The Winding Road Home Page 7

  “You have one too?”

  “I did. My wife.”

  “When did she die?”

  “About five years ago.”

  A distinct compassion clouded her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, I’m learning that God uses our sorrows to draw us to Himself.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t want to go down that road. “What about Chelsea’s father?”

  “Oh, this is where it gets really sordid. I didn’t know how to contact him. He was from Germany. I couldn’t spell his last name, let alone pronounce it. I had no clue what city he was from.”

  It sounded rehearsed, false even, compared to other aspects of her story. Perhaps there was more to add, things she wanted to leave unsaid. So instead he asked, “Did you keep in touch with your mother?”

  “I did. But after a while, R.J. forbade her to talk to me. We still did periodically, when she knew she wouldn’t get caught.” Adele shuddered, set down her mug, and pulled an afghan onto her lap.

  “Did you try to contact him after she died?”

  “No. I’ve had enough rejection to last a lifetime, thank you. I figured it was his move. Mother would have left my number where he would find it.”

  “And what of Christ’s command to forgive our enemies?”

  “I have. He’s off the hook.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “But you know the funny thing? A part of me still hopes he’ll call. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

  “Not ridiculous at all. As Rand would say,” he rasped his voice, “it’s never too late until you’re dead and gone.”

  She smiled and sniffed. “But for all I know, he is dead and gone.”

  “I think…” Graham began sliding from the chair. With a start, he realized he was on his way to cross the room, to sit beside her, to pull her into his arms. He crushed that urge in the blink of an eye. “Adele, it seems that you would somehow know if that were true or not. Don’t you think?”

  “I think…” She touched her necklace. “I think I don’t know why I’m telling you these things!”

  Ten

  Early Saturday morning Kate shuffled into the kitchen and passed Adele sitting at the table. She mumbled, “Morning.”

  “Morning.” Adele’s mumble was even less recognizable.

  Not one to chat before her first cup of coffee, Kate pushed her glasses up her nose and went about her business preparing a potful. Adele and Chelsea never touched the stuff. A coffeemaker was the only item Kate needed to purchase for her new home, a fact she had unfortunately discovered on a Monday morning. Dear Rusty had saved her on that occasion. The woman knew how to make a mean cup of coffee.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder. Something was wrong. Adele always chatted, no matter Kate’s reticence, no matter the time or the day. She sat now, her hands clutched around a mug full of herbal tea, staring at nothing in particular.

  “Adele, are you all right?”

  “Huh?” She shifted her eyes. It took them a moment to focus on Kate.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? With what?”

  “With you, Adele. You’re not chatting.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No.”

  “It seemed like I was.” She made a strange noise, something between a giggle and a cough. “Must have all been in my head!”

  Kate pulled the partially filled carafe, interrupting the drip action, and sloshed the coffee into a mug. She clearly needed her caffeine kick before continuing with the conversation.

  Mug in hand, she sat down across the table from Adele, who was now humming and smiling into her teacup. Like Kate, she wore a fuzzy robe and slippers, protection against the early winter morning. Frost covered the dark window pane. From outside, light from a streetlamp sparkled through its delicately etched patterns.

  Kate remembered how last night she thought Adele appeared somewhat flustered at the Pizza Parlor. She had introduced Graham somebody, a newcomer, a tall, broadshouldered man in need of a shave. With pewter gray hair.

  “Adele, last night at the restaurant, was that guy the toe curler?”

  “Toe curler? Oh, that silly phrase of Chelsea’s.” She shrugged and wound a curly strand of hair around a finger. “I introduced you, right? Graham Logan. His friend just moved into the home.”

  Kate already knew that.

  “We had such an in-depth conversation. He was full of questions about Fox Meadow. Then one thing led to another. It was so easy to open up with him. He exudes safety. Do you know what I mean?”

  “My dad’s like that.”

  “You’re fortunate. Mine was never like that. I know Jesus is, and sometimes I get a real glimpse of that, but to meet someone in person…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes went toward the window. A tiny smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

  “Is Will like that?”

  “Will?”

  You remember, the good friend who just gave you an amethyst ring on Valentine’s Day. Kate pressed her lips together.

  “Will. He’s…not the same. I’m…content with him, comfortable.”

  “Except for your wardrobe.”

  “Well, yes. You have a point there. He…he challenges me. In a way.”

  “Is tonight a date night?”

  “No. He has his kids this weekend. And tomorrow night he leaves on a business trip, to Atlanta, I think, for a week or so. Last night Graham and I just talked and talked. Until eleven o’clock!”

  Kate hadn’t gotten home until midnight. She and Tanner had finished their pizza and then driven to the closed video store. The night was calm. They ventured from the warm car and lingered on the sidewalk, peeking in the windows, brainstorming about what he could do with the place. He balked at making a commitment. She couldn’t imagine personally investing thousands of dollars, and offered to pray for him to have wisdom. He brushed aside the comment as if it were simply a nice thing to say. She dropped the subject, realizing that the everyday reality of Jesus was far removed from his life. Which was why she was up early…to pray that would change for Tanner.

