by Sally John
As she scooped the last of the nutty caramel topping from her plate onto her fork, she got her father’s attention. “Dad, is your company’s concern really Brady’s neighboring property?” She put the fork in her mouth and sighed, savoring the sensation of dissolving sugar.
He nodded. “Afraid so. Neil Braden Olafsson Jr. is the name on my contact sheet. What did you tell him about me?”
“That you’re hard-nosed,” she smiled, “but that he’d like you anyway.”
“Fair enough.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “Okay, what’s he like?”
“You’re getting that steely business edge to your voice.”
He eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s a father’s edge, brought on by the fact that I waited up for you, but evidently not late enough.”
“Mother,” she called down the table, “remind him how old I am.”
Her mother was head-to-head with Aunt Marsha and didn’t respond. Gina noted she was also having one of her conspicuous hot flashes. Her neck and face were beet red; perspiration stood out on her forehead and upper lip.
She turned back to her dad. “I think he’s hard-nosed, too, but I like him.”
Dad smiled. “How come?”
She shrugged. He dries my tears and hugs me in cornfields? “He’s compassionate. He listens to me. He makes me laugh. He gives me a new perspective on God and how Jesus is real.”
“Hmm. Sounds like a rather significant influence. Your mother told me he writes Christian novels.”
“I want to show them—”
Her mother touched her shoulder as she walked behind her. “I’ll bring them down.”
“Thanks. Dad, they really are unlike anything I have ever read or heard before. They’re a step beyond church. Did you ever think that God wants to be involved in our everyday lives?”
“I know He does, when we need Him. And I know He has given me one special daughter.”
Gina’s eyes teared up. “I’m beginning to see how He takes care of me every day, on the inside.”
“You’ve been through a rough time of it. Sounds as if you’ve got two new friends helping.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better about things than I was when we first arrived.”
“Good. Is he landlocked?”
“Jesus?”
“No, Olafsson.”
It took Gina a moment to follow his line of thinking. “Oh. No, not technically.”
“Practically?”
“I don’t know. There is a ravine that he says is too deep to easily build a road through.”
“Probably would cost him a bundle, too.”
“Can I come with you tomorrow?”
A loud thumping and her mother’s cries drowned her dad’s answer. They rushed to the front room. Dad reached Mother first. She lay in a heap at the bottom of the wooden staircase.
“Margaret!”
She moaned as he gently turned her onto her side. Gina knelt to examine her left ankle, which was swiftly doubling in size. It was bent in an unnatural way. Carefully she removed the ridiculous thing her mother called a shoe. It was a slip-on sandal with a raised heel and probably the cause of her tumble down the steps. She bit back a lecture.
Anne knelt beside her. “How about some dish towels for a splint?”
“Please.”
“Margaret!” Dad repeated. “Talk to me, Margaret.”
“Reece.” Her mother winced and her voice was strained. “You go for days without saying my name and now you’re going to wear it out.”
“Mom, where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She struggled to sit up.
“Good.” She saw a knot forming on her forehead. “Dad, can you get her to the couch?”
“Margaret, put your arm around my neck.” He hoisted her in his arms and carried her the short distance.
Gina noted her father’s face was more ashen than her mom’s. She positioned Maggie’s leg on a pillow while Anne folded the dish towels. They gently tied them around the leg, making the pillow into a splint. Everyone hovered, expressing dismay over the injury.
“Margaret, what happened?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she whispered.
“How far did you fall?” Gina asked.
“Just the last few steps. I was,” she took a painfulsounding breath, “rushing.”
“Dad, we’ve got to get her to the emergency room. I think it’s fractured.”
Slowly he rose from beside the couch. “I-I’ll get my wallet.”
“Can somebody tell us how to get there?” Gina raised her voice above the noisy chatter, then noticed her mother’s eyes. Only the whites were showing beneath slowly closing lids. “Mom!”
“Margaret!”
“Mom!”
Her eyelids fluttered open, but her eyes were unfocused. Gina wondered if the knot on her head was more serious than it appeared. “Dad, let’s go!” She had never seen her dad so unsure. He shuffled toward the staircase.
Alec said, “I’ll take you all to the hospital. Anne, you bring Grandma Lottie’s car so they’ll have one there.”
It was an agonizingly slow process to get everyone moving in the same direction. Her mother continued to behave in a dazed manner, her father even more so. In the midst of it all, Gina realized how deeply he must care for her. Why was it he didn’t show it more plainly?
Good grief. She was beginning to sound like Brady. Illogical and irrational.
“Gina, go home,” Reece urged. “There’s nothing more for you to do here.”
“No, I want to wait until they put the cast on.”
Lying propped up in the hospital bed, Maggie heard the resolve in her daughter’s voice and smiled at her. “You’ve raised enough ruckus for one day, hon. I’m sure they can manage a cast without your supervision.”
Incredulity was evident in Reece’s raised brows and in Gina’s face lifted toward the ceiling. They stood on either side of the bed. Lauren was at the foot of it.
