Stuck in the Middle, page 22
“I’m sure. You guys just pick another place to meet this week.”
“What about Cracker Barrel? We could have dinner together while we work out all the plans.”
Joan grinned. This singles class was fast becoming a real social group. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed something to get involved in. “Sounds great.”
The hospital bed rolled slowly down the hallway, stopping in front of Gram’s room. That was no orderly. Joan pushed off the wall to stand up straight. “Ken just brought Gram back from recovery, Brittany. I need to go.”
“Okay. We’re going to pray for your granny this morning. And you call me if there’s anything we can do, you hear?”
Touched, Joan smiled. “Thank you. Tell everyone I’ll see them Thursday.”
She pressed the End button and joined her family in the hallway as they filed out of the small private room to make way for Ken to roll the bed in. Gram’s eyes were closed. A surgical cap still covered her head, and a white blanket had been tucked up around her neck. Only her left hand, the one with the IV tube, lay outside the cover.
A nurse came out from behind the nurses’ station and followed them into the room. Ken handed her a chart and then leaned over the bed. “Grace, you’re back in your room. And you have some visitors.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. Joan joined Allie, Tori, and Mom in rushing forward to her side as the nurse transferred the IV bag to a machine with a digital display. Ken stepped back to stand beside Eric in the doorway.
“Hi, Gram,” Tori said, her tone low and soft.
“We’re all here, Mother,” Mom said.
Joan placed her hand over the one with the IV. It was cold. Gently she slipped her other hand beneath Gram’s palm to warm it. “How are you feeling?”
Her eyes unfocused, Gram’s head turned to look at each of them. Her lips barely parted as she spoke. “I’ve been better.”
Allie laughed softly. “How does it compare to childbirth, Gram?”
“Much worse,” she whispered. “No reward when it’s over.”
“Don’t say that to Dr. Winterton,” Ken warned. “He’s just spent several hours putting Humpty Dumpty back together again, and making sure your leg will heal correctly. That’s a pretty big reward.”
The last two words came out in almost a slur. Joan peered at Ken. He looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his redrimmed eyes. He did get a few hours’ sleep yesterday afternoon, but then he’d had to report back to the emergency room for work at 6:00 last night. He hadn’t been home since. With a glance at Allie, she yielded her place. Allie’s hands slipped around Gram’s as Eric stepped forward to stand beside his wife.
Joan went to Ken in the doorway. “You’ve been here all night. You need to go home and get some sleep.”
He brought a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m going now. I just wanted to be here when she got out of surgery.”
Joan laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve been so kind to us.”
Mom left Gram’s bedside and came to stand beside them. “Yes, you have. We can’t thank you enough.”
From her place by the IV pole, Allie nodded. Tori’s eyes caught Joan’s for a second. Her lips tightened. Joan bit back a sigh. She had some work to do on her little sister.
Ken said, “Grace, I’ll be back tonight to see how you’re doing.”
Gram’s head dipped once in acknowledgment before her eyelids closed again.
Joan smiled up at him. “I’ll walk you to the elevator and bring you up-to-date on the playground project.”
They all said goodbye and Joan fell into step beside Ken. She told him about Brittany’s success in securing playground mulch and about a message from Eve saying she bought a bunch of fall flowers to plant around the grounds. When they reached the elevator door, she told him about their next meeting at Cracker Barrel as he pressed the button.
He grinned down at her. “So I guess that means you and I are having dinner together Thursday night.”
Her pulse fluttered, driving coherent thought out of her mind. “I . . . I guess so.”
He frowned. “But you could also say you’re having dinner with Gordy.”
Joan recovered enough to raise an eyebrow. “And you could say you’re having dinner with Brittany.”
Ken leaned toward her. Her eyes captured by his, she found herself unable to look away. Heart pounding in her chest, his warm breath caressed her cheek as he said, “I don’t want to have dinner with Brittany.”
He was going to kiss her! Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned ever so slightly forward . . .
The elevator doors slid open. A wave of disappointment swept over her when Ken stepped back to let two women out. He took their place in the elevator, his eyes holding hers as he punched a button.
“Will I see you later?” His lopsided grin made her mouth go dry.
Oh, you can count on it!
She managed a self-possessed nod as the metal doors slid closed.
~ 21 ~
Joan stood on the front porch Tuesday morning, stretching and trying not to look toward Ken’s house. His car sat in the driveway, which meant he wasn’t working late. Yesterday she didn’t see him at all, and though he probably just got caught up at the hospital, she couldn’t help wondering if he was sorry for their almost-kiss. He wasn’t avoiding her, was he?
His front door opened when she stepped onto the sidewalk. A foolish smile took possession of her lips. What was the matter with her, grinning like an idiot? If he wasn’t sorry already, he certainly would be if she simpered all over him like a teenager. She schooled her expression as an ecstatic Trigger pulled him down the driveway.
She hid her face by stooping to give Trigger an enthusiastic ear rub. “There’s my hero. What a good dog you are. You saved Gram, Trigger! I’m going to buy you a big, juicy steak, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Hey, what about me?” Ken gazed at her mournfully. “I helped too.”
