“Rob—”
He held up a hand, silencing her. There was a tinge of regret in his voice, a sadness that cut Claire deeply because she knew she was responsible.
“Don’t worry, Claire. I know you don’t return my feelings. I realize things are different now. . . .
He looked down at the floor and scuffed at the carpet with the toe of his shoe. When he looked up, there was a sad smile on his face. “Let’s just say that my eyesight has never been so clear as it was the afternoon I saw you and Michael Meredith together in the hallway. It is quite obvious that you love him very much. You love him the way I had hoped—” His words came out as an accusation, and he seemed to be struggling to compose himself.
Claire’s throat swelled with unexpected emotion. She momentarily put aside Rob’s assumption concerning her feelings for Michael and recognized she did love Rob. He was precious to her. But precious in the way that Becky and Millie were precious to her. She knew she couldn’t offer him more.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Rob. I want you to know how much I’ve appreciated your friendship. The time spent reading with you has made this whole summer special. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“But now the summer’s over, and you’ve found someone new.” There was an edge of bitterness in his voice.
“No, Rob.” She couldn’t begin to explain her feelings for Michael to Rob, but neither could she deny that she loved Michael.
Rob closed his eyes and shook his head contritely. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” He met her eyes and waved a hand. “Never mind me. You caught me in a rotten mood. I’m sorry, Claire,” he repeated. “I don’t want to make this difficult for you. I should be thanking you for everything you did for me. It made a difference. It really did.” He attempted a grin, suddenly looking more like a little boy than a dignified college professor.
They sat there reflecting sad smiles to each other until, feeling awkward, Claire deliberately looked at her watch. “I really do need to be going, Rob.”
She rose to leave, and Rob got up and walked with her to the door.
“Well, so long.” She lifted a hand and backed out of the doorway. “Good luck with your move.”
He waved back. “I’ll be thinking about you this week, Claire.”
“Thank you, Rob.”
“Keep in touch.”
It was the phrase of polite company—something people said to keep from saying good-bye. But she let it go. There’d been too many good-byes this week. God had allowed their lives—hers and Rob’s—to touch for one brief season of time, and she would always be thankful for that.
She waved back at Rob with false cheer and stepped into the hallway. And she knew in her heart she might never see him again.
Claire then walked back to the front desk and arranged to get Nana’s things out of storage. There was a small bag of clothing and a box of books and personal items, along with some framed photographs. It took Claire and a nurse aide two trips to load the entirety of Nana’s earthly belongings into her car.
She dropped her grandmother’s things off at the house, packed a small bag, and set out on the drive to Kansas City.
It was after dark when she checked into a hotel. She fell into the strange, hard bed with the knowledge that tomorrow would be a difficult day.
Chapter 35
Claire slept late and awoke in a cheerless hotel room to a cloudy, sultry day. She was startled to hear a radio weatherman announce that the day marked the beginning of October. She'd taught only two weeks of the school year before everything had fallen apart. Marjean Hammond had assured her that everything would be fine in her absence and encouraged her to take as much time as she needed. The previous weeks seemed lost in the chaos and trauma surrounding Nana’s illness and death.
Somehow it seemed fitting that Nana should be buried on a day of a new beginning. Claire knew she would always look back to this day as a marker in her life. This was the day she would begin her life alone.
She made coffee in her hotel room and later stopped at a small cafe for a roll and juice, but her appetite seemed to have left her. She drove to the cemetery, arriving twenty minutes before the services were to begin.
Nana had left a written request for a simple graveside service. A service that clearly gives the message of Christ’s salvation and not one that eulogizes this old woman, Nana had penned in her shaky handwriting. Claire had smiled when she read the words on the folded sheet of paper Geneva Grayson had handed her the day Nana died. She could almost hear Nana speaking the words. It touched her that her grandmother had left instructions for this day. It made it easier, knowing she was doing things as Nana wanted them done.
She parked the car at the edge of the drive and walked across the grass to the area where the mortuary had set up a funeral tent. The simple casket was already in place over the open grave, perched firmly on the metal framework of the lowering device.
Reverend Crighton, the chaplain from Elmbrook, crossed the lawn to meet Claire with outstretched arms.
“Hello, Claire. How are you doing?” he asked warmly.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Despite her sadness, she truly did feel strong and at peace.
He led her to a row of chairs beneath the canopy and she sat there, prayerfully remembering her grandmother.
Several minutes passed before she became aware of hushed voices approaching. She turned and saw her principal, Marjean Hammond, and fellow teacher Norma Blair. She rose and started forward to greet them when she spied another car—an- older mini-van—pull up beside Marjean’s car. Randy and Becky Anderson stepped from the van and started across the lawn.
At the sight of her friends, Claire broke down. She'd felt so calm and in control, but this outpouring of love and concern touched her deeply. She tried desperately to collect herself as she walked toward the little knot of people who were gathering for her sake.
She reached Marjean and Norma first.
“Thank you so much for coming.” She accepted their embraces and sympathetic words, then turned as Becky approached, arms outstretched.
