The Long Way Back

by JoAnn Ross

  Nora wanted to cover his grimly set lips with her own, to press kisses all over that dark, tortured face. She longed to tell him that there was no need to worry, that his grandmother would live to be a hundred.

  In the end, she merely lifted a palm to his cheek.

  “We’d better go see what he wants,” she said in the quiet, reassuring tone she’d adopted during her years of medical practice.

  Nora took her ex-husband’s hand in hers and led him, atypically meek as a lamb, across the crowded green, through the throng of merrymakers, toward Devlin O’Halloran.

  * * *

  When they reached the house, Ellen and Mike O’Halloran were waiting. Mike, Caine’s father, had always been a taciturn man, more comfortable with his lures and lines than with people. A crisis did not change his nature.

  After murmuring a vague, inarticulate greeting to Nora, he gave her an awkward hug. Although he might not be as talkative as either Devlin or Caine, the painful prospect of losing his mother had made his dark eyes moist.

  Ellen O’Halloran’s face, still remarkably unlined for a woman nearing sixty, was tanned to a deep hazelnut color from the lifestyle change that now had her spending so much of her time outdoors. Her short hair was the color of autumn leaves, laced with random streaks of sun-lightened auburn and silver.

  As she embraced her former mother-in-law, Nora experienced a moment’s confusion over whether she was here in her role as doctor or family.

  As a doctor, although she continually fought against it, death had become a fellow traveler, at times welcome, most often not. As a family member—at the moment, her divorce from Caine seemed inconsequential—Nora shared everyone’s feelings of helplessness and sorrow.

  The hospice nurse came out of the bedroom and drew Nora aside. “I informed Maggie’s family that she won’t last the night,” she murmured. “But, of course, I’ve been wrong before.”

  Nora knew only too well the futility of second-guessing death. “I’d better examine her.”

  Maggie was asleep when Nora entered the bedroom. She was wearing an old-fashioned ivory cotton gown with long sleeves trimmed with hand-tatted lace. Her thinning red hair was spread across the embroidered pillow like strands of silver touched by a setting sun. Her face, in repose, was calm.

  Nora reached down and lifted a frail wrist. Her pulse was thin and thready. Nora had just lowered the elderly woman’s hand to the sheet again when Maggie’s blue eyes popped open.

  “I figured that was you,” she said. “Caine always said you smelled like wildflowers after a spring rain.” Maggie laced their fingers together. “He’s right.”

  “Speaking of Caine,” Nora said, “he’s waiting to see you.”

  “I know. I’ve already said my goodbyes to Michael and Ellen and was just hangin’ on until you and Caine got here.” Her eyes fluttered shut. Nora slid her thumb to Maggie’s wrist and was relieved to find her pulse unchanged. A few moments later, Maggie’s eyes opened again. “So how was the festival?”

  “Nice.” Nora knew Maggie wanted particulars so she filled her in on the sawdust competition, the dancing, the Japanese lanterns, and the smorgasbord.

  “Did Eva Magnuson bring her apple torte?”

  “Of course.”

  “Her apples are never tart enough,” Maggie complained. “And her crust is like concrete. But she’s been makin’ the damn thing forever, so no one has the heart to tell her.

  “I remember Midsummer Eve during Vietnam” Maggie mused. “We couldn’t have the lanterns because of the blackouts. Never knew when an enemy submarine was going to come steaming up the strait to the shipyards.”

  She closed her eyes again. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “A lot of smooching went on in the shadows behind those old maples, let me tell you. Especially with all the boys shippin’ out. Nothin’ like a war to steam up a romance.”

  The smile faded. “Michael’s hurtin’ bad,” Maggie continued. “Not that he’d ever admit it. If I lived another eighty-two years, I’d probably never figure out how a magpie like me could’ve given birth to such a closemouthed boy.

  “But he’s got Ellen, so I’m not worried about him. Of course, poor Caine’s probably gonna carry on something awful because he couldn’t keep his grandmother alive.”

