The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  Which drew her thoughts to the thornier issue. She owed Michael an apology. Eight years ago, she’d left Ohio without the courtesy of saying goodbye. They’d been deep in a relationship back then. Yet she’d allowed grief to drive her from Ohio without giving him the slimmest explanation.

  Wording the apology was the real problem.

  Unaware of her dilemma, he offered a confident smile that nearly masked the concern darkening his eyes. “Go slow with Emerson,” he suggested. “He’s a bright kid, and he has suspected Rosalind’s illness for some time. Wait until he starts asking questions. In a day or two, maybe longer. And stock up on dental floss.”

  The amusing counsel eased the tension thrumming inside her. “That’s your advice?”

  “He likes to floss when he’s worried. One of his quirks.”

  “At least he’s not doing heroin.”

  “Hard drugs aren’t his thing. But toothpaste is. Consider stockpiling the stuff. Your nephew also likes to brush when he’s working things out.”

  “This is freaky, how much you know about him. Should I be jealous?”

  “Totally up to you,” Michael said, and the mirth in his gaze eased her worries. “Fair warning, though.”

  Her brows lifted. “There’s a warning?”

  “Don’t even try to push me off center stage. I’ve spent a year hanging out with the kid when Rosalind wasn’t looking. I don’t mind admitting I like him a lot.”

  “I can tell,” she agreed, grinning. The easy banter gave her the courage to plunge into the more difficult topic. “Michael, when we were dating . . . I’m sorry about what happened. After we lost my father and Elizabeth, I was a mess. That doesn’t excuse my actions. I should have called you before I left Ohio. I should have said goodbye.”

  “Maybe it’s better you didn’t.”

  It wasn’t the response she’d expected. “How so?”

  “What makes you sure I would have let you go?” A hint of sadness etched his strong features. Snuffing it out, he added, “I thought we agreed you’d stop being hard on yourself. Start now.”

  “I’m a work in progress.”

  “Yes, you are. I am too.” He rubbed his jaw, apparently searching for the right words. “Listen, you were in a difficult situation. I understand why you left.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Eight years after the fact? Get real. When have I ever held a grudge?”

  She sighed with relief. Never.

  Sobering, he added, “I am glad you came home, although I’m sorry about everything on your plate. If you need anything in the coming months, I’m here for you—and Emerson.”

  They went inside. The coffeepot sat unfilled, an indication that Latrice wasn’t yet at the house. None of the lights were on in the living room, and the foyer rested in a peaceful quiet. Darcy peered up the staircase. On the landing midway down, Samson had taken a seat. Dressed in long johns and a threadbare T-shirt, he was thumbing through his smartphone.

  He looked up. “Where is everyone? Emerson isn’t in his room, and I haven’t seen your mama yet.”

  “I’m not sure. We’re still looking for them.” She strode to the bottom of the stairwell. “Why don’t you come down and meet Michael? He stopped over to talk to my mother.”

  When he came down, Michael said, “You’re Darcy’s friend from South Carolina? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Samson Dray.” He stuck out his hand.

  Clasping it, Michael smiled. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen, sir.”

  “You’re here all summer?”

  “I’m here permanently. Unless Darcy throws me out.”

  She chuckled. “I’d never throw you out. I consider you family.”

  “What are your plans?” Michael prodded. “Do you have work experience?”

  The youth threw an uncertain glance at Darcy. She refrained from offering a lifeline. If this was a job interview, Samson should stand up for himself.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ve worked three jobs. I met Darcy at the last place.”

  “I could use an extra set of hands in the shop. My business is expanding faster than I’d expected. Are you interested?” When Samson brightened, Michael added, “You have a good work record? Showing up on time and all that?”

  “The boss has liked me at every place I’ve worked.” Samson squared his shoulders. “I’m always right on time.”

  “Can you start this week? I’ve taken on a new project, with a tight deadline to finish the cabinetry. I could use an assistant helping around the shop.”

  “You’re offering me a job?”

