by JoAnn Durgin
He held her gaze. “I understand, and I appreciate your sensitivity to your patients.”
“When my grandmother told me she missed hearing my grandfather tell her S’agapo, I think that’s when something clicked inside me.”
“I’m guessing that doesn’t mean, ‘I want moussaka for supper tonight’?”
Vara half-laughed, half-sniffled at Thornton’s attempt to lighten the mood. “You can probably guess what it means since it’s about your favorite subject.”
“I’m assuming agapo must be similar to agape, so…love.”
“Yes, it means I love you. Can you imagine not being able to tell your loved ones how much you love them? Those three words—I love you—are the words spouses and family members of stroke victims most long to hear.”
Thornton surveyed her with a small smile. “We all long to hear them.”
Ducking her head, Vara nodded. “And now we’re back to the subject of love again.”
“It is the most important thing in life, after all. I hope your grandfather survived the stroke, Vara.”
“He has some ongoing physical issues and probably always will. Occasionally, he’ll say the wrong thing—which can be rather funny—but he’s doing much better than the doctors ever predicted.” She met his gaze. “Thank you.”
Sensing they had company, Vara tore her gaze from Thornton’s and glanced toward the open doorway. Her smile shaky, she rose to her feet. “Kaliméra, Charlotte and Rosalinda.” Without forethought, the Greek word had rolled right off her tongue. “Good morning.”
Based on the way her patient glanced back and forth between her and Thornton, Charlotte might have speech issues, but there wasn’t a single thing wrong with her hearing.
Chapter Six
“Ladies, please come and join us.” Quickly rising to his feet, Thornton ushered them into the living room. He offered to push the chair, but Rose waved him off. Besides his grandmother, Rose was one of the most independent, self-sufficient women he’d ever known. Translation—stubborn as all get out. He’d need to have a chat with her. While he was home, he wanted to help as much as possible, particularly with Charlotte’s physical needs.
“Hello, Miss Vara.” Rose parked the wheelchair between the armchairs, facing them. “Thank you for coming out to the house today. Isn’t that nice of her, Charlotte?” Although originally from the Caribbean, only slight traces of Rose’s native accent slipped into her speech after living in Minnesota for decades.
Charlotte nodded to Vara. “Yes. Hel-lo, Var-a.” Her white hair was curled today, and she looked more rested than he’d seen her. Rose, however, looked quite tired. A few years younger than Charlotte, her brown skin didn’t have its usual glow, and her dark eyes appeared less lively and bright.
“I had a little extra time before our appointment, so I stopped in at Andrea’s this morning,” Vara told them. “Cherish is a charming town. Charlotte, you’re looking well.”
“Nana, would you like some hot tea?” he offered. “I can make it so Rose can stay and tell Vara about your latest progress.”
Charlotte motioned for him to sit and Rose narrowed her eyes. Did they doubt his ability to boil water and drop in a tea bag? Good grief. Feeling like a chastised child, Thornton dropped back onto his chair. He wasn’t sure whether or not he liked this nearly non-verbal, monosyllabic version of his grandmother. When he was a teenager, he would have loved it if she hadn’t been able to lecture him. Lest he be accused of insensitivity, however, he’d never give voice to that opinion. It was bad enough that God heard it. Uncharitable or not, it was honest.
In spite of it all, he loved Charlotte dearly. As much as anything, he hated how the stroke had robbed her of the ability to communicate freely. After talking with Vara, Thornton figured his frustration was only a small fraction compared to what Charlotte must be experiencing.
Vara proceeded to ask his grandmother a few questions in an attempt to draw her out and assess her progress. He listened as Rose reported the words and short phrases Charlotte had been using on a regular basis.
“Any words and stringing together of phrases is encouraging,” Vara told her patient. “Great job, Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s response was a low grunt. Her orneriness was already showing. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could say a whole lot more than she let on. She needed to be honest and not test others. She’d been doing it to him long enough, and he often wondered if he’d ever measure up to her almost impossibly high standards.
With all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love. That verse from Ephesians was in his most recent Bible study. Those were all fine qualities he could definitely use more of, especially when it came to dealing with Charlotte. His greatest prayer since her stroke was that the Lord would somehow use this trial as a way to reveal Himself to her in a powerful, life-changing way.
Since the age of 20 when he’d asked Jesus to be his Savior, friend, and confidant, Thornton had learned there were many things he couldn’t do on his own. Before then, he’d been arrogant and cocky, full of himself. If he couldn’t do something, it was because someone else hadn’t shown him how. If he failed, it was because someone else had tripped him up. As much as his father, Nana had taught him to be tough, mentally as well as physically. He’d gotten in scrapes, broken a few bones, suffered a black eye or two, and learned to stand on his own two feet. Somehow, he’d made it through life so far relatively unscathed.
The only time he’d openly defied her wishes was when Charlotte wanted him to attend a private boys’ school in Minneapolis. He’d staunchly refused and gone on a hunger strike. She’d won that round but then relented after his first year at that stuffy school. He’d served his time, and she could tell how much he’d missed his friends in Cherish.
