The Winding Road Home (7 page)

“Oh, Tanner!” Kate giggled as she climbed into his warm car idling at the curb just outside the high school. “You missed more accolades— Fiddlesticks!” She reopened the door and jumped down.

“You forgot your coat.”

“Sorry. I'll be right back.” She slammed the door shut and raced up the wide walkway and into the building.

He grinned to himself. She would forget her head. He waited, wondering if she had been as much fun in high school. Of course in high school he wouldn't have noticed her. Girls didn't exist unless they were fashion model material—very tall and preferably blonde—with a bubble for brains. What a jerk he'd been. No doubt still was.

He noticed someone meet her at the door with the jacket. She hustled back out to the car.

“Tanner.” Her voice was breathless. “Check me. I've got my camera. Coat.” She patted her pockets. “Program, notepad, pen.”

“Head?”

“Funny.”

He pulled away from the curb. “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous!”

“Potlucks have that effect. How about a pizza?”

“Sounds great. So anyway, you missed a dozen more accolades from parents, not just the starry-eyed teenagers. They love you.”

“You're kind. You seemed to have enjoyed yourself.”

“It was such a trip! I didn't think Mayberry existed. My goodness! They opened with a prayer!”

“Is that legal, by the way?”

“Who cares, if nobody's complaining and the students did it themselves? I think the latest ruling said it was all right.”

They chatted more about the evening. She was full of questions, nonstop. She even carried her notepad into the crowded, noisy Pizza Parlor where she made a beeline to a table occupied by a couple.

“Adele! Hi. This is Adonis—I mean, Tanner Carlucci.”

He glared at her, only half teasing.

“Tanner, be nice. This is Adele Chandler.”

“How do you do?” He shook her hand. The woman resembled Chelsea, though her curly hair was shorter. She appeared rather youthful-looking for a junior student's mother. “You must be Chelsea's mom.”

“That's right. And this is Graham Logan. Newcomer to Valley Oaks.”

Tanner recognized the man from his earlier flight to Maryland. “Hello, again.”

“Hi.” He smiled hesitantly, and then recognition registered. “You're the pilot.”

“Small world.”

Graham explained to Adele, “We flew. Much easier on Rand than driving.” He turned back to Tanner and Kate. “Adele got him all moved into her home. Well, not her own home.”

Kate smiled. “She took me in. I'm sure he'd be welcome there too.”

They laughed. Kate declined Adele's invitation to join them, noting they were finished eating and that she was still interviewing Tanner. He followed her down the aisle to a window booth.

“You're interviewing me?”

“I'm always interviewing, Tanner. And besides that, Adele looked a bit off. Flushed and flustered. That's curious, but I didn't want to interfere.”

A college-age waitress set water glasses before them. “Need a menu?”

He looked at Kate and intuitively knew her tastes matched his own. “The works? Extra cheese?”

She smiled. “Extra large?”

He turned to the waitress. “That'll do it.”

“And coffee,” Kate added.

“Make mine root beer.”

“Okay. Coming right out.” She left.

“I don't know that waitress,” Kate said. “Did I mention I eat here all the time? The owner, Mrs. Posateri, lets me work and drink coffee in the middle of the afternoon when they're closed.”

“Well, Kate, I'd say you're fitting right in at Valley Oaks.”

“I don't know. I'm viewed as a gossip columnist. Everyone is nice to me. They think maybe they'll see their name in print.” A frown crossed her face. “I don't mean that. Well, yes I do, but I'm trying to get over it. As Rusty says, it ain't DC. And that's okay.”

“Remember it's temporary. For now you just need to relax and let the magic take over.”

“You obviously have. You fit right in here, Tanner. Like I said, the parents love you. And you were so at home up front tonight. Why don't you choose one of your hobbies full time and move out here?”

He tipped his water glass back and forth.

“Sorry. You can stop me when I'm being too
much
of a snoop.”

He looked at her. “You're not. It's just that…” He glanced out the window before meeting her gaze. Could he tell her? Could he trust her with the vague notion of a dream?

“Hey, Tanner, forget I asked. It's none of my business.”

“It's all right.” He reached over and swooped up her notepad. “But you can't breathe a word to anyone. Not a soul.”

“I smell a story.” Her tone was singsong, and then she sobered, solemnly handing him her pen. “But I promise.”

“I'm in the process of buying the video store next to the pharmacy.”

Her eyes widened. “The one that's shut down?”

“Yeah. The owner's in prison. He tried to kill Cal Huntington, the deputy sherriff.”

“I know. I read about that in those old
Times.
Congratulations!”

“Thanks. It's a small place. I can still fly and sub. Another hobby!”

“But it's a start of something. When do you get possession?”

“In a couple of weeks, if I decide to go through with it. And if my dad doesn't back out of the deal. He's giving— make that
loaning
—me part of the money.” Loaning. He was done
accepting
money from his old man.

