A Journey by Chance (23 page)

“Mother, sit down. I can get—”

“No, no.” Determined to serve her daughter, Maggie hobbled on one crutch to the refrigerator, pulled out the carton of orange juice, and carried it back to the kitchen table. “I'm getting pretty good with just one crutch. I can hop, too. Go without any.”

Gina shook her head. “I sure hope the doctor fixes you up with a walking cast this afternoon. You'll break your neck this way.” She munched on buckwheat pancakes Maggie had cooked for her.

Her child looked exhausted, even after sleeping late this morning. Maggie sat down across the table from her, eager to pursue the subject of Brady. He had already been by this morning to deliver Gina's luggage that had arrived on the early flight from Chicago. “I don't think I've ever met anyone as thoughtful as Brady. I told him we'd get your bag today. Yesterday he first called about noon, asking when you were coming, then again later when he heard the weather forecast. Then he checked with the airline. I hated the thought of you spending the night alone at the airport or a hotel.”

Gina got that “get real, do you know how old I am” look on her face. “I appreciated the ride, so thanks for sending him. He even had a pillow and blanket in his truck. I slept all the way home.”

Maggie laughed. “A pillow? He is attentive to detail. Did he send any more flowers?”

“A gardenia plant.”

She grinned. “I think you've got yourself a winner.”

“Do you know why he sent all those? Why he spent four hours driving in the rain last night?”

“Isn't it obvious? He's nuts about you.”

“He's apologizing because on Saturday night his girlfriend walked in.”

Maggie felt her shoulders slump. “Really?”
Still,
she thought,
he didn't have to do all of that.
“But—”

“But nothing, Mother. If there was anything, which I doubt, it's over. Drop it, okay?”

“Okay.” She studied Gina's pretty face. It looked so hard in this defensive mode. “Will you tell me about the deposition?”

“Didn't you talk to Dad about it?”

“He hasn't called. I left messages—Was he with you for the whole thing?”

“For most of it. He had some meetings on Tuesday.” She drank her juice, then met Maggie's eyes. “It was hard…”

She listened to the details, aching for her child and feeling proud of the young woman who refused to back down, who fought for what she believed in.

With scarcely a pause for breath, Gina moved from the deposition into an account of her interview. Maggie watched her struggle with trying to emphasize the positive, but she saw how crushed her spirit was.

“Honey, I'm proud of you.”

Gina shrugged.

“For how you handled everything this week. Who knows, maybe you'll get a little money. That would be some compensation and help get you back on your feet, besides influence a lot of people in favor of your elephants. And the interview, after all, was only your first one.”

“Mom.” She lowered her eyes and pulled something from her pants pocket. “There's something else.”

Maggie took the small piece of crumpled paper she offered. An unfamiliar telephone number was written on it. “What's this?”

“Don't you recognize it?”

“No.”

Gina paused. “There was a message on the machine at home. A man said, ‘Hi. My father was taken ill. If you need me I'm at this number.'”

Maggie thought her heart stopped beating. A distinct wave of guilt and shame flooded through her. She felt as if she would never again have the strength to stand up.

“The message was for you, wasn't it?”

Amazingly, she found her voice. “Yes.”

“Mother!”

“He's a friend, Gina…”
Just a friend, because I need—
No, she wouldn't make excuses, wouldn't put any of the blame on Reece in front of his daughter.

“A friend Dad doesn't know about?”

“Yes.”

“It's no mystery why Dad hasn't called you.” There was anger in Gina's voice, fear in her eyes. “What kind of a
friend
is he?”

“It's not—”
An affair. But it is, though not in the physical sense. It is an emotional affair. Is that adultery?
“It's not in the way that you're imagining.”

“How do you know what I'm imagining? What am I supposed to imagine? We come to Podunk, and you're a totally different person. All of a sudden you have an ex-husband, a dead daughter, and a boyfriend!”

“He's not a—”

Gina rushed from the kitchen.

So Reece had heard the message, too. How did it affect him? Did it affect him?

She pushed the question aside. What was this all about again, this coming to Podunk? To find herself. To go through
the past. Unearth the hurts, the denials. She had made her list, asking God for grace to forgive and let go, strength to confront where possible. Hopefully in that she would find authenticity, the real Maggie Lindstrom Philips of today.

