Window on the Bay

by Debbie Macomber

  Logan reluctantly broke it off and, taking my hand, led us toward the swarm of elated fans heading to the exit.

  “Did you see that catch?” he said, still caught up in the excitement of the last-minute score.

  “I did. I can’t believe a football player could leap as high as a ballet dancer, but I’ve been proved wrong.”

  “Wait. Did you just compare a dancer in tights to a football player? You’re kidding, right?” Logan snorted, as if I’d said something hilarious.

  “I’m not joking; after all, football players wear tights.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right, but that’s a stretch—no pun intended. I have to say that I don’t think any of the Seahawks players would enjoy being compared to a dancer twirling around on toes in the middle of a stage, though.”

  “Anyone in the ballet is as good of an athlete as any one of your precious Seahawks.”

  “You win, you win,” he said, laughing. “The last thing I want to do is get into another argument with you, especially after that kiss.”

  I should have known he’d bring up the kiss. “It was nice,” I readily agreed.

  “The kiss or the game?”

  “Both. I had a wonderful time.”

  We walked hand in hand to where Logan had parked his truck. The streets were already clogged with traffic, cars making their way to the freeway on-ramps or to the ferry terminal, heading home to the Kitsap Peninsula.

  “You work tomorrow?”

  “I work every Monday.”

  “Can I see you after work?”

  “For?” I wasn’t willing to meet up at the sports bar, if that was what he had in mind.

  “For whatever you want,” he told me.

  I hesitated, but for only a few seconds. “Okay,” I said, and realized I was already looking forward to Monday.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jenna

  Sunday after work I tried calling Allie but got no answer. I left her a message, but she didn’t return the call. So I sent her a text. It was a simple question for her, nothing big. But I became concerned because it wasn’t like my daughter to ignore me. I tried another text.

  Were you at the house recently?

  The second time was a charm. She answered.

  Why? Am I not allowed in my own house?

  Of course, you are. I found an empty popcorn bag in the garbage and didn’t know where it came from.

  Yeah, I was there. Big deal.

  Allie, where is this attitude coming from?

  You’re the one making an issue out of me stopping by.

  I read through our exchange a second time and decided a call might be a better idea. This time she picked up.

  “What?” Allie asked flippantly.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” I said, remaining calm. Allie could be prickly, and almost always there was an unrelated issue behind the attitude.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted.

  I knew my daughter and her foibles. “You did something you regret, and you don’t want to tell me,” I guessed. That was what it usually turned out to be.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she snapped.

  Taking the phone away from my ear, I looked at it, as if it might reveal what was going on with Allie.

  “Can Mackensie spend Thanksgiving with us at Grandma’s?” she asked, changing the subject. “Her mom said she had to choose which holiday to fly home, and she chose Christmas.”

  This was a favorite tactic of Allie’s, to sidetrack me with a question or concern to take the focus off her and direct it elsewhere.

  “Of course she’s welcome,” I said, then tried to redirect Allie. “You know that sooner or later I’ll find out what’s bugging you. I’d rather hear it from you firsthand.”

  I could hear Allie breathing hard, as if considering her options. “I talked to Paul and he’s cool with it,” she blurted out. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want with my own body.”

  This didn’t sound good. A chill went down my spine, a sure sign I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Allie, what did you do?”

  “Okay, fine, you’re right, you’ll see it sooner or later. I got a tattoo.”

  “You did what?” I blurted out, unable to hide my shock.

  “It’s no big deal,” Allie cried, her words ringing with anger. “Almost everyone in school has one, and before you get all bent out of shape, I had a professional do it.”

  That she used a professional was one thing for which to be grateful. I closed my eyes and silently prayed for wisdom.

  “Aren’t you going to read me the riot act?”

  “I should,” I said, doing my best to remain cool and levelheaded. “Oh, Allie, how could you? A tattoo is forever.” Right away my head went to places I’d rather not think about. Unsanitized needles. Infection issues. And that was the tip of the iceberg. My daughter had gotten a tattoo. Little good it would do now to say any more. The deed was done. A lecture from me wasn’t going to help.

  “It was my decision and I’m not sorry. I’ve got to go,” Allie said, eager to get off the phone.

  “Me, too. I’ve got to check in with your grandma.”

  “Is Grams doing okay?” Allie asked, her voice softening with love and concern.

  I knew Allie had stopped by Parkview two or three times and how much those visits had buoyed my mom’s spirits.

  “Grams is doing fine.”

  I expected her to disconnect, but Allie quickly added, “Sorry about earlier.”

  “Okay. Don’t ever worry about coming by the house. It’s always going to be your home.”

  “I know.”

  “Talk later,” I said. I was just about to end the call when she interrupted me again.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you have fun on your date?”

  “I did.” In the last forty-eight hours my mind and my heart had dwelled on little else. I’d enjoyed every minute of my time with Rowan. The weather was perfect, the fall colors inspiring, our short mile walk around the lake invigorating. And the kisses we shared, well, those had blown my mind.

