by Leslie Gould
On her short drive to Hope Haven, Anabelle prayed that Marie would be at work. Talking to her in person would be much easier than calling her on the phone. But when she arrived in the Cardiac Care Unit, the first thing she did was check in with the night-shift nurse supervisor. Marie had called in sick again to stay home with her son. Anabelle knew the woman was now out of leave days and wouldn’t be paid for missing this shift at all. She made a mental note to check in with Rev. Tom Wiltshire about the situation. Maybe there was some sort of benevolent fund that could help the young mother.
After report, Anabelle busied herself with the two patients she’d assigned herself. She hadn’t replaced Marie. All of the other nurses absorbed what would have been her patients. Anabelle knew, with the extra workload, that the day would speed by.
It was eight thirty before she had a moment at the nurses’ station to make the phone call. She looked up Marie’s number on the computer and then dialed, pushing back in her chair away from the other nurses.
The phone rang and rang and then finally went into voice mail. She left a brief message, asking Marie to call her as soon as possible and then hung up the phone.
Anabelle stood, stretched, and headed back down the hall, rolling her shoulders as she walked, trying to get rid of the tension in her back. Sunday would be Lindsay Belle’s first birthday, and she and Cameron were going to the party. Anabelle had bought the little girl a new outfit—a hot-pink striped dress and pale pink leggings—and a purple tricycle with a push handle. The image made her smile. She needed to think about good things for the rest of the week—about her granddaughter and her children and her husband. She sighed. Work was definitely getting to her.
She turned into room 5. An eighty-year-old man who’d had a heart attack was waiting for an angio. He’d told her earlier in the morning that he’d been retired for twenty years and it had been the best two decades of his life. What was holding Anabelle back from making the same decision? It could be a win-win situation for more people than just her.
James didn’t feel any more optimistic Friday morning, but he hid it from Fern. She didn’t mention their finances, and he didn’t mention the lack of any jobs to apply for in Deerford. When he kissed her good-bye at the kitchen table and told her he’d be back in time for lunch, she reached for his hand and held it to her face.
“I’m worried about you,” she said.
Her skin was cool and smooth against his palm. “Why?”
“I just think this is harder on you than you’re letting on.”
“I’m fine.” He turned his hand until it was holding hers and squeezed gently.
“I don’t want you pretending,” she said. “Protecting me. I want you to be able to be honest.” Her brown eyes were full of sincerity.
“Thanks,” he said. He hadn’t told her there were absolutely no jobs to apply for in Deerford or Princeton. And he wasn’t going to mention going back to college yet, not until he’d done more research. The truth was that he didn’t want to worry her.
James mulled things over as he backed out of the driveway and then drove out of their subdivision, past the outcropping of trees, headed for the Morris home.
What he really needed was a permanent job in Deerford, and soon. God was bigger than the hiring freeze. God was bigger than Hope Haven’s financial problems. James accelerated as he turned onto the highway.
The morning was bright and clear. A farmer drove his tractor in a plowed field, pulling a seeder over the furrows of soil. The bushes along the highway were leafing out, and a flock of geese flew north in the distance. As he pulled into the Morrises’ driveway, he noted the tulips and the sound of birds chirping in the row of poplar trees that served as a windbreak along the property. He scanned Melanie’s flower beds. Weeds poked up, along with the flowers. Nelson’s troop was planning to come out tomorrow to spruce up the yard.
He stepped toward the house and caught a glimpse of Gary’s SUV through the window of the garage. James stopped a moment, wondering if that meant Melanie had allowed Gary to return home. Or maybe his license had been suspended and he was storing the rig. He proceeded toward the house and rang the bell.
“Come in!” It was Joel’s voice.
James opened the door and stepped inside.
“I’m in here,” Joel shouted, his words coming through loud and clear.
James took off his jacket and placed it on the straight-backed chair near Joel’s bed and then headed toward the kitchen.