“Is your dad a doctor? I think I know him.”

“Yeah, he's a surgeon. How do you know him?”

“He operated on my mom about eight years ago. She had breast cancer.”

“Is she…” He hesitated. So much death accompanied his father. Sidney Carlucci had the touch of death. It was unavoidable baggage with his professional life. In his personal life…well, suffice it to say that too reeked of it.

“She's doing great. She liked your dad a lot.”

Patients. What did they know?

“Tanner?”

“Hmm?”

“Your eyes are at half-mast. Where'd you go?”

He gave her a cockeyed smile. “You don't want to know.”

Graham followed Adele into her house. On the drive home from the restaurant she had invited him to come in for tea, and he had accepted without hesitation. Even if no extenuating circumstances tied their destinies together, if he had simply met her on the street…still he would have said yes. From the first three minutes in her office, the woman had captivated him.

Which was why he should have declined.

Not to mention those extenuating circumstances would most likely work against them, reason enough to not even be making eye contact, let alone—

“Graham.” She hung her coat on a hall tree beside the door, twirled a half circle, and headed through an arched doorway. Avoiding eye contact herself?

Waving a hand toward the right, she called over her shoulder, “Go on into the living room and make yourself at home. I'll be right there.”

He concluded she was avoiding eye contact. She was quite obviously flustered.

Which was the basis for reason number three. He had no business being in her home.

Shrugging out of his coat, he looked around. It was an old house. The small entryway opened to arched doorways on the left and right, leading to the dining room and living room. Straight ahead was an enclosed staircase.

He hung up his coat and went into the living room, doing as he was told.

Reason number four…

The furnishings were old and worn, but everything appeared tidy and clean. That and a comfortably warm temperature after the frigid winter night created a cozy atmosphere. A scent of spiced apples permeated the air.

The décor was of the homegrown variety. Candles. Pottery. Healthy green plants. Photos of Chelsea and other young people. None of what's-his-name.

Graham sat in an armchair. He heard kitchen clanging noises. There was a fireplace, too clean to have contained burning wood in recent history.

What was going on? She had caught him completely by surprise. The plan had simply been to fulfill the wishes of old Rand: check him into the home and wait for God to finish things.

In whatever way He wants.

Hadn't Graham learned that truth yet? Why did he still insist on reaching for the reins, wanting to do it his way?

Adele entered the room, carrying a wooden tray. “I hope you like peppermint?”

He did. He also liked watching her move. There was a fluidity in her motions that only women confident in their own skin possessed. She was of medium height and build, not tall the way his wife had been.

She poured tea from a ceramic pot and handed him a mug. Brief eye contact, fingertips brushing.

“Thank you. Where were we?”

Adele slipped her stockinged feet out of her clogs and sat on the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. “My sordid past.”

“It gets sordid?”

She smiled. “Graham, we only got to high school graduation from a Connecticut boarding school.”

“And your decision to quit college after a semester.”

“I was rebelling against my dad. He directed everything. He was a large man, tall, two hundred and fifty pounds. Overbearing. Loud, gruff voice. It wasn't easy to disagree with him face-to-face. I followed his decree that I study business, but one semester of that and no art was all I could handle. He allowed me to go to Italy for the January term. I didn't come home. I had enough money saved to pay my way.” Her face was down as if she sought words in the cup of tea.

“And?”

“This is where it gets sordid.” She glanced up and then off to the side. “I met a guy. We parted ways in August. I found out I was pregnant. I came home. My father disowned me. Literally lock, stock, and barrel. He ordered the maid to help me pack, and then he escorted me to the door and said, ‘I always knew you'd amount to nothing.'” She bit her bottom lip. “He locked the door behind me, and that was the last time I ever saw him.”

He waited for her to continue.

“I stayed at a friend's for a while, foolishly thinking he'd change his mind. I gave up and got on a bus headed for San Francisco. A snowstorm stopped us in Valley Oaks. Naomi Sommers befriended me and I stayed.” Adele looked at him. “She taught me about Jesus and loved me unconditionally.”

“Thank God for those people in our lives, huh?”

“You have one too?”

“I did. My wife.”

“When did she die?”

“About five years ago.”

A distinct compassion clouded her eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“Well, I'm learning that God uses our sorrows to draw us to Himself.” He cleared his throat. He didn't want to go down that road. “What about Chelsea's father?”

“Oh, this is where it gets really sordid. I didn't know how to contact him. He was from Germany. I couldn't spell his last name, let alone pronounce it. I had no clue what city he was from.”

It sounded rehearsed, false even, compared to other aspects of her story. Perhaps there was more to add, things she wanted to leave unsaid. So instead he asked, “Did you keep in touch with your mother?”

