by Traci DePree
Scout was in the yard, sniffing the brown, wet ground. She lifted her golden head when Paul approached and trotted over to his car. “Hey, girl.” He scratched her between the ears, and she jumped up for more. “Get down,” Paul said, and the dog surprisingly obeyed.
“She’s learning,” Carl said from the screened front porch.
“Who brought her over?” Paul nodded toward the dog.
“Aunt Susan did, last night,” Carl said. “Come on up. I was wanting to talk to you.”
He opened the door for the pastor to make his way inside. Scout ran ahead, jumping to greet her owner as she passed Paul. They walked into the house, the smell of woodsmoke filling Paul’s nostrils. Carl cleared a stack of Outdoor Life magazines from a padded chair so Paul could sit down. Scout nudged Paul’s knee for another pat.
“Can I get you anything?” Carl asked.
“I’m fine.” Paul scratched Scout’s head again, and she grinned at him before circling back to her owner for attention. “I wanted to talk about Jack.”
“He hasn’t been talking to me,” Carl confessed as he took the seat opposite Paul. The wood stove next to him radiated warmth throughout the room.
“I figured as much. Did he tell you why he did all this?” Paul asked.
“I’m as clueless as ever. Did he say something to you?”
“He gave me some good clues.” Paul leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on his knees.
Scout took that as a signal and came to nestle beside him. He stroked her shiny coat as he talked. “The whole dog thing was about your dad...Jack seems to think your dad doesn’t love him. I gathered he’s mourning that loss.”
“That makes sense.”
“Jack said the dog was a gift?”
“From my dad,” Carl confirmed. “Actually, she was Dad’s dog until he got too sick to care for her. He’s in the memory unit at the nursing home in Pine Ridge. He has Alzheimer’s pretty bad. Only seems to remember what happened in 1940 or 1950, but if you ask him what he had for breakfast, he’s usually a blank.”
“Was Jack ever close to your father?”
Carl shook his head. “Maybe when he was little, but not for a long time. Those two were so much alike, they drove each other nuts. They’d try to have father-son time, but most of the time they’d both come home angry about a fight they had. After Mom died, things got really bad. She was their go-between. I tried to bridge the gap, but Jack would just get mad at me...I think because he was jealous that I understood where Dad was coming from and he didn’t.”
“That explains why he thinks you’re the one your dad loves. He said he feels like you two have been in a competition for your father’s love. And he’s the loser.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Carl said. “Dad loves him. In his own way. Problem was, Jack wanted him to show it on his terms— couldn’t accept it for what it was. Sometimes he’s just...stubborn.” Carl shrugged.
“I can see that,” Paul said with a grin. “So what would it take for Jack to see the truth?”
“You’ve got me. I’ve tried everything I could think of.”
“Would you be willing to give it another try with me?”
“Why not? If you can get him to listen.”
“Can you make up some excuse for him to come over?”
“Sure.”
Reaching for the phone, Carl dialed his aunt’s number. Susan must’ve answered because Carl said, “Yes, ma’am, I’m doin’ well...Oh, Scout’s just fine too. She misses you, though. She sure loves your homemade doggie chow.”
Carl was quiet for a moment before finally saying, “I’m actually wondering if Jack is there...Yes, ma’am. I want to make things right too.”
He exchanged a look with Paul as he waited for his brother to come on the line.
“Jack, it’s Carl. Hey, I’ve got some of your stuff packed. You might as well come get it if you’re going to stay with Aunt Susan...Yes, now.” Then he hung up and said, “He’ll be right over.”
A few minutes later, Jack’s Ford Maverick pulled up in front of the rundown old house, and Jack climbed out. Paul and Carl watched him through the front window. He must’ve recognized Paul’s pickup because he stopped and looked at it, and then at the house, before coming up the walk. The screen-door spring stretched and creaked as Jack came inside, then he let the door slam shut behind him. Scout padded to his side, looking up at him expectantly, but he ignored her.
“What’s Pastor Hanlon doing here?” Jack asked.
