Wishing on Willows: A Novel (30 page)

It was Friday afternoon. Chief Bergman and his wife were finishing their coffee up in the loft. Professor Lofton—the man who taught Robin behavioral
psychology at St. Ambrose—ate a three-cheese soufflé and prepared lecture notes at a table near the back. Robin had just sent Lyle Noldt’s wife off with an entire box of oatmeal raisin cookies and now she stood behind the counter, staring at her piano. Her yearning filled the entire room. Seven days without music and the edges of her soul were turning brittle.

Kyle walked through the front door, his face creased with more lines than usual.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Carl Crammer passed away last night.”

Robin blinked several times, positive she’d heard wrong.

“He had a heart attack. Mimi couldn’t get him to the hospital in time.”

Her limbs went cold. Carl Crammer? The man who always clapped for Robin’s music? The man who couldn’t hide the twinkle of pride in his eye whenever he complained about his only son running off to Chicago? The coldness in her limbs leaked into her stomach. She’d seen Carl two days ago and now he was gone. How was it possible? Robin shuddered. Life could change in a snap. Without warning, everything could flip upside down and inside out. Just like that.

“Mimi doesn’t have any family around here. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve lived alone in that trailer home for the past fifteen years. I believe their son might be on his way.” Kyle dragged his hand down his tired face. Poor guy hadn’t signed up for this. Moving to a town that split itself in two, taking over a ministry that landed itself in the center of the conflict.

“Who’s with her right now?” Robin asked.

“Nobody. I just made sure she got home safely from the hospital. I met them at the meet and greet, but they never really came to One Life. I think I made her more uncomfortable than anything else.”

“I’ll go over to see her as soon as I’m done.” And Caleb? Who would pick him up from day care? And why was he always getting the short end of her busy stick? Her schedule was too cramped. She had no margin. “I can help with the funeral arrangements, and I’ll ask my support group to fix some meals.”

“Thanks, Robin.” Kyle squeezed her hand. “I’ll give you a call later tonight to see how Mimi’s holding up.”

She grabbed a to-go cup from the stack. “Can I get you a coffee before you leave?”

“No, thanks.” He smiled and left the café.

Robin put the cup back on the stack, tears welling in her eyes. Carl Crammer was dead and Mimi was still here. Left to pick up whatever pieces remained of life without her husband. She did not envy what that woman had ahead of her. Chief Bergman and his wife clanked down the steps, waved good-bye, and stepped out the door, oblivious to the fact that not too far away, a woman’s life had shattered to pieces. Before the door closed, Ian McKay, the man she hadn’t seen since last Saturday—the one who’d spent the week talking to every business up and down Main Street—slipped inside her café and headed toward the front counter. She turned around and pressed her hand against her middle.

“No Joe or Molly today?”

“Nope, just me.” Robin blinked away the moisture in her eyes and faced Ian with a smile that felt lopsided and stiff. “You’re not going to talk to me about investing too, are you?”

He cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”

The question almost undid her, but the jingle of the doorbell distracted them both. A woman came in with her son. Ian stepped to the side while Robin took the lady’s order. The entire time she made the iced coffee, she could feel Ian’s stare. She counted out the woman’s change with shaky hands, thanked her for coming, and watched the mother-son duo exit.

“Robin?” Ian studied her beneath a concerned brow.

“Carl Crammer passed away.” Robin cupped her forehead with her palm and shook her head. Even when she said it, she still couldn’t quite believe it. “I need to go visit Mimi, which means I have to call Bethany and see if she can pick up my son. I’d like to bring Mimi something warm, and somehow, I’ll have to make time to help arrange the man’s funeral.”

The front door swooshed open. For once, Robin wished away the customers. How was she supposed to call Bethany or make a meal for Mimi
with a line at her cash register? She got the man a coffee to go, but as soon as he left, somebody else came in.

Ian came around the counter. “What’s Bethany’s phone number?”

“What?”

