The House on Sugar Plum Lane

by Judy Duarte

  “Not at all.” It would give Brandon a moment to think, to sort through how any of this fit into his relationship—or rather his non-relationship—with Amy.

  As long as he’d believed that his old man was nowhere to be found, it was easy to remain detached. Unaffected.

  “This is Pastor Craig,” the minister said as he took the call.

  His expression, light and carefree just moments ago, grew serious again. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that. When?” He listened for a couple of beats, then said, “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

  When he ended the call, he apologized. “I’d love to talk longer, but I have to leave. One of my parishioners, a shut-in I visit regularly, is in grave condition and not expected to live. Can we talk more about this another time?”

  “Sure.” Brandon pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  Craig stood and patted his pocket, as if checking for his car keys, then reached inside and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number and e-mail address. As we head out of the office, you can stop by my secretary’s desk. Rosemary will be happy to make an appointment for us to talk again soon. In fact, I think tomorrow afternoon is wide open.”

  “All right.” Brandon took the card. “I may have to be in court, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  The two men walked back to the reception area, and as Craig reached the door, Brandon said, “I hope everything works out okay.”

  “So do I, but it doesn’t look good.” Craig raked a hand through his wheat-colored hair and blew out a sigh. “It doesn’t look good at all.”

  Chapter 17

  Maria sat next to Eddie on the front porch steps, waiting for the coroner to arrive.

  Just twenty minutes earlier, she’d been in the front yard, talking to Amy over the shrubbery that marked the property line and making plans to have a barbecue next Saturday afternoon.

  Eddie had been working on the automatic sprinkler system in Amy’s front yard, while Captain and Ellie, as they often did, sat in the two wicker rocking chairs on the porch.

  “Mommy,” Wally called from the open doorway, his tone stretching into a whine. “Sara took my Spider-Man hero and won’t give him back.”

  “Tell her I said that she needs to give him to you, and if she won’t do it, tell her to come outside. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Okay.” He dashed back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Maria thought she heard a thump of some kind, although someone down the street was mowing their lawn, and she couldn’t be sure. She dismissed the sound, thinking it was due to her son’s hasty exit.

  A few minutes later, the preschooler returned and called out, “Mommy…,” then paused.

  Maria looked at Amy, rolled her eyes in a what’s-a-mother-to-do sort of way, knowing she was going to have to intercede.

  That is, until Wally continued by asking, “…how come Captain is sleeping on the ground?”

  Thinking that the preschooler was joking—hoping that he was—she stepped away from the hedge, closer to the house, and glanced over her shoulder, only to see the old man sprawled on the porch flooring, face down.

  “Oh, my gosh. Call 9-1-1,” she told Amy as she rushed to Captain’s side.

  Amy yelled for Eddie as she sprinted across her lawn and into the other house to place the call, but Maria’s only thought was to get to Captain, to find out what had happened.

  She knelt beside him and rolled him onto his back. He seemed to be unconscious, and his chest rose and fell unevenly. His coloring was pale, his skin clammy. Clearly, his condition was serious.

  “Ellie,” she said, looking at the old woman who sat on the rocker, watching it all. “What happened?”

  The elderly woman didn’t so much as shrug her shoulders. It was Wally who provided the only answer, if you could call it that.

  “I don’t know what happened, Mommy. He was just lying on the floor when I came out. How come he’s not sleeping in his bed?”

  Maria had always believed honesty was the best policy with everyone, including the kids, but sometimes that wasn’t possible. How could she toss out words to a three-year-old like “heart attack” or “stroke” or…“dying?”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” she said as she checked the elderly man’s pulse. Irregular.

  What was she supposed to do? She’d had first aid and CPR training when she was pregnant with Danny, but for some reason, she didn’t seem to remember any of it. All she knew was that Captain needed medical assistance, and he needed it now.

  Thankfully, Eddie was at her side in a second, followed by Amy. And before long, sirens sounded.

  A hook and ladder truck, as well as an ambulance, pulled up in front of the house, and paramedics rushed toward her. She’d never been so glad to have the fire department located just down the street as she was right now, and she moved out of the way, giving the emergency response team room to work.

  By that time, all three of her children, as well as a couple of neighbor kids, had showed up on the scene. When she turned to reassure them about what was happening, she found Eddie doing it for her.

  “But what’s wrong with Captain?” Wally asked.

  “He isn’t feeling well,” Eddie told the boy. “We think it’s best if the paramedics take him to the hospital so that the doctors can take care of him.”

  “Are they going to make him all better?” Wally asked.

  “They’re going to try.”

  Wally nodded, as though that was all he needed to hear.

  Amy, whose daughter hadn’t come to Sugar Plum Lane today, eased close and slipped an arm around Maria’s waist. “If you want to go with him, I can stay with Ellie and the kids. I’ll just ask my friend Steph to bring Callie here.”

  “Thanks, Amy. I’d really appreciate that. Captain doesn’t have any family. It’s just me and his friends at the soup kitchen.”

  “I’d better call Pastor Craig,” Eddie said. “We should ask him to meet us at the hospital.”

