A Journey by Chance (22 page)

Well, he wasn't giving up. This was his property, and he wanted more than 250 yards access added to it. He wanted privacy that the projected 100 neighboring houses would obliterate. He called his lawyer.

By four o'clock the turmoil ended. It felt all wrong, spending Sunday in this way. He should have been apologizing profusely to Gina, holding her hand, coaxing a smile from that Miss America mouth, stroking the hardness from that jaw that looked so like her dad's. He remembered the confusion and hurt in her eyes last night. Would that be gone by now, replaced by cold emerald stone that would shut him out?

Well, he wasn't giving up on this either. Wild as it sounded, he cared deeply for her. She had awakened emotions he thought were dead. Her smile triggered a deafening brightness akin to fireworks in his heart. She fit in his woods as naturally as the shy doe and the raucous bullfrogs and the May apples with their secret blossom. Gratitude washed over him. If his plan to marry Nicole hadn't been derailed, he never would have written the books. He never would have had a chance with Gina.

Dear Lord, please pave the way here! I have to speak with her!

He was struck with his self-centeredness. What did she need? He thought of the fragility of her new faith.

Don't let me be a stumbling block. Keep her eyes on You.

Once more he picked up the telephone, this time to dial Lottie's number.

“Brady, is that you?” Maggie sat at the kitchen table, left leg propped on another chair, chopping vegetables for a salad.

“Yes—”

“The flowers are absolutely gorgeous! We're all enjoying them. Thank you. I know they meant a lot to Gina.” She didn't mention that the reason she knew this was because her daughter cried, and her daughter never cried.

“You're welcome, Mrs. Philips—”

“Maggie. I assume you called for Gina. She's not here. She had to leave right after the fourth bouquet arrived.”

“Leave?”

“For L.A. Didn't she tell you?”
Oh, goodness,
she thought,
they haven't talked.
“She and her dad decided they should go back tonight rather than tomorrow. They're going to start the deposition in the afternoon.”

“Oh.”

She heard immense disappointment in his utterance of that one tiny word. “I'll give you our home number. She'll be there until Thursday. Got a pencil?”

“Do you mind giving me the address, too?”

Maggie smiled. Florists must love Brady Olafsson.

After their goodbyes, she pressed the disconnect button and pondered calling John. He had never called back. It must not have been urgent after all. She stretched up behind her shoulder and hung the phone on the wall. Tonight was for
not
talking.

Why was it the moment Reece left relief flooded her? Marsha would admonish that it was because she didn't want to deal with her disconcerted emotions toward him. No doubt there was some truth to that.

She did love him. She didn't know why she had answered him as she had, with “I don't know.” They had spent over 30 years together, more than half a lifetime of ups and downs, tears and laughter, a child, the heartache of no more, earthquakes, and coffee. Of course she loved him. In a practical sense. She just didn't feel it when she was with him. There were unresolved issues, such as his traveling…

He had wavered at the front door before leaving for the airport. They had never parted on such undefined terms before. Speechless, he held her awkwardly, the crutches in the way.

Speechless was an improvement over his endless solutions or changing the subject. “Reece,” she whispered, “I need some space. Can you understand that?” He had understood it at one time.

“Two thousand miles enough for you?” He kissed her forehead.

“Dad.” Gina hurried down the staircase. “Here's Brady's book. This one's my favorite so far. Mother, I hate leaving you like this. You never left me when I was on crutches.”

“Don't be silly. I'll let Aunt Lottie pamper me. You have more important things…”

Maggie continued fixing her salad, wondering if Reece would read the book. It would take a miracle for him to read a novel. Her hands stopped slicing cucumber.

Didn't she believe in miracles now? If God wanted him to read the book, the man would read the book.

She tossed the lettuce and veggies and chicken with some vinegar and oil. Aunt Lottie was gone for the evening with a friend to visit other friends at a nursing home. Amazing how
that woman kept going. She didn't want to leave Maggie alone, but Maggie insisted she not change her plans.

Maggie cleared a spot for a pad of paper. Fork in one hand, pen in the other, she took a bite and began to write. It was an exercise that had come to mind while listening to the sermon tape Aunt Lottie had brought home. She wanted to write a list of regrets, of disappointments. Of all those things she had hoped and planned for that didn't come about. All those chance journeys, as Marsha called them. Would they make some sense now? Could she see how that mythical bird, the phoenix, had risen from the heap of ashes? Could she scatter the ashes in the wind, let them go once and for all?

