Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She grabbed him around the torso, and her crutches hit the floor, but neither of them let loose. Not even when a passerby sniped, “Get a room, buddy,” and others laughed. She didn’t care what anyone thought. After the past few stress-filled days, she needed comfort, and she would accept every bit of it Sean was willing to offer.

  When they finally broke apart, she realized someone had rested her crutches against the foot-high edge of the carousel. Sean picked them up and handed them to her, and she got them in position while smiling her thanks.

  He smiled, too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve had a rough couple of days. You okay?”

  “No.” No need to fib. He knew her well enough to see the truth anyway. “I’d rather be with Mom and Grandma. But this is what Grandma wants me to do, and I won’t let her down.” The same determination that had carried her forward since the doctor’s discovery filled her again. She would find out what happened to Maggie. She wouldn’t disappoint her grandmother.

  The carousel’s warning buzzer sounded, and then the black belt groaned into motion.

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze, then pointed to a bench between carousels. “Wait for me over there. I’ll get your luggage.” He grinned. “I know what it looks like.”

  “Only the biggest one. I left my smaller suitcase and duffle at Grandma’s.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She worked her way between others waiting for their luggage. Three women wearing matching Red Hat Society T-shirts and purple feather boas had already claimed the bench Sean indicated. They were jabbering and laughing and didn’t even glance up as she approached, so she stood beside the bench, leaned on her crutches, and stared at the backs of passengers crowded around the carousel.

  She lost sight of Sean in the throng, but she didn’t need to see him to sense his presence. Her frame still tingled from the strength of his hug. How had he known how much she needed that hug? In all their years of working together, they’d never embraced. High-fived, fist-bumped, nudged each other with their shoulders, once even grabbed hands briefly—a silent bestowing of strength—before ringing the doorbell of a family who’d been waiting for ten years for word on their missing grandfather. But never something as personal as a hug. Would it change things between them?

  A pair of men parted and Sean emerged through the gap, her large suitcase in hand. “You ready?”

  She nodded, and they made their way out of the airport to the parking garage and his waiting ’96 Bronco. He tossed her suitcase in back with as much ease as most people would throw a feather pillow and then took her crutches. She balanced on one foot while he laid them in the back and closed the hatch. Then he escorted her to the passenger door, letting her hang on his arm and hop on her good foot.

  As he unlocked the truck, he grinned at her. “Need a boost?” He’d asked the same thing the morning he picked her up for the drive to the airport to catch her flight to Las Vegas, and she gave him the same wrinkled-nose grimace she’d offered then. His laughter rang.

  She climbed in, grunting a bit with the effort, and settled into the seat. The familiar worn mustard-colored leather offered her the second embrace since her arrival. A sigh escaped without her even realizing it.

  He nodded as if agreeing with something she’d said and slammed her door. He jogged around the front of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. He eased out of the tight parking spot. “You hungry? Thirsty? Need to stop anywhere before I take you home?”

  She leaned her head back and enjoyed the flow of cool air on her throat. “I don’t need a thing, thanks.”

  “Then we’ll just get you to your place so you can relax.” He stopped at the exit’s crossing arm and rolled down his window.

  Meghan grabbed her purse. “Let me pay for the parking.”

  His wallet was already out, credit card in hand. “I’ve got it.” He poked the card in the machine and pushed a few buttons, and the arm rose. As he pulled out of the garage, he shot a grin at her. “I’ll let you buy the first soft drink when we hit the road.”

  “Deal.” She wriggled in a little more comfortably and propped her arm on the window ledge. “What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”

  He draped one wrist over the top of the steering wheel. “I was thinking two or two thirty. It’s only about three and a half hours to Bentonville, so that would put us there around suppertime. Give us a few hours to get unpacked, relax, and be ready to hit the ground running Monday morning. Sound okay?”

  And give him time to attend church service. “Yeah, that sounds fine. Where is your reservation?” The unit never sprang for five-star hotels. Not that Bentonville, Arkansas, had any five-star hotels. But she’d be satisfied with something clean. And available.

