Lean on Me (Stories from hope haven)

by Leslie Gould

  “Remember the one with alcohol poisoning a couple of weeks ago?”

  Elena sat down across from her husband. She vaguely remembered.

  “He was at the park, passed out, before noon.”

  “Oh dear,” Elena said.

  “He has a son who was injured in Iraq.”

  Elena put her hand over her heart. “Does he have a wife?”

  Cesar nodded as he swallowed. “Says she doesn’t want him to come back home. She’s done with him.”

  “Oh dear,” Elena said again.

  Cesar met her eyes. “Why do people risk so much? What makes it worth it?”

  “Addictions make people do all sorts of things they wouldn’t otherwise.”

  “Why would he risk his marriage?” Cesar wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  Elena shrugged. Cesar knew as much about human nature as she did—probably more. “Could be his pain is greater than his logic right now,” she answered just as the doorbell rang.

  Cesar went back to eating his dinner.

  Elena opened the front door and ushered Anabelle in. Anabelle had just stepped into the living room as Izzy came running in, her long, curly hair free around her shoulders, bouncing against the soft cotton of her pajamas.

  “Aunt Anabelle!”

  Anabelle scooped her up into a hug.

  “Will you read to me?” the little girl asked, pointing to the stack of books on the coffee table.

  Anabelle quickly agreed, and as the two settled in, Elena hurried back to the kitchen to gather up bowls and napkins. While she arranged everything, she kept an ear on Anabelle and Izzy.

  “How about if you read to me now?” Anabelle asked.

  “Okay,” Izzy said. “How about this book?”

  As Izzy began to read, Elena recognized the story of The Runaway Bunny. She hadn’t read it to Izzy for months, but it seems the little girl was reading it word for word, at least from what Elena remembered.

  Anabelle looked longingly at Izzy’s stack of books on Elena’s coffee table as Dr. Hamilton called the meeting to order. If only she could have read to Izzy all evening instead of having to deal with the advisory committee. Everyone seemed as tense as ever, regardless of Elena’s hospitality.

  Varner asked if he could have the floor first and Dr. Hamilton nodded. “The newspaper is looking to do another story. Has a reporter contacted any of you?”

  All of the members responded that they hadn’t been approached.

  “Does anyone know if James Bell’s been contacted?”

  Everyone shook his or her head again.

  “He hasn’t or no one knows?” Varner’s voice was full of frustration.

  Everyone indicated they didn’t know, all at once.

  “Why do you ask?” Anabelle opened her notebook.

  “The reporter who called me had a lot of questions about James. I think she wants to do a human interest story on him.”

  “Cool,” Elena said.

  Varner bristled. “Not cool. There’s no way the piece would be sympathetic toward the hospital. It would only stir up more trouble.”

  “James wouldn’t speak against Hope Haven,” Anabelle said, digging in her purse.

  Elena opened the drawer of the end table next to her, pulled out a pen, and tossed it to her friend.

  “Thanks,” Anabelle mouthed.

  “If any of you hear from James, please let me know.” Varner leaned back in the wingback chair.

  Anabelle wanted to roll her eyes. Now they were being treated like a spy ring.

  “Since we’re supposed to be an advisory committee,” Dr. Hamilton said, taking back control of the meeting. “I would like each member to go around the room and report to Albert and then offer him their advice.”

  Varner frowned.

  “Starting with you, Anabelle.”

  “I have a couple of things.” She told the committee about having coffee with the mayor and what he said about the manufacturing company who wanted to open a shop in town and their hesitation to do so. “This isn’t just affecting us. It’s going to affect the economy of the whole town.”

  Varner looked uncomfortable.

  “Maybe we could approach the company. Maybe they and other businesses in town could contribute to a ‘Keep Hope Haven Open’ fund,” Anabelle said.

  “Unless they have a billionaire backing them, it wouldn’t be enough,” Varner said.

  Anabelle wished McGarry had attended the meeting. He seemed to at least have a measure of optimism compared to Varner’s dour attitude.

  Next Anabelle shared about Marie and how she needed to lay her off but the single mom had been out yesterday and today with her sick child. “She’s used up all of her sick days and her vacation time,” Anabelle said. “And when she comes in, I’m going to have to tell her she doesn’t have a job.”

  “Why have you waited?” Varner was sitting up straight in his chair. “You should have called her.”

  Everyone in the room was silent for a moment and then Dr. Hamilton said, “That’s a hard phone call to make. I agree with Anabelle that it’s something easier to communicate in person.”

  “Then go to her house,” Varner said.

  House? Anabelle picked up her pen. Try apartment.

  “Anything else, Anabelle?” Dr. Hamilton’s gray eyes were gentle.

  She shook her head, afraid that if she spoke she might start crying.

  Candace quickly reported that two couples in her labor and delivery class had opted out because of rumors that the Birthing Unit at Hope Haven was going to close.

  “Did you actually talk to these people?” Varner asked.

  “I spoke with one of the moms, and the other left a message. Both cited the same reason.”

  Varner crossed his arms. “We have not decided to close the obstetrics wing.”

  Candace’s voice was firm. “One of the mothers is the niece of a board member. She told her the Birthing Unit might close, so obviously the board has talked about it.”

