Simple Gifts (8 page)

The woman's face screwed into a coiled knot, her accusations distinct and emphasized. “I am not eating birdseed.”

“Bird what?” I snatched up the cereal, my eyes scanning the offer on the back of the box:
Send three cereal box tops and the manufacturer would send a packet of birdseed.

I sat the box on the table. “This isn't birdseed. I wouldn't feed you birdseed.”

Ingrid's features turned into a hard line. “Birdseed.”

“No, if you send in three box tops—“

“Birdseed!” She shoved back from the table and stalked out of the kitchen.

I picked up the box and reread the offer. “Three box tops. One packet of birdseed.”

Sighing, I dumped the contents into the trash.
Birdseed.
She actually thought I'd feed her birdseed. What was I going to do about her? She was proving to be more of a challenge than I'd anticipated. How on earth was I supposed to leave on Monday when, slow but sure, I was starting to realize the unthinkable.

Aunt Ingrid might no longer be able to live by herself.

Early that afternoon, I was talking to Sara on the phone when Ingrid returned to the kitchen, every hair in place and a coin-sized dab of rouge on each cheek.

“Honey, I'll talk to you later. I think Ingrid needs something.” I hung up before Sara could get in the last plea to “be sure and come home Monday.”

Aunt Ingrid frowned. “Who's that?”

“Sara. Petey fell last night and had to have six stitches.”

“Sara. Is that your daughter?”

Ingrid had met Sara once when Sara was two. Beth had another stroke and I'd flown back with my daughter, anticipating the worse. My aunt had rallied so Sara and I had left the next morning. Ingrid wouldn't recognize my daughter if she passed her on the street. Apparently she'd never cared enough to try to get acquainted.

It wasn't all her fault, I admitted in a fit of honesty. I'd not been very interested in doing the family thing either.

“Your daughter's mean to her baby?”

“No!” I tempered my annoyance. “Petey fell against the kitchen table.”

She shuffled to the refrigerator and took out a container of water. “I have to go to the doctor.”

“Are you ill?”

“No. You know doctors. They keep you coming back and back.” She took a drink of the water and returned the pitcher to the shelf.

“Okay. When's your appointment?”

“1:30.”

My gaze flew to the oven range. It was 1:15! “Today?”

“Of course today. Do you think I'd mention it if it were next week?”

“We're going to be late!”

“So? I've waited for him many a time.”

Grabbing my purse and keys, I swung back and headed her toward the door.

“Slow down. We're not going to a fire.”

By the time I settled her in the front seat and snapped the seat belt, her appointed hour was upon us.

I backed out of the driveway, and in my haste, knocked over a trash receptacle. It was going to stay down since I had no time to stop and put it upright. Gunning the car, I asked, “What's the address?”

She shrugged. “Never paid any attention. Just drive. I'll recognize the street when I see it.”

She'll recognize the street.

I braked at every street corner. “Here?” Ingrid shook her head.

“Here? Here?” The dashboard clock crept to 1:40.

I drove another fifteen minutes. She was making me nuts. My insides roiled; my hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Patience, Marlene.
She was aging and easily confused. Finally I pulled to the side of the road. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face her. “You don't know where the office is, do you?”

“I did.” She frowned. “Do you suppose he's moved and not told me?”

I didn't suppose that. Not in a million years.

I made a U-turn in the middle of the street and drove Ingrid home, sans the doctor's appointment. She was still mumbling something about “I could have sworn it was a couple of streets back.” He'd moved. That was it; he'd moved and not told her.

She turned accusing eyes on me as we pulled into the drive. “You should have known that he'd moved, Marlene.”

The air smelled of rain as I stepped out onto the side porch. This was one day I was happy to kiss good-bye. Ingrid had gone to bed around seven, worn out from the day's events. I'd called the doctor and rescheduled her appointment. His office was two and a half blocks away—and no, he hadn't moved; been in the same building for twenty-five years. From the volume of the snores coming from the master bedroom, my cantankerous aunt was down for the night. At least I hoped so. Did she walk in her sleep? Wake up confused? Something else to worry about.

Now that I had her settled, though, I was ready to go back to Beth's house. I was looking forward to the peace and quiet. If I thought she'd needed me, I'd have stayed, but she'd been living alone for years. She could surely go one more night, right?

Uh huh. Right. And if something happens, then what?

My eyes automatically sought Vic's dark cottage, and suddenly I had the urge to see him—to talk to him. I knew I shouldn't. Vic was the past, and I had to do away with the past. He was getting on with his life, so I should too. Still, a visit wasn't exactly a lifetime commitment.

I slipped on my loafers, rehearsing what I would say when I just happened to drop by his office this time of night. I didn't have a dog or cat to explain a visit.

“Hi! I was passing by and saw your light.” Or, “Goodness! I ran out for milk and noticed I needed fuel and the station was nearby—“No. Maybe, “Guess what! I figured you were working late and might want a sandwich!”

Then slowly but discreetly, I'd unload on him. About Sara's dependency, Aunt Ingrid's list of problems, my responsibilities and where they lay.

