Curious, but encouraged, Mike obliged. And then he waited.
A moment later he heard his mother’s phone ringing. Loretta answered in her pleasant voice, but her pleasantness soon gave way to irritation. The identity of the caller was a mystery, but whoever it was definitely had the upper hand. Mike couldn’t remember his mother ever giving in, not being able to put in a word. But he could hear her irritation.
“You did what?”
“How could you do this to me?”
“What… how… why… No!”
“Leticia Evans, you wouldn’t do that!”
Finally, the call ended. At least it sounded like it. Something, presumably the phone, crashed into something else. Footsteps went across the apartment and back again. And then the door creaked open.
“I don’t know how you did it, but I’m ready to go. Let’s get this over with.”
Mike wasn’t sure who Letitia Evans was or how she managed it. He’d have to meet this Greta. If she was single, he’d take her flowers. Or take her out for lunch. Anything she wanted.
But in the meantime he needed to get his mother to her appointment. The way she was fuming, it could be a long ride.
Loretta climbed into Mike’s rental car and set her purse on her lap. She sat ramrod straight and stared ahead, lips pursed together. Fine. He could use the silence to think of a solution to his other problem.
The highway leading northeast to Grand Rapids was lined with trees just starting to change over to their autumn colors. Mike always felt a sense of peace driving through the woodsy areas. In Chicago, it seemed, trees were a rare commodity. How did kids grow up without trees to climb, woods to play hide-and-seek, never enjoying the cooling shade against the summer heat?
Michigan had a thriving tourist industry. After he got home, he’d make some phone calls… Mackinac Island, Pentwater, Traverse City. He’d heard about an event in Grand Rapids called Art Prize where the entire city showcased works of art, and people voted for their favorites. Maybe he could spend a day taking pictures of the downtown area and interviewing some seniors about what they saw and how they got around. The Holland Tulip Festival would take place next spring. Ideas started spinning.
The drive would have been relaxing if it hadn’t been for the angry woman sitting beside him. He glanced again at his mother. Loretta still hadn’t uttered a word. Well, that was fine with him. He activated the voice recorder on his phone and began dictating. If he didn’t record his ideas now, he’d forget. Mom sat in stony silence, so by the time he reached the city limits, he’d outlined a handful of plans. When he had a chance tonight, he’d put them in writing then look up some phone numbers and make arrangements to visit. Yes, he could do this.
He pulled onto the section of Michigan Avenue known as Medical Mile and located the correct building. The parking ramp was located next to it and he let his mother out before parking. He panicked when he walked into the medical building to find his mother had disappeared. He might have known she wouldn’t wait for him. Spying the building directory, he located the doctor’s suite number and took the elevator to the correct office. Loretta wasn’t in the waiting room, so he inquired at the desk. Yes, Loretta had arrived for her appointment and was in the examination room. No, he couldn’t go and speak to the doctor without her permission. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he took a seat to wait.
Less than fifteen minutes later, his mother emerged, her coat on and buttoned. She’d probably never taken it off. Barely acknowledging him, she headed straight for the door, leaving him to follow. Did she even speak to the doctor?
The drive back to Zutphen was as silent as the trip to Grand Rapids. He tried asking what the doctor had told her, but she answered in monosyllables, and he eventually gave up. Before he knew it, he’d returned to the parsonage. He helped his mother out of the car and saw her to the house. As soon as they entered the front door, she shook off his guiding hand and went to her room.
“Go on back to your room at the Rose Garden. I’m lying down for the rest of the day.”
Knowing there wasn’t much else he could do, he left. It looked like he’d need to find an apartment or something more long term than his bed and breakfast room. Maybe his brother would have an idea. He walked over to the church… or rather where it used to be. Builders had made a lot of progress in the nine months since the fire. But the building wouldn’t be ready for worship services or any other activities for a while.
It looked as if the outside was nearly finished. The new building would be slightly larger than the old one had been and would have a slightly more modern design. But the tall steeple, seen for miles around, would remain. The Zutphen Community Church had stood tall through generations of parishioners, and the current congregation had insisted that this could not change. Sometimes, tradition was good.
Turning back to the parsonage, he went to Matt’s study. His brother looked up with a smile.
“How did it go with Mom this morning?”
“I got her there, thanks to Greta and someone named Leticia Evans.”
Matt’s eyes widened and he set his pen down. “Greta and Leticia got Mom to go to the doctor?”
“Yes. I called Greta because Mom wouldn’t come out of her apartment. I told Mom I was going to call the police. Didn’t know what else to do, so I called. Greta got Leticia to call Mom, and the next thing I knew, she was storming out.”
Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his brother laugh so hard. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he nearly fell out of his chair. It lifted his heart to see his serious sibling so cheerful.
Finally, after Matt got his laughter under control, he wiped his eyes. “So, what happened at the doctor’s?”
“Same as always. She refused to let me in, wouldn’t talk all the way there or back. Went straight to her room when we got home.”
Matt sobered. “Sounds like it’s time for the big guns.”
“You think we’ll be able to get Power of Attorney to see her medical records?”