She’d wanted him to attend MIT, and to keep her happy, he’d applied. Unbelievably, he’d been accepted. Then his rebellious side kicked in again, and he told her he wanted to go to Michigan. Even more miraculous, Charlotte agreed. In the long run, if he’d chosen MIT, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference except to command a slightly higher salary at Lockheed.
“God has His plans for me, Nana.” He’d told her that over and over since becoming a Christian, and he suspected something other than stubbornness was holding her back from taking his faith seriously. Did she think it was a fad or passing fancy that he’d get over eventually? He tried to explain that’s not how Jesus worked, but she’d turn a deaf ear, and he’d give up for a time before trying to speak with her again. If only he could figure out what that something was, then maybe he could crack through the firm outer wall Charlotte had constructed around her.
She’d let him into her inner circle, but not Jesus. Same with Rose. She was a strong Christian woman and a staunch prayer warrior. Thornton knew she prayed for his grandmother every day, probably several times over. And for that, he was grateful.
“Isn’t that right, Thornton?”
He started when he realized the three women were watching him. “I’m sorry. What was that, Rose?”
“Don’t you think it’d be nice to take a field trip into the city one day when we get a break from this bitterly cold weather?” She dipped her head and gave him the look.
“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “The Como Park Zoo and Conservatory might be nice.”
“That’s a great idea!” Vara was all enthusiasm and smiles. She’d talked about the optimism of the people in Minnesota, but she fit right in.
As the ladies continued their discussion, Thornton noticed Rose eyeing him periodically. He’d never been able to get much past her, either, bless her heart. On one particular night in his errant past, he owed it to Rose for not spending the night in a jail cell.
Becoming a believer had helped him to recognize his tendency to blame others for his personal faults and misdeeds. If God could somehow use Thornton Fielding—with all his many weaknesses—to lead Charlotte to the cross, he was more than willing. As long
as he’d known her, his grandmother had been the one to control and “fix” things. Could she ever let down her guard long enough to acknowledge there was a God who loved her unconditionally?
Thornton studied Vara as he half-listened to the ongoing conversation. The woman was intelligent but humble and seemingly unaware of her beauty. After the conversation at Andrea’s, he already felt as though he knew her better than his combined dates of the past five years. In fact, his first conversation with Vara had lasted longer than some of those dates.
When she turned her head a certain way, the light reflected subtle red highlights in Vara’s long dark hair. She wrinkled her nose at times when speaking, and her gorgeous green eyes would flash with emotion. He found it cute how she could get flustered after he paid her a compliment yet hold her own in a conversation about almost anything. Vara’s combination of vulnerability, curiosity, friendliness, and self-confidence both attracted and intrigued him.
Normally, he never would have offered his table at the coffee shop to an attractive female under the age of 70 in Cherish if he didn’t know her story. He’d learned his lesson once and for all three years ago with the niece of the town barber when he’d returned home between assignments. The townspeople practically had him married off to the unsuspecting girl after they’d shared a brief, two-minute conversation on the street corner. She’d asked for directions, and the next thing he knew, Myrna was practicing “Ave Maria” for the wedding ceremony.
He’d been grateful Vara had removed her gloves by the time she stood near his table in the coffee shop. Kind of difficult to know a woman’s marital status if he couldn’t see her ring finger. Since most of the people in town knew him, he was aware their discussion this morning would start the rumor mill churning. As it turned out, the invitation had been well worth the risk. He figured if anyone asked, he could pass it off by explaining they’d been discussing Charlotte’s post-stroke treatment.
Then again, no, he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He couldn’t abide lying from anyone else, and telling falsehoods wasn’t something he did. Not anymore, although he’d proven himself capable multiple times in the past. His earlier years were peppered with plenty of lies. Not “little white” ones,” either, because those were only sugar-coated big fat lies.
All he knew was that he liked Vara very much. He shouldn’t have to explain his actions to anyone. Wow, when had he become so sensitive about what anyone thought of him?
Man up, Thorn.
Rose subtly waved, widened her eyes, and mouthed to him to pay attention. With a sheepish smile, Thornton gave her a nod of acknowledgement and focused on the conversation. They’d moved on to discuss the best method of communication. Charlotte had never been particularly adept or thrilled with modern technology, so she’d been using a dry erase board with a marker to write messages, albeit slowly. Her fine motor skills hadn’t been adversely impeded by the stroke. Another blessing. Likewise, Charlotte’s eyesight didn’t seem negatively impacted. She also seemed to have no difficulty understanding what others were saying, reading, or writing, a mixed blessing at times. Always had been.
Yeah, Nana was going to be just fine. He wouldn’t consider the alternative.
“For now, you should try and use your words as much as possible,” Vara said to Charlotte. “Otherwise, use the board to write messages. That system seems to work well.”
“I agree.” Rose looked to him for confirmation.
“That’s probably best.” Thornton slapped both hands on his knees. “As the saying goes, why fix what ain’t broke? No sense in buying a tablet or other fancy device if she won’t use it.”
Taking the board from Rose, Charlotte slowly wrote something and held it up for him to see. She’d written Don’t say ain’t in shaky but legible lettering. That made him laugh. “Your sense of humor hasn’t changed, that’s for sure.”
