Lakeside Reunion (2 page)

“That would be the understatement of three lifetimes. Listen, I really have to go. Call Ma, will you? I'm sure she'll want to know about Grace.”

“Yeah, sure. As soon as Nate's done with his sermon prep, we'll head to the hospital to check on Grace. Maybe I can catch Lindsey. Call me later if, you know, you want to talk or anything.”

Stephen snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat beside him.

Life couldn't be easy, could it?

Today was supposed to be like every other—wake up, drop Tyler off at school, head to the station. Since his wife's death almost a year ago, juggling his responsibilities—single parenthood, law enforcement officer, upholding the family
honor—without screwing up too badly consumed his waking hours.

And now Melissa had it in her head that he needed to date again. Was she crazy? He could barely keep his head above water as it was. Forget about romance.

Unless…

Stephen shook his head. Don't even think about it. Lindsey hated him. He could see it in her thick-lashed, look-at-me green eyes. She had every right to never want to see him again.

Five years was a long time. She was probably involved with someone. Possibly even married. No, he would've heard if that had happened.

The thought of her with another guy twisted his gut. Yet, he had no right. His stupidity was the reason they weren't together anymore. What she had been up to for the past five years was no longer any of his business. Plus, it wasn't as if he would have been at the top of her must-see list. Girls really didn't like to hang out with the guys who crushed their hearts.

He was an idiot. Of gigantic proportions.

He needed to get a grip. He had a job to do.

His cell phone vibrated again. Probably Melissa letting him know she talked to Ma. He grabbed it and answered. “Chase.”

“Mr. Chase, this is Carolyn Patry, the school nurse at Shelby Lake Elementary. I'm afraid there's been a little accident.”

“What sort of accident?” A child wailed in the background. Familiar sobs that knifed his insides. “What's wrong with Tyler?”

“He and another child collided while playing indoor soccer in gym class. Tyler fell and hurt his arm. I'm afraid it may be broken. He needs medical attention. Would you like me to
call the paramedics, or do you want to take him to the emergency room?”

“I'll take him. I'm on my way.” He ended the call, radioed the station to let them know where he was headed and shifted the patrol car into Drive. He pulled away from the shoulder, spitting gravel beneath the tires.

A broken arm wasn't life-threatening. But the poor kid'd had a rough year and didn't need anything else to make it worse. Especially a trip to the hospital—a place they'd come to know all too well and hated.

What if he ran into Lindsey in the E.R.?

Second chances didn't come along every day. Now that she was back in town, maybe, just maybe he could make amends—fix what he had broken in the past. Next time she left town, it wouldn't be because of him. Or maybe, God willing, he'd make sure she never wanted to leave again.

L
indsey rushed into Shelby Lake Memorial's emergency department. Her feet stopped at the edge of the rubber mat. The automatic doors hissed open and closed behind her. Her brain told her to move. But her legs…well, they refused to cooperate.

The stench of antiseptic saturated the air, coating the back of her throat and unleashing a flood of memories. Sea of blue uniforms swarming the waiting room. Mom's body hunched in repetitious prayer. The waiting for word about Dad's condition…praying for a miracle.

Beads of sweat dotted her upper lip and forehead. Inside her skin, her muscles tightened, nerve endings pulsed. Chills crawled across her flesh.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't go back to the exam rooms, only to have the doctors say how sorry they were, but there was nothing more they could do. She couldn't bear to listen to Mom's grief-stricken howls. Except, this time, those cries would be hers.

Ringing.

From the registration desk.
Focus, girl.

Lindsey blinked a couple of times.

Emergency department.

Right.

Mom hadn't been rushed to the O.R. with a bullet in her chest like Dad had been. She'd be fine. After all, who died from a broken leg?

Lindsey scanned the room, searching for Granddad's steel-gray crew cut or Grandma's cotton-colored curls.

Instead, she locked eyes with an elderly woman wearing a pink-and-white crocheted hat that resembled a toilet-paper cover. She wore a stretched-out white T-shirt, green polyester pants with a snag in the knee, white ankle socks and blue knockoff Crocs. She clutched a wicker purse with a beaded handle. Her jaw worked a piece of gum like one of Granddad's Holsteins.

Realizing she was staring, Lindsey pulled her attention away from the woman and hurried to the registration desk. A woman with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders looked up from a computer screen and smiled. “May I help you?”

“My mother, Grace Porter, was brought in by ambulance with a broken leg.”

The woman set her glasses on the bridge of her nose and clicked a few keys. “Please have a seat, and I'll get someone to speak with you.” She left the desk and disappeared behind a closed door.

Lindsey turned away from the desk and perched on the edge of one of the rose-colored vinyl chairs. The same chairs formed a horseshoe around the same glass table as they had five years ago. Dog-eared
Sports Illustrated, Good Housekeeping
and
Parents
magazines lay tossed on the chairs like missing socks. A morning show played on the wall-mounted TV, but the woman's perky voice grated on her nerves.