  Now Kate drank her coffee and studied Adele. She was quiet again, twirling her hair, staring at the frosted window, humming in a distracted way, letting her tea go cold.

  Oh boy.

  Her friend may not recognize it, but Graham Logan had captured her attention in a way Will Epstein hadn’t even approached.

  Later that morning, Kate drove through the business area of Valley Oaks. If it weren’t for the temperature holding steady at 14 and the wind whipping out of the north at 15 miles per hour with gusts up to 20, she would hoof it to the office. Adele’s house was only two blocks from the town square. The Times was only another two blocks beyond that. Piece of cake.

  Maybe in the spring. No, she’d be long gone by then. Adios, Midwest! Lord, please? DC by the end of May?

  She rounded the corner and her heart sank. Rusty’s car was parked right outside the Times office. Kate had hoped to have a quiet, smoke-free environment in which to write her story about last night’s awards banquet slash potluck.

  She pulled into the space beside Rusty’s car and hopped out. Crossing the sidewalk, she inhaled three garlic-scented, deep breaths of air. She held the last one and opened the door.

  “Hey, kid. I was just going to give you a call. How’d the banquet go last night?”

  “Fine.” Kate hung up her coat and went to her desk. “Tanner escorted me in and showed me the ropes. He is a wealth of information.”

  “Surprising, isn’t it, considering how lackadaisical he is.” She lit a cigarette, evidently unaware of the one already burning in the ashtray on her desk.

  Kate’s eyes watered and her throat felt scratchy. She switched on the computer and thought about the balance in her checking account. Was there any way she could swing payments on a laptop?

  “Well, Katy-girl, do you think you’re ready to cover a boys basketball game? They have a home game tonight. Sophomores start at six.”

  “Sure.” Kate
was grateful for the new assignment, though her tone didn’t reveal that. “I’d be glad to.”

  “Townsfolk here are dead serious about their high school athletics.”

  “I noticed that with the girls last night.”

  Rusty snorted. “And that was nothing. Wait until you experience how they handle the male aspect of things. I’m heading up to Chicago this afternoon. I’ve got an old friend coming to the city.”

  “A newspaper friend?”

  She rattled her bronchial laugh. “Is there any other?”

  Kate had heard some of Rusty’s stories, how she had worked in Springfield and then Chicago, writing city news for years. Some political maneuvering had edged her out. That was five years ago, when she was 57. Not an easy age to start over in another city at a large newspaper. She had come across the Valley Oaks position and jumped at the chance. Not that there had been any competition.

  Rusty continued, “Jack and I worked together at the Trib in our younger days. He moved on to New York eons ago. We get together every now and then, laugh about our early angsts.”

  “New York.” Kate’s voice was wistful.

  “You’ll laugh someday too about your time in Valley Oaks.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Kate turned to the computer. She’d laugh if she was still breathing in 20 years.

  “The pasture for has-beens, but a ripe field for those just cutting their teeth.”

  Something about Rusty’s tone struck an uneasy chord in Kate. She rested her fingers on the keyboard and listened to it. A corner of her heart whispered, What is it, Lord?

  Rusty Connelly. Crusty. Rough, self-sufficient exterior. Bent on self-destruction. A hurting soul.

  It was the type of nudge that Kate recognized. No sense in trying to ignore it. She swiveled around in her chair.

  “Rusty?”

  She looked up from a paper she was reading, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  “I wish you didn’t smoke.”

  “Blazes, kid, why didn’t you say something?” She puffed deeply, and then she crushed the burning tip against the ashtray. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”

  “I can live with the smoke. Well, it’s not my first choice of air space, but, Rusty, I really wish you didn’t smoke. I mean for your own sake.”

  “You’re not going to read me the list of health hazards, are you? I know all that stuff. The impact has been zilch. Besides, I’ve been smoking since I was fifteen. Forty-seven years and no problems.” She coughed.

  “You’re worth so much.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “But you are.”

  Rusty’s eyes resembled a basset hound’s, mournful and defeated.

  “Jesus thinks you are.”

  “Good grief, you’re a Jesus freak. You could have told me that too. I would have cleaned up my language.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite lift all the way. “Somewhat, maybe.”

  “I don’t care about that, either. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I tell you you’re a precious human being and Jesus and I care an awful lot about you.”

  She blinked. “You sound like He’s a person, your good friend.”

  “He is. Both.”

  “I suppose you two talk about me.”

  “At least once every day.” Kate smiled.

  The older woman turned back to her desk. “Imagine that. Somebody praying for old Crusty Rusty. My mother would turn over in her grave.”

  “Why is that?”

  For a long moment she didn’t reply. “Because she never once said a kind word to me.”

  They were quiet for a time. Kate stared at the computer monitor. Her heart pounded erratically as it had those other times, those few occasions when for the briefest of moments her upper arm tingled…as if the arm of Jesus had brushed against it as He moved beside her.

  “Katy-girl?”

  She turned to see Rusty walking across the office..

  “My friend Jack from New York…” She removed her worn, brown woolen coat from a peg and slipped it on. “He has connections in DC.”

  Kate’s eyebrows rose on their own accord, widening her eyes.

