“Don’t, Peter.” Brooke spread her fingers out in front of her. Steady, she told herself. Stay steady. She gave a sad huff. “Don’t say it. Just go on.”
He hesitated and she watched him, the way he worked his fingernails into the palms of his hands. After half a minute he gave a slight defeated nod and continued. “Well, so a little while later Maddie came running into the TV room and . . .”
This time, the story spilled out in its entirety, the whole thing. The part about Maddie crying out to Peter, afraid, unable to find Hayley, and the way he’d noticed Hayley’s life jacket swinging on Maddie’s arm. His mad run toward the pool and Hayley’s small body lying at the bottom of the deep end. The dive into the pool and the awful time it took him to swim her to the surface.
Peter’s voice was a gritty monotone as he let the story come, every horrifying detail of it, and finally, when he was finished, he searched Brooke’s face. “That’s what happened. I took her life jacket off, Brooke.” As he said her name, his voice cracked and he sank lower in his chair, still buried beneath the guilt. “It was my fault.”
She watched him and for the first time she saw past Hayley’s damaged condition to the reality of that Saturday afternoon. The girls had been dripping wet, wanting to eat cake. Wouldn’t she have done the same thing? Wouldn’t she have taken off their life jackets so they wouldn’t drip water all over the kitchen? Clearly Peter had assumed the other adults would watch the children, keep them in the kitchen area. Wouldn’t she have figured the same thing?
“No, Peter.” She dropped to her knees in front of Peter, easing her hands up under his arms and around his back. Her voice was a mix of anguish and release. “I would’ve done the same thing. I promise you, I wouldn’t have wanted them dripping wet, either. I . . . I should’ve been there.”
Peter eased back some and studied her face. His cheeks were flushed, and surprise shone in his damp eyes. “You don’t blame me?”
“How can I?” She sniffed and let her forehead fall against his shoulder. “You didn’t want her to drown, Peter. Any more than I did.” The side of her face nuzzled against his, and she felt him respond, felt him press his cheek next to hers the way he hadn’t done in years. “It happened, that’s all. It just happened.”
“I’m still sorry, Brooke.” A moan came from his chest and filled the room, the sort of moan that might come from a wounded bear. “I want her back whole. . . . I’d do anything to have her back.”
Peter couldn’t let go.
Though they made no declarations of love that night, no apologies for their distance or his drug addiction, the embrace between him and Brooke held—desperate almost—and despite occasional interruptions from the counselor, they stayed that way much of the time until Brooke had to leave.
Now there was just one more difficult task Peter had to tackle: seeing Hayley as she was now, back at home in a wheelchair, drooling and rolling across the places where she once ran and played and laughed about tea parties with her dolly.
His first visit happened on a cold, slushy Saturday morning. Brooke met him at the door, hugged him, and led him into the living room. Maddie was upstairs reading, so they were alone, for which Brooke was grateful. The moment would be hard enough without Maddie jumping about and squealing that, at least for an hour, Daddy was back home.
Peter saw Hayley, dressed in a pink knit sweater and leggings, her blonde hair combed straight and shiny, and he felt a stinging in his eyes. “Hayley,” the word was a whisper.
He went to her and knelt down in front of her wheelchair. He and Brooke had spent much of their time imagining how this meeting might go, talking about it, trying to diffuse the sadness of it, and not once had Peter broken down and cried.
But here, as Hayley’s eyes found him, as the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that said she remembered him, tears fell from Peter’s face like so much gentle rain. “Hayley, baby, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s never going away again.”
And as Brooke watched them from a few feet away, he could feel a quiet celebration beginning somewhere in his heart. A rejoicing because he was here and Hayley was smiling, and for too many dark days he hadn’t been sure either would ever be true again. But most of all because he meant every word he’d just told his little daughter.
No matter what struggles they still had to work through, after this, he was never going away again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The residents at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home were still asleep when Ashley arrived at work this morning.
