Family by Design

by Bonnie K. Winn

  Chrissy ducked just a fraction behind him. J.C. put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is my niece, Chrissy.”

  “Good to meet you, Chrissy.” Maddie pushed the screen door back. “Come in. I just put the kettle on.”

  Chrissy looked up at him in question.

  J.C. patted her back. “Actually, we just stopped to drop off samples of a new medication for your mother.”

  “Do you have time for tea?” Maddie asked, not a bit of the anger he remembered anywhere in sight.

  He glanced down at his niece. She didn’t look averse to the idea. “I guess so. Thanks.”

  “Mom’s in the living room,” Maddie explained, leading the way from the small entry hall. She glanced at Chrissy. “In a house this old, they used to call the front room a parlor, but ours isn’t the elegant sort.”

  Looking intrigued, Chrissy listened quietly.

  “Mom? Dr. Mueller stopped by to have tea.”

  Lillian sat in a faded green rocker recliner. Seeing her guests, she brightened. “I love meeting new people!”

  “This is Dr. Mueller’s niece, Chrissy,” Maddie began.

  Lillian clapped her hands together. “Oh, my! You look an awful lot like my Maddie when she was your age.” She patted the chair next to hers. “Come. Sit.”

  Chrissy’s normal reluctance dimmed and she crossed the room. “I thought you knew my uncle James.”

  Lillian smiled. “Perhaps I do. You’ll have to tell me all about him.”

  Chrissy looked at him, then turned back to Lillian.

  “He’s a doctor. And he’s real busy.”

  J.C. flinched.

  “I imagine you stay busy with school.” Lillian’s gaze landed on the ever-present backpack. “Just like my Maddie, always did her homework straightaway.”

  Chrissy stroked the pink bag and halfheartedly shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  Lillian’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Sometimes we baked cookies first or built a playhouse.”

  “You built a playhouse?” Chrissy asked in wonder as Lillian dug into the purse that was always at her side.

  Lillian produced a roll of Life Savers and offered them to Chrissy. “Sure did. My father thought a girl should know how to use a hammer and a saw. He liked to make things with his hands, so he taught me in his workshop.”

  Chrissy swallowed. “My dad did, too.”

  Lillian patted her knee. “Sounds like we had wonderful fathers.”

  Strange. It was as though somehow Lillian sensed Chrissy’s father was gone, as well.

  J.C. heard a whistle from the other side of the house. No doubt the teakettle. Considering, he watched his niece, saw that her attention was entirely focused on Lillian. Pivoting, he followed the sound of the fading whistle to the kitchen. A carpet runner covered the oak floor in the long hall; it also muffled the sound of his footsteps.

  He paused beneath the arched opening to the kitchen. Maddie was scurrying around the room, pushing strawberry-blond hair off her forehead with one hand, reaching for a tray with the other. Seeing that it was perched on one of the higher shelves, he quickened his pace. “Let me get that for you.”

  Whirling around at the sound of his voice, she looked completely, totally, utterly flustered.

  “Guess I need to stop doing that. Coming up from behind, surprising you.”

  Her throat worked and her blue-gray eyes looked chastened. “I feel terrible about how I reacted the other day. It’s just that Mom’s gotten so fragile, and …” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m so afraid that the next stroke …” Again her throat worked, but she pushed past the emotion. “I know she needs these tests—”

  J.C. lightly clasped her arm. “Being a caregiver is the most stressful job I can imagine. Do you have enough help?”

  “Help?” Maddie nodded. “Samantha relieves me so that I have some extra time when I run errands, but she has her own family to take care of. Neighbors and people from church sit with Mom, too, when they can.”

  He’d reread the file and knew that Lillian was widowed. With no siblings, did that mean that Maddie was the sole caregiver? “It’s important that you have time for yourself.”

  She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Hmm.”

  Spotting the cups on the table, he took her elbow, guiding her to the table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.”

  “But your niece—”

  “Is taken by your mother. Best Chrissy’s acted in a while. Tea smells good.”

  Distracted, Maddie glanced at the tabletop. “It’s probably the vanilla you’re smelling.”

  J.C. sat in the chair next to hers. “Who else helps you take care of Lillian?”

  “Just me.”

  J.C. knew that endless caregiving could suck the life from a person. And Lillian had required home care for nearly a decade. “Have you lost some of your relief help?”

  “Never had any.” Picking up the sugar, she offered it to him.

  “But when do you have time for yourself?”

  She lifted the porcelain strainers from their cups. “I don’t think of it like that. This is my life, my choice. It’s hard for other people to understand.”

  “What about before Lillian’s strokes? You must have had plans.”

  An indecipherable emotion flashed in her now bluish eyes and then disappeared. Had her eyes changed color? Or was it a trick of the light?

  “That’s the thing about the future,” Maddie replied calmly. “It can always change. So far, mine has.”

  Since J.C. had witnessed that she wasn’t always a serene earth muffin, he sipped his tea, wondering exactly who the real Maddie was. “This is unusual. Don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.”

  “The tea’s my own blend,” she explained.

  “How did you come to make your own tea recipe?”

