Reinventing Leona (28 page)

His father had been an expert at throwing the curious off the trail by appearing interested in them, inquiring into their lives. Before the busybodies knew what hit them, they’d spill their guts, forgetting the original purpose of their fishing expedition.

“Yes, we’re from Florida.” The man pointed at the menacing weather map filling the television screen. “Weather in your part of the country always that . . . severe?” White lines of apprehension creased his bronze face.

“Mt. Hope might be a little less
tropical
than you’re used to. What brings you to town?” David leaned forward, invading the man’s personal space . . . another trick of Dad’s trade. “Visiting family for the holidays?”

The stranger shook his stylishly mussed head. “Going to look at a new work.”

David’s ears perked at the unusual phrasing. “Work?” Comprehension knotted his innards. Pausing, he weighed whether or not he wanted the answer to the next question perched on the tip of his tongue. “What do you do?”

“I’m a pastor.” The man offered his hand. “Forgive my manners. Let me introduce myself. Ted Postier. This is my wife, Bridget.”

David stared at the callous-free palm. What were the odds he’d end up on the same plane as the man coming to replace his father?
God, do you think this is funny?
David sputtered incoherent sounds, unable to force completed thoughts past the constriction in his chest. He fell back in the chair, grateful something solid behind him broke his fall.

“Are you all right?” Concern crinkled the flawless features of the blonde Barbie who had joined her husband, as if on cue. “Apparently the last guy died, so the congregation is looking for someone young and full of energy.” She gazed adoringly at her Ken doll, ignoring the stranger spinning in the airport seat.

Gulping air, David spit out, “Reverend Harper always struck me as a pretty active fellow.”

“There comes a time when everyone has to face their limitations. Some guys are never willing to retire.” Bridget’s perfect smile would be minus its synthetic dazzle once Momma wiped it off her face.

“Even less are willing to die with the name of Jesus on their lips.” David picked up his duffle. “I believe they’re boarding our flight.”

Trudging down the narrow gateway, the sticky hot breath of the replacement preacher and his perfect family scorched the back of David’s neck.

Fly or remain stranded. Whatever he chose, David realized this time running was not an option.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Leona dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter, tossed her coat into the hall closet, then collapsed into J.D.’s recliner. Tater jumped up and wiggled in beside her, his furry body a warm comfort against the freezing winds rattling the parsonage windows.

“I should start a fire, but I’m too tired to carry in the wood.” Letting out a long, exhausted breath, Leona stroked the dog’s silky coat. Memories of many nights sitting in front of a roaring fire, wrapped in J.D.’s strong arms, flickered in her mind. Tears stung her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Ignoring the pity-filled gazes she encountered everywhere she went was the only way she managed to hold back. Relief swept over her as she unlocked the bulging floodgates. “Tater, we made it through the week . . . and I thought church work was rough,” she blubbered.

The cocker heaved a sympathetic sigh, then rested his hairy chin on Leona’s lap.

I’m talking to a dog.
What choice did she have? It was either the dog, the wall, or heaven forbid, herself. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

Kindling the flames of her neglected creativity this week had required so much effort that Leona did not have a minute to stew over the uncertain future. Forcing words to flow from her head, through her fingers, and onto the page had given her an amazing sense of accomplishment. But most importantly, the hard work had temporarily stunted the growth rate of the bitterness choking the arteries to her heart.
Lord, help me accept your will for my future.

The ring of the phone startled Leona from her prayer. Was it circumstance or choice that had shortchanged her time with the Lord these past few days? She’d told herself that once things settled down, she’d get back into the swing of a regular devotional time. But the truth was, for the first time in her life, she understood Jonah’s desire to run one way while God waited in the opposite direction. When she was ready to resume her conversations with the Almighty, he had some serious explaining to do.

With a sigh, Leona lowered the recliner footrest. “Tater, I’m going to have to teach you how to pull your weight around here.” She pushed her weary body from the chair. Hopscotching over the dog, she made it to the kitchen phone before the answering machine clicked on.

Leona held on to the counter while the agitated woman on the other end of the line ranted. When she took a breath, Leona cut in. “What do you mean you’re kicking my mother out of rehab?”

“We’re evicting her immediately.”