  She sighed, pressed a hand against her failing heart and took a ragged breath. “Caine always did take too much on his own shoulders. But it’s the boy’s nature, so what can you do?”

  Maggie’s lashes drifted down again, but she didn’t fall asleep. “Caine’s been telling me about this teammate of his. Some Buddhist fella. They believe in reincarnation.”

  “The Detroit shortstop,” Nora remembered.

  “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, lately,” Maggie admitted. “I kinda like the idea of comin’ back again. Maybe this time as an astronaut.”

  “The first woman to pilot a spaceship to Mars,” Nora suggested with a smile.

  Maggie smiled, as well. “I’d like that. Devlin wouldn’t. He gets airsick.” She chuckled again. “Imagine, a man who’s spent most of his life on the water getting airsick. I never have been able to figure that one out.”

  She drifted off again. Nora had just about decided that it was time to bring the family in when Maggie opened her eyes, fixed her with her bright blue gaze and said, “If there does turn out to be a heaven, I’ll tell Dylan his mama says hello.”

  Nora had to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

  “If we do get to come back again, I reckon your paths will cross one of these days and you can tell him yourself,” Maggie decided.

  Tears were burning at the backs of her lids. Nora could only nod.

  “You’d better send Caine in now, Nora. After you give me a kiss.”

  Nora bent her head and brushed her lips against the older woman’s cheek. Her skin was as thin and dry as old parchment.

  “I love you, Maggie.” All right, perhaps it wasn’t the most professional thing to say, but it was the truth.

  “And I love you, girl.” It took an obvious effort, but Maggie managed to lift her hand from the sheet to pat Nora’s cheek. “Take good care of my grandson,” she whispered. “I know he can be a bit of a hotshot from time to time, Nora, but he’s a good boy. Deep down.”

  “I know.” That, too, was the truth.

  It was with a heavy heart that Nora went to the door and gestured toward Caine. When he entered the bedroom, she brushed her fingers against his rigid jaw, then left him alone with his grandmother.

  He’d been watching Maggie’s decline for weeks, but in the back of his mind, Caine had refused to accept the fact that his grandmother was dying. Even now, looking at her ivory complexion and her frail frame, he couldn’t face the sad truth.

  “You’re missing the dancing.”

  “I know. And that really gets my goat. Your pappy’s a good dancer.” A faint reminiscent light flickered in Maggie’s eyes.

  “The first time we danced together was on Midsummer Eve. I’d landed in town as part of a five-girl flying exhibition team. The town council hired us thinkin’ we might bring some tourists in from the cities. Your pappy was mayor. It was his idea.”

  Caine sat down in the straight-backed chair beside the bed. “Did you? Bring in more tourists?”

  Maggie shrugged her frail shoulders. “Don’t remember. Only thing I recollect about that night is dancin’ the rumba with Devlin. After that, everything kinda passed in a blur. The next day, when the sun came up, the rest of the girls moved on.”

  “But you stayed.” It was one of Caine’s favorite stories.

  “And never regretted a single day. What your pappy and I had was special. We both knew that right off the bat.” Maggie’s eyes closed, but her hand reached across the sheets to pat his.

  “It’s taken you and Nora a little longer, but you’ll get there. Eventually. Like that Buddhist friend of yours says, a man can’t escape his Karma… . Would you do me a favor?”

&nbs
p; “You’ve got it,” Caine said without hesitation.

  “Would you help me brush my hair?”

  She was as light as a feather; Caine lifted her with ease and propped her up against the plump goose-down pillows. Retrieving a silver-handled hairbrush, he began stroking the brush over her scalp, smoothing out the once-fiery strands.

  “Mmm,” Maggie murmured. “That feels good.” Just when Caine thought she’d fallen asleep, Maggie said, “Love’s a powerful thing, Caine. Even more powerful than fate. And you and Nora have got both goin’ for you.”

  He’d come to that same realization himself. Now all he had to do was convince Nora. “I know, Gram. And that’s why you have to stay well enough to stick around for the wedding.”

