“I think you’re right. You’ll do real well. You were a good athlete and that hasn’t changed. And if you’re determined—” Sensing the boy’s excitement and resolve, James gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m betting there’ll be no stopping you.”
“Yeah, and if it works out, I’ll be able to go to college after all. So that’s why I wanted to thank you.” Ted extended his hand. “And apologize for having such a bad attitude when I was here.”
James took his hand. “Tell you what, Ted. You let me know when your first track meet is, I’ll be there. How’s that for a deal?”
“Deal!” The kid grinned again. “And tell that good-looking girl, the one who lost her leg, that I owe her for getting Marvin up here. Tell her thanks.”
“I will.”
Ted did a tight turn in his wheelchair and rolled toward the elevator.
Anabelle came up behind James. “What was that all about?”
“He’s a former patient, the one Kirstie hooked up with the Paralympics.”
“Oh yes, I remember.”
“Tell Kirstie she did well. He says thanks. As soon as he gets his new leg, he’s planning on training to run track.”
Surprise sparkled in Anabelle’s eyes, and she smiled. “That’s wonderful, James. Kirstie will be very happy, I’m sure.”
Feeling pleased with himself, and proud of Ted’s newfound direction, James went back to logging the meds he had administered.
A few minutes later, Lorraine Wilder, his nurse supervisor, told James that Mr. Varner wanted to see him in his office. Stat.
“What does he want?” James asked, puzzled.
“He didn’t say. He seemed a bit more agitated than usual though.” She tucked a couple of loose strands of her dark hair behind her ear. “You’d better take care of whatever it is in a hurry. I’ll cover for you up here.”
An uneasy feeling of approaching trouble skidded down James’s spine. Varner had been on the employees’ side during the protest. Had he changed his mind?
Or was something else going on?
James took the stairs to the first floor.
When he stepped into Varner’s executive assistant’s office, he asked Penny, “What does Mr. Varner want from me?”
She didn’t look up from her well-organized desk, every piece of paper in its proper place. “I’m sure he’ll tell you himself. Go on in.”
Neither her tone nor her words were reassuring.
He rapped once on Varner’s open door, then stepped inside.
“There you are, James.” Varner stood and extended his hand across his desk for a handshake. “Sorry to take you away from your patients. I know you’re a very busy man.” He waved James to one of the two guest chairs. “Sit, sit. Everything is fine. Just fine.” Words spilled out of the CEO as though he was in the middle of a hyperactive meltdown and needed to take a tranquilizer.
James sat, but only on the edge of the chair. “What did you want to see me about?”
“It’s just a little thing. They’re not asking much of you.” He shuffled the papers in front of him as though he’d forgotten the subject of their meeting.
Suspicion raised the hackles on the back of James’s neck. “Who are they?”
“The board of directors, naturally. I work for them, you understand. Which means we all work for them. More or less.”
“What do they want from me?”
“Well, you know, the demonstration you organized was all well and good. Free speech and all that. But maybe you got just a little carried away with all the TV coverage and newspaper articles.”
James nodded. An ill-defined feeling of distress tightened his neck muscles.
Varner straightened the half dozen pens on his desk, putting them in a neat row. “The board members, some of the members, have been receiving phone calls from their associates. Calls that suggest it’s their fault that the hospital is short of funds.”
“Approving the hospital budget is their responsibility,” James pointed out.
“Yes, well, that’s true. And they do have some responsibility in terms of fund-raising.”
“So why are they upset if people are calling drawing attention to what their responsibilities are?”
He transferred all the pens to the center drawer of his desk and shoved it closed. “Since the demonstration, the pressure—the heat, if you will—has increased considerably. The members are hoping there’s something you can do to, ah, cool down the temperature a bit.”
“Surely you’re not asking me to announce that the employees are suddenly accepting of what amounts to a rather draconian pay cut for many of us.” He knew others in the community were facing similar financial straits, and it complicated the issue a bit. But all he knew was that he was very protective of his friends, and he was fighting for them right now.
“No, no, I wouldn’t expect that. Not at all.” Varner took the handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his forehead. “They’re thinking you might tone down the rhetoric. Not make so many public statements. Let things simmer for a while.”
Cautiously, James asked, “And if I did that, stopped talking to reporters and so on, what would the employees get in return?”
“Well, I…” Perspiration had formed above his lip, and he wiped that away. “Hope Haven employees have always prided themselves on being loyal to the organization. To the patients, as well.”
“We’re still loyal,” James argued. “That’s why we don’t want to see the situation deteriorate due to lower morale or our top talent leaving Hope Haven for better jobs elsewhere.”
“Yes, of course, I quite understand your position. Still, I’m hoping, as a personal favor to me, that you’ll follow the suggestions of the board.”
James leaned forward, resting his arms on Varner’s desk. “Albert, I have been asked to present our position to the city council next week. I can’t suddenly turn down that invitation without being able to tell them the issues in question have been resolved. You understand that, don’t you?”
Varner backed his chair away from the desk. “Of course I understand. In this case, I’m simply the board’s messenger. I’ve delivered the message. The next step and whatever happens after that is yours.”
