A Journey by Chance (2 page)

Gina's mother and Aunt Lottie greeted her as she carefully laid her wet backpack on the rug just inside the front door at the foot of the staircase.

“Oh, sweetie,” her mother said, “I was worried.”

“Mother! I'm 28 years old.”

“So?” She patted her cheek.

Gina noticed that her mother's naturally curly and almost naturally blonde hair was frizzy. Uh-oh. Even cool, calm, collected Margaret Philips appeared uptight after spending less than a day in her hometown. She wasn't even called by her name here. Sophisticated Margaret, manager of women's clothing for Southern California's largest department store, was reduced to
Maggie
.

“Did you ride that bike in this rain?” Margaret's tone was reminiscent of the days when Gina would miss curfew.

Aunt Lottie answered for her. “No.” She moved away from the lace-curtained window. “Looks like Brady's truck.”

“Yeah, Brady Oleo something,” Gina replied. “He was at the library.”

“Oleo?” Margaret asked.

Aunt Lottie laughed, her plump hands folded at the waist of her flowered apron. “Olafsson, Gina. Say Olafsson. It's a good Swedish name. Maggie, you remember the Olafssons, don't you? Oh, goodness!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Of course you do. Well.” She lowered her hand and smiled brightly. “How about some nice cold iced tea with our sandwiches? We'll take lunch to the cellar.”

“Sounds great.” Gina watched her great-aunt waddle off toward the kitchen. She was short, on the rotund side, still sharp and active at the age of 89, still living alone in this big old house. Snow white hair, fluffed weekly at the hairdresser's, framed her round cheeks. Gina smiled. “Aunt Lottie,” she called after her, “no sugar, please!”

“Oh, a little sugar won't hurt you!” she called back.

Gina pulled the book out of her bag. “Mother, why are we going to the cellar?”

“Tornado watch.”

“What's that?”

“If I remember correctly, it's when the entire town goes outside to watch for a tornado. Except for cautious, elderly women. They head to the basement because it's the safest place if a tornado hits, which it never has in Valley Oaks.” Shoulder braced against the front door, she shoved the humidity-swollen wood into its jamb.

“Do we have to shut the door? It's stifling in here.”

“It's raining in. Ah, summer in the Midwest. I had hoped Aunt Lottie would have had air conditioning installed by now. You can live with the heat and humidity for a few weeks, can't you? It means so much to her to have us here.”

Gina looked into her mother's emerald green eyes, so like her own. They were tired. “No problem. Aunt Lottie's a hoot. Worth the trip. Are you okay?”

Margaret gave a slight shrug. “It's always a little rough at first. So many old emotions hit all at once.”

“Oh, Mom! Don't let it get you down. It's just Podunk, Illinois—”

“Angelina Philips! This is my hometown. My heritage is rooted here, and so is half of yours. Please don't use that derogatory term in my presence.”

“I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you upset. If you're upset, who's going to pamper me? I'll be forced to act my age, and
then I'll have to give up whining. You have spoiled me rotten these past eight months.”

“Only eight months?” She smiled. “Gina, it's just emotions and not only the negative kind. Now, promise me something?”

Gina hid her exasperation by turning to drop the back-pack in the coat closet. Her mother had been riding this strange emotional roller coaster for some time now, supposedly a normal event for women her age, but Podunk had definitely intensified the situation. Nothing would be gained by pointing that out, so she swallowed her frustration and turned around. “Promise you what?”

“Well, I know your future is up in the air right now, and you're anxious to attend to that matter, which means you are not thrilled about spending an entire month here—”

“I chose to come, Mother. I want to be here for Lauren's sake.”

“I know, but I also know it will be difficult for you.”

That was an understatement. One short visit to the village library and her teeth were on edge.

“Will you just try to keep an open mind? Look for the positives in Valley Oaks. It's not California, but it's not a bad place.”

Gina made a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. As they wound their way between overstuffed chairs and doilycovered end tables, she heard the solemn ticktock of the grandfather clock, erasing the seconds one by one. This interminable time would pass. Sweating the small stuff with her mother would only heighten the discomfort. She agreed to keep an open mind toward Po…make that Valley Oaks.

Margaret stood at Aunt Lottie's kitchen sink, her hands submerged in hot, sudsy water, and stared out the window. Storm clouds were dispersing and the sun had broken through, its heat coaxing steam from the wet grass. Sweet fragrances drifted through the screen, mingling with the scent of lemony detergent.

Odd how such a simple act as washing dishes soothed, how it centered her. She should do it more often. But then, maybe back home it wouldn't have the same effect.

Back home. She thought of her shiny white ceramic tile countertop and, just outside the window, the brilliant red bougainvillea covering the patio wall. San Clemente, where she was Margaret Philips, career woman with a very full social calendar, a talented daughter, and a handsome husband…

She sighed. Margaret Philips didn't even exist here in Valley Oaks. She was Maggie Lindstrom, always had been, always would be. Maggie or Magpie or Mags, depending on who was speaking. She imagined a collective Valley Oaks voice.
You remember
Maggie. Daughter
of Martin and Mary…good, hard-working folks…tragic how they were killed in a car accident, only around 60 years old when it happened out on Highway 72; you know that curve. Marsha Anderson is her sister. That's right, they've got three older brothers. Everybody loved Maggie. She was a good student, cheerleader and homecoming queen, worked at the Tastee Freez. Ended up marrying a guy from Chicago, but all through high school she went with Neil—

“Maggie, I'll help with those dishes.”

