Special Blessings

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “Yes, of course I’ll authorize the medication…how long has it been hurting?” Penny sounded exasperated. “Patty won't tell you, you know. Watch to see if she's pulling on her ear. By the time she does tell you her ear hurts, she’ll have a raging ear infection.…And find out who let her go swimming without her earplugs.”

  Anabelle decided she would not want to be the person who skipped the bathing cap. Penny sounded thoroughly outraged.

  A moment later, Penny set down the receiver and pinched her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked so dejected that Anabelle couldn't pretend nothing was wrong.

  “Penny?” she said tentatively. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Penny lifted her head and Anabelle was stunned to see tears glittering in her eyes. “No. I’m just frustrated.” She made an agitated gesture. “My sister Patti is mentally handicapped. She lives in a group home, and it's generally a pretty good place; but this is the third time she's gotten an ear infection because someone didn't make her wear earplugs.” She tried to smile. “She hates them, and she hides them in her room whenever she gets a chance. And the staff should know that by now.”

  She resumed her seat, and a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “If only I could have kept her living at home, this kind of thing wouldn't happen.” She pressed her palms against her eyes. “And I have too much work to do to sit around crying like this.”

  Anabelle passed her a box of tissues that she found on the credenza. She sensed that the other woman needed to end the conversation and get back in control, so she picked up the set of figures she’d been reviewing. And then an impulsive thought leaped into her mind. “Would you like to come to dinner Saturday evening?” she asked. “You could bring your sister if you like. I’d love to meet her.”

  Penny hesitated, clearly surprised. But then the stern lines of her face relaxed into a delighted smile. “That would be lovely, Anabelle. Thank you.”

  Elena arrived home rather late on Friday afternoon. She had stopped at Baldomero, her mother's restaurant, to visit for a few minutes—and the few minutes had stretched into an hour.

  She parked in the carport and entered the house through the laundry room, leaving her shoes behind. “Hello,” she called. Cesar's car had been parked in its spot, so she knew he’d beaten her home.

  “Buela?” Izzy found her before she could go farther.

  “Hello, my beautiful granddaughter. What did you do today?”

  “I went to Baldomero with Daddy, an’ I played—”

  “Izzy,” Elena said, noticing what her granddaughter was wearing. “I told you those shorts were too small and that we needed to get rid of them. Where did you find them?”

  “In the clean laundry basket.”

  “You know I was going to pack them away, sweetheart. Why do you insist on wearing them?”

  Izzy looked up and smiled, her light gray eyes earnest. “Because I just love them, Buela. Don't you have favorite clothes you love to wear?”

  “Well, yes, but I haven't outgrown them.” Elena narrowed her eyes, well accustomed to her granddaughter's machinations. “This is absolutely the last time you may wear those.”

  “Oh, Buela, you don't understand.” Izzy heaved a deep sigh and walked away, her small shoulders slumped.

  “I’m in the living room.” Apparently Cesar had heard the exchange and waited for his chance.

  Stopping in the kitchen for a glass of water, Elena wandered into the living room. “What's all this?” she asked in surprise.

  Cesar sat in the middle of the floor, an aged trunk thrown open beside him. The area around him was littered with old yearbooks, an ancient softball glove and basketball jersey, sports programs and yellowed newspaper clippings. He glanced up from the photo at which he’d been looking, but Elena could tell he barely saw her. “I’m going through some old stuff.”

  No kidding. She stifled her giggle. “What are you looking at?”

  He stared down at the photo he held. “It's my father and all his brothers. He had five, you know.”

  Elena nodded.

  “It's hard to believe they’re all gone now,” he said in a contemplative tone, shaking his head. “Makes me sad.”

  It made Elena sad too, that Cesar had so little family left any more. By all rights, some of the men of his father's generation should still be living. After all, they would only be in their seventies, roughly speaking.

  But all of them were gone now, victims of congestive heart failure or massive heart attacks. And at such young ages. Every one of them had died before his sixtieth birthday.

