The Only Best Place (30 page)

Judy tugged on my arm, then turned me around and untied the ribbons of my gown. “C'mon. You look like you could use a cup
of tea.”

“Anneke wants to go to the playroom,” I said, torn between talking to an adult from the outside world and taking care of my
other child's needs.

“I'll take her,” Tabitha said, reaching out for her. “I can see Nicholas later.”

I relinquished Anneke's damp, sticky hand with some reluctance as Judy took my arm and ushered me down the hallway toward
the stairs.

A few moments later my hands cradled a paper cup filled with warm tea. We sat by a window. Still daylight. In Nicholas's room,
time melted and turned into the shape of hands on a clock, the movement and routine of doctors' rounds and shift changes.

Through a space in the buildings I could see the solid peaks of the mountains.
He covers the sky with clouds, He supplies the earth with rain.

My attention shifted gently from hospital and illness as I turned back to Judy. “How are things going for you?” I asked.

“Fine. But I'm not here to talk about me.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on my arm. “I want you to know that
we're praying for Nicholas,” she said. “I know that might not mean much to you…” She let the sentence hang, and I wanted
to tell her that it meant more than she could know. But I was new at this God thing and at this family thing and wasn't sure
of the proper protocol when people said they were praying for you. So I muttered a quick thanks and spun my plastic stir stick
in my tea.

“So, what have the doctors been saying?”

“They're doing the vague doctor-speak. With meningitis, time can move things in either direction, good or bad.” I sighed, gave
Judy a tired smile, hoping she understood. “Can we talk about ordinary things right now? My life has been doctors and nurses
and hospitals for so long, and I want to know there's a life beyond that right now.”

Judy's eyes widened for a split second, then she recovered. Smiled. Nodded.

“Sure. You probably talk enough about Nicholas.” But then she was quiet, putting the onus on me to come up with a topic.

I gave my tea another stir, trying to find the ordinary. “I'm guessing I can thank either Wilma or you for keeping things
moving smoothly on the home front.”

“Mostly you can thank Mom or Gloria. Gloria's also been watering the garden and flower beds for you.”

My lilies were going to survive. My house wasn't going to rot away.

Judy leaned forward. “Look, I know Dan asked us to back off, but you know Mom and Gloria. They can't stay away. As for Gloria,
she's not the easiest person to get to know, and I know that sometimes she wears her halo a little tight, but she has a good
heart. It comes out a little differently with her than it does with most.”

I thought of how, only a few moments ago, I felt I could relax when I saw Anneke's hair all shiny and neat. My out-of-control
life was gaining control again, and Gloria and Wilma were giving that to me.

“I know she hasn't always been open to you,” Judy continued, “but she wants to try. She just isn't sure how to start.”

“There are a lot of qualifiers in that sentence,” I said, picking up my cup of tea. I wasn't ready to relinquish the frustration
I had nurtured the past few months—no, the past few
years
.

“I know. Gloria is one of those capable people who set your teeth on edge but at the same time you want in your corner in
a rough spot. She's trying too hard to be like Mom. I keep telling her it's not going to work. Mom isn't one you can easily
please.”

Judy was talking this way about her mother? To me, the Imperfect Heathen?

“You look surprised.” Judy laughed. “I know what my mom is like. And she's gotten worse since Dad died. He could always tease
her out of her little control fits—get her to relax. Keith…” Judy sighed. “Not such a good match. She's gotten more involved
and nosy and controlling. She really needs to be put in her place from time to time.”

“I've tried.”

Judy gave me a quick stroke with her hand. “I know you have. And that's why there's been tension between you and her. She's
not used to someone being so blatant about it.”

“So, I should learn diplomacy, is what you're saying?” I countered with a quick smile to show her that in spite of what I
was dealing with I hadn't completely lost my sense of irony.

Judy wrinkled her nose. “No. I think you should keep on doing what you're doing. It's good for her.”

I almost choked on my tea.