  She chuckled, some of her weariness disappearing. “Not just one recipe. I blend all sorts of teas.”

  “Same question, then. How did you start making your own tea?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by spices. I can remember my grandfather telling me about the original spice routes from Asia and I could imagine all the smells, the excitement of the markets. So my mother let me collect spices and we’d make up recipes to use them in. Then one day I decided to add some fresh nutmeg to my tea.” Her cheeks flushed as her enthusiasm grew. “Mom always made drinking tea an event—using the good cups, all the accessories. Anyway, Mom bought every kind of loose tea leaf she could find so I could experiment. For a time our kitchen looked like a cross between an English farmhouse and a laboratory. After college I planned to open a shop where I could sell all my blends.” She leaned forward, her eyes dreamy. “And I’d serve fresh, hot tea on round bistro tables covered with white linen tablecloths. Oh, and little pastries, maybe sandwiches. Make it a place people want to linger … to come back to.”

  “The tea shop your mother said should be smack dab in the middle of Main Street?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did you ever get a shop set up?”

  Maddie shook her head. “I was investigating small business loans when Mom had her first stroke, the major one. Luckily, I’d graduated from U.T. by then.”

  “Have you considered starting the business? Using part of the profits to hire someone to stay with your mother while you’re working?”

  “Our funds aren’t that extensive. I took enough business classes to know I’d have to factor in at least a year of loss before we’d show any profit. Or just staying even. Doesn’t leave anything for caregiver salaries. Besides, Mom’s happy with me.”

  “Don’t forget I’ve got a building that needs a tenant if you change your mind. Plenty of room for a shop and tearoom.” He swallowed more of his tea. “What about the senior center activities we talked about? That would fill several hours a day.”

  Maddie’s smile dimmed. “As the first step toward a nursing home?”

  “Nothing of the kind. If Lillian re
sponds to her new medication, she could well enjoy spending time with people her own age.”

  “Her friends have been loyal,” Maddie objected. “People stop by fairly often to visit her.”

  J.C. studied the obstinate set of her jaw. “But not to visit with you?”

  Maddie looked down, fiddling with the dish towel still in her lap. “People my age have young families of their own to take care of.”

  A situation he knew only too well.

  “It’s difficult for someone who’s never been in this position to understand,” Maddie continued. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work … and it probably consumes most of your time, but I can’t walk away from my mother. It’s not some martyr complex. It’s my choice.”

  “And sometimes there isn’t a choice.”

  Maddie scrunched her eyes in concentration. “Your niece? Chrissy? You said something about how she was behaving. Is there a problem?”

  J.C. explained how he’d come to be his niece’s guardian. “I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves.”

  Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”

  He stared at her long, slender fingers.

  “Dr. Mueller? J.C.?”

  “Sorry.” He pulled his gaze back to hers. “Chrissy’s been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And she was miserable.

  “What about your babysitter? Do they get on well?”

  “We’ve been through a parade of sitters and housekeepers. Can’t keep one.”

  Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us. Does she go to the community church school? We’re in easy walking distance.”

  “Don’t have enough on your plate?” J.C. was dumbfounded. Maddie claimed she wasn’t a martyr, but …

  “It’s what we do.”

  He felt as blank as he must have looked.

  “You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”

  It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”

  The fire in her now stormy-gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I realize my situation isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. And I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”

  She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.

  Chapter Four

  J.C. stood in front of his sister’s closet in her far-too-quiet home. Fran’s things were just as she’d left them. Not perfectly in order; she was always in too much of a hurry to fuss over details she had considered unimportant. No, she’d lavished her time on her family, especially Chrissy.

  A cheery yellow scarf dangled over an ivory jacket, looking for all the world as though Fran had just hung it up. Anyone searching through the rooms would never conclude it had been a scene of death. Instead, it looked as though Fran, Jay and Chrissy could walk in any moment, pick up their lives.

  Fran would be laughing, teasing Chrissy and Jay in turn, turning her hand at a dozen projects, baking J.C.’s favorite apple crumble, inviting friends over.

  There hadn’t been an awful lot of time to ask why. Why had they perished? Especially when each had so much to give. Caught up in trying to care for Chrissy, the questions had been shelved.

  J.C. was on borrowed time even now. He had thought he could make some sort of inventory of the house so that he could set things in motion, have the important contents stored, the house rented. But he couldn’t bring himself to even reach inside the closet.

  Other people survived loss. As a doctor, he’d seen his share and then some. But how did they take that first step, put the gears in motion? Fran had managed when their parents passed away. She had thoughtfully sorted out mementos for each of them, things she had accurately predicted he would cherish. Now, he needed to do the same for Chrissy.

  His friend Adam suggested hiring an estate service, one that could view everything with an eye to its current or future value. To J.C., the process sounded like an autopsy. Backing away from the closet, he tore out of the room. Striding quickly, he passed through the living room, then bolted outside. Breathing heavily, he sank into the glider on the porch, loosening his tie.