  “Ratzlaff arranged a business suite at the new hotel north of Bentonville. All their suites have two bedrooms with a sitting and cooking area between them.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “If Sanderson was going with me, I’d put him up in the second bedroom. But I took the liberty of reserving a single handicapped room for you.”

  She wouldn’t have expected anything less. She knew he wouldn’t try anything funny if they did share the double suite, but with her in a different room, there’d be fewer speculations by the others in the unit. Her reputation was always safe with Sean. She appreciated it, and she told him so.

  “No problem. The nice thing is all the handicapped rooms are on the first floor, so you won’t even have to fight with an elevator.”

  They crossed the river, and Meghan enjoyed the view of the wide blue-gray ribbon of water weaving toward the eastern horizon. “Ah…I’ve missed seeing the Arkansas River every day.” She remembered something and shifted to face Sean. “Grandma said that when she hired workers to put the pond in her backyard, she told them she didn’t want a round or oval or even kidney-shaped pond. She wanted one as crooked as a dog’s hind leg to remind her of the Arkansas River.”

  Sean burst out laughing. “Crooked as a dog’s hind leg?”

  Meghan nodded, grinning. “They told her she was crazy, but guess what? They did it. She’s got a mini–Arkansas River in her backyard in Kendrickson.” Sadness fell over her with such force her lungs lost their ability to draw a breath. She swallowed hard. “We’ve got to find out what happened to Maggie for her, Sean. We have to.”

  He reached across the console and took her hand. “Let me tell you what my grandmother used to say. ‘Do your best and trust God with the rest. That’s the way to find peace.’ ” He squeezed her hand, the touch gentle and reassuring. “I’ve learned she was right.”

  “Grandmas often are.”

  He lobbed a smile at her and released her hand. He pulled into the parking area for her apartment building and found an open space near the courtyard. “I’ll walk you in. You take it easy between now and heading for Bentonville tomorrow. Flying will wear a person out.”

  She pushed her lips into a wobbly grin. “The airplane did all the work. I didn’t have to flap my arms or anything, you know.”

  She expected him to laugh, but instead he fixed her with a serious look. “Then if you aren’t worn out, how about I pick you up earlier, say…nine fifteen, and you can go to Sunday school and church with me.”

  He’d invited her before. At least a dozen times. And each time she’d politely declined. She drew in a slow breath. “You know what, Sean? I think I’d like that. I’ll be ready.”

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Hazel

  The smell of frying bacon pulled Hazel from a sound sleep Sunday morning. She rolled over and squinted at the little clock on her nightstand. The dial showed six fifteen. Her alarm wouldn’t ring for another fifteen minutes, but how could she sleep with that wonderful aroma beckoning?

  She forced her stiff limbs to carry her out of bed and to the hallway. She sniffed as she moved up the dark corridor. Was she imagining things? Maybe someone’s house had caught fire. Maybe some teenagers had decided to race on a nearby street and burned rubber. M
aybe only wishful thinking made her identify the scent as bacon. But the closer she got to the kitchen, the stronger the aroma, and her ears detected the distinctive crackle of grease in a pan. Yes, someone was cooking bacon.

  She stepped from the living room carpet to the kitchen ceramic tile and gawked in astonishment. “Margaret Diane, what on earth are you doing?”

  Her daughter turned, spatula in hand, and gawked back. She’d donned one of Hazel’s aprons over her jeans and T-shirt. Little grease dots spattered the bib. “Why are you up already?”

  Hazel moved a few inches closer to the counter, where her electric skillet held no fewer than a dozen slices of bacon. “I smelled bacon cooking and I thought a burglar had broken in.”

  Margaret Diane arched one eyebrow. “A burglar…fixing himself breakfast?”

  It made more sense than finding her vegan daughter frying pork. Hazel frowned and pointed at the pan. “Is that real meat or something simulated from tofu?”