“Your friend’s phone number? I’ll call her and ask if she can pick up Caleb.”

Robin handed a woman her change. “You don’t have to do that.”

The door opened again.

“C’mon, Robin, you can’t do it all,” he said. “Let me help you.”

His words brought a lump to her throat. She hesitated for a moment, then scrawled the number on a napkin. Ian disappeared inside her kitchen while Robin served her customers. Four in total, two of whom gave her the thumbs-up for supporting One Life and fighting against Ian McKay. If only they knew the man was in her kitchen. A good twenty minutes passed before her café emptied of customers—including Professor Lofton—and Ian had yet to resurface. What was he doing back there? She looked at the clock. Five to three. Close enough. She flipped the sign on the door from Open to Closed, then stood frozen in place, nerves playing leapfrog until she smelled fried onion and garlic.

When she pushed open the door, she found a very familiar scene. “You’re cooking?”

“Lasagna. I figured it’s a safe bet. I’ve never met anybody who doesn’t like it.”

The muscles in Robin’s chest constricted. Ian was cooking a meal for Mimi?

“Bethany said not to worry, she’d pick up Caleb at three thirty sharp.”

Robin stepped all the way inside her kitchen, the door swinging behind her. Ian let her lean against the prep table and pray for Mimi while he navigated the small space. When he finally broke the silence, he did so with a simple request. “Do you have a pan?”

Robin grabbed one off a shelf and handed it over.

He began layering in the ingredients. “Do you mind if I ask why you do it?”

“What?”

“The support group. The funeral. All of it. If anybody has an excuse to sit those things out, it would be you.”

“I can’t sit any of it out.”

“Why not?”

Because I know what it feels like.” She picked up the chef knife and rinsed it off in the sink. “I’ve worn those shoes. So how can I not be there for someone who’s going through the same thing?”

Ian shook his head.

“What?”

“I’m fighting Mother Teresa.”

Despite Kyle’s somber news, she laughed. “I am a far cry from Mother Teresa, trust me.”

He pulled several lasagna noodles from the box and met Robin’s gaze. “I’ve never met anybody like you.”

Her stomach did several somersaults. “You’re giving me too much credit. My reasons are not entirely selfless.”

“No?”

“Helping people who are going through what I’ve been through makes me feel like Micah’s death wasn’t in vain. It gives the pain I went through a sense of purpose.” Robin placed the knife on the bottom of the sink. “I just wish Caleb didn’t have to suffer for it. Being a single parent isn’t easy.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you do a great job.” Pain peeked out from his eyes, bringing a shadow to his face that had nothing to do with the light. At that moment, she’d give anything to know what he was thinking. What pain did Ian McKay carry? But it left before she could inquire. “You’re a wonderful mother,” he said.

“If you can believe it, I used to want five.”

Ian coughed. “Kids?”

“I know. Crazy. And it’s impossible.” Robin wiped her fingers off on a towel, the diamond of her ring catching the light. “It is now, anyway.”

“You’re still young.” Ian smiled. “Anything’s possible.”

Robin wanted to tell him no, not that. But then she remembered Mimi and those dark days after Micah’s funeral. If it was possible to get through such suffocating grief, then maybe Ian was right. Maybe anything was possible. She wanted to believe that. More than he could know.

Ian sprinkled mozzarella cheese over the lasagna and whistled. Watching him cook was like watching her mother play the piano—magical. Robin wanted to give him something in return for all his help. He couldn’t possibly know how much it meant. But what? She studied her injured finger, remembering the lost look on Ian’s face that day she sliced it open. When he slid her wedding ring back in place. “You know that day in your car, after you took me to Dr. Dotts?”

Ian stopped his sprinkling.

“I let you assume something that wasn’t one hundred percent accurate.”

“Oh?” He leaned toward her.

“You assumed Micah bought my ring.”

“He didn’t?”