She looked over her shoulder at Aunt Lottie shuffling into the kitchen. “No, I'm going to wait on you. Just sit and visit with me.”

“Talked me into it.” She angled a chair toward Maggie and sank into it with a slight groan. “Rainstorms remind my knees they've been at work for almost 90 years.”

Maggie smiled. It was the closest her aunt would come to a complaint. “I've been admiring your perennials. They're so beautiful, as always. Shall I put in some tomato plants for you? I hope you still have the garden patch behind the garage.”

“It's there. Can't say much has changed outside that window in 50 years, except the elms are gone and that maple is taller.”

“Everything is so lush, not dry like my yard.”

“Do you miss Valley Oaks?”

“I don't know.” She began washing the dishes, remembering how 35 years ago she had turned her back on all this. Her dream had been to spend her life here, out on the farm. The memories swirled, uprooting adolescent joys, guilt, anger, crushed hopes. “Out of the blue I get these incredibly intense emotions from the past. Like now.” It came then, a familiar burst of internal fireworks. Maggie grabbed a dishtowel and wiped perspiration from her face.

Aunt Lottie chuckled. “That happens, honey, especially around your age. You feel like you're losing your mind?”

Maggie blinked back tears and took a deep breath. “It's crazy. I feel like buying a wild purple dress or eating an entire bag of chocolate chip cookies.”

“Or taking four weeks off from work?”

She nodded. That had been such an off-the-wall decision, like many others of late. “My boss agreed I needed an extended vacation. I just feel so
ungrounded
.”

Aunt Lottie nodded. “So you came home.”

“So I came home.” She resumed washing the dishes. “I thought it might help to reflect on the past. Figure out where I'm going.”

“That's a wise decision, honey. What does Reece think?”

“Reece? Oh,” she shrugged, “that I'm crazy. He can't fathom why I simply don't fix the problem.”

“Husbands can't always understand. But God does, and that's all that matters.”

“I'm counting on Him. There doesn't seem to be anyone else at the moment.” Except for…she stopped the thought from forming.

“God's love is always unconditional. Will you take Gina to the cemetery?”

She nodded. “It's time.”

“I agree.” Aunt Lottie went to a cupboard and pulled out two tin canisters.

“What are you doing with the flour and sugar?”

Aunt Lottie rummaged on a shelf. “Ah! I knew I had some.” She held up a bag of chocolate chips and smiled. “Homemade is so much better than store-bought.”

In the warm twilight that evening, Maggie watched her sister Marsha back out of the driveway. Gina had left earlier to shop with Marsha's daughter Lauren.

“Maggie.” Aunt Lottie stood beside her on the covered front porch, waving. “Now I don't want you worrying about making long-distance phone calls.”

“I won't.” She followed her inside through the screen door.

“You've got to keep those communication lines open with hubby, you know.” She turned at the foot of the staircase and smiled. Her words grated, but that round face and sparkling eyes were the epitome of sweetness. “I haven't heard you call him yet, and I thought maybe you're concerned about the money. I'm not rich, but I've got more tucked away than I've time to spend.”

Maggie's heart melted. Aunt Lottie, her mother's older sister, had two grown children of her own, four grand
children, and three great-grandchildren. Still, since the death of Maggie's mother 25 years ago, Aunt Lottie had embraced her sister's family as if it were her own, liberally giving her time and energy and money. “Aunt Lottie, you have been so generous with us.” She chuckled. “Do you know what a dual income means? With an independent daughter whose school bills are paid and not one grandchild to spoil?”

Aunt Lottie grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Of course I do, dear. That wasn't the point. Good night.” She climbed the stairs, pulling heavily on the banister, setting one foot at a time on each step, her knees creaking audibly.

“Good night. I'll close up.”

So what was the point? Communication lines. “And I'll call Reece,” she muttered to herself as she walked to the kitchen.

Communication lines hadn't been open for some time, not for real communication anyway. She knew the difference. Oh, they talked. They lived together, went out for dinner with friends together, shared work stories, fussed about Gina's dilemma. Yes, they talked…but they didn't communicate.

She picked up the receiver from the wall phone and sat at the formica-topped table. The old-fashioned kitchen was bright and cheery, even at nighttime. White cabinets reached all the way to the high ceiling. Intermittently slicing through the daffodil yellow walls were white doors with clear glass knobs, leading to the pantry, back staircase, back porch, and basement. The swinging dining room door was usually propped open.

She listened to her own voice on their home answering machine. No surprise there. “Hi, Reece. Well, we're here, trying to keep cool. Gina's fine. I thought the humidity might bother her hip more, but she seems to be handling it well. Tomorrow we have the two celebrations for Aunt Lottie's
birthday, so we won't be around the house much. Talk to you later.”

Maggie bit her lip and hung the phone up on the wall behind her shoulder. He was traveling, of course. Somewhere. She hadn't paid attention to his schedule. She had simply stuck his itinerary in the suitcase and left it there when she unpacked. It didn't really matter, did it? If she wanted, she could try his cell phone. No matter where he was, the cell phone was in his pocket.