  “It’s real.” Margaret Diane faced the skillet and began flipping the curling lengths of bacon. A resounding sizzle rose as she laid each piece back in the grease. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the all-night grocer over on Market Street about an hour ago. Since you’re up, would you want to start toasting the English muffins? As soon as the bacon is done, I’ll fry some eggs and we can make our own breakfast sandwiches.”

  Hazel remained rooted in place. She must be dreaming. She shook her head. Hard. A shake guaranteed to wake someone. But the scene didn’t dissipate. “Are you all right?”

  Margaret Diane grabbed a plate from the cupboard and layered it with paper towels. “I’m fine. I was just hungry for bacon and decided to make enough for both of us.”

  She’d made enough for the two of them, the neighbors, and all four dogs. “But you’re vegan.”

  Margaret Diane aimed a sour look over her shoulder. “Toast the muffins, Mother.”

  Hazel decided not to argue. She slipped an apron into place and put the toaster to work. Fifteen minutes later they sat across from each other at the breakfast table and put together sandwiches. Hazel applied butter to her English muffins, but Margaret Diane slathered hers with mayonnaise. She also poured herself a cup of coffee and added cream.

  Hazel tried to hold her tongue, but when Margaret Diane scuffed to the refrigerator and retrieved the package of processed cheese slices, she couldn’t stay silent. “What is the matter with you?”

  Margaret Diane flopped into her chair and peeled the wrapper off a slice of cheese. “Why do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

  Hazel gestured mutely to the items on the table. She didn’t mention the early hour, although it certainly rolled through the back of her mind.

  She shrugged. “We ate things like this all the time when I was growing up. I’ve been subjecting you to my food since I got here. So I decided, just this once, I’d cater to your preferences.”

  Hazel considered mentioning the doctor’s warning about eating saturated fats and processed foods. But why start an argument first thing on a Sunday morning? “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  Margaret Diane broke off the corner from a slice of cheese and poked it into her mouth. “Too bad Meghan isn’t here to have one. She’s nuts about the fast-food muffin-and-egg breakfast sandwiches.”

  Her daughter had given her a small hint. Hazel put her hand on Margaret Diane’s arm. “It does seem lonely here without her, doesn’t it?”

  Margaret Diane pulled her arm free. She folded a piece of bacon to fit the bottom half of a muffin, meticulously adjusting it so it didn’t stick out over the edge. “I hope she doesn’t overdo. The surgeon who put her ankle back together said it was a bad break and she needed lots of rest.”

  “Is that why you came out—to make sure she rested?”

  Margaret Diane met Hazel’s gaze. “In part.” She slapped the top on her sandwich and lifted it to her mouth, but she paused before she took a bite. “Did you want to say grace?”

  Unexpectedly, Hazel battled a rush of emotion. It no longer mattered what had compelled Margaret Diane to visit the grocery store in the early morning hours and shop for foods she hadn’t eaten in over a year. All that mattered was she and her daughter were sharing breakfast on Sunday morning and she’d been given permission to ask a blessing over the food.

  She nodded.

  Margaret Diane put the sandwich on her plate and stretched her hand toward Hazel. Bacon grease, bread crumbs, and a dot of mayonnaise decorated her fingers. But Hazel took hold and held tight. She offered a short prayer, pushing the words past a lump of happiness in the back of her throat, and nearly crowed with joy when Margaret Diane echoed, “Amen.”

  They both picked up their sandwiches. Before Hazel took her first bite, she sent a hopeful look across the table. “We’re up in plenty of time. Would you want to…go with me…to church?”

  Margaret Diane chewed, swallowed, licked mayonnaise from her thumb, and finally shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Oh. Oh, my…” Hazel gulped, almost too overcome to speak. “Thank you.”

  Margaret Diane flicked an unsmiling glance at Hazel and then focused on her sandwich. “No problem.”

  Not even a smidgen of enthusiasm colored her tone, but Hazel didn’t care a bit. More than twenty years had passed since she’d shared a pew with her daughter. She laughed, unable to hold her joy inside. “First bacon, and now this! And it isn’t even my birthday yet.”