Since New Year’s, the early shift was working well for her. Twice a week she’d take Cole to her parents’ house at seven, and her mother would give him breakfast and drop him off at preschool. That way she could do paperwork, visit with the residents after they woke up, and finish her work before noon. The rest of the day she’d spend with Cole.
The days when she didn’t go in early, she spent the mornings painting. Anything to stay busy and keep herself from thinking of Landon.
Ashley opened a file containing the expenses for January. One of her goals was to trim 10 percent from the supply cost for the month of February, and now that February was nearly half over, Ashley wanted to make sure they were on target.
She worked her pencil over a column of numbers, but after a few minutes the figures blurred and her mind drifted. Hayley was doing so much better these days. Ashley and Cole had gone by to visit Brooke and the girls yesterday, and the improvements were shocking.
No, more than that. They were miraculous.
Hayley was rolling up onto her hands and knees, swaying her body and trying to crawl. No question she recognized people now, and her doctors had no idea how far her recovery might go. She still wore the facial expression of a brain-injured child, but every time Ashley stopped by, Hayley seemed a little more like herself.
“I’ve asked her doctors not to give me a prognosis.” Brooke had been sitting on the floor, Hayley cuddled in her lap, while Maddie and Cole played with Matchbox cars on the wood floor nearby. “Only God knows how much of Hayley we’ll get back.”
Brooke seemed happier than she’d ever been. Peter was out of rehab, and the two of them were seeing a counselor several times a week. Peter was still living in his apartment, and so far he’d stayed away from painkillers. Brooke didn’t want to rush things with him, because he needed to connect with God and get past his addiction before they could work intensively on their marriage.
And Brooke had finally convinced Ashley to make an appointment with an autoimmune specialist. She had had her first appointment with the man this past Thursday.
Ashley doodled a row of daisies along the bottom of the work sheet. Brooke had been right about the doctor’s initial response. He wanted to start with blood work to see if anything had changed since Ashley’s first test.
The numbers on the sheet in front of her came into focus again, and Ashley concentrated on the task at hand. Thirty minutes later she’d finished her assessment. Compared with January’s supply costs, they were on track to save not 10 percent, but 12 percent.
She was about to open a stack of business mail, when she heard Maria’s singsong voice in the background. “Good morning, Helen. How are you today?”
Helen’s response was muffled, but it sounded dark and surly. Ashley smiled to herself and pushed the stack of mail aside. Breakfast with her old friends was something she rarely missed. It gave her a chance to connect with them, make sure the Past-Present theory they lived under was still working, and get an overall feel for how each of the residents was doing.
She left the office and headed down the hall.
Irvel, Helen, and Edith were seated at the table when Ashley entered the room. In honor of Valentine’s Day—coming up that Saturday—Maria had decorated the dining room with red crepe paper and hearts. Holiday decorations were a wild card around Sunset Hills. Sometimes it helped the residents feel more at ease, happier about their environment. Other times it left them troubled and confused.
Edith keyed off Helen’s concern and also looked up. Her mouth formed a perfect O, as she studied the decorations.
Only Irvel looked relaxed. Her delicate hands were folded neatly on the table in front of her, clutching something Ashley couldn’t make out. Irvel smiled at Helen. “Excuse me. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone!” Helen barked at Irvel. “I’m always meeting people.”
“Very well.” Irvel raised her brow and sat a bit straighter in her seat. “I shall call you Gertrude.” Irvel glanced up, the way Helen and Edith were doing. “Are you looking for God?”
“No.” Helen glared at Irvel and slammed her hand on the table. “Prison bars, that’s what they are. Red prison bars. Spies brought us here and now we’re in prison.” She shot a look at Maria, who was putting together a serving dish of scrambled eggs in the kitchen. “What’s it cost for a cup of coffee around this joint? A quarter?”
Edith picked up her fork and studied it, first one side, then the other. “Prison . . . prison bars . . . prison.”