  With a sudden jolt, she realized that her husband was only ten years away from that milestone. And several of his uncles had been barely fifty when they’d had their first heart attacks. They all had smoked, of course, as had so many men of that era, and Cesar had never smoked a day in his life. He also got regular exercise and ate a relatively heart-healthy diet. Still…she recalled his unusual exhaustion after moving that furniture.

  “When was your last physical?” she asked abruptly, unable to stop thinking about that family history.

  Cesar looked up. “I have one coming up in a couple of weeks.”

  “Good.” She tried to shake off the somber moment by teasing him. “I bet you’ve gained a few pounds since last year.” She knew he hadn’t, and she knew exactly how he’d react.

  He straightened, indignant. “I have not. If anything, my pants are a little loose. I’ve been playing a lot of basketball with the kids down at the park.” He grinned. “They know how to run a guy ragged.”

  Chapter Eight

  AS JAMES PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY FRIDAY afternoon, he caught a glimpse of the bird feeder behind the house. There was a squirrel perched on it again.

  Highly vexed, he pulled into the garage and parked. Then he walked out the back door to peer into the yard. In addition to the first thief, a second squirrel perched on the back of a decorative bench he’d placed nearby, so Fern could enjoy the birds. The squirrel sat up on his haunches for several moments, apparently assessing the situation. Then he launched himself off the bench, agilely catching himself on the feeder and climbing up to join his buddy.

  James was astonished. That bench had to be six feet from the feeder. At least. Marching over to the bench, he lifted it and placed it farther away. The squirrels stilled, watching him—but even then they didn't move.

  James plunked the bench down a good twenty feet away. “Take that.” He raised his arms, and the abrupt motion and voice finally alarmed the squirrels enough that they dropped the food they’d been munching. They handily scampered down the metal pole as if it were a ladder and raced off across the lawn. Okay. So it was time for a new plan. He’d been looking on the Internet at something called squirrel baffles. Essentially, they were wide, shallow plastic or metal bowls hung upside down above feeders that were hung from trees rather than mounted on poles. But then he’d have to pull out the pole and the cement into which he’d set it.

  When he entered the house, the first thing he noticed was the silence. A friend from church had taken Fern to a movie, but the boys should have been home by now. However, Gideon's car hadn't been in the garage.

  Just then, footsteps in the hallway alerted him to someone's presence, and he turned to see Nelson coming through the family room toward him. “Hey Dad,” his son said.

  “Hey yourself,” James returned, smiling. “I didn't see Gideon's car. How did you get here? Shank's mare?”

  “Huh?”

  “Haven't you ever heard that old expression?” James indicated his lower leg bone. “A shank. Shank's mare means you’ll get there on foot. So my question is: Did you walk home?”

  “Oh. No.” James could see Nelson filing away that tidbit. The boy shifted his shoulders. “Gid brought me home and took off again.”

  “Took off again?” James echoed. “Took off for where?”

  Nelson shrugged. “Don't know. He doesn't tell me much of anythi
ng these days.” There was an echo of loneliness in the words. Their sons had always been close, despite their different temperaments and interests; but since Gideon had begun thinking about girls—one girl in particular—that was beginning to change.

  “He doesn't tell me much of anything either,” James said. He was beginning to get quite perturbed with his elder son. Since when had he begun going back out after school without permission?

  The door opened, and Fern entered. She was using a cane rather than a walker, James noted. The sight buoyed his spirits. She must be feeling good indeed.

  “Hi,” she said. “I was hoping I’d beat you home.”

  “You didn't beat us, but you beat Gideon.” Nelson beat his father to the punch with that news flash. James could tell from the frown that creased her forehead that Gideon hadn't told his mother he was going to be away after school, but he asked anyway.

  “Do you know where he might be? He dropped off Nelson and left again.”

  “I told him he was going to get in trouble.” Nelson went to his mother's side and gave her a careful hug. “Did you have fun today, Mom?”

