Forgiveness Creek: The Creek Series (6 page)

She was right, but I was suddenly consumed with an overwhelming need for closure. I walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit. I’ve got this gnawing feeling.”

Weirdness was an understatement for having to use a key to open the cabin, and I laughed when I read the key fob again. Once inside, I plopped down in the oversized recliner, and my body sank deep into it, as if his arms were around me.

I looked around the small living room and read the hand-painted wood sign over the door, “Hunter’s Paradise”, and laughed. Stephan loved to hunt, but that man could not kill a deer. I swear he missed on purpose. He always had stories about the big buck that got away, and I often wondered why. Now fishing, that was a completely different story. He was talented in that department, and I think he simply let me beat him to make me feel better.

The cabin was stale and no longer smelled like him, but rather was overcome with the scent of old cedar wood. I walked around the rooms and eventually found myself in the master closet again. With all the clothes and belongings removed, I sat against the far wall and read his scribbling aloud. I thought about keeping a photo of it and remembered my cell phone was in the car.

I went outside and grabbed my purse. With phone in hand, I took several pictures of the list and decided the time had come to cover it. The easiest way would be a new piece of drywall and a few screws, so it wasn’t damaged, just not visible to anyone else. I was curious if Justin had any left over from his new house, so I gave him a call.

“Hey, do you happen to have any plasterboard left over?”

“What are you building?”

“Just repairing. I’m at the cabin. Do you have a four by eight piece and some white paint?”

“Yes, I’ll bring it to you.”

He arrived about thirty minutes later, driving the ranch truck, and brought in all sorts of supplies like caulk, hammer, nails, etc. I told him about the writings and how I was just going to put a piece of drywall over it and paint it, nothing fancy.

“Don’t read it,” I warned.

“Okay,” he agreed with a laugh.

Within an hour, we had it covered up and started a fresh coat of paint for the whole closet. No one but us and maybe Analina would know it was ever there. She hadn’t mentioned it, but I was pretty certain she’d seen it.

“He was crazy about you. Talked about you constantly.” Justin was standing on the stool to paint the ceiling, and I was beneath him, painting around the bottom.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone tells me.”

“This place would make a great hunting lodge.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. Good idea.”

It was a light bulb moment. I could rent it out as a hunting lodge.
Hunter’s Paradise
. Five acres wasn’t anything to hunt on really, but other land around was leased out for hunting, that much I knew. “I’ll give that some serious consideration.”

While we waited for the paint to dry, we sat out on the deck. I began to get the closure I needed and the final step toward healing. I no longer slept in his flannel shirt, which took me weeks to wash, and I’d stopped listening to his voice mail messages and reading his text because the counselor said those things were holding me hostage. I was grateful for the people in my life who had given me enormous support and solid advice at every turn.

Karina was right, I held the power to move on. History could not be repaired, but I needed the lesson to live the rest of my life.

Toward the end of October, Darlie told me there was going to be a position posted in her department she thought I’d love, working as a patient care assistant. Basically, it was a jack-of-all trades, anything and everything asked, kind of job. I wouldn’t work for her, but it would get my foot in the door for a nursing position in oncology when I graduated, if one became available.

I took the proper steps and spoke with Becky about it, and she agreed it was a great move for me, and while she would be sad to lose me from her team, she thought the change would be great and would definitely set me up for what I wanted to accomplish after graduation.

“I’m bummed our schedules won’t be the same, but it will be good for you,” Karina said around her toothbrush.

I sat down on the end of her bed while she washed her face. “It’s less hours and no weekends, but Becky said I could pick up weekend shifts, if I wanted to, from her crew, and since my grades have come back up, there shouldn’t be a problem with my advisor.”

“Graduation will be here before we know it. You are such a genuine, caring person. I know you’d make a great oncology nurse.”

I applied for the position and was transferred without a waiting period the second week of November. The following Monday after class, I reported to my new assignment and was giddy with excitement as I waited to meet with my new boss, Edgar Walls, Director of Oncology.

