A Coldwater Warm Hearts Wedding

by Lexi Eddings

  Oh, God. Now he’ll hate me forever.

  While Michael couldn’t tell his dad the whole truth of that terrible night, he wouldn’t lie when asked a direct question. He nodded, unable to find his voice.

  His father growled an obscenity Mike didn’t think was in the old man’s vocabulary. The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back. His dad had blindsided him with a punch to the jaw.

  “Just when I thought I couldn’t be more ashamed of you.” Then his father pulled out his wallet and threw down five one-hundred-dollar bills at him.

  “Don’t come back.”

  Chapter 18

  The trick to beating cancer is never to let it think

  it has you. Don’t talk about it as if you own it.

  I’d rather be horsewhipped than say “my cancer.”

  I never even say, “I have cancer.” Instead, I tell

  myself, “The doctor found cancer, but most of

  the awful stuff is gone. And thanks to the chemo

  and radiation, whatever escaped Doc Warner’s

  knife is feeling even sicker than me.”

  —Shirley Evans to her bathroom mirror

  as she adjusts the red pageboy wig

  George didn’t want her to keep

  Michael knocked on the front door of his parents’ house. It was probably unlocked. Nobody in his neighborhood locked their doors during the daytime. It wouldn’t be considered friendly. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to turn the knob without an invitation. He’d sneaked a glance in the garage window and noticed his dad’s car was gone.

  Mom might be with him, but if she wasn’t, this was the perfect opportunity for Mike to spend a little time with her. Not that he was afraid of the old man. He just wanted to avoid a confrontation that would upset his mom. So he knocked again softly.

  Fergus didn’t bark.

  That was unusual. And troubling. Since Mike had come home, the yappy little guy had announced his arrival in a frenzy of yips each time he rapped on the door. Instead of posting a sign saying the house was protected by an antitheft system, Mike thought his parents should hang a sign that said ALL BURGLARS, PLEASE KNOCK. Fergus would certainly raise the alarm.

  But since the dog didn’t let out a peep, a wave of worry swept over him. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Hello?” he called in a stage whisper.

  Fergus’s soft growl came from the family room at the back of the house. Michael hurried there, a sense of disquiet making his gut churn.

  His mother was stretched out on the couch with the little Yorkie resting, chin on paws, across her abdomen. One puppy eye was closed and the other fixed Michael with a protective glare. His mother’s chest rose and fell, and she made little puffing noises between each breath. She was asleep.

  Thank God. For a second, he’d let himself imagine the worst.

  She didn’t have a wig on, but her bald head was covered with a soft-knit beret. Shirley Evans was usually the vivacious sort, the life of any party. She was never happier than when she was the center of attention. Even as she grew older, she didn’t look her age because her ornery little face was always so full of fun.

  Now every one of her years was etched on her features. The deep lines between her brows, even in sleep, were the remnants of pain and exhaustion. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. Michael had never seen her so pale.

  He sank into the rocker across from the couch, wincing when it creaked. His mother’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him.

  “You caught me being a lazy bug. Riley’s coming later and I need a nap before she gets here.” His mother chuckled. “Sometimes after she goes, too.”

  Lacy had told Mike that Crystal and Noah’s son Ethan was a third grader who’d been born old. The boy liked computers, built things with his mechanized erector set that looked like they belonged on the space station, and could hold his own in any adult conversation. Clearly, a gifted kid.

  However, the Addleberrys’ younger child, Riley, was a whirlwind with feet. Mike hadn’t met his niece and nephew yet, but anyone could see his mom needed rest, not a visiting cyclone. “When is Crystal bringing Riley over?”

  Mom glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “Crystal isn’t. Noah will be dropping her by in about fifteen minutes. I’ve been taking care of her a couple of afternoons a week since Crystal became the dean of admissions at Bates College.”

  As wealthy as Noah’s family was, Mike was sure Crystal could afford adequate day care. “You might want to punt on that until you’re back on your feet, Mom. You deserve to take it easy.”

  She deserved so much more. He crossed over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  His mother sat up to receive it. “What I deserve is a pint of Jake’s homemade ice cream. I sent your father off to get some.”

