6

 

 

“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?” Val peered into Karen’s house through the screen in the open window.

Kristen looked up from the video she was watching. “Hi, Aunt Val.” She hefted herself up, tucked her crutches under her arms, and thumped across the room to open the door.

“Sorry to make you get up.” Val stepped inside. “How come your air isn’t on?”

“The repair guy’s working on it. And don’t worry about me getting up. I can use the exercise. I’m starting to feel like a slug. I’ll be back to square one with my gymnastic training after this stupid thing comes off.” She banged her cast with the edge of the crutch.

“Can I cheer you up with some strawberry trifle?” Val held up a glass bowl.

Her niece’s expression brightened. “Awesome! I bet it’s healthy too.”

“As healthy as possible for a dessert.”

Kristen hobbled toward the kitchen. “How did you escape from Grandma?”

“She’s napping.”

“What do you guys do all day?”

“She reads magazine and watches her soaps. I help her with her exercises twice a day, and once in a while we go for a drive. Some­times she has company.”

Kristen pulled two bowls out of the cabinet and set them on the counter. “I guess I ought to visit her more.”

“She’d like that.”

“Yeah. That’s what Mom keeps telling me. But I see her every Sunday, when we pick her up for church. And it’s not like she’s loads of fun to be around. She criticizes everything. My hair, my clothes, my boyfriend, my fingernail polish. You name it.”

While Val scooped generous servings of the trifle into two dishes, she found herself echoing what her father had always told her. “That’s just how she is.”

“How did you and Mom stand it while you were growing up?” Kristen rum­maged through the utensil drawer for spoons. “I mean, she drives me nuts after an hour. You guys had to live in the same house with her.” She followed Val to the table, plopped into a chair, and dug into her dessert.

“People can get used to almost anything.”

Almost.

“Yeah?” Kristen sounded doubtful. “You didn’t hang around Washington, though. You went away to college and never came back. Mom should have left too.”

“If she had, you wouldn’t have been born.”

“So?” Kristen’s demeanor darkened. “Life stinks.”

Val took a bite of her dessert. “Divorce can be nasty.”

“Yeah.”

“But in some situations it’s better than the alternative.”

“Not in ours. We were a family.”

“Were you?”

Kristen sent her a wary look. “What do you mean?”

“How exactly were you a family?” Val kept her tone conversa­tional. “Other than the fact you lived in the same house, I mean.”

“We did stuff together.”

“You mean like picnics and vacations and going to church?”

Kristen chased a piece of angel food cake around her bowl. “No. Dad was always too busy at work for that.”

“Watching movies together or barbecuing in the backyard are fun too.”

“We didn’t do much of that, either.” Kristen fidgeted in her seat, forehead wrinkling. “Dad said barbecuing made his clothes smell. But Mom and I did all of that while Dad was working at night or on the weekends.”

“It sounds like he missed a lot.”

“Some—but he tried to come to most of my school events.”

“And I bet he did his best to give your mom attention too. Took her out to dinner, or sat around and talked with her over a soda at the end of the day.”

The creases on Kristen’s forehead deepened. “He didn’t talk to Mom much, and when he did, he always sounded kind of...an­noyed. Like she was bothering him.” She jabbed at a strawberry. “I think it made her sad.”

“Is she happier now?”

“I guess. But...it’s like with Grandma. Mom always lets herself be pushed around. If she’d stood up for herself, maybe Dad wouldn’t have left and Grandma wouldn’t be so bossy.” Kristen sighed. “I wish Mom had been more like you. You don’t let Grandma bully you—and I bet you wouldn’t let any man push you around, either.”

Val forced down her last bite of trifle. “Sometimes it takes a while for people to learn to stick up for themselves.” She rose and picked up Kristen’s empty bowl. “I think my dessert was a hit.”

“It was awesome. Would you give Mom the recipe?”

“Sure.”

“She’s been trying some of those other recipes you gave her too. We had that chicken stir-fry last night. It was great.”

Silence fell as Val rinsed the dishes. A dog barked, the hall clock chimed, a faint train whistle sounded in the distance. The ordinary sounds of an ordinary day.

There was a certain comfort in that. Ordinary was very under­rated.

Kristen spoke again, her voice more subdued. “Aunt Val, do you think Mom is happier without Dad?”

She picked up a dish towel and dried her hands. “What do you think?”

“She acts happier.” Kristen tapped a hot-pink nail on the table. “He wasn’t around much, anyway—and he wasn’t always real nice to her. But I miss him.”

“That’s understandable. Why don’t you try to see him more often?”

“He’s always busy.”

“You know how you said your mom should have stood up for herself? Why don’t you do that too? If you tell your dad you miss him, he might visit more often.”