  Rusty shrugged, buttoning the coat.

  “You said I have to pay my dues.”

  “That you do, kid. But it never hurts to know somebody who knows somebody.” She grinned, lifted a hand in parting, and walked outside.

  Eleven

  On a record-breaking cold Saturday morning when she could have stayed home relishing in long uninterrupted hours of playing with clay, Adele drove down the county highway. The north wind howled across barren fields on her right, dusting the blacktop with snow, rattling her car, lengthening the trip by seven minutes. At last she pulled into Fox Meadow’s parking lot, continuing the dialogue begun at four-thirty that morning.

  I have a legitimate reason for being here.

  On normal weekends she didn’t go in to work, but there were often situations that required her attention.

  In her opinion anyway.

  All right. So she was a little too hands-on for some people. What did it hurt? She loved Fox Meadow as if it were her own home and loved every facet of caring for the residents. What did it matter that her job description did not specifically prescribe that she give tours, do the necessary paperwork with relatives, welcome newcomers at the door, change linens, or show up on Saturdays? Or tuck in the new guy and have dinner with his close friend?

  “Oh my.”

  She left the car and walked across the lot, holding her hood tight against the icy wind.

  There were official reasons for her creative schedule. She had no assistant and only a part-time secretary. The center was short-funded and understaffed, which meant sacrificing those special TLC touches. Adele refused to let that happen. They were what made Fox Meadow a special place. She jumped in, running herself ragged at times, turning reports in late, not returning phone calls in a timely manner.

  Then there was Chelsea’s growing independence. Her daughter was smart and artistic. She would easily receive grants and scholarships and in 18 months head off to college. Adele’s stomach hurt when she thought about that fact, but she had long ago vowed to never lay a guilt trip on her daughter. Their relationship was not going to resemble the unhealthy one she’d had with her parents.

  “Adele!”

  She looked up to find herself standing in the middle of the lobby facing Gracie, the weekend supervisor, whose demeanor didn’t begin to approach the promise of her name. Another reason for Adele’s creative schedule.

  As usual, Gracie’s hands were planted on her ample hips and her gray-streaked black hair was pulled back severely in a bun. “Except for Mrs. Cantrell’s nonstop jabbering, there’s no wind blowing in here.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re standing there all bundled up with your hood on.”

  “Oh. I am!” She chuckled, pushing back the hood and fluffing her hair. “How did Mr. Jennings do last night?”

  “Fine, far as I know. Friendly buzzard, isn’t he? He made it to the dining room for breakfast.”

  “Great.”

  They chatted about business for a few minutes and parted ways. After tossing her coat on a chair in her office, Adele headed out to make the social rounds. Saturday was a good day to touch base with a large group of residents and their visiting relatives. Room 212 seemed as good a place to start as any.

  Rand Jennings was sitting in the armchair and looking out the window. Black slacks, a bright yellow cardigan, and a plaid shirt hung loosely over his gaunt form. She was glad not to see him in pajamas. It meant the pain was still tolerable…there was still a reason to get up in the morning.

  She knocked on the open door. “Mr. Jennings?”

  He turned his head and smiled. “Adele! Good morning. You look especially lovely today. Have a seat.”

  She dragged a straight-backed chair nearer to him and sat in it. “How are you doing? Did you sleep all right?”

  “I slept like a baby
.” He smiled, his dark eyes nearly squinting closed behind the thick bifocals. “It’s a comfortable place you have here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How’d you get to be director?”

  “Hey, I came to talk about you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You came to make me feel better. I’ll feel better if I don’t talk about me. It’s getting to be an overdone subject. Now, how did you end up here?”

  “Well, I started out as a nurse’s aide.”

  “Baths and bedpans?”

  “You got it. And I fell in love with the place! I spent any time I could spare here, learning all I could about nursing. But I found out I wasn’t as interested in the medical side of things as in the people themselves. I went to school part-time and eventually got a degree in sociology. In the meantime, I became receptionist, then file clerk, then assistant to the director. I learned about administration, the ins and outs of insurance, and state aid and social work.”

  “And dying.”

  She stared at him.

  “You must have.”

  She nodded. It had been the hardest part. Still was.

  “Your Fox Meadow is more than likely the last stop for all of us. The only thing that matters is that we’re ready. If it weren’t for Jesus, I know I wouldn’t be ready. I met Him about two years ago. It’s been a crash course, making up for lost time and getting to know Him better. How about you? Have you met Him?”

  She smiled, thinking about how Graham considered her direct. “Almost seventeen years ago, since the moment I saw my newborn baby’s face.”

  He raised his arm slightly, haltingly, as if to reach out to her. The pain would be too sharp. Graham told her the cancer was in his spine. Adele covered his hand with her own.

  He smiled. “You’re a believer. I hoped you were. My wife was, but I wouldn’t listen. Graham never gave up on me, though. Thank the good Lord. Do you go to a church in your town?”

  “Valley Oaks Community. Though sometimes I come here. We have a service at nine. Friends and relatives are welcome to attend.”

  “Which one are you going to tomorrow? So I can tell Graham.” His laugh was rough-sounding.