“Mom went into town. I’m getting breakfast.” Joel sat in his wheelchair beside the cabinet on one side of the kitchen, a cereal bowl on the pull-out breadboard that was a couple of inches below the height of the counter. His hand shook only a little as he poured his cereal. “Could you get the milk out for me?”
James opened the fridge, pleased that the young man was taking the initiative to serve himself. “Anyone else here?”
“Would that be anyone functional?”
“Functional. Nonfunctional. Just wondering.” James handed Joel the half-gallon milk jug, wondering if Melanie had bought the smaller container on purpose. It looked like Joel could handle it.
“Dad’s in Mom’s room,” Joel said.
James thought that was a funny way of referring to his parents’ bedroom. Regardless, it looked like Melanie had allowed Gary to come back home.
Joel took the milk and began to pour it, but it sloshed over the edge of the bowl. He redirected it and finished successfully and then put the cap back on. James put it back in the fridge.
Joel had an I-did-it expression on his face…until he spooned up his first bite. On the way to his mouth, half of the milk and cereal fell to his lap. He tried it again and the same thing happened a second time. Then a third. His hand shook uncontrollably. James wasn’t sure if it was the angle—the board was higher than a table would be—or his medication that was making him tremor.
Joel looked at his lap, turned slightly in his chair, and then heaved the spoon toward the window.
“All done?” James kept his tone matter-of-fact.
“Actually, no.” Joel grabbed the bowl and heaved it too but it fell short of the window and fell into the sink with a crash, breaking into pieces, splattering milk and cereal on the stainless steel and up onto the tile splashboard.
James stepped out of the room and crossed his arms, not wanting to give Joel an audience. Another crash came and then another and then steps pounded up the hall toward them.
“What’s going on?” Gary appeared, barefoot and wearing jeans and T-shirt. “Joel! What are you doing?” The man stopped when he saw James.
There was another crash from the kitchen.
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Gary grabbed James’s arm.
James held up his hand, imploring Gary to wait and be quiet, but the man barged into the kitchen. “What in the—”
“Get out of here!” Joel shouted. “I don’t want to see your alkie face.”
James expected Gary to shout back, but he didn’t. James stepped into the doorway. Gary held Joel’s good arm with one hand and had his other arm around his son’s shoulder.
Joel sobbed, “Let me go.”
Gary released him.
Joel began rolling his chair with his good hand in a jerky motion. “Get out of here,” he snapped at his father.
“Joel!”
“I don’t have any respect for you.” The young man’s eyes were red and piercing. “My life got messed up by an IED. What’s your excuse?”
James stepped away from the door and a moment later Joel banged into the molding around it and then repositioned himself and made it through.
“Ready for a shower?” James asked in a detached voice.
“As ready as I’ve ever been,” Joel barked, still shaking. James wheeled him down the hall to the sound of Gary banging around in the kitchen. James assumed he was cleaning up the mess.
An hour later, as James helped transfer him to his bed, Joel said he hadn’t heard from his cha
plain for two days. “They were going to be shipped home soon,” he explained. “But I don’t know if they already have or if something happened. He hasn’t e-mailed me.”
“Did you check this morning?”
Joel shook his head. The family didn’t have a laptop, only a desktop that Melanie had moved out to the living room so it would be more accessible for Joel. “You know, everyone worries the most when it’s almost time to come home.” He exhaled slowly. “I hadn’t started worrying yet when it happened to me.”
“Let’s check when you wake up.”
“Isn’t Polly coming?” He almost sounded like he was looking forward to seeing her.
“Not until this afternoon.”
Joel nodded his head. Breakfast, his rampage, and the encounter with his dad had worn him out.
After Joel fell asleep, James decided to inventory the soldier’s prescriptions to see if any needed to be filled. He also wanted to make sure none of the pills were missing. Gary obviously had a drinking problem; it might be that he would abuse prescription pills too, and Joel was on some pretty heavy-duty meds.