Paul waved hello to him from his seat. Carl was standing near his chair at the stove. He’d gotten up to add a few more logs to the blazing fire.
“Paul wants to talk to us, and I think we should listen,” Carl said as he took his seat again.
“So the call about the boxes...?” Jack raised his hands.
Carl pointed to a pile of boxes near the front door, and Jack turned to look.
“Fine,” Jack said. “I’ll take them to Aunt Susan’s when we’re done here.”
Jack picked up some scattered jackets and sweatshirts from the love seat and set them on an adjacent rocker that already had a similar mound on its cushion. Then he took his seat on the overstuffed yet comfortable-looking piece of furniture. His gaze shifted from Carl to Paul.
Paul began, “Jack, you need to tell your brother how you feel about your dad.”
“What is this—some kind of intervention?” He started to stand, but Carl motioned for him to stay seated.
“I care about you, Jack,” Carl said. “You’re my brother. I’m tired of this rift between us. I want to be friends again, and I want you to move back home.”
Jack’s face fell, and Paul could see that Carl’s words had struck a chord.
“I don’t want to compete for anything—most of all Dad’s love,” Carl went on. “That’s what Pastor Hanlon told me you said, that you think we’ve been in a competition for Dad’s love all these years. It’s just not true. This is a hard time for the two of us. First, losing Mom, and now with Dad going downhill so fast...We need each other, Jack. We don’t have time to waste on silly dog competitions. I want my brother back.”
Jack crossed his arms and considered Carl’s words. They sat in silence for what seemed a long time before Jack finally admitted, “I’ve been jealous of you my whole life, Carl. You’re smarter, gifted in sports, you had lots of friends...and what was I? The smart-mouthed little brother who tagged along and got in the way.”
“You’re good at a lot of things,” Carl said. “I could never take a junker and make it into a beautiful car the way you do. That takes talent—”
“Dad always loved you,” Jack interrupted. “There was never any question...Now he barely remembers my name, and it’s too late.”
“He remembers you,” Carl said. “If you’d ever visit him...”
“It’s never too late to make things right,” Paul added. “Even if your dad doesn’t remember or can’t understand, you can make it right with yourself.”
Jack rubbed his forehead, then said, “I don’t know.” He lifted his head to look his brother in the eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through all this.” He nodded toward Scout. “With the dog and all.”
Scout, recognizing that she was once again the topic of conversation, hopped to her feet and stood facing Jack, barking loudly at him. “That dog is annoying!” the younger brother said.
“So are little brothers,” Carl said with a smile.
THAT EVENING Paul drove the Wilsons to see their dad at the nursing home in Pine Ridge. He figured he could pop in and visit some of his regulars—longtime Faith Briar members who’d had to give up independent living for round-the-clock care—while the brothers talked to their father.
After he’d said good-bye to Violet Hicks, his last parishioner—a petite woman with white hair and a straight smile, who’d suffered a stroke the previous year—he made his way back to the memory unit, secured behind a locked door. A heavyset nurse with too-short hair let him in and pointe
d him down the hall to Zeb Wilson’s room. The door was wide open, and the gray-haired father was sitting between his two sons on the narrow bed. He didn’t look that old, when Paul studied him, probably in his early sixties.
Father and sons were paging through an aged photo album, their heads close together.
Paul didn’t want to disrupt them, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen his own father.
“That’s you, Jack,” Carl said, his finger resting on a photo.
The old man had a blank look, as if he couldn’t place where he’d seen the boy. “Wasn’t he the cutest little kid, Dad?” Carl added.
Jack sat back, the look of disappointment distinct in his features.
“See, he’s feeding a stray kitten with a baby bottle. I found that mewing thing under the front porch. Remember? Mom had a fit when she saw it. Didn’t want me bringing a mangy animal into the house! Do you remember that?” he said to Jack.
Jack nodded, exchanging a glance with his elder brother. “Yeah, I remember.”