What she knew for certain was that it was necessary and that it would hurt. She would cry, but like that morning she learned to forgive Neil's mother, the tears would heal. Only then would she be able to move forward and address the biggest question mark—her marriage.

The car's headlights swung across the front of their house as Gina's dad drove the car into the attached garage. She noticed a shadowy lump on the flagstone walkway near the front door and knew immediately what it was.

She climbed from the car and walked onto the driveway while her dad flipped on lights and unloaded their luggage. The stars were magnificent. Admittedly dimmer than those above tiny Valley Oaks, but still…she took a deep breath. Ahh…blessed cool California air with just the right amount of dewfall and the promise of no humidity tomorrow.

“What in the world?” Dad had opened the front door from inside the house and apparently just missed stepping on that shadowy lump. “I didn't leave this here.”

“Two to one it's from Brady, Dad.” She walked over to her fifth floral gift of the day. This one was different. She smelled it long before she reached it. Thick, intoxicating perfume. Gardenia. It was a large potted plant, blossoms bursting throughout it. She liked gardenias.

Dad made a harrumphing noise. “I told him to leave you alone.”

“You what!” Gina cried.

“Well, to be precise,” he leaned over and plucked the envelope from the plant, “I said if he made you cry again, I'd block his road permanently.”

“You didn't.”

“It slipped out.”

“You told me the meeting went fine, that you even liked him.”

“I liked him because he didn't roll over. He's not a quitter. I admire that, even though he's going to cause us problems. But when I realized he was doing the same with you…” He blew out a breath. “A father doesn't stay quiet when his little girl is crying.”

“Oh, Dad.” She threw her arms around him.

He returned her hug, then handed her the envelope. “You know I keep my word, so if you read that and cry, Olafsson's out of luck.”

“I'm done crying for this year.” She squinted at the writing in the dim light.
You're from the Midwest when you know that cow pies aren't made of beef. Forgive me for being full of the same. Brady.
She burst out laughing. “He is so corny, Dad. Unbelievable. Listen to this. It's from his endless string of Midwest jokes.” She read it to him, chuckling.

“Cute. Good, no tears. Makes my job easier. Shall we leave the plant here?”

“I'll take it to the patio. Mother will like it.” She knelt, blinking rapidly. Why did it hurt so?

She walked along the ceramic tiled entryway, past the living room and into the kitchen-family room area, slid open the patio door and walked outside. It was nice to be home. This was the house she had grown up in. There was nothing grand about it, just the right size for the three of them. Just the right size for a couple and their empty nest. The small backyard was her mother's pride and joy. A tall privacy fence bordered its three sides and was covered with different climbing plants. Ivy, honeysuckle, jasmine, clematis. Instead of grass, the yard beyond the covered patio was a flower garden with flagstone paths. The short patio wall was covered with bougainvillea.

She set the gardenia on the round glass-topped table. She'd have to ask her mother where the best place was to keep it. What to feed it. When to water it.

Gina took a deep breath. It was shaky. She tried another.
Dear Lord. I haven't known him long enough to fall in love with him. And besides, there's no future, him there and me in some big city. Why bother? And another besides, who's Kim? Actually, I should thank You for the wake-up call. I don't know why I allowed myself to trust him.

She found her dad in the kitchen, fiddling with the answering machine.

“Gina, who is this?” He punched a button.

A male voice said, “Hi. My father was taken ill. If you need me I'm at this number.” She listened to an unfamiliar area code and a string of numbers.

She shrugged and walked to the refrigerator.

“You don't recognize him?”

“Nope.” She heard the tape rewinding.

“Why wouldn't he leave a name?”

They listened to the message again as she rummaged in the pantry closet in search of crackers. Except for a jar of peanut butter, the refrigerator was bare.

“Gina.”

“What?”

“Who is this?”

She turned to look at him. His face resembled a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide as if in shock. “Dad, it's obviously a wrong number. I don't leave my name when I call you or close friends. He didn't leave a name because he thought he had called someone who knew him. Mother doesn't identify us on that thing. She only says “Please leave a number,” which, in my opinion, leaves it a little wide open—”

“It's not someone who works with her?” Dad raked his fingers through his hair.