  “They’ve talked about a lot of things,” Varner answered.

  Dr. Hamilton nodded toward Elena.

  “I have nothing to report,” she said, “except there’s more cobbler, ice cream, and decaf. How about a little break?”

  No one actually took seconds, except coffee, but everyone was relieved to get up and move around for a few minutes. Except for Varner; he stayed glued to his chair, poking away at his smartphone.

  When they gathered again, Dr. Hamilton asked for a report from Heath.

  “I heard back from my buddy,” he said.

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Candace chimed in, visibly surprised.

  “He called after work.” Heath blushed a little, looking as if he were aware of his faux pas in not telling Candace his information first. “Anyway,” he said, “it turns out that he has a heart for nonprofits. On the side, he offers consulting services on grant writing to struggling organizations.”

  “How much does he charge?” Varner grumbled.

  “You won’t believe this,” Heath said. “He only asks for expenses.”

  “Wow.” Candace looked appreciatively at Heath. “He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

  Heath agreed and then said, “But it gets better. He’d like to visit Deerford and give us some ideas as far as grants, but—and this is the unbelievable part–by the time we’d talked he’d already done some research on Hope Haven. It seems like he might be interested in the CIO position. He’s been looking for a small town to relocate his family to.”

  Varner winced. “Who said we have a CIO position? It’s not in the budget.”

  “I told him that. He said he’d still like to take a look at the town and hospital. And at the informatics programs we have in place so he can advise us about writing grants.”

  “He’s from California, right?” Varner clutched the arm of the chair.

  “He’s been living there. He’s from a small town in Washington originally.”

  Varner leaned forward. “
And he works for an e-charting company?”

  Heath nodded.

  “There’s no way he’d be interested in coming here.”

  Heath shrugged. “Like I said, he usually asks for his expenses to be paid to consult with nonprofits, but he’s paying for his way out, so we have nothing to lose.”

  Varner crossed his arms. “But why would he be interested in Deerford at all?”

  Heath smiled. “His wife grew up in the Midwest. She wants their kids raised in the same environment she was.”

  There were soft murmurs around the room, and Candace smiled.

  “What’s the guy’s name?” Varner asked, pulling out his smartphone. Anabelle wondered if he planned to do an Internet search on the spot.

  “Skip Mullen,” Heath replied and then paused for a beat. “Lloyd Mullen. But everyone calls him Skip.”

  Anabelle wrote down Heath’s words, verbatim. For a moment, she felt optimistic—until she remembered she needed to let Marie go tomorrow, one way or the other.

  Candace had gone for a walk before the meeting, trying to squeeze in a little exercise and ended at Elena’s house. Afterward Heath insisted on giving her a ride home, even though it was only five blocks away.

  “That was the best of our meetings yet,” Heath said.

  “It was still stressful,” Candace said. If Varner wouldn’t come to the meetings, they might be able to accomplish something, but he was a dark cloud, threatening doom and gloom.

  Heath didn’t respond and they drove in silence for a moment as Candace wondered if perhaps he was growing tired of her pessimism. Finally she said, “It’s easier for you. You don’t have to worry about how you’ll feed your family.”

  Heath shot her a quick glance and then said, “Ouch.”

  “I just don’t think you’re taking the Hope Haven dilemma seriously.”

  “Candace.” Heath turned onto her street. “Your worries are my worries, honestly.”

  Candace crossed her arms. “Do you think your friend will be able to help?”

  “I don’t have any idea.” Heath parked his Jeep along the curb in front of Candace’s house.

  The living room light was on and so was Brooke’s bedroom lamp. Her curtain fluttered a little. Candace turned her attention back to Heath. “Are you annoyed with me for worrying?” She reached for the door handle.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “But you were so quiet there for a while. I thought…”

  Heath tapped the side of his head. “I was thinking about something else. I need to talk with you—that’s all.” His forehead wrinkled and he looked as if he was at a loss for words.

  Candace’s heart rate quickened, and the door handle, which had felt cool to her touch a moment ago, was suddenly warm.

  His voice was a little shaky. “I was wondering”–he took a deep breath–“if…”

  Candace couldn’t speak to help him out because she had no idea what he was trying to say.

  “It just seems that so much of our energy is going into the hospital.” Heath stopped. “And not as much into our relationship lately.”

  A rush of realization overcame Candace. He was right.

  “It’s not that Hope Haven isn’t important—because it is. But I think our relationship is more important. I don’t think we should hit Pause because of all this.” He was looking at her now, his blue eyes intense and serious.

  “I’m sorry.” Candace reached out and took his hand.

  “No, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

  “No, I tend to focus on one thing. I’ve been obsessing about what’s going to happen with Hope Haven. Dwelling on it relentlessly. Trying to figure out what I’ll do if it closes.”

  Heath put his arm around her, drawing her close. “I’m here for you. And the kids.”

  She brushed at a tear that escaped from her eyes. And then another. It had been so long since she had someone to rely on, that she almost couldn’t remember how to do it.

  Heath lifted her chin and met her gaze. He smiled a little, showing his dimples. Then he kissed her. A sweet, lingering kiss. She clung to him.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  She nodded, her head tucked against his neck.