  “I’m glad you had a good time. Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, Allie.” I disconnected and then stood frozen, not knowing what to think.

  I immediately went to my window on the bay and sat with my back against the side wall, my knees tucked under my chin as I looked out over Elliot Bay. The skyscrapers of the Seattle skyline blurred my vision as I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d done my best to hide my distress about her tattoo. Bending forward, I pressed my forehead against my knees. It could be worse, I mused, looking for the silver lining in all this, although at the moment all that came into view were dark clouds and even darker thoughts.

  * * *

  —

  I hadn’t heard from Rowan since he’d dropped me off late Friday afternoon, but I hadn’t worried, as he’d mentioned he was back on duty Saturday and Sunday. That didn’t explain the next two days after that, however, and I feared I’d read more into our time than I should have. I comforted myself with the thought that if he gave every patient the attention he’d given my mother, then it stood to reason why he had such little free time to connect with me.

  I’d spent time with my mother on Sunday afternoon and she was progressing well, but I still was surprised to get a call on Wednesday from Parkview telling me that Mom had passed all the necessary requirements to return home. This was unexpected, as we’d figured she’d need at least another week, but they explained that she had shown such determination and had fully cooperated with her therapists. They were confident she would continue with her exercise regimen upon returning home. Mom was ecstatic. By the time I arrived at the facility, she was nearly bouncing off the walls, eager to leave.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever
get here,” she said. If there’d been a chandelier, she would’ve been swinging from it.

  “I came as soon as I got the call,” I said, smiling. Her happiness was contagious. Although she’d passed all the physical requirements, I was still a bit concerned about leaving her alone at home. As soon as Parkview called, I’d packed a few items, intending to spend a couple nights with her at the house to make sure she was settled in.

  Upright and using her walker, Mom glowed. “Look, Jenna!” she said, standing on her own, “No hands!”

  “Mom, be careful,” I chastised, but I couldn’t keep from grinning. My mom had probably warned me to be cautious when I’d first learned to ride a bicycle.

  Since she’d been at the facility, Mom had accumulated more stuff than I’d realized. I had to make several trips to and from the car, hauling out her things. The PT assistant waited for me to return so she could review the list of home exercises and medical instructions. The physical therapy sessions would continue, and I’d already talked to Mrs. Torres, who had agreed to take Mom to and from her PT appointments on the days I was working.

  “I can’t wait to see Mr. Bones,” Mom said as we packed her last items.

  The thankless cat had shown zero appreciation for the attention and care I’d given him. I certainly didn’t do it for him; I did it for Mom, who had worried endlessly about her scrawny, beloved friend.

  Getting her in the car demanded some patience. It wasn’t easy for her to move and twist around, but she didn’t complain. I deeply admired my mother and was happy that the worst of this ordeal was over. Once she was home, everything was sure to improve. I knew people tended to heal faster in a familiar environment.

  When I parked the car in front of the house, she let out a small cry of delight. “You put pumpkins on the porch.”

  “They’re from your garden. The cornstalks are from the local farmers’ market.” I’d made a festive harvest arrangement as a small homecoming present for her.

  Mom clapped her hands. “It’s perfect, just perfect.”

  The day was overcast and threatening rain, as it often did in October in the Pacific Northwest. From the way my mother viewed the world at this moment, however, it might as well have been the middle of summer and sunny skies. She chatted excitedly, eager to get outside and work in her yard and garden as soon as she could.

  “Oh look,” she said. “The oak leaves have turned. Your father loved that tree, yet he complained every fall when he had to rake up the leaves.”

  I’d loved that tree, too. One of my favorite childhood memories was with my brother, Tom, burrowing deep under the piles of leaves Dad had raked. Gathering them in our arms, we’d toss the piles into the sky, letting them cascade down on us and making a huge mess of his orderly piles. Dad would grumble at first, then join us in our game. Afterward, he’d make us rake everything up. Never once did we complain.

  Mom wasn’t in the house more than a few minutes when Mrs. Torres arrived with a hot dish in her hands.

  “I made you dinner,” she said, carrying the ceramic baking dish into the kitchen and setting it on the counter. “Didn’t seem right for you to worry about cooking your first night home.”

  We both thanked her.

  “You’re a good neighbor and an even better friend,” Mom said, tearing up at the kindness of her closest friend.

  While they visited, I warmed up the chicken-and-rice casserole in the oven. It seemed like it was months ago that Mom had her surgery, instead of a few weeks. I remembered how Maureen and I had been talking about our trip to Paris when the call came in on that day.

  Mrs. Torres left after turning down our offer to join us for dinner. She wanted to get home in time to watch her favorite television show, Judge Judy, which came on every evening.

  “Love that no-nonsense judge,” she proclaimed. “We need more like her. What this world lacks is good old-fashioned common sense.”

  Mom was exhausted, and at the same time jubilant. “Check on Mr. Bones, would you?”