“Seriously,” Judy continued. “Mom's always had a hard time with boundaries. I'm sure that's why Keith bailed on her. She likes
to be in charge and in control. Of everything. She had Dan's life all planned, down to the girl he was supposed to marry.”
Judy took a quick sip of her tea and waved her hand as if waving off my curiosity. “The girl doesn't live here anymore, so
no worries. But Mom is coming around in her own stubbornly slow way. It helps that you come to church once in a while now.
I know why you come, and that's good, but I also hope someday it will mean something to you.”

I thought of the church services I had attended and the Coffee Break program Kathy had told me about. An entire world that
I was learning to navigate without too many missteps.

I liked control, too.

“I think it's starting to happen,” was all I could say. I swirled the leftovers of my tea around the bottom of the cup. “There's
a lot to learn, and I've never had any background in faith. Or God.” And I wasn't used to living my life with a cloud of witnesses.
I didn't want to examine my deeper feelings right now. I didn't want to think that I had maybe, perhaps, made any kind of
commitment.

I could do qualifiers, too.

But even so, I knew that my initial hesitation to stay here was slowly wearing away, and I was willing to give our stay a
bit more time. See where life took us in the next half year or more. And if I ran out of chocolates before we ran out of time?
Big deal.

Judy lifted her shoulder in a careful shrug as if she didn't dare push too hard, either.

“It's a lot to put together.” Judy brushed her cup aside. Folded her arms on the table in front of her. “But don't let people
make it more complicated than it is. God loves you. He's perfect. We aren't. Jesus came to be the perfect bridge between us
and God. Believe that, and you're on your way.”

“He loves me, too; He loves me, too….”
the simple words of the children's song came back to me. Not so complicated after all.

“And that's your theology lesson for now,” Judy said with a quick laugh. “I also need to tell you that Gloria was pretty impressed
when she saw you with Tabitha, and working on Mrs. Harris. The woman who came in with a heart attack. Gloria knew she wasn't
supposed to be watching, but she was amazed at how important your job is.”

I felt a flush of pride. “I'm surprised she told you.”

“About what?”

“Tabitha.”

Judy laughed. “I was, too. But hey, I'm not going to say too much. Could easily be my Allison in a few years. Or less. Gloria
really appreciated the fact that you didn't say anything to anyone about it. Dan didn't even know. Harland isn't a big town,
and it only takes a spark to get the fire of gossip going.” Judy gave me a quick pat on the hand. “Nice to know that if I
come in roaring drunk it won't get put in the
Harland Chronicle.
”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not yet. Depends on how the next year goes. We've got a major payment coming up, and the government keeps making noises about
cutting back our water rights. So it's fight, fight, fight every step of the way.”

“But you wouldn't change?” I asked, testing her commitment.

Judy laughed. “Not on your life. It's not just a job—farming is a way of life. I like it that Dayton and I are involved in
each other's lives. That even though we fight when we do books, we always know where we're at.”

Relief flowed through me. “I thought Dan and I were the only ones who squabbled over debits and credits.”

“Are you kidding?” Judy looked incredulous. “Dayton and I usually have one major blowout at tax time and a few minor ones
along the way. Nothing shock-and-aweish, but close.”

“From the looks of things, Dan and I are going to have a few more of these squabbles on our hands. What with Keith demanding
money.”

Judy held up her hands. “Honey, you have enough on your plate—you don't even need to be sampling that witch's brew.” She shrugged.
“Besides, I don't blame you if you decide to bail.” She held my eyes, her expression suddenly serious. “I mean that, Leslie.
Don't feel like you need to hang on longer than you should. I don't blame you if you want to go back to Seattle and a regular
paycheck and get away from us hicks. We can sell the farm and the animals, and Mom will be able to manage. But don't feel like
you are responsible for us.”

I was surprised at the mixture of feelings her comments created. Thankful that I had her blessing to leave. Hurt that she
thought I would so easily walk away. Disappointed that she didn't think I could manage.

“I don't mind being on the farm,” I said carefully. “And I don't think you're hicks.”

Judy pulled a face. “Why not? I do.”

I was about to say something more, when the sound of hurried footsteps, someone calling my name, sent my heart into overdrive.
I pushed away from the table.