  “The chemo isn’t making your stomach upset?”

  “Just the first day after treatment mostly. Then it gets better. As I understand it, the way chemo works is that it targets the cells in my body that are growing rapidly. Unfortunately, that means more than just the cancer cells. Did you know the cells in your mouth grow quickly too?”

  Mike shook his head.

  “I’m learning more than I ever wanted to know about my body,” Shirley went on. “Anyway, that means I have a few mouth sores. Ice chips would probably be soothing, but why have ice chips when I can have ice cream?”

  Michael smiled. “If you’re gonna go hog, you might as well go whole hog.” It was something she’d said often when he was a kid.

  “Ordinarily, your father doesn’t hold to that. Not that I’m accusing him of being tight, mind you,” Mom said. The most Mike’s dad would ever admit to was being the frugal sort. “But right now, he can’t seem to tell me ‘no.’ ” She grinned impishly. “Needless to say, I’m taking full advantage of the situation.”

  “Who are you trying to kid?” Mike said with a laugh. “Dad never says no to you.”

  “He did once.” Her eyes were unnaturally bright. She blinked hard. “When I asked him not to send you away.”

  “Don’t blame Dad,” Michael said. “He had his reasons.”

  “I’m sure he did. I was there when you were little, remember? But oh, Mikey, honey, whatever it was that caused the break between you, it was a long time ago. Surely there’s some way for my two men to make peace.”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure there is.” His dad grudgingly tolerated his presence, and only when his mother was with them. There was never a chance for private words with him. Mike’s father made sure of that.

  “But there must be. Don’t you remember how Jacob made peace with Esau?”

  “It’s been a while since I was in Sunday school, Mom.”

  “Well, that’s something you can fix.” Then she launched into a retelling of how Jacob had stolen his brother’s birthright and blessing and then ran away from the family for years. “When Jacob decided to come home, Esau gathered his fighting men and went out to meet him on the way. Now, your dad has no fighters to gather—”

  “Unless you count the squirrels,” Michael suggested with a grin. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Maybe Dad could become their general.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  He reached over and took his mother’s hand. “Yes, I am, Mom. Go on.”

  Slightly mollified, she gave his fingers a squeeze. “Well, anyway, the Bible tells us that Jacob sent gifts to his brother ahead of his arrival.”

  “So you think Dad wants me to give him something?” Michael could afford practically anything, but no thing would make this better.

  “No, that’s not the point,” his mother said. “The gifts were Jacob’s way of acknowledging that he’d wronged his brother. It was his first step toward finding forgiveness.”

  Mike studied the hardwood between his shoes. He’d let his father down plenty of times over the years. Michael couldn’t blame him for washing his hands of him.

  But his dad didn�
�t have all the facts.

  “An apology won’t fix this, Mom. Otherwise, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  She sighed. “All right, honey. But it couldn’t hurt.” Her eyes brightened, but her coloring was still off. The chemo was washing her out. “Lacy tells me you’re singing in the choir again.”

  “Yeah, as long as I’m in town, I may as well be useful.”

  “That’s an understatement. That poor bass section is like sheep without a shepherd. Jake does the best he can, but he’s dragging a lot of dead weight behind him. Mr. Mariano must be thrilled to have another strong voice in the choir,” she chattered, sounding more like her usual self. “And I’m tickled to pieces to have two of my children—well, three after the wedding and I can count Jake, too—making a joyful noise.”

  “Noise just about sums the choir up.”

  “Nonsense,” his mother said, beaming like a mother hen whose chicks were all gathered under her wings. “My children have given me so much to look forward to. First Thanksgiving all together, then a wedding, and finally the best Christmas cantata this town has ever heard. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  Michael could. He sent a silent prayer skyward that the chemo and radiation would work.

  * * *

  Every Tuesday morning, the Coldwater Warm Hearts Club met for breakfast at the Green Apple. Even Mr. Bunn, who was habitually the last to arrive because he tended to fall into pleasant but long-winded conversations along the way, was already sipping his first cup of coffee when Heather hurried in.