“They're all women.” She carried a box of crackers to the counter, pulled a knife from the drawer and a plate from the cupboard. “Except the big boss, and from what I've seen of him, I doubt he would condescend to call a lowly employee's home. Besides, they all have Aunt Lottie's number.”

Without a word, Dad left the room. She heard him go down the hallway and close his bedroom door.

Gina's throat suddenly went dry, and she could barely swallow the bite of cracker she had just put in her mouth. Aunt Lottie's voice replayed in her mind. Was it just yesterday? They all sat around the dining room table, eating breakfast. “Maggie, someone called while you were in the shower, but he didn't leave a message.”
He?

She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and held it under the faucet. She drank the water, her heart beating faster.

Her mother wouldn't.

Gina leaned her head against the plane's window, grateful for the empty seat between her and a businessman, his nose buried in a laptop.

It had been an energy-zapping week. The deposition had felt like the reopening of a wound. There was no anesthetic except for momentary gasps during breaks in the rest room,
Lord, help me!
Every nerve screamed while the Park's attorneys probed deeper and deeper. It went on for two days.

“Dr. Philips, what do you hope to gain from this lawsuit?”

Decent, professional care for the elephants.

“Why did you talk to the press?”

When I was in the hospital—

“Before that. The other time.”

I never talked to them before that.

Raised brows.

Other employees had eyes. Visitors had eyes.

“To see…?”

The abuse.

“What you refer to as abuse.”

She merely blinked in reply. She sat across the table from them, between her father and her lawyer. Dad gave her hand a quick squeeze. Ben reminded them they had already been through the definitions of abuse and what Gina had seen.

“What was the extent of your physical injuries?”

Ben referred them to the medical report in their possession.

Gina closed her eyes. Fractured collar bone, three ribs, femur, kneecap…dislocated hip.

“Do your injuries limit you in any way now?”

I can't do a decent jitterbug.

Smiles all around.

I used to backpack. I used to take walking for granted. I used to administer painkillers to animals only. I used to not worry about arthritis…

“Are you able to work again as a vet?”

Physically, yes.

She felt it across the table…inaudible sighs.

“Dr. Philips,
will
you work again as a vet?”

She studied her folded hands on the table. They had begun this surgery almost 48 hours ago. For her, this was the crux, this was the last of the cancerous tissue to be cut away, the part she had kept hidden before…until Brady gave her the courage to face it. The money didn't matter. It seemed a cheap shot, but it was the only way to prevent more Delilahs.

Gina made eye contact with the two men and one woman across the table. Intelligent, pasty, indoor faces. Trim haircuts. Matching, big-shouldered navy blue suits. She kept her voice low.

Do you mean will I get my life back again?
She managed a small smile.
Will I stand beside an ailing elephant, pat her thick hide, and promise I'll make her feel better? Will I hold hands with a baby orangutan again? Will I touch an awesome lion's mane while he's unconscious during an operation?

I don't know. And the reason I don't know is because administrators who wore blinders hired an inept keeper, ignored my warnings, and covered up the fact that he not only left his duties, he locked me in with an elephant he knew was out of control. The mere thought of being that close to an enormous animal, my specialty, reduces me to a sniveling idiot. That's why I don't know.

The already pale faces blanched. Her dad's hand tightened on her forearm. Ben sucked in a deep breath. The expressionless female recorder bit her lip.

“Ma'am? Ma'am?” The flight attendant's voice grew louder.

Gina's reverie dissipated, and she accepted a bagged lunch from her, although she didn't want it. She didn't feel hungry. She didn't feel anything except turned inside out.

On a scale of one to ten, the zoo interview in Seattle was a five. Maybe a five and a half. So-so. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt a positive connection with the administrator. She was honest about her role in the controversy surrounding Wild Creatures Country, about her physical limitations. She didn't bring up the subject of irrational fear. She toured the zoo with a vet. They didn't go inside the elephant enclosure.

Maybe if she could follow around another vet for a while, become accustomed to the elephants, maybe then she could function. She would go forward by going backward, work as a resident again. Did they offer such things to someone with her experience? Oh, what did it matter? The bottom line of her experience was trouble. Nobody would ask for that.

She dozed. In the Minneapolis airport she learned the flight to Chicago was indefinitely delayed. Thunderstorms had disrupted schedules. What else could wreak emotional havoc on her this week?

There was her mother.

She shoved that thought aside. She realized she needed to let go. Too tired to walk it off, she pulled out Brady's book and tried not to think of the author.