Claire fell into her friend’s arms, experiencing an emotional tug-of-war between the joy of seeing Becky here and the sorrow of Nana’s death. The two friends dissolved into tears, words unnecessary to convey their emotion.
When Claire could finally speak, she thanked Randy and Becky for coming, and Becky told her of the other teachers and friends from Hanover Falls who sent their condolences.
Claire introduced her friends to Reverend Crighton, who ushered the small group to the grave site.
Claire sat in one of the chairs, while the others gathered around, standing beside or behind her and placing their hands on her shoulders or the back of her chair. At first she felt awkward being the focus of everyone’s attentions, but soon she allowed the warmth of their touch to comfort and minister to her.
The message Reverend Crighton delivered was indeed one of redemption and victory, and Claire knew that Nana would have approved wholeheartedly.
When the brief service ended and she'd told Marjean and Norma good-bye, Claire walked with Becky to her car.
“Becky, you just can’t know how much it means to me that you and Randy drove all this way today. Thank you so much.”
She gave Becky a spontaneous hug and was surprised to sense in Becky’s demeanor that something was amiss. She held her friend at arm’s length and looked questioningly into her face.
“Becky? Is something wrong?”
Becky bit her lower lip and a brief smile played on her lips. “Claire, do you know that Michael is here?” Her gaze traveled to the opposite side of the cemetery, behind Claire. Claire turned and followed Becky’s line of vision to a narrow road at the far end of the grounds.
There, parked in the distance, was a familiar green pickup, and standing solemnly beside it, Michael Meredith.
Claire took in a sharp breath. “Oh, Becky. He came.”
“He’s been here the whole time
, Claire. He wasn’t sure you’d want him here, but he wanted to be near . . . just in case.”
Becky put her hands on Claire’s shoulders and pleaded. “Go to him, Claire. Please. Just talk to him. Please,” she begged, sensing Claire’s hesitancy.
“Will you wait?”
Becky looked anxiously toward the driver’s side where her husband sat waiting. “We left the boys with Randy’s mom. We really do need to start back. But I’ll see you back home,” she promised. “You’ll be coming back soon, won’t you?”
Becky’s simple question sparked a thought of such clarity that it almost took Claire’s breath. Suddenly she knew that what she was yearning for—aching for in her loneliness—was not some elusive, imaginary thing. She was homesick for Hanover Falls, for the friends she'd made there, for the home on Brookside Drive that waited to wrap her in its comfort, for the children at the school who loved her and needed her—even for a silly gray tomcat to warm her lap.
And yes, she ached for Michael’s touch. Perhaps that desire was one she would ultimately be denied, but she couldn’t deny the truth of her longing for him and for what they so briefly had together. Suddenly she could scarcely wait to see him, to hear his voice again.
She pulled Becky into a final hug. “I love you, Becky. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Becky gave her a playful nudge. “Go. Go on. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Claire turned and started across the grass, forcing herself not to run.
He met her halfway, eyes downcast, seemingly unsure of how she would receive him.
“Claire, I’m so sorry about your Nana.” He dipped his head, looking almost shy.
Her heart warmed at his use of her pet name for her grandmother.
Looking uncertain, he attempted a smile. “I… I hope you don’t mind that I came. I wanted to be here… for her. And for you.”
“Oh, Michael. I’m so glad you’re here!” The words came out in a sob. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but instead, she stood unmoving in front of him, taking in the contours of his face, the sun on his dark hair, the warmth in his eyes. How she'd missed him!
“Your grandmother was one of the few bright spots in my childhood, Claire. I’m realizing that I need to acknowledge that there were some good things about those years. She was a wonderful woman. I wanted to pay my respects.”
Claire shook her head. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. I could use a friend right now.”
“Do you want to walk for a while?”
She nodded and they set out down the gravel drive toward a hedgerow at the back of the cemetery grounds. A hot sun had broken through the haze of clouds, and the afternoon humidity felt more like July than October. Michael loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt before turning to her again.
“Are you doing okay, Claire? Really?”
Her eyes welled again and hot tears mingled with the perspiration that beaded her temples. “I’m crying a lot.” She smiled through the tears.
“You need to,” he said simply. “It’s healthy.”
“Well, then, I should be the picture of health.”
He laughed gently, and reaching for her hand, he steered her toward the shade of a long row of giant cottonwood trees. In the distance she saw Randy and Becky’s van pull out of the entrance. She was overwhelmed again with how much it had meant to her for these people to have been here on this difficult day. She tried to explain it all to Michael.
“As hard as it’s been to lose Nana, I’ve just been…” She paused, groping for the right word. “I’ve been surrounded by love. I know now what the Bible means when it says that His grace is sufficient, that His peace passes understanding. It’s all so true.”
“I know, Claire. I’ve felt it myself through the whole ordeal at Riverview.”
“I’ve thought about you so much these past days. I know this whole thing has been awful for you.”
“It has been awful. But I’ll get through it. Don’t worry about that.”
