“Out!” Darrin’s face flushed and his heartbeat quickened. What made him think he could ever live in the same world, let alone the same house, with this woman?
Laurelin smiled coyly and walked ever-so-gracefully to the door. “Fine, Darrin. You play it your way. You’re just upset, but once you calm down you’ll see that I’m right.”
She took up her purse and came to stop in front of him. “You just might want to think about one thing. What makes you believe that once she discovers that it was your daddy who killed her parents, she’ll want anything to do with you? Or worse yet, what if the pittance you offer her isn’t enough and she keeps milking this thing for years? You’ll want me there. You’ll need someone like me to get you out of your self-imposed nightmare. I just hope you realize it before it’s too late and you’ve given all your assets to those hicks in Lawrence.”
She reached a hand up to touch his chest. “Look, Darrin, I’m not being cruel. I’m just being realistic. You can’t change anything by wallowing in self-pity and anguish over what your father did. You’re nothing like him, and you don’t need to attach yourself to his wrongdoings. You’re like me. We’re survivors. More still, we’re victors.”
Darrin took hold of her hand and removed it from his chest. “Lin, please just go before I say something we’re both going to regret.”
Laurelin shrugged. “Have it your way. But just remember we’re engaged, and your assets are important to me.”
“I thought I was important to you,” he said.
Laurelin smiled coquettishly. “Well, of course. That goes without saying.”
“It seems a lot of truly important things go without saying,” Darrin replied. He came very close to concluding their conversation by breaking their engagement, but something held him back. “Just give me some time, Lin, okay? I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk about all of this.”
“Well, just so long as you don’t take too long,” Laurelin replied. “I can’t put a wedding together overnight.”
As usual, she had the last word and slipped out the door before Darrin could even register a proper comment. Everything that came to mind had to do with telling her that they could take all the time they wanted, because there wasn’t going to be a wedding.
SEVEN
“Excuse me, can I get a double espresso to go?” a harried woman asked while juggling a stack of books and papers.
Leslie’s head began to spin. She’d been at Crossroads for almost nine hours straight, and because it was only two blocks from the University of Kansas, the shop was nearly always packed. It was nearing midnight, and the college students were preparing for all-nighters with last minute to-go orders of double everythings, except decaffeinated anything.
She smiled at the woman. “Sure thing.”
Quickly, she made her way back to the wooden counter. She filled the large paper cup with the steaming liquid and applied the lid. She mechanically punched in the price on the cash register, derived the total, and delivered the goods to the book-laden woman. “That’ll be $2.58.” Leslie waited while the woman rummaged around in an ancient-looking billfold.
“Here you go.” She handed Leslie a five-dollar bill. “Keep it. You look like you could use a double espresso yourself.” She smiled and picked up some papers that had escaped her. “Have a good night,” she called over her shoulder on the way out of the shop.
“Yeah,” Leslie muttered and sighed deeply. Looking around, she suddenly realized she was all alone. Good, she thought, glancing at her watch. I can close early tonight. She dragged her exhausted body over to the entrance and locked the door. She flipped the sign to SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED! and began clearing any tables she’d overlooked throughout the night.
After thirty minutes of cleaning, Leslie was more than ready to leave, yet she still had to count the money in the drawer and balance it against the receipts. That would consume as much as an hour of her time. “At least Margie’s got the store in the morning,” she breathed with relief.
Carefully she entered each receipt into the adding machine as her parents had taught her to do so many years ago. How old had she been? Eight? Nine? She smiled at the bittersweet memories of her patient mother, who never became frustrated or angry when Leslie failed to remember to push the plus button or lost count of the daily earnings.
Leslie reflected fondly on the first time she “took the drawer down,” as her father called it, all by herself. Her parents had beamed with pride, despite the fact that they’d helped the gangly, blond pony-tailed girl every step of the way. They always knew how to build up her confidence and make her feel as though the world were at her fingertips.
“Oh Mama, Daddy. I still need you so much!” Tears caught in her long lashes and spilled onto the stacks of papers and currency. “This is so hard without you. I’m so tired, and I know Aunt Margie is, too, but we’re trying. We want to keep the store, and goodness knows we need to. I haven’t even gone down to the basement to find your box of papers!”
Leslie thought about the shoe box full of deeds, wills, receipts, and other important documents. Her parents never forgot to remind her about the box before leaving on a trip. It was a part of the routine. And for the longest time, she hadn’t thought anything of it. Nothing would ever come of it anyhow, she’d convinced herself over the years. She’d never need to go find the box and deal with its confidential contents.
The tears fell harder now. She recalled the first time the seriousness of their instructions had finally caught up with her. What if something did happen? She remembered thinking. I’m only eighteen years old. What if they die and I suddenly have to handle everything alone? But just as quickly, she’d brushed aside her worries. Nothing was going to happen to her parents. How often did things like that occur? No, her parents were strong and healthy and very cautious people. They’d no doubt live to a ripe old age, and she’d not have to deal with “the box” until she was an old woman with kids of her own.
