Reinventing Leona (20 page)
“So how was your mom?”
Justin’s question startled Maddie from her thoughts. She looked at the man towering over her. He held an acoustic guitar by the neck, allowing the beautiful body to swing back and forth in front of her face like the watch of a hypnotist.
Maddie followed the flash of the abalone pearl inlay surrounding the hole in the center of the exquisite Sitka spruce top. Justin had spent hours poring over websites and tracking down off-the-beaten-path music stores searching for the instrument that would give him the rich, sultry sound he wanted. She remembered it was this intense focus and drive that had attracted her to him in the first place. Had she been a fool to think he would invest that same energy in a relationship? Disappointment echoed in the empty hole of Maddie’s heart, drowning out Justin’s latest cut playing on the kitchen radio.
“She got a job.”
Justin’s brow crinkled skeptically. “Doing what?”
She searched the smoky-blue eyes destined to grace many more CD covers. “Are you asking because you really care or because I threw a fit all the way back to Nashville?”
Justin bristled. “Hey, you could have flown home. You didn’t have to ride back with me.”
“You didn’t bother to come to the hospital one time and check on me.” Maddie planted her hands against the cold linoleum floor and pressed her back against the fridge. “Justin, why did you drive all the way to Mt. Hope?”
“Same song, second verse.” He pulled over a kitchen chair, put his boot on the seat, lifted his guitar to his bent knee, then strummed a couple ominous chords.
Anger clenched the muscles in Maddie’s jaw. “I’m waiting.”
His glance rolled down his perfect nose. “Katie Beth said she’d kill me if I didn’t.”
Tears stung Maddie’s eyes, her pride struggling to freeze them in place. “You came because my roommate made you?”
“Look, Maddie, quit making a big deal out of this.” Justin removed his boot from the seat, then shoved the chair back to the table with his foot. “I gave up a couple of really good gigs over the holidays. For what? So I could twiddle my thumbs in Mayberry?”
Fury blazed through Maddie’s veins. “My father had just died. My grandmother was in serious medical condition, and the whole time you were worried about playing some bars?” Thanks to Mrs. Wilkerson and years of organ lessons, Maddie knew her voice had successfully risen an octave.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Justin placed his guitar on the table, then squatted in front of her. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad.” His voice had taken on that dreamy quality capable of melting a groupie’s heart at fifteen paces. “You didn’t deserve that.” The back of his hand caressed her cheek.
Why did she feel as if sandpaper had removed the epidermal layer, exposing raw nerves? Maddie searched Justin’s eyes, desperate for an inkling of reassurance that the man cared for her as much as he did for his guitar.
“I can’t bring the guy back.”
The force of Justin’s matter-of-fact words stung. Maddie jerked her face away. “I’m not asking you to bring my father back. I just wanted a little attention and maybe a modicum of concern. Is that asking too much of you?”
“Yeah, it is.” He stood and picked up his guitar. “I didn’t sign on for that.”
Recoiling as if the point of Justin’s scuffed cowboy boot had kicked her right in the pit of her stomach, Maddie crossed her hands over her chest. She swallowed hard to keep the tears from thawing and spilling over the dam.
“You’re a mess.” Justin flipped the guitar over his shoulder.
“I’m a mess? And this coming from a guy who looks like a hobo with a knapsack tied to the end of a stick.” Insulting Justin’s cherished guitar inflicted a jab Maddie hoped hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. She kept on punching. “You planning to hop the next train out of town? Are you walking out on me?”
“Hey, we’re not married.”
“Thank God.”
“From the beginning, we agreed this was just for fun. You’re leaving in the spring to be some high-powered doctor, and I’m hitting the road with my band. It wouldn’t have worked. I’ll get my stuff tomorrow.” Justin grabbed his coat slung over a kitchenette chair. “Go home, Maddie. See your mom. Forget Nashville.” He opened the door, then looked back over his guitar. “Merry Christmas.”
As the man Maddie thought she’d marry closed the door behind him, fear swept over her. She was alone. Completely and totally alone.