  “You’re late,” Lacy said as Heather slid into the big corner booth Jake always reserved for the club.

  Everyone else was present and accounted for.

  Valentina Gomez, a dispatcher for the sheriff’s department, and Mr. Cooper were huddled together, working on the crossword puzzle in the latest edition of the Gazette until the meeting came to order. Marjorie Chubb, captain of the Methodist prayer chain and Lacy’s coworker at the Gazette, was diving into a serving of Belgian waffles and therefore was not gossiping about anyone at the moment.

  As a senior in high school, Ian Van Hook was the youngest member of the group. He and Mr. Bunn were deep in a spirited discussion about laugh tracks and percussion stingers for comics on TV.

  “What’s with the ‘ba-dum-chhh’ anyway?” Ian wanted to know.

  “That’s to let the audience know when it’s time to laugh,” Mr. Bunn explained.

  Ian shook his head. “If you have to be told when to laugh, the joke’s not very funny.”

  “Some comics made their reputations on jokes that weren’t funny,” Mr. Bunn said. “Johnny Carson used to get bigger laughs for the expression on his face after a joke bombed than when it went well.”

  “Johnny who?”

  “Kids,” Mr. Bunn said, shaking his head.

  “It’s not like you to be late,” Lacy whispered to Heather. “Everything OK?”

  Heather nodded. Now was not the time to admit she was losing sleep over Lacy’s brother. Except for Sunday morning, when they were singing in the same choir, she hadn’t seen him in days. And she’d made it a point to avoid talking to him even then. Michael Evans had no right to sneak into her dreams and make her wake with a blush, but he’d managed it last night.

  More than once.

  The first part of the Warm Hearts meeting was always dedicated to updates on the members’ projects. The goal was to do someone good, while realizing they were blessed to be able to help. It was always a win-win. The principle of sowing and reaping was built into the fabric of the universe. You always get more than you give.

  “What did I miss?” Heather asked.

  “Well, so far just the news that you’re going to have to find another project,” Lacy said. “Mrs. Chisholm won’t need you to come over on Thursdays to spell her niece anymore.”

  “Really? Why?” The fact that Heather donated her time to mind the old curmudgeon once a week was the only way Peggy Chisholm got a break from perpetual caregiving for her demanding aunt.

  “Mrs. C has a boarder now,” Lacy said. “It’s that Dr. Hildebrand. You know who I mean. I told you about how she’s doing that study using the Gazette archives. Anyway, she was looking for a more permanent place to stay while she completes her research. For a good deal on the rent of one of Mrs. Chisholm’s spare bedrooms, Dr. Hildebrand has agreed to keep the old lady company on Thursdays.”

  Mrs. Chisholm was the retired town librarian. She’d always been a stickler for how things were done, demanding perfection from everyone around her. Now that she was confined to a wheelchair, she was even more persnickety. Her poor niece had the harried look of a rabbit at a greyhound track most of the time.

  “I hope Mrs. Chisholm’s boarder knows what she’s in for,” Heather said doubtfully.

  “I’m sure she has no idea,” Lacy said with a semimaniacal grin. She was always happiest when she was stirring the pot, just like Michael. Evidently, the tendency to promote mayhem was genetic in the Evans siblings. “Otherwise, Dr. Hildebrand would never have agreed to live with Mrs. C.”

  “Wait a minute.” Valentina looked up from her crossword. “Did you say Dr. Hildebrand?”

  Lacy nodded.

  “She came into the sheriff’s department the other day, asking for copies of an old incident report. I told her those weren’t available to the public. I’m not supposed to pull them up unless an officer asks for them or there’s a court order to produce them.” Valentina cocked her head at Heather. “She was asking about your sister’s accident.”

  “Jessica? Why would she want that?” Heather asked.

  “Oh, I think I know,” Lacy said. “She’s a sociologist. She’s looking for trauma that affects young people.”

  “Jessica Walker’s death affected more than young people,” Valentina said.

  And the trauma had lasted. Even ten years after the accident, Heather was still living in its shadow.