  “Don’t worry—he knows when it’s dinnertime.”

  She smiled, leaned her head back against her chair, and closed her eyes. “It feels so good to be home,” Mom quietly observed, but then opened her eyes. “I should be helping you.”

  “You are helping by sitting right where you are,” I assured her. “I’m going upstairs to unpack, but I’ll be right back.”

  It’d been a long time since I’d slept in my old room. It had changed from my high school days. Gone were the posters from the boy bands that I’d swooned over as a young teen. The room had been repainted and the bedspread and curtains were new as well. It still felt very much like my room, despite the differences. I unpacked and was setting my toothbrush by the sink when the doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get it,” I called, racing downstairs, as I feared Mom would try to answer it.

  Opening the door, I had a ready smile that grew wider when I saw Rowan standing on the front porch. My breath caught with surprise and pleasure. I smiled like I’d won the lottery.

  “Rowan,” I exclaimed, unable to hide my delight.

  “Rowan?” Mom said, perking up.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, as I stepped aside to let him into the house.

  The threat of rain had turned into a reality by now, and drizzle leaked onto the porch. The sky might be gray, but there was sunshine in my heart. Oh, that sounded like something Allie would say, but for me, it was true.

  “Of course you aren’t intruding,” Mom told him, welcoming him into her home.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Jenna,” he said, grinning in my direction.

  I noticed he had trouble tearing his gaze away from me, and me from him.

  “This is a nice surprise to see you here,” he said. It was as if he’d forgotten my mother was in the room.

  “Jenna insisted on staying with me for a few days, but I’m sure I’m perfectly fine on my own,” Mom said. “She worries when she doesn’t need to.”

  My mother seemed oblivious to the way Rowan and I couldn’t stop looking at each other.

  “How is it you happened to stop by, Rowan?” Mom asked.

  Rowan gave my mother his attention. “I heard you’d been released, Carol, and decided to stop by to see how you’re adjusting to being at home.” He sat in the stuffed chair closest to my mother, turning sideways so it was easier for her to see him without twisting.

  “I’m fit as a fiddle,” she said, smiling.

  The timer for the oven dinged, indicating that the casserole had finished baking.

  “Dr. Lancaster, won’t you stay for dinner?” Mom said, eager to have him join us. “There’s more than enough. It will take Jenna and me a full week to finish this casserole.”

  Rowan looked to me, seeking my approval.

  “Please do,” I said enthusiastically, hoping to encourage him. “I was about to make a green salad.” A salad would entice him to stay? It was hard not to roll my eyes. Instead I made a slow exit into the kitchen, afraid I’d say something else ridiculous.

  “In that case, I will stay,” Rowan said. “It isn’t often I have the chance to enjoy a home-cooked meal.”

  I hadn’t thought about that before. He was a single man fully engaged in his career, and I had to wonder how many of Rowan’s meals came from the hospital cafeteria. I cringed at the thought.

  I couldn’t talk, though, as I was going through a rather nasty breakup with Burger King and Taco Time. Since Allie had moved into the dorm, I found it easier to stop off and grab a fast-food meal. It felt like too much effort to cook for one. As a result, the last time I weighed myself, I saw that I’d gained five pounds. Right then I knew I needed to get a handle on this and make healthier choices.

  While Mom and Rowan visited, I finished the salad, setting it and the casserole on the dining room table. It
was a simple dinner, but you’d think it was a feast, the way my heart sang to be sharing it with Rowan.

  When everything was ready, I called them into the dining room. Mom came in her walker, carefully maneuvering herself into her chair. She did well, and I was pleased at her progress.

  Once the three of us were seated, Mom looked to Rowan. “Would you say the blessing for us?” she asked.

  For a moment, Rowan looked uneasy. He recovered quickly and bowed his head, murmuring a humble prayer of thanksgiving.

  “That was lovely,” Mom said approvingly.

  I handed Rowan the salad bowl, and when he took it I winked at him. He smiled, and I smiled back.

  The conversation over the meal flowed effortlessly. In a joyful mood, Mom did most of the talking. Rowan and I added bits and pieces to keep the discussion going whenever there was a lull. By the end of dinner, I could see that she was tired, and that it was time for her to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed.

  Rowan helped her into the bedroom, although she protested the entire way, insisting she didn’t need help. I had to agree, she probably didn’t; but I felt better seeing her safely there. He left the room, and I helped Mom undress, put on her nightgown, and stayed with her as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and put on her night cream.

  “I think I’ll read a bit,” she said as I kissed her cheek good night.

  When I returned to the kitchen, I found Rowan had rolled up his shirtsleeves and was washing the plates and setting them inside the dishwasher.

  “Would you like an apron?” I asked, teasing him.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You’d look handsome in one, in case you change your mind,” I teased.

  He grinned and looked away, as if the two of us alone was a problem and he needed a distraction. “I wasn’t sure what to do with the leftovers,” he said, glancing toward the casserole dish on the table.