“Penny, let me see if I’m understanding you correctly. You want me to come get Mother
now
?”

“Right now.”

“Have you seen the weather?”

Penny cleared her throat. “Mrs. Harper, your mother pulled the fire alarm, then tried to escape while Charlie and his volunteers had the back door open. She would have made it, too, had she been able to get her wheels over their fire hose.”

“I’m sure—”

“Roberta Worthington is a liability the rehab center cannot afford. She’s got to go tonight.”

“Well, can’t you tie her to the bed or something?”

“And get sued?” Penny’s snappish tone didn’t offer much room for negotiation, but Leona refused to be deterred.

“I don’t have a bedroom downstairs, and I’m sure I can’t get her up the stairs by myself.”

“We’ll loan you a hospital bed . . . free of charge. Set it up in your living room, the garage, or the sidewalk. But you’ve got to get that woman out of here tonight.”

“Okay, okay. Give me a minute to think.” Leona cupped her pounding forehead while slogging through her limited options. “I guess I can send Cotton over with the truck to get the bed, and I’ll come with the van to load up Mother.”

“She’ll be packed and ready to go. Just pull in under the drive-through and we’ll shove her out the front door.”

“It will take me a few minutes with the roads like they are. Could you at least wait until you see my headlights before you toss an old lady out in the cold?”

“Very well.” Penny sounded put out. “Oh, and Mrs. Harper, I’m afraid we’ll have to charge extra to paint over the pickle juice.”

“Put it on her bill.” Leona slammed down the receiver. “Could this week get any worse, Tater?” She yanked her coat from the hanger, grabbed her purse and keys, then headed out into the storm.

* * * * *

Leona scurried around J.D.’s tiny home office, helping Cotton toss books and bric-a-brac into a box. “Tater, get off the couch.”

The dog sighed and jumped down.

“You expect me to convalesce in this hole?” Mother clucked from her wheelchair, blocking the doorway.

Anger pulsed against the top of Leona’s skull like a pressure cooker lid ready to blow. “So help me, I’m going to kill her and tell God she died.” She hoisted the heavy box and thrust it at Cotton.

“It’s so small in here that if I got bit by a mosquito, I wouldn’t have room to swell.”

“Maybe you should have considered the possibility of second-rate accommodations
before
you threw pickles, caused a food fight, and pulled the fire alarm.” In one clean sweep, Leona cleared the top of J.D.’s desk into another box she’d dug out of the chilly garage. “Would it be too much to ask if, for once, you thought of someone besides yourself?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“So help me, Mother—”

“Ladies. This isn’t helping.” Cotton eased past Leona with hide-a-bed cushions stacked on top of his sturdy arms. “Bertie, you’re gonna have to back that chair up so I can get this couch out of here.”

“Why can’t I go home?”

“Because your broom is unavailable.” Leona shoved J.D.’s desk into the tight corner. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re having a blizzard. I barely got us back to the house. I doubt Melvin will be able to get David here, let alone turn around and take you back to the city.”

“Bertie, move that chair or I’ll do it for you.” Cotton’s tone meant business, and his glare over the cushions said he was the man to complete the transaction.

Leona’s mother cocked her head defiantly. “You don’t have to get testy, mister.” She released the brake, then slowly backed away from the door, allowing Cotton just enough room to squeeze out. “I missed dinner. I don’t suppose you could make me something to eat, Leona.”

“None of us have eaten, Mother. Your stomach is going to have to wait. Cotton and I have to get that bed off his truck before it’s covered over with snow.” Leona stepped past her mother and gave the wheelchair a jarring shove down the hall. “Now, stay out of the way while we get this room cleared. Tater, keep her out of here.”

The dog obediently dropped in front of Mother’s feet.

“Move it, mutt, before I have you made into a throw rug.” Leona’s mother nudged him with her good foot.

Tater growled, the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention.

“Stay, Tater.” Leona flattened her palm toward the cocker’s snarling face. “If she tries to get past you, boy . . . bite her.”

Her mother’s granite gaze morphed into the picture of composure regained. “I believe the law allows prisoners bread and water.” Roberta Worthington would have made an amazing trial lawyer, no question about it.