“I guess the important thing is that it’s over now. The . . . the killings, I mean.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to look at it quite that way yet, Claire. Three people lost their lives in the care of an institution that was under my administration. I carry full responsibility for that.”
“Do you… is there a chance that there will be legal action against you?”
“It’s possible.”
“Are you scared?”
He looked directly at her. “I’m not, Claire. I suppose I should be, but I know that God knows my heart and knows that my intentions were pure. I trust that He’ll take care of me—whatever happens.”
Claire was silent, thinking over this frightening possibility.
“I’m just so sorry this whole thing had to involve you, Claire. With your grandmother, I mean.”
“Maybe I’m still in shock. Maybe it’ll all hit me later, but somehow I don’t think so. I guess in some ways I’ve been preparing myself for Nana’s death for a long time now… as much as you can prepare yourself for something like that. The circumstances don’t really change the fact that she’s gone—and I’m alone now.”
He seemed to sense she was thinking aloud, and he let her go on without reply.
They walked in the shade, talking and thinking, Michael holding tightly to her hand while the giant cottonwoods whispered over their heads.
She began to share her memories of Nana with him, laughing over some of them, brought to tears by others.
After a while she fell silent and he ventured, “I hope your grandmother knew how fully her prayers for me were answered. I… I never really told her the whole story. There . . . there wasn’t time to say everything I wanted to say that day in her room.”
Claire nodded her understanding.
“I’ve been overwhelmed lately to think that she prayed for me all these years,” Michael continued. “I just hope she knew.”
Claire squeezed his hand and smiled up at him through tears. “She knew, Michael. She knew.”
They circled back to the place where the fresh grave of her grandmother marred the earth. The canopy and grass carpet were gone now, the casket forever buried under the mound of pungent black earth. The wind had toppled over one of the huge funeral sprays that had been placed at the foot of the grave. Michael stooped and reverently set it aright.
They stood silently together as Claire said her final good-byes, then he walked with her across the lawn to where his truck was parked.
He put down the tailgate, improvising a bench. They sat in companionable silence. Claire found such comfort—such belonging—in his presence.
“How did you know where the funeral was?” she finally asked, already suspecting the answer.
He grinned impishly. “I have quite a network of informants,” he told her.
“Becky.”
“And Millie, and the kid who mows your lawn, and . . .” He pretended to count off a lengthy list on his fingers.
“The boy who mows my lawn!” She laughed. “You are pitiful.”
“Claire?” He turned to her, suddenly serious. “You might as well know that nothing has changed in the way I feel about you. This isn’t the time to pressure you—I know that. We both have a lot of things to work through, but I have to know if I have even a prayer with you. . . .” He shrugged his frustration.
She shook her head slowly. “Michael, I thought I could run away from my feelings for you. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything I know to forget you, but you’ve haunted me everywhere I go.”
“Claire.” He reached up and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, then stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you. I still love you, Claire.”
To hear her name on his lips, to feel the warmth, the tender touch of his hand on her face made her realize beyond a doubt that her love for him had never dimmed, was stronger than ever if that were possible. But were all the worries, all the fear
s that had caused her to run from his love of her own imagination? Or were there valid reasons to be cautious?
She didn’t know, but of one thing she was certain. She loved this man, loved him in a way she'd never loved before. Sitting beside him in the quiet of the cemetery, she sought to examine that love—to hold it under the microscope of God’s truth and to see if it would be allowed her.
Lord, she prayed in the quietness of her heart, I so want to be in your will. I truly want to do what is right. I don’t want to make a mistake. Most of all, I don’t want to hurt Michael. He’s been hurt so deeply already. With your help, he’s overcome so much, and he deserves some happiness now. Could I ever possibly be part of that happiness?
Joy surged through her being as the sudden realization came. What she felt for Michael was not merely an infatuation or a romantic love, though the thrill of those emotions was undeniably there. But suddenly she knew why Michael’s grief had touched her so deeply, why the sorrows of his childhood wounded her as though they'd happened to her. Her love for Michael was pure and right! The emotion she felt for him was the selfless love of which the Scriptures spoke—the love that caused one to seek the other’s well-being above one’s own and to be joyful in the sacrifice. She knew now that she would be willing to stand beside him no matter what the future brought.
As all these thoughts bombarded her, Michael sat silent beside her. Now she turned to him. “Michael, I have never stopped loving you. If we go slowly . . . if there’s no doubt in either of our minds that God is blessing our relationship, I’m willing—oh, I’m so willing—to see where He leads us. I do love you.”
He took her hand in his, and Claire saw that his eyes brimmed with tears. “She told me you did.”
“What?” Claire was confused.
“Your grandmother . . . when she asked you to leave the room that day. She told me that you still loved me.”
Claire looked at him, startled. “Nana told you that?” she asked, then started to cry as he put his arm around her.
“She couldn’t have given me a greater gift, Claire.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and they sat that way—thinking, talking, praying—side by side on the tailgate of a green pickup truck, until the sun was low in the sky of a dying Indian summer.
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