The Wishing Jar Page 14

She took a step forward and let the doors slide shut at her back, expecting her mother to look up. But her mother didn’t see her, and so she moved off to one side and waited, trying to compose herself, to get control of her own emotions.

  Such a bizarre feeling, watching her mother like this, when she didn’t know anyone else could see. Her eyes traveled over the hunched, rounded shoulders, the auburn hair, graying at the temples, the hint of crow’s-feet at the edges of her eyes, the slight sagging at the jaw line. With a shock Neal realized that her mother looked . . . old. Old and worn out and in terrible pain.

  Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Why hadn’t she been aware of the pressure her mother was under? She always seemed to handle everything so easily—effortlessly, almost. Even after her father’s death and Granny Q’s stroke, Neal hadn’t thought twice about her mother’s equilibrium; she had simply accepted—assumed—that Mom could pretty much handle anything.

  Guilt and regret crested over Neal, a wave that threatened to drown her. She hadn’t seen the toll life was taking on her mother.

  Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see. She had been too caught up in her own world—in the agony of losing her father and watching her grandmother suffer, in her stupid obsession with Mike Damatto, in her desire for change, any kind of change. She had been oblivious to everyone around her.

  And what about Granny Q? Had she died without knowing how very much her only granddaughter loved her?

  Tears stung at Neal’s eyes, but she didn’t make a move to wipe them away. All her life—from the moment of her birth, or so she’d been told—her grandmother had been there for her, had loved her and supported her and comforted her. But when Granny Q had needed love and support and comfort, Neal had bailed. Unable to bear the pain of seeing the effects the stroke had on her grandmother, she had closed the door and turned the lock on her heart, leaving Granny Q on the outside.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the quietness of the hospital hallway. “Sorry for everything.” But it was too late. Too late to make things right with Granny Q. She had run out of time.

  Through a blur of tears she looked again at that devastated, lonely figure weeping in the visitor’s lounge. She would regret forever all she had left unsaid with Granny Q. But she didn’t have to make the same mistake with her mother.

  “Mom?” she said quietly, stepping forward.

  Her mother raised her head and squinted against the brightness of the fluorescent lights. “Neal Grace?”

  In a flash Neal was at her mother’s side, embracing her awkwardly over the dinette table. “I’m here, Mom. I’m just sorry it took me so long.”

  Her mother got to her feet and pulled Neal close, and Neal hung on for dear life, absorbing her mother’s warmth.

  “It’s all right, honey,” her mother murmured. “Everything’s going to be just fine now.” The sensation of her mother’s arms around her brought back memories of childhood, when she would awaken in the night with bad dreams.

  This was the worst nightmare of all. Only it wasn’t a dream.

  And with Granny Q gone, things would never be all right again.

  It might not have been a miracle, but it felt like one. Like Easter morning, except that it wasn’t Jesus coming out of the tomb. It was Granny Q.

  Neal sat at her grandmother’s bedside, watching her chest rise and fall. Mom had suggested that Neal go home and get some sleep, but she couldn’t leave. She wasn’t the least bit tired. When her mother finally managed to make her understand that Granny Q was very much alive, adrenaline had rushed into Neal’s veins and energized her. She felt as if she could stay here for days, just watching, marveling, being thankful.

  She had been preparing herself for a funeral, and what she got was a resurrection.

  A song she had learned in Sunday school long ago came back to her, a song about turning mourning into dancing, about putting off the sackcloth and filling the soul with gladness. Neal couldn’t remember all the words, but the tune kept bouncing around in her head. She wanted to leap and shout and sing and laugh. But this was a hospital, so all she could do was sit beside Granny Q and wait.

  Another recollection surfaced in Neal’s mind, a story that had become family legend when she was very small. Her mother had corrected her about some misbehavior—standing up in her chair at the dining room table, Neal thought. “Sit down,” Mom had told her. She refused. After a second warning, and a third, she finally sat. But with the kind of rebellion only a four-year-old can muster, she said firmly, “I may be sitting down on the outside, but I’m still standing up on the inside.”

