Cam was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. As she brushed by him, Kirstie rose on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “’Bye, Pop. Love you.” And she was gone.
There was an awful silence in her wake.
Anabelle felt tears rising. “Oh, Cam,” she said, “I’m so worried about her—”
“Anabelle, just stop.”
Stunned by the curt, annoyed tone of her easygoing husband's voice, Anabelle fell silent.
Cam sighed. “She's right. You have to stop trying to baby her,” he said in a quieter tone, although the words were uncharacteristically blunt. “She's an adult and can make her own decisions. If she makes a poor one, she’ll learn from it. You can't keep doing things for her forever.”
“I wasn’t—I didn't mean to….” But she had. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she wanted to wrap her daughter in cotton batting and keep her safe for the rest of her life. She rose from the table and rushed toward the bedroom. “I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice.
“Anabelle…” Cam sounded as if he was coming after her.
“Don’t,” she got out. “You’re right. I need to step back. It's just so hard….” She rushed into their room and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in her arms.
“I know, honey.” Cam ignored her resistance. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he rubbed her back. “I’m sorry if I was harsh.”
“You were honest,” she said in a muffled tone. “I never know what to say to her anymore. She doesn't want to hear my concerns.”
“Maybe,” Cam suggested, “you should try just being her friend for a while. She seems to be handling herself just fine. If she needs us, I’m sure she’ll ask.”
Anabelle sighed. They sat in silence for a long time. Cam rubbed her back until finally, she sat up and slid over to perch beside him on the edge of the bed. “Thank you,” she said, heaving a sign that caught in the middle. “I owe Kirstie an apology, don't I?”
“And a promise that you’ll stop trying to manage her life for her,” Cam said, uncompromising despite the love he was offering. He put an arm around her, and she laid her head on his broad shoulder.
“All right.”
Cam released her and stood. “I’m going out to cut some flowers for her. I’ll drop them off on my way to Bible study breakfast tomorrow.” Cam met three of his friends for breakfast and a Bible study at the Parlor, a downtown restaurant, each week.
Oh no. Anabelle realized Kirstie had left in such a huff that she’d forgotten the dahlias her father had promised her. She felt even more awful. No wonder Cam was annoyed with her. How was she going to make herself stop being so frantic and worried?
Exhaling heavily, she dropped her head and clasped her hands in her lap. Lord, I surrender to You. I need help letting go of Kirstie. I need help trusting that she can take care of herself, and I need help accepting that she’ll make mistakes, and I can't always fix them.
Elena walked into Quintessa Smith's office. She carried a large paper bag which she handed to Quintessa with relief. “These are all brick orders! People have been handing them to me right and left all week.”
“We’ve gotten dozens of brick orders from the community already and a few other outright donations.” Quintessa smiled. “I was here until eight o’clock last night trying to get them recorded in the database.”
“Oh, Quintessa, thank you.” Elena was dismayed. “We need to get more help, don't we?”
Quintessa shrugged. “It's okay. It's not a problem for me to stay late. And I expect this mad rush to settle down soon, don't you?”
“Probably.” Elena grinned. “Although it would be nice if we kept getting this many donations continuously. Do you have any idea how much we’ve brought in?”
Quintessa hit a few keys and looked at her computer screen. “We were close to seventy-seven thousand before today.”
“Are you serious?” Elena was elated. “Seventy-seven thousand dollars!”
Quintessa smiled. “I know. It sounds like a lot of money, doesn't it?”
Elena's excitement slowly faded. She knew what her friend was trying to say. “Yes, it does,” she admitted. “Until I look at the hospital budget for one year and see that we need millions of dollars.”
“Millions is right,” Quintessa confirmed.
Elena's face fell. “This fund-raiser isn't going to make one little bit of difference, is it?” She sat down in a chair near Quintessa's desk, her shoulders slumping.
“Hey, now,” Quintessa said. “Keep the faith, girl. You’re the upbeat, positive force around here. You’ve made me believe we can do it; you can't stop now.”
Elena smiled, but her heart wasn't in it as she rose. “All right. I’ll do my best.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to meet my friends. I’ll come by after work and help you enter these forms and information if you like.”
“That would be great. See you then.” Quintessa turned back to her keyboard as Elena left the office.
Candace was waiting for her friends in the little hospital cafeteria. It had been raining earlier in the morning; and although it appeared to have stopped, the sky was still overcast, so no one wanted to take a chance on lunching outside.
James came in, and then Anabelle, with Elena right behind her.
“What's the special today?” Anabelle asked.
Candace indicated her tray. “Broccoli-cheese soup and a chicken sandwich. They’re both terrific.”
One by one, the others ordered and returned with their own trays, and soon the four of them were digging into their meals. Everyone seemed a little preoccupied, Candace thought. The mood was oddly subdued.
“What's the latest on the Wall of Hope?” She directed the question to Elena.
Elena sighed—a heavy sound that matched her somber expression. “The latest,” she mused. “Well, Quintessa has been keeping track of the donations coming in. As of this morning, we’re at a little over seventy-seven thousand.”
Anabelle leaned forward, smiling for the first time since she’d sat down. “I know. Isn't that great?”
