by Loree Lough
If he’d let her be his friend, that is.
19
It had taken longer than expected to regulate Seth’s vitals, and Reece hung around a half hour after that, just to make sure the boy was stable. The thought of thick, perfectly spiced sauce and big tender meatballs made it hard to keep the speedometer at fifty-five, but he’d managed it. If he’d stepped on the gas and got there five minutes earlier …
He rubbed his eyes, hoping to erase the image from his brain.
No such luck. He’d probably see it for months, every time he closed his eyes.
It would have been easy to despise Jimmy, but the guy had known Taylor for most of her adult life. The fact that he’d held off this long was pretty remarkable. But then, Reece had known her almost as long. Had the singer felt unworthy of her, too? He couldn’t think of any other reason the man hadn’t moved in once Mark was gone.
“Well, old man,” he told himself. “Looks like you can go right on being your egocentric self.” He’d keep right on giving 125 percent to every case, every patient. Do the right thing by his parents. Be anything and everything Eli needed. But why put any effort into becoming a better man if he couldn’t have Taylor?
What he needed more than anything right now was something to put a stop to his self-pitying thoughts.
He hadn’t phrased it as a prayer, and yet his cell phone rang.
He looked for a place to pull over.
Nothing.
Reece thumped the steering wheel in frustration. That left him with two choices: let the call go to voice mail or take it, and hope the cops wouldn’t catch him talking without a headset on. He gritted his teeth and punched Talk.
“Reece?”
Aw, man … if he got a ticket because of his mother, wouldn’t that just be the fudge on the sundae. He snorted at the irony because it was Sunday.
“I’ve called an ambulance,” she said. “Your father … he … it’s bad, really bad, son.”
Guilt, for having assumed she’d called to shoot the breeze, gave way to a peculiar fear: his father was dying, and despite their antagonistic relationship, it was tough to admit.
“How long ago did you call?”
“Seconds before I called you.”
He was, at most, five minutes from Margo’s place. If he could get there before the EMTs, he and his mother could follow the ambulance to the hospital.
“I’m on my way.” She’d been a nurse practitioner in her premissionary life, and the way she’d conducted herself when he’d visited their bleak little village told him she hadn’t left her skills behind. “Are his vitals steady?”
“Yes,” she said, “but he’s coughed up an awful lot of blood.”
He turned on his calm, reassuring doctor voice. “Well, you know what to do. Just keep him as comfortable as you can, and make sure the airway isn’t blocked. I should be there any minute.”
The instant he hung up, Reece dialed 9-1-1, explained the situation to the dispatcher, and asked her to patch him through to the ambo crew. When she did, and he repeated the essentials, recited his ETA, and tromped on the gas pedal, thinking that the next time he inadvertently prayed for a distraction, he’d take care to be more specific.
20
His mother stared through the glass-enclosed IC unit where a nurse held a spit cup under his father’s ashen chin.
“Why is he refusing pain meds?” his mother demanded. “An oxygen mask, at the very least!”
Probably, Reece thought, because in his disoriented mind, he saw his suffering as something God would view as saintly. On second thought, it wouldn’t take delirium to make him think that way. Twisting the Scriptures to suit himself had been part and parcel of his character. The pot and the kettle analogy came to mind as he remembered that for every verse his father fractured, his mother came up with two to back it up.
But this was neither the time nor place for such a declaration.
“The Reverend Wayne Montgomery is a proud man,” he said, and left it at that.
“Pride is a sin.”
He leaned forward slightly to see if the look on her face matched the wrath in her voice.
But she hid behind her hands and started to cry.
He put his arms around her and tried to remember if they’d ever been this close, physically or emotionally. Nothing came to mind, and he stood, patting her bony back and muttering useless epithets until her sobs subsided. She blotted her eyes and blew her nose, walked ramrod straight to her husband’s bedside, and kissed his forehead.
It became a pattern that repeated itself, twice, three times a day, and with the passage of each agonizing hour, his father grew weaker. And yet he hung on. What are you afraid of, Dad? he wondered.
Reece instructed Maureen to reschedule all his appointments, indefinitely, and he called in a few favors to hand any surgery that couldn’t wait to colleagues. He drove his mother to the funeral home and helped her make some preliminary arrangements. They’d never held insurance and hadn’t written a will, so it fell to Reece to absorb the costs.
He hadn’t taken any of Taylor’s calls, hadn’t answered any of her messages for reasons that had nothing to do with his father’s condition. But when Friday morning rolled around, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. This was an Eli weekend, and like it or not, he had to call and cancel it.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, first thing. “It’s such a relief to hear your voice! I’ve been trying to reach you, to explain that—”
“I’m at the hospital,” he said.
Silence. He could almost hear the wheels, spinning in her head: You’re a doctor. Where else would you be?