  The breeze was lighter than a bag of feathers, but he drew in big gulps of air. He’d never been claustrophobic, but he felt as though he’d just been locked in an airless pit. He pictured Chrissy’s stricken face. Maybe it wasn’t so illogical that she wouldn’t step foot in the house.

  Lifting his head, he leaned back, his gaze drifting over the peaceful lane. School was in session, so no kids played in the yards or rode their bicycles in the street. A few houses down, Mrs. Morton was weeding her flower bed and a dog barked. Not that there was much to bark at. Extending his gaze, he spotted a woman pushing a wheelchair on the sidewalk across the street. The color of her hair stirred a note of recognition.

  Maddie Carter? Shifting, he leaned forward, focusing on the pair. It was Maddie, pushing Lillian’s wheelchair. Although Lillian could walk, she tired easily. Combined with the mental confusion, he understood why Maddie chose to use the chair.

  They were within shouting distance when Maddie glanced across the street. Recognition dawned and she leaned down to say something to her mother. Walking a few feet farther, Maddie detoured off the sidewalk via a driveway and used the same method to reach the front of Fran’s house.

  Trying to tuck his emotions beneath a professional demeanor, J.C. walked down the steps.

  Apparently he wasn’t completely successful.

  “What’s wrong?” Maddie greeted him, her eyes filled with sudden concern. Today her eyes picked up some of the green of the grass, rendering them near-emerald.

  J.C. straightened his tie, but couldn’t bring himself to pull it into a knot. The strangled feeling from being in Fran’s house hadn’t dissipated. “This is my sister’s house.”

  Understanding flooded Maddie’s expression. “Are you here by yourself?”

  J.C. nodded. “Chrissy won’t come back.”

  “What can we do?”

  He glanced at the wheelchair. “Your hands are full enough.”

  Maddie patted Lillian’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “My mother always enjoys visiting new places.” She met his gaze. Both knew most anywhere other than her own home was now a new place for Lillian.

  The older woman smiled at him kindly. “Young man, you need a bracing cup of tea.”

  Apparently even his patient could see his distress. “I don’t have the makings for tea.”

  “We do,” Lillian replied, craning her head around and up toward Maddie. “Don’t we?”

  “Yes, but maybe Dr. Mueller would like to just sit on the porch.”

  “Well, now, I’d like that myself,” Lillian replied.

  Shedding his own worries, J.C. offered his arm. “Would you care to sit in the glider?”

  She giggled, a young, fun sound. “I always have.”

  As he helped her rise from the wheelchair, J.C. imagined she’d had a fair share of male attention in her youth. In ways, he could see an advantage in having only partial memories. Hopefully the bad ones faded and only the good stayed.

  Once Lillian was settled on the glider, he pulled two rattan chairs close, offering one to Maddie. With the glider set in gentle motion, Lillian’s eyelids fluttered near closing.

  “What was it?” Speaking quietly, Maddie tilted her head toward the house. “Inside?”

  J.C. thought of a dozen noncommittal answers. “Everything.”

  “It was hard after my dad died,” Maddie sympathized. “You said Chrissy won’t come back?”

  “Completely freaked out when I tried,” he replied in an equally quiet tone. “Said she never wants to come back, that the house killed her parents.”

  Maddie’s forehead furrowed. “Were you thinking of moving in here, so Chrissy would h
ave all her familiar things?”

  “That and because we’re two people living in a one-person tent. So to speak,” he explained. “I have a small one-bedroom apartment and it’s not good.”

  “And you’re certain Chrissy won’t change her mind?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Maddie hesitated. “Are you going to sell the house?”

  “Thought about renting it out in case Chrissy changes her mind in the future. But right now … I can’t rent it with all of my sister’s belongings still inside.”

  “That’s what got to you,” Maddie murmured. “There’s still a sweater and bathrobe of my dad’s in Mom’s closet.”

  The dog down the street barked again. And Mrs. Morton crossed the street to talk to her neighbor.

  J.C. barely knew Maddie. Funny to be having this conversation with her. But none of his friends could really empathize. Some had lost a parent, but no one had lost everyone. Certainly no one else had the crucial role of caring for the sole survivor.

  Maddie swiped at her wayward hair. He liked the way it sprang back with a mind of its own. “Do you have anyone to help you go through your sister’s belongings?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “No one else will know what’s important.”

  “Not necessarily,” she objected mildly. “Thinking of things in categories could help. You can decide if there’s a special garment, like my dad’s sweater, you want to save. If not, then it doesn’t take a personal eye to empty closets. Same is pretty much true for the kitchen with the exception of heirloom pieces. Furniture can be sorted through, or just stored for now. Jewelry, papers, other keepsakes can be packed and labeled for when you feel it’s time to decide about them.”

  J.C. sighed. “You make it sound reasonable—”

  “It is if you’ll accept help.”

  “It’s not a job I can ask anyone to tackle.”

  “You didn’t ask. I’m offering.” With her back against the cloudy gray exterior of the house, Maddie’s eyes had changed again. But this time the gray held no storm warnings. “Before you mention my mother, she’ll come with me. I’m guessing there’s a comfortable chair and a television. It’ll be an outing for her that isn’t tiring.”