Maggie squeezed Gina’s hand. Promoting optimism was a losing battle. “At any rate, I’m not hanging around for them to redo it! If you don’t approve, we’ll come back tomorrow. Now go. Have fun at your dinner.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Lauren, take her, please.”
Reece ushered them out the door, then restlessly paced the small room, sipping coffee from a paper cup. “Stick a DVM at the end of her name and she thinks she knows everything related to medicine.” There was a father’s pride in his comment. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just out of here.”
It had been a tedious, tedious day. Maggie closed her eyes against the brightly lit room. She wanted to crawl into that black hole she had kept slipping into while the pain pierced relentlessly. But they had given her something for the pain, leaving her to confront…too many things.
Reece and Gina had been almost obnoxious in voicing their contempt for the hospital. True, things were disorderly and incredibly slow, giving the appearance of inefficiency. They had been there for hours. Reece postponed his meeting. She knew he’d rather be working than pacing in a cubicle, had even encouraged him to leave, but he refused. Well, at least it was a cubicle, a room with walls, not just a curtainedoff area. The hospital was a fairly new structure.
Then there was that nagging at the back of her mind about what Aunt Lottie had said. Someone called, but he didn’t leave a message. She wasn’t worried that Reece had paid attention to the comment. She was worried that something was wrong with her friend John, otherwise he would not have called. It had to have been him. What other “he” would call?
“Margaret?”
She didn’t open her eyes. “Reece, they said I could sleep. There’s a problem only if I don’t wake up.”
“I know I’ve said this, but you need to slow down. I can just imagine you flying down the staircase, in a hurry to get nowhere.”
There was no need to respond. The subject had been covered. He always wanted
to fix things quickly, figure out causes, and offer solutions one, two, and three.
“Mr. Philips?”
Maggie opened her eyes. The doctor appeared. He was mild-mannered, tall, and thin, fifty-something with hornrimmed glasses and a soft voice. He wore a brilliant white lab coat.
“You’re awake, Mrs. Philips? I was looking over your chart and wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”
Reece approached the other side of the bed. His tension was palpable, but he didn’t say anything. “Ask away, Doctor,” she replied. “If you have the time. We’re not going anywhere.”
“I was curious about your age and broken bones. Are you pre-or postmenopausal?”
“My guess is I’m in the thick of it. Generally speaking, things have gone haywire.”
He nodded. “Insomnia, hot flashes, irritability, outrageous laughter one minute, intense crying the next?”
She smiled. “Your wife?”
“Yes. You’re not on hormonal replacement therapy?”
“No.”
“Well, either that or alternative ways would combat all of the above. My concern today is your bones. Do you take calcium supplements or eat a lot of dairy, salmon, soy, broccoli? Do you exercise regularly?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
“Have you ever had a bone density scan?”
“No.” She heard Reece’s sharp intake of breath.
“Doctor,” he said, “is there a problem with something?”
“Not so far as I can tell from the X rays.” He addressed Maggie again. “I’m just suggesting that you may want to talk to your doctor. You’re petite and fair-skinned and, let me guess, you drink quite a bit of coffee and diet soda?”
“Guilty.”
“Those things put you in the high-risk category for osteoporosis.” He patted her hand. “At the very least, change your diet and walk more.” With a smile he strode toward the open door. “Especially down staircases. We’ll be with you shortly.”
They watched him go, then Reece harrumphed. “Shortly.” He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Speaking of coffee, I’m going to take a walk and get a fresh cup. Do you want anything?”
“No. Thanks.”
Maggie closed her eyes again. They burned with tears she refused to shed. How could her body betray her like this? How could she maintain control when it insisted on controlling her? Since Rosie, she had been so very careful not to break rules, not to make mistakes. She worked hard at her job and taking care of her family. How could she do such a stupid thing as fall down the steps and break an ankle? And what was she supposed to do with a future of deteriorating bones and dried-up skin and crazy emotions and—
She took a deep breath and willed the images away long enough to begin a prayer. Dear God, I feel like I’ve lost my way. I can’t face this alone. I want to believe You’re with me. Help me to know what to do about all of it. Diet, hormones. John. Marsha’s caterer. Reece. She paused. Reece. Dear God, I don’t feel anything anymore.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy and she dozed. A tickle under her nose awoke her. She looked up at her husband. He was sitting on the bed, holding a fragrant, long-stemmed white rose.
“Do I really go for days without saying your name?” He seemed subdued.
She eyed him warily and nodded. When was the last time he had given her a flower?
He studied her face. “I’m sorry. Margaret.” He looked away. “Seeing you lying there at the bottom of the stairs, then listening to the doctor’s dire predictions…I don’t know.”
She took the rose from him and smelled it.
“Like I said last night, I do want my Margaret back.”
“I’m not sure where she is.”
He paused. “Well, I don’t think she’s here in Valley Oaks with Maggie. Now, will you promise to make an appointment when you get home to talk about this stuff with your doctor? Please?”
A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “I think that would be a smart thing to do.”