Leslie smiled briefly, reflecting on the naïve reasoning of her youth. “I’m twenty-four, and I still don’t know what to do. Everything was supposed to be so clear by now, but it’s still as hazy as it was when I was a teenager! And I still can’t believe that they’re gone. Just like that. One minute here – the next in heaven.”
But she had to believe it. As often was the case, the truth was a hard pill to swallow. It was time for her to be responsible. It was time to locate the sacred box. The box that summarized her parents’ lives and that would forever change hers. She tried to mentally unearth it from the myriad of clothes and old toys her mother had stored in the basement. Perhaps it was beside the rocking horse. Yes, she seemed to recall seeing the large, brown shoebox wrapped tightly in rubber bands and sealed securely in a clear plastic bag. She would definitely have to look when she returned home.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she walked to the women’s bathroom to splash cold water on her face. The place was a mess, as usual. Paper towels had overflown the trash container and now lay strewn around the small room. One more job to do before she could go home.
When both restrooms were set in order, Leslie carried out the last of the trash and heaved it into the bin with a groan.
“Finally!” she sighed, locking the back door. She gathered up her purse and jacket and gave the shop one last lookover. Satisfied, she made her way to her parked Toyota and wearily drove home.
❧
“Hello?” Leslie called as she unlocked the front door of her house.
“In here,” Margie’s voice emanated from the kitchen. Leslie found her, nightgown-clad, her face wan. In her hands was a china cup with that appeared to be tea. No doubt it was a cup of Margie’s favorite chamomile. “How was your day?” Margie asked.
“Long. Too long. But everything’s balanced and ready for your morning arrival, Auntie dear.” A weak smile played at her lips. “Tips were decent.” Margie nodded approvingly, and Leslie continued. “So how was Travis?”
Margie shifted uncom
fortably in her chair. “Well, Les, I don’t know what to do with him. He’s so quiet. Too quiet. You’ve seen him. He just sits in his room or on the couch. Doesn’t even care if cartoons are the show du jour or not. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t worried.”
Leslie nodded sadly, knowing full well the extent of the little boy’s sorrow. “I am, too, Margie. Maybe tomorrow I’ll call Pastor Parkinson. He may have some ideas, because I’m sure out of them. I mean, I knew this would be hard for Travis to deal with, but I never thought he’d just withdraw altogether. I guess I expected him to cry a lot and be clingy. I think I could have handled that, but this is . . . well . . . it just doesn’t seem natural.”
“I know. This is just so very hard.” Rising to her feet, Margie walked to her niece and embraced her.
Leslie felt as though the older woman were trying to draw energy and momentum from her body, but unfortunately, she had none left to offer. Her aunt was dipping into a dry well.
Margie drew away and yawned. “Well, I guess I’m off to bed. Morning will come around awfully quick as it is.”
Leslie nodded. “You know, you don’t have to wait up for me. I’m a big girl now and I . . .” She could see a flicker of hurt in her aunt’s expression. “Oh, pay me no attention. I’m so tired I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I’m going to go take a hot shower and go to bed.” She gave Margie a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for caring about me.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” the older woman replied.
Leslie found some comfort in her words. “I’ll probably see you before you leave in the morning. Even if he is the picture of dejection, Travis’s internal alarm clock is perpetually set at 7:30.” Both emitted a strained laugh, and Margie began to walk toward the guest room. Before she was out of sight, Leslie spoke again. “I’m really glad you’re here, Margie. I mean that. I don’t think I could live in this house without your help and support.”
The woman turned and offered a weak smile. “I know what you mean, Les. I don’t think I could be alone, either.” With that, she disappeared into the darkness of the doorway.
Leslie made her way to the spacious bathroom and turned the nozzles until she had the desired temperature. Steam rose to meet her face, and she inhaled deeply. This working arrangement would, no doubt, be the death of her. She felt so old. She and Margie traded time at the shop. Margie took days so that Leslie could spend more waking hours with Travis. Leslie was more in time with the night crowd anyway. She’d always show up around four in the afternoon, bringing Travis in tow, and she and Margie would exchange shop and child, like couriers bent on a secret mission. It seemed the easiest answer, and for six days out of the week, this was to be the routine.
Sundays had always been set aside for family, and the shop was closed, much to the grumbling of the clientele. Leslie cherished Sundays. They made it a true day of rest, usually characterized by naps after morning church service and lunch. Sometimes the afternoon lent itself to trips to the park or the museum. In the past they’d even taken day trips to Kansas City or Topeka. Leslie fondly remembered those times she’d gone along when her parents had planned some special outing for Travis.
Poor Travis.
The once vivacious boy was not dealing well with the absence of his parents, and often did nothing but surrender to fitful sleep. Leslie had tried to find books that dealt with childhood trauma and how to help children cope with losing their parents, but the pickings were very slim. Christian books often fell short of really offering anything solid for children.
She didn’t know how to comfort her brother, and that seemed the most important thing right now. Nothing either woman did would console the child. It was as though his entire five-year-old being was drenched in anguish. His eyes looked hollow, and his appetite had greatly diminished. His ashen face and the ever-present dreamy look in his blue eyes broke Leslie’s heart each time she saw him.
