A Journey by Chance (19 page)

Aunt Lottie cooked up a storm Saturday morning. Aunt Marsha and Uncle Dan brought homemade caramel rolls. Lauren brought doughnuts. Favorite cousins Alec and Anne brought fresh strawberries from their patch.

Gina thought it was great. Dad had arrived ahead of schedule and everyone stopped by to say hello. With food. She smiled now, watching her 90-year-old great-aunt flirt and her father tease as they stood beside each other at the stove, one cooking bacon, the other veggies and scrambled eggs. He wore shorts and a polo shirt. He didn't have his contacts in yet, and his wire-rimmed glasses added to his sporty appearance.

Odd that Dad didn't visit more often. Everyone loved him. Of course there was that issue with the Olafssons. Nice guy though he was, Dad didn't hide well his disdain for Valley Oaks in general. It was where she'd learned it. A bad habit that Brady kissed away once and for all last night…

“Gina.” Dad's voice broke into her reverie. “You going to tell me about your new friend?”

She glanced at her mother, who smiled as she walked past carrying a stack of plates toward the dining room. “I told him he's a very nice Olafsson. Must take after his
mother
.” It seemed she had been impressed with Brady. This was her first smile of the day. She appeared fresh enough with her curly hair still damp from a shower and a trim white T-shirt tucked into navy walking shorts. Her eyes, though, looked as
if it had been a toss-and-turn night, and she definitely seemed out of it.

“Uncle Reece,” Lauren interjected as she walked into the kitchen, “he's going to be my cousin-in-law. He's a good guy.”

“You're marrying an Olafsson?”

She wrinkled her brow for a moment, thinking. “No, he's Aaron's cousin on his mother's side.”

Dad shook his head. “It's amazing nobody marries their own cousin in this town.”

“Reece,” Aunt Lottie said, “did I ever tell you about my cousin who married Clint Eastwood's aunt?”

Her father laughed heartily. “Do you think we're in the will?”

Aunt Lottie punched his arm. “Well, you never know. That marriage means we are related. Gina, honey, hand me that bowl, please. I think we're ready.”

They all sat around the dining room table. Several conversations continued simultaneously. Aunt Marsha announced that the menu for the reception had to be decided today, and once again the choices were discussed. Gina heard Aunt Lottie tell her mother that someone had called while she was in the shower but he didn't leave a message. Dad asked Alec about the school superintendent, whom he was to meet later in the morning to talk about the new housing development. Lauren asked what time she and Aaron could pick her up. Brady had invited the three of them over for dinner that evening.

As she scooped the last of the nutty caramel topping from her plate onto her fork, she got her father's attention. “Dad, is your company's concern really Brady's neighboring property?” She put the fork in her mouth and sighed, savoring the sensation of dissolving sugar.

He nodded. “Afraid so. Neil Braden Olafsson Jr. is the name on my contact sheet. What did you tell him about me?”

“That you're hard-nosed,” she smiled, “but that he'd like you anyway.”

“Fair enough.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “Okay, what's he like?”

“You're getting that steely business edge to your voice.”

He eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup. “It's a father's edge, brought on by the fact that I waited up for you, but evidently not late enough.”

“Mother,” she called down the table, “remind him how old I am.”

Her mother was head-to-head with Aunt Marsha and didn't respond. Gina noted she was also having one of her conspicuous hot flashes. Her neck and face were beet red; perspiration stood out on her forehead and upper lip.

She turned back to her dad. “I think he's hard-nosed, too, but I like him.”

Dad smiled. “How come?”

She shrugged.
He dries my tears and hugs me in cornfields?
“He's compassionate. He listens to me. He makes me laugh. He gives me a new perspective on God and how Jesus is real.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a rather significant influence. Your mother told me he writes Christian novels.”

“I want to show them—”

Her mother touched her shoulder as she walked behind her. “I'll bring them down.”

“Thanks. Dad, they really are unlike anything I have ever read or heard before. They're a step beyond church. Did you ever think that God wants to be involved in our everyday lives?”

“I know He does, when we need Him. And I know He has given me one special daughter.”

Gina's eyes teared up. “I'm beginning to see how He takes care of me every day, on the inside.”

“You've been through a rough time of it. Sounds as if you've got two new friends helping.”

“Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better about things than I was when we first arrived.”

“Good. Is he landlocked?”

“Jesus?”

“No, Olafsson.”

It took Gina a moment to follow his line of thinking. “Oh. No, not technically.”

“Practically?”

“I don't know. There is a ravine that he says is too deep to easily build a road through.”

“Probably would cost him a bundle, too.”

“Can I come with you tomorrow?”

A loud thumping and her mother's cries drowned her dad's answer. They rushed to the front room. Dad reached Mother first. She lay in a heap at the bottom of the wooden staircase.

“Margaret!”

She moaned as he gently turned her onto her side. Gina knelt to examine her left ankle, which was swiftly doubling in size. It was bent in an unnatural way. Carefully she removed the ridiculous thing her mother called a shoe. It was a slip-on sandal with a raised heel and probably the cause of her tumble down the steps. She bit back a lecture.

Anne knelt beside her. “How about some dish towels for a splint?”

“Please.”

“Margaret!” Dad repeated. “Talk to me, Margaret.”

“Reece.” Her mother winced and her voice was strained. “You go for days without saying my name and now you're going to wear it out.”

“Mom, where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere.” She struggled to sit up.

“Good.” She saw a knot forming on her forehead. “Dad, can you get her to the couch?”

“Margaret, put your arm around my neck.” He hoisted her in his arms and carried her the short distance.