“He named the cat Taxi so that when we called it, we had to say, ‘Here, Taxi.’” Carl laughed. He was trying so hard to bring the two men together that Paul felt a lump rise in his throat.
Finally a spark of recognition came into the older man’s eyes. The father lifted a finger to point at the picture. “I remember that cat.”
Jack’s shoulders fell, and Paul heard him take a heavy breath. But the elder Wilson went on, “It was Jack’s cat.” He lifted his eyes to his youngest son. “Your cat, right, Jack?”
“Yes, Dad,” Jack said. “He was my Taxi.”
Zeb smiled at the name.
“That was a funny name. Did you think of that?”
Jack nodded. Then Zeb reached over to pat his son’s knee. It wasn’t anything monumental. Just a touch from father to son. But Paul could see how it affected Jack. His eyes darkened as he searched his father’s face for something. But that was all the man had to offer. The cloud that had crowded his mind returned, dimming the sunlight once again.
Carl and Jack both stood when they realized Paul was there. “Well, we should get going, Dad. Pastor Hanlon is our ride home.”
“So soon?” Zeb’s eyes moistened, and Paul felt bad for the old man and the loneliness he must have faced when his sons were gone.
“Would you mind if I came back to visit you?” Paul asked. “I come every week, and I’d love to get to know you better.”
Mr. Wilson’s face brightened. “That’d be nice, young man.”
Paul smiled at the term young man, especially since they were probably close to the same age. He hadn’t been called that in more than forty years.
Carl and Jack turned back to Zeb to say their farewells. First Carl, who bent over his father in a hug, and then Jack.
Mr. Wilson said nothing, merely patted his son’s back with that absent look. Then he gave Jack a kiss on the cheek and patted his hand. All he said was “Jack.” But it was enough.
WHEN THEY REACHED COPPER MILL, Jack asked to be let off at home with his brother. Paul pulled up in front of their house and put the gearshift into park.
“No sense in staying at Aunt Susan’s anymore,” he said, glancing at his brother. “I’m ready to come home, if you’ll have me.”
Carl smiled and slugged his brother in the arm. “Thanks, Pastor. You should go home now too,” Jack said, smiling at Paul.
Paul looked down at his watch and realized that Kate’s guests from Memphis were arriving the next day. “I’ll get home, but I probably won’t be hitting the hay anytime soon. I’ve got company coming tomorrow.”
“Family?” Carl asked.
“No.” Paul shook his head. “Do you know Marissa Harris?”
“I went to high school with her,” Jack said. “Pretty girl with dark hair and eyes. I asked her to homecoming one year.”
“Really?” Paul said.
“She turned me down, but man, I had a crush on her.” He cleared his throat.
“She has leukemia,” Paul said.
“I hadn’t heard that,” Jack said, a look of concern in his eyes. “Is she doing okay?”
“Not too well. She’s in the hospital, hoping to find a bone-marrow donor. A bunch of us from church have been tested, but so far no match. The people coming are her...family. We’re hoping one of them will be the right one.”
“And if she doesn’t find someone?” Jack asked.
“She doesn’t have any other options.”
“That’s harsh,” Carl said.
“Indeed,” Paul agreed. “Sometimes life is harsh.”
Chapter Nineteen
Valerie and Mary arrived the next day a little after one. Kate pointed them to the guest room to drop off their bags and showed them where their bathroom was. As she pulled a batch of cookies from the oven for lunch, Valerie padded into the small kitchen. She was dressed in stylish jeans with embroidery down the front and a layering of T-shirts with a green wool jacket to top it all off.
“We can’t thank you enough for letting us stay here,” she said and ran her hands through her long hair as if to comb it.
“You must’ve started early,” Kate said. She set the cookies on the counter and transferred them to a cooling rack. “I have a snack if you’re hungry.”
“It smells heavenly. The visit to the hospital was quick—just a swab of my cheek. So we were on the road by seven-thirty.”
“So, you and your mom mended fences?” Kate asked.
Valerie fingered a paper napkin on the kitchen counter. “I was being childish, and it was just time that I grew up.”