  He was right about contacting Captain’s minister. But had he said us? Maria turned to the man who was winning her heart through one expected kindness after another. “Are you planning to go with me?”

  “You look a little pale and shaky,” he said, “and I thought…”

  She offered him a grateful smile, placed her hand on his upper arm, and gave it an affectionate stroke. Under the cotton fabric of his shirt, she felt the corded muscles of a man used to a hard and honest day’s work. “Thank you, Eddie. I’d really appreciate that.”

  Then, while paramedics worked on Captain, she slipped past them and entered the house for her purse, which she found on the bottom step of the stairs. She also went into Captain’s room and gathered up his pill bottles. The doctors would want to know what medication he was taking and the doses that had been prescribed, and she didn’t want to take time to write them all down.

  When she returned outside, she found that the paramedics were no longer kneeling beside Captain, no longer checking his vitals.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Why aren’t you…?”

  They didn’t need to say a word; their sympathetic expressions said it all.

  “I’m sorry,” one of them, a tall, auburn-haired man, said. “He’s gone.”

  Eddie, who’d been talking to the paramedics, drew close to Maria. “I called the church and spoke to Craig. He was going to meet us at the hospital. But I’ll have Rosemary get a hold of him and ask him to come here instead.”

  “I’ll have to contact the coroner,” the paramedic added.

  She glanced at Captain, who lay on the porch as if sleeping, just as Wally had said earlier. Only now it was an eternal sleep.

  Were they just going to leave his body lying on the floor until the coroner arrived? She’d heard that it sometimes took hours for that to happen.

  Eddie placed his hand on her shoulder, not quite a hug, but a definite show of compassion, support. “I’ll stay here with you until then.�
��

  Maria nodded, then bit down on her bottom lip, trying to take it all in. Captain, who’d had oatmeal for breakfast, who’d talked about baseball and the Padres to Danny while looking over the sports section of the newspaper just an hour earlier, had died.

  She glanced at Ellie, her brow furrowed. The elderly woman didn’t appear to be either shocked or grieving, just confused—as usual.

  Amy, who’d been standing on the lawn, away from the activity, moved closer to the porch. “I’ll take the kids and Ellie next door.”

  That was probably for the best.

  Eddie’s hand, which was resting easily on Maria’s shoulder, slid around her and drew her close. “Thanks, Amy. That’s a good idea.”

  At that, Maria realized she needed to snap to, that she couldn’t expect Eddie and Amy to step in and handle everything for her. But she certainly appreciated that they were willing to.

  She turned and gave her new friend a hug. “Thanks, Amy. You’re the best.”

  “So are you,” Amy said as they slowly released each other. Then she gathered up the children and Ellie and took them home.

  Now here Maria was, seated with Eddie on the steps of the front porch, waiting for both Craig and the coroner to arrive. She placed her hands on her knees, stroked the denim fabric of her jeans.

  “Are you doing okay?” Eddie asked.

  “Now that it’s over, I am. Thanks for being here with me.”

  He placed a hand over one of hers. “Don’t give it another thought.”

  His touch wasn’t so unusual, under the circumstances. Yet his hand lingered, and she was glad that it had, because he caressed her skin with the pad of his thumb, calming her, infusing her with strength.

  And at that very moment, she realized that with him by her side, she could make it through anything.

  At a quarter to five, Barbara returned home from the hospital. Joseph had met her in the small waiting room off the ICU, and together they’d gone in to visit their son.

  She’d tried so hard to be upbeat, to pretend that it was just a matter of time, that everything would soon be okay again, that he would have the open-heart surgery soon, that he’d be discharged and would recover like the many other people who had the same procedure.

  But she hadn’t been able to keep her tears at bay, especially when Joey thanked her and his father for being such wonderful parents over the years. It was almost as though he was making some kind of farewell speech, and she hadn’t been ready for it.

  She’d made some lame excuse to leave—saying she had to go to the ladies’ room when she really hadn’t needed to. And then she hadn’t been able to return to his bedside.

  Instead, she’d hung out in the lobby for a while, hoping to see Pastor Craig—expecting him, since he and Joey were so close—but he hadn’t showed up. She’d wanted to ask him to pray for her. With his hotline to Heaven, he might be able to finagle a miracle, but apparently she was on her own with this one.

  Her whole world, it seemed, was spinning out of control, and she was at a complete loss.

  She’d eventually gone home, seeking not just escape, but peace and a renewal of spirit—all the things people expected to find behind the privacy of their front door. But she didn’t find a bit of it today.

  The fresh flowers she’d ordered from her favorite florist now adorned the dining room, as well as the entryway and the glass-topped coffee table. The aroma of the dinner that the chef had prepared for the canceled dinner filled the air.

  Still, the house in which she lived, the sprawling estate that had been professionally decorated in soothing shades of beige and brown and green, provided no comfort whatsoever.

  In the past, when faced with something of this magnitude, she might have turned to her mother for comfort and solace and wisdom, although she’d never been this distressed, this fearful before. But going to her mother for advice or prayer now was no longer an option.

  She was on her own.

  Oddly enough, the only advice she’d been offered had come from that shabby, long-haired private investigator hired by Susan Rossi.