The implied threat brought James up short and stole the breath from his lungs. Was Varner suggesting the board would take action against him personally? Even fire him if he didn’t comply with their wishes?
The board was trying to impose a gag order on him. They could probably make it stick too, unless he hired an attorney. Which he couldn’t afford. They probably knew that.
James stood. “Mr. Varner, you and the board of directors will know my answer to their request next Tuesday night at the city council meeting.”
While he might have sounded brave and determined, James knew he was walking a narrow line. Did he dare risk getting fired—and losing Fern’s insurance coverage?
Chapter Twenty
AFTER DINNER, JAMES CARRIED HIS GEAR FOR THE camping trip downstairs and stacked it by the front door ready to be packed in the roof rack basket on the van. He had fifteen Scouts going on the trip plus two other dads who drove SUVs. That meant lots of gear to haul. They’d be leaving early in the morning from the church parking lot.
Nelson came down the stairs with his duffel and subfreezing sleeping bag. In his socks, he padded across the entryway.
“You got everything, son?”
“Yeah.” He dropped the sleeping bag next to James’s.
“Did you use the checklist?”
“We went over all that stuff before Christmas.”
Mentally, James rolled his eyes. That answer meant Nelson hadn’t checked his list.
James pulled his list out of his pocket. “Two pair of wool socks?” Nelson nodded. “Extra pair of pants? Extra shorts? Gloves? Warm cap? Canteen?”
Nelson yawned and nodded affirmatively to each item.
“In the morning you’ll add your toothbrush and toothpaste, right?”
Nel
son’s brows scrolled closer together. “I already put my toothbrush in the duffel.”
“Really? I guess you’re going to use Gideon’s toothbrush tonight and in the morning?”
“No way!” Gideon shouted from the family room where he was watching TV.
Muttering something under his breath, Nelson dropped to his knees, unzipped his duffel and rooted around inside.
Repressing a grin, James decided Scouting provided all sorts of preparation for adulthood, including packing properly for a trip.
Leaving Nelson to recover his toothbrush, James went into the family room. Gideon was sprawled on the floor watching a reality show and eating popcorn. Like Nelson, he was shoeless and his shirt hung open, revealing a white T-shirt underneath.
James sat on the recliner near him. “You’re going to stick close to home and your mother this weekend, right?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“She seems to be feeling better, but she could have a relapse.”
Gideon mumbled an acknowledgment.
Bending down, James picked the remote up off the floor and muted the sound.
Gideon looked up. “What? I was listening.”
“Son, I’m counting on you. You’ve got Grandma Marilee’s number if there’s a problem. Your Aunt Beth’s too, but it would take her longer to get here.”
“I know, Dad. Their numbers are all in my cell.”
“I’m taking my cell with me, but I’m not sure whether there’ll be reception at the river camp. If you can’t reach me by voice, try texting. Sometimes that goes through when nothing else will.”
Sitting up straighter, Gideon swiveled around to face his father. “Dad, I was the one who taught you how to text. I think I can handle it, okay?”
James chuckled. “You think I worry too much, huh?”
“Hey, I worry about Mom too. I’ll keep a close eye on her. I promise.”
Gripping Gideon’s shoulder, James gave his son an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks.”
Later, as James went upstairs to bed, anticipation about the trip and anxiety about leaving Fern churned together with a dose of adrenaline that was bound to keep him awake for hours.
He undressed in the light from the hallway so he wouldn’t wake Fern, who was already in bed.
“Are you and Nelson all set to go in the morning?” Fern’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Sorry I woke you,” he whispered, crawling into bed beside her. “Assuming Nelson remembers to get his toothbrush back into his duffel in the morning, we’re set to go.”
“You’ll both have a good time.”
Knowing how much he’d worry about Fern while he was gone, he wasn’t quite as optimistic as she was about having a good time. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own? I could drive the boys up there and be back here by noon. Then on Sunday—”
“You’ll do no such thing. You haven’t gotten away from here in ages for any sort of a vacation. You need a break, James. You’ll enjoy being with the boys, and Nelson is tickled that you’re his Scout leader.” She reached for James’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Gideon will be here if anything goes wrong. We’ll both be fine.”
James prayed she was right.
Even so, the troubling possibility that she might need him kept James awake for a long time. When he finally fell asleep, that same fear invaded his dreams with malignant, terrifying tentacles.
Sitting at her sewing machine, Elena ran the side seam for the nursing scrubs she was making. She snipped the thread, then flipped the garment over to run the second seam.
Cesar, who’d been trying to fall asleep in bed, lifted his head. “Aren’t you coming to bed soon?”
“In a minute, honey.” She matched the edges of the cotton fabric. “One of the girls in pediatrics bought this Dr. Seuss material and thought it would be cute for scrubs.” It would be too. Even young children would be able to identify the colorful characters.
“You’re going to be exhausted if you don’t get your sleep.”
Granted, her eyes were already burning with fatigue but she didn’t want to stop yet. “I want to get this done by Monday, and it’s hard to sew when Izzy is awake. She’s always wanting something. I’ll sleep late in the morning.”