  As Nelson drew Fern into conversation, James wondered what the next move should be. He supposed they would just have to wait until Gideon got home to find out where he was and decide how to handle it from there.

  James’s cell phone rang. He answered it, and a moment later gave Fern a resigned look. “I’m sorry, but there's been a multiple trauma from a construction site. Dr. Hamilton's asked for me.”

  “Oh, I hope no one died. I’ll pray for your patients.” Fern looked concerned. “I’ll keep some supper warm in case you make it home before dawn.”

  James groaned. “I’d better.”

  “At least it's Friday night, Dad,” Nelson said. “You can sleep in tomorrow.”

  James grinned at him, then turned to Fern again. “Text me when Gideon gets home, and let him know we aren't happy with his vanishing act. We’ll have to discuss it with him tomorrow—” He broke off, as a flash of movement through the patio doors caught his eye. It was a squirrel, leaping onto the bird feeder from a branch he’d been certain was too far away.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered. Turning on his heel, he headed for the garage.

  “James?” Fern trailed behind him, as did Nelson. “What are you doing?”

  James grabbed the saw he wanted and marched out the garage's back door and into the yard. By the time Fern and Nelson got there, he had half the branch sawed away close to the trunk. Moments later, he turned with the saw in one hand, the other hand raised in victory. “Now let them try to get to that feeder.”

  Fern stared at him incredulously. “You cut an entire branch off that beautiful redbud tree just to keep squirrels out of a bird feeder?”

  Nelson snickered, doing his best to look sober when James turned to him. “Way to go, Dad. You’ve outsmarted an animal with a brain the size of a peach pit. You’re the man.”

  Heath took Candace out for lunch on Saturday. Brooke had gone to stay overnight with her friend Tiffany, Howie had a T-ball practice from one until three, and Janet had gone shopping in Peoria.

  “This is exciting,” Candace said after they dropped Howie off. “Like a real date.”

  Heath laughed. “We haven't had an awful lot of those, have we?”

  Candace sobered a bit. “No, we haven’t. I know my family obligations have made it difficult—”

  “Hey! Whoa. Stop right there.” They were at a red light, and Heath leaned over and placed his index finger against her lips. “I fell for Candace Crenshaw, a mother, a daughter, and a nurse, among other things. I don't want to change a single thing about you or our life together, and that includes all the people in it.” He shook his head. “I’m more excited about becoming a dad than I ever thought possible.”

  Candace smiled and kissed his finger before the light changed, and he replaced his hand on the wheel. “I’m glad. The kids adore you, you know.”

  “It's mutual.” Heath hesitated. Then, looking straight ahead at the road, he casually said, “Have you ever thought about having more children?”

  Candace whipped her head toward him. “What?”

  He grinned, as he glanced at her. “It was just an innocent question. Mere curiosity.”

  She slanted him a skeptical glance. “Sure it was.” Then she smiled. “I have thought about it a bit. Dean and I were thinking about another child when he died. And I realize that you probably want children of your own.”

  “Maybe.” Heath shrugged. “I’m pretty thrilled with the two I’m going to have. But it would be great to be in on one right from the start. Watching Michael grow has been fascinating.” Michael was Heath's nephew, born on the day they had met.

  “I think,” Candace said, “that we should continue to think about it and discuss it. I’m not averse to another baby. There's nothing like that sweet baby smell.”

  “That would be before the full diaper, I presume.”

  She grinned. “You bet.”

  They ate at Baldomero's, the restaurant owned and run by Elena's mother, Camila. Heath had shrimp scampi with a Mexican twist, a new dish Camila was trying. Candace stuck with one of her favorites, a fajita quesadilla, one of the house specialties that featured Baldomero's special blend of fajita seasoning, onion, and bell peppers wrapped in a traditional cheese quesadilla. They shared a platter of jicama, melon, and mango slices dressed with a bit of lime juice.

  When they had finished, Heath sat back with a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing.” In the next breath, he asked, “Want some dessert?”

  Candace laughed. “I couldn't eat another bite right now if you paid me.”

