Beginnings (30 page)

“Andrew?”

He jumped and sat up.

Dad stood in the opening of the hallway. “Your mother is worried about Beth’s cat. It hasn’t been attended to all day.”

Rising, Andrew said, “She keeps a key under the mat on the back porch, just like her great-aunt always did. I could go over and check on it.”

Dad released a grunt of frustration. “Please do. Your mother won’t rest until she knows the poor animal is all right.”

Andrew was already moving toward the back door. “Tell Mom not to worry. I’ll take care of Winky.” As he passed his father, he added, “Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

Dad nodded, rubbing his hand over his whiskery cheek. “Yes. Thanks, son.”

Andrew headed out the back door. Less than ten minutes later, he let himself into the utility porch of Beth’s bungalow. Winky wrapped himself around his ankles before he could get the back door closed. The cat’s yowls pierced Andrew’s eardrums.

“Hey, hey,” he chided, slapping the light switch and scooping up the cat in one smooth motion, “stop yelling. I’m here now.”

Winky continued to emit strangled mewls between loud purrs as he bumped his head on the underside of Andrew’s chin and worked his paws against Andrew’s shirt front.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome.” Andrew held the cat for several minutes, stroking his fur. Finally, the little critter struggled to get down.

Winky headed for the kitchen, his tail straight in the air, yelping out a series of meows Andrew interpreted as a command to follow. He found the cat weaving back and forth between the stove and his empty pet dish, which had been turned onto its side.

“Sure, I’ll feed you,” he said, picking up the dish. “But where does Beth keep your food?” He spent a few frustrating minutes opening every cupboard door in the kitchen, all without success. Winky’s meows became more insistent, and Andrew muttered soothing words while he considered where else cat food might be kept.

Suddenly he slapped his forehead. “Oh, the basement!”

Winky trotted along as he headed back through the utility porch to the basement door. Just inside the door, on the second step, waited a half-full bag of dry cat food. Andrew grabbed it and had to high step his way back to the kitchen to avoid Winky, who darted in and out between his feet in eagerness.

Andrew filled the dish on the counter, thinking it would keep Winky out of his way, but to his surprise the cat leaped up beside the bowl and stuck his head under the flow of small brown squares, sending a flurry of cat food across the countertop and floor.

“Winky!” He pushed the cat to the floor, but before he could even take a breath, Winky was back on the counter, in his way again. Finally, out of desperation, he closed the cat in the bathroom while he finished filling the food dish and cleaned up the mess on the floor. Winky’s indignant yowls spurred him to work quickly. Once released, the cat pattered right to the bowl and buried his face in Kitty Krunchies.

While Winky ate, Andrew wandered to the front room, scanning for any messes the cat might have made while Beth was away. Other than a rug all askew by the front door and a tennis shoe dragged beneath the dining room table, it appeared the cat had behaved pretty well. As he turned to head back to the kitchen, his gaze fell on Beth’s cell phone, which lay on the desk in the corner of the dining room.

A little red light next to the stubby antenna flashed on and off. Curious, he moved to the desk and touched the slim silver phone with one finger. What did the flashing light mean—that the phone was going dead or that someone was calling? Uncertain what to do, he simply stared, watching the repeated blinks until he realized he was becoming mesmerized.

Shifting his gaze, he encountered the desk telephone. A small red button beneath the word “ringer” glowed as brightly as the flashing light on the cell phone. He touched the button and the color changed to green. He raised his eyebrows, realizing he must have turned it on. He reached to punch it back to off when,
ri–i–ing!
He jumped, jerking his hand away from the offending noise.

Ri–i–ing!

Should he answer it? It might be Henry. But no, Beth was with Henry. He had no need to call her.

Ri–i–ing!

Maybe it was Dad, calling to find out what was keeping him. He’d better hurry on home.

Ri–i–ing!

He came to a halt. Dad would probably worry more if Andrew didn’t answer, since he’d said this was where he would be.

Ri–i–ing!

No, he should just ignore it and go home. Andrew took two steps toward the kitchen, but then he whirled back and snatched the receiver from the cradle. “Hello?”

A dial tone greeted him. He’d waited too long. With a muffled groan, he slammed the receiver back in place. A glance in the kitchen showed Winky still hunkered over his food dish. Obviously the cat would need attention again in the morning, but for now Andrew had better go home.

While the cat was occupied, he slipped out the back door.

***

Sean whirled his chair away from the desk and rose, heading for the hallway. If he remained in his office, he’d only continue trying to call Beth. And she obviously wasn’t able—or willing—to answer.

He stopped in the kitchen to remove a bottle of carbonated water from the refrigerator, then passed into the small family room that had been added on to the back of the house. Settling into his recliner, he propped up the footrest and pointed the remote at the large-screen television that filled the middle of the entertainment center on the opposite wall. A detective show of some kind exploded onto the screen. He sipped his fizzy water and watched.

Having come in midway through the program, much of the storyline didn’t make sense, but it filled the time. He remained in the recliner until the water bottle was empty, the backyard was fully dark, and the ten o’clock news came on. Only then did he shut off the TV, slam down the footrest, and head for his bedroom.

As he passed his office, he felt the urge to go in and try Beth’s number one more time. But unwilling to face another series of unanswered rings, he pushed himself past the door.

He lay beneath the solid blue sheet on his bed and stared at the shadowed ceiling, trying not to envision unpleasant scenarios that would keep Beth from having access to her telephone. Closing his eyes, he prayed for God to shut down the images that only created needless worry. He prayed for Beth to be safe, wherever she was. And he asked, pleaded, that he would be able to reach her tomorrow.