“Oh, I found a gift shop and bought these to take to Marsha’s tonight.” He gestured over his shoulder.
She eyed a large bouquet of flowers in a clear vase on the table behind him. There were more white roses in it.
“Shall we stop at a market and pick up some contribution to dinner? Appetizers? Dessert?”
No words could get around the lump in her throat now. Which had come first? The thought to give her flowers or to give their hostess flowers? She knew the answer. He was always so much more the conscientious guest than attentive husband. When had she started minding?
The friendly middle-aged nurse who had been in and out all day entered, exclaiming, “Flowers! How romantic!”
Maggie blinked back tears.
“Mrs. Philips, you are so lucky! My husband would never in a million years think of that.”
Reece smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I bought them for dinner tonight, for our hostess.”
The nurse looked at Maggie with wide eyes and shook her head. “Men are clueless.” She pushed on Reece’s arm. “Move out of my way, bum. We are going to take care of your wife, unlike you.”
They bantered back and forth, Reece defending himself while the nurse talked about tarring and feathering.
Maggie wished she could join in, wished she could take Reece’s cluelessness lightheartedly and tease him about it. The fact was, he didn’t know how to make her feel loved anymore. That was it, wasn’t it? That was what Marsha was talking about. She needed to feel loved, and he wasn’t fulfilling that need.
Well, whose job was it to clue him in? Hers, probably. Would he talk through it? She owed him, at the least, to try again, this time with specifics that he couldn’t refute with “It’s just this season of your life; get over it.”
The truth was that if they didn’t start addressing things on a deeper level, she would soon be beyond caring if he ever understood. She was tired of hurting. Maybe if things simply ended, the pain would go away.
She needed roses and tender words and time with him. She needed him to accept the fact that Margaret was here, buried somewhere in Maggie’s past.
Twenty-Eight
Gina didn’t know what triggered this all-encompassing sense of well-being. Here she sat in Brady’s country kitchen, at the small round oak table with him, Lauren, Aaron, a Scrabble board, Homer at her feet, and this delightful tranquillity almost oozing from her pores.
She suspected it had a lot to do with her new faith. Once she decided to accept as fact that God’s ear was tuned to her very thoughts, talking to Him quickly became a habit. With such a powerful audience, it seemed silly to spend every waking moment fretting over her career. Or lack of one.
But, of course, it also had a lot to do with the one who wrote those wonderful books that showed her the reality of Jesus. The creator of tonight’s magnificent meal of smoked turkey and twice-baked potatoes and apple crisp. The vocabulary whiz who speculated at the letters she held and suggested words during her turn. The one who smiled at her now across the table and winked. “An ‘m’ would fit nicely here with—”
Lauren smacked her hand against the tabletop and stood. “That’s it!” she cried. “We’re playing partners, Brady. Trade places with me. If you’re going to keep helping Gina, you have to be her partner. Give me some kind of chance here.”
Brady protested his innocence, but did as he was told, sliding his chair close and draping his arm along the back of hers. His shoulder brushing against hers tickled from head to toe.
He was the perfect gentleman. It seemed an old-fashioned term, but she thought it fit him. He was…sensitive to her. Except for that kissing business. He had only kissed her three times. Once on the sidewalk near Aunt Lottie’s. Once in the car on the way to dinner, a quick brush of his lips. Once last night.
Last night… The Scrabble letters blurred now as she replayed how after dinner, back at Aunt Lottie’s, they had climbed from the car. Brady leaned against it and pulled her
to him. She didn’t want to awaken from kiss number three. When he released her, she initiated number four.
“Gina,” he had whispered, his lips trailing across her face. “I have to ration these.”
“Ration?” She looked up at him in the dim light from the porch, the back of her head resting in the crook of his arm. “What on earth for?”
He inhaled a deep breath, then forcefully blew it out. “I get lost just looking in your eyes. That doesn’t begin to describe what happens when I kiss you. Do you know what I’m saying?” He straightened then, placing his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her to arm’s length. “It’s a little early in our relationship to be struggling with this, but…” His voice trailed off.
Gina swallowed. Maybe he was being sensitive to her in this.
She smiled now as he whispered in her ear about what letters to place on the Scrabble board.
“Brady!” Lauren laughed. “You’re partners. You don’t have to whisper.”
Aaron elbowed her. “I think he likes whispering in her ear.” He leaned toward her. “As a matter of fact I think I like whispering in yours.”
Lauren giggled uncontrollably as her fiancé nuzzled her ear.
Gina turned to Brady with a smile. “Feel like an intruder?”
“Mmm,” he replied, his face somber. He touched a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail and wrapped it around his finger.
Her smile faded. “What’s your ration for today?”
“Just used them all up.” Abruptly, he stood. “I’m going to change the music.” He headed toward the adjacent living room where the stereo was located.
Lauren had selected the music that flowed through speakers in the kitchen. She pulled away from Aaron. “Brady!” she called. “Don’t change that one. It’s what we played at the concert.”