Before her father died, she had never felt alone, even though she lived in the apartment by herself for six months prior to Katie Beth agreeing to be her roommate. For some reason, knowing her father was only a phone call away made it seem he occupied the wooden chair squished against the old rolltop desk filling the majority of her tiny living room.
Tears broke through the crack in her reservoir.
All the time wasted on Justin and for what? I’m such a fool.
Wracking sobs pushed the escaping torrent down her cheeks. Hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, Maddie wept.
Daddy.
The man who never missed a single event in his daughter’s life would hate it that he missed this catastrophic one. For that matter, death was the only thing Maddie could think of that would keep her father from watching her become a doctor, or walking his daughter down the aisle, or holding his grandkids. Loss welled up inside of Maddie, bursting forth in hot, bitter streams.
“Momma.”
The word rang in Maddie’s ears. Who had spoken? She brushed away the moisture blurring her vision, certain the voice was not Justin’s. She listened intently. Some other bar-brawling tune replaced her ex-boyfriend’s. No one was in the apartment. Maddie closed her gritty orbs. The face of her mother appeared on the backs of her lids. Her mother smiled and opened her arms. Maddie saw herself running, like a slow-motion movie, and falling into the welcome embrace, but when she opened her eyes she remained cross-legged on the floor. She squeezed her eyes tight, rubbing her temples, willing the comforting image to return. But there was only darkness.
“Go home.”
Again the voice spoke, this time firm and commanding.
Maddie’s lids flew open. A wintry gray light filled the window above the sink, but no one was there.
Calm down.
You’ve studied grief.
Physical ailments or heightened senses are not unusual manifestations of gut-wrenching emotions.
Maddie rubbed her eyes and looked around. She wasn’t hearing things. Stress had caused her mind to play tricks on her.
This was God’s fault. He had allowed all of this to happen. She hadn’t heard from him in years, so why would he be talking to her now? Besides, even if he sent her a special delivery letter, God didn’t have a single thing to say to her that she wanted to hear.
Swiping the back of her hand across her runny nose, Maddie felt emptier than her cabinets. Sitting alone in the muted light, she rested her pounding head against the fridge, an insatiable longing consuming her hollow core.
She fished her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. Scrolling to the number Parker had given her, Maddie dismissed the likelihood he would question her. But then, if he did, he did. What choice did she have? She pushed Send.
“Hey, Maddie.” Parker answered on the first ring. His voice didn’t carry the slightest inkling of the put-out tone Justin’s had when she asked him earlier about the possibility of going home with her for Christmas.
“Parker . . .”
“Maddie, what’s wrong?”
Uncertain of her ability to restrain any residual tears lurking behind her puffy lids, Maddie hoped Parker would pretend her little fib was the truth. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” He sounded unconvinced. “Is it your mother? I can be over there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“No, it’s not Momma.” How could she explain the strange urge prompting this conversation when she didn’t understand it herself? For now, she’d keep her premonitions under wraps. If she had inherited her momma’s sixth sense, who would believe her? How ironic if she could predict tragedy when she had been so unwilling to see the writing on the wall in Justin’s case.
“Did something happen to Mrs. Worthington? I know they moved her to rehab, but I thought she was doing better. Causing quite the ruckus, but making progress.”
“Parker . . .” Maddie cleared her throat. “I’m thinking about coming home early for Christmas.”
“Great . . . I mean . . . I’m sure your mom would love—”
Maddie cut him off. “I want to surprise Momma.”
“Surprise?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Have I ever told anyone you kissed me in second grade?”
“I didn’t kiss you; you kissed me.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“You thought you killed me and panicked.”
“I seem to remember—”
“Look, Parker. Can you pick me up at the airport or not?”
“I’ll be there.” Parker’s firm voice possessed a clarity of purpose Justin’s never achieved despite the slew of voice lessons. “Name the day and time.”
“Thanks. Probably Friday or Saturday. I’ll be in touch.”
Flipping the phone shut used up what was left of Maddie’s energy. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the fridge. The vibration of the motor hummed along her spine, sending a buzzing sensation into her extremities. She took the fact that her limbs had feeling as a sign Justin’s scalpel-sharp words had not severed all of her nerve endings. But her vitals must have dipped to desperate depths, sapping the oxygen from her brain. What other possible explanation could account for the stupid decision to call Mt. Hope’s resident extension agent and beg him to bring her home early?