  Neal chuckled at the memory. She might be sitting down on the outside, but on the inside she was running around the room, shouting, “Thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU!”

  “What’s so funny?”

  Neal looked up. Granny Q’s eyes were open, and she was staring at Neal curiously.

  Neal laughed. “Nothing. It’s just so . . . wonderful.”

  “Wonderful?” her grandmother mumbled. “Not for me. I want to go home.”

  Neal lowered the safety bars on the side of the bed and took Granny Q’s hand. “The doctor says you can go home in a day or two, if all the tests come back normal.”

  “Where’s Abby?”

  “Gone to get some coffee, I think, and to stretch her legs.”

  “Sorry you have to be here,” Granny Q slurred. “Sorry you have to see me like this.”

  Tears stung Neal’s eyes, and she shook her head. “There’s no place on earth I’d rather be at this moment,” she whispered. “And no one I’d rather be with.”

  She squeezed her grandmother’s hand—the left hand, the claw hand.

  And the hand squeezed back.

  19

  Second Chances

  Quinn House

  Mid-October

  The telephone rang just as Abby opened the dishwasher to load the breakfast dishes. She picked up to hear a gruff-sounding, unfamiliar male voice.

  “Lemme speak to Neal.”

  “Just a minute.” Abby went to the doorway and called through the dining room. “Neal Grace? Telephone for you.”

  Neal came out of her grandmother’s first-floor bedroom and ran through the living room into the kitchen. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Some guy.”

  Abby watched Neal’s face as she picked up the receiver and slid up to sit on the counter. The girl looked apprehensive—almost frightened.

  Abby bit her lip and forced herself not to ask what was going on. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she whispered and turned toward the door.

  “Stay,” Neal said, cupping a hand around the mouthpiece. “I won’t be long.”

  Abby nodded and set about finishing the dishes, trying not to clatter the silverware too much while her daughter was talking.

  “No,” she heard Neal say. “I can’t.”

  The voice on the other end responded. Abby couldn’t hear the words, only a muffled, garbled sound, but she could see that Neal was disturbed.

  “I told you, I can’t,” she repeated. “I need to be home with my grandmother.”

  A pause.

  “Look, Mike, I said no, and I mean no. I guess we probably do need to talk, but I can’t do it right now. Not today, not this week. Maybe next week. Just chill. I’ll call you, all right?”

  She hung up the phone without saying good-bye. Abby hesitated, trying to decide whether this was one of those times when a mother ought to pry just a little bit.

  “Everything OK?”

  Neal picked at a cuticle on her thumb and didn’t make eye contact. Abby was just about to drop it when Neal looked up.

  “I guess I need to tell you about this.” She sighed.

  Abby poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m listening.”

  “Well, see, there’s this guy.”

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah, Mike.” She jumped off the counter and came to take a seat at the table. “He’s—well, kinda
older.”

  “I didn’t think he sounded like a high-school senior.” Abby peered into her daughter’s face. “Honey, are you in trouble?”

  Neal laughed—a tense, nervous sound. “Trouble? No, Mom, I’m not in trouble. I just—” She paused for a moment, and Abby waited. “It’s like this. I dated this guy for a while.”

  Abby stared down into her coffee cup. Every maternal instinct within her screamed to know details. Where had she met him? When had all this happened? And why would her daughter go out with some older man—a rough-sounding character, if his voice was any indication—without telling her? But she kept quiet.

  “Anyway, here’s the deal,” Neal went on after a minute. “I was having a pretty tough time, you know, with Dad being gone and Granny Q’s stroke. Everything felt pretty cr—” she hesitated, and then finished—“crummy. Maybe I thought being with Mike would somehow make things better. Make me feel like I had a life of my own, you know?”

  Abby nodded. “What made you change your mind?”

  A strange expression came over Neal’s face. Shame, Abby thought. Embarrassment.