“We’re thrilled to have you on the team, Wrenn. Our mission here is simple; it’s always the small things that move the most mountains. Always keep that in mind and you’ll do well. I know you’re friends with Darlie already, but I’ll give you the nickel tour and introduce you to everyone else.”

After a brief jaunt around the department, we arrived to the area that would be my work station and introduced me to Margaret, who was going to be my trainer and immediate supervisor. At first, Margaret seemed kind of grouchy, and I wondered what I’d gotten myself into, but I hoped for a turnaround.

As it turned out, Margaret was a patient herself, having recently finished her treatments for lung cancer and had decided it was best to retire. Her position was the one I was taking. Her attitude was a blend of emotions; after all, her life had been drastically altered.

It took about a week to get into a new rhythm, but once I had, I was very happy with my decision. I had more free time, but I used that to study and also sign up for an online class that would apply to my graduate program.

I sent Dr. Palmer an email about my decision, and his response to me confirmed that we both understood I wouldn’t be working for him after graduating, as I’d originally planned to do.

I’m extremely pleased with your choice, Wrenn. You are a very congenial caregiver, and that type of personality is desperately needed in the healing arts of cancer. It is an emotional journey with each patient and one I think you would excel at. Since we don’t have a cancer center close, I’m certain that the area you are in will provide adequately for employment post-graduation, but I’ll miss not having you working by my side. I know your mother is very, very proud of your accomplishments and the strides you are taking, just as I am. I’m proud to think I nudged you enough that you finally took this step in your life. I look forward to seeing you the next time you are home, and as always, Sara Beth and I send you our love.

Dr. P

In a way, the note was sad, but in another, it was more closure to my painful past and a positive take on my future.

I’d been in the cancer center over two months when I met Mr. Asher Lawrence, a sweet elderly man who had come to us for treatments and would be undergoing both chemotherapy and radiation treatment. Walking was difficult for him, so I meet his assistant out at the car with a wheelchair. He was quite the flirt, and I enjoyed him. While his body was failing him, his mind still appeared very sharp.

“Your mother must love birds,” he said one day as I pushed his chair inside.

“She does and has quite the sense of humor,” I joked in regards to the correlation of nature to my name, printed on the badge hanging around my neck.

“Well, I for one, think it’s lovely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. You seem to be feeling well today. What’s got you so chipper?”

“My grandson returns home this weekend from our corporation in China. I haven’t seen him in several months.”

“China? Wow. I’ve never been there. Does he go there a lot?”

“In and out practically the entire past three years and he hasn’t been happy about it.”

Small talk was great at keeping the patient’s mind removed from what we were doing, and I seemed to keep them chatting very well. Some of the patients told me the same stories day after day, which had me performing a serious act at pretending. Reminded me of the movie
Fifty First Dates
with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore.

Mr. Lawrence was a talker. In fact, he was rarely quiet, and I soon discovered he was a billionaire and also a big philanthropist, donating millions of dollars to the hospital in honor of his late wife Valarie.

“We are into global technology and have a micro-chip company there.”

“That’s got to be interesting.”

“Are you married?” he popped off one night as I took him out to his car.

“Are you asking?” I teased him.

“I might be,” he continued to joke. “No, you just seem like a sweet young lady, and I was curious if you had a husband to rush off to at home.”

My heart was shredded, and I began to sweat profusely even in the cold wind, but I kept my stoic face as best I could and leaned down to lock the wheelchair, so he couldn’t see me or my reaction to his question.

“No, Mr. Lawrence, I’m not married.”

“No one at home who you have to rush off to, so have dinner with me.”

“I’d love to, but I have a roommate from the nursing school, and we’re studying tonight for a big test.”

He covered his chest with both hands. “Ouch, I’m rejected. Maybe next time, my dear.”

“Perhaps.” Shameful of me to tease an old man, but I didn’t have the heart to spill my guts with my amount of baggage.