Yet, how could he possibly say, “Trisha, I’ve missed you. Our lives flew apart when you left with that drug pusher and nothing has been the same since.” She would accuse him of trying to put her on a guilt trip.
He knew things had been wrong in their lives long before that.
He pushed back the wave of regrets and watched his daughter’s shaking hand as she picked up her fork and smashed the yolk into a runny mush. She mashed it again and again and then dropped the fork with a clatter and pushed back from the table with her hand over her mouth. She ran from the dining room to the bathroom down the hall, slammed the door. Through the heavy wood he could hear her retch.
He hesitated for a moment, but he followed her, knowing his presence would not be welcomed, but also knowing that if he didn’t go his silence would convince her he didn’t care.
For too many years he’d cared too much, until he realized that his love for his daughter and his indulgence of her every request had done nothing to induce her to love him. Paradoxically, when he attempted to apply discipline it only fostered her anger, even hatred. He’d long ago run out of ideas about how to be an effective father.
As he walked down the hallway he caught sight of a streak of mud in the shape of a footstep coming from the garage. The incongruity of it dislodged all other thoughts for a brief moment, brought to the surface some shadowed memory... a nightmare? When Trisha had arrived first thing this morning he had been awakened from the grip of a horrible dream of confused images and sounds.
Such dreams weren’t unusual, unfortunately. One thing that pricked his conscience lately was the fact that he often didn’t wait till he got home before he ingested his first small tablet. In fact, he had done the same last night—he even remembered taking two tablets before he left the hospital, which hadn’t been advisable considering the concentration he had known he would need to drive safely home.
He vaguely remembered a brief surge of irritation at... someone.
Grant Sheldon? No, wait, it had been Archer Pierce going through his prayer routine in one of the exam rooms with a patient.
Archer Pierce...yes. They’d spoken afterward but Mitchell couldn’t recall what had been said. Most likely one of their typical arguments about the sufficiency of Archer’s God. From that point everything grew fuzzy.
At the sound of the flushing toilet, Mitchell returned his attention to his daughter. The least he could do was make sure she was physically okay.
***
Dad and Heather had driven to Dogwood Springs as soon as Jessica called them—although in separate cars—Dad from the farm near Kimberling City and Heather from Branson. Dad had gone immediately to comb the town for signs of Archer.
That was Daddy, always burying himself in work and always doing what needed to be done. He had never been comfortable around a lot of people but he really liked Archer. Who didn’t?
He had just driven away in his old pickup truck when Heather pulled her five-year-old Camaro into the driveway like a jet on a short landing strip. She jumped from the car and came running up the sidewalk, golden blond hair flying behind her.
When she reached Jessica on the porch she grabbed her in a hug. “Oh, Jess, I can’t believe this! Have you heard anything more?”
“Nothing.” Jessica relished the strength of her sister’s embrace. “Thanks for coming.”
“Was that Dad’s truck I saw driving away?” Heather glanced down the street, now empty of traffic.
“Yes, he’s going to drive through town and then take a couple of routes Archer might have taken to get to Mrs. Eddingly’s. He’s got those old binoculars he uses to check the cattle.”
“Just like Dad to think of something like that.”
Jessica heard the tone of grudging admiration in her sister’s voice. “Why don’t you tell him that next time you see him?”
“Sure, sis, we’ll talk about that later. Right now you don’t have time to worry about my feud with Dad.”
Jessica took her sister’s hands and drew her to the wicker chairs at the far end of the porch. “Have a seat. I need to ask you something and I didn’t want to ask you over the telephone.”
“Okay, sis, shoot. I’m here for you.”
“Do you think I should cancel tonight’s show or can you do it by yourself if Archer doesn’t come home?”
Heather’s hazel eyes widened. “You’re not kidding?”
“I’m not in a kidding mood.”
Heather stood up and shoved her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans. She paced the length of the porch then turned back and nodded. “I’ll do it for you.”
“I know you’d love to have your own show. This might give you an opportunity to see what it’s like without having to commit.”
“I wouldn’t want my own show like this, Jessie. Never like this.”
“I know that.”
“And I want to see Archer come walking up the sidewalk.”
“It’s what I’m praying for.” Jessica’s voice caught. Don’t fall apart in front of Heather.
“Do you really think I can do it?”
“You know all the songs and the audience loves you.”
“But it’s you they come to see.”
“It’s our music, Heather, and we do that together.”
Heather crossed the porch again and hugged her. “Then don’t you worry about a thing, Jessie.”
“Could you call Lawrence and James at the theater and let them know about the change? Explain the situation to them?”
“Sure. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to go look for Archer myself.”
“Not without me.”
The telephone in the house interrupted them and at the same time Jessica’s cell phone chirped.
“You grab one; I’ll get the other,” Heather said. “And then I’m going to spend some time with you, at least for a little while. I’m not leaving you alone until I have to.”
Jessica was surprised by the relief she felt at her sister’s words.
