Dear Granny, page 11
With difficulty, he pushed away every frightening image his brain conjured up of Leslie hurt—or worse—and concentrated on the drive. Under his breath, he sent up a prayer.
❧
Groggy, feeling misplaced, Leslie opened her eyes to an unfocused world. Her stomach hurt, and her whole body felt drained. Turning her head where it lay on a pillow, she blinked at the red sunset streaming from a nearby window. An IV stand and a host of other electronic equipment met her eyes.
“Leslie.” A wealth of relief sounded in that one soft exclamation of her name. “Well, dear heart, leave it to you to find a way to get me into a car again.”
At the soft, familiar voice and mildly teasing words, Leslie spied the beloved form of her grandmother rising from a chair close by.
“Nana?” She was surprised at the weakness of her own voice. Bits and pieces of the day played tricks with her mind, and she focused on the white sheet covering her body, trying to think.
“You were in surgery, but the doctor says you’re going to be fine.” Nana came close and covered Leslie’s hand with her own. “I’ve called the leader of the prayer chain at church. Everyone there is praying for your speedy recovery.”
The words brought with them a handle to a memory. “I was crazy to meet. . .to talk with him. Desperate. . .and he—Nana, he had a knife!” Moaning, she tensed as fear sliced through her wooziness and gained a strong foothold.
“There, there. The police want to question you later, but for now you need rest. You haven’t been out of surgery all that long. You’re still under medication, I think.” She turned in her chair. “Blaine, will you go get the nurse?”
Blaine. Leslie closed her eyes, peace chasing away the panic and coddling her like a warm blanket as she again succumbed to the mind-numbing effect of the medication. Nana was there, and Blaine was there. She would be all right.
❧
Once Blaine passed along the information to a nurse that Leslie had awakened, he took off in the direction of the elevators. He needed time to think, time to regroup and sort things out.
Seeing Leslie like that, vulnerable and hurt, and knowing something of what she’d gone through shook him up badly. But hearing her rambled words about being crazy over the guy who’d hurt her about bowled him over. At first. Now, upon thinking about it, nothing made sense. Leslie wouldn’t have hooked up with an abuser like the guy who’d stabbed her. Stabbed her. . .
Blaine couldn’t grasp the fact. Who in this peaceful county would want to hurt Leslie? Whoever it was, Blaine hoped he got what he deserved. Right now, Blaine felt about as far removed from Christian thinking as Texas was from the North Pole and wished he, himself, could get his hands on the jerk to teach him a lesson.
Leslie had said she didn’t have any former boyfriends, and she’d told Blaine he was the only one she was seeing. She’d once mentioned she wasn’t the type to chase after guys. So why had she been “desperate” to meet this weirdo at an out-of-town park? Why hadn’t she told anyone where she was going? And the million-dollar question: How did this guy figure into Leslie’s life? Too many questions with not an answer in sight.
Pushing his hand through his hair and sliding his palm to the back of his neck, Blaine tried to think. Tried to make sense of all that had happened today. There had to be a logical explanation. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.
At least something good had come about from all this. He now realized how deeply he cared for Leslie. And if she would have him, he meant to tell her of his feelings and propose soon. The unexpected thought of marrying her stunned him a moment, making him question if he was really ready for such a monumental step. But the thought of a life without her was one he couldn’t tolerate.
Blaine pondered an idea that came to him. He needed wise advice on how to go about all this. Should he wait until she was better? Or tell her how he felt now? It might cheer her up; then again, it might not. Especially if there were some other guy in the picture.
Blaine’s heart felt crushed at the thought. No, he trusted her. But the very thought of avowing his love and proposing—foreign to Blaine up until now—made him go hot and cold all over. Especially if she turned him down.
His mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts, he entered the empty elevator and pushed the ground-floor button. Leaning his head and shoulders back against the wall once the doors shut, he closed his eyes. Then again, maybe he was moving too fast. Not for the first time, he wished his parents were still alive. Even a male friend would be nice to talk to right now. A thought struck, making him open his eyes and straighten from the wall as the elevator pitched downward and his stomach dipped.God, I need help. I need wise counsel and feel You appointed that lady columnist to Goosebury since she sure sounds like a Christian. Should I write her one more letter, seeking advice?
Carly had mentioned she planned on coming tonight; in fact, she should be here any minute. And someone at this hospital was bound to have paper and an envelope Blaine could use. He could write the letter now before he chickened out and pray about it more over the next few days. A decision such as this one required a lot of prayer. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to write the letter and give it to Carly to hand-deliver to Dear Granny.
Hopefully, the advice to him would be printed soon. If his letter was one of those chosen at all.
❧
Despite the fact her arm was sore from a tetanus shot, and her entire middle ached from the metal staples holding her together after surgery, Leslie was forced to get up and walk the next morning. When Nurse Freid had changed her dressing earlier, Leslie commented, “My stomach looks as if it’s been closed with a zipper.”
The friendly nurse had laughed. “Yes, we’ve come a long way from the buttons we used to use.” She’d winked at her in jest, and once she finished tending her, she’d gotten Leslie out of bed. Leslie’s body protested every laborious step.
While blowing into something called an incentive spiro-meter to keep from having her lungs collapse, she was told, Leslie pushed the awkward IV on wheels with her sore arm. She wished she had wheels on the bottom of her feet, too, and could get this torture walk done and over with so that she might return to the comfort of her bed. Still, for all the misery the nurses and doctors consistently put her through—“necessary misery,” Nana gently chastised her—she was grateful to be alive and thanked God each time she opened her eyes.
Surely, if there were such a thing, she should receive the trophy for Goosebury’s Idiot of the Year for the crazy and dangerous stunt she had pulled, meeting a stranger in the park alone, whose letters pointed to emotional and mental instability. Even the police had looked at her as if she were missing a few rafters upstairs when she’d answered their questions and told them her reasons for going.
At least, God had brought some good out of the situation, and Nana had surmounted her fear enough to ride in a car with Blaine to the hospital. Leslie wasn’t sure what she would have done if Nana weren’t there and told her so as she entered her room and the nurse helped her back into bed.
“I’m just thankful I am able to be here for you, Leslie,” her grandmother comforted once the nurse had gone. Nana fussed over her, tucking the sheet around her as if she were a child. “That book you gave me on how God sees fear helped me to view matters in a different light than I had before. I learned the type of crippling fear I was experiencing was because I was putting faith in the wrong thing. Instead of trusting God, I placed my faith in the idea that a feared crash would come to pass the next time I rode in anyone’s car. But to be honest, if this hadn’t happened to you, I’m still not so sure I would’ve gotten into a car anytime soon. When Blaine told me you’d been taken to the hospital, the old fear did creep in. But I was so concerned about you, this time I was able to squelch it, especially since using a motorboat wasn’t an option.” She grinned.
“So you think this is the first of many outside steps your house?” Leslie shook her head. The medication was causing her tongue not to coincide with her brain again. Or maybe it was due to exhaustion of mind and body from her torture walk. “I mean steps outside your house.”
“Yes, I think so. Blaine’s already offered to pick me up for church on Sunday, since my driver’s license is expired. After what happened, I feel a strong need to go. Anyway, now that I’ve read the book you gave me, I’d like to give it to someone else. Would that be all right with you, dear?”
“Who?” Leslie racked her brain for someone they knew who might benefit from such a book.
“I’m not sure. I want to be open to the Lord, but it will definitely go to someone in need of it.”
“Nana, the book’s yours. Do what you want with it. I’m just glad it helped.” They carefully hugged, and for the first time in a long time, Leslie felt as if Nana was going to be okay.
About an hour later, as Leslie watched an old sitcom on television, Mr. Abernathy walked into her room, holding a laptop and a handful of letters. He seemed edgy, as if he wanted to get out of there fast. “Glad to see you looking well.”
