Good Hope Road (30 page)

Drew stared into Nate’s defiant face, the anger in his own eyes softening, becoming a mirror of Nate’s pain. He loosened his grip on Nate’s arms one finger at a time. “No fists,” he said, his voice quieter. “No more. We’re not going to do this anymore, little brother. I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready to talk, you let me know. You want to know something about me, you ask—not Darla, not Jenilee—you ask me.” His gaze locked with Nate’s. “I don’t have all the answers you’d like to hear. I don’t know all the answers, Nate. I took a long time finding my way back here, and I didn’t take all the right steps these last years, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. That’s the way it’s gonna be. We’re going to have to take it a step at a time, but you’re not going to hit me and I’m not going to hit you.” He released one of Nate’s arms, and then the other. “All right?”

Nate answered with only the slightest nod.

Drew braced his elbows on his knees and sagged forward, letting out a long sigh. “Let’s go home now, O.K.?”

Nate nodded again, and Drew helped him up. I climbed to my feet and grabbed the crutches, handing them to Nate, my fingers shaking, my ears ringing with what had been said.

Drew punched the elevator button, then leaned forward, bracing an arm above the console and resting his forehead there as he caught his breath.

Nate moved forward a couple of steps on his crutches, then stood hanging loosely between them with his head bowed forward, looking exhausted.

The door opened, and Nate limped into the lobby. Drew and I followed, anxious to be free of the silence, hoping to be free of the words.

I looked around the lobby and watched the people moving about their routines, not noticing as we passed. Even that seemed strange.

Drew stepped ahead and held the door open for Nate. For a change, Nate didn’t give him a dirty look as he passed by. He hung his head, instead, as if he felt guilty. He moved to the truck as fast as the crutches would carry him, opened the door, and tried to lift himself into the backseat without help.

“Just a minute,” I said, catching up with him, taking the crutches and helping hoist his cast in as he slid backward across the seat.

Behind me on the sidewalk, Drew had stopped.

Nate groaned as I set his foot on the seat. Laying his head back, he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jenilee,” he whispered.

“It’s all right,” I reached across the seat and gave his hand a squeeze. “I guess you needed to say all that. Maybe Drew needed to hear it. He needed the chance to prove it wasn’t true.”

“I wanted to make him mad.” Nate squeezed the bridge of his nose, wincing in pain. “Why didn’t he hit me when he had the chance?”

“Because that’s what Daddy would have done,” I said. “You said yourself, he isn’t Daddy.” I glanced over my shoulder. Drew was still standing on the sidewalk a few feet away, and a dark-haired woman was trotting across the parking lot toward him, her arms swinging at her sides, her face drawn with worry.

“I know.” Nate sucked in a long, trembling breath, tears squeezing below his lashes again and tracing a trail down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You should tell Drew that.” I slipped away from the door and let the wind push it closed as the woman skidded to a halt beside Drew.

“How’s Nate?” she breathed. “Is everything all right? I had a phone call on my machine. He said he needed me to come get him right away.”

Drew crossed his arms over his chest, leaning away from her. “Nate’s fine, Darla,” he answered flatly. “He’s just worn out. He shouldn’t have called you.”

Darla,
I thought, taking a step closer. I stopped halfway between them and the truck, unsure whether I should come closer. All of the softness in Drew was suddenly gone.

I watched Darla nervously push strands of dark hair out of her face and tuck them in a hair clip. She looked like the little girl in Drew’s picture, same dark hair, full lips, and deep olive skin, but her eyes were light brown, not dark like the little girl’s. She looked friendly, sort of proper and carefully dressed in a short-sleeved business suit. She looked scared to death.

She seemed to search for something to say in the face of Drew’s ominous silence. “Well . . . is there anything I can do . . . ? For Nate, I mean.”

“No,” Drew shot back. “He’s fine.”

She glanced toward the truck, barely seeming to notice I was there. “Well . . . do you want me to talk to him?”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. “I said, he’s fine. He’s not one of your social work cases, Darla.”

She stiffened visibly. “I know that.”

They stood there for a minute, each of them looking past the other, their lips set in tight, straight lines.