  “I guess I finally saw him for what he really was. I thought he was strong and independent. But he got so . . . obsessed with me. I felt smothered, like I couldn’t breathe. And what a temper! He was jealous all the time, wanting me all to himself.” She took a deep breath and met Abby’s gaze. “But it’s over. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s history. And I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  Abby didn’t say anything for a long time. At last Neal broke the silence. “I guess you’re pretty ticked at me, huh?”

  “I wish you had confided in me earlier, I’ll admit,” Abby said. “You’re fairly grown up, but you’re still my daughter, and I’m responsible for you. I want to meet the people you spend time with, to know what you’re doing, and with whom. Does that sound overprotective?”

  “Yeah, a little.” Neal laughed. “But it’s OK.”

  “You said this guy—Mike—had a temper,” Abby went on. “Did he ever—hurt you?”

  “You mean like hitting me?” Neal shook her head. “He yelled sometimes. But when I realized I was walking around on eggshells, afraid I’d set him off, I knew it was time to get out.”

  Abby reached over and patted her daughter’s hand. “You’re pretty smart for almost eighteen.”

  “I don’t feel too smart,” Neal admitted. “I feel like an idiot. I never should have gotten involved with him in the first place. He’s been calling me every day. So far I’ve managed to put him off, but now that Granny Q’s getting better, I guess I’ll have to see him.” She grimaced. “T. J. tried to warn me about him, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  Abby grinned. “You can tell T. J. for me that she’s pretty high on my list.”

  “Not likely. I’m already going to have to live with about a year of I-told-you-sos.”

  “That’s a small price to pay for getting out of a potentially dangerous relationship unscathed.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Neal said. “Look, Mom, I know I haven’t exactly been myself lately. But that’s going to change. I promise.”

  “I believe you. Now, about Mike.”

  “Him again?” Neal contorted her face into a grimace.

  “Yes, him again. When are you going to tell him it’s over?”

  “I don’t know. Soon as I get up the nerve, I guess.”

  “Are you worried about how he’ll react?”

  Neal nodded. “A little. He’ll blow a gasket, I’m sure.”

  “Then do it here,” Abby suggested, “when I’m home. I won’t interfere, but I want to be here just in case you need some backup.”

  “Might as well get this over with,” Neal said. “You got any plans for Saturday afternoon?”

  “If I do, I’ll cancel them. I’ll be here.”

  “OK. I’ll ask him to come over. It’ll be quick—at least I hope so. I want this guy out of my life—permanently.”

  Neal went back to her grandmother’s room feeling immensely relieved.

  “You look a hundred pounds lighter,” Granny Q said. “What happened?”

  “That was Mike on the phone.” Neal shrugged. “I told Mom about him.”

  Granny Q gave her a twisted, lopsided smile. “Good girl.”

  “Yeah, I feel better. But it was hard to tell her.” Neal slumped down in the chair beside her grandmother’s bed. “How come it’s so much easier to talk to you?”

  Granny Q lifted one eyebrow. “Hadn’t been, till recently.”

  “I know, I know.” Neal rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “It’s OK. Everything’s all right now.”

  “Yeah. But I still feel bad about the way I treated you.”

  Granny Q reached out and grasped Neal’s hand. “That’s all settled, kiddo. We’re both on the right track now. Physical therapy’s helping, but more important, my heart’s better. And I’ve got you back. Nothing else matters.”

  “What matters to me is that you’re still alive. I thought you were dead, Granny Q. I thought I’d never have a chance to make things right.”

  “Just goes to show,” the old woman murmured, “we all need to live while we live.”

  “Well, you’re doing great,” Neal said. “You’re talking so much better. And getting stronger every day.” She grinned. “Squeeze my hand.”

  Granny Q laughed. “Already did my exercises. Go ’way. You’re gonna be late for school.”

  “Humor me,” Neal demanded. “Squeeze.”

