The Winding Road Home (29 page)

After a night of fitful sleep, Kate kicked off the tangled covers and stared at the ceiling, its normal bright white grayish in the predawn hour.

Well, there was nothing to be done with Tanner's words of last night except to forget them.
Treat people like projects? I don't think so!
What did he know about her anyway? He'd known her for two whole months! There was no way he could even relate to her life, let alone pass judgment on it.
Pretend it was God's plan?
What could
he
know about God less than weeks—
less than weeks!—
after committing his life to Christ?

She sprang from the bed, rushed into the bathroom, and twisted on the shower faucet. No time to dillydally pondering ridiculous notions. She had a newspaper to write.

In love with Tanner Carlucci?
What a laugh! It must have been her great disappointment in DC blurring her grasp of reality. So the city hadn't been what she expected. So what? Had a challenge ever slowed her down in the past?
I don't think so!

Less than an hour later, after a short, vigorous hike, she was at her desk at the
Times
office, engrossed in writing an article about the planting season. She lost track of time until her cell phone rang. Assuming it was the garage calling her back with news of Helen, she absentmindedly answered it.

“Kate?”

“Hmm.”

“This is Graham.”

“Graham?”

“Logan. Adele's friend.”

“Sorry. I was a million miles away.”

“Is this a bad time?”

For what? Curious now, she recalled noting that the guy hadn't been around the house for a while. Cal's suspicions about the stranger came to mind. “What's up?”

“I have a favor to ask. You're the only friend I really know of Adele's.”

Her antennae hummed upward.

“She may need a ride home from Fox Meadow later today. Would you be available to pick her up?”

“Uh, yes. My car's in the shop, but they offered me a loaner. What time would it be?”

“That's the problem. I'm hoping you can be flexible. If things go badly, it could be two o'clock. If things go not so badly, it could be later, perhaps much later.”

She leaned back, away from the computer keyboard. “You're saying things are going to go badly, it's just a matter of degree?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why Adele isn't calling me?”

A hesitation. “She doesn't know yet.”

“Doesn't know what yet?”

Another hesitation. “She's going to receive some difficult information. She may blame me for it. She may not want me to drive her home, and Chelsea isn't available.”

Kate knew Chelsea planned to visit a friend today at a college located an hour's drive away. Adele, friends with the girl's family from church, granted Chelsea permission to take the van and spend the night.

“Kate, I know it's a lot to ask. I can give you a call if and when she needs you.”

“Is your real name Graham Logan?”

That hesitation. The guy was an expert at weighing his words. “Yes, it is.”

“But you're not a professor at Northwestern?”

“No comment.”

“Is there a story in this?”

“Can't you just do this as Adele's friend?” He lost his moderate tone. “Not as a reporter?”

Tanner's words echoed in her mind.
You treat people like projects, like news stories.

“Look, Kate, I love Adele. No ifs, ands, or buts. Her best interests are at stake here. I'm simply trying to cover all the bases, and I need your help.”

“All right. Give me a call if and when you need me.”

Work on the
Times
abandoned, Kate soon lost herself in cyberspace. At last she discovered something.

The article was in a Newark, New Jersey, newspaper dated five years ago last month.

Samantha Logan, 35, was pronounced dead at the scene outside her townhouse, the apparent victim of a single gunshot wound to the head. Though her husband, FBI agent Graham Logan, was in the vicinity at the time of the shooting, he was unharmed by the unseen sniper, who is still at large…

FBI agent, not professor.

New Jersey, not Chicago.

Rand Jennings from Maryland. Baltimore?

Adele Chandler from Baltimore.

What were the connections?

Tanner's voice again, hands on hips, his beautiful deep brown eyes narrowed at her…

The question was not what were the connections. Rather, she should ask, how hurt was her friend going to be by the information? What could Kate do to help?

She grabbed her cell phone and coat and headed out the door. She'd better hoof it over to the garage and pick up that car they had offered to loan her.

As they walked across Fox Meadow's parking lot, Adele let go of Graham's arm. It was Saturday, and she was at the nursing home on pleasure, not to work. Still, in her own mind she was always on duty. It didn't seem quite proper for the director to waltz about the property on the arm of a good-looking guy whose friend was a resident.

Graham smiled down at her. “Remember when you told me it would get easier, my coming here?”

She nodded.

“It has. And not just because you're here. It's Rand's home, the one he chose. It's not a particularly happy place, but it's real life, isn't it?”

“It is. And there is a joy here, when someone smiles back and you know your hearts have connected.”