“I did. But after a while, R.J. forbade her to talk to me. We still did periodically, when she knew she wouldn't get caught.” Adele shuddered, set down her mug, and pulled an afghan onto her lap.

“Did you try to contact him after she died?”

“No. I've had enough rejection to last a lifetime, thank you. I figured it was his move. Mother would have left my number where he would find it.”

“And what of Christ's command to forgive our enemies?”

“I have. He's off the hook.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “But you know the funny thing? A part of me still hopes he'll call. Isn't that ridiculous?”

“Not ridiculous at all. As Rand would say,” he rasped his voice, “it's never too late until you're dead and gone.”

She smiled and sniffed. “But for all I know, he is dead and gone.”

“I think…” Graham began sliding from the chair. With a start, he realized he was on his way to cross the room, to sit beside her, to pull her into his arms. He crushed that urge in the blink of an eye. “Adele, it seems that you would somehow know if that were true or not. Don't you think?”

“I think…” She touched her necklace. “I think I don't know why I'm telling you these things!”

Early Saturday morning Kate shuffled into the kitchen and passed Adele sitting at the table. She mumbled, “Morning.”

“Morning.” Adele's mumble was even less recognizable.

Not one to chat before her first cup of coffee, Kate pushed her glasses up her nose and went about her business preparing a potful. Adele and Chelsea never touched the stuff. A coffeemaker was the only item Kate needed to purchase for her new home, a fact she had unfortunately discovered on a Monday morning. Dear Rusty had saved her on that occasion. The woman knew how to make a mean cup of coffee.

Kate glanced over her shoulder. Something was wrong. Adele always chatted, no matter Kate's reticence, no matter the time or the day. She sat now, her hands clutched around a mug full of herbal tea, staring at nothing in particular.

“Adele, are you all right?”

“Huh?” She shifted her eyes. It took them a moment to focus on Kate.

“What's wrong?”

“Wrong? With what?”

“With you, Adele. You're not chatting.”

“I'm not?”

“No.”

“It seemed like I was.” She made a strange noise, something between a giggle and a cough. “Must have all been in my head!”

Kate pulled the partially filled carafe, interrupting the drip action, and sloshed the coffee into a mug. She clearly needed her caffeine kick before continuing with the conversation.

Mug in hand, she sat down across the table from Adele, who was now humming and smiling into her teacup. Like Kate, she wore a fuzzy robe and slippers, protection against the early winter morning. Frost covered the dark window pane. From outside, light from a streetlamp sparkled through its delicately etched patterns.

Kate remembered how last night she thought Adele appeared somewhat flustered at the Pizza Parlor. She had introduced Graham somebody, a newcomer, a tall, broadshouldered man in need of a shave. With pewter gray hair.

“Adele, last night at the restaurant, was that guy the toe curler?”

“Toe curler? Oh, that silly phrase of Chelsea's.” She shrugged and wound a curly strand of hair around a finger. “I introduced you, right? Graham Logan. His friend just moved into the home.”

Kate already knew that.

“We had such an in-depth conversation. He was full of questions about Fox Meadow. Then one thing led to another. It was so easy to open up with him. He exudes
safety.
Do you know what I mean?”

“My dad's like that.”

“You're fortunate. Mine was never like that. I know Jesus is, and sometimes I get a real glimpse of that, but to meet someone in person…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes went toward the window. A tiny smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

“Is Will like that?”

“Will?”

You remember, the good friend who just gave you an amethyst ring on Valentine's Day.
Kate pressed her lips together.

“Will. He's…not the same. I'm…content with him, comfortable.”

“Except for your wardrobe.”

“Well, yes. You have a point there. He…he challenges me. In a way.”

“Is tonight a date night?”

“No. He has his kids this weekend. And tomorrow night he leaves on a business trip, to Atlanta, I think, for a week or so. Last night Graham and I just talked and talked. Until eleven o'clock!”

Kate hadn't gotten home until midnight. She and Tanner had finished their pizza and then driven to the closed video store. The night was calm. They ventured from the warm car and lingered on the sidewalk, peeking in the windows, brainstorming about what he could do with the place. He balked at making a commitment. She couldn't imagine personally investing thousands of dollars, and offered to pray for him to have wisdom. He brushed aside the comment as if it were simply a nice thing to say. She dropped the subject, realizing that the everyday reality of Jesus was far removed from his life. Which was why she was up early…to pray that would change for Tanner.

Now Kate drank her coffee and studied Adele. She was quiet again, twirling her hair, staring at the frosted window, humming in a distracted way, letting her tea go cold.

Oh boy.

Her friend may not recognize it, but Graham Logan had captured her attention in a way Will Epstein hadn't even approached.

Later that morning, Kate drove through the business area of Valley Oaks. If it weren't for the temperature holding steady at 14 and the wind whipping out of the north at 15 miles per hour with gusts up to 20, she would hoof it to the office. Adele's house was only two blocks from the town square. The
Times
was only another two blocks beyond that. Piece of cake.