  “There’s nothin’ I’d like better. But don’t you worry, boy, I’ll be there in spirit.” Caine watched her struggle to lift her lids. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful.” On impulse, he spritzed her with the lilac cologne she’d always worn. “You smell pretty good, too. If you weren’t my grandmother, I’d probably have to give pappy a run for his money.”

  She dimpled at that, looking remarkably, for one fleeting second, like a girl of sixteen. “You and Devlin,” she murmured. “Two peas in a pod. Both of you must’ve kissed the blarney stone in some past life.”

  She smoothed her hair with a trembling hand and pinched her cheeks. “Speakin’ of your pappy,” she said, “I think you’d better send him in.”

  “Gram…”

  “It’s my time, Caine,” Maggie said soothingly. “And as much as I do truly love you, I still need to say goodbye to the best rumba dancer in Tribulation.”

  Caine no longer attempted to check his tears. They flowed down his face, onto the sheets, and splashed on his grandmother’s blue-veined hand. He wanted to drag her into his arms and beg her not to die, but since she looked as breakable as a piece of fine porcelain, he forced himself to simply press a kiss against the top of her freshly brushed hair.

  “God, I love you,” he said in a choked voice. Then, before he lost it completely, he turned and walked toward the door that his grandfather had already opened, as if answering some unspoken call.

  Devlin patted Caine on the shoulder, then squared his own broad shoulders and crossed the room, forgoing the chair to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “You are still the most gorgeous girl in Tribulation,” he said, running a hand down her hair.

  Rather than accuse him of exaggerating, as she had Caine, Maggie turned her head and pressed her dry lips against his palm. “And you’re still the handsomest man.”

  He stretched out beside her, drew her close and knew he’d never see a lilac bush without thinking of Maggie. They stayed that way for a long, silent time, her head on his shoulder, his lips against the top of her head.

  “I love you, Margaret Rose Murphy O’Halloran,” Devlin whispered after a time.

  “And I love you, Devlin Patrick O’Halloran.” She tilted her head to smile up at him, but her eyes were earnest. “I want you to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Just in case that shortstop friend of Caine’s is right, and some day, in some other life, you meet a woman—maybe an aviatrix or even an astronaut—who asks you to rumba, promise me that you’ll say yes.”

  “I promise.” He touched his lips to hers and covered her breast with his broad hand. “Yes. Always.”

  Devlin felt the quick flutter of her heart, like that of a wounded sparrow, against his fingertips. Then it was still. The light outside the window turned from ebony to gray to a pale, misty silver. Pink fingers of dawn began creeping into the room.

  And still Devlin remained, with his bride, the light of his life for more than half a century, in his arms.

  Remembering.

  CHAPTER 12

  The memorial service for Maggie was held, at her request, at the airport. Hundreds came to pay tribute to the woman who’d brought so much life and laughter and spirit to Tribulation.

  The mourners who overflowed the tent stood beneath black umbrellas, until finally, when the drizzle escalated into a downpour, the services were moved inside the hangar.

  When the rain stopped and the pewter clouds parted, Caine and Devlin—the older man fortified by the Dramamine tablet Nora had given him—took off in Maggie’s beloved Cessna to spread her ashes over the mountain meadows she’d loved.

  The others retired to Mike and Ellen’s, where they shared a potluck supper and swapped Maggie stories, each more outrageous than the last, all of them true.

  It was late when Nora returned home, but she wasn’t surprised to see Caine sitting on the porch in the wicker swing, waiting for her. Neither was she surprised by the surge of pure pleasure that flowed through her.

  “Hi.” She slipped her hands into the skirt pockets of her black dress. “How’s Devlin?”

  “About as well as can be expected,” Caine replied. “I offered to take him back to the cabin with me, but he wanted to stay at the house. He says he can feel Maggie’s spirit there.”

  “I suppose that’s not surprising.”

  “I guess not.” Caine raked his hands through his hair. “He feels she’s hanging around to make sure he’s okay with all this.”

  “That’s not surprising, either. Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Okay with all this?”