James sorted out the bottles and compared them with the prescriptions in Joel’s chart. All were accounted for. He made a note of the two that would run out by the middle of next week. According to the doctor’s notes, Joel was due for an appointment next at the veterans’ clinic in Springfield for a head injury assessment. He would check with Melanie about that.
When he finished, James decided to call her. He wasn’t paid to babysit—but he felt uncomfortable leaving Gary and Joel alone in the house. She picked up on the third ring, and she was obviously on speakerphone. “I’m just a couple of minutes from the house,” she said. “Can you stay until then?”
James assured her that he could. As he waited, Gary appeared in a dress shirt and slacks. “I have a couple of business calls,” he said. He started toward the kitchen and then turned back. “Mel decided to offer me another chance. Said she couldn’t handle Joel right now on her own. As you can see, he’s still a handful.”
“What are you going to do to make sure you can make good on her offer?”
“Not drink.” A defensive look passed over the man’s face.
“What else?”
“Look.” Gary’s eyes flashed. “I went through rehab several years ago. I know how to handle this.”
“Several years ago you didn’t have a son who was almost killed in Iraq. This is a lot of stress. AA would be a big—”
“I’ve got to go,” Gary said, turning away abruptly. As he opened the door to the garage, James heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. He stood at the living room window and watched Melanie climb from her car.
Gary backed his SUV out of the garage, rolled down his window, and gave her a terse nod. Melanie scurried toward the house. James thought she might open up about what was going on, but she didn’t. He told her what happened in the kitchen, and she winced but didn’t respond.
“I’ll be out tomorrow with the Boy Scouts,” James said.
“It’s tomorrow?”
James nodded.
“I’d lost track,” she said.
James thought she might ask to postpone, but she didn’t.
“See you then,” she said.
James brought up the doctor’s appointment, and she said it was on her to-do list to schedule an appointment. He hoped she’d do it soon.
James left her at the foot of Joel’s bed, staring at her sleeping son. His head was turned so his scar wasn’t visible, and he had a peaceful, almost angelic, look on his face.
Chapter Fifteen
ELENA OPENED THE BACK DOOR TO THE HOUSE and Izzy scampered in ahead of her shouting, “Daddy!”
Rafael was supposed to be in class on Friday afternoons, but his van was in the driveway.
“Daddy!” came Izzy’s voice from down the hall.
Elena hung her jacket on the hook by the back door and then followed her granddaughter to put her purse in her room. Rafael came toward her, dressed in his work uniform, with Izzy in his arms.
Between work and school, Elena hadn’t seen her son since Wednesday.
“My class got canceled and the prep chef at Baldomero called in sick. I told Grandma I’d go in and help out for a few hours.”
Elena smiled, thankful Rafael was willing to help her mother out and take on extra responsibility at the restaurant. “What about dinner? Remember Sarah is coming.”
“Can we eat around eight? I’ll be back by then.”
Elena nodded. “I’ll let Sarah know.”
Rafael walked down the hall as he talked and Elena followed him. “I had another call from Izzy’s teacher.”
“From Mrs. Allison?” Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“Grown-up stuff,” Elena interjected before Rafael could answer.
“She said you talked with her the other day,” he said. “When were you going to tell me?”
“When I saw you next,” Elena answered.
“Hey, mi bonita,” Rafael said to his daughter, lowering her to the carpet. “Would you go check my van for my phone? I’m hoping I left it in there.”
She nodded and left a little reluctantly.
Elena waited until the carport door banged closed behind her granddaughter. “Mrs. Allison says that Izzy’s inconsistent. Sometimes she can identify letters, and sometimes she can’t. She’s afraid she’s memorized the big letters above the blackboard.”
“But she’s reading already,” Rafael countered.
“Or memorizing.”
“No one could memorize that well.” He crossed his arms over his white smock with Baldomero, the name of Elena’s mother’s restaurant, embroidered over the pocket.
Elena wasn’t so sure. She was beginning to think that, maybe, Izzy was bright enough to memorize whole books. “This is about figuring out Izzy’s problem and then meeting her needs,” Elena said.
