marriage, Kathryn had actually been polite to him and cooperative in allowing him more visitation privileges. But when Kathryn answered the door this time, he knew things were already going wrong. She had that look in her eyes. Disillusionment, anger, looking for a target. Her husband was off on another business trip, and she had plans for the day. Brittany told him over lunch, “Mom wanted to go with him to Paris and London, but Jeff wouldn’t hear of it.” They had a fight and Brittany hoped he wouldn’t come back even if it was his house they were living in. She hated her stepfather for making her mother cry. Stephen found himself wondering if Brittany hated him for the same reasons.
“We had a full day together this time.”
“That’s good,” Samuel said.
“It didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.” By the end of the day, he had developed a hardy dislike for his own flesh and blood. She was a miniature Kathryn, complaining and carping about everything. The only word in her vocabulary seemed to be boring. The movie they saw together was boring. The lunch was boring. Everything was boring. He assumed she thought he was boring as well. He tried to be thankful her favorite word had more than four letters. But he’d finally had it by two in the afternoon when he suggested they rent bicycles and ride along the riverfront. “Oh, that’s so boring!” When he asked her what she wanted to do, she said shopping. That did it. “You know something, sweetheart? That bores me.”
She’d rolled her eyes and let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “So you’re going to make me go on some boring bike ride.”
She’d sounded so much like Kathryn that his temper had lit. “Boring people find life is boring. If the only thing that interests you is spending someone else’s money on things you don’t need or even want, you’ve got a problem, honey—a big one.” Just like her mother. Kathryn was only eight months into her new marriage and already she was complaining. Stephen felt sorry for the poor fool who’d slipped the ring on her finger and now had to deal with her endless list of demands.
Still, he should have kept his cool instead of allowing an eleven-year-old girl to get his goat. He was still regretting his words. He’d flung them in anger, heedless of the damage they’d cause. Now it was too late. The bridge he’d been trying to build for the last five years went up in flames. The chasm yawned wider than ever. Just because Kathryn had skin like a rhinoceros didn’t mean Brittany did.
“Since I’m so boring, Daddy, don’t waste your precious time on me next month!”
“It’s not my fault I only get to see you once a month. Talk to your mother about that.”
“I don’t care. I hate you both!” She didn’t say another word for the rest of the day. Another unfortunate skill she was learning from Kathryn: how to use silence and tears to make a man feel like a worm after a rainstorm—washed-up and helpless. He apologized, but it did no good.
“It didn’t go well?” Samuel was waiting.
“A complete disaster. Like walking across a minefield.” He hadn’t made it across in one piece. Nor had Brittany.
Abby motioned to Samuel, who stood and pressed the button to raise her bed a little more. When she was more comfortable, she patted the bed and gestured for Stephen to sit. “Little girls idolize their fathers, Stephen.”
He snorted. “She hates my guts.” Kathryn had taught her well.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She said point-blank she hated me.”
“You probably gave her cause to be upset.”
“It’s always the man’s fault.”
“Stop wallowing in self-pity, and listen to me. Chances are your daughter is going to go out and look for a man exactly like you to marry and then try to fix whatever’s wrong between the two of you now.”
Abby might as well have punched him in the stomach. He tried to make light of it. “Someone good-looking and smart, you mean?” It was more likely his pretty little girl would marry someone rich who’d take care of her in the manner in which she wanted to become accustomed.
Abby was having none of it. “I’m old and sick, Stephen, but I still possess all my faculties. Well, most of them.” She grimaced at Samuel, then faced Stephen again, expression solemn. “I’ve seen a lot more of life than you have, and I’ve seen girls make that mistake time and time again.” Her hand was like a little bird claw on his. “You need to connect with Brittany and sort things out between you. Soon. Do you hear me? She’s not your wife, Stephen. She’s your daughter. They are two very different people, no matter how much they seem alike to you. And another thing. You need to forgive Kathryn.”
“I have.”
“In your head, maybe, but not your heart. Every time you speak about her, there’s an edge to your voice and a look in your eyes. Your daughter isn’t blind. You’re going to have to pray about all that, Stephen. Long and hard, but it’s got to be done if you’re going to move ahead and grow up in Christ. It�
��s been five years, young man, and you’re still grinding your ax. And whether you know it or not, you’re sinking your ax deep into Brittany.”
The truth of it struck him. What chance did his daughter have when he looked at her and saw everything he had despised about his ex-wife? It had become too convenient to blame Kathryn for the way Brittany was behaving. As her father, he carried a heavy share of the responsibility.
“Since I’m so boring, Daddy, don’t waste your precious time on me next month!”
He’d heard the hurt and accusation in her tone, even with her face averted. How could he claim he loved her and cared about her if he wasn’t willing to fight for more time with her? One day a month wasn’t enough to build a relationship with anyone, least of all your own daughter. Kathryn used Brittany as a weapon.
Abby smiled tenderly. “Christ forgave you, Stephen. How can you with-hold forgiveness from Kathryn?”
He couldn’t if he wanted to call himself a Christian. No matter what his ex-wife did, he had to keep his eyes fixed on how to be a better father to Brittany. “I’ll work on it.”
“You’ll do better than that. I know you will.” She patted his hand. “And you’re going to be surprised how much will change between the three of you when you do.”
Another tap on the door. “Anyone home?” Stephen’s heart leaped, and he felt the heat in the pit of his belly as Eunice Hudson peered into the room. She saw him and smiled. “Hi, Stephen.” He offered a lame hello as Samuel rose to welcome her with a hug and kiss on her cheek. “How’s our patient today?” Eunice took Abby’s hand. She was so close; Stephen inhaled the scent of her perfume. Or was it just the scent of her skin? He stood and stepped back from the bed to give her room. Samuel was watching him. Did his feelings show? He was such an idiot. Unfortunately, reminding himself that the object of his passion was married—and to his pastor, no less—didn’t help.
“I’d better get going,” he said.
Abby protested. “But you only just got here. You aren’t running off because of what I said, are you?”
And the Shofar Blew Page 23