As the massaging jets of the showerhead stripped away the trials and worries of the day, Leslie tried to focus on ways to help her baby brother. She could think of nothing at all, save counseling. Professional and educated counseling. There was a great hospice organization in Topeka. Someone at church had mentioned being helped by a warm teddy bear of a man named Byron. It seemed he worked at the hospice and dealt primarily with children. It was at least worth considering. Someone had to be able to reach Travis. Somehow, he would work through this. He just had to. Leslie realized that without him, she really had nothing left of her parents, or herself.
Reluctantly, she turned the water off and stepped onto the terry cloth mat beside the tub. Slipping into her fuzzy, mulberry-colored robe, she lightly towel-dried her hair and made her way down the hall to Travis’s room. She peeked her head through the cracked door and watched as he slumbered. All at once, his mouth contorted slightly, his brow wrinkled, and he tossed and turned violently. Then, he snuggled back into his covers and tightly clenched his teddy bear.
Tears sprang to Leslie’s eyes once more. “Dear God, please give him peace. He’s only a little guy.” She thought of how they’d all called him their “Baby Guy” when he’d been born. He was tiny and feisty and so unique to the Heyward household.
“God, he can’t deal with this alone. I can’t deal with this alone, either, and I don’t know how to comfort him when I can’t even comfort myself. I know there has to be an answer. Maybe it’s just that we all need time, but I love him so much,” she whispered through her stifled sobs. “Please, Lord, give me back my Baby Guy.”
Gingerly, she stepped into Travis’s room. It was typical little boy motif, filled with building blocks, stuffed animals, and all the latest science fiction collectibles. Leslie mourned that the toys had not been played with for some time. Approaching his beside, she eased onto her knees and looked into the troubled face of her brother. He was her entire life now. Nothing else mattered. Not the shop, not herself, not anything in this world. She loved him with her entire being. Just when she thought she had reached her limit and could no longer go on, the thought of Travis urged her forward. It was a feeling she had never thought possible.
Of course, she had loved him when her parents were still alive. But this was so much more intense. Every time she looked at him, her heart leaped into her throat, and she was forced to choke back sobs of joy, of frustration, of love. He was truly the only thing that made her remember she was alive.
Leaning closer, she softly kissed his flushed cheek. He stirred a bit and then seemed to relax. “Good night, my angel. Sissy promises to help you get better.” Tears plopped onto his comforter, and Leslie inhaled a ragged breath. “I promise.” Rising, she tiptoed back and noiselessly closed the door.
She leaned against the wall for a moment and sighed. There was nothing she could do. Nothing in her power would make him better. But God’s power was another story. She might be helpless, but He wasn’t. She had to believe that God could work through all the details.
“Just show me what to do, God,” she prayed, and instantly an image of the shoebox came to mind. It was time to deal with the facts of the situation. Desperate for sleep but compelled to seek out the box, Leslie put aside her desires for bed and instead went to the basement.
❧
Darrin found his mind consumed with thoughts of Leslie, and when he could no longer restrain himself from action, he got in the car and drove to Lawrence. A quaint little town with hilly, winding streets, Lawrence had a village-style atmosphere in its downtown district. There were marvelous Victorian homes that lined narrow lanes, as well as completely modern housing architecture. Darrin found it peaceful and stimulating at the same time.
He drove down Massachusetts, the main drag through town, and turned off at Fourteenth Street. He rechecked the address one more time and headed up the steep hill that led toward the college campus. Then without warning he saw it. The large wooden sign with antique lettering: Crossroads.
He felt his chest tighten, and he pulled the car into the only available parking
spot, nearly half a block away. For a moment, he just sat, staring at the shop. There were two shops really. One was Crossroads; the other was a small mom-n-pop drugstore that sported a sigh in the window that read WINTER SALE. The building the two businesses shared was quaint, like the neighborhood, and seemed to have a generous number of patrons coming and going. That helped him relax a bit. Perhaps he could just slip in and out unnoticed and get a feel for the welfare of Leslie Heyward.
He approached the shop amid an onslaught of chattering girls. He waited until they’d passed into the shop before trying to follow them. Inside, the darkness instantly demanded his eyes adjust, and when they did, he found Leslie behind the counter taking orders from the talkative group.
Standing back, he just watched for several minutes. He was clearly out of place with all the young college students, but no one seemed to pay him much attention. Perhaps they thought he was a professor or instructor from the college. Perhaps they didn’t care who he was. Everyone seemed quite wrapped up in their own world, and even as one table of customers seemed to rise in unison and move toward the exit, no one appeared to care that he stood idle in the middle of the room.
The girls took their coffee and rushed past him, giggling about something that one of the group had said. He watched them for a moment, then noticed that Leslie was watching him. Did she remember him from the plane? he wondered.
He smiled. “I don’t remember being that young,” he told her as he approached the counter.
A wistful look engulfed Leslie’s face. “I do. And how I wish I could go back.” Quickly, her expression melted into a customer-friendly grin, and she wiped away puddles of spilt coffee from the counter. She lifted her eyes to meet his face, those brilliant blue-green eyes he remembered so well. “So, what’ll it be?”
Crossroads Page 6