She softened first, raising her hands palms up into the space between them. “Drew, we need to talk. . . .” She ducked her head, biting her lips, trying to find words.

For a moment, he watched her as she looked down at the sidewalk. He leaned closer and started to unbind his arms, regarded her tenderly, as if it were natural for him to do that.

She raised her chin, and he raised the mask again. “You know what, Darla . . .” He turned and started toward the truck. “If you want to talk to me, you tear up that paper that says I can’t come within a hundred feet of my own kids.” He climbed in and slammed the door.

I stood a few feet from her, yet a world away, not knowing what to do. Behind me, Drew started the engine and shifted the truck into drive.

Darla hugged her purse in front of herself. Her gaze met mine.

I’m sorry.
I mouthed the silent words, then turned and climbed into the truck.

She stood there, hugging her purse, watching us go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

D
rew leaned forward to look down the hill toward the armory as we pulled into Poetry. “What in the world’s going on there?” He slowed the truck as we passed. “How come there are news crews at the armory?”

“I don’t know . . .” I muttered. “With all the tornado damage up toward Kansas City, I can’t imagine why they would want to come here. Seems like there would be better stories in other places. Pull in, all right?”

Drew threw the truck in reverse, backed along the shoulder, and pulled into the driveway.

Nate jerked in the backseat and sat up. “What . . . the . . . ?” He blinked drowsily. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“We’re back in Poetry.” I pointed to the armory. “Drew and I wanted to see what’s going on with the news crews.”

“Nate, you better stay here,” Drew said. An uneasy feeling churned in my stomach as I climbed the steps behind him and stood trying to see past the crowd in the doorway.

I caught a glimpse of the sheriff, Mrs. Gibson, and Dr. Albright in front of the picture wall. The Andersons stood beside them, supporting a bundle of blankets in their arms. Cameras flashed and the bundle moved, the blanket falling away to reveal a tiny face.

All at once I knew. “Oh, Drew!” I gasped. “Oh, Drew, she’s got her baby! She’s got her baby back!” I rushed through the crowd, needing to see, to touch the tiny blue-eyed girl whose picture had come to me on the wind.

Mrs. Anderson held the baby up as I pushed past the circle of bodies. Her eyes, red-rimmed, exhausted, filled with joy, met mine. “We got her back. We found her,” she whispered, as I touched the side of the baby’s face. “It was the picture. The picture helped us find her.”

“So you say the baby had been taken into the hospital in Joplin?” I heard a reporter ask from somewhere in the crowd.

“Yes, that’s right,” the sheriff replied. “The baby was brought to the hospital in the hours after the storm by a man who hasn’t been identified yet. The rescuer is still unconscious and can’t provide details. The hospital staff assumed that the baby was his daughter, until late today, when they saw the baby’s picture being circulated on the news. Of course, we took the Andersons to be reunited with their baby girl right away.” The sheriff sidestepped to put his arms over the Andersons’ shoulders. “We’re going to let these folks have some time with their baby now. I’d be grateful if you people wouldn’t follow. This family deserves some privacy.”

Mrs. Anderson met my eyes and mouthed,
Thank you,
just before the sheriff led her away.

The room fell into a strange silence, everyone watching the Andersons until they had disappeared through the doorway.

“Where did all the pictures come from?” one of the reporters asked finally.

“From everywhere,” Mrs. Gibson answered. “All sorts of folks carried them in here, and a number of folks worked to get them hung up.” She closed the space between us and caught my hand, pulling me close.

“It was all a project of the Poetry garden club,” said a familiar voice, rising above the crowd. Mazelle Sibley pushed her way to the front and sidled up beside Mrs. Gibson. “When the call went out for help in sorting and hanging the pictures,
all
of us left behind our
own
damaged homes and came here to
give
of
ourselves
. After
days
of feeding the hungry and caring for the sick, well, it was a pure pleasure to—”

“It was all the idea of our Jenilee Lane, here,” Mrs. Gibson butted in, tipping her chin up and bumping her hip out, so she knocked Mrs. Sibley off balance. “
She’s
the one responsible for the picture walls, and for finding the photo of the Anderson baby, and for savin’ my life, and my granddaughter’s life after the tornado. She’s no less than a hero.” She glanced at Dr. Albright, and he smiled at her, then leaned closer to me and Mrs. Gibson as a battery of flashbulbs snapped.