The streets were quiet when I drove the short distance to the clinic. I was struck again at how much Parnass Springs had changed. Oh, there were still familiar stores scattered down Main Street, and more businesses than I remembered, and they still “rolled up the sidewalks” at sundown, but new enterprises had sprung up. What I had once thought quaint was too provincial for words. Now it seemed restful. By the time I turned into the parking lot I had several viable excuses for being there—all plausible.

Be cool, Marlene. Detached.

A light shone in the back room. I drove around to the back of the building and spotted his truck—covered in thick mud. He'd been in some farmer's field today.

Seconds later I tapped at the back door. Tapped again. The door opened, and there he was. My Prince Charming, covered in mud from head to toe, his eyes and cheeks caked with reddish clay. My carefully constructed excuses flew right out the window. “I know I'm bothering you, but I need to talk.”

“Sure, come in.” He stood back and allowed me entrance to the dimly lit room. Cages littered the floor. Two kittens frolicked nearby. A lone hound sat beside a bench, head hung low.

“What's wrong with him?”

“He's lovesick.”

I laughed. Who wasn't? “You're kidding.”

“Nope. Gus's lady friend ran off with a neighbor's mutt and his owners can't get him to eat. I figured if he hung around here long enough he'd meet a new love interest. You know what they say; nothing like a new love to get over an old one.”

The dog looked anything but romantically inclined at the moment. My eyes shifted to Vic's appearance. “What happened to you?”

“I've been waltzing with a cantankerous heifer all afternoon. She dragged me through every pothole and puddle in her pasture.”

“Who won?”

“I did.”

My mouth formed a moue. “Poor baby.”

He calmly swiped a wad of wet mud off his jacket and smeared it the length of my nose.

I laughed and fished a tissue out of my pocket to scrub away the clammy substance. “Are you free to talk?”

“Not free, but reasonable.” He started for his office, and I followed in his muddy boot tracks. The whole place was Vic. Comfortable. Warm. Caring and compassionate. Why had I let a little thing like genetics make me lose out on one of the best things God had ever given me? Look at Sara. She'd turned out beautifully. Why had I refused to let God handle my future, instead taking it into my own hands, only to make mistake after mistake?
Forgive me, Father. I thought I could do better. Instead I made a terrible mess of things
.

As I walked past Gus, I leaned over to give the rebuffed Casanova a reassuring pat. “Hang in there, buddy.” I knew rejection all too well.

Vic sat down in his chair, mud and all. I winced when I saw the reddish gook mash into the dark fabric. At least I
hoped
the gook was mud.

“What's on your mind, Marly?”

Marly. I hadn't been called that in years. I shoved a pile of books aside and sat down. Office furnishings were sparse—-and simple. Books, various periodicals, the usual jar of colored jelly beans. Vic had a crazy penchant for the candy. Gus wandered in, sniffed my shoes, then yawned and plopped down beside the doc's chair.

“Have you had dinner?”

He glanced at his watch. “I last grabbed something around noon. You don't happen to have a steak and baked potato in your pocket?”

“Afraid not. Just a sack of take-out trouble.” My feeble idea of dumping on Vic pulsated guilt throughout my conscience. He'd worked all day, and it didn't take glasses to see fatigue rimming his eyes.

He stuck a pencil behind his ear, pushed back in the chair, and propped his boots on the desk. “Shoot.”

I began with Sara, moved quickly to the roofers and plumber, and ended with Ingrid, the foot, and the new lawsuit. When I paused to catch my breath, Vic threw back his head and cackled, white teeth flashing.

“I fail to see what's so funny.”

“You. You could always get into the biggest messes.”

“True, but you always had the answers.”

He sobered, his eyes softening with affection. “Not always.”

My eyes acknowledged the silent condemnation. “Almost always.”

“What's Noel's opinion?”

“Noel lives in his own world.” That was absolutely true. Which world, I couldn't say.

He stared at me a moment, as if the past had suddenly invaded his mind. Long summer nights, stolen kisses beneath a vine-covered bridge…

“The foot problem will solve itself.”

“How?”

“I'm not a lawyer, but I'd bet in the end, Ingrid has a right to keep the foot.”

“And her failing health? I need to go home—back to Glen Ellyn, but how can I leave Ingrid with no one to care for her? I'm the last of the family.”

“That's harder, but your obligation to care for Ingrid doesn't mean you have to stay in Parnass. There's a nursing home here, and another home that offers assisted living. Who knows, she might decide to cooperate.”

“Ingrid?” I burst out laughing and told him about the birdseed and the wasted doctor's appointment. “You really think Ingrid could adjust to an assisted living facility?”

“She may have little choice unless you and Noel move back here.”

“Sara wouldn't permit that.”

He lifted a dark brow. “W ho's the child in this relationship?”

“Sara, but—“

“But nothing. Sara doesn't make the rules; she's a grown woman with a family of her own. Your responsibility is to love and support her as she establishes her boundaries, not spoon-feed her.”

I looked away. I loved my daughter and grandchildren more than life, but if I didn't teach Sara to stand alone, what would happen to her when I was gone? Noel was deceased—-she had no brothers or sisters to help her. My shoulders slumped. She had no one but me.

And Pete. She has a husband.

Yes, of course, but that wasn't the same as a mother. I remembered how worried I'd been before she was born. Petrified she wouldn't be mentally stable. Afraid she'd be like Herman.