One Perfect Day

by Lauraine Snelling

  She wanted you all to know and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for all your prayers. We rushed out without a laptop or she would be able to chat with you in person.

  Again, our thanks,

  Heather and her mother

  Jenna glanced at the number of posts since December 22, when she knew Heather had been on last, but decided not to read them unless Heather asked her to. Switching to her own account, she wrote a general message and sent it to her family, Arlen’s family—at least those who had stayed in contact—and several friends at work. Signing off, she thought longingly of the bed waiting for her at the hotel. Surely, Heather would sleep for a couple of hours at least. She flipped her cell phone open and called the nurses’ station on four. After leaving a message for her daughter, she made her sleepy way to her room and collapsed on the bed, which had already been made up.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nora

  The memorial service went well, someone told Nora. Whatever that meant. Since she’d ordered herself to remain frozen so she wouldn’t wail or collapse, she just nodded her thanks. Some of Charlie’s friends had told stories about him, one girl unable to finish because of her tears. If she didn’t look at people’s faces, she could hang on to her control. Shredding tear-soaked tissues helped. When a young man on crutches stopped in front of them, Nora tried to smile at him, but her cheeks refused to move.

  “If he hadn’t been taking me home, he wouldn’t have been on that road at that time.” He leaned on his crutches to blow his nose. “I’m so sorry. Charlie was the greatest.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Gordon said gently as he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Some things just happen.”

  Nora nodded. Say something. Help him. But she couldn’t think of a word to say.

  After he stumped away, she clung to Gordon’s arm, and they stayed close together, holding each other up, thanking people for coming and listening to Charlie remembrances. They moved through the crowd, gracious on the outside. But Nora was screaming on the inside. They found Christi huddled with two friends on the steps to the altar. While their eyes showed they’d been crying, Christi said she’d be right with her folks.

  “Thank you, Luke,” Gordon said as they were slowly making their way to the door and their pastor stopped in front of them.

  “This was one of the harder ones.” Luke shook his head. “God has gotten us through this far and He won’t quit now.”

  “Are you sure?” Nora blinked repeatedly, anything to stem the sobs now burning at the back of her eyes and throat, dangerously melting her icy resolve.

  “Yes, Nora, Gordon, my dear friends, I am absolutely sure. I know that right now you are struggling with that, but when one of us is hurting, we all are and the Holy Spirit has promised that when we can’t pray, He will pray for us.”

  Susan Watson, Nora’s best friend and a fireball in human form, barreled through the door. “I’m sorry, Benny is sick and I couldn’t find anyone to watch him until John came home.”

  “That’s okay.” Nora steeled herself for the hug she knew was coming. So far, she’d maintained, but this was Susan, with whom she’d shared much of her life in these last few years.

  “What a mob.”

  “And many have already left.” Luke shook Gordon’s hand. “Call me any time and if I don’t hear from you, I’ll call.”

  “Thank you.”

  Someone she didn’t remember hurried by, squeezed her arm, then said, “Let me know how we can help.”

  If one more person says, “Let me know how I can help you,” I will run screaming or fly in their face. Nora kept her muscles stiff to keep from doing either.

  Susan studied her and seemed to understand how fragile her control was. She hugged Gordon and squeezed Nora’s hand. “I’ll be over tomorrow.”

  “Take care of Benny first.”

  “He’ll probably be all better by then. You know how little kids bounce back.” Benny had been her surprise child, after she’d already started early menopause. She patted Nora’s shoulder. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “No, but if you’ll take home some of the things others have brought, that would be a help.” Nora looked toward the door where Christi waited. She tapped Gordon’s arm and nodded toward their daughter, then told Susan, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I see.” Gordon guided her toward the door with a gentle hand in the middle of her back.

  When they were finally in the car, Nora buckled her seat belt and slumped against the door. How she had gotten through it was beyond her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Christi with her head pillowed on the seat back, eyes closed, her jaw clenched. One tear squeezed from beneath her eyelid and trickled down her cheek.