Robin shook her head. “My dad did.” She twirled it with the pad of her thumb and let out a shaky breath. “Part of the reason I freaked out is because I’m sentimental and it’s my wedding ring. But I also freaked out because it belonged to my mother first. She wore it for twenty years before Micah ever put it on my finger.”

The two of them stood inside the small kitchen, surrounded by the smell of onions and garlic and browned meat, Robin’s intimate confession nestled between them.

“That’s kind of sad,” Ian finally said. “But romantic too.”

She smiled down at the sink, charmed by this man who thought her mother’s ring was romantic. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“I have to tell you something.”

The air in the kitchen hummed with energy, but when she looked up, the crinkle was gone from his eyes. It made her stomach turn into a ball of lead.

“The mayor is going to speak with the town about condemning your property.”

“Condemning my property?”

“It’s when the government forces you to sell.”

The quivering in her knees spread until both of her legs quaked beneath her. “That doesn’t sound legal.”

“Unfortunately, it is.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and had the audacity to look tortured, as if this turn of events troubled him as much as it troubled her.

Robin knocked on the screen door of the double-wide. When nobody answered, she craned her neck and looked over her shoulder. Mimi and Carl’s rusted-out pickup sat in the gravel driveway. Nearly every Saturday evening at eight thirty, Robin would hear it thunder down Main Street and rumble to a stop outside her café. Without its muffler, the thing coughed and hacked like an old man with bad lungs.

Carl and Mimi would sit at the same table, sip coffee—black and piping hot—listen to Robin’s music, and split a cinnamon roll, courtesy of Willow Tree. Maybe Amanda thought it was poor business, but at that moment, not one ounce of her regretted giving the Crammers anything for free. She brought the warm lasagna pan to her side and knocked again.

The older woman shuffled to the door, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. The familiar signs of grief hurled Robin into the past, back when those puffy, bloodshot eyes had been her own. Mimi pushed her hand against the screen door. It squealed on its hinges, a helpless cry for some WD-40. When Robin stepped inside, the scrap of metal whapped against the door frame and the stale smell of cigarette smoke greeted her. She shifted the lasagna to the other side of her body and enfolded Mimi in a one-armed hug. The woman crumpled, her body chugging like a silent steam engine. Robin held on tight. She knew the long days the woman had ahead of her. The even longer nights.

When Mimi resurfaced from her shoulder, Robin plucked a tissue from her purse and handed it over. “All I keep thinking is that Carl will never get to hear Jake play,” Mimi said, blotting her face.

Robin led her to the tweed sofa and placed the lasagna on the fold-out
table in the small kitchen. The tear-soaked cuffs of Mimi’s oversized, tattered flannel shirt reached past her fingertips as she stared off into nothing. Robin sat next to her, the couch springs squeaking beneath her weight. “Do you mind if I pray?”

Mimi sniffed and closed her eyes.

Robin gathered Mimi’s cold hands in her own and prayed the only thing she knew to pray. The same prayer she’d clung to when her own grief had threatened to consume her. A simple, heartfelt prayer that reminded her of her need and God’s faithfulness to meet it. “Wrap Mimi in Your strong arms, Lord. Wipe away her tears. Carry her through this pain.”

In the cocoon of that tiny trailer, with Mimi’s hand in hers, Robin’s problems with the café shrank into something very small and very distant.

Caleb’s face peered through the kitchen window of the farmhouse, twisting Robin’s heart. She’d spent a much longer time with Mimi Crammer than she’d planned. She jogged the rest of the way toward the farmhouse and walked inside the kitchen. Caleb hugged her waist. She swept him into her arms and groaned. How was her baby boy so big already? “You are a giant!”

“I’m not a giant, silly.”

“Fee-fie-fo-fum.”

Caleb giggled and sandwiched her cheeks with his small hands.

She kissed his nose and hugged him tight, as if the tighter she held on the less time would slip away. She wanted to snuggle him to her chest and hold him there forever. Instead, she inhaled the scent of leftover shampoo and little boy sweat and looked over the top of his head. “Is Elyse asleep?”