“You gotta go potty?” A little girl about four with lopsided ponytails, a dirty face and a heart-melting smile stood in front of Lindsey holding a worn Dr. Seuss book.

“Excuse me?”

“When I hafta go potty, I do that.” She pointed to Lindsey's knee.

Lindsey looked down and realized she had been bouncing her knee. She stilled her leg and shook her head. “Oh. No, I'm fine. Nervous habit.”

“What you got to be nerbous about?”

“My mom broke her leg. I want to make sure she's okay.”

“That musta hurt. My mommy drinked too much and had a accibent. My daddy yelled at her and she cried. I don't like my daddy. I'm sposta stay with Nana, but she's talking to Jesus. Do you talk to Jesus?”

At one time, she did. Thinking she had a direct line to Heaven, Lindsey prayed for a miracle. But apparently, God screened His calls.

Instead of answering, Lindsey tapped the book cover. “I like your book. My mom has
Daisy-Head Mayzie
and reads it to her class.”

The little girl looked at the front of the book a minute, then hugged it against her chest. “My teacher read it to us, too. Mommy buyed it for me. She likes daisies. She said I was special like Daisy. I like my mommy. She's nice when she don't smell funny.”

Smell funny? Booze? Drugs? Worse?

If life hadn't taken a sharp U-turn…well, maybe Lindsey would have had a child by now. Possibly about the same age as the little girl. She couldn't dwell on the way reality derailed her dreams.

She tucked her hands beneath her thighs to keep from pulling the girl into her lap and cradling her against the unfairness of life. Of course, after she burned that stained polka-dot dress and dunked the child in a tub full of bubbles.

The girl should be watching
Dora the Explorer,
playing dress-up and serving tea to bears and pink unicorns. Not
wandering the emergency-department waiting room, trying to decide which parent she loved more.

“Molly! Get on over here. Don't bother that nice lady.” The elderly woman with the crocheted hat slapped the empty seat beside her. “Sorry 'bout that. Molly's a little chatterbox.”

Lindsey held up a hand and smiled. “She's no bother. Really.”

Molly shuffled her grungy yellow flip-flops to her grandmother and hopped onto the chair beside her. “Nana, my tummy's hungry.”

“Well, you will just have to wait. I ain't got no money. Who knows how long your worthless mother is going to keep us here? Why, I have half a mind to—” The woman mashed her withered knuckles against her lips and stared out the window.

Lindsey dug through her purse and pulled out a blueberry cereal bar. “Excuse me, I don't mean to intrude, but I have a granola bar. Molly's welcome to it.”

Molly's eyes sparkled. She slid off the chair, but Nana grabbed the child's arm and pulled her back. She shook her head, causing the crocheted rose on her hat to flop around like a hooked trout. “We don't take charity. We ain't got much, but we got our pride.”

Lindsey wanted to argue. To let her know it was no imposition. But Nana's thrust chin and crossed arms left little room for debate. Molly's bottom lip protruded. Lindsey's heart pined for the child. How many times had Dad given food to needy families? Even strangers.

Whatever you did for the one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.

Maybe she could slip the nurse a twenty and ask for food to be brought to Molly and Nana.

A hand settled on her shoulder. She jumped to her feet and
whirled around. She found herself looking into kind brown eyes set in a weathered face as lined as a topographical map.

Her grandfather, Graham Matthews, smiled and opened his arms.

“Granddad!” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. The softness of his red-and-black checked flannel shirt caressed her cheek. The faint odor of cow manure and hay settled in the threads of the fabric, whisking Lindsey back to a place where problems were solved with hugs, homemade oatmeal cookies and lazy walks along the creek. “How's Mom? Where is she?”

“One question at a time, sweetness. Come with me and then we'll talk. Did you grab that quilt she asked for?”

Lindsey thunked the heel of her hand against her forehead. After the fiasco with Stephen, stopping to pick up the quilt slipped her mind. “I'm so sorry. I totally forgot. I'll get it as soon as I see Mom.”

“No worries, sweetness.”

No worries. Right. Something as simple as a blanket to bring her mother comfort, and she couldn't even manage that. One more way of letting Mom down. Definitely out of the running for Daughter of the Year.

Granddad tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tightened his hold as if he knew she wanted to bolt. She trailed behind as he guided her around the registration desk, past the nurses' station. Each footstep plodded, yet her brain screamed, “No! No! No!”

She must have spoken out loud because Granddad turned to her. “No what?”

Her stomach gurgled and pitched. Bile slicked her throat. She swallowed hard. “I can't do this.”

“Being in this hospital again is tough on you, sweetness. On all of us. Gracie may be nearing fifty, but she's still our little girl.” Granddad released her arm.

Oh, how she longed to have wings. To fly away. Out of the hospital. And back to her inn where life was safe. But she couldn't.

Not this time.

Mom needed her.

Cupping her shoulders, Granddad looked at her—eyes full of compassion and never leaving her face. “You can do this. You have your mama's strength. She will be fine. It's only a broken leg.”

Hadn't she chanted that mantra already? Somehow her brain tuned it out.