She adjusted the crutches under her arms, grabbed the car keys and her purse from hooks near the back door, and went outside. Still crinkled in her hand was the unfamiliar phone number.

It took her four attempts to punch in the correct calling card numbers followed by the ones Gina had handed her.

Maggie sat in the car, in the mall's parking lot next to a drive-up telephone. Its cord stretched through the open window. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel, listening to the ringing of a stranger's phone somewhere in Northern California.

“Hello.”

“John? It's—”

“Margaret! Hello.” There was a smile in his voice.

“How—” Her throat constricted. “How is your father?”

“He had a stroke, but he's getting along fairly well. He's back home now.”

“And how are you?”

“Not bad. I've just relocated for a month or so. Dad's timing was impeccable. He waited until my summer term was over. I can write from here almost as well as from home.” He paused. “So. How are the baby steps going?”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “It…it seems time for one giant adult step.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. “Maybe it's more like a plunge into a…a sea of authenticity.”

Silence filled the miles between them. Her tears spilled over, and she heard him take a deep breath. He understood.

At last he spoke. “I hear the water is somewhat cold at first.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “It feels like ice.”

“You'll be warm again. And it'll be a clean warm, no more pretense on any front, no regrets.”

She wiped at the tears. “I'm sorry.”

“No, please, don't be sorry. Never be sorry. That would invalidate our friendship.” He took another deep breath. “I've tried to plan for this all along, you know. It's for your best. And I most definitely want what's best for you.”

The tears flowed steadily. It was time to say goodbye, but she had no voice and there were no words.

“Margaret, before I start blubbering, we'll just leave the rest unsaid. Thank you for…for everything. All right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.

“All right. Take care.”

“John, wait! Tell me one thing.” The words rushed together now, racing ahead of the sobs building in her chest. “Why did you leave that message on my machine?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Part of me hoped you would pick up your messages. I wanted you to know where I could be reached. But, truthfully…I know you're afraid of heights. I thought a little nudge toward the edge of the cliff might encourage you to take that plunge.”

It was an act of true love, forcing her to choose between authenticity and duplicity. If she wanted to live honestly, this friendship was outside the boundaries of her marriage. “Thank you,” she sobbed.

“Goodbye, Maggie-Margaret.” His voice was full of tears.

“Goodbye.” She leaned through the window, hung up the phone, and gave in to inconsolable weeping.

The crinkled piece of paper fluttered across the parking lot in the morning breeze.

Gina spent the day with Lauren at her house, avoiding her mother and giving vent to her frustrations by wielding a paintbrush. By the time the old dark kitchen walls radiated new life under a third coat of sunshine yellow-and-white trim, the cousins had reviewed Gina's trip, unfinished wedding-related preparations, the upcoming honeymoon cruise to Alaska, and Brady. Brady ad nauseam.

Aaron walked in through the back screen door as they were cleaning up at the sink. “Hi, girls,” he called above the oldies music blaring from the radio. Although the kitchen housed only a coffeemaker and refrigerator, he had moved in last week.

Gina turned down the volume and noticed the bouquet of yellow roses he held behind his back as he greeted Lauren with a kiss, leaning forward so as not to brush his suit coat against her paint-spattered T-shirt. Gina tried to blend into the white woodwork and ignore a distinct stab of envy. They looked so contented together, so happy.

Lauren giggled when he handed her the roses with a flourish. “What is this, a peace offering for what you're about to do tonight?”

He laughed. “Yeah, right. A bachelor party in the church basement. Office hours at 8:00 tomorrow morning. That combination could spell trouble.” He headed for the hallway, his fiancée on his heels, chattering about her evening plans.

Gina finished washing out the paintbrushes. Above the sink was a window overlooking the small backyard. It was a cute two-story, three-bedroom house, a fixer-upper, but
situated on a pleasant Valley Oaks cul-de-sac. They could spend years here and begin a family. She heard them upstairs now, talking in the familiar tones of a couple accustomed to sharing the intimate details of the everyday. When had she last heard her parents' voices comfortable in this way?