Ashley caught Maria’s eye and nodded. She strode into the room as if she’d just arrived and smiled at each of the women. “Hello, Irvel . . . Helen . . . Edith. How is everyone this morning?”
All three stopped looking up at the red streamers and stared at her.
Irvel made a polite pointing gesture at Edith and Helen. “I think they’re looking for God.”
“Not God, you old bird.” Helen slammed herself back in her chair. “The prison guy, the one with the key. I’ve gotta get out of here, I tell you. Today. Before it’s too late and the spies . . .”
Helen kept talking, but Ashley tuned her out. She was too busy watching Irvel. The old woman looked pale—too pale. And her eyes weren’t as clear as they’d been the day before. Ashley moved closer to Irvel’s chair.
“Hi, Irvel. How’re you feeling?” Ashley tried to make out whatever it was Irvel held in her hands, but the woman had it covered with her bony fingers.
Irvel lifted her face and squinted at Ashley. “God isn’t up there, dear.” In spite of the cataracts and white film, the woman looked more lucid than she had in months. “You know that, right?”
Ashley set her hand on Irvel’s shoulder and ran her thumb lightly over the old woman’s brittle bones. “Where is he, Irvel?”
Irvel smiled and pressed her hand against her heart. “He’s right here.” Then she shifted her gaze to an empty spot beside Ashley. Her words were slower than usual. “Well . . . hello . . . Hank!” She paused and then chuckled as a bit of color came to her cheeks. “Of course not. The girls wouldn’t mind if you joined us for tea.”
She turned to Helen, who had only just then come up for air. “Gertrude, do you mind if Hank joins us for tea?”
“Look,” Helen released a hard sigh. “We have to get out of prison before we can have tea. Besides, it costs a quarter and it only comes from the warden.”
Ashley released Irvel’s shoulder and made her way around the table to Helen. “You’re not in prison, Helen. Those are decorations. For Valentine’s Day.”
“No!” Helen gave several hard shakes of her head. “I’m in prison. Help me!”
Edith studied her plate. “Help me . . . help me.”
Ashley figured she’d give the residents until after breakfast to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, and if that didn’t happen the decorations would go.
“Excuse me, Gertrude.” Irvel tapped Helen on the arm and smiled at her. “Hank’s waiting.”
“Who’s Gertrude?” Helen threw her hands up and looked hard at Ashley. “Will someone put that old bird out of her misery?” She pointed up at the streamers. “And what kind of food do you serve in this joint, anyway?”
“Eggs, coming up!” Maria entered the dining room with the scrambled eggs and a plate of buttered toast. Ashley helped serve, and when she came to Irvel, she noticed the old woman staring at the thing in her hands.
“Irvel . . .” Ashley set the bowl of eggs down and took hold of the back of Irvel’s chair. “What do you have?”
She looked up at Ashley, confusion clouding her eyes. “Well, hello, dear. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She covered the item with one hand and held the other out to Ashley. “My name’s Irvel.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she nodded her head to the empty place beside her. “This is Hank.”
Ashley smiled at the empty spot. “Hello, Hank.” She looked at Irvel. “I’m Ashley. I’ll be with you all morning, okay?”
“Ashley.” Irvel narrowed her eyes and looked to the center of Ashley’s being. “You seem so familiar, dear.” Her gaze lifted some. “But look at that beautiful hair, will you? I’ve never seen such beautiful hair, dear. Does anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not today, Irvel.” Ashley eased her arm around the woman’s shrunken shoulders. “Is Hank having breakfast with you today?”
“No.” She looked around as if she’d misplaced something. “Neither of us is hungry.”
“Oh.” Ashley looked once more at the object in Irvel’s hand and again tried to make it out. But Irvel’s hand still covered it.
“Hank’s always wanted me to go fishing with him, and today—” Irvel gave Ashley a partial wink—“today I’m going with him. Just me and him and God.”
Helen was midbite, but she stopped at that part and snapped at Irvel. “God doesn’t fish.”