  Granny Q reached out, grabbed Neal’s hand, and squeezed hard. Neal feigned a grimace and fell out of the chair onto the floor, cradling her wrist. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “I think it’s broken!”

  “What is going on in here?”

  Neal looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, frowning and trying to pretend she was angry with them for making so much noise. “You two are nothing but trouble,” she declared. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “Yeah?” Neal said. “Well, give us another week. Granny Q and I have big plans to go club hopping. She’s going to wear my black miniskirt, and we’re going to pick up guys and dance till they throw us out for being rowdy.”

  “That should take about ten seconds,” Mom shot back. “If you want me to drop you at school, Neal, I’m pulling out of the driveway in exactly three minutes.”

  “OK. Let me get my stuff.” Neal leaned down to give her grandmother a hug and a kiss. “I’ll be home around quarter to four. Do your exercises!”

  Granny Q contorted her face into a mocking scowl. “Nag, nag.”

  Neal grinned at her, then turned to her mother. “She’s just impossible to work with.” She headed out the door, but her mother caught her by the arm.

  “What’s this about a black miniskirt?”

  “Oops.” Neal glanced at her grandmother. “Help.”

  “You’re on your own, kid.” Granny Q laughed.

  “I’ll tell you about it later,” Neal said over her shoulder as she made her escape. “Much later. Like when I’m forty.”

  When they were gone and the house had grown quiet, Edith lay back against the pillows and smiled. It had been two weeks since she was released from the hospital, and in that short time so much had changed.

  She was beginning to get feeling back in her left arm and leg. Her speech, as her granddaughter had observed, was improving tremendously, and she didn’t feel nearly so tired all the time. More significant than the physical advances, however, were the emotional and spiritual improvements that had taken place within all of them. Quinn House no longer seemed dark and oppressive. Laughter echoed off the walls. Family dinners were times of animated conversation. Everything felt . . . normal again.

  She looked at the clock on the bedside table. Roberta, the physical therapist, would be arriving at ten. Ever since the hospitalization, Abby had brought her breakfast in bed, and insisted that she wait and let Roberta help her bathe and dress. But Edith
was fed up with being treated like an invalid.

  Today Roberta was going to get a surprise. By the time she got here, Edith intended to be showered and dressed, with her bed made and a fresh pot of decaf ready in the kitchen.

  She got up, shuffled to the window, and opened it as far as it would go. Autumn was in full color, the trees blazing with red and orange and yellow. Her downstairs bedroom overlooked the backyard, and she couldn’t see much of the mountains. But the sky was a brilliant blue and the air brisk and full of promise.

  She leaned on the window sill and watched as squirrels darted among the fallen leaves beneath the oak trees, gathering acorns for the winter. One of them caught a glimpse of her and stood on his hind feet, clutching a nut between his paws and chattering away as if she understood every word he said.

  “Yes,” she responded, smiling down at him. “Yes, winter can be difficult. But spring always comes again.”

  The squirrel skittered away, and Edith gazed off into the deep blue of the sky. “Thank you, Grandma Gracie,” she whispered. “Thank you, Sam.”

  She paused. “And most of all,” she finished, “thank you, God.”

  20

  The Uncharted Path

  At ten o’clock on Saturday morning, Neal woke up in a cold sweat, a sense of foreboding looming over her soul like a black thundercloud. Mike was supposed to be here at two. She had to talk to him, had to get it over with once and for all. She couldn’t stand another minute of this churning in the pit of her stomach.

  But how would he react? What would he do? Neal knew from hard experience that he didn’t take well to rejection. This past Wednesday when he called he had been all sweet and syrupy, telling her how much he needed her, and how his whole life and future depended upon her love. On Thursday he was surly and angry, accusing her of abandoning him. Yesterday he’d threatened to come over and take her away by force, to get her out of the clutches of her “controlling, dominating family.”

  Every time she thought of him, a wave of nausea rose up in her throat. What was she doing, getting involved with someone like him? How could she possibly have been so stupid?