  Nora reached between the seats of the SUV and patted her daughter’s knee.

  “Mom, don’t.” The words came out strangled.

  “Okay.” She rolled her lips together. Even one small act of kindness was too hard to accept. It shattered the hard-won control, and with that, the tears would come back; this time, they might never stop. Gordon pulled into the garage, and after turning off the car, he leaned his head on his hands on the top of the steering wheel. He heaved a soul-thrashing sigh, sniffed and opened the door. The empty place where Charlie’s Jeep usually sat looked big enough to park a semi. Gordon shuffled as he came around the car and opened the doors for Nora and Christi.

  They hurried to the door of the house, hearing Betsy’s yelps of welcome, doing their best to ignore the emptiness.

  Betsy greeted each of them, then looked for Charlie. She paced beside Nora as she hung her wool coat on a hanger, making sure the long scarf lay flat around the neck of the coat under the collar, then placed her lined leather gloves in the basket hanging on the door, each action precise, controlled. She took Gordon’s coat, treating it the same way, and watched Christi go up the stairs.

  “Would a cup of coffee help?”

  How worn her husband looked. She shook her head. “I think a nap is the best idea. Maybe I’ll sleep for a year.” She’d heard the first year was the hardest. If Christmas never came again, she’d not mind.

  “Think I’ll fix some anyway.” He stared at her.

  She could tell he wanted her to join him, but right now, she had nothing left. She looked into his eyes and saw the glisten of tears. Choking back a sob, she turned, but Gordon wrapped his arms around her and the sobs broke through, leaving her crying against his chest, his tears watering her hair.

  When the storm passed, they climbed the stairs, steps matching, and followed Betsy into their room. Nora hung her black suit in the closet and slid into cranberry sweats. She joined Gordon, who’d hung his suit on the butler, under the covers. She rolled on her side and her husband pulled her into his arms. They lay together, spoon fashion, letting the communal warmth send them into slumber.

  She felt him get up sometime later, thought about doing the same, ignored the thought and fell back into sleep so deep that even the nightmare, if she had it, failed to rouse her. Gordon had not returned when she got up to use the bathroom, Betsy had taken his place on the bed. She could hear music from Christi’s room, but instead of investigating the strange phenomenon, she crawled back into bed. For a moment, she’d thought the music was Charlie’s. He was the one inclined to play loud rock—Christian rock, but still loud—not Christi.

  Sometime during that night, she heard Gordon snoring beside her. The sound brought some comfort. She rolled over and patted his shoulder before falling back into the deep, dark well.

  In the morning, Gordon was gone, his suit hung up and the bathroom set back to rights after his shower. Nora pushed the hair out of her eyes and staggered down the stairs, expecting him to be sitting in the kitchen. No Gordon. But a note on the black marble counter caught her by surprise: “I’ve gone back to work. I can’t stand staying home and doing nothing. G.”

  She read between the lines: And think about Charlie. At least he had a job to go to. She set the machine for
one cup, listening to the beans grind and the coffee process, then carried her mug to stand at the bay window, looking down toward the lake. New snow hid former tracks and frosted the pine trees again. The blue spruce that had been their Christmas tree years ago wore the snow coat with ease. Black-capped chickadees flitted about the feeder. Gordon had taken the time to fill that too.

  Go skiing or go back to bed. She sipped her coffee and watched the birds. Or write in her journal. She shook her head. Not that. Oblivion with bed, exhaustion with skis and then oblivion. She eyed two baskets of cards sitting on the counter. One of Christmas cards, some read, but none of the latest; the other, sympathy cards. No chance she was going to open those today. Nada on the journal too. All she would do was cry, and so far this day, she’d not succumbed to tears.

  When the phone rang, she thought about letting the answering machine pick it up, but instead, she crossed the room and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Good, you’re up. I’m bringing my skis over. We can go around the lake.” Click.