Cesar remained silent as she ran the second seam.
“Are you sure it’s worth it, hon?” he said as the machine quieted.
“It’s an extra twenty-five dollars, all profit, in our travel account.” If she could add that much to their savings every week, it would certainly get them to Spain all the sooner, no matter what happened with the pay cuts at the hospital.
She heard her husband mumble something. Turning, she discovered he’d pulled the pillow over his head to block out the light and the noise.
A spear of guilt stabbed her. She was keeping Cesar from his sleep too.
Just a few more minutes, she promised herself. Then she’d go to bed.
Finishing the tunic top would take her one small step closer to her dream.
By six the next morning, a light snow had started to fall. The flakes floated past the parking lot lights at the Church of the Good Shepherd, dusting the cars of parents delivering the Scouts for the weekend outing.
James tossed a duffel to Nelson, who stood on the back bumper of their van. He stuffed the duffel into the cartop carrier and turned to catch another one. Like James, all the boys were wearing their Scout shirt over a long-sleeved thermal shirt plus a warm jacket and cap.
The two fathers who’d volunteered to come along on the camping trip were busy helping the boys.
Ron Beckwith, a big man with a voice to match, had loaded his SUV with food for the weekend and enough four-man tents to shelter the Scouts and leaders. Bud Singh was hauling cook-stoves and firewood in his vehicle as well as his share of Scouts.
James left Nelson and his friend to finish stashing the remaining sleeping bags and duffels in the back of the van and strolled over to talk with Ron.
“How’s our head count?” James asked. Boys in heavy ski jackets and their parents milled around the three vehicles. At this early hour, there was little talking and no horsing around. That would no doubt come later when they reached the campground reserved for the troop.
“Pete Switzer hasn’t shown up yet.”
James peered through the falling snow. He’d hate to leave one of the boys behind, but he’d have to if the kid didn’t get here soon. Being left behind was a tough lesson for a youngster to learn.
“I checked the weather this morning,” Ron said. “Snow flurries throughout the day, clearing by tomorrow. We ought to be okay.”
“As long as they keep the highway plowed.” Still worried about leaving Fern, James reminded himself that he’d only be gone for about thirty hours. He’d be back home by lunchtime tomorrow.
Nelson jogged over to him. “Dad, the duffels are all stowed.”
“Good.” Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, James checked his watch. Six twenty. He’d give Pete ten more minutes and then they’d get on the road. “Let’s mount up, boys. It’s about time to go.”
“Here comes Pete,” someone shouted.
A dark sedan pulled into the parking lot, sliding on the wet asphalt. As soon as the car came to a halt, Pete leaped out and made an awkward dash toward James’s van with one boot on, the other in his hand. His father followed with the boy’s duffel and sleep-ing bag.
“Sorry. I overslept.” Pete tossed his gear in the back of the van, then had to retrieve his boot that he’d thrown in with every-thing else.
His buddies razzed him. “Poor Petey. Didn’t get his beauty sleep.”
“Didn’t your mommy wake you up on time?”
James swallowed a smile. Nothing like a little peer pressure to shape up a kid. Or a new recruit, he recalled from his army boot camp days.
He checked his cell phone one last time to make sure it was on and dropped it in his shirt pocket. Gideon would call if Fern had a problem.
Ami
d waves and good-byes from parents, the three-vehicle caravan headed out of the parking lot. On a good day it was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive to the campground northwest of Deerford on a bluff above the Mississippi River. Today it was likely to take longer, the falling snow making visibility poor and the road through flat farm country slick.
James set a moderate pace in the lead car. This was no time to risk sliding off the road or colliding with an oncoming vehicle.
Despite its being the weekend, Candace woke at her usual time. She and Brooke were going shopping this morning, making it a girls’ day out and leaving Howie home with Janet.
As she made her bed and straightened the quilt, she glanced at the framed photo of Dean on her bedside table. The familiar ache twisted in her chest. He’d been so handsome. So carefree. So full of life.
Then in a single instant he’d been gone.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she quoted Psalm 31:9 out loud. “Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and my body with grief.”
With a sigh, she knew she couldn’t go back to letting grief consume her. She had her children, her mother and her faith. Somehow they would sustain her.
Downstairs, she put on the coffee and made up a pot of oatmeal, adding raisins, nuts and brown sugar. Big, fluffy flakes of snow drifted by the kitchen window, as pretty as a Christmas card. She wished she could capture the view on the note cards she made by hand using her collection of stamps and watercolors, but she wasn’t that talented. Brooke, however, was showing signs that she had a real flair for art. How very special that would be.
Janet came downstairs for breakfast, quickly followed by Howie and Brooke. Janet poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the kitchen table.
“I’ve decided since you two are going shopping,” she said, “that Howie and I ought to do something special today too.”
Howie’s green eyes popped wide open. “What’re we gonna do, Grammy?”
Smiling, Candace delivered bowls of oatmeal to the table. Her mother always thought of something special to do with Howie so he wouldn’t feel left out when Candace went off alone with Brooke.
Strength in Numbers Page 17
