He’d have to call Tula and tell her he and Scott wouldn’t be staying for the usual Thursday night dinner. Probably just as well; now Glory wouldn’t have to think of some reason to be away. Her avoidance was obvious and surprisingly hurtful.
“Thanks.” She sounded relieved. “See you then.”
As Eric hung up the phone, he wondered what Jill had to say that she needed a face-to-face . . . and on neutral ground.
This whole eye thing was plain bad timing. Now Glory would be worse than ever; she’d start talking foolish again about how Tula was going to have to face “limitations.” She never should have called Glory home. It was going to be trouble between the two of them—and it didn’t seem to be doing Glory a bit of good.
The minute they’d stepped inside the doctor’s office, Scott started to scream. Not that Tula could blame him; she felt near as scared herself. Poor Glory spent ten minutes trying to hold him. He bowed his back and cried harder.
“Maybe if I hold him,” Tula said, putting out her hands.
“Will it make him less upset?” Glory asked.
“Cain’t say. I don’t take him places.”
“Then let’s not even try. You might do more damage to your eye if you have to struggle with him.”
Glory finally gave up and laid him on the carpeted floor of the waiting room. He curled on his knees at her feet, burying his face on his arms. Within a minute he shifted from screaming to gritting his teeth and making the growling noise he’d developed recently.
Luckily the waiting room was empty of other patients.
Tula wished Eric were here. He had a way of calming people. Both Scott and Glory could use some calming.
“How’s your eye?” Glory asked. Again.
“Same.”
“You’re sure it’s not the eye with the MD?”
Tula narrowed her gaze and looked down her nose at her granddaughter. “Really, child, I can tell which eye it’s in. It’ll likely clear up like last time.”’
“Do you think the macular degeneration is worse in the other eye?”
Tula thought of how BJ the bird dog’s eyes didn’t line up quite right on Sunday, and of how it had been impossible to quilt on overcast days. It probably was getting slightly worse. But there was no need giving Glory more ammunition. “I’d say ’bout the same.”
Glory had had enough burdens in her young life, she didn’t need to be pulled down by Tula’s. She’d figure something out, make adjustments as she needed, and hopefully find another way to make a living. But first she had to get Glory straightened out and on her way to some kind of future.
Dr. Blanton’s assistant appeared in the inner office door. “Tula Baker.”
Glory tried to pick Scott up, but he began screaming as if she’d been stabbing him. She looked to the assistant, hoping the woman would volunteer to watch Scott while she went in with Granny.
“Maybe it’d be best if Mrs. Baker comes alone,” the assistant said. “She’s likely to be quite a while. You can talk to the doctor when they’re finished.”
Granny was already on her feet, taking very slow and careful steps toward the examination room door. Glory sprang to her feet, stepping over Scott, and took Granny’s elbow.
“I can see well enough to find somethin’ as big as a door, darlin’.” Granny patted Glory’s hand, then pulled it away from her arm and walked on alone.
Glory watched with a knot in the center of her throat. She called to the assistant, “I do want to talk with the doctor.”
The door closed.
Glory went back to her chair feeling like the most useless being on earth. She couldn’t help Granny. She looked down at the little boy on the floor. And she couldn’t comfort Scott.
She said softly, “Come on, big guy, give me a break.” She tried to distract him with toys and her keys, but he kept his face buried. The growl had become quiet and steady, like the purring of a cat. She exhaled a long breath. At least he wasn’t screaming—no thanks to her; he’d found his own way to soothe.
She glanced at her watch. It was lunchtime. The poor kid was probably hungry. She didn’t know how he would react to a restaurant, and she wasn’t sure who in town made crustless peanut butter and banana sandwiches.
She decided she’d better call Eric.
He was out of the office. His secretary said if this was an emergency she could contact him. If not, he would be back within the hour. Glory looked at Scott. He seemed calm enough.
“No, no emergency,” Glory said. “This is Glory Harrison. Just ask him to call Dr. Blanton’s office when he gets in.” She looked at a business card sitting on the shelf at the window where she was using the phone and gave the secretary the number.
Then she went back and sat in the chair that Scott was curled up in front of. It seemed awful to just let him lie there. But she knew anything she might do would probably set him off again. She realized he’d retreated until he found a place that didn’t terrify him.
It struck her then, isn’t that just what she had done? It had been too painful to stay in Dawson, so she attempted to retreat to a place that offered benign solace. Scott had very little in his own control. Maybe this was his only way to hide.
But why was the world so upsetting to him?
She watched him for a moment, wondering without answers. She wanted to pace, to move, to do something to take action. Instead, she forced herself to stay still. She picked up a magazine off the end table and absently began flipping through the pages.
After she got past the pharmaceutical ads and the jewelry ads and the replacement window ads, she saw an article that caught her attention: “Service Dogs Improve the Quality of Life.” It was a broad-stroke portrayal written by a woman who trained these dogs. There were several firsthand accounts of people and their partner dogs, ranging from service dogs for the visually and physically impaired, to seizure dogs, to companion dogs for senior citizens and emotionally and developmentally impaired children.