Irvel patted Helen’s hand, her smile more confident than before. “Oh, yes he does, Gertrude.” She looked at Ashley. “That woman doesn’t know much about God, I’m afraid.”
Ashley contained a smile. Irvel was right about Helen, but this wasn’t the place to say so. She pointed to the item in Irvel’s hands and tried again. “What do you have there?”
Irvel looked down at the object and surprise filled her eyes, as if she had no idea what was in her hands or how it had gotten there. She turned it over, and as she did, Ashley felt her eyes water.
It was a framed picture of Hank, one of the smaller photos Ashley had placed on Irvel’s wall several months back. She must’ve taken it from the wall and carried it with her to breakfast.
Irvel held the frame up so she could see it better and grinned at the picture. “Well, hello, Hank.” She waited a moment, then lifted her eyes to Ashley. “Hank says we don’t have time for tea today. The fish are biting early.”
Edith raised her hand. “Can . . . can I have eggs instead of fish?”
Maria was at her side in an instant. “Yes, Edith, right here.” She took Edith’s fork and poked it at the small scoop of scrambled eggs on her plate. “Right here, Edith. These are your eggs.”
Helen was intent on her breakfast for a moment, the red crepe-paper prison bars temporarily forgotten.
Ashley looked at Irvel again. “Sounds like a wonderful day, fishing with Hank.”
“Yes.” Irvel’s eyes sparkled in a way that was almost otherworldly. “The good Lord told me it would be a nice morning, indeed.” She looked at the picture of Hank again. “Do you know something, hair girl? I’m the luckiest woman in the world, because you know why?”
“Why?” Ashley’s heart was full. She treasured this time with Irvel. Often their conversations were poignant, even humorous, but they were rarely this tender.
Irvel lowered her head a few inches and pointed to the Valentine’s decorations. “Because I know what it means.” She dropped her voice a notch. “It’s not a prison.”
Ashley followed Irvel’s gaze. “The decorations, you mean?”
“No.” Irvel’s eyes shone. “Love. Love isn’t a prison.”
Just when Ashley thought she couldn’t learn another thing from Irvel, the two of them would share a moment like this. Landon’s face came to mind immediately, and she savored
it for a moment. “No, Irvel. With a man like Hank to love, it isn’t a prison, is it?”
“No.” Irvel looked at the photograph again. “It’s heaven.”
Bert’s distant voice sounded from his room. “Food! Time for food.”
Ashley looked at Maria. “You get Edith into the bath, and I’ll take a plate to Bert.”
Maria nodded and went to Edith, helping her from the chair. Ashley leaned close and kissed Irvel’s cheek. “You think about your fishing trip with Hank. I’ll be right back.”
She made up a plate of eggs and toast, took them down the hall to Bert. He was already sitting at the small table in his room. The saddle, anchored on the old sawhorse at the end of his bed, shone from the early morning shine Bert had already given it.
“Here you go, Bert. Eggs and toast, just the way you like it.”
Bert watched her set the plate down and smiled at her. “Saddle’s shining good today.”
“Yes.” Ashley gazed at the saddle again. “Nice work, Bert.”
With the compliment, the man worked himself a bit straighter in his chair. The transformation never ceased to amaze Ashley, the way a man who had made his living, found his purpose in his work, could be brought to a place of cognitive understanding and self-worth because he had a job again, because he had a saddle to shine.
She was heading back down the hall when she heard Maria cry out.
Ashley picked up her pace and returned to the dining room to see Irvel motionless, facedown on the table. Ashley could barely find words as she tore across the room toward her old friend. “What happened?”
“I don’t know!” Maria’s voice was high-pitched, panicky. “I came back and she was like that.”
Helen stared at Irvel and pounded both fists on her knees. “Don’t just stand there.” She waved her hands in the air. “Help the old bird, would you?”
Ashley’s heart was racing, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Maria, help Helen into the other room, okay?”
Rejoice Page 29