  “Let’s meet at my shop in thirty minutes. We’ll discuss your wages and work schedule.”

  “Sounds great!” Samson dashed upstairs.

  Once he was out of earshot, Darcy said, “Word of warning. He’s the sweetest teenager you’ll ever meet, but he’s awfully dreamy. More like a kid starting high school than a recent graduate. He grew up in foster care.”

  “When we get the chance, I’d love to hear why you brought him to Ohio.”

  “You’ll enjoy the story—it’s fascinating. Especially the parts about special stars and spiritual connections.”

  Michael quirked a brow. “Interesting.”

  Ending the discussion, he began strolling the perimeter of the circular foyer. He poked his head into each room. “Where is everyone? Did your mother take Emerson out for breakfast?”

  “Good question.” Perhaps there was a note in the kitchen. She began retracing her steps as Michael wheeled toward the front door.

  “Darcy, check this out.”

  He stepped out onto the front porch. In the center of the wide sweep of lawn, Emerson darted from one tree to the next. Trailing behind, Rosalind murmured words too far away to decipher.

  Darcy’s eyes misted over. Despite last night’s difficult conversation, her mother looked serene, nearly happy. Her makeup was carefully applied and her silver hair expertly styled. She’d gone to great pains to resemble the vision of health for her worried grandson.

  She spied a pretty green box in Rosalind’s hands. “What is she carrying?”

  “The bird feeder? Call it a child’s successful attempt at lobbying. I helped Emerson make it for her. I left it outside the front door this morning.” Satisfaction spread across Michael’s features. “Looks like Emerson found the bird feeder before I put the master plan in motion.”

  “You taught my nephew woodworking?” The gesture was incredibly kind. Then her heart lurched. “You didn’t let him near power tools, did you?”

  “Why not? Small boys and power tools are a match made in heaven,” he quipped. “Next, I’ll let him try out a chain saw. Let him do serious damage to the brush growing behind my barn.”

  “Very funny.” Her nephew was a pipsqueak. The thought of him wielding power tools gave her the willies. She shivered.

  At her reaction, mischief darted across Michael’s face. He leaned close. “Got any other dumb questions?”

  When she shrugged, he flicked her nose. The spontaneous affection startled them both.

  They leaped apart like teenagers caught trading kisses. Michael’s eyes delved into hers. The intensity of his gaze arrowed warmth to her belly.

  He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Rosalind. Why don’t you stay here? There’s no reason to put yourself in the line of fire.”

  “I can take it. Besides, there’s safety in numbers.” Darcy trotted down the steps. “She will give you a hard time. Two against one. Let’s keep the odds in our favor.”

  “Deal, but keep your mouth shut. I’ll do the talking. If memory serves, you can’t joust for thirty seconds without losing your balance. I’d rather not watch your mother draw blood.”

  “Hey!”

  “Fear not, fair lady.” He winked. “I shall slay the dragon on your behalf.”

  Taking the lead, he strode onto the lawn. Ten yards beyond, Rosalind had selected
a tree for her new gift, on a branch low enough for a child to reach. Emerson swung his arms side to side as she slid the bird feeder into place. The branch wobbled as she let it go.

  The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. When she swiveled around, anxiety slowed Darcy’s gait. Michael continued forward at an even pace, ready to confront the woman now growing rigid at his approach. Rosalind’s mouth thinned in disapproval.

  He glanced at Emerson before pausing several paces from his opponent. Darcy waited behind him as he regarded her mother.

  “Mrs. Goodridge, hello. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You haven’t returned my calls.”

  The accusation’s matter-of-fact tone deftly cornered Rosalind. At her side, Emerson watched her closely. He seemed no more certain of the conversation’s outcome than she was.

  “I have not,” she finally agreed. “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “You’re wrong. Emerson and I have become good friends. Your animus toward my mother shouldn’t spoil it.”

  “He’s my grandson. I will decide what is in his best interest.”

  “You’re making a mistake. What are you trying to protect him from? I’m not the bad guy here.”