Dr. Albright muttered close to my ear, “Smile for the camera, Jenilee. You’re a hero.”

I felt blood prickle into my face. “I’m not a hero,” I said.

Mrs. Gibson hugged me, laughing and crying at the same time. “That’s what heroes always say.”

Beside her, Mazelle Sibley huffed an irritated sigh and walked a few steps away.

I wrapped my arms around Mrs. Gibson and hugged her while the flashbulbs popped, then faded away. Finally, the reporters left us and moved around the room snapping pictures and doing interviews with some of the garden club ladies.

Mrs. Gibson straightened and held my face in her hands. “Oh, now look. I’ve made you cry.” She pulled a hankie from her dress pocket and dabbed my cheeks. “Lands, what a day this has been! What a day!” She put an arm over my shoulder. “And speaking of things like that, there’s some folks over here I think you’ll like to meet.”

“Who?”

She gave me a sly sideways look. “It’s a surprise.” She led me toward the back corner of the building, where Caleb was standing beside a family looking at the picture wall. They turned to greet us as we came closer. I recognized the husband.

He smiled and stuck his hand out to shake mine. “We’ve already met, down in the motor home. Ben Bowman.”

“I remember,” I said, still wondering why Mrs. Gibson had brought me there. “Who knew all this would come from a few sheets of paper and a roll of tape?”

“Pretty amazing.” He smiled, and nodded toward his wife. “This is Kate. Caleb tells us you and Kate are second or third cousins, something like that.”

Kate smiled, shifting the baby in her arms to one side so she could shake my hand. Her brown eyes were warm and friendly. “Your grandmother and my grandmother were sisters.”

Kate released my hand, and I stood there not knowing what to say. It was hard to imagine Nate, Drew, and me as part of a family. All of our lives it had been just Mama, Daddy, and us. “We didn’t have much to do with Mama’s family.” As soon as the words came out, I realized they didn’t sound good. “But, I mean, we would have . . . if we’d known.”

Kate gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, us too. We’ve always lived away from Hindsville, and we just moved back a little over a year ago. I do remember meeting your grandmother one time at a family reunion a long, long time ago.”

A blond-haired toddler pulled at her pants leg. “Mama,” he pestered. “Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama.”

Kate rolled her eyes, laying her hand on top of his head. “This is Joshua.”

I smiled at him, and he ducked behind his mother’s leg. “Hi, Joshua.” He peeked out, then disappeared again.

“And this is Rose.” Kate jiggled the baby girl in her arms. At the sound of her name, the baby started to fuss. Kate frowned. “And I’ve just reminded her that she’s hungry.”

“We’d better go,” Ben said, picking up Joshua as the little boy tried to shinny up Kate’s leg.

Kate nodded, touching my arm. “We won’t keep you, Jenilee. But, listen, after things get back to normal, we’d love to have you come out to the farm sometime to visit. There are some old pictures of Grandma and her sisters there. You might like copies of those.”

“I’d like that,” I said, still trying to imagine myself as part of a family that included so many people. I wondered what Daddy would say if he knew I was standing there talking to them. Then I wondered if things would ever get back to the kind of normal Kate was talking about. Normal for us wasn’t the same as normal for other people.

“It’s really nice to have met you,” Kate said. “If there’s ever anything we can do, please feel that you can call, all right? We’re not far away.”

“All right.” I glanced at Caleb. The way Kate said those last words made me wonder if he had been telling her about us, and maybe she felt sorry for us.

“Take care,” Ben said, and they headed toward the door. As they left, Drew and Nate were coming in. I thought about trying to introduce them, but I wasn’t sure what kind of a mood Drew was in. He hadn’t said anything all the way home from the hospital.

Mrs. Gibson clapped her hands together, looking pleased with herself for having made the family connections for me. “Oh, say, it looks like Drew’s brought your little brother in. Poor thing, looks like they’ve got him in a cast from toe to hip.”