The Winding Road Home (6 page)

Midafternoon Friday Adele walked across the large open space of Fox Meadow's lobby. It was a hub of activity with people milling about, many of them in wheelchairs. There was a big-screen television, lots of chairs, and a table laden with baked goodies some church women had provided. Windows lined the front of the brick building, providing an unhindered view of the parking lot.

Sunshine glinted off a shiny black limousine, catching her attention. She watched as it parked on the circular drive just outside the entry. She knew immediately it was Rand Jennings. Only someone who had the ability to pay before even asking the price of admission would arrive in a limo.

Would Graham be with him?

She tried to ignore the tickle of anticipation in her stomach and hurried to grab a nearby communal wheelchair from the receptionist's office. As she pushed it toward the door, she noticed the chauffeur unloading one from the car's trunk. Naturally someone arriving in a limo would have his own. She smiled to herself and wheeled hers back.

Adele went outdoors to greet them, something she tried to do for newcomers whenever possible. Waiting on the sidewalk, she wrapped her cardigan closely and crossed her arms against the cold. Graham stood beside the open back door, bent at the waist, holding his arm toward the interior. He wore sunglasses and, again, no coat over a sweater and cords.

The man emerging from the back seat was familiar. He resembled all men over age 70 whose bodies had been ravaged by cancer and its treatments, men who spent their last days down the hall from her office. He was thin and he was bald, facts she knew despite the black winter dress coat and fur cap he wore.

He stepped now unsteadily but on his own to the chair held by the chauffeur. Graham waited near enough to grasp an arm if needed but didn't hover. His stance displayed a respect for what most men at that point desired: to remain unassisted for as long as possible.

The driver relinquished the chair to Graham, who wheeled it around and pushed it toward the door Adele now opened. As they neared, the old man looked up at her, his eyeglasses a dark tint in the bright sunlight. He raised a hand and fumbled about his shoulder, as if searching for something. Graham reached out and clutched the pale, slender fingers, continuing to push and steer with one hand.

“Hello!” She pulled the door open for them. “Welcome to Fox Meadow. Go right on inside.”

Graham nodded grimly to her as he wheeled Mr. Jennings through the first set of doors.

Adele stepped around them and pushed the large blue handicapped button that automatically opened the next set. Inside she led them off to the left where there was a grouping of vacant armchairs, and she sat down in one beside the wheelchair. Graham unbuttoned the elderly man's coat and slipped it from his arms. He appeared shriveled beneath a white shirt and bright red cardigan.

She touched the old man's hand. “How do you do, Mr. Jennings.”

He politely and slowly removed his hat. “You must be Adele!” His voice was low, raspy.

Taken aback that he would know her name, she replied, “Why, yes, I am.”

“Graham has told me so much about you.” Behind the thick bifocals now lightening a shade as they adjusted to the indoors, his eyes seemed to twinkle in the gaunt face.

“He has?” Surprise raised her voice, and then she realized he must be teasing her. She had spent a mere 45 minutes with Graham Logan. But before she could recover, he went on.

“He described you to a T and said you're the incredibly beautiful, efficient director of this place. Sold him on the spot.”

“Rand!” Graham's voice jumped an octave.

“Oh, call me Pops. I always wanted to be called Pops. Never too late to start, is it?”

The man was a charmer. The nurses were going to enjoy him. “No, Mr. Jennings, it's never too late to start anything.”

“Until you're dead and gone. Like I will be soon.” Matter of fact, with a hint of a chuckle and no self-pity. “Where's my room?”

“Let's go right now.”

She walked beside Graham, slowing her
efficient
walk to match the more sedate movement the wheelchair required. His sunglasses were atop his hair. That luscious pewterstreaked hair.

“So, Graham,” she murmured, giving him a sly smile, “thanks for the compliment.”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “You're wel— The fact is, I didn't exactly say—”

She laughed. “I know you didn't. He's charming! Shall I warn the nurses?”