  The invective she prepared never left her lips. Emerson bolted from her side, abandoning her for the good-natured man trying to reason with her. His disloyalty startled her into silence. But children possess the sensitivity of a psychic, and the boy stopped short in Michael’s long shadow.

  A battle raged on Emerson’s face. His dilemma brought Darcy a step closer.

  They formed an uneasy circle, the three adults and the boy. Rosalind looked apoplectic with rage. In a subconscious bow to her feelings, Emerson shifted into the adult mannerisms he’d learned too well.

  “Michael, I’m so very glad you’re here.” Too intimidated by his stern grandmother to venture closer, he mimicked Rosalind’s stance. “We’ve received bad news.”

  “You have,” Michael agreed. “How are you holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Don’t expect too much, sport. You have every right to feel bad.”

  “I suppose.” A sob broke from Emerson’s throat. The proof of his sorrow crumpled Rosalind’s great fury like autumn leaves crushed on the wind. She was pressing a palm to her heart when he added, “It’s quite difficult.”

  “I know.” Lowering his large body, Michael planted a knee in the grass. “Come here, buddy.”

  His expression collapsing, Emerson raced into his arms.

  Chapter 16

  As June’s breezy warmth gave way to July’s blistering heat, the Goodridge household settled into a new routine.

  Michael became a frequent visitor. He stayed long enough to share a few pleasantries with Darcy and Latrice before taking Emerson for the day’s outing. Rosalind planned her schedule accordingly. She managed to avoid being downstairs whenever he arrived. Surrendering in the matter of sharing her grandson did not mean she liked the change.

  In a bow to her enmity for his mother, Michael never took Emerson next door to visit with Nella. Instead, he planned outings in Chagrin Falls or farther afield. They visited the Cleveland Zoo and found new fishing holes on the Chagrin River.

  On Sunday afternoons, they rented go-karts at a nearby track or visited the carnivals that popped up every summer in the towns scattered across Geauga County. They rode the Ferris wheel and competed at bumper cars. They consumed so much cotton candy, Darcy found sticky flecks in her nephew’s hair when he returned home.

  Often, Michael invited Samson to join them. He was one of the guys, after all, and every male needed days when he could avoid female companionship and simply horse around. Samson usually refused the invitations, choosing instead to man the phone at Varano Cabinetry or sweep the mounds of sawdust from the floor. He organized shipments of lumber as they came in, freeing up much-needed space in the shop. He quickly proved himself indispensable and graduated to full-time status. In the evenings, with Darcy’s encouragement, Samson began checking out colleges. He was planning to enroll in several courses in the fall.

  Like Michael and his young companions, Darcy eased into a new schedule. She felt gratitude on the days that flowed by uneventfully. She hid icy bolts of fear whenever her mother walked with a slight limp. On some days, Rosalind took long naps unannounced. On the worst days, the progressing amyloidosis sent pain whipping through her extremities. She never uttered a complaint. Even so, Darcy and Latrice watched over her like mother hens. If Rosalind believed they were out of view, she rubbed her tender arms and calves, wincing with pain.

  The symptoms of the disease tested her ability to endure. They did not break her spirit. She remained brittle and short-tempered with the two women tasked with her care. Yet Rosalind did make allowances. Even the battle Darcy had dreaded over banning her mother’s driving privileges never materialized.

  One rainy Friday in July, Darcy found the keys to the Mercedes by the coffeepot. Beside the keys was the title to her mother’s car, signed over to her.

  With her illness no longer secret, Rosalind succumbed to sullen acceptance. The independence she once took for granted was slowly curtailed. Darcy now ferried her to the salon and to the gym, where her declining health restricted her regimen to the seated elliptical trainer or working out with five-pound weights.

  After much discussion regarding the responsibilities involved—and much badgering on Darcy’s part—her mother finally gave her medical power of attorney. It was a cold triumph. Since the stubborn judge refused to add her name to a heart transplant list, few options remained for her care.