“I guess I could try.”

“It couldn’t hurt.” Val hung up the dish towel. “I left some des­sert for your mom in the fridge.”

Kristen offered a distracted nod. “I’ll tell her—and I’ll try and come see Grandma this week. I’ll think about calling Dad too.”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Val pulled out her keys. “See you later.”

“Yeah.”

At the threshold, Val glanced back. Kristen re­mained at the table, lost in thought.

With a satisfied nod, she slipped through the door.

Mission accomplished.

 

* * *

 

So that was Dorothy Walker’s son.

As the departing choir director introduced the midthirtyish man who was standing off to one side of the sanctuary, Karen leaned sideways in her seat to get a better view of him.

He was handsome in a brooding sort of way, with neatly trimmed dark brown hair and dark eyes. On the tall side at six, six-one, with a lean, muscular physique. Well dressed too, in pressed khaki slacks and a blue oxford shirt.

But he didn’t exactly ooze warmth. As soon as possible after the introduction, he retreated to his seat in the shadows.

Karen gave him another discreet scan. Odd. Dorothy had said he’d had a traumatic accident, yet there was no evidence of phys­ical injury.

Perhaps the invisible scars his mother had mentioned were the bigger issue.

During the remainder of the rehearsal she concentrated on her music, but afterwards she joined the group of choir members waiting to welcome Scott. Interesting how the man was there, yet not there. He replied to their comments. Shook their hands. Offered a strained smile in the appropriate places.

But his eyes remained dark and distant and bleak.

After adding her own welcome, she headed for her car. Their exchange had been polite, nothing more. She’d gleaned no more insights about him, learned nothing new. Yet she felt reason­ably certain about one thing.

He may have accepted the job—and he may have shown up at the rehearsal.

But he absolutely did not want to be there.

 

* * *

 

“Daddy, I have tangles.”

David continued to stir the pot of oatmeal on the stove. “I’ll help you in a minute, sweetie.”

Victoria set the brush and a barrette on the table and climbed onto a kitchen chair. “Do I have to go to day care today?”

It was the same question she asked every weekday morning—and he gave the same answer. “Yes, sweetheart. Daddy has to go to work. But I’ll come get you at three-thirty, like I always do, and we’ll have the whole rest of the day together.”

What would he do if he didn’t have that kind of flexibility in his work? His career choice had served him well on that score—though who could have known shift work would be such a blessing?

Another example of Jeremiah 29:11 in action.

“I wish I didn’t have to go.” Victoria fiddled with the barrette, shoulders hunched.

So did he—but there was no alter­native.

He finished stirring the oatmeal, scooped it into a bowl, and added brown sugar and cinnamon. After pouring a glass of juice, he set both in front of her. “Eat up while I fix your hair.”

She handed him the brush. “Don’t make ouches.”

“I’ll try not to.”

He worked the brush through her thick, wavy hair. Natalie’s had been similar, until she’d had it cut into a short, chic, easy-care style better suited to her busy lifestyle. “You have beautiful hair, sweetie. Like your mommy did.”

“Mommy was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Very.”

“I wish I could remember her better.”

So did he.

“You were very little when she went to live in heaven.”

“Did she love me?”

Her wistful tone was like a punch in the gut. “Very much.”

“I wish I had a mommy now.”

“I do too.” David set the brush aside and secured the barrette. “All done. Go ahead and finish your oatmeal.”

After shaking some dry cereal into a bowl for himself, he joined Victoria at the table. “What do you say we go on a picnic this weekend?”

“Yes! That would be fun!”

“I agree. We’ll come home after church, change clothes, pack a lunch, and go exploring. It’ll be an adventure.”

“What’s an adventure?”

“It’s going somewhere new or doing something you’ve never done before.”

“Like coming to Washington?”

“Sort of.”

No response.

He tried again. “This will be fun. I promise.”

Silence.

Time to change the subject.

“After we get home today, why don’t I put up that swing we bought for the backyard?” He added some more milk to his cereal, which tasted drier than usual today.

She gave a disinterested shrug.

Spoon poised over his bowl, David studied her. What had hap­pened to her initial excitement about the project?

“I thought you were happy about having your very own swing in our yard?”

“I was.” She poked at her oatmeal. “But swinging all by yourself isn’t very much fun.”

Appetite fleeing, David pushed his cereal aside. Victoria had nailed it.

About swinging.

And about life.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why Val has to run back to Chicago tomor­row. She’s only been here three weeks.” Margaret dropped the piece of newspaper she’d been reading, letting it fall to the floor.

Karen tuned her out as she continued to try and balance her mother’s checkbook. The task was always challenging, but as Margaret grew more lackadaisical about keeping up with her entries, it had become downright difficult.