The doorbell buzzed. It was a grating sound that Lauren wanted replaced. Wiping her hands on a towel, Gina walked into the front room. The inside door was open. On the other side of the screen door stood Brady.

Without hesitation, Gina turned on her heel, headed back through the kitchen, tossed the towel toward a countertop, and marched out the screen door. It slammed behind her as she strode across the lawn. The yard was fairly private, with a garage to one side, a row of arbor vitae on another, and a ravine at the end. She went to the lone maple tree, leaned against it facing away from the house, and crossed her arms. He had probably come to pick up Aaron. She'd just wait here until he was gone.

The screen door slammed again.

Gina stomped her foot on the ground.

He came around the tree and halted two feet in front of her. “Here in Valley Oaks we usually say hello to someone at the door.”

“Even if you have absolutely nothing to say to or hear from the person?”

“It's called being courteous.”

“I'd rather be honest.”

“Kim means absolutely nothing to me.”

She blinked. “That's what I thought.” The sarcasm came easily. “That's exactly what it looked like.”

He placed his hands on his hips, arms akimbo. His mouth was a grim line. “I just wanted to tell you.”

“Message received. Not that it matters. That isn't why I've nothing to say to you.” She glared at him. He wore
khakis and no hat. A lime green polo shirt made his hair seem blonder, his tan deeper.

“What exactly is the reason, then? You said you want to be honest,” he challenged.

She glanced away and released the breath she had been holding.
May as well just spit it out, girl.
“My life is not what you'd call on an even keel these days. It hasn't been for some time, but I have to get on with it, and that's not going to happen in Valley Oaks.”

“What's that got to do with us being friends?”

She looked at him. “Being friends with you is like jumping on an emotional trampoline. I don't know why that is, it just is, and I am not up for the exercise.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it and walked away.

Gina felt a sense of relief. She had been honest. They were back where they had started. That was as it should be—

“Yeah, but,” he came back into her line of vision, “would you like to go horseback riding tomorrow? Take a break from painting and shopping? Think about it. Just come out to the farm midmorning.” He cocked his head and his expression softened. “Please come. No strings attached.” He left.

She looked up at the leafy branches above her head. Oh, she missed him. She definitely missed him. But he was wrong. There were strings attached. Some romantic would probably call them heartstrings.

Running errands around Valley Oaks with Lauren was like politicking for a candidacy. Her cousin greeted everyone in the hardware store, post office, and grocery store. Gina tagged behind her and was introduced to teachers, students, the bank president, countless mothers of students, a cousin, store owners, and every employee on the premises.

Lauren had showered and changed and looked her usual cute self in white overall shorts and a red T-shirt. Not one speck of yellow paint lingered. At first Gina felt downright gauche with her own stringy hair falling out of a ponytail and wearing jeans and an old, baggy white shirt of Aaron's with its sleeves rolled-up. None of it, including her arms and face, had escaped the sunflower splatter, smeared like some child's unpatterned finger painting.

Gradually the homespun tour worked its magic. It was impossible not to be affected by all the smiles turned her way, the laughter, the best wishes directed toward her cousin the bride. It felt like a genuine sense of camaraderie. Knowing her mother's story, she understood that Valley Oaks wasn't a paradise free from conflict, but this general spirit of good will was infectious.

In the grocery store she burst out laughing when a teenage girl apologized for staring at her. The girl said, “I work at The Landing. Didn't I see you there recently, with Brady Olafsson?”

“Oh, yes, that was me.” Gina smoothed back her hair.

The girl and her friend exchanged glances. “His books are so awesome!” they exclaimed in unison. “What's he like?”

“Annoying.” She smiled. “I mean, he's a real human being. You haven't met him?”

“No.”

“Just introduce yourselves when you see him. He loves talking to readers. He's a…” She paused and felt the softness radiate through her. “He's a really, really nice guy.”
And he invited me to go horseback riding tomorrow.

They went to the pharmacy located across from the town square in a small brick building. The year 1904 was carved in a concrete stone above the door. It was cool inside. Cozy scents of candles, soap, and eucalyptus greeted them along with Britte Olafsson, who stood behind a counter.

“How about some lemonade, ladies?” She poured from a carafe.