Mr. Jennings turned his bald head slightly and glanced over his shoulder. “You're talking about me behind my back. Literally behind my back.” His tone was amused.

“We are!” Adele took a quick double step to the front of his chair. “But it's all good stuff, Mr. Jennings. Here we go. Right in here.” She led the way into a single room. “You've got a nice southeast view. Snow-covered fields and sunshine most of the day. Oh, dear. The bed's not ready. I'll grab some linens and take care of that. I imagine you're rather tired after your trip. ”

“I could use a nap. You'd think the good Lord would take away the need for sleep at this stage of things. Kind of hate snoring away what little time I have left. Graham, park me by the window.”

“There you go,
Pops.
I'll get your things out of the car.” Without a backward glance, he strode from the room.

“Mr. Jennings, I'll get those linens and be right back.”

“Don't you pay someone else to do that?”

“We're short a couple of aides today. My job description doesn't say I
can't
do it! Sit tight.”

He chuckled at that.

Adele hurried out the door and jogged toward Graham. From the back, his height and breadth was almost intimidating. The top of his head appeared to nearly graze the low ceiling tiles. His shoulders occupied a lot of hall space.

Why was it she kept
noticing
the man?

“Graham.” She neared him.

He stopped and turned, his furrowed brow questioning.

She reached his side and touched his forearm. “It gets better. It does.”

“Easy for you to say, Ms. Chandler.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Hurrying down the hallway, Graham tried to shut out the institutional gray-green walls, the faded black-and-white linoleum, the water stain on a corner ceiling tile. The totally overriding bleak, stark
feel
of the place. The vacant stares of wheelchair occupants as he passed them.

The warmth of compassionate fingers touching his forearm.

But of course he couldn't.

Because all of it revolved around Rand Jennings. And the man had always been an integral part of his life. There was no going backward. Adele Chandler, institutional green, the scent of waiting for death…all were permanent fixtures in his foreseeable future.

Graham eyed Adele over the top of his reading glasses. She sat behind her desk, across from him, efficiently shuffling the myriad of papers he was signing.

“Only one more.” Her voice was lilting, as if she were always on the verge of expressing something wildly joyful.

“Ms. Chandler.”

She didn't correct him by reminding him of her first name. Perhaps she thought as he did, that it was best to keep the distance of formality between them. She met his gaze with a steady one of her own. Her eyes were large ovals that dominated her face. Not quite blue, not quite gray. Like a hazy summer sky. Warm and calm.

“Yes, Dr. Logan?”

He intended to ask another question about hospice, but her tone matched her eyes, and he knew formality was not in the woman's character. Allowing him to vent his pain came with running the nursing home. She wouldn't hold it against him. Still…confession was good for the soul.

He removed his reading glasses. “I'm sorry for being short with you earlier.”

“Don't worry about it. I have this annoying tendency to invade people's private space. I think it's because so many of the folks here continuously need it. I forget that healthy adults don't go around hoping somebody,
anybody,
will offer comfort.” She gave him a half smile. “I should have read the signals.”

“Signals?”

Her eyelids fluttered downward as she straightened papers. “You know. Those manly signals of self-sufficiency.”

“Oh,
those.
Evidently I wasn't displaying them very well.”

She looked back up as if to say something, gave her head a slight shake, and laughed. “Never mind. All right. We're finished with the paperwork. Any questions?”

He could think of only one. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Five minutes before Tanner's scheduled arrival, Kate heard the doorbell buzz. Shrugging into her overcoat, she opened the front door. He stood there, bundled in a black jacket, his hair grazing the thick turtleneck rising above the leather, his breath turning into white puffs on the night air.

“Hey, Sir Galahad.”

The porch light shone on his puzzled face.

“You could have just honked.” She shut the door behind her. “You know how I feel about Sir Galahad, right?”

He followed her down the steps. “Let me guess. Waste of energy?”

“To the max.”

“I was just being polite. Fighting noise pollution.”