“It’s my father. He’s dying.” The way that last word came out, dry and trembly and reedy, surprised him. He cleared his throat and started over. “So, I won’t be able to take Eli this weekend. I’d tell him myself, but—”
“Oh, Reece …”
The sweetness of her voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and much as he wanted to cling to it, Reece shrugged it off. He wanted what was best for her, and if that was Jimmy, well, so be it. He could wish her well and happiness without being witness to it. At least, he hoped he could.
“It isn’t like Eli knew my dad, but …”
“But they spent some pretty amazing hours together these past few weeks.”
Okay. So Taylor got it. Got him. Well enough to read his mind, maybe even his heart, and know that Eli was facing yet another loss. Already.
“I’ll give it a lot of thought and prayer before I explain things to him.”
“I, ah, thanks, Taylor. I’d better get back to my mom. She’s taking it pretty hard.”
“How long have they been together?”
Have, he noted. How like her not to get all negative before she had to be. “Thirty-eight years.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of sharing.”
Anyone else would have quoted the latest divorce statistics. Said his parents should be commended for outlasting most marriages. Leave it to Taylor to say the one thing that would put tears in his eyes and a sob in his throat.
What the heck was wrong with her? Didn’t she realize this was hard enough without her being so … loving?
“I’m praying,” she said, her voice even softer than a whisper, “for your dad and mom and for you, too.”
“I, ah, thanks,” he repeated.
“Can I say just one more thing before I let you go?”
He couldn’t stop her, short of ending the call. Didn’t want to anyway, so … “Sure.”
“What you think you saw …”
Now why’d she have to remind him of that ugly scene?
“Trust me, it wasn’t what it looked like.”
Oh. Really. So you, all tangled up in Jimmy’s arms, kissin’ the daylights out of him … that was a mirage, huh?
“Trust me,” she echoed and hung up.
A flicker of hope flared in his heart as he stared at TAYLOR emblazoned across the tiny screen. For a reason he co
uldn’t explain, he did trust her. The real question was … should she trust him?
Reece headed back to the ICU, where he intended to do some praying of his own. He didn’t deserve the love of a woman like Taylor, but if the Good Lord answered his prayers, he’d spend the rest of his life earning it.
21
THREE YEARS LATER
Hey, quit hoggin’ the bowl,” Reece said with a playful elbow nudge to Eli’s ribs.
“Hey,” he echoed, “it was your idea to stick me in the middle.” And then he mimicked Stan Laurel’s smile to a T.
Laughing, Taylor said, “These old movies are just as funny today as they were in the ’40s.”
Reece grabbed another handful of popcorn. “There are those who consider slapstick pedantic and silly.”
“I’m sure glad we aren’t those.”
Reece ruffled his hair. “That’s m’boy.”
Taylor went to the kitchen to refill their hot chocolate mugs.
“Will you bring me a napkin when you come back?” called Reece’s mom.
“I’ll be right there.”
That’s what she’d said that bleak Friday, nearly two weeks to the day when the ambulance had rushed his dad to the hospital. Before he could utter a syllable, she’d known, somehow, that he hadn’t just called to cancel another weekend with Eli. “Oh, no,” she’d said. “I’ll be right there.”
Not only had Taylor been at his side as his dad exhaled his last breath, but she’d helped him console his mom and make all the final arrangements for the wake, and the burial, and the small gathering of friends at Margo’s house afterward.
And she’d been there ever since.
“Oh, cool,” Eli said, pointing at the TV. “A commercial for Jimmy’s movie.”
“Such a handsome young man,” Judith said. “And that voice. Mmm-mmm-mmm.”
Eli clapped a hand over his eyes. “Sheesh, Grandmom, could you keep the mush to a minimum, please?”
Laughing, Judith said, “It’s times like these I wish you weren’t quite so bright, young man. Minimum, indeed!”
Reece watched as Jimmy raced from the right side of the screen to the left, dodging bullets from behind while firing a gleaming pistol over his shoulder. Hard to believe, Reece thought, that the singing movie star had once been boots over Stetson in love with his wife.
The thought raised a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Eli wanted to know.
“Oh, nothing. Just thought of a joke I heard.”
She came back into the room, carrying a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of her famous brownies. After delivering one of each to everyone, she flopped down beside Eli. “Best decision we ever made,” she said, grabbing a treat, “was to take down that B&B sign. Don’t get me wrong,” she added, using the brownie as a pointer, “I loved meeting people from all over the country, but isn’t it nice, just the four of us?”
“I like it better,” Eli said.
“Me, too,” his grandmother agreed.
“Well,” Reece put in, “breakfast sure ain’t the event it used to be.”
Taylor reached behind Eli’s head and smacked his shoulder. She’d done the same thing the night he’d gone to her house and made his big confession. No way he intended to give up on her without a fight, he’d told her before launching into the story of his pathetic life.