Lauren's face lit up. “Now she's offering lemonade? This is great. Gina, last week our new pharmacist was giving out homemade cookies.”

Britte pointed across the aisle. “Check out this shelf of new pottery.”

“Is that Addie's work?”

“Yeah!”

Gina accepted a paper cup of pink lemonade. “Do you work here, Britte?”

“I'm helping out a bit before school starts. Eliana is just getting her feet wet. She's from Chicago and took over the business only about six weeks ago.”

“Come on, Gina,” Lauren said, “I'll introduce you to her.”

At the back of the store was the pharmacist's counter against a backdrop of floor to ceiling shelves perpendicular to it. A woman stretched on her tiptoes to retrieve a large jar of capsules. Thick black hair, tied back with a blue ribbon, hung almost to her waist.

“Eliana,” Lauren said. “I want you to meet my cousin, Gina Philips. Gina, this is Eliana Neuman.”

“Nice to meet you, Gina.” Though her accent was decidedly all-American, the young woman resembled a China doll with a flawless porcelain-like complexion and dark eyes.

They chatted a few moments, saw Isabel on their way out, waved to Anne across the street. Back in the car, Lauren asked her what was wrong. “You're frowning.”

“Nothing's wrong.” Gina knew that wasn't quite the truth. “I don't know.”

“Brady?”

“No, it's this town, Laur. It's getting to me. I mean, you probably knew three-fourths of the people we passed.”

“So?”

“It's just a totally opposite world from mine. It's just too
cozy
. Too
homespun
.”

“Meaning?”

“I'm not that way. I don't fit in.”

“Which doesn't matter unless you're thinking of living here.”

Gina didn't reply.

“Meaning the thought has crossed your mind. Meaning this
is
all about Brady.”

“Oh, Laur, I can't see him anymore. What would be the point? I'm leaving in a week.”

“People don't have to live in the same town to fall in love.”

“That's way too complicated. My life is a shambles as it is. I'm too unsettled to trust my feelings, let alone trust him. He was a friend for a few special moments.”

“Have a few more with him. Go horseback riding tomorrow. I dare you.”

Gina shook her head.

“Double dare you. What else have you got going?”

“Painting your bathroom?”

“Like I said, what else have you got going?”

Back at Aunt Lottie's, Gina headed straight upstairs to shower, glad for the jam-packed schedule. Lauren's bachelorette slumber party would prevent her from brooding tonight. She scrubbed at the paint splotches until her skin reddened and tears mingled with the water streaming down her face.

“Dear Jesus! I'm unraveling here. I don't know how to pray about it. Please help me sort it out. Mother and Dad. Brady. Work.” She drained herself of tears and the water
heater of its contents. A sense of peace settled inside of her. Why was it that just as her life made sense with God, everything else was falling apart? What had happened to her common sense, her consistently medium demeanor?

Later, as she was combing her wet hair, Maggie knocked on the open bedroom door. “Can we talk a minute?”

She had missed her mom today. This morning's argument had cut deeper than any teenage disagreement. It severed that invisible connection, that inherent cord between mother and daughter. “Sure.” She plopped on the bed.

Maggie sat carefully on the vanity bench, stretching out her leg, the ankle wrapped in a new walking cast. Her eyes were puffy, but there was a distinct air of calm about her. “First of all, I am sorry for letting you down. I know I betrayed you and your dad. There is no excuse. I can blame it on crazy hormones, Dad's traveling, me not telling him I was dying inside, or not letting go of the past. But the point is, I found a way out and I took it, thinking only of myself.” She exhaled sharply. “I guess I'm not perfect.”

Gina felt the sadness draw her lips downward, crease her forehead.

“Secondly, it's over. He was truly just a friend. When you didn't need me at home, we sometimes met after work for an early dinner or just a walk. Occasionally…” She took a deep breath. “I was so deceitful. Occasionally I took the afternoon off and we'd go to the art exhibits. There never was anything physical between us. I wouldn't cross that line.” She took a deep breath. “Not yet anyway. So thank you for the phone number. I called him, and we won't talk again. Please forgive me, sweetheart?”

Gina nodded. Her mother slid beside her, and they hugged for a long time. It was somehow comforting to know that the woman was not perfect.