Leaving Carolina (13 page)

“So here I am with a new purpose in life.” He beams. “And it feels good.”

I draw a deep breath. “I understand that you plan to rewrite your will.”

“Though I know that doesn’t sit right with some of the Pickwicks, my mind is made up.”

“But—”

He waves a hand. “I’m more tired than I thought. If I’m goin’ to go under the knife, I need my rest. Now how about I say a prayer so you can get on your way?”

I don’t argue for fear it could push his heart over the edge. “All right.”

As I set my cool palm into his warm one, he closes his eyes. “Lord, I thank You for bringin’ Piper home. I know it couldn’t have been easy for her after the way she and her mother were treated, but I’m grateful, even if she believes the only reason she’s here is to convince me to leave my will alone.”

My lids fly open, but Uncle Obe continues. “Your Word says
that in his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. I pray You will direct Piper as she renews her acquaintance with her family and that she will forgive them as You have forgiven her for all the mistakes she has surely made.”

I close my eyes, not to join him in prayer, but to calm myself. I have forgiven the Pickwicks, but that doesn’t mean I want a relationship with them. That would only set me up for further hurt. I came back to stop Uncle Obe from making a mistake. If I succeed, then not only will I have done myself a good turn, but my relatives, and that should suffice in the relationship department. Then it’s dust-shaking time.

“Heal her hurts, Lord, and let her rest in knowin’ that we Pickwicks get better with age. Well, most of us. I also ask that You open her eyes to my godson, Axel.”

What?

“Not only is he a fine specimen of a man, but marriageable.”

I open my eyes in time to catch him peeking at me before he closes his lids.

“They would sure make a handsome couple, and I know You would bless them with a mess of little ones.”

Not on his life. In the next instant, the thought boomerangs.
On his life—nice one. If the transplant doesn’t go well, it
could
be on his life! The least you can do is humor him
.

I close my eyes again, and as he continues to pray, I ask God to bring him through the surgery and for his healing to be swift and complete. Of course, it never hurts to ask for a miracle, so I add that if it’s His will, He heal my uncle’s heart without the need for surgery.

“And Lord…” Uncle Obe’s voice trembles with emotion. “I can’t thank You enough for releasing me from the terrible pain I was sufferin’.”

That’s a miracle in itself. After all, how many people about to undergo a heart transplant are able to engage in a game of golf albeit with dinner rolls and a cane?

“More, I praise You for healin’ my heart—a miracle, indeed.”

I peek at him. He doesn’t really believe he received healing and won’t require surgery? He certainly looks earnest. Poor Uncle Obe.

“Now I know this is askin’ a lot after all You’ve done for me, and I’ll understand if Your answer is no, but I’d appreciate one more miracle before tomorrow’s surgery.”

Then he
doesn’t
believe he was healed?

“Heal my knee, Lord.”

His
knee?
Oh, right, the limp.

“It’s feeling better, but if You could do for it what You did for my heart, I’d be grateful. Why, the thought of goin’ under the knife…” He shudders.

Hold it! We’re talking Pickwicks, meaning there is more to this than a couple of nuts rolling around in Uncle Obe’s head.

“That’s it for now, Lord. Amen and amen.” He opens his eyes and his thin lips turn into a smile. “I never could stand to pray in front of others, but I’m gettin’ it.”

I slide my hand out of his. “Uncle Obe, I’m confused. I understood that tomorrow’s surgery was for your heart, that you’re receiving a transplant.”

His head jerks. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Whatever
gave me that idea? How about
whoever
, as in an ancient attorney and a nutty uncle!
Calm thyself, O angry one
. I slowly breathe out and in. “When Artemis asked me to return to Pickwick, he said you had been hospitalized for what appeared to be a heart attack.”

“True. I was in a lot of pain, so much my heart felt as if it might pop.”

“But now you’re talking about
knee
surgery.”

“Uh-huh. My right knee has been botherin’ me for ages, and I keep puttin’ off surgery. But when I flew off my cart and landed on the driveway…” He shrugs. “That’s all she wrote.”

Artemis did mention he had injured his knee. “But what about your heart?”

He snorts. “Why, it was a miracle. Didn’t Art tell you?”

Let me think… “No.”

“God healed me. The doctors call it ‘broken heart syndrome,’ but I call it God.” His brow lowers. “Really, Piper, would I be playing golf if they were settin’ to pluck my heart out? Use your head, girl.”

Where’s a thick pillow when you need a good scream? I asked for a miracle, but this is
not
how it works. “So there’s nothing wrong with your heart?”

He pats his chest. “Like it never happened.”

So I rushed back to Pickwick for
knee
surgery? I carefully fold my hands in my lap. “When did you take a turn for the better?”

He considers the ceiling. “Thursday night.”

The day after Artemis convinced me of the urgency of returning to Pickwick and the day before I boarded the plane. But then what about Maggie and Seth at the Cracker Barrel yesterday? Was
Maggie as much in the dark about this turn of events, or did her anger keep her from sharing the good news with Seth?

“Yep, I was feelin’ a bit better, and they ran more tests and came back with that ridiculous diagnosis.”

I have heard of it, and while it can be deadly, most times it proves harmless as the person recovers quickly and fully. “Broken heart syndrome,” I mutter.

“Right, though there’s some fancy medical name for it. It mimics a heart attack and is usually brought on by a stressful event.”

“Like your accident.”

“Or the death of a loved one.”

I lean forward. “How did you feel about Roy?”

His brow ripples. “I was partial to that old dog—always coming around beggin’ for food—but I can’t say as I loved him. Still, it wasn’t easy lying there on the driveway and watching him struggle for his last breaths.” He puts up a hand. “However, for all that, it wasn’t broken heart syndrome that made my chest buck and burn. It was a good old-fashioned heart attack, and God healed me.”