  Caine shrugged. “I suppose. As much as I can be… . By the way, I got a call today from my lawyer. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be a free man.”

  Her heart soared, even as Nora attempted to bank her joy. “I guess congratulations are in order.” Wicker creaked as she sat down beside him.

  “Thanks. The entire process looked like it was going to last until the next century, so I decided to make an end run around the legal eagles and wrote out a generous enough check to send her to the Dominican Republic.”

  “That’s football,” Nora murmured.

  “What?”

  “An end run. That’s football.”

  He chuckled. “I can remember when you thought a tight end was a groupie in too-snug jeans.”

  “You can’t escape sports talk in the doctors’ lounge.”

  “I thought doctors only talked about golf.”

  “I suppose they do, mostly.”

  “Did you ever take it up so you’d have something to do on Wednesday afternoons?”

  “Golf? No.” Nora shook her head. “I never could figure out whether to hit the ball when the dragon’s mouth was open or closed.”

  He laughed and put his arm around her. Nora didn’t move away. For a while there was only the soft sigh of the night breeze in the trees and a swish-swish sound as they swung gently.

  “Was it hard?” she asked finally. “Scattering Maggie’s ashes?”

  “I thought it would be,” Caine admitted. “But the meadows were in full bloom and while we were circling, looking for a space, a ray of sun came out of the clouds, and gilded this one spot on the mountainside pure gold. I looked at Devlin and he looked at me, and we both knew that somehow, Maggie was guiding us.”

  “She probably was,” Nora said quietly. “I worried when you didn’t show up at the potluck.”

  “Devlin just wanted to go home. After I dropped him off, I drove to Port Angeles and played a little catch with Johnny.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “I did it more for myself than for him. I like the kid. A lot.”

  “And he idolizes you. How’s he doing?”

  “Okay.” Caine shrugged. “He’s worried that no one will adopt him because people would rather have a new baby.”

  “Most people would, I suppose. But Johnny’s a wonderful little boy. He’ll find a family.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Caine agreed.

  They fell silent again. Somewhere in a distant treetop an owl hooted.

  “I brought you something,” Caine said.

  When he reached into his pocket, Nora thought he was go
ing to give her some small memento of his grandmother, but instead, he handed her a legal-size white envelope.

  Slanting him a questioning look, she slid her fingernail under the flap and opened it. “A check?”

  The moon was riding high above the horizon, the cool white light bright enough to enable Nora to read the amount. “I don’t understand.”

  Stunned, unable to believe what her eyes were telling her, she slowly counted all the zeros again. “It’s made out to the Dylan Anderson O’Halloran Memorial Pediatric Trauma Center.”

  Caine nodded. “That’s right.”

  “But there isn’t any such center.”

  “Not now. But there will be.”

  She couldn’t believe he was serious. Her first thought was that this was some sort of grandstand play to win her approval. Her second thought was that Caine was not the type of man to indulge in such subterfuge.

  She stood and began to pace. “But a trauma center is so very expensive.”

  “Tiffany didn’t get all my money, Nora.”

  “But even you can’t fund it by yourself.”

  “I know that. But I’m a helluva fund-raiser. You should hear my after-dinner speeches. Besides, I’m going to have help.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “What kind of help?”

  “There’s going to be an All-Star baseball game in October, after the World Series and before winter ball begins in South America,” he informed her. “All proceeds going to the center. ESPN has committed to broadcasting the game and here’s a list of people who’ve signed up to play. I expect more when the word gets out.”

  Nora scanned the list he’d pulled from his pocket. The names represented the top stars, past and present, of the game.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  Caine shrugged. “I spent the past few weeks making some phone calls. It kept me out of the pool halls.”

  He’d done more than make phone calls. It was obvious that he’d spent a great deal of time and effort on the project. Not to mention money. “I can’t let you do this.”

  “It’s too late to stop me, Nora. Besides, I’m not doing it for you,” Caine argued calmly. “I’m doing it for all the little kids like Dylan who need a fighting chance.”