Rafael took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“What is it?” Elena reached for his hand.
Rafael’s dark eyes were full of sadness. “How can such a perfect little girl have any problems?”
Elena choked on a laugh. “Rafael, everyone has problems.”
“But she has everything going for her—”
The carport door banged again. “I found it!” Izzy’s footsteps could be heard across the kitchen linoleum, and then she appeared, skipping toward them.
“I’ve got to go to work,” Rafael said. He bent down to Izzy. “We’ll have tomorrow, okay? Just you and me.” He kissed her forehead.
She nodded and threw her arms around her daddy’s neck, giving him a kiss on his stubbly cheek. “Just you and me,” she repeated.
Rafael looked up to Elena as if to say, See? I told you she was perfect.
She smiled at her son and whispered, “We’ll talk more later.” He needed to know he was in denial. No child was perfect. The sooner he realized that, the better parent he would be.
He nodded. “And I’ll do more research later tonight, after dinner.”
After he left, Elena sent Izzy to her room to play while she bustled around the kitchen pulling together everything she’d need to fix supper. She called Sarah and let her know of the change of plan.
Around seven thirty, the doorbell rang.
“Mommy!” Izzy’s voice and the sound of running feet echoed from the hall. Elena met her at the door, but let her open it. Sarah dropped to one knee to scoop her daughter into a bear hug.
“Come on into the kitchen.” Elena closed the door behind Sarah after she disentangled herself from Izzy and stood.
“Buela, can I bring coloring books in and color with Mommy?” Izzy leaned against Sarah’s leg.
“I’m sure Sarah would enjoy that.” Elena led the way back to the kitchen while Izzy ran back to her room.
Half an hour later, Elena turned the pork loin steaks under the broiler. Sarah sat at the kitchen table and colored with Izzy. When mother and daughter were together, Elena was reminded
of just how young Sarah was. Only twenty-six. She’d been twenty when Izzy was born; the same age Elena had been when she gave birth to Rafael. But Elena hadn’t had a troubled childhood and a drug problem that left her unable to cope with motherhood. Sarah was doing the best she could now and was winning Izzy’s trust—and Elena’s.
“Oh, I like this color,” Sarah said, holding up a shade of blue from the set of 128 crayons. “Periwinkle.”
“Periwinkle,” Izzy repeated.
“See.” Sarah held the crayon in front of Izzy. “P-E-R-I-W—”
“Those letters are too little,” Izzy said. “I can’t read them.”
Elena pushed in the oven rack, closed the door, and stepped toward the table. “Are you sure?” She put a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder.
Izzy giggled. “Just kidding,” she said, taking the crayon and reading, “P-E-R-I-W—” She giggled again.
Rafael had arrived ten minutes earlier and had gone back to his room to change clothes and, Elena assumed, to do some quick research about six-year-olds and reading. Elena was more convinced than ever that something strange was going on.
“We’ll be ready to eat in five minutes,” Elena said to her granddaughter and to Sarah. “I need help setting the table.”
Izzy quickly put the crayons away while Sarah closed the coloring books. The two of them set the table together, counting out the cutlery, putting the forks on the left and the knives and spoons on the right, just as Elena had taught Izzy.
It was 8:20 pm by the time dinner was on the table, which was much later than they usually ate. It wouldn’t give Izzy much time before she needed to go to bed—but at least it was Friday night and she could sleep late tomorrow. Elena and Cesar sat at their usual spots, at the ends of the table. Izzy scooted up on to the chair on one side of the table, leaving the two side-by-side chairs for her parents. Elena smiled as she placed her napkin in her lap.
A blush spread over Sarah’s fair complexion as she sat down. As everyone settled into his or her chair, Izzy announced she would pray. She extended her hands toward Elena and Cesar who took them and, in return, extended their hands toward Sarah and Rafael. Everyone paused for a long moment as Rafael took Sarah’s hand.