But she missed him. Missed the undeniable comfort he had offered, the care. She felt cherished…until she remembered his friend. Kim.

Gina read until at last the flight was called. A short time later she was in Chicago, eagerly checking a monitor to find
the gate for the flight to Rockville. She found it, glanced at her watch…no way! The final flight of the night had left 90 minutes ago.

She twirled on her heel, ready to grab the first airline employee within arm's reach. The only body within arm's reach was a tall blond wearing a sopping wet windbreaker and a sheepish grin on his lean, handsome face.

Brady's heart melted at the sight of her. Defeat was written in her stance, in her face, in her rumpled white shirt and jeans and hair. He held himself in check, letting her make the first move. Almost imperceptibly, her jaw tightened.

“Your carriage awaits, Miss Angelina.”

“What are you doing here?” She finger-combed chocolate brown hair behind an ear.

“Well, about 6:00 tonight we heard O'Hare was shut down. Learned your flight wouldn't get out of Minneapolis in time to catch the last run to Rockville.”

“We?”

“Your mother and I. There was just enough time to drive here before you went off looking for a hotel. I offered to come fetch you.”

“That's too much to ask.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Speaking seemed to take great effort.

“Nobody asked. I wanted to do it.”

She looked away.

“And I'm here now.” He reached over and nudged the carry-on bag's strap from her shoulder. She let him take it. “It's a long walk to the exit.”

“Do I have another choice?”

“I can get a wheelchair. Or flag down one of those vehicles—”

“I meant besides riding home with you.”

“Sure. Spend the night in a chair. I think there's a 6:30 flight in the morning. Or get a shuttle to some hotel.” He clenched his teeth. She was the most stubborn woman he had ever met! “Or swallow your pride and accept my gift.”

Her tired eyes flashed. “You have to let me pay for the gas.”

“Fine.”

She dug into her purse, pulled out a wallet, yanked bills from it, and began shoving them at him.

“Gina, this can wait.”

“No, it can't. I didn't even thank you for the flowers. There, that's all I have.”

“It's plenty.” He pocketed the money. “Let's go.”

She didn't follow him.

He walked back to her. Maybe she was in pain from sitting for so long. “Do you want a wheelchair?”

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for the flowers.”

“You're welcome.”

“You didn't owe me anything. It was too extravagant.”

He stared at her. Her problem wasn't stubbornness. If pride, then it was from not being loved unconditionally. He suspected her parents loved her. Her father's threat had not been made in jest. But the three of them were the driven, hardworking, results-oriented type. Perhaps unconditional got buried in the routine. Perhaps she really never had received flowers in the way he meant them. “Look, sweetheart, you know how Jesus came, as a free gift to anyone who chooses to receive Him? No strings attached? He came without our asking, without demanding anything in return. He didn't owe it to us. I just want to give you these things because I—”

“No! Don't say it!”

Love you,
he finished silently.

She shook her head. “Brady, I'm exhausted.”

“All right. Let's just sit down, give you a minute to catch your breath and figure out what you want to do.” He firmly grasped her elbow and steered her through a shifting maze of people toward a seating area. They sat down. “Want to talk about your week?”

“No!” She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Oh, it was so awful! Everything is gone. I lost my whole life this week. Everything I worked so hard for. Everything I've ever dreamed of. Everything—Oh, I just want to go home.” She lowered her hands to her mouth and muffled a derisive laugh. “I don't have a home. Really and truly, I don't. I have a room at my parents' house. Twenty-eight years old and no place to go, no future.” She grew silent.

He wanted to carry her in his arms, take her home, and tuck her in…in the guest room? He gripped the back of her chair, knowing full well that at this moment she wouldn't even accept a friendly half hug. “Gina, this won't make sense right now, but sometimes God allows pain like this so He can take us down another path, one that's ultimately better for us. You can count on the fact that there will come a time when you'll be able to see His fingerprints all over this. Some days all you can manage is to just remember that. It'll get you through. I know, trust me.”

She sniffed, sat up, and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Trust you?”

He heard the skepticism in her tone and saw emerald stones looking up at him.

“I have to go now.” She stood. “I'm so tired. Can we go?”

“Of course.” As they walked through O'Hare's busy corridors, he looked down at her bowed head. There would be no more relating tonight. She was asleep on her feet. Not an opportune time to explain Kim or why it was he thought that Gina should ever trust him again.