  A grin twitched on the corner of Margaret Diane’s lips. “Well, don’t give yourself a stroke. Eat.”

  Still laughing, Hazel cheerfully complied.

  Thirty-Two

  Cumpton, Arkansas

  Sean

  Sean pulled onto the dirt road that served as Cumpton’s main street at nine thirty Monday morning. Meghan had sat silently the entire drive from Bentonville, examining the information he’d collected. As he slowed the truck to a crawl, she looked up from the printed pages and gave a start. “Is this Cumpton?”

  “That’s what the sign on the edge of town said.” The letters on the old warped wood were faded, but he’d been able to read them anyway.

  Meghan turned a baffled look on him. “This is…I don’t know what to call it.”

  “I know. Not much left here.” Sean scanned the time-worn structures on both sides of the street. The brick false fronts rose to varying heights, with the tallest front on Cumpton Bank & Trust. Nearly every business boasted the name of the town—Cumpton General Merchandise, Cumpton Pharmacy & Drugstore, Cumpton Ready-Mades Shop. Clearly, at one time, people had taken great pride in their little community.

  Although abandoned now, none of the buildings had broken or boarded-up windows. The raised, warped plank sidewalks weren’t littered with trash or overgrown with weeds, the way one would expect in a near–ghost town. So someone still took time to keep the street looking neat. Maybe the owner of Cumpton Full-Service Gas. Lights glowed behind the plate-glass window of the tiny red brick building on the corner. A rusting, old-fashioned gas pump topped with a disc sporting a red flying horse stood sentry next to a modern-day pump.

  He released a low whistle. Several years back, he’d watched a late-night science-fiction movie—obviously a low-budget flick—about a town struck by a meteor that froze it in 1930-something. He got the eerie feeling they’d just stumbled onto the movie set. If he pulled into the station, would the owner bustle out and offer to wash his windshield?

  Meghan sat forward with her hands on the dash, her gaze roving from right to left. “The town is nothing like Grandma described.”

  “When was she here last?”

  “For my great-grandmother’s funeral—in the late sixties.”

  “A lot can change in forty-five years, Meghan.”

  “Obviously.”

  A block east of the business area, they found a two-story brick schoolhouse. A limestone rectangular block above the padlocked front door was carved with letters announcing Cumpton Public School. On the north
side of the building, dilapidated playground equipment stood silently in the overgrown play yard. The remains of a basketball court, the goal’s rusty post empty of a hoop, sat in the middle of weeds on the south side. Bent venetian blinds flopped outside a broken window, rattling in the wind.

  Meghan pointed. “That was Grandma’s school. All twelve grades went there.”

  “Nobody’s gone there for a long time.”

  She nodded, her face sad.

  He drove through residential streets, which proved more disheartening than the business area. At least all the buildings, even if the businesses were no longer in operation, still stood. But fewer than three houses in various states of upkeep remained on each block. The other lots held rock foundations, some still supporting partial walls and all surrounded by waist-high weeds and trees badly in need of trimming. An occasional crumbling chimney pointed at the sky. What had the town been like in its heyday? His imagination wasn’t vivid enough to paint the picture, but he bet Hazel DeFord would have been able to fill in the blanks.

  “I’m glad Grandma didn’t come with me to see this.”

  He offered Meghan a smile of understanding. He pulled under a maple tree so big the boughs reached almost all the way across the street. He put the truck in park but left the engine running so they could enjoy the AC. “What do you want to do? Start knocking on doors of the houses that still look occupied?”

  “I guess so.” Meghan placed the sheet of paper she’d brought with the names of people her grandmother mentioned on the console, and they both leaned in to examine it. “Maybe somebody will remember some of these people and can—”

  Tap-tap-tap!

  They both raised their heads at the same time, and Meghan’s startled gaze moved beyond his shoulder. She pointed silently. Sean turned to look in the direction of her finger, and he drew back in surprise. A woman with a scraggly gray topknot and a narrow face as wrinkled as crumpled parchment stood outside the truck and peered in through the window. She tapped on the glass again and then swirled her hand.