“I’m glad to hear things are working out between you two,” she said. Kate lifted a steaming cookie onto a square plate and handed it and a glass of cold milk across the counter to Valerie.
Valerie took a bite and closed her eyes as she tasted it. “That’s delicious,” she said.
Kate grinned. “A cook always likes to hear that.”
She led Valerie to the kitchen table, bringing a plate of cookies that had cooled earlier. “So, it’s a big day,” Kate said. “Are you ready for it?”
“Who is ever ready to meet their sister for the first time?” Valerie paused as if to say more, then added, “I’ve decided that I want to meet Patricia too.”
“Really?” Kate smiled. “She’ll be so pleased.”
“When I was talking to Mom, she convinced me that it wouldn’t kill me to meet my birth mother. I don’t know what I thought would happen. But I can’t be afraid to live anymore. I want to meet my birth mom and have her meet the woman who raised me and still loves me.”
Just then Mary Olsen came into the room. Her dark hair was combed back, and her face looked freshly scrubbed and shining. “Your forever mom?” She bent to kiss her daughter on the top of the head.
“Yes,” Valerie said, touching her mother’s hand that rested on her shoulder. “My forever mom.”
KATE WONDERED how Patricia would react to meeting Valerie. They might carry the same blood in their veins, but they were still strangers, after all. Kate had called to tell her that Valerie was asking to meet them both. She could hear the joy in Patricia’s voice when she’d told her—and the fear.
Finally they were there, standing outside Marissa’s hospital room. Kate knocked on the door tentatively and heard a faint “Come in.” She turned to Valerie. The girl held her mother’s hand and drew in a deep breath as she nodded.
The door slowly opened, and Kate entered, followed by Mary, with Valerie behind her. They’d already scrubbed and gowned.
Marissa had a pretty orange and red head scarf tied neatly on her head and makeup on her wan face. The eye shadow, blush, and pale pink lip gloss made her look almost healthy.
Valerie’s dark eyes locked on Patricia’s. Kate could tell that Patricia was holding her breath.
“Hello,” Valerie said in a small voice.
Patricia moved forward, and they shook gloved hands. “I’m Patrici
a Harris,” she said. “Your—” she stumbled on the word.
“Your birth mother,” Mary filled in for her, her voice gentle.
Patricia turned to this woman who had raised her precious daughter. A track of wetness lined Mary’s cheeks.
“I’m Mary Olsen,” the woman said.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Patricia said as tears welled in her eyes. She grasped Mary’s hand. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am...for everything.”
Mary’s eyes smiled into hers. “It’s so good for Valerie to finally meet you. She’s wondered about you for a long time.”
Patricia’s gaze shifted back to Valerie, who was watching from the other side of the bed. Kate silently observed the scene, feeling humbled to be part of this moment, to see the coming together of this broken family.
Finally, they turned to Marissa.
“Valerie,” Patricia said. “This is your sister, Marissa.”
Valerie moved to her bed and extended a gloved hand. “Hello.”
Marissa took it and said, “Thank you for coming.” She was grinning from ear to ear. The two sisters held hands, and Valerie sat down on the bed alongside Marissa.
“How long have you been sick?” Valerie asked.
“A few months,” Marissa said. “But I feel better now.” She lifted a smile to her mother.
“Let’s hope you get healthy real soon.” Valerie lifted her gaze to her mother. “When will we know if the marrow matches?”
“Soon, I think,” Mary answered. “They have my cell number.”
“They’ll let our doctor know too,” Marissa said, still holding hands with her sister. “Tell me about you,” Marissa said. “I want to know all about you.”
Valerie looked back down at her, her eyes clouding. Kate sensed the well of emotions Marissa’s simple question brought out in her sibling—the desire to know and be known. It was a powerful thing.
When Valerie lifted her gaze, Marissa added, “What do you like to do? Did you go to college?”
Valerie nodded. “I’m still in college, actually. Studying to be a nurse.”
“No kidding!” Marissa said. “I was studying to be a physical therapist.”