***

Beth, her legs feeling like rubber, made it to the corner to the chair she’d occupied earlier, and collapsed. She covered her face with her hands, determined to keep dammed the tears that pressed behind her lids. All through the doctor’s explanation, the visit to her mother’s room, and the long walk down the hallway, she had maintained a calm facade. But now in the privacy of the waiting room, her resolve faded. With a broken sob, the tears broke loose in a torrent that doubled her forward and convulsed her shoulders in uncontrolled heaves.

In moments, strong arms surrounded her, pulling her firmly against a solid shoulder. Henry. For a moment, she clung, welcoming the consoling embrace, but then she realized how selfish she was being. She shouldn’t expect him to offer comfort when he was so in need of it himself. She pushed against his chest even as she continued to sob, and his arms loosened, allowing her to pull free.

Crunching into the corner of the vinyl-covered settee, she tried, unsuccessfully, to bring her weeping under control.

“Beth, Beth, shh now...” The low-toned voice filtered through Beth’s sobs. “Come here. Let’s pray together. You’ll feel better.”

“I ... I can’t!” Beth heard the recalcitrant note in her own voice, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. How could she possibly find a way to convey the depth of her concern and worry? Her prayers would be senseless groaning.

“Beth, please, you’re breaking my heart.”

The words sounded strangled, and Beth shifted to meet Henry’s gaze. His eyes, shimmering with empathetic tears, brought another rush of tears to her own. With a little cry, she forgot her resolve not to be selfish and threw herself into his arms. Her face buried against his chest, she choked out, “I’m just s–so scared, Henry. Mom’s ... Mom’s all I’ve got. W–what if...”

His chin pressed against her head, the day’s growth of whiskers catching her hair. “Your mother will be fine. The doctor didn’t say we would lose her, did he?”

Snuffling, she admitted, “No, but ... but he said she was w–weak from the babies’ delivery, and that a second surgery could b–be risky.” Beth pictured her mother on the hospital bed, her face nearly as white as the pillowcase beneath her head. The tousled curls scattered across the pillow took Beth by surprise. How long had it been since she’d seen Mom’s hair free of her cap? Mom had looked young, fragile, defenseless.

“Risky, yes.” His sigh stirred the fine strands of hair that had slipped loose of her ponytail. “But I trust she’ll come through the surgery. She’s a strong woman, and she’s in good hands—the best hands, the nurse said, in all of Kansas. We must trust, Beth.”

“It–it’s so
hard.
” She whispered the words against Henry’s front, wishing they weren’t true.

His soft chuckle vibrated against her ear. “Ah, Beth, if trust were easy, it wouldn’t be worth having.” Gently, he pushed her away and handed her a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. While she dried her eyes, he added, “And something else. Don’t ever think your mother is all you have.”

He paused for a moment, pulling his upper lip between his teeth and looking steadily into her eyes. She sensed he was gathering courage, and she held her breath, wondering what he might say.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and gravelly with emotion. “I’ve never said it because I didn’t want to presume that you ... you would accept me for something more than your mother’s husband. But I love your mother, Beth, and you are a part of her. I love you, too.”

Beth’s breaths came in little spurts as she fought the need to weep again but not from anguish. No, not from anguish.

“You’re a young woman already, and I know you don’t need a dad, but—”

“Yes, I do.” She blurted out the words, then lowered her gaze, abashed by the admission. She did need a dad—she’d always needed a dad. Her hands convulsed on the soggy handkerchief. Her words tumbled out in a harsh whisper. “But Mom got pregnant, and she has Dori and Teddy now, and you ... you’re...”

She didn’t complete the thought. Right now, in an operating room, the surgeon was cutting into her mother, taking away the chance for her to ever bear another child. He’d said they had to, to stop her from bleeding. But the thought knifed through Beth’s chest, stealing her words. How could she express a jealousy for the two tiny infants lying in Isolettes, knowing they would be Henry’s only children? How could she expect him to want her—flesh of another man—when he had them?

“Yes,” Henry said, his voice as tender as she’d ever heard it, and Henry was the most tender man she had ever known. “Your mother
and I
have Dori and Teddy ... and
we
also have you.”

She jerked her chin up to meet Henry’s gaze. The subtly emphasized words delivered a message that reached Beth’s heart and expanded it in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Having Theodore and Dorothea doesn’t change anything for your mother. You will always be her child. And just because I now have Dorothea and Theodore doesn’t mean I won’t have time for you. If you need a dad, I’m here. If you don’t want me as a dad, I accept that, too. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He waited, and she gave a slight nod. Yes, they were friends. Henry had never betrayed her, never hurt her, never ignored her, even though she had held him at bay. He had always shown her unconditional acceptance ... and love.

He went on softly, his hand resting on her clasped fists. “Whatever you choose for our future relationship, Beth—whether a friendship or a father-daughter relationship—just know you are loved, by your mother
and
me. You can trust that.”

Overwhelmed by emotion, Beth couldn’t find her voice. For long minutes she sat looking into Henry’s face, absorbing the sincerity reflected in his eyes. A part of her wanted very much to say, “Thank you.” To say, “Thank you, Dad.” But the words caught in her throat. The time wasn’t appropriate, not in this needy moment. It would be as though she only wanted him for what he could give.

The time to call him by the name she now accepted in her heart would come later, when Mom was well, the twins were home, and they were all together under Henry’s roof like a family. She could wait. Looking into his unwavering, accepting eyes, she knew he could wait, too.

She pushed her lips into a quavering smile.

“Are you ready to pray now?”

Beth gave an eager nod and closed her eyes. Henry petitioned God, speaking to the heavenly Father as easily and comfortably as he would speak to a friend. He thanked God for the precious gift of life in his children; he expressed gratitude for the care his wife was receiving and asked for divine help for the surgeon now operating; and he asked God to calm Beth’s fears and remind her of His presence.