Joan straightened, laughing to hide her nerves. “You want me to rub your ears?”
“No, but that steak sounds pretty good.”
They started walking. Joan set an aggressive pace. If she couldn’t run, at least she was going to get her blood pumping, and theirs too. Trigger knew the way by now and ran in front, straining at the leash.
“Do you think he’ll ever learn how to walk on a lead?” Ken shook his head.
“Your book should tell you how to train him. Aren’t you supposed to shorten the leash so he has to walk right at your side?”
Ken nodded, then turned his head to grin at her. “But if I did that, where would you walk?”
She raised her chin. “I’d run ahead, and you boys could try to keep up.”
He laughed. “No thanks. I learned my lesson that first morning.” They walked a few steps. “I stopped by to see Grace this morning. She looked good.”
“She had a lot of pain last night.” Joan spent Monday evening in Gram’s room after work. “The physical therapist is supposed to come today to teach her some techniques for transferring from bed to a chair. I don’t know, though. It’s really fast, don’t you think?”
Ken shook his head. “You’ll be surprised how quickly they’ll have her up and around.”
“Well, as long as they don’t push her too hard.”
They turned the corner. Trigger had settled into their rhythm, and no longer jerked Ken’s arm forward with every step.
“You have a very special relationship with her.”
Joan nodded. “She and my grandfather helped Mom raise us after . . .” She kept her eyes focused ahead of her. She hated talking about this. “After my father left.”
Ken’s voice softened. “Were you close to your father?”
Close? She always thought she was closer to him than to anyone else. Now, she didn’t know how to answer that. “Not as close as I thought we were.”
Ken watched his feet for a few steps. “I was close to my father. When he and Mom died, I felt like something inside me died with them. I didn’t have anybody like Grace. Only Karen, and she was just a teenager.” A sad smile hovered around his mouth. “My great-aunt raised us, but we weren’t close. I don’t think she knew what to do with an angry teenage boy.”
“Angry?”
“Oh yeah.” He switched the leash from one hand to the other. “I was angry at the world, had a great big chip on my shoulder. I felt like everyone was against me, and of course I was always looking for anything I thought could even the score. Alcohol. Drugs.” His gaze slid sideways to meet with hers. “I was on a path to nowhere.”
Joan could hardly believe that this man, this doctor, could have a past like the one he described. “What happened?”
“A man took an interest in me. Mr. Wallace.” He smiled. “He went to the church my aunt dragged me to every Sunday. He didn’t do much, just paid a little attention to me. One Sunday he plopped down on the back row next to me, asked me how things were going, and sat there through the service. He did that every Sunday morning for weeks—just sat by me, trying to get me to talk. Then one day he invited me to his house after church to have dinner with his family and shoot a few hoops.” Ken laughed. “He had three little girls who had no interest in basketball, and he loved it. He taught me to love it too. I played in high school, and he came to most of my games.”
The playground project was starting to make sense. “So a man showed an interest in you and it changed your life.”
Ken tilted his head, considering. “Yes, and no. He showed an interest in me, and became my friend when I desperately needed one. But what changed my life was when he introduced me to Jesus Christ.”
Changed his life. Joan, too, became a Christian when she was a young teenager, but did it change her life? If she was honest with herself, she’d have to say no. As a Christian she believed she’d been changed on the inside, but did that change carry over to the outside?
Of course, she’d never been a rebel, never been on a path like Ken described.
“Maybe that’s the difference, then.” She didn’t intend to speak, but the question in Ken’s eyes urged her to explain. She shrugged a shoulder. “I was never in trouble, never a rebel. So when I became a Christian, the change in me was less noticeable.” Something about the expression that stole over his face made Joan uncomfortable, and a little defensive. “What’s that look for?”
“Do you really want to know?”
She nodded.
“I was thinking that God’s life-changing power is the same no matter how good or how bad the person is who accepts him.”
“But doesn’t the Bible teach that God meets each of us where we are?” Joan didn’t want to look at him.
“Yes, and he has also given us the ability to make our own choices. He’ll change us as much as we allow him to.”
She jerked her head sideways to look at him through narrowed eyelids. “Are you saying I didn’t allow God to change me, and you did?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He was silent as they ducked beneath the low-hanging branches of a sugar maple. Inside, Joan felt as though a tornado was ripping through her emotions. This conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn, and she wanted to end it now. Why did tears feel so close to the surface all of a sudden? She struggled to regain control, focused on her footsteps, the sidewalk, the rising sun’s rays filtering through the trees.
“Do you want to know what really made the difference in me?” Ken came to a sudden stop, forcing Trigger and Joan to stop with him.
Though fearful of his answer, Joan nodded.
“It was when Mr. Wallace told me about a promise God made. God said, ‘I will never leave you, nor forsake you.’”
Joan’s breath caught in her chest. God said that? God, who wanted to be her father, who sent chocolate ice cream when she asked for a sign? He promised not to leave her?
Ken went on, his voice soft. “See, my father left me. True, he died, but to a twelve-year-old kid the result is the same. When I heard that verse, I realized that God wanted to be a real father to me. I’d always thought of him as some ghostlike spirit sitting on a throne of judgment somewhere, watching from a distance. But suddenly I knew he was right here”—Ken held his hands out, gesturing around them—“right with me every moment. And he promised never to leave. No other father in the world can keep that promise.”