They stopped in front of one of the exam rooms. Lindsey's heart slammed against her rib cage. No going back now.

She grabbed Granddad's hand. He gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze and then rapped on the door with his knuckles. He stepped back and motioned for her to enter.

They'll cast Mom's broken leg, send her home with crutches and pain pills. She'll be fine.

Lindsey dredged up a smile. She peered around the door frame. Dressed in a generic hospital gown, Mom lay against the snow-white pillows with her eyes closed. A thermal weave blanket covered her from the waist down but did little to disguise the puffy mound around her right leg.

Her grandmother, Madeleine Matthews, sat in a pea-green vinyl chair in the corner, knitting. The rhythmic clicking of the needles told Lindsey Grandma wasn't as calm as she appeared. She always knitted when she was stressed. Said it calmed her nerves.

“Some people will do anything to get out of doing laundry.”

Grandma looked up and smiled. She dropped the yarn and needles in her purse at her feet and stood, opening her arms.

Lindsey rushed into her gentle embrace, breathing in
the familiar lavender scent. “Hey, Grandma. How are you doing?”

“Oh, my girl, it's so good to see you.” Grandma squeezed her, and then held her at arm's length. “I'm sorry it had to be like this.”

“It's great to see you, too.” She pulled away from Grandma and edged toward the bed. “How's Mom doing?”

“Why don't you come over here and find out for yourself?” Mom's sleepy voice drifted toward her. She turned, giving Lindsey full view of the reddish-purple bruises and abrasions streaking the side of her face.

Lindsey bit back a gasp as she sat on the side of the bed.

Don't cry. Please don't cry.

She caressed her mother's swollen cheekbone. “Stairs one? Mom zero?”

“Something like that. I told them not to call you. It's only a broken leg.”

“Actually, it's a little more serious than that.” A petite, dark-haired woman dressed in a white lab coat over green scrubs with a folder tucked under her arm knocked on the partially opened door before entering the room. She crossed the room and shook hands with Granddad, Grandma and Lindsey. “Rachel Warren, attending physician.”

Lindsey shook the doctor's hand. “Just how serious?”

Dr. Warren leafed through the pages in the folder and turned to Mom. “Mrs. Porter, your blood work looks good, but I wish I could say the same about your X-rays. You have a compound tib-fib fracture near your ankle joint. I've called in Dr. Geis, our orthopedic surgeon. She had a cancellation and will be able to do surgery right before lunch.”

“Tib-fib?” Mom tried to sit up, but sucked air between clenched teeth.

Dr. Warren laid a hand on her arm. “Please lie back and try not to jostle your leg. Tib-fib refers to the tibia and fibula—
the bones between the knee and ankle.” Pulling back the blanket and using a pen as a pointer, she ran it along the front of Mom's left calf. “Your fracture occurred in the lower portion of your leg, close to the ankle. With this serious of a fracture, surgery is necessary to be sure the bones heal properly.”

Granddad and Grandma asked more questions, but Lindsey's thoughts swirled like a shaken snow globe. Surgery? People died on the operating table.

Lindsey wandered to the window. She stared at the ugly blue parking garage that grew out of the asphalt and towered above the two-story hospital. Cars the size of ladybugs crawled into parking spaces. She pulled her BlackBerry out of her purse and scrolled through the list of events for the rest of the month. One by one she deleted them from her calendar.

“Lindsey, is everything okay?” Grandma placed her hand on Lindsey's arm.

She forced a smile. “Of course.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Warren left and a nurse came in to prep Mom for the move to the surgical wing. Lindsey returned to the waiting room with her grandparents.

Molly and Nana were gone. Maybe they were eating in the cafeteria. But Lindsey couldn't think about them right now.

Granddad struck up a conversation with a man next to the coffee machine. Grandma sat and resumed knitting.

Lindsey paced, clenching her hands as a million thoughts ran through her head. Leaving Shelby Lake was definitely out of the question now. She couldn't abandon Mom right before surgery. She needed to call her assistant Rita and give her a heads-up.

And, oh, yes, the quilt.

That meant heading out to Mom's house—the house where Lindsey spent her first twenty-two years. The house so full of memories that she hadn't returned in five years.

Grandma reached for Lindsey's hands and pulled her down
to sit in the empty seat beside her. She rubbed a thumb over Lindsey's knuckles, forcing her fingers to unclench. She stared at Lindsey with her faded aquamarine-colored eyes as if reading the thoughts racing through her head. “Everything is going to be fine, honey. You can spend the night at the farm, if you want. Or I'll come to your mother's house with you.”

Part of her wanted to pounce on Grandma's offer, to curl up next to her in the queen-size bed with the iron headboard, fluffy down pillows and handmade quilt like she did when she was a little girl. To hide herself inside the big farmhouse, with its creaky wooden floors and lingering scents of baking bread and cinnamon. But if she were going to be back in Shelby Lake for any length of time, she'd have to return home sooner or later. Better to do it now on her own terms without an audience.