Something inside her rose to attention as she read. She recalled the way Scott seemed to respond to Lady. Glory was only halfway through the article when the exterior door jerked open. Her startled gaze jumped from the magazine.
Eric rushed in, looking slightly wild.
At the sight of him, her spirits lifted. Surprising, since she’d been avoiding him for days on end. Although she hadn’t spoken to him in almost two weeks, it felt much longer.
Some of the rigidity left Eric’s shoulders when he saw Scott. Then his fearful gaze landed on Glory.
She dropped the magazine and got to her feet.
Before she could offer a word of explanation, he said, “Is Tula all right?”
“She had another bleed. I haven’t heard anything since they took her back.”
Eric didn’t appear in the least comforted. He ran a hand through his hair and settled it on the back of his neck. “Sorry it took me so long . . . Donna should have called me.”
“I told her not to. There really isn’t anything for you to do here. I was just worried that Scott would be starving before we’re able to leave.” She glanced at the little boy, still “purring” on the floor. “We left home in a rush . . . I didn’t think about bringing anything.” Her gaze locked with Eric’s. She tilted her head and smiled, hoping to erase a few of those lines of tension in his face. “And I didn’t know where to get a peanut butter and banana sandwich in this town.”
“I see. That is a tricky feat.” He smiled, and it was as if someone had flipped on a heat lamp in Glory’s chest.
When he looked at Scott again, his smile faded, taking with it some of the warmth inside Glory. She felt the cold gray shadow of his worry, just as strongly as she’d felt the heat of his smile.
“Has he been like this long?” he asked.
That cold gray shadow gained grave weight in her chest. “Pretty much since we got here—once the screaming stopped, that is.”
Eric closed his eyes briefly. Glory stopped herself just before she reached for
him. Eric was a rescuer; she somehow doubted he accepted support from others as easily as he gave it.
His eyes opened, and she saw a firm resolve replace the pain. He knelt down. Glory noticed he was careful to speak to Scott before he touched him. He picked his son up and sat in the chair next to the one Glory had been using.
Scott curled deeper into Eric’s lap as Eric wrapped his arms around him. The “purring” grew quieter.
Eric kissed the top of Scott’s head, holding his lips against his son’s hair for a long moment. Then he said, “Thank you for taking care of him. I know it’s . . . hard for you.”
Oh, my God! She’d never felt so small. Had her avoidance been so obvious? Shame heated her cheeks. “I—”
He smiled at her, but this time it was humorless, defeated. “Don’t. I understand.”
Well, if he understood, then maybe he could clue her in. Then she realized he thought it was because Scott was different.
“I don’t think you do.” She licked her lips and looked for the words to explain the inexplicable. “You think it’s because he’s the way he is . . . but it’s not him. It’s me. There’s something wrong with me.”
He looked doubtful. She almost made another stab at dissipating his misconception, but couldn’t come up with anything that sounded rational, so she let it drop, hoping he’d do the same.
After a moment, he asked, “How long to do they think Tula will be here?”
She lifted a shoulder. “They made it sound like it might be a while. That’s why I called you. Maybe you could take Scott to lunch with you, then bring him back?”
Eric looked toward the closed door that led to the examining rooms. “He probably is hungry. But I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
Heroes. She nearly laughed out loud over his driving need to protect. “I’m fine. Really. And nothing will piss Gran off more than a waiting room full of people pacing and fretting over her. She probably would have snuck off without me if she could have seen to drive herself here.”
Eric chuckled with the warmth of love and respect. “You’re probably right.”
“So, go feed your son. If she’s finished before you get back, we’ll wait.”
“I don’t expect Tula to watch him this afternoon. I’ll figure something out.” Then he added, “I’d probably better figure out something else for tomorrow afternoon, too. We don’t know how she’ll be feeling. I don’t want her to push herself.”
“Eric, you’d probably better be looking for someone else permanently,” Glory said seriously.
A look that bordered on the same panic he’d shown when he rushed in the door crossed his face. “Uh, I suppose you’re right. I’d just hoped this would work a while longer.”
Glory stiffened. “I’m sure you did.”
He looked like he was going to say something else, then closed his mouth again. He stood up with Scott in his arms. “Will you call my cell phone and let me know what the doctor says?” He fished out a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.
“I will.”
She watched him walk out the door, feeling just a little colder inside. She knew he felt like the rug had been ripped out from underneath him, but he had to have known this was coming. He should have been preparing for it.
Glory had to concentrate on what was best for Granny. Eric would have to solve his own problems.
Chapter Thirteen
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Glory was still waiting for Granny to come back out of the examining room. She was glad to have the time, however. She borrowed some paper from the woman at the desk and took several notes from the article about service dogs, including the contact information of the woman who trained them. She wasn’t sure what she planned to do with it. But there was a half-formed idea drifting through her mind. She wanted to have the information handy in case it gelled into something.
As she was finishing the last of her notes, the outer office door opened. Glory didn’t lift her gaze; there had been several patients coming and going during the time that Granny had been back there.
Then someone cleared his throat.