So knee surgery it is, which makes sense—now. After all, if heart surgery were in Uncle Obe’s future, it’s not likely Artemis could have convinced him to postpone the changes to his will. Had I known, I wouldn’t have returned—

Actually, you would have. It was that stupid stunt of yours that brought you back to Pickwick, and heart surgery or not, your relationship with Grant is at stake
.

“Now I understand why you looked so worried.” Uncle Obe pats my shoulder. “I appreciate your concern.”

I
was
concerned, even if that’s not what brought me back.

“Regardless of the reason you came home—”

My body language must be telling on me.

“—I’m glad you did. Now I’d best rest up before the physical therapist puts me through my presurgery paces.

Dismissed. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“My surgery is scheduled for the morning, so make it late afternoon or I might sleep through your visit.”

I lean forward and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be praying for you.” I
will
make the time.

“Drive carefully. Oh! And give some thought to Axel.” He smiles sheepishly. “I know it’s presumptive to match you with someone you met only once when you were a little bitty girl, but—”

“I met Axel? You’re confusing me again. Until two days ago, I’d never met him.”

“You don’t remember the Easter egg hunt at the big house, when your eggs were stolen?”

“Yes, but Luc stole them, not some miniature version of Axel.”

“That’s right, but Axel is the one who nearly busted Luc’s jaw for taking them.”

He was there? And he defended me? I search my memory, and the first time through I come up empty. But the second time…

Uncle Obe is walking up the hill, and there’s a boy with him whose hair is so short, he’s almost bald. He’s staring at me, but not in a mean way. It’s like he’s sorry for me. Then he looks up and sees Luc laughing, and that’s when the boy starts to look mean
.

It was Axel. He’s the one who made Luc and Aunt Adele and
Maggie leave the egg hunt in such a hurry. He defended me, though I don’t remember hearing about it.

Uncle Obe chuckles. “And Axel younger than Luc. But, then, he was big for his age, and with his daddy in the military, he knew how to take care of himself. And had a keen sense of justice.”

Obviously.

“Well, give him some thought.”

Maybe I will—No, I won’t! He may have defended me, but he probably doesn’t remember it. Too, it surely had more to do with him being bored and looking for trouble.

“I should tell you that I’m seeing someone, Uncle Obe.”
Who has yet to return one of your three calls
. It’s reelection year and his campaign has to take precedence.
Oh, right, you’re just the woman he asked to research how his engagement to you might impact his political career
. It
is
my job.
How romantic
.

“Are the two of you serious?”

“Uh…pretty serious.”

“Engaged?”

Why did I mention it? “Possibly. I mean, eventually. When the timing is right. For him. And me. Careerwise. And otherwise.” What has come over me?

Uncle Obe sighs. “I know all about waiting for the right time. And lettin’ it pass by. Be careful you don’t do the same.”

The regret in his words is deep, and I’m twinged by his pain.

“I’ll see you soon.” He settles back against his pillow.

Five minutes later, I point my car east toward Pickwick and dial Grant. And leave another message.

“I miss you, Piper.”

“I miss you too.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I went on another date.”

One hand pressing the cell phone to my ear, the other on the doorframe Axel repaired while I was in Asheville, I freeze. “How did it go?”

“Better than good.”

While part of me thrills, the other flinches. The date may have been at my urging, but what if it proves a mistake? “Define ‘better than good.’”

“Four times is a charm. This time we hit it off. In fact, we—I probably shouldn’t tell you, but we kissed.”

I suck air. “Come again?”

“Now, Piper, it was just a little one.” My mother giggles. “And chaste. Or nearly so. Lasted maybe five seconds… or ten.”

I close the back door and lean against it. “So the two of you are going out again?”

“Oh yes.”

I rub a hand down my face. “That’s good. You need this.”

“I certainly do. Not to say that it will lead to marriage, but it’s nice to feel attractive and wanted.”

Which she never felt in Pickwick.

“So how about you? Have you met anyone nice there?”

Axel has no business popping to mind! “Mom, not only is this Pickwick, but I’m taken.”

Silence stretches that doesn’t portend well. “I suppose you are. And Grant is a good, upstanding man…”

Here she goes again.

“… but it seems to me his career takes precedence over everything. And though I know you’re fond of each other, neither of you is in love.”

“Mom!”

“Don’t take this wrong, but I think your lack of experience with men is why you’re so eager to hitch your cart to Grant Spangler.”

I’m grateful no one’s here to see me blush. Not that I should be embarrassed at having never been with a man in the “being with a man” sense of the words, but in my world, most people think something is wrong with a mature woman who hasn’t had sexual experience. There isn’t. Still, it can be uncomfortable in the workplace, especially if one lets it slip that her virtue is virtually intact. (I kiss and have even succumbed to inappropriate touching a time or two.)

But one good thing came of my mistake in confiding to one of the partners who took me under her wing years ago—Grant, a politician who is cautious about who he works with, and who is as different from my father as anyone I’ve been able to find. Responsible, goal oriented, and ultraconservative.

“Besides,” Mom continues, “if you were in love with Grant, you wouldn’t encourage him to wait until after the election to seriously consider marriage.”

“It’s my job to advise him on what’s best for his career.”

“And if he were in love with you, he wouldn’t listen. He would pop the question, and in a couple of years, I’d have grandchildren.”

Puffing out my cheeks, I peer out into the dusky garden where,
years ago, the Easter bunny delivered eggs to a little girl whose stash was stolen. “Mom, did you ever meet Uncle Obe’s godson?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uncle Obe says he was here the day Luc stole my Easter eggs—that Axel hit him in the jaw for taking them.”

“I don’t remember your uncle pointing him out, but Luc and another boy did tussle, and Luc got popped in the face. That was Axel Smith?”