She laughed, hurrying through the cold night air around the big black hood of an SUV. “Man, was I ever wrong! I figured you drove a little red sports car.” She opened the passenger side door and climbed up onto the buttery soft leather seat as he entered from the driver's side. “Isn't that the thirtyyear-old bachelor's usual mode of transportation?”

“I totaled that when I was twenty-two.”

“I see.” With exaggerated motions, she tugged the safety belt out as far as it would go and hooked it with a loud click. “Have your driving skills improved since that time?”

“Well, my drinking skills have.”

In the relaxed manner she had observed in her brothers, he handled the car as if it were a small toy, steering with one hand, elbow propped against the window. She waited, hoping he would elaborate on his cryptic comment.

“I don't anymore,” he said.

“That's great.”

“I don't suppose you've ever had to deal with that issue?”

“No. I can't relate.”

“Lucky you. Well!” He smiled, his tone flippant. “Enough about me!”

“But I want to hear about your trip.”

“Oh, all right. You're such a snoop. But I guess that's your job.”

“Tell me who, what, where—”

“There's not that much to tell. Flew out, flew back. Some guy moved his friend here. He was a frail-looking older gentleman.”

“In the dead of winter? Poor man, traveling here to the Arctic Circle. I bet it's springtime in Baltimore already. You soaked up some sunshine, didn't you? Your nose has a rosy tint to it.”

“Observant little snoop.”

“Hey, let's not bring height into this. Observant snoop, okay, but I draw the line at the word ‘little.'”

“Okay, okay.” He held up a hand in mock surrender. “Exactly how short are you?”

“None of your business.”

Like other times, they bantered easily. Teasing, laughing, freely sharing a wide range of thoughts. He never crossed the line into flirting, for which she was grateful. With her plain appearance and career-oriented outlook, she knew she was nothing like the type of woman he pursued. She would have doubted his sincerity if he had behaved that way toward her.

She imagined he had quite a number of ex-girlfriends. Besides being symmetrically proportioned, the guy projected a depth. With a start she realized she'd just described the perfect catch: Adonis with a soul. And she was, at that very moment, by his invitation, sitting next to him.

A highly unusual situation.

Tanner watched Kate from a distance at the banquet. As he suspected, she wasn't a needy companion who required his constant attention. Which was why he had offered to escort her there in the first place.

The affair was held in the commons, now furnished with long tables. Girls from the three basketball teams sat together while their families settled in elsewhere. As one of the coaches, he sat at the head table, leaving Kate to her own devices. She was remarkably self-sufficient. Truly one of the guys.

She easily made new acquaintances, slipping into an empty chair beside the Andersons near the back, introducing herself. Who could resist her quirky friendliness? She posed no threat in her too-large coat and one mitten, camera dangling from her shoulder, glasses often sliding down her lightly freckled nose. Her red hair was held in a ponytail by elastic, but still stray ends stuck out. He noted as he had at the Rib House that she was left-handed. It was so
apropos
for a quirky character.

She caught his eye and smiled. He gave her a thumbs-up and turned his attention back to Britte, who was now speaking into the microphone. Anne Sutton, the sophomore coach and Britte's assistant, was off on a Valentine's trip to California with her husband. Rotten timing. Tanner would have to do her presentations as well as his own. Not that he minded the exercise itself of calling names and handing out awards. It was knowing he would let down the ladies. The evening was always an emotional event for every female in the house as they reminisced over the season. Tearful discourses were addressed to the seniors. Tonight would be even more significant with the once-in-a-lifetime third-place trophy from the state tournament. He, on the other hand, would tell one too many jokes and, in general, be a disappointment.

Almost two hours later the crowd had thinned, but Kate wasn't quite finished. Tanner joined her as she photographed a group of varsity award winners. From behind her, he made faces at the girls. They burst into laughter just as she clicked.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and then she put her eye back to the camera. “Ladies, puh-lease. Try to ignore Coach Adonis.”