  When they left the restaurant, Heath tugged at her hand and steered her in the opposite direction from where they had parked the car.

  “What are we doing?” Candace asked. She pointed back over her shoulder. “The car's that way.”

  “I know, but we can't go home without a little something special for everyone,” Heath told her.

  Candace raised an eyebrow. “We most certainly can. You are not going to start spoiling my kids or my mother, mister. I, however, am a different matter. Feel free to spoil me as much as you wish.”

  “How about if I spoil all of you?” Heath nudged her in the direction of The Chocolate Garden with its dark green awnings over large plateglass windows. The shop's name, in an ornate script, was painted in gold lettering edged in dark green on the window and on the large frosted glass oval in the heavy wooden door.

  “Let's go in here. We can take the kids a little box of chocolate turtles and get some milk chocolate nonpareils for your mom.”

  Candace was incredibly touched that he remembered that her children loved the chocolate, caramel, and pecan bits as well as her mother's love of a particular type of sweet. She squeezed his arm. “You’re really something. Do you have a favorite candy?”

  Heath put an arm around her and nuzzled her neck for a second before pulling open the door. “Candace candy. That's my favorite.”

  Inside, the store boasted the original wide wooden floorboards that creaked occasionally as they strolled along the high, glass-fronted counter. Stretching almost the length of one wall, the case displayed dozens of chocolate treats made right on the premises. Other cupboards and tables around the shop displayed a variety of gifts and additional sweets.

  “Yum,” Heath said. “My favorites are peanut butter melt-aways. And yours are the milk chocolate with chocolate-crème filling.”

  “That's me,” she said with a giggle. “All chocolate, all the time.”

  “Hi, folks. What can I help you with today?” Elyse Larson, the owner, smiled at them. Candace could just see her blue eyes above the tall counter.

  “We’ll take a half pound of the turtles and a quarter pound of each of the following.” As Heath gave Elyse their order, the bell over the door tinkled, and another customer entered.

  “Hello, Skip.” Heath spoke to the newcomer.

  “Hi
, Heath.” Skip Mullen crossed the shop to shake Heath's hand. “Hello, Candace.”

  “I see you’ve discovered one of Deerford's finest establishments,” Candace said to him.

  Skip grinned. “It took the kids about two days before they found this place. Now I have a standing order to come down here every Saturday.”

  Candace turned and pinned her gaze on Heath. “Don't you dare start that custom with our kids.”

  “Who, me? Of course not.” Heath, still grinning, turned back to Skip. “But thanks for the idea.”

  “The one thing we haven't found here is a church home,” Skip said. “We’ve visited a few places, but nothing has grabbed us and said, ‘You belong here,’ yet.”

  “You could try Riverview Chapel,” Heath told his friend. “That's where we attend.”

  “I’m sorry we didn't invite you earlier,” Candace said. “Margie had mentioned something about another church you’d gone to, and I assumed you had chosen one already.”

  Skip shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “It's very small and personal,” Candace added, “and the pastor is dynamic. We’re very happy there.”

  “That's where you’re getting married, right?”

  Heath nodded. “The very one.”

  “Maybe we’ll give it a try,” Skip said. “I think Margie is beginning to get discouraged.”

  “Oh, please do consider it,” Candace urged. “We sit about halfway up on the right side, if you’d like to sit with us.”

  “Great. Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow, if I can talk Margie into it.”

  Chapter Nine

  ANABELLE MADE CHICKEN PARMESAN ON Saturday evening—an easy dish to serve guests. Cam offered to steam broccoli and make fresh rolls, so that she could entertain Penny and her sister. Anabelle had just added the final place setting to the table when the doorbell rang.

  “You go entertain your guests,” Cam said, “and leave the rest of this to me.”

  “Thank you,” Anabelle said. Cam was quite capable in the kitchen, and she appreciated his assistance. Smoothing down the mint-green skirt she wore with a simple white blouse, she hurried to the front door and opened it.