Chapter Seventeen
Lauren drew back her pole and cast the line far out to the center of Rock River the way she’d been casting for the past thirty years. It was right here on this rocky ledge under Grandpa’s gentle tutelage that she’d first learned to catch her own dinner. She loved the feeling of tranquility that bathed her with renewal every time she glimpsed the beauty of early springtime set against a backdrop of a milky blue Missouri sky.
Today the solitude of this place had drawn her the hour’s drive from Dogwood Springs. It had drawn her past the turnoff to Knolls, which had been home to her for 35 years. She desperately needed this peace away from old and new friends, away from family.
Away from Brooke. Lately, on an average of two Saturdays a month when the weather allowed, Lauren and Brooke actually went fishing together, and except for Brooke’s complaints about the cold, the heat, the slimy fish, and the gross bait Lauren used, she could be a lot of fun. Lauren enjoyed her company and the two of them had grown very close talking “girl talk.”
Today, however, Lauren knew the conversation would have focused on marriage. Of course, that was all Lauren thought about lately but she did not need to spend a morning debating Brooke about it. She only hoped it didn’t hurt Brooke’s feelings too much when she discovered she had been intentionally excluded from this fishing expedition.
Solitude was not a word Brooke understood.
The need for some quiet time alone out of reach of a growing list of people who made demands on Lauren’s time and her heart had made her irritable lately and she didn’t like being that way.
She recalled her last argument with Mom.
“Lauren, they’re looking for a nurse director at the hospital emergency department right here in Knolls.”
“That’s nice, Mom. They shouldn’t have any trouble filling the position.”
“It sure would be good to see you more often. I told Dr. Bower I’d let you know about the opening just in case.”
Lauren scowled at the heavy hint. “Lukas doesn’t do the hiring there, and—”
“No, but I’m sure he’d put in a good word for you if—”
“Mom, I’m not a nurse director and I don’t want to be.” Lauren regretted her sharp tone but sometimes she found herself reverting to adolescence when Mom pushed too hard. “I love my job at Dogwood Springs.” Most of the time.
There was a short period of disappointed silence, then, “So how’s it going with Grant Sheldon?”
Lauren reeled in her line and cast again, chuckling as she recalled Mom’s frustration with lack of details about the romance. Mom was only the leader of the pack. Every single member of the McCaffrey clan had high expectations for Lauren and Grant.
How could anyone miss the hints they had dropped lately, like sledgehammers into the middle of conversations: “Lauren, those teenagers need a mother before they run wild and you’re so good with them.” “Lauren, you’re not getting any younger.” “Lauren, your mother keeps talking about how she’d like another grandchild.”
She refused to allow others to dictate her future but she needed to be able to separate their wishes from her own. Too many clamoring voices tended to make her rebel in the wrong direction.
She loved the Sheldons but for the past few months she’d been unable to ignore an inner voice that reminded her that she would never be Grant’s first love and the children would never be her own. In all the years she’d spent dreaming about love and marriage, she hadn’t envisioned herself marrying someone who already had half a lifetime of family memories.
She knew it was selfish of her to think that way.
She knew she could never take Annette’s place in the lives of Brooke and Beau and she didn’t want to. Annette had left a wonderful heritage for her children to follow.
But if I couldn’t be a mother to them, what would I be? Just a friend? A buddy? If she married Grant and moved in with them would she feel like an interloper?
She’d heard enough horror stories about the difficulties of learning to live with a new spouse; how many times would that difficulty be multiplied connecting with three people instead of just one? And at her age...
But she loved them. Didn’t that count for something?
The internal argument hadn’t let up since Grant proposed and Lauren knew she had to get everything settled in her own heart before she committed herself to the decision.
The Sheldons had suffered a horrible tragedy with Annette’s death three years ago and they deserved the best. Yes, they needed someone in their lives. Was she that person?
Too many questions had combined with the voices of a strong-willed family to create chaos in Lauren’s ordinarily peaceful life.
She leaned back on the stump and focused on the line where it entered the water. Even the weather here had been peaceful recently—nothing like the storms at Dogwood Springs. She intended to enjoy this tranquility for as long as it lasted.
***
Grant leaned back in his comfortable office chair and closed his eyes for a moment as the words and numbers on the page in the center of the desk gathered into a jumble. He listened to the chatter of a nurse and secretary with Dr. Jonas out in the ER workstation.
After fifteen hours in this place he was getting sick of it but he needed to catch up on some administrative duties that had come to his attention: there was a problem with a chart and with the doctor who had signed it. Unfortunately, he’d seen the name Mitchell Caine on too much disorganized documentation lately. Mitchell needed to be warned or he could set himself and this hospital up for a lawsuit.
Grant was only too aware from recent experience that all it took to be sued was a bad patient outcome no matter how excellent the medical care had been. If a physician or nurse didn’t document every word, every treatment, every observation with meticulous caution, they could all be in trouble.
It had become glaringly obvious recently that several of Mitchell’s late-night handwritten notes were practically unreadable and although that wasn’t a rarity in the medical profession by any means, Mitchell had a reputation for precise record keeping—unless something was bothering him again.