She glanced up. Eric stood there with a white paper bag in one hand, Scott’s hand in the other. Scott had peanut butter in his hair.
Eric said, “I thought you might be hungry.” He raised the bag. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made one turkey and one ham. I’m pretty sure Tula will eat either one, so you can pick.”
Glory cast a skeptical glance. “You made these?”
“Yeah.” He held the bag out to her. “Even I can’t screw up a ham sandwich.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t questioning the quality. I’m not used to a man who can feed himself, let alone haul a handmade lunch to someone else.”
“I already told you, all firefighters can feed themselves. Have to keep our strength up on those long shifts.”
She took the bag and looked inside. She gave a long, low whistle. “Impressive . . . lettuce and everything.”
He scuffed his toe in the carpet, the exaggerated action of an embarrassed child. “Well . . . I don’t like to brag.”
“You heroes, always so modest.” She took a sandwich out of the bag. “I’m sure Gran will be snapping and snarling with hunger when she comes out.” She tilted her head in consideration. “Maybe I’ll just throw this at her as she comes through the door.”
Eric laughed. “Tula does get a little crotchety when she’s hungry.”
“A little?” Glory rolled her eyes. Then she looked at him and held his gaze. “Thank you, Eric,” she said seriously. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
The intense way he was looking at her undid all of their teasing bantering. There was such caring in his eyes that it took her back to the moments at Blue Falls Pond. Her chest felt tight, and she temporarily forgot to breathe.
She tore her gaze away and forced herself to take a breath. She unwrapped the turkey sandwich and took a bite. “Umm. Well-done.” It’d just be best if he went on his way, she didn’t want to start examining feelings she’d been working on ignoring for nearly two weeks. “I’ll give you a call after I’ve talked to the doctor.”
Instead of leaving, Eric took the seat next to her again. Scott leaned sleepily against Eric’s chest as he sat in his lap. “I took the afternoon off to stay with Scott. We’ll just hang here for a bit.”
Before she could argue, the inner office door opened, and Granny came out. She looked toward where Glory was sitting and said, “I have to make another appointment for tomorrow. Be just a minute. How’s my little buddy holding up?”
The fact that Granny did not say a word to, or about, Eric ignited a panic in Glory that made her temporarily light-headed. And yet, it was good. She had confirmation of just how severe this episode was. No way could Granny talk her way around this one.
Glory got up and walked to the reception desk and stood with Granny as she made her appointment. Then she said to the receptionist, “When can I speak with the doctor?”
“There’s no need—”
“Gran,” Glory interrupted her. “I’m not leaving here until I speak with him. You’ve made it obvious I’ll never get the truth out of you.”
Granny gave a little gasp. “Glory! I asked you to bring me here. What makes you think—?”
“Because you just walked through that door, acting like you could see, and didn’t know Eric was sitting right next to me.”
“I seen him,” Granny said defensively, but Glory saw the alarm on her grandmother’s face in that split second before she caught herself and disguised it.
“I’m not saying you didn’t see him. I’m saying you didn’t see him clearly enough to identify him.”
The sour-pickle lips were back. But at least Granny didn’t argue—at least she didn’t come out with a bald-faced lie. In fact, she crossed her arms over her chest and didn’t say anything at all before Dr. Blanton stepped into the waiting room.
He looked around, seeming to take in Eric’s prese
nce, and suggested, “Perhaps you ladies would like to step inside for a moment?”
Glory said, “Sure.” At the same time Granny said, “No need.”
Granny faced Glory and said brusquely, “Won’t hurt for Eric to hear. Affects him too.”
Dr. Blanton wasn’t doddering with old age, nor was he a fresh-faced youth. He was everything a person wanted to see when they looked at their doctor, tall, confident, with intelligent eyes behind rimless glasses. Glory wanted with her whole heart for him to give her hope.
He squashed that expectation with his first sentence. “Your grandmother has had a hemorrhage in the right eye—I can’t tell if it’s been caused by a tear in her retina or something else. We’ll have to wait for it to clear before I can get a better look. A retinal tear would probably be the worst-case scenario.”
“Are we looking at a permanent change?” Glory forced herself to ask.
Dr. Blanton gave a slight shake of his head. “Compounded with her MD . . . well, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Glory’s breath caught. The words of assurance she’d so desperately wanted were not coming.
The doctor looked at Granny and put a hand on her shoulder. “This time I want you to show up for that follow-up appointment.”
She lowered her lashes and nodded. There was no sass about washed-out roads or the appointment not being necessary.
Glory could hardly believe her eyes; Granny cowed? This was a day to mark in history.
Once that fleeting thought passed, Glory’s stomach tightened into a fearful knot. Granny not arguing was bad, bad news.
“How about her left eye? Is the MD worse?” Glory asked.
Granny cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “I ain’t a horse, you know. You can ask me.”
Dr. Blanton smiled and put a hand on Granny’s shoulder, drawing her physically into the conversation. “Tula’s had a long period of stability. I’m seeing a very slight progression over the past months. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to continue. Fortunately, she has the dry form, much more slow in advancement than wet.”
On Blue Falls Pond Page 17