“We’ll have to try. Let’s start with Leticia Evans. If she knows how to get Mom to do something she doesn’t want to do, I want to find out how it’s done.”
Chapter Seven
Helen stood in the middle of her living room. Making a slow pirouette, she took in mementos of the past forty years of her life. Pictures, souvenirs, knick-knacks of all kinds. The cuckoo clock handed down from Oma and Opa DeGroot. How could she bear to part with any of it? Paul said she’d be able to keep only a small portion of it when she moved to a smaller place. She’d already gone through her bedroom and boxed up most of her clothing. That hadn’t been quite so painful, since most of it was outdated, worn, or didn’t fit. But this room and the den — the heart of her home — these were the rooms where she would have the most trouble “dumping” things, as her son put it.
Paul insisted she could no longer afford to live in her home. Her son worked with numbers every day, so he must know what he was talking about. He’d taken her to Holland to visit some condos built for seniors that she could apply for, but before she could move, she would need to “unload” most of her stuff. Junk, he’d called it. He didn’t seem to have a sentimental bone in his body. Hadn’t had any interest in keeping any of his high school mementos — sports letters, graduation photos, any of it. “You’ve got the pictures, Mom. I’ve got the memories. That’s good enough for me.”
So now she had to toss away her memories. No, the things that sparked her memories. Nancy and Bonnie had both promised to come over later to help put prices on things for a garage sale. Her daughters-in-law were much more knowledgeable about that kind of thing. Nancy had already placed an ad in the local flyer, and Bonnie had offered to post signs in some of the local businesses. Thank goodness both of her sons had married such kind, helpful women.
It was a sunny October day, one the weathermen referred to as Indian Summer. Feeling a little stuffy, she went about opening all the doors and windows. The warm breeze calmed her a bit, and
she went out to her car to bring in the boxes she’d gotten from Zylstra’s Market the day before.
Now what? She’d probably need to sell most of the furniture, too. Like the hutch holding her collection of angels. Would she have to get rid of all the angels, too? She’d probably have to sell the piano. So many fond memories included family gatherings around that piano. Joe’d had a wonderful baritone voice and had loved to sing while she accompanied him. How could she possibly bear to see it go? Her vision clouded as the tears started to fall. Before long, they gave way to sobs, and she sank to the floor in an emotional mess.
She didn’t know how long she knelt there, but a knock on her front door gave her a start. She searched her memory, wondering if she’d forgotten about an appointment. Nancy and Bonnie wouldn’t have knocked at the front door, they would have simply walked in through the garage. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed. Getting up, she stepped toward the front door.
A tall figure filled the doorway. With the sun behind him, it was difficult to make out his features clearly. Or maybe it was the tears still filling her eyes that prevented her from recognizing him.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. DeGroot? I’m Mike Sikkema. I believe we ran into each other at Zylstra’s Market the other night, when you were reaching for the almond paste. And we saw each other again at the high school on Sunday.”
“Oh! Of course. Sikkema? Are you—”
“Matt is my brother. I wondered if I could speak to you about the apartment behind your garage. But I can come back later if this is a bad time.”
“Oh no. Forgive me.” She opened the door to let him in. “I’m just boxing things up for a big garage sale.” She sniffled and gave a nervous laugh. “I must have kicked up a lot of dust. Excuse me while I grab some tissues. Have a seat, please,” she insisted, waving toward the sofa.
Mike sat, and she hurried to the bathroom to blow her nose and compose herself. A glance at the mirror had her gasping in embarrassment. Her hair was in disarray and her eyes were red and blotchy, and tear stains trailed down her cheeks. She ran a wet washcloth over her face and made a pass through her hair with a comb. After a deep breath, she decided she was ready to face her guest.
She started toward the living room. “Would you like some coffee, Mr. Sikkema? I have a fresh pot.”
He turned his face to her and smiled. He looked a lot like his brother, but a little older, and a little more… cosmopolitan, perhaps. The haircut and clothing bespoke of big city tastes. But he still had the warm, compassionate eyes of her pastor.
“Nothing for me, thanks. I was just hoping I’d be able to find out if you were interested in renting to me on a short term basis, and if so, I’d like to see it.”
“Oh! Well, I suppose if it’s for a short term that would be good. I have to sell this house. My son tells me I can’t afford it any more.”
“Your son tells you that? Do you disagree with him?”
“I… I don’t know. He manages my finances. I never had much to do with them when my husband was alive, and Paul took over when he died. But I know the allowance he gives me after paying my bills isn’t much, and he says the only way to change that is to cut my expenses by moving to someplace smaller.”
“I see. Well, perhaps if I can rent your apartment that will help pay for moving expenses. Or maybe it will help you afford the house a little longer.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to return when one of her sons could be there, but something stopped the words from emerging. This is something you can decide on your own. She nodded. “All right. Let me look for the keys and you can see what you think.” She moved toward the kitchen, took a deep breath, and tried to think. Where in the world were those keys? She and Joe had built the apartment for her parents when they’d needed more care and were unable to live on their own. After they’d passed on, Paul and Nancy had used it when they first married. Later, Jonathan and Bonnie had lived there. No one had used it in the last five years. Where were the keys? She pulled open several drawers, looking for the key ring.