  Nora stared at the buzzing phone. Leave it to Susan. If she locked the doors and refused to answer, she could go back to bed. No, Susan would storm the house somehow. She climbed the stairs, checked on Christi, who was sleeping soundly, and dressed for outside. Forcing herself to ignore the lure of the covers, she made her way back downstairs.

  Betsy heard the car drive up and went to stand at the front door, tail wagging.

  Nora pulled open the door before Susan could ring the doorbell. “I’ll go on one condition. You will not ask me any questions or make any comments about—” She almost lost her morning’s record of no tears.

  “Whatever.” Susan shrugged, her navy headband holding her hair back, cross-country skis over her shoulder.

  “Fine.” Nora turned and stomped into the mudroom, where she slid her feet into her boots. All geared up, she lifted her skis and poles from the rack Gordon had hung by the outside door of the garage and joined Susan at the top of the slope. Betsy barked her delight and plowed through the small drift that always formed off the deck.

  At least someone is happy today. The thought made Nora clench her jaw. She stabbed her poles in the snow and pushed off, not bothering to see if Susan was right behind, but knowing she was.

  Charlie would have whooped his delight in the slope to the lake on fresh powder.

  Why does everything have to go back to Charlie?

  She turned right at the flat and commanded her body into action. Reach, stride and glide. The rhythm settled into her muscles, her puffs of breath fogging the way in front of her, leaving moisture on her face that on a colder day would have turned to ice. Gray clouds hung low, threatening more snow. She picked up the pace. If they had a whiteout, they at least had Betsy to guide them home. Skiing back across the lake was not an option yet. While the lake was iced over, it had not been cold enough, long enough, for deep ice to form.

  “Hey, take it easy.” The shout came from somewhere behind her. She waggled a pole and kept on going, all her concentration on getting the next breath. With her lungs on fire and her legs screaming, she finally stopped and bent over to catch her wind. Sweat trickled down her spine and from under her arms. Heat radiated from the neck of her ski jacket and burned her wet skin.

  She looked behind her, to Susan poling after her, but obviously not even attempting to keep the pace that Nora had set. Betsy sat in the snow, her ribs pumping, panting hard. Nora set off again, this time tempering her pace. Should one push a broken heart with such a pace?

  Again she ignored the south hill and continued around the lake, pushing herself as hard as she could, and then a little more. When she reached the back door, the stitch in her side doubled her over. Gasping, and her eyes blurring, she swallowed repeatedly to keep from vomiting.

  “You’ll pay for this tomorrow.” Susan huffed her way up the rise. “What kind of an idiot are you?”

  “Do you want coffee or not?” The words staggered between gasping breaths.

  “Yes! I earned it!” She leaned over and snapped the releases on her skis.

  “The rule still holds.”

  “Fine, we’ll talk about Hardanger,” Susan snapped back.

  “And don’t be nice to me.”

  “Am I ever?”

  “Just trying to survive.” Nora leaned her skis against the wall inside the garage and kicked her boots over the hedgehog brush to leave the snow on her boots in the garage. Betsy bounded before her through the open door and headed for her water bowl, where she drank and drank and drank.

  “See, you nearly killed the dog too.” Susan pulled her headband loose and cinnamon curls fell to her shoulders. They both left their outer gear in the mudroom and padded into the kitchen on wool-stockinged feet.

  “What happened to the mantel?”

  “Off-limits question.”

  Susan raised her hands in surrender. “Where’s Gordon?”

  “Gone to work.”

  “Already?”

  “He can’t stand it here any more than I can. But at least he has a place to go.” Her glare warned her friend not to pursue that line of discussion. She set the coffeemaker for two cups and crossed to the refrigerator for the cream for Susan’s coffee. “If you must know, I burned the pine boughs and cedar swags.”

  “Intentionally?”

  “Like some pyromaniacal freak.”

  “Did it help?”

  Nora shrugged. “Gordon saved me from myself.”