“Afraid I'm not there yet. Not at saint status like you are.”

“But don't forget. You are a guardian angel.”

He laughed.

It was good to be able to tease about that remark. Their friendship had eased into a daily crossing of paths at Fox Meadow. Every other night or so they shared dinner. When Adele didn't cook, he treated her at a restaurant. Sometimes Chelsea accompanied them.

Adele kept a distance between them, tried to keep her heart from totally succumbing. Rand was holding up remarkably well, but his death was inevitable. Graham's life would snag him right out of Valley Oaks. She couldn't imagine either one of them pulling up roots. It didn't help any that the vague future was one of those subjects he avoided. It was as if he was waiting to get through his friend's death before committing to anything.

But that he cared for her was evident. For now it would have to be enough.

They entered Rand's room. He sat in his favorite spot, near the window.

“Hello, young'uns.”

“Hi, Rand.” She greeted him with a kiss. As Graham's “other dad,” he was a notch above most residents. Since learning that he was her benefactor, he had risen even above that. She settled into the armchair beside his wheelchair. “How are they treating you today?”

“Heather wants to elope with me,” he said, chuckling.

She joined in his laughter. “What did you promise her?”

“Rubies and diamonds.”

“You know her well.”

“I think well enough for an elopement.”

She looked at Graham. His head was buried in the armoire. He appeared to be searching for something.

“Addie.”

The childhood nickname didn't startle her anymore. “What?”

“You know I won't be around much longer.” His voice was more breathless than usual.

“I know. But we will meet again.”

He nodded. “I have something for you.”

“Rand, for goodness' sake, you've already given me the moon.”

“This is just a little something extra.” He looked up at Graham, who stood at the bed, opening a briefcase on it.

He fished out a paper and looked back at him. They held each other's gaze for a long moment.

Graham turned to her. “Adele, this could be…upsetting for you.”

His tone was one she'd never heard before. It was devoid of emotion.

“Rand and I both want to apologize beforehand. Please remember we care very much about you. It may not appear so at first, but we have only your best in mind.”

She felt herself tense. Her stomach lurched and then sank with the feel of a deadweight. Something wasn't right.

Graham handed her a piece of paper that looked like a legal document and sat on the edge of the bed, just behind and to the side of Rand's chair. They both faced her. “This is the deed to your property. Rand's making it an outright gift, not an investment. It's yours, to do with whatever you choose.”

She held the paper, shifting her gaze back and forth between them. What were they up to? At last Graham's words sank in and she exclaimed, “You already bought it?”

Rand gave that half nod of his.

“Why?”

“I…wanted…” Rand paused for breaths between his words. “Wanted you…to have a head start…No payments.”

She studied him closely. His pallor was gray. He shouldn't be sitting up. In spite of his efforts to promote a different image, he wasn't having a good day. Rather than fuss at him, she looked down at the paper.

And then the room began to spin.

R.J. Chandler…conveys and warrants to Adele Christine Chandler…the following-described real estate…

R.J. Chandler!

The familiar half nod. The hint of a Baltimore accent. That catch in his laugh. The way he called her Addie.

“No,” she whispered.

Graham said, “Yes.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No way!”

“Addie.” Rand's soft voice was barely audible. “I am sor—”

“No!”

Graham knelt in front of her. “Adele.”

She pushed away his hands. “He's not my father! My father is tall. He weighs two hundred and fifty pounds. He has black hair. He doesn't wear glasses.” Their faces receded, drowned in the tears flooding her eyes. “He didn't even know how to smile at me, let alone—” Her throat closed, choking off the words. She waved a hand to fill in the blanks. So many blanks.

“Adele, he loves you.”

“No!” As if watching herself from afar, she saw herself gasping for breath and losing control, sobbing, nearing hysteria. But she couldn't move, couldn't run from it.

“Shh. It'll be okay.”

She cried unabashedly now. It was too much to comprehend.

Graham knelt helplessly before her, watching her cry it out, praying she would get past the shock, past the denial. From behind him, Randall Jefferson Chandler's hand trembled on his shoulder. Graham knew tears were streaming down the old man's face. He couldn't turn around and watch. If Adele refused to forgive her father— He didn't want to consider the repercussions on all three of them.

He had stepped out into the hall and called Kate, asking her to come and wait in the lobby. Things were going badly. Well, what had he expected? Exactly what he was looking at. Not that it made it any easier. But what had been their choice? There hadn't been another.

It was a little late to second-guess. Besides, they had considered and reconsidered ad nauseam ever since the cancer had first been diagnosed. What was done was done.