Elena shrugged. “It is nice, I know. But do you have any idea how much money is required to keep this place in business for just one year?”
“Millions of dollars,” James said. “I can't begin to come up with an accurate guess, though.”
“Millions is right,” Elena said. “It's hopeless. We don't stand a chance of raising that much.”
“Wait a minute,” Candace said. “Why do you have to raise that much?”
Elena's eyebrows rose as if she didn't understand the question. “Because that's how much it takes to meet the hospital budget.”
“But the hospital brings in money,” Candace said. “It hasn't been operating in the red, according to the last budget I saw. The problem is that there's a gap between the annual projected income and the projected expenses, right?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Elena's eyes suddenly lit with hope and determination. “So we don't really have to raise millions. Well, maybe one million, but that might be doable.”
“And not just through the brick campaign,” James said. “There may be other ways to raise money that haven't been explored yet. The board must be discussing it.”
“I wouldn't count on that,” Elena said. “Mr. Innisk is still going to fight every effort, I’m sure.”
“Why?” James asked.
Elena shrugged. “Because he's a curmudgeon.”
“Good word,” James said approvingly.
They all laughed. Then Candace said, “I don't think you have to worry about Mr. Innisk trying to derail your project anymore.”
The other three turned and stared at her. “What do you know that we don’t?” demanded Elena.
Candace chuckled. Then she shared with them the information she had received from Mrs. Hunt.
“Oh, Candace, thank you! I can't believe you managed to render Mr. Innisk ineffective!” said Elena.
“It wasn't me,�
� Candace demurred. “It was Mrs. Hunt.”
“Who never would have known about it if you hadn't spoken up.” Anabelle squeezed her hand.
“And thank you for reminding me that I don't have to come up with the entire year's income,” Elena added. “I got so wigged-out worrying about all that money that I completely forgot the fate of the entire hospital doesn't rest solely on this little fund-raiser.”
“You’re welcome,” Candace said.
“There's nothing little about the Wall of Hope,” Anabelle said in a firm voice. “It's an excellent idea, and I have faith that it will prove to be a good way to help save this place.”
Elena beamed. “What would I do without you?” she asked rhetorically, looking around at her friends.
“I don't know about you, but I would be in a poorer place spiritually,” Anabelle said, “without this group's support.”
“Me too,” Candace said. She looked at Anabelle. “You’ve been quiet today. Is something bothering you that you’d like to share?”
Anabelle was silent for a moment. She set down her soup spoon and picked up her napkin, dabbing at her lips. “I don't want to share it, mostly because it makes me look like a controlling, interfering mother, but I’m going to anyway.”
Candace, James and Elena listened as Anabelle confessed her recent attempts to direct Kirstie's life. “It's so hard to stand back and not say anything,” she said, lowering her head.
“I’m sure it is.” Candace smiled sympathetically. “We’re all parents here; we all can imagine how difficult it must be to step back after years of pouring your energy into protecting and helping your child.”
Anabelle nodded. “That's exactly it. And the worst part is, I know better. While I’m babbling away, a part of me is looking on, horrified, thinking, Shut up, shut up!”
James chuckled. “Sorry,” he said. “It's just that I know that feeling. Sometimes when Gideon and I are at odds over something, I can hear my father's voice speaking right out of my mouth. And believe me, channeling my dad is the last thing I ever want to do.”
Elena's eyebrows rose. “Bad memories?”
James shrugged. “He was a good man and a hard worker. But he could find more things to criticize than anybody I ever met.” He shook his head ruefully. He looked back at Anabelle. “So what are you going to do now?” he asked.
The older woman raised her hands helplessly. “I’m not sure. Apologize, for sure. Any suggestions?”
Silence fell over the little group.
“Prayer,” Elena said after a moment. “When Rafael got his girlfriend pregnant, we had some very harsh exchanges of words. If I had been a person of faith back then, I might have handled it very differently. I like to think I would have given it to God.”
“That's easy to say, but tough to do,” Candace commented.
Elena nodded. “I tried to fix everything when I saw the relationship crumbling. I was constantly after Rafael to get counseling, to get the girl into drug rehab—”
“She was doing drugs while she was pregnant?” Candace asked.
Elena nodded. “It was not a good time,” she said in what was clearly a massive understatement. “Looking back, I see I should have stepped back, and let God be with him through his troubles. I should have prayed for them and invited them to pray too.”
“That's exactly what I should do,” Anabelle said. “As difficult as it is, I have to let God be with Kirstie as she makes her own way as an adult. I need to back off and ask God to guide and protect her.” She looked around at her friends. “And I need all of you to pray for me to have the ability to do so.”
“We’ll be glad to,” Candace said.
“While you’re at it,” James said, “please continue to pray for me.” He took a deep breath. “I was offered that job at Children's in Peoria.”
Anabelle took a deep, dismayed breath, and Elena looked stricken. Candace rushed to fill the silence. “Congratulations,” she said warmly. She felt her smile slip a little, and she firmly pinned it back in place. “When do you start?”