Maybe in the spring. No, she'd be long gone by then. Adios, Midwest!
Lord, please? DC by the end of May?

She rounded the corner and her heart sank. Rusty's car was parked right outside the
Times
office. Kate had hoped to have a quiet, smoke-free environment in which to write her story about last night's awards banquet slash potluck.

She pulled into the space beside Rusty's car and hopped out. Crossing the sidewalk, she inhaled three garlic-scented, deep breaths of air. She held the last one and opened the door.

“Hey, kid. I was just going to give you a call. How'd the banquet go last night?”

“Fine.” Kate hung up her coat and went to her desk. “Tanner escorted me in and showed me the ropes. He is a wealth of information.”

“Surprising, isn't it, considering how lackadaisical he is.” She lit a cigarette, evidently unaware of the one already burning in the ashtray on her desk.

Kate's eyes watered and her throat felt scratchy. She switched on the computer and thought about the balance in her checking account. Was there any way she could swing payments on a laptop?

“Well, Katy-girl, do you think you're ready to cover a boys basketball game? They have a home game tonight. Sophomores start at six.”

“Sure.” Kate was grateful for the new assignment, though her tone didn't reveal that. “I'd be glad to.”

“Townsfolk here are dead serious about their high school athletics.”

“I noticed that with the girls last night.”

Rusty snorted. “And that was nothing. Wait until you experience how they handle the male aspect of things. I'm heading up to Chicago this afternoon. I've got an old friend coming to the city.”

“A newspaper friend?”

She rattled her bronchial laugh. “Is there any other?”

Kate had heard some of Rusty's stories, how she had worked in Springfield and then Chicago, writing city news for years. Some political maneuvering had edged her out. That was five years ago, when she was 57. Not an easy age to start over in another city at a large newspaper. She had come across the Valley Oaks position and jumped at the chance. Not that there had been any competition.

Rusty continued, “Jack and I worked together at the
Trib
in our younger days. He moved on to New York eons ago. We get together every now and then, laugh about our early angsts.”

“New York.” Kate's voice was wistful.

“You'll laugh someday too about your time in Valley Oaks.”

“Mm-hmm.” Kate turned to the computer. She'd laugh if she was still breathing in 20 years.

“The pasture for has-beens, but a ripe field for those just cutting their teeth.”

Something about Rusty's tone struck an uneasy chord in Kate. She rested her fingers on the keyboard and listened to it. A corner of her heart whispered,
What is it, Lord?

Rusty Connelly. Crusty. Rough, self-sufficient exterior. Bent on self-destruction. A hurting soul.

It was the type of nudge that Kate recognized. No sense in trying to ignore it. She swiveled around in her chair.

“Rusty?”

She looked up from a paper she was reading, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

“I wish you didn't smoke.”

“Blazes, kid, why didn't you say something?” She puffed deeply, and then she crushed the burning tip against the ashtray. “I didn't know it bothered you.”

“I can live with the smoke. Well, it's not my first choice of air space, but, Rusty, I really wish you didn't smoke. I mean for your own sake.”

“You're not going to read me the list of health hazards, are you? I know all that stuff. The impact has been zilch. Besides, I've been smoking since I was fifteen. Forty-seven years and no problems.” She coughed.

“You're worth so much.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“But you are.”

Rusty's eyes resembled a basset hound's, mournful and defeated.

“Jesus thinks you are.”

“Good grief, you're a Jesus freak. You could have told me that too. I would have cleaned up my language.” She tried to smile, but it didn't quite lift all the way. “Somewhat, maybe.”

“I don't care about that, either. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I tell you you're a precious human being and Jesus and I care an awful lot about you.”

She blinked. “You sound like He's a person, your good friend.”

“He is. Both.”

“I suppose you two talk about me.”

“At least once every day.” Kate smiled.

The older woman turned back to her desk. “Imagine that. Somebody praying for old Crusty Rusty. My mother would turn over in her grave.”

“Why is that?”

For a long moment she didn't reply. “Because she never once said a kind word to me.”

They were quiet for a time. Kate stared at the computer monitor. Her heart pounded erratically as it had those other times, those few occasions when for the briefest of moments her upper arm tingled…as if the arm of Jesus had brushed against it as He moved beside her.

“Katy-girl?”

She turned to see Rusty walking across the office..

“My friend Jack from New York…” She removed her worn, brown woolen coat from a peg and slipped it on. “He has connections in DC.”

Kate's eyebrows rose on their own accord, widening her eyes.

Rusty shrugged, buttoning the coat.

“You said I have to pay my dues.”

“That you do, kid. But it never hurts to know somebody who knows somebody.” She grinned, lifted a hand in parting, and walked outside.