Taking in a ragged breath, Maddie pushed herself up from the floor, then brushed off her hands.
If God thinks he can scare me back into the fold, he doesn’t know Dr. Maddie Harper.
Leona considered printing an alias on the name tag the receptionist shoved across the front desk of the rehabilitation center, but Penny’s glare dared her to claim she was no relation to the raving woman in room 110. Uneasiness crept up Leona’s neck and flushed her cheeks. She scribbled her name, ripped off the backing, then lightly pressed the sticky paper to the lapel of her new navy suit. If the blasted thing left one of those gummy rings, she’d see to it that her mother paid the dry-cleaning bill.
Summoning her most caring voice, Leona picked up the sign-in clipboard. “So, how is Mrs. Worthington today, Penny?”
The young woman’s sober-faced expression soured faster than expired milk. “You want the truth?”
Shaking her head, Leona lowered her eyes and busied herself, logging in on the line below the unsteady signatures of Nola Gay and Etta May Story.
“Then she’s progressing nicely.” Penny’s pursed lips flattened into the same health-professional smile Leona had noticed on Charlie’s face as she followed him to the ambulance.
A wave of tears blurred her vision. Would she ever get a handle on the assortment of odds and ends that could trigger her grief when she least expected it? Desperate to halt the watery flow rimming her freshly applied mascara, Leona changed the subject. She would not be waylaid. Not today. “Are the Story sisters still in with Mother?”
Penny nodded. “They were here before the breakfast trays came out. Said something about shining light down a dark hole. You might want to get back there.”
Or I might want to turn around and run out those automated doors.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Penny.” Leona squared her shoulders. Placing one wobbly new pump in front of the other, she set out down the gleaming corridor of Mt. Hope’s rehab center.
The clinical smells were not those of a luxury hotel, but she couldn’t help that. Her mother needed rehabilitative care, help getting back on her feet. Surely the woman would understand limbering a stiff hip was not for amateurs. A rehab center was the obvious and only solution.
Who was she kidding? Leona cringed, remembering the time her mother took on the physical education teacher who wouldn’t allow her daughter a break on the cramping days of her monthly. Nothing that poor teacher said or did could convince Roberta Worthington that a little exercise would not kill her daughter. Leona wasn’t sure what happened, but the next semester they had a new P.E. teacher. Proof positive that tangling with Roberta Worthington was not something people should ever line up to do.
Leona rounded the corner. Escalating voices shook the suite at the end of the hall. Clutching the metal safety rail, she paused.
Lord, have mercy.
The past two weeks without J.D. had been tough, but she had never missed him more than she did at this very moment. She wished she could pawn her mother off on the eternally optimistic man. Her reasons weren’t entirely selfish. The guy hated to miss a good fight, and from the snarling sounds emanating from room 110, the gloves were off. But since the good pastor was probably preaching to the choir, she had no choice but to handle this situation on her own. Get a backbone, as Roxie would say. Leona tugged on the hem of her new jacket, straightening her spine along with her notched-collar polyester. The determined clack of her high heels filled the empty hallway. Picking up steam, she bustled through the swinging door of her mother’s room as if she were the Ty-D-Bol man.
“Morning, Mother,” she chirped.
From her hospital bed, Leona’s mother snarled, “About time you showed up.”
The reprimand stopped Leona in her tracks. Her eyes dropped to her shiny shoes, her guilt reflecting in the patent leather. She mentally scolded herself for reverting to the cowardice of her youth and tried to step forward. Something was wrong with her new shoes. They would not move. Lifting her eyes, she encountered the impatience on her mother’s face. “I had a few errands before I could come.”
“I see you forgot my coffee. What am I going to do? The sludge they serve in this place would choke a horse.”
The fiery blast from the bedfast dragon melted Leona’s resolve into puddles that oozed between her stationary toes.
“Don’t mind her, honey.” Etta May tugged at the thin blanket covering Mother’s legs. “I think she’s chilly.”