  “She wants to die with dignity,” Dr. Ruth Tanaka told Darcy. They were seated in Tanaka’s Chagrin Falls office, waiting for Rosalind to return from the lab. With cropped silver hair and a no-nonsense style, Tanaka had been Rosalind’s primary care doctor for decades. Rosalind insisted on coordinating all treatment ordered by her specialists through the offices of her seventy-year-old physician.

  “What about options other than a heart transplant?” They’d been over this before. Darcy refused to accept that they were in a holding pattern, with death as the only destination. “What about experimental drugs or clinical trials? There must be something we can try.”

  “The Mayo Clinic in Minnesota is conducting a trial. The drug protocol looks promising, but your mother isn’t an ideal candidate. A minor point. I mentioned the trial to her right before you came back to Ohio. She wouldn’t consider leaving Emerson.”

  “What if I accompany her? I can fly home frequently. Latrice and Samson will help with Emerson on the days I’m with her in Minnesota.”

  “It’s too late to enroll, Darcy. The trial commenced in June. As for experimental drugs, there are no medications available that we haven’t already called into service to alleviate some of your mother’s symptoms.”

  “Meaning we’re at a dead end.” Her own poor choice of words made Darcy wince. She held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.”

  Tanaka regarded her with sympathy. “I’m the one who is sorry. I wish there were more options. Your mother’s disease has progressed significantly in the short time since she received a diagnosis.” The doctor drummed her fingers on her desk. “You can’t influence her to change her mind?”

  “About going on a transplant list? Believe me, I’ve tried. Every time I broach the subject, she leaves the room.”

  “Then we’re at an impasse.”

  Darcy’s heart lurched.

  When she remained silent, Tanaka said, “Aside from continuing the regimen of steroids and the various pain medications, there is no magic bullet. Frankly, I’m amazed your mother is doing so well. Rosalind has an uncommonly strong will. Bear in mind that hereditary amyloidosis is a rare disorder, and unpredictable. As more proteins aggregate in her heart, she’ll present symptoms she can no longer control.”

>   “Hereditary . . . should Emerson and I be tested?”

  “Your nephew was tested soon after your mother received her diagnosis. He doesn’t carry the mutation.” Tanaka smiled reassuringly. “I can schedule the test for you, but you needn’t worry. Most patients who inherit the mutation never present symptoms of the disease. In your mother’s case, there were therapies we might have called into service if we’d found the disease sooner. I’m sorry we didn’t.”

  The quietly compassionate words poured fear through Darcy. “What comes next?”

  “Rosalind’s neuropathy will become extreme. She’ll experience more dizzy spells and difficulty breathing. She’ll present many of the classic symptoms of heart failure. My nurse has literature you can read to become better acquainted with the symptoms.”

  It was a laundry list of horrors, none of which Darcy wished to face. “The neuropathy . . . she’ll lose feeling in her arms and legs?”

  “The tingling she now experiences will become more pronounced. She’ll have increased weakness. I suspect she already has instances when her skin is distressingly itchy—I wrote a scrip that should help.” Frowning, Tanaka added, “She will lose the ability to walk.”

  “When?”

  “A few months, perhaps longer. We will continue to monitor her closely. Start thinking about moving her bedroom to the first floor. Knowing Rosalind, she’ll fight you tooth and nail. Ease her into the idea slowly.”

  “Easier said than done.” Overwhelmed, Darcy balled her hands in her lap. “Give me a timeline. How long until I need to move her downstairs?”

  “Wait until the end of summer, when Emerson returns to school,” the doctor said. “How is he managing?”

  Considering, Darcy combed her fingers through her hair. “Great, most of the time. He’s a lot like Rosalind—taking everything in stride. I have a child psychologist on standby. So far, Emerson doesn’t appear to need the help. I’m keeping him busy, and a neighbor helps out. He’s been a godsend. Several times a week, he takes my nephew out for adventures. Total ‘guy time,’ which Emerson needs.”