The last time Grant contacted Mitchell about a sloppy report the doctor had brushed it off, ignoring written requests in his mail slot to discuss the situation. Grant had no reason to believe this time would be any different.
He picked up the phone and punched Mitchell’s home number, got a recording—which almost always happened on weekends lately—and left a message for Mitchell to contact him. He disconnected the line and hit the speed dial number for Lauren’s home phone since she had been on duty at the time this patient came in.
Voice mail again. It amazed him how disappointing that was. He’d hoped to be able to at least hear her voice today and not his own recorded message.
He could already tell this was going to be one of those Saturdays when he got very little accomplished. He left a message for Lauren to call as soon as she got home then dialed Archer Pierce’s number. As it rang, he glanced out the window and saw William Butler walking with Muriel Stark toward her car, parked in the employee parking lot.
Someone other than Jessica answered the telephone. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Grant Sheldon. I just wanted to call and see if anyone has heard anything from Archer yet.”
A heavy sigh. “Not yet, Grant. This is Heather. I’m just trying to keep Jessica from traipsing out into the countryside all alone looking for him. Judging by the appearance of her car, she already drove it everywhere short of the river itself last night. Right now we’re fielding calls from church members. Nobody’s seen or heard anything yet but apparently several members have lost telephone service. You know, some of those people out in the deep boonies. Our father’s the same way—oops, Jessica’s taking the phone away from me. Nice talking to you!”
Jessica came on the line. “Grant? Nothing yet. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Lauren? I tried to call her earlier and—”
“I just tried her house. I think she would have let me know if she’d planned to be gone long so I’ll try her again later.”
“I doubt she knows anything but I just thought since they’ve been friends forever she or her brother might have some ideas I haven’t thought of yet. If she knew Archer was going to be delayed getting home she would have called me. In fact, he would have called, unless... Oh, Grant, I’m really worried.”
“I know but it isn’t time to panic yet. Tony Dalton called me. He and I agree that Archer is probably stranded out in the ‘boonies,’ as Heather calls it, and you know he’s notorious for letting his cell phone battery get low.”
“I keep thinking the worst.”
“I understand that,” Grant said. “Archer has quite a few friends on the police force and maybe they’ll have some ideas. That way if he doesn’t turn up in the next few hours the search wheels will be in motion. Tony says he has some men out scouring the town already.”
“Some people from the church have already started searching for him, too,” Jessica said. “Actually, we’re received word of fourteen people, but until the floods recede there’s no way to reach Mrs. Eddingly’s.”
“Make that sixteen searchers. Brooke and Beau will want to help and they’ll probably contact some of their friends.”
There was a thoughtful silence. “I have a friend in Branson who flies a helicopter for tourist rides,” Jessica said. “I think I’ll give him a call. Thanks, Grant. I’ll let you know when we hear something.”
“I’ll stay in touch.”
When Grant hung up he noticed that William Butler continued to stand in the employee parking lot, hands in the pockets of his jacket, staring toward the road as Muriel drove away. Grant had an idea what his administrator had in mind; the same thoughts had gone through his own more and more lately.
Marriage could be such a wonderful thing.
But what was Lauren thinking right now?
***
&
nbsp; “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this, Lord,” Lauren murmured as she carried tackle box and fishing pole farther down the creek. “Is love enough? Don’t I need some kind of special training to even consider becoming a stepmom to two seventeen-year-olds?”
Still muttering her prayer half under her breath, as she often did when alone, she sat down on an old favorite tree stump her grandfather had used when he was still alive. “I just don’t understand how everyone can take it so casually. ‘Oh sure, marry the guy. You can work it out—no problem,’” she said, mimicking what some of her co-workers had been telling her for months. “I don’t know how they can think that way.”
She settled her carefully organized tackle box at her feet and took her backpack from her shoulders and rested it against the stump. “More important,” she continued, “is this your will, or just mine?” She sighed and gazed across the placid surface of this area of the creek, remembering her last solitary creek-side chat with God—no, that hadn’t been just a chat, it had been desperately urgent prayer for her life last summer. She had become violently ill, too weak to make it back into the truck and drive for help.
“I need your input now as surely as I needed it last summer, Lord.”
These past few months, Grant and his kids had drawn her with increasing insistence and warmth into their lives. She didn’t feel torn but she did feel stretched.
Even here, however, in her favorite retreat in the whole world, she couldn’t seem to separate herself emotionally from commitments. She’d become overcommitted at church—a habit of hers for years. She loved working in the church, even helping Archer visit and check on people who had been patients in the ER, but she would need to back away from some of those commitments if she married Grant. A family took time and attention.
She also needed to consider the fact that Grant’s mother, who was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, would need attention. And Lauren’s own family, large as it was, put demands on her time.
She sighed. Though still single at thirty-six, she’d seldom been bored, just lonely for the kind of companionship she and Grant now shared.
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