“Hi, Mom.” Bonnie stepped into the kitchen, carrying a large cup from the coffee kiosk at Zylstra’s. “Do you have company?” she asked. “I thought I was supposed to come today.”
“Good morning, dear. Pastor Sikkema’s brother is here asking about the apartment. I can’t find the keys. Do you know where they are?”
“Sure. You put them in an envelope and put them in the bottom drawer of your writing desk.”
“Oh, of course! Thank you so much.” She rushed off to the study, found the keys, and went back to the living room, where Bonnie had introduced herself to Mike and was having a lively conversation about gourmet coffee.
“Thanks to my wonderful daughter-in-law, I have the keys,” she announced. “Do you want to look at it now?”
“Certainly, if it’s no trouble,” he replied, standing.
“Do you have anything you want me to work on while you’re out there, Mom?” Bonnie asked.
“I have a few boxes of clothing and odds and ends in my bedroom. If you could go through those and decide how much they’re worth, that would be a big help.”
Bonnie nodded. “Sure.” Turning to Mike, she cast a sunny smile. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Sikkema. I hope you like the apartment. I think it’s a great idea for Mom to rent it out. Jon and I worry about her rattling about in this big house by herself.” She took off down the hall toward the bedroom.
Helen gestured to the front door. “Let’s go around the house to the side entrance.”
~~~~
Mike followed Helen around the house. The paved walkway was overgrown with weeds, and it looked as if the lawn was badly in need of mowing. The house’s appearance contrasted with most of the homes in this area. Most followed the Dutch tradition of manicured lawns and tasteful landscaping. This place looked like it had once been well kept, but now it looked… neglected. Probably the son hadn’t continued his father’s pride in the house. Or maybe he was busy with his own house. But then Helen had mentioned money woes. She’d never sell the house looking like this. Especially when surrounded by immaculately kept homes. Maybe he could help…
But no. He had problems enough of his own. He’d look at the apartment and see if it suited his needs.
Five minutes later, he knew. The charming little apartment was perfect. It had comfortable furniture, plenty of room to stretch, and wireless Internet. He hadn’t expected that, but maybe her husband had used it for his business.
She certainly didn’t seem old. She looked healthy and moved with grace. Other than not remembering where the keys were, she seemed sharp mentally.
“How much would you charge to rent this place out?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “The last people to use this place were my son and daughter-in-law, and we didn’t charge them all that much.” She named a figure that had Mike’s eyebrows rising.
“That’s pretty cheap rent. Right now I’m spending a hundred dollars a night at the bed and breakfast.”
She gasped. “You’re staying at Lilah’s place? The Rose Garden?”
He nodded.
She muttered something that sounded like, “Doggone shyster,” before pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. He had a sudden urge to kiss the frown away…
Where in the world had that thought come from? I don’t even know this woman.
She seemed to have come to a decision. “How about two hundred dollars a week?”
He stuck his hand out. “Deal.”
Chapter Eight
Mike hummed along with the tune blaring from the radio as he took the highway headed toward Grand Rapids. Now that he’d moved out of the Rose Garden and settled into Helen’s apartment, he’d decided to check out a few of the venues of the Art Prize competition, and the sunny October day would be perfect for strolling through the city. Traffic was light at this time of day, and for the most part he had the road to himself.
A lone gr
ay car sat on the side of the road a few miles away from the nearest exit. It looked a lot like the car his new landlady drove, and he slowed down. Sure enough, Helen sat in the driver’s seat, glaring at her cell phone. He pulled in ahead of her and walked back to her car. She glanced up, saw him, and opened her own door.
“Hello, Mike.” She seemed glad to see him.
“Hi. What happened? Got car trouble?”
“Brain trouble. I ran out of gas because I forgot to fill up. And yes, I’ve seen the light blinking on the dash for the last week.”
“It’s been blinking for a week?”
“Yes, but I’ve been busy. I’ve had to—” She broke off suddenly, and her smile disappeared. “Did Paul send you here?”
“Who?”
“My son. Did he call you to come and check on me, to make sure his helpless mother managed to get all the way to Grand Rapids on her own? You realize it’s less than an hour away.”
“Um, no. Nobody sent me. I saw you sitting in your car and thought you needed help. Silly me. You’ve got everything under control. Sorry for the intrusion.”
“Wait.” She said it so quietly he thought he’d misunderstood. But when he turned back, the woman standing by her car was no longer the determined little sprite bent on doing it all herself. In her place was a lost soul, a woman in need.
Not wanting to upset her, he simply waited.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to do something on my own for a change. Something I should be able to do without help. I know how to drive. I know the way to Grand Rapids. Why can’t I make it there without messing up?” She dug in her purse for the tissues that probably weren’t there.
He dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here. Use this.”
She sniffed. “Joe always carried a handkerchief with him.”
“Joe?”
“My husband. He’s been gone about five years.”
“I’m sorry.”
The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection Page 17