“Well, that's the thing.” James rubbed the back of his neck and then caught himself. It was a gesture he only made when he was stressed. “I haven't accepted it yet. They’ve given me a week to decide.”
“What's holding you back?” Elena asked.
“I just found out this morning,” James said, “and I haven't even told Fern yet. She's going to be uneasy at the thought of moving away from her family and friends. And honestly, it's a scary idea for me too. She has a strong support network here that gets her through the bad days. If we move and she's alone most of the time, she's going to have trouble getting back and forth to doctors’ appointments and therapies; and I’m afraid she might get depressed being by herself so much.”
“But surely there are support groups she could join in Peoria,” Candace suggested. “I know it wouldn't be like family; but still, it might be a good way to meet some people.”
“And when you find a church, you’ll make friends there,” Anabelle pointed out.
James sighed. “Those are exactly the things I’m going to say. I would appreciate any prayer support you’ve got around, say, four o’clock today.”
“You’ve got it,” Anabelle said.
“Prayer support,” Elena said. “I have another idea.”
“Uh-oh.” James mimed cowering behind his raised hands. “She's got another idea. Everyone take cover.”
Elena balled her fist and gently tapped him on the arm. “Very funny.” Then she sobered. “I’m going to talk to the chaplain. The four of us have been praying on a regular basis, but what if we had a prayer service to lift up the Wall of Hope and the hospital's budget crisis?”
Anabelle cocked her head thoughtfully as James and Candace nodded. “Excellent idea. The more prayers we can muster, the better.”
“I’ll talk to Pastor Tom today,” Elena said.
Chapter Twenty
JAMES PICKED UP HIS SONS FROM SUMMER activities when he got off work.
As the three of them headed home in the minivan, Gideon said, “I can't wait until I can drive.”
James was taken aback. His kids were growing up too fast as it was. “You’ve got a while to wait,” he pointed out to the fourteen-year-old. “And even when you do get a license, we aren't going to have a vehicle for you to drive.” Which was true. They had sold Fern's car several years ago when it became apparent she would no longer be able to drive safely.
“I can buy one.”
“With what? Your imagination?”
Gideon was sitting in the front passenger seat, and James saw his son's jaw set as he responded. “I want to get a job when I turn fifteen.”
Not a chance. But James said nothing aloud.
“Dad? Can I?”
“We can discuss it after your birthday,” James told him. “But I’ll be honest. I would have a lot of concerns about your working. I’m afraid it would interfere with your schoolwork, Scouting and your other activities.” He smiled over at his son. “You have the rest of your life to work.”
Gideon scowled. “I’ll have the rest of my life to drive too, if I ever get a car.”
James sighed. He was not going to get sucked into a fight about this subject, when it was still almost a year and a half away. “We can talk more about it later. In the meantime, why don't you estimate a budget of how much a car might cost, plus your costs for insurance, maintenance, registration and gas?”
“Huh?” Gideon looked shocked. “I have to pay for all that stuff?”
“Someone does,” James told him. “Cars aren't free.”
Gideon glared at him for a moment and then turned away, slouching in his seat and looking out the window.
From behind them, Nelson said, “Hey, Dad! Wanna play basketball when we get home?”
“I can't tonight, son,” James replied. “Your mother and I have to discuss something important.”
“Can't you do it later?” Nelson's voice held disappointment.
“Sorry, sport. We can't play ball tonight,” James said. He hated to turn Nelson down; it wasn't often that his second son wanted to play basketball.
When James and the boys arrived at the house, Gideon and Nelson rushed inside. James followed more slowly.
Fern wasn't in the kitchen this evening, but the room was filled with the delicious smell of the vegetable soup that he’d been simmering in the Crock-Pot throughout the day.
“Hi, honey,” he called.
“Hello.” Her voice came from the living room.
Moving into the adjoining room, James found Fern seated in her favorite chair. “Hey. How was your day?”
She had been using the computer; but she turned as he came closer, lifting her face for his kiss. “Not bad at all. How about yours?”
James hesitated. “Mine was interesting. I’ll tell you about it after I go change.” Rising, he crossed to the stairs, ascended to the second floor, and poked his head into his son’s room.
Gideon was hammering something out on his keyboard. When James asked him about it, he replied, “Chatting online,” without even looking up.
Gideon still was stewing about their car conversation, James realized. Quietly, he backed out of the room.
Across the hall, Nelson was playing a Nintendo game, complete with the sounds of explosions and gunshots. James winced. Despite the example he tried to provide for his sons, pop culture was a powerful influence.
He stuck his head into the room. “Have you practiced your saxophone this week?”
“Only a little.” Nelson didn't look away from the screen.
James opened the door wider. “Practice before game time,” he said firmly. When Nelson still didn't respond, he said, “Or I take the Nintendo.”
“Aww, Dad, just one more minute.”
“All right.” James stood there and counted off the seconds on his watch. At the one minute mark, he said, “Okay. Time's up. Game off.”
Nelson sighed, but he turned off the Nintendo, knowing there would indeed be a consequence if he didn't practice his saxophone, which he had begged his parents to buy him.
“The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be done.” James waited until his son unclipped his case and pulled out the shiny instrument.
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