Dan appeared in the doorway of the cafeteria, saw me, and called out my name again. “It's Nicholas.”

My heart plunged, again.
Get up. Get going.

My hands wouldn't do what my brain told it. I tried to get up, and my knees gave way.

Then Judy's arms were around me, holding me up.

“I've got you,” she said. “Let's go.”

A
machine was breathing for my son. A sudden and unexpected seizure had plunged him further down. The doctor mumbled something
about a stroke. I pretended not to hear.

The rash on his legs and arms was still there, cruel patches of ugliness on my son's pale white skin. The disease fought a
winning battle in my son's small body, gaining ground inch by precious inch.

Dan stood beside me, watching the lifting and caving in of Nicholas's chest.

“I thought we'd see progress,” I murmured. “I thought we were moving ahead.”

Dan slipped his arm around me, and once again I turned to him, resting against him.

“We have to keep praying,” he said quietly.

“I've been trying,” I whispered. “I don't even know how to do it except to say please, please, please.”

Dan laid his chin on my head. “If you look at most prayers, that is essentially what they boil down to. That and thank You,
thank You, thank You.”

I touched Nicholas's face again, trying not to look at the endotracheal tube protruding out of our son's mouth like an obscenity.

“I'm hoping we can get to the thank You, thank You part,” I whispered.

Dan's arm tightened. “Me, too.” His voice broke. The sound cut the ground out from under me. Dan was never weak. He was the
one I depended on. He was my strength.

He brushed a kiss over my forehead. “I have a little bit of a thank You. I got a letter from our lawyer in Seattle yesterday.
Lonnie Dansworth settled with his creditors to avoid bank-ruptcy. We didn't get what he owed, but we got about twenty-five
cents on the dollar. My lawyer suggested we take it.”

I nodded, acknowledging his comment. Lonnie and the money was a part of another world that didn't concern me right now. At
one time I would have been ecstatic, or depressed, depending on my expectations. But now? Nice to know, but unimportant.

We moved closer to the bed, and I caught my foot on a bag of books lying on the floor.

“I brought those. Just in case you might want to read.” He gave me a weak smile, his arm still around my shoulder. I bent
over and picked up the bag, then sat on the chair beside Nicholas's bed to look through it.

I pulled the first book, turned it over, and frowned when I saw the faded title.

“The Bible?” I asked, surprised that he would put that in.

“It gives me comfort,” he said. “Gloria asked me to give it to you. It used to be hers.”

I saw the sticky notes bristling out of one side of the book. Just like Dan's. Was this a VandeKeere thing?

Curious now, I turned to one. Psalm 139. I started reading aloud.

” ‘O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.’”
I couldn't help but toss a nervous glance upward. I didn't think God bothered with perceiving thoughts. What kind of thoughts
had He listened in on? I didn't want to contemplate that too much, so I read on. Then stopped and reread the words: “‘If I
rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand
will hold me fast.’” I lowered the Bible and drew in a long, shaky breath, glancing at Dan. The words touched emotions still
tender and raw. For the past few days, fear had been breathing down my neck, hot, hard, and relentless. In the quiet of the
early morning, I stood vigil over my son's bed, cocooned by a darkness broken only by the digital readout of the monitors.
Utterly and indescribably alone. Clinging to trembling hope.

“So, the Bible is telling me that no matter where I go, God's hand is there?”

Dan tucked a strand of hair behind my ear in a curiously tender gesture. “That's what the Bible is saying. It's real, Leslie.
It really is. I feel like I'm being upheld by the prayers of my family. Like God is nearer to me now than He ever has been.”
He stopped then and gave me a crooked smile. The self-conscious one he throws out when he feels like what he has said or done
has trespassed some sacred guy-code.

I returned his smile but said nothing, giving him the space I knew he needed after such an intimate revelation. I read on.

” ‘Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day…. I praise you because I am fearfully
and wonderfully made…. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be….’”
Again my eyes slipped to Nicholas. “So, how many days has God ordained for Nicholas?” I whispered as my gaze slipped over
the array of equipment that kept my son with us. Such a complex organism, the human body, yet so fragile.