“You don’t even know the meaning of the word self-centered,” she’d announced, and proceeded to run down her own list: she’d forgotten to thank her mom for taking her to the ballet, forgotten to apologize to her dad on the morning of the big event; the next day, a tornado blew through town and crushed the church and everyone in it … including her parents. She’d deprived Mark of children by insisting they work hard and save money to buy a house first. And the pièce de résistance, ignoring the call her brother had placed, all the way from Afghanistan. She’d been too busy folding sheets and fluffing towels to pick up and found out later he’d called from the hospital tent to ask her to pray with him … on the very night he died.
After half an hour or so of playing Who’s Baddest of Them All, she tired of the game and smacked his shoulder. “We might as well get married, then, because who else would have a couple of selfish, greedy, self-centered pigs like us?”
Reece reached behind Eli and mussed her hair. “Hey, remember the night you proposed to me?”
She groaned. “Will I ever hear the end of that?”
“ ’Fraid not. You said ‘for better or worse,’ so …”
“Reece … really,” his mother scolded. “You really should be more respectful of your wife.”
Sometimes, he thought, I wish Taylor hadn’t insisted you move in with us.
But that wasn’t true, and he knew it. He loved having his mom in his life again. And Taylor had given him that, too.
Eli peeked under the quilt. “Say … what’s going on under there?”
“It’s just your baby brother,” she said, “trying to prepare you for what’s to come.”
“Well, take it easy, or there will be popcorn and brownie crumbs all over the couch.”
Callie chose that moment to hop onto Taylor’s lap. “What’s the matter,” she cooed as the cat rubbed its face against her cheek, “you feelin’ a bit left out of things?”
“Better watch it, fur-face,” Reece said. “I took you out of that cat trap, I can put you back into it.”
Callie took it as an invitation to leap over Eli and into Reece’s lap.
So here he sat, master of the Misty Wolf Inn, surrounded by a live-in mother, an eight-year-old nephew-turned-son, a very pregnant wife, and a cat that was purring so loudly he was tempted to turn up the TV. Long, long way from where you were before Taylor came into your life, he thought, smiling to himself.
“I forget,” Eli said, poking at the big white square in the middle of the quilt, “what’s this one mean?”
“It means,” she said, winking at Reece, “there’s room for me to add memories your brothers and sisters will make.”
Reece winked back as Eli nodded.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “That’s right.” He looked up at Taylor again to ask “Are you going to make memory quilts for all of them, too?”
“Well, maybe,” she said, drawing out the word, “if there’s time between all the cooking and baking and cleaning and—”
“Ugh,” he teased. “Sorry I asked.”
Now he stroked the square that had once been his fishing shirt and turned to Taylor. “Will you tell me the story of the quilt?”
“Again?”
Reece loved this game they played—Taylor pretending to hate the telling of it, Eli pretending it was the first time he’d heard the story of how each little scrap had become part of the quilt. And he had to admit, he liked hearing the story, too.
Taylor had turned the thing this way and that, reading all the captions, explaining how she’d assembled each patch, sewing by hand until her fingers were swollen and sore.
“Poor baby,” Reece joked.
She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, yes,” she sighed, “the things I’ve done …”
Eli grinned and bit his lips to keep from blurting out the ending he’d heard so many times before. It was all Reece could do to keep from saying “Wait for it … wait for it …”
For a kid Eli’s age, even one second was too long.
Winking, Reece lifted his hand to get Taylor and Judith’s attention, and once he had it, he dropped it, like an orchestra conductor.
Their voices blended in discordant harmony that chased Callie from his lap:
“… for love of Eli.”
Discussion Questions
1. What was Reece’s most redeeming character trait?
2. What would you say is his least attractive personality quirk?
3. Is there one element to Taylor’s personality that best defines her?
4. Is that element the reason you liked her?
5. Did you identify with any of her f
laws?
6. And what about Reece? Do you feel that you have anything in common with him?
7. Who is your favorite secondary character?
8. Why does that individual stand out in your mind?
9. If you had to choose one spiritual theme for this story, what would it be?
10. If asked to describe the story in just a few sentences, what would you say about it?
11. Did you feel the interactions between main and secondary characters were realistic?
12. Without looking, can you remember the Bible verse that appeared on the first pages of this novel? (If you can, your memory is better than mine!)
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We hope you enjoyed For Love of Eli and that you will continue to read the Quilts of Love series of books from Abingdon Press. Here’s an excerpt from the next book in the series, Christa Allan’s Threads of Hope.
Threads of Hope
Christa Allan
1
After three years, it finally happened.
Janie Bettencourt announced her promotion. She would be moving from Houston to New York to become Senior Editor of Trends magazine.
The promotion Nina O’Malley had hoped would be her own.
And, as if that news wasn’t enough to justify Nina adding banana splits as main dish items on her diet, ice cream became its own food group after Janie added that joining her would be staff photographer Brady Lambert.