Leslie wondered what his definition of well was.
“When you’re up to it, I’d like you to go through some of these letters and e-mail me your replies. Deadline’s tomorrow.”
The bathroom door opened, and Nana stepped out, pulling it shut behind her. “Ronald, what are you up to?”
“Lily?” He seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “I’m sorry your granddaughter got it into her head to pull such a crazy stunt as meeting that maniac in the park, but I still have a paper to run.”
“And you couldn’t find anyone else to take her place for this one issue?”
He shrugged. “You could help if you wanted. I learned you’ve been doing a lot of that, more or less. You always did have a soft heart, Lily.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hmph. You haven’t changed one bit. Still as stubborn as the day is long and as business-minded as ever.” She crossed her arms over her ample chest, but an answering smile flickered at the corners of her lips.
Leslie grinned to see Nana’s cheeks go so rosy. “If I’m feeling better later, I promise I’ll get to them, Mr. Abernathy.”
Before she’d finished her sentence, another visitor walked into the room.
“Carly!” Leslie smiled and shifted, trying to sit up, then winced as the skin pulled a bit from the staples. She couldn’t wait to get them out. “Weren’t you here night last, too?” Her pain medication was making her sound like a moron.
“Yes, but you were way out of it. Sounds like you’re still hinging on the edge. Feeling any better?” Carly walked toward the bed.
Mr. Abernathy cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, and said his good-byes, quickly making his exit. Nana excused herself and followed him out the door.
“I’m really sorry this happened to you,” Carly said.
Leslie concentrated on speaking slowly and choosing her words so they didn’t jumble. “Maybe if I’d told you where I was going, you could have talked me out of it. You’re a lot smarter than me sometimes.”
“Not so smart.” Carly looked down in shame before her gaze met Leslie’s again. “I do dumb things, too, things I regret. I just hope we still can be friends once I tell you. I gave a weak try that day at the tag sale, but now I want to get it off my chest.”
Leslie waited with no idea what Carly could mean.
“I wrote. . .after the anniversary issue came out.” Carly exhaled a deep breath after a few false starts and dove in. “All right, here it is. I wrote some awful letters to you after reading your first issue of the column. I was hurt and upset, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, and I’m sorry.”
Leslie collected her thoughts. “You’re the poison pen writer?”
“Ouch.” Carly winced. “I guess I deserve that. But you didn’t deserve having your character ripped apart like I did, or me calling you a poor excuse for a Christian, either. Since I’m not one, I wouldn’t even know the genuine article if it came up and bit me on the nose.” She gave a weak chuckle. “But if I did believe in a God and had to call anyone a Christian, I’d say you’re it, Les. Actually, you’re one of the sweetest people I know.”
Leslie dredged up a faint smile. She had prayed for the poison pen writer every day since receiving those three letters. Several other letters from other readers had also been detrimental but not like those three. Now that she knew it was Carly, she waited for bitterness or betrayal to rise up and was surprised when it didn’t. Instead, she felt only a rush of relief to learn the truth.
“Can I ask a question, Carly?”
“Sure.”
“What did I write that made you so mad?”
Carly hesitated. “I was one of the initial letter writers, one of those you first gave advice to.”
“I thought so. The peacock blue sweaterdress?”
“No.” She shifted her feet. “Actually, you know what? I’d rather not talk about it. I’m trying to forget that entire episode in my life and keep a fresh perspective on things. I just want you to know that I now stand beside you. That is, if you even want me there.”
She pulled an envelope from her shoulder bag. “The other reason I came, besides to lay my head on the confession chopping block, was to bring you this. Since Abernathy’s being his usual lovable self and is pushing you back to the grindstone from your hospital bed, if you do feel up to working on the column, I suggest you give this letter top priority.”
Leslie looked it over. “No stamp or postmark?”