  “I love you.”

  Candace’s heart lifted at his sweet words. “I love you too,” she responded. She felt his love for her and hers for him. It was a joy that gave her new hope.

  As Heath walked her to her front door, the curtain in Brooke’s window fluttered; a moment later, her light flickered off. Candace wondered what Brooke could see from her room. After one last hug and quick kiss, Candace told Heath good-bye and slipped through the front door, locking it safely behind her. Inside, her hand still on the knob of the door that she’d just pushed closed, she leaned her forehead against the wood. A moment later she heard Heath’s Jeep start. She listened as the sound of it faded away.

  Her joy faded into loneliness as she started up the stairway to her room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JAMES SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE NEXT TO Gideon. It was eleven thirty, and Fern had been asleep for hours. He yawned. James was looking forward to his turn.

  “It’s so late,” he said to his oldest son. “Can’t this wait?”

  “I just have a few more questions,” Gideon said. “I don’t get the differentiation functions.”

  James was pretty sure he didn’t either, especially this late at night. He scooted closer to his son and tried to concentrate on the open textbook between them. “Do you have your list of trig derivatives?” James asked.

  Gideon pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook.

  “Which one do you need to plug into the first problem?”

  Gideon hesitated and then said, “Number four?”

  “I think that’s right.” James realized he wasn’t sure.

  Gideon groaned. “Think? Dad, you took this stuff in school.”

  “College trig was eons ago,” he said. “Do what you can tonight and then go in early tomorrow and check in with your teacher.” James stood.

  “Dad.” Gideon’s eyes were soft and vulnerable. “Are we doing okay?”

  James sat back down. “What do you mean?”

  “Mom was paying the bills this afternoon when I got home from school, and she seemed stressed.”

  She was probably wondering where the money to pay next month’s bills was going to come from. He hadn’t been paid from the home health agency yet, and his partial unemployment benefits hadn’t come through either. Once he accepted the part-time job, he’d had to refile his claim. It would be another week or so before it was processed.

  “We’re doing okay.” James patted Gideon’s shoulder. “We’re trusting God, step-by-step.”

  “I’ve started a list of colleges I want to apply to.”

  “Good.”

  “But I’m wondering if I shouldn’t bother with the more expensive ones.”

  “You’ll have your Junior ROTC scholarship.”

  “I know.”

  “Make your list and apply where you want. We’ll know what our long-term financial picture is by the time you need to accept. Don’t worry.” James stood. “If I’ve learned one thing in my fifty-plus years, it’s that things work out.”

  Gideon closed his book. “I’m going to get up early in the morning and work on this. Then I’ll check in with my teacher.” He started to slip his laptop into his backpack.

  “Mind if I use your computer?” James asked. Gideon’s was faster than the desktop in the office.

  “Sure.” He handed the computer to James and slung his backpack over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

  James sat back down and opened the laptop. He hadn’t told the boys that if Cody could find another buyer for the house before James had a full-time job again, they would lose it. Even if they couldn’t keep the house, he didn’t see the family moving from Deerford. He’d considered that a couple of years ago and decided not to. They had way too much invested to
leave now. But if he couldn’t find decent work as a nurse maybe he should consider another field of medical work. He clicked onto the Internet and searched for the physical therapist programs in Peoria. He enjoyed working with Polly and was pretty sure a career in physical therapy would fit with his skills, plus there seemed to be ample jobs in the field. If classes were one or two nights a week he might be able to make it work.

  As the listings popped up, he sighed. Who was he kidding? He was fifty-four. It would be ridiculous to go back to school at his age. Nevertheless, he clicked onto the first listing. The doctorate in physical therapy was at Bradley University, a private school, which would mean even higher tuition, and he and Gideon would be in college at the same time, which would actually mean financial aid would be better for both of them. He read about the program for a few more minutes and then clicked off the site and onto the Illinois State unemployment page and the job listings. He wasn’t surprised that no nursing jobs were listed in Deerford or in Princeton. There were several in Peoria—a couple in skilled nursing facilities and a supervisor job in a hospital. He scanned down the listings. There were more physical therapist positions posted than RN jobs. He went back to the listings in Princeton. Two physical therapist positions were posted there.

  Maybe he should go back to school.

  Health care was still one of the most secure fields to be in; in another year or two jobs would be plentiful again, but not in Deerford if Hope Haven closed. Nearly every nurse in town would be moving somewhere else or retiring. The thought made him grimace. He couldn’t even think about retiring, not that he wanted to. He still had years of work left in him. He loved what he did; he had no desire to stop.

  He clicked back to the physical therapy program site and stared at the screen. “Lord,” he prayed out loud, “what do You want me to do?”

  He didn’t hear an answer, not that he expected an audible voice. But he didn’t feel a peace either, like he usually did when he prayed. It was easy for him to tell Gideon they needed to take it a step at a time, but he was growing impatient with no hope of a full-time, permanent job in Deerford anytime soon.

  He closed the laptop with a sigh and trudged down the hall to bed. By morning, he needed to find his optimistic place again. He didn’t want Fern to see him this discouraged.