“Charlotte, there are any number of therapies we can try,” Vara explained. “For one, there’s art therapy if you like to paint.”
Rose brightened. “Now, that’s an idea! You’d enjoy painting, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said slowly.
“Great. I’ll bring supplies on my next visit. I have an adult coloring book with crayons and colored pencils with me today. I can leave them with you.” When Vara glanced his way, Thornton returned her smile as she retrieved the supplies from her bag and placed them on the coffee table.
“Some other ideas for activities are to play word-based games, cards, or put together jigsaw puzzles. Charlotte, if you’re up to it today, we can continue working on your visual speech perception therapy where we associate pictures with words.”
Rose winked at him. “We played that game the other day, and Charlotte associated the picture of a frog with you.”
“That’s because she’s the funny one.” Wagging a finger at Charlotte, Thornton glanced at Vara. “A childhood prank I’ll never be allowed to live down.”
“Dear boy, you played enough childhood pranks for a whole passel of kids.”
“Shh, Rose.” He put one finger over his lips. “Let’s not send Vara away screaming on her first day here.”
Vara gave him another quick smile. She had a way of batting her eyes faster when he paid her a compliment. Surely she was used to attention from men. How could a girl this gorgeous not fight guys off on a regular basis? Sitting in the coffee shop across from her, he’d barely been able to think straight. She probably considered him a bombastic bore with all his silly love talk.
“If you like doing crossword puzzles or word searches, I’d encourage you to do those,” Vara continued. He had to wonder how many items were on that list of hers. The good news was that his day was relatively free, and it wasn’t a hardship to sit back, observe, and listen. Charlotte’s speech and language pathologist was extremely easy on the eyes, and he’d plan to be around as often as possible whenever she was expected at the house. He’d enjoyed their sparring and her interest in his work was gratifying. He didn’t get the chance to show off his creations very often, and an ego stroke every now and then didn’t hurt.
“Another idea is for Rosalinda to cook a new recipe,” Vara said. “You could write out a shopping list and go shopping together. Or you could read the list of ingredients and measurements.”
“I could maybe help with that,” he offered. When Rose snorted, Vara moved one hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Hey, I’m no slouch in the kitchen, ladies. I just haven’t had many opportunities lately.” These two sure weren’t doing him any favors.
“In the past five years, child?” Rose shot him a skeptical look and turned to Vara. “The man can’t boil water without forgetting about it and having it spill over the sides of the pot and onto the floor. Thornton, you stick with the jigsaw puzzles and board games. You leave the cooking to Rosalinda and stay out of my kitchen.”
He pouted. “Hey, when I’m traveling, I live for weeks at a time in a suite. With a kitchen. With pots and pans, knives, and everything. One of these days, when you least suspect it, I’ll sneak in the kitchen and whip up or…concoct something. I promise you will be amazed.”
“You do that.” Rose laughed, and so did Charlotte. Traitors.
She didn’t believe him? He’d prove her wrong. “Okay, fine. Then like Vara said, Nana can read the ingredients, I can do the legwork by gathering everything together and measuring, and then I’ll hand off everything to you, Master Chef Rosalinda.” He turned to Vara. “I apologize for the rabbit chase. Rest assured, I will do whatever Charlotte wants or needs me to do. Within reason.”
His wink for Charlotte elicited the beginnings of a small smile that gave him more satisfaction than a well-earned prototype contract.
“You could practice addressing cards,” Vara suggested next. “You can go out to eat, order off the menu, and figure the tip. Those are all good exercises. Or you could practice reading out loud. The last suggestion is melodic intonation therapy where you’d sing words you’re unable to speak.”
He groaned. “The last one? Is that all you’ve got? And you call yourself an SPL?”
Vara shot him a look, making him laugh. “It’s S-L-P.”
“Oh, right. I’ll never get it right.”
“As long as Thornton isn’t the one doing the singing.”
With his hand over his heart, he stared at Rose, pretending to be wounded. “What are you doing to me here? This poor woman halfway liked me until you started spilling my secrets of inadequacy. Vara, for your information, I might not be able to carry a tune, but my heart is fully invested, and I mean what I sing. Sincerity has to count for something.”
Vara’s smile seared straight through him. “I don’t doubt your heart is in everything you do.”
“See, Rose? She’s got my number.” Charlotte’s smile appeared again. Score! An idea popped into his mind to keep that smile on her face.
Jumping to his feet, Thornton strode to the stereo on the far wall. His grandmother had one of the best collections of jazz albums he’d ever seen. In mint condition, no less. With a particular song in mind, he quickly thumbed through the large stack. Soon enough, he found the one he wanted. “Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, take it away.”
“Thornton, what are you doing over there?” Rose called to him. She was being particularly feisty today, but he loved the give-and-take they shared.
“Patience,” he said. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Sliding the album from its sleeve, Thornton lowered the record onto the turntable. Then he turned on the stereo and lowered the needle before beckoning to Vara. “Miss Alexandris, will you please join me?”
Chapter Seven
Thornton wanted her to dance with him? In front of his grandmother and Rosalinda? Vara sat on the chair, mute as a mime.