  You need to own your mistakes, he’d said. Once you confess, everything will fall back into place.

  Had he been right?

  Was that the key? The missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle that would set everything to rights?

  To be honest, she’d confessed to God time and again. And she’d made promises she’d kept—to be the best wife and mother she could be. She’d gone on to support charities, too, and had been instrumental in raising money for abused children and battered women, for the homeless, for cancer research, for…you name it. If it had been a worthy cause, Barbara Davila had championed it.

  She’d been a good person, too. Surely that had made up for one indiscretion, one short-lived affair.

  God had forgiven her, hadn’t He? The fact that she’d been able to hide her pregnancy from Joseph while he’d been in the hospital in Honolulu, recovering from his injuries, was nothing short of a miracle—and an answer to her prayer. And the adoption had taken place so quickly and without a snag.

  The adoption.

  Giving up the baby was the right thing to do, the PI had said.

  Yet Barbara had argued long and hard over that decision with her mother, who’d always wanted a houseful of children but had only ended up with one.

  “You’ll never be able to pull it off,” her mother had said. “Joseph will find out anyway.”

  But God, it seemed, had worked that all out on Barbara’s behalf; she’d been so sure of it.

  “Stop seeing this baby as a part of my father and a way of keeping him alive,” Barbara had argued. “It’s not about my dad. And it’s not about you. It’s about me. Getting involved with that guy was a huge mistake—I admit it. Getting pregnant was a horrible complication. Keeping the baby will ruin my marriage.”

  “You should have thought about your marriage when you went out with Darrel Ryder in the first place,” her mother had countered. “What were you thinking? Your poor husband was overseas, fighting a war.”

  Okay, so she’d made a bad decision and had come to regret it. But there was nothing she could do to correct that mistake after the fact. Keeping the child would mean that she’d be paying penitence for the rest of her life.

  “Let me have the baby,” her mother had begged. “I’ll tell everyone that I had an affair and that I’m an unwed mother.”

  “Oh, please, Mom. I can’t believe this is coming from you of all people, Miss Goody Two-shoes, who wouldn’t tell a lie if her life depended upon it.”

  Still, she’d been right. Barbara had screwed up big time. She knew it now, but she’d also known it then. And it had all come back to haunt her nearly forty-five years later.

  Yet that nightmare she’d been living paled next to losing Joey.

  Ever since she’d given up the baby, she’d focused all her love, time, and energy on her son. And she was going to…lose him. Try as she might, she had to face that near certainty, and doing so forced her back into a corner in which she’d never expected to find herself.

  For a moment, fear and guilt and impotence swirled around like a kaleidoscope of ugly colors. She did her best to let it all clear, to ponder a way out of the mess her life had become. Yet for some reason, the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that made any sense, was the comment the private investigator had made earlier today:

  Your deception is making your life miserable.

  Maybe it was, but she wouldn’t have admitted that to the bushy-faced stranger.

  When she’d told him she didn’t have time to talk to him, he’d said, I suggest you find the time. Not with me, but with God.

  As a rule, she didn’t pray. To be honest, she didn’t feel worthy and feared that any request or plea that she had would fall on deaf ears. So whenever times had been tough, she’d depended upon her mother’s faith to get her through.

  They’d talked about that once, and her mom had said, “You can’t get to
Heaven on your mother’s coattails, Barbie. God doesn’t have granddaughters.”

  But Barbara had blown her mom off.

  Her life had been going well in those days, and she’d had almost everything in the world she could ever want.

  Yet it was all a façade, wasn’t it?

  The deception had become so much a part of her that the ugly truth had engrained itself upon her soul.

  Oh, dear God. Was that what she’d done, what she’d become?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she sat in the midst of a professionally decorated living room that suddenly seemed dank and empty. “I made a mistake years ago by betraying my husband’s trust. I broke the promise I’d made to love and honor him until death, and instead of confessing, I hid it from him. And now look at me.”

  While her thoughts had been directed to God, the confession she’d just made didn’t seem to be enough, and she dropped to her knees beside the sofa and bowed her head in shame, in submissiveness. “I can’t do it alone anymore, Lord. I’ve made a complete mess of it. I need You to take control of my life again. With Your help, I’ll tell Joseph what I did. And I’ll ask him to forgive me. If he can’t, if he blows up, if he rants and raves, if he leaves me, then I’ll face the consequences. But I’ll face them—with You to help me.”

  She waited in silence to hear something, expecting a thunderous clap followed by a flash of light. Waited to feel something that would convince her that everything was going to be all right from here on out.

  Yet she didn’t hear or feel anything, other than a gradual sense of peace that began to settle over her, a relief that lifted from her shoulders and made her want to rise up.

  “Thank you,” she said as she basked in the first sense of forgiveness she’d ever really had. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt worthy to be in God’s presence, worthy to lay the burdens of her heart on Him. “While You’re here with me, do you suppose You could spare a miracle for Joey? I won’t make the mistake of telling You how or when to do it, but I’m asking You to please heal Joey, as well as our family. And I’d like You to place my world back on its axis—Your axis, Lord. Amen.”