“Mom, there’s a notation here for sixty dollars, but no check number and no indication who it was for.”

Margaret gave a long-suffering sigh. “Let me see.”

As she handed over the checkbook, Karen noted the improved dexterity in her mother’s left hand. The physical therapy program—and Val’s diligence in seeing that their mother did her exercises—were paying off.

Margaret hoisted her chin and examined the entry through the lower part of her bifocals. “Oh. That was for trimming the tree out in front.”

“Who was it made out to?”

“The man who came by and offered to trim the tree, of course.” Impatience nipped at her words. “He said if I didn’t have it done, it could fall on the roof in a storm.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you keep the carbon?”

“Is it in there?”

“No.”

“It must have stuck to the back of the check. They don’t make checks like they used to.”

Karen reined in her own annoyance. “It would help if you either kept the carbons or filled out the register more completely.”

“I do the best I can—and this isn’t high finance. You have a business degree. I should think you could figure it out. Anyway, I don’t know why Val has to run off like this.”

“She told you she had a couple of modeling commitments to fulfill this summer. It’s only for one night.”

“I don’t care how long it is. It’s an inconvenience for everyone.”

“She’s spending the summer here, Mom. That’s not exactly convenient for her.”

“She was due for a visit. Overdue.”

Giving up, Karen closed the checkbook. She’d have to straighten out the mess later, in the quiet of her own home, where she could concentrate.

Besides, there was another issue she had to tackle. One that would require her full attention.

Pulse accelerating, Karen forced herself to speak the words she’d practiced. “Mom, while Val is gone I’d like you to come and stay in our guest room.”

Margaret gawked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What?”

“I’d like you to stay in our guest room. I don’t want you or Kristen to be alone at night, and it will be easier if you come to our house rather than Kristen and me coming here.”

“Easier for you.”

“And Kristen will be home all day.” Karen continued as if her mother hadn’t spoken. Lord, give me the fortitude to stay the course. “She can see to anything you need and get dinner going if I have to work late.”

“I want to stay here. I sleep better in my own bed.”

“You’ll be very comfortable in our guest room.”

“Not as comfortable as I would be in my own house.”

“Mom, be logical. It will be far less hassle for one person to spend the night elsewhere than for two people to haul all their paraphernalia to another house. And Kristen has trouble getting around too.”

Margaret glared at her. “I had a stroke. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Karen’s stomach spasmed, like it always did when Mar­garet was displeased with her. But she was tired of being ma­nipulated. If Val could stand her ground with their mother, so could she.

“I’m not keeping score, Mom. This is just the best solution.”

“I’m not going.” Margaret mashed her lips together.

Her mother had called her bluff—the very outcome she’d feared.

But it wasn’t going to work. Not this time.

Struggling to appear unruffled, she picked up her purse. “You know what’s best for yourself.” A triumphant gleam appeared in Margaret’s eyes—until Karen continued. “I’ll call throughout the day to see how you’re doing.”

Her mother’s dumbfounded demeanor was almost comical. “You mean you’re…you’re going to leave me by myself? All day and all night?”

“That was your choice, wasn’t it?”

“Karen Marie, I’ve never seen you act this selfish.”

That hurt.

Nevertheless, Karen managed to hold on to her neutral expres­sion—by a hair. “I’m sorry you think that.” She tucked her mother’s checkbook into her purse. “Val should be back any min­ute. I’m going home and put dinner together.”

She got as far as the door before her mother spoke.

“I suppose I could manage to come to your place for one night.” Margaret said the words as if she had to pry each one loose like a stuck window.

Karen let out the breath she’d been holding.

Thank you, Lord!

She turned back—and found her mother scowling. But for once, she didn’t care. She’d stood her ground instead of acquiescing to please someone else. A small triumph, yes—but a victory nonetheless.

“I’m glad you’re being sensible.”

“Do I have a choice? At least I’ll get a decent meal instead of that weird food Val’s been fixing.”

Time to play her trump card. “As a matter of fact, I’m plan­ning to try a new tofu recipe I clipped out of the paper. It sounds delicious.”

“Tofu?” Shock flattened her mother’s features.

“Yes. It’s very healthy. Well, I have to be off. Kristen’s heating up the leftover turkey lasagna we had for dinner last night, and I don’t want to be late. Dorothy Walker gave me the recipe. Have a pleasant evening.”

As Karen shut the door, she kept a firm hold on the handle, paus­ing to give her legs a chance to steady. That had been tough…and scary…and taken her miles out of her comfort zone.

But she’d won.

Best of all, there was no lingering sense of guilt or remorse or shame.

In fact, there was only one word to describe how she felt.

Satisfied.