“You want supper? Open a can of soup.” Leona stormed back into the study and started throwing more books into a box. The flames of her temper flared with each item of memorabilia she cleared from the shelves.

Cotton returned to the room, remaining wisely silent. Arms crossed, the longtime family friend rubbed his gray chin stubble, giving the impression he was as stumped as Rodin’s
Thinker
. In a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “Leona, maybe you could grab one end of this couch while I take the other.”

“I’m so mad right now, Cotton, I think I could spin this old parsonage until the front door opened to the backyard.”

“Well, how about we put your muscle where your mouth is?” Cotton winked and Leona felt her heat index drop a notch from steaming to a rolling simmer.

She picked an end, braced her feet, placed two hands under the ratty arm of the couch, and prepared to lift with her legs. Cotton took the other end. Together, they pulled and tugged until they wrestled the heavy monstrosity from the room. Once in the deserted hall, they set it down and slid it out of the way.

“Whew! Not so cold anymore, is it?” Leona dropped onto the couch arm and caught her breath.
No sign of Mother.
“Hunger must have driven the lioness to prowl the kitchen.”

Cotton chuckled. He took out his hanky and mopped his forehead. “Sure wish Parker was in town. I would have asked him to come give us a hand.”

“Where is he?”

“Uh . . .” Cotton stuffed his hanky into his back pocket.

Something didn’t feel right. Maybe this sense of foreboding was her pesky hypersensitive feelers kicking in again, but more likely it was the uncharacteristic shade of red on Cotton’s face. “Where
is
Parker?”

“In the city to pick up . . . a package.”

“The city?” Leona jumped up. “Oh no. I hope he isn’t still on the road.”

“Parker’s smarter than that.” Cotton wiped the dust from his hands, brushing away Leona’s unfounded fears with the nonchalant action. “Why don’t you run the vacuum over that carpet while I get the mattress in. I’ll let you help me unload the bed frame. Once we get that hospital bed set up, we’ll slip the old girl a couple of pain pills and things will settle down.” His eyes twinkled reassurance, melting Leona’s visions of icy catastrophe.

“Cotton, you’re a prince.”

“Just a servant, kiddo.”

A barking Tater bolted from the kitchen, raced through the hall, and headed for the living room.

“Girlfriend.” The familiar Southern alto called from the front room.

Leona whirled around. “Roxie? I didn’t hear you come in. What are you doing out in this weather?” She glanced at Cotton. “Did you call her?”

Cotton shook his head, confusion and denial creasing his face.

“How did you know we needed help?” Leona fell into her friend’s arms and wrapped herself in the comfort. “I don’t care how you knew; I’m just so glad to see you.”

Roxie pried herself loose. “Leona, you better sit down.”

Leona stepped back and studied Roxie’s face. Only someone who had been Roxie’s labor and delivery coach for her change-of-life surprise bundle would have recognized the revealing twitch of angst in the corner of the perfectly lined lips. A sudden pang of fear seized Leona’s chest. “What’s going on?”

Roxie’s eyes became liquid. “There’s been an accident.”

Panic raced through Leona’s veins and sucked the marrow from her bones. “David?”

Mother poked her head out of the kitchen. “Accident?” Bony arms pumping, her wheelchair sped down the hall. “Is it Marvin?”

“You mean Melvin?” Roxie freed herself from Mother’s white-knuckled grip, then guided Leona to the hide-a-bed. “Sit down, girlfriend.”

Leona waved her off. “Just tell me, Roxie.”

“It’s Parker and Maddie.”

The walls of the crowded little hall closed in, squeezing the last of the air from Leona’s chest. “That can’t be right.” She struggled to breathe. “Maddie’s in Nashville.”

Roxie shook her head. “She was coming home early . . . to surprise you.”

The empty place in Leona’s womb quivered. “Surprise me?”

“For Christmas. Help you decorate. Make things as normal as possible.”

“Maddie wanted to come home?” Leona could not hold back the tears. J.D.’s death had accomplished the reconciliation nothing else could. Her Maddie had wanted to come home. “What happened?” she sobbed.

“Parker went to get her. His truck slid off the road. Bounced off a guardrail. Then spun into oncoming traffic. An SUV hit them head-on.”