  “Anyway, I thought you should know this doctor person is all up in your family’s business,” Valentina concluded.

  As if everybody in Coldwater Cove isn’t all up in everyone else’s business.

  Heather thanked her for the heads-up anyway. She hoped Dr. Hildebrand didn’t bother her parents about Jess’s death. Some wounds never healed, and it certainly wouldn’t help to pick at this one.

  Lester Scott came over to the booth, coffee carafe in one hand, menus in the other. “Can I warm up anybody’s cup?”

  “I thought Jake had you learning to cook,” Heather said.

  “Well, he did, but Ethel’s feeling a mite puny, so she put me to work waiting tables.”

  Ethel, Jake’s geriatric waitress, watched Lester from her high-backed stool at the counter. The expression on her winter-apple face reminded Heather of a tabby near a mouse hole. Ethel was clearly enjoying having someone to supervise.

  In addition to working a couple of days a week at the Green Apple, Lester put in a few days with Mr. Cooper at his hardware store. too. The employment was part of Lester’s court-ordered rehabilitation. It went along with support from his AA sponsor and regular sessions at the local mental health clinic for dealing with his PTSD. He did odd jobs and gardening in exchange for the use of the studio apartment over Mr. Bunn’s garage. On Saturdays, Lester volunteered at the senior center with Marjorie Chubb, teaching the octogenarians to play new card games.

  Heather hoped one of them wasn’t poker.

  Other than making his estranged wife, Glenda, late for her shift at the hospital, Lester’s transformation from homeless alcoholic to a clean-and-sober member of society was one of the Coldwater Warm Hearts Club’s finest achievements.

  Homelessness was all it was cracked down to be and difficult to break out of without help. Heather didn’t believe Michael’s outlandish story about being some hotshot CEO for a second. But she worried about him. She knew Mike wasn’t staying with his folks or camping out on Lacy’s couch. She wondered where he was laying his head.

  Just because I do
n’t want anything to do with him doesn’t mean I can’t care about him as a person, she told herself piously.

  Yeah, right, the part of her that enjoyed those dreams he’d invaded fired back.

  “Say, Lester,” she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. “The weather’s turned colder. Do you know if there’s anybody sleeping on the streets in town?”

  The old vet smiled as he filled the coffee cup in front of her. Now that he was clean shaven, his strong jaw made him agreeable to look upon in a weather-beaten, older-man sort of way.

  Heather understood why Glenda had been late for work.

  “I ain’t seen anyone out and about. Not so’s I’ve noticed,” Lester said. “But now that I keep what you might call more regular hours, I don’t know half of what goes on in this town. Tell you what. I’ll ask my son when I see him next. If there’s anybody who isn’t finding their way to Samaritan House to bed down for the night, Danny will know.”

  Lester’s boy, Daniel, was a sheriff’s deputy. Since the old vet had gotten clean, he’d begun rebuilding a relationship with the son he’d abandoned years ago. He’d even been allowed to spend supervised time with his baby grandson. But though Lester’s life was on an upward trek at the moment, he was first to admit that he was always one drink away from losing all the ground he’d gained.

  “Have you got someone in mind you want to help, Heather?” Marjorie asked between bites of waffle delight. A light dusting of powdered sugar lined her upper lip, but it didn’t last long. She licked it clean. Marjorie often claimed that Jake’s waffles were good enough to be served at the heavenly “Marriage Supper of the Lamb.”

  “Well”—Heather shot a glance at Lacy—“I was wondering if your brother had a place to stay.”

  “Mike?” Lester chuckled. “Does he ever! Didn’t you hear? Lacy’s brother done rented out the Ouachita Inn—all of it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true,” Lacy said with a shake of her head and wonderment in her voice. “Evidently, Michael is Coldwater’s version of a captain of industry. He’s built a very successful company based in New York. But right now, he wants to stay close to home while Mom is going through her treatment, so he’s bringing out a team of his employees to work from here.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “And I get a chance to use my design skills. He’s asked me for help in reconfiguring the ranch house great room as a corporate workspace.”