But fathers were unreliable. They lied, they cheated, and they left.
She shook her head. No, that was Daddy. She couldn’t accuse God of having the same faults as her father. A little girl might do that, but not a grown woman.
“I’m—” She stopped when she realized her voice came out choked. Ken’s face was blurred through tears. No! The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Ken.
She whirled, and before she could think about her actions, she ran.
Trigger leaped from a sitting position, pulling Ken’s arm nearly out of its socket in his effort to follow Joan. Ken knew how the dog felt. The pain in her eyes touched his very soul, and he wanted to go after her, to hold her and tell her it would be okay, that he’d take care of her. He allowed Trigger to drag him forward three steps.
No.
He stopped. The Lord didn’t often speak so firmly in the negative, but there was no doubt in Ken’s mind from where that direction came.
“But she’s hurting,” he whispered. “I want to help her.”
In his heart, Ken knew he couldn’t relieve Joan’s pain. Only God could do that, and he wanted to. But she had to let him.
He stood still, watching her retreating back while Trigger strained at the leash and barked his frustration.
“Lord, reach out to her. She needs you. I can’t stand to see her in pain because . . .” He paused, wonder stealing over him as he realized the truth in the words he was about to speak. “Because I love her.”
Her Nikes pounded the sidewalk, each step taking her farther from Ken and Trigger, who barked after her. She didn’t look back, just ran blindly, tears jarred from her eyes at each step.
God was not like Daddy. Of course he wasn’t! But maybe she’d been so hurt by her father’s desertion she refused to allow her heavenly Father a place in her life. Blinking to clear her vision, she knew she had discovered the truth. When she heard Mrs. Sachs speak about God’s power, didn’t Joan feel God nudging her? When Ken talked about how his faith affected his life every day, didn’t she feel a tug deep inside? When Karen asked, “What do you believe?” didn’t Joan feel the weight of God pressing her, waiting for her answer?
She slowed to a walk, her breath coming in gasps. An oscillating sprinkler watered the yard beside her. Heavy drops splashed onto the pavement with a loud tap, tap, tap in the stillness of the early morning, a wet accompaniment to her thoughts. She had turned another corner and could no longer see Ken and Trigger.
But she did respond to those feelings. She took charge at Sunday school, organized their group, got them focused on a project that could really do some good. Didn’t that count for something? Surely God was happy about that.
A slight breeze blew cooling moisture into her sweaty face. Maybe God was pleased with her actions, but what was her motivation? Did she really come up with this project idea because she wanted a closer relationship with a heavenly Father? Or with Ken? Or was she just bored?
She stopped. The sun, rising above the houses behind her, cast long shadows on the road. She drew in a deep breath. The truth was, God had been trying to get her attention and she had ignored him because she was afraid. Afraid of being called a fanatic. Afraid of giving up control. But most of all, afraid of being hurt again.
I will never leave you, nor forsake you.
Was it true?
Oh, how desperately she wanted to believe it! Suddenly she realized she didn’t care if Tori and Allie called her a fanatic. If only she could believe that she had a real Father, one who loved her and would never leave her. If she could believe that, she would give her whole heart to him.
“God, I want to believe in you.” She closed her eyes, her head tilted back to the sky. Sweat dampened the skin on the back of her neck. Anyone driving by would think she was a lunatic, but she didn’t care. “I want you to be real in my life the way you’re real in Ken’s. I want you to be my . . . my Father. And I promise to be whatever you want me to be.”
The whirling tornado of emotions slowed, and a peaceful calm stole over Joan’s heart. With an assurance that left her lightheaded, she knew what God wanted of her. He wanted her to be his daughter. His beautiful, cherished, much-loved child. Her limbs felt light, and before she knew what she was doing, she started running again. Like a little girl running into her Father’s outstretched arms.
~ 22 ~
Joan unlocked Abernathy’s front doors a few minutes before 9:00 with her heart still light. She stepped outside to breathe the fresh air. Big, puffy clouds were rolling in, painting patterns with sunlight on the parking lot. Before today they were just clouds. Now they were tools in the hands of an Artist who wanted to color the world just for her.
Rosa’s car, with two people in the front seat, pulled into a parking space. Ah, it looked like she would finally get to meet the infamous Luis.
She lifted a hand in greeting as Rosa stood from the passenger side, her happy mood dimming when Rosa did not return her smile. Instead, she looked sad, hesitant, as their eyes locked across the top of the car. Joan lowered her arm. So. The decision had been made. almost fearful. This was the man who evoked such passionate emotion in the willful, determined Rosa?
Luis stood, and Joan studied him in surprise. He was shorter than his wife, with the same jet-black hair and sun-kissed skin tone. He walked beside Rosa, staring at Joan through eyes so dark they might have been all pupil. His gaze shifted away from her face. Why, he looked timid,
Gathering the comfort of all her professionalism around her, Joan held her hand toward him. “You must be Luis.”
His grip was firm. He pumped her hand and then shoved his into his pocket without a word.