  “Oh, Nora, I—”

  Nora held up a hand, palm out. “Don’t. I said don’t, remember?” She handed Susan a steaming mug of coffee. “Be careful, it’s really hot.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  The fire had burned to ashes, so Nora ignored the chairs in front of the fireplace and set her cup on the table in the window bay. Knowing Susan’s sweet tooth, she retrieved one of the plates of cookies someone had brought and set them in the center of the table. The forlorn arrangement left over from her burning mocked her, so she removed it to the pantry.

  “Part of the frenzy?”

  “Yes.” Nora sat down and propped her elbows on the table to hold her mug at mouth level, a good barrier to hide behind. “So how’s Benny?”

  “Playing over at Judy’s.” Susan nibbled a lemon bar from the plate. “I’m sorry I missed yesterday, I—”

  Nora shook her head. “Off-limits.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.”

  Nora glanced over at the phone, where the red light announced someone had called. She had no intention of finding out who.

  “You have to talk about it, you know.”

  “I know. I will, but not yet.”

  “That’s not healthy.”

  “Too bad. I am just trying to get by.” She rose and went to make more coffee. Anything to get away from the love and compassion in her friend’s gaze. She turned when she heard Christi coming down the stairs, but the smile she wanted to wear to greet her daughter died between heart and mouth. Instead, surprise caught her and she blurted, “You’ve been painting?”

  “Yeah, so?” Christi’s voice sounded wary, on guard, and ready to fight.

  “Nothing, I mean I-I’m glad for you.”

  Christi shrugged. “Any more coffee?”

  “Well, I can make some.” What was the matter? Looking at Christi was like looking through an old window that had faults in the glass, leaving her feeling like if she squinted, perhaps the scene would clear up.

  But it didn’t.

  “Are you all right?”

  Christi stared at her, dark eyes hooded, her mouth a straight line.

  “I mean, are you sick, catching a bug?”

  The straight line bent down slightly. “Oh no, I’m just fine and dandy.”

  “That was a stupid question. I’m sorry.” Nora handed her daughter the cup that was ready and pushed the button for two more. Good thing they had such a complete machine, for the way her hands were shaking, she couldn’t have poured water into the reservoir
if her life depended on it. Where had the sarcasm come from? Christi never did sarcasm well. Nora closed her eyes for a moment as the follow-up thought reverberated in her head. Most likely from the same place mine does. Here was a new problem: how could she help her daughter when she couldn’t help herself?

  Chapter Twenty

  Jenna

  Mom, remember what you said one day when I asked about a dog?”

  Jenna stared at her daughter. “Which time?” Day four postsurgery and already Heather was making plans. Her daughter had always wanted a dog, but Jenna had begged off, saying, “Someday when you are stronger.” Besides, they had Elmer and he was a notorious dog hater.

  “Oh, a few months ago.”

  “As in ‘get a dog when you were stronger’ or ‘when Elmer exited this life’?”

  “The first. We can train Elmer to accept a dog. I read some articles on bringing a new puppy into a house with other dogs or cats even. How to help them adapt to each other.”

  “Really.” Jenna knew it wasn’t a question, but was marking time. “You know I’m not a big animal person. Let’s let Elmer remain king for a while longer before we make any decisions.”

  “Are you sure Matilda is taking care of him?”

  “Heather, she adores that cat.”

  “He’s probably sulking because I’m gone so long.”

  “Probably.”

  The nurse breezed in with a happy smile. “Good news, today you get to walk down the hall.” The afternoon before, Heather had hobbled to the chair and was certain she’d never make it back to the bed.

  Heather groaned, then grinned at her mother. “That was just for effect, because she says all her patients dread walking because it hurts. Not me, I know I’m stronger today because I’ve been standing twice already this morning.”

  “You are not supposed to get out of bed without supervision.” The nurse wagged her finger. “But I might forget I heard that if you tell me that good-looking uncle of yours is coming back. Talk about eye candy.”