Gina noted her father's face was more ashen than her mom's. She positioned Maggie's leg on a pillow while Anne folded the dish towels. They gently tied them around the leg, making the pillow into a splint. Everyone hovered, expressing dismay over the injury.

“Margaret, what happened?”

“Isn't it obvious?” she whispered.

“How far did you fall?” Gina asked.

“Just the last few steps. I was,” she took a painfulsounding breath, “rushing.”

“Dad, we've got to get her to the emergency room. I think it's fractured.”

Slowly he rose from beside the couch. “I-I'll get my wallet.”

“Can somebody tell us how to get there?” Gina raised her voice above the noisy chatter, then noticed her mother's eyes. Only the whites were showing beneath slowly closing lids. “Mom!”

“Margaret!”

“Mom!”

Her eyelids fluttered open, but her eyes were unfocused. Gina wondered if the knot on her head was more serious than it appeared. “Dad, let's
go!”
She had never seen her dad so unsure. He shuffled toward the staircase.

Alec said, “I'll take you all to the hospital. Anne, you bring Grandma Lottie's car so they'll have one there.”

It was an agonizingly slow process to get everyone moving in the same direction. Her mother continued to behave in a dazed manner, her father even more so. In the midst of it all, Gina realized how deeply he must care for her. Why was it he didn't show it more plainly?

Good grief. She was beginning to sound like Brady. Illogical and irrational.

“Gina, go home,” Reece urged. “There's nothing more for you to do here.”

“No, I want to wait until they put the cast on.”

Lying propped up in the hospital bed, Maggie heard the resolve in her daughter's voice and smiled at her. “You've raised enough ruckus for one day, hon. I'm sure they can manage a cast without your supervision.”

Incredulity was evident in Reece's raised brows and in Gina's face lifted toward the ceiling. They stood on either side of the bed. Lauren was at the foot of it.

Maggie squeezed Gina's hand. Promoting optimism was a losing battle. “At any rate, I'm not hanging around for them to redo it! If you don't approve, we'll come back tomorrow. Now go. Have fun at your dinner.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure. Lauren, take her, please.”

Reece ushered them out the door, then restlessly paced the small room, sipping coffee from a paper cup. “Stick a DVM at the end of her name and she thinks she knows everything related to medicine.” There was a father's pride in his comment. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just out of here.”

It had been a tedious, tedious day. Maggie closed her eyes against the brightly lit room. She wanted to crawl into that black hole she had kept slipping into while the pain pierced relentlessly. But they had given her something for the pain, leaving her to confront…too many things.

Reece and Gina had been almost obnoxious in voicing their contempt for the hospital. True, things were disorderly
and incredibly slow, giving the appearance of inefficiency. They had been there for hours. Reece postponed his meeting. She knew he'd rather be working than pacing in a cubicle, had even encouraged him to leave, but he refused. Well, at least it was a cubicle, a room with walls, not just a curtainedoff area. The hospital was a fairly new structure.

Then there was that nagging at the back of her mind about what Aunt Lottie had said. Someone called, but he didn't leave a message. She wasn't worried that Reece had paid attention to the comment. She was worried that something was wrong with her friend John, otherwise he would not have called. It had to have been him. What other “he” would call?

“Margaret?”

She didn't open her eyes. “Reece, they said I could sleep. There's a problem only if I don't wake up.”

“I know I've said this, but you need to slow down. I can just imagine you flying down the staircase, in a hurry to get nowhere.”

There was no need to respond. The subject had been covered. He always wanted to fix things quickly, figure out causes, and offer solutions one, two, and three.

“Mr. Philips?”

Maggie opened her eyes. The doctor appeared. He was mild-mannered, tall, and thin, fifty-something with hornrimmed glasses and a soft voice. He wore a brilliant white lab coat.

“You're awake, Mrs. Philips? I was looking over your chart and wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”

Reece approached the other side of the bed. His tension was palpable, but he didn't say anything. “Ask away, Doctor,” she replied. “If you have the time. We're not going anywhere.”

“I was curious about your age and broken bones. Are you pre-or postmenopausal?”

“My guess is I'm in the thick of it. Generally speaking, things have gone haywire.”

He nodded. “Insomnia, hot flashes, irritability, outrageous laughter one minute, intense crying the next?”

She smiled. “Your wife?”

“Yes. You're not on hormonal replacement therapy?”

“No.”

“Well, either that or alternative ways would combat all of the above. My concern today is your bones. Do you take calcium supplements or eat a lot of dairy, salmon, soy, broccoli? Do you exercise regularly?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No.”

“Have you ever had a bone density scan?”

“No.” She heard Reece's sharp intake of breath.

“Doctor,” he said, “is there a problem with something?”

“Not so far as I can tell from the X rays.” He addressed Maggie again. “I'm just suggesting that you may want to talk to your doctor. You're petite and fair-skinned and, let me guess, you drink quite a bit of coffee and diet soda?”

“Guilty.”

“Those things put you in the high-risk category for osteoporosis.” He patted her hand. “At the very least, change your diet and walk more.” With a smile he strode toward the open door. “Especially down staircases. We'll be with you shortly.”

They watched him go, then Reece harrumphed. “Shortly.” He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Speaking of coffee, I'm going to take a walk and get a fresh cup. Do you want anything?”

“No. Thanks.”

Maggie closed her eyes again. They burned with tears she refused to shed. How could her body betray her like this? How could she maintain control when it insisted on controlling her? Since Rosie, she had been so very careful not to
break rules, not to make mistakes. She worked hard at her job and taking care of her family. How could she do such a stupid thing as fall down the steps and break an ankle? And what was she supposed to do with a future of deteriorating bones and dried-up skin and crazy emotions and—