They roared, breaking rank from the posed lineup, and Kate snapped their picture again.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You'll pay for that one, Kilpatrick.”

She laughed and waited for the girls to settle down. “Why don't you go pose with them? Imagine all the future college dorm rooms displaying your photo. You'll be famous!”

He shook his head and backed away. “I think I'll go warm up the car. Maybe, just maybe, I'll wait for you.”

Adele twirled the pizza platter around until the last piece lined up with Graham's plate across the table. “This is yours.”

“You're sure you've had enough?”

The waistband of her skirt was decidedly more snug than when they had entered the Pizza Parlor. She nodded.

He helped himself to it. “Thanks. It is excellent, isn't it?”

She heard his astonished tone and grinned. “Surprise!”

He laughed. “Well, I never would have expected it in such a small, out-of-the-way place. Did you grow up here in Valley Oaks?”

“No, I've only been here since shortly before Chelsea was born. I immediately developed a craving for this pizza.”

He returned her smile. They had spent the evening primarily talking business. Naturally, he was deeply interested in the day-to-day operations of Fox Meadow, how he and his close friend would be affected, what his role was. Now, at last, she sensed him loosening up.

“Adele—”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For dropping the ‘Ms.'”

He lowered his eyes and fiddled with a fork. “I was resisting this afternoon. Resisting the fact that you and Fox Meadow are now part of my life.”

“I know.”

He looked at her again. “You must see it often.”

“Often enough. Watching a loved one grow old and die is not something any of us would choose to do. Institutionalizing them is a heartbreaking decision.”

“Have you had to do it? Oh, probably not. Your parents must be much younger.”

She shook head. “They were forty when I was born. My mother passed away about twelve years ago.”

“And your father?”

How odd. Like Kate, he was a fairly new acquaintance, a stranger really. Like with Kate last night, she was about to unwrap her past in front of him. At least it was clean now. Long ago she had asked her heavenly Father to forgive her.

But there was a mystique about Graham Logan. Safety radiated from him. Was it his gentleness? His overpowering physical presence? Or the fact that he ate vegetarian pizza with gusto and without snide remark? She didn't know. Whatever it was, she felt secure with him.

“Adele, I'm getting too personal.”

“No, it's all right. I was just thinking how we're practically strangers, yet you don't seem like one. You're rather easy to be with.”

“You're
rather easy to be with. I figured this must be a familiar routine for you, that all your clients take you to dinner.” There was a definite twinkle in the steel blue eyes that held hers.

“Um, not quite. As a matter of fact, you're the first.” She tried to ignore a peculiar tingling feeling now forming at the base of her throat.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” She touched the hollow of her neck. Her beaded choker necklace felt snug, like her waistband, but it wasn't from eating too much pizza. It was from her heart throwing chaotic beats against it.

“Truthfully, it wasn't a simple business invitation. I deliberately took note that you don't wear a wedding band.”

She lowered her left hand and studied it. “Uh, no I don't. Because I'm not. Married, that is.”

“But that photo on your desk suggests you're…involved?”

“Oh, that's, um, Will. He's a friend. Just a friend. Not like…involved. No, I'm not involved. Nor engaged.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Breathy. Highpitched. “So, what you're saying is, you picked me up? At Fox Meadow?”

He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound. “I wouldn't have phrased it quite so crassly.”

“But if the shoe fits…”

He still smiled, the crow's feet around his eyes crinkling. “Touché. Are you always this direct?”

Now it was she who broke eye contact and fiddled with a fork.

He went on. “The past six months have been…difficult. I felt like I couldn't take a breath. Until today. You welcomed Rand, and suddenly I could breathe again.” As if to demonstrate, he inhaled deeply and let it out. “You were like this great gulp of fresh air.”

She was a gulp of fresh air? Then he must be a great gulp of sweet spring water because suddenly her thirst was quenched. And she hadn't even known she was in the desert.