“It was hand-delivered.”
“You mean personally?”
“Uh—yup. And that’s all I’m going to say.” Carly made the motion of locking her mouth shut with one hand and tossed the imaginary key over her shoulder. She gave one of her signature carefree grins. “Well, now that that’s done, I need to scoot. I have a job interview in the a.m. Don’t let them stick anything up your arm without knowing what it’s hooked to.” She grinned to show she was teasing and headed for the door with a flip of a wave. “Try to have a restful night.”
“Carly?”
The perky brunette halted and swung a look over her shoulder, her long dark hair swinging with the motion.
“We’re still on for lunch, right? Say in two weeks, when the doctor says I’ll feel more like myself again?”
Dawning realization glimmered in Carly’s eyes, along with what Leslie suspected was a tear or two. A smile stretched across her face, proving she knew she’d been forgiven.
“You bet. And I have a couple of great, loose caftans you can have to putter around the house in while you heal.” She hesitated. “Thanks for the second chance.”
“Besides Nana, you’ve become my only ally.”
“Newly converted to the ‘We Love Dear Granny’ Fan Club, but at least it’s something, eh? By the way, do you plan on telling Blaine your true profession soon? I’d bet my entire paycheck he would make another great ally if he knew.”
“I should’ve asked Abernathy’s permission while he was here, but I forgot. I’m still out of it and not thinking clearly.”
“Do it soon, Leslie. I mean it. You wouldn’t want to lose a great guy like Blaine by not being totally upfront with him. And all because of some unmerited loyalty you feel toward the paper.”
Struck by Carly’s sudden serious attitude, Leslie was left speechless as her friend exited the room.
Twelve
“Nana, could you hand me those letters, please?” Leslie set down her apple juice, something she’d ingested a lot of during this clear-liquid diet phase the doctor had put her on, and pressed down the button to raise the top of the bed a little higher.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“I think I’m up to looking through them, at least, and we still have time before the deadline. Mr. Abernathy brought a phone cord to hook up to the computer, so I can e-mail him the answers straightaway. I’ll let you type them.”
“It’ll be a matter of hunting and pecking on the keys, but you know I’ll help however I can, dear.”
After much thought, Leslie had decided, at least temporarily, to continue her job as Dear Granny. But she had learned her lesson and would never meet with a reader again.
She glanced through the batch of letters and chose the hand-delivered one Carly had labeled top priority, deciding to read it first. She tore open the flap and withdrew the paper.
“ ‘Dear Granny,’ ” she read aloud so Nana could hear, “ ‘I wrote to you once before and used your advice, but since then complications have developed in our relationship. Ever since that first date with my neighbor, I’ve fallen in love with her—I think I might’ve even loved her from the start—but now I have reason to suspect there’s someone else in her life. We’ve been seeing each other on a steady basis for weeks, and I’ve reached a point where I want to propose marriage. But now I feel maybe I should just hold off since I don’t know half of what’s going on in her life. A lot of strange things have been happening lately, and talking to her about them doesn’t seem to work. She refuses to tell me what’s going on, so I’ve stopped pressing her. What advice can you give me? Should I tell her how I feel now? That I love her? Or should I just keep quiet? I don’t want to botch things up even worse than I did one night when I was upset and she wanted my trust—but I walked away and wouldn’t give it to her.’ It’s signed, ‘Hopeless in love.’ ”
“Oh!” Awareness made Leslie lift her head. “This is from the reader with the purple stationery. Only it’s a man, not a woman like I thought. That’s the second time I’ve made a mistake concerning gender. I thought Desperate was a woman, too.” The last two sentences she added to herself, under her breath.
“Leslie, I’m ashamed of you.”
At the stern note in Nana’s quiet voice, Leslie looked up from the letter in surprise.
“You’re not a stupid girl. I know that for a fact, since I practically raised you. But these past few months you’ve acted like a total lunkhead, as your brother Jimmy would say.”
