Alissa’s sigh whooshed in his ear. “I think you’re getting way too involved. Even if you do like her, you’ve got to give her time, Reed. She needs to grieve. And figure out what she wants to do. Doesn’t she have family to help out?”
“Not that she’s close to. She just moved here from Chicago. Her husband had just started working here in the Falls when he was killed.”
“Well, she may not even stay around then. Reed, don’t get too involved. She’ll probably go back to Chicago.”
“I don’t think so. She doesn’t really have anything to go back to. And I told her I’d hire her full time. She’s a little desperate for a job under the circumstances.” He pressed the pen harder to the paper, retracing the abstract lines he’d sketched.
“Reed. Listen to yourself. She’s desperate? Even if she’s not taking you for a ride, it’s just too soon. She can’t possibly be ready to have someone else in her life.”
“I know that, Lissa. We’re just friends right now.” He could have kicked himself for even bringing it up with his sister. But what really irked him was the fact that she was right. It was too soon for Olivia to entertain the idea of him being anything more than a friend. He kneaded his temples. “After today, he’d be lucky if she could even think of him as an employer. Why did he always rush ahead without thinking things through?
Without consulting the Lord.
The words stunned him. That was the real problem, of course. It was exactly what he’d done with Kristina. He saw something he liked and he went after it. Never mind that he hadn’t whispered so much as a prayer about it. Let alone cracked his Bible in search of guidance.
“Reed? Are you there?”
He sighed. “Yeah. I’m here. You’re right, sis. As always. I’ll give it some time. Pray for me, would you?”
“I always do.”
“And tell Mick hi.”
“I will. I love you.”
“You too, Lissa.”
“Be good.” He heard the worry in her voice and wished he could relieve it.
But he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.
Chapter 20
Olivia slipped on her sandals and headed down the driveway to the mailbox. She hadn’t checked it in several days. The only thing she ever got were bills. And Derek’s mail. Nearly four months after his death, it still startled her to see Derek’s name boldly printed on a magazine or credit card offer. As though he were still a part of this world. Sometimes she thought he was. His presence had seemed to hover awfully close yesterday afternoon in the woods with Reed.
Shaking off the thought, she pulled down the arched door and slid out the bundle of mail. Three bundles actually, each neatly secured with a wide rubber band. She removed a band and thumbed through the first batch as she walked back up to the house. Nothing worth saving. She deposited the stack in the trash bin in the garage.
Before closing the garage door, she checked for Tiger. The little cat had become a permanent fixture in her back yard. Usually he greeted her at the garage door the minute she pulled into the drive, but she hadn’t seen him today. He’d probably be meowing at the back door as soon as she sat down to eat.
She went in through the kitchen and plopped down at the table. She slit an envelope and pulled out a hefty electric bill and another containing a late notice for the trash and sewer service. She filed the bills in Derek’s desk. She needed to sit down later tonight and pay them. But she dreaded the job. It was depressing to see how fast her funds were dwindling.
She stripped the rubber band off the last bunch of mail and leafed through the catalogs and envelopes, culling the first class mail out of the pile for the trash. The return address on a plain white envelope caught her attention. It was from Mid-America Transplant Services. She slipped a fingernail beneath the glued flap and ripped it open. Inside was another smaller white envelope. The front was blank, but the envelope was sealed.
She stared at it for a long minute before opening it. She knew what it contained even before she opened it.
She took out a single sheet of lined paper and read the words penned in bold letters.
Dear donor family,
First, let me say how deeply sorry I am for your loss. You will never know how much your loved one’s gift of life has meant to me.
It’s difficult to write this, knowing that you are grieving a terrible loss, while for the first time in a long time, I have hope. I’ll never understand the unfairness of it, and can only pray that you find some small comfort in knowing that your loved one’s decision to be an organ donor gave another man a new chance at life.
This quote by Albert Schweitzer that I found in some of the literature from the Mid-America Transplant Services seemed as if it was written for me:
“Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light.”
You see, I have my eyesight back because of your loved one’s donation.
As I read back over this note, I’m tempted to tear it up and start over. My words seem so inadequate. But I don’t think another attempt to say what’s in my heart will make any difference. All I can say is a very simple, humble thank you. May God bless you and comfort you.
Sincerely,
A grateful man
Below that, the note was signed only with initials—a flourish that looked like REN or REV.
Olivia spread out the creased page on the table and read it again. She’d never considered that she might receive a thank-you note from one of the recipients of Derek’s organs. Her breath caught as the crushing emotions of that time came roaring back. What a horrible, agonizing decision it had been. And yet, she’d received some comfort in the knowledge that some measure of good would come from the tragedy. Knowing that it had been Derek’s wish to donate his organs, she’d felt a sense of purpose in making the difficult decision. Rereading the letter now, her breathing steadied and she felt comforted all over again. It had been the right thing to do. She felt sure of that now.
She wondered about the man who had written the note. She picked up the page and looked at the signature again. REV? Did that mean reverend? Was he a pastor, or was Rev—or Ren—a nickname of some sort? She remembered the doctor in the hospital telling her that the whole process would be anonymous. It was probably just a made-up name, or maybe the letters were purposely obscured so she couldn’t make the signature out.
Still, she found herself wondering who this man was that had taken the time to let her know that his life had been changed because of Derek’s death. She skimmed the page. It said he had his eyesight back because of Derek. Strange. She’d envisioned someone receiving Derek’s heart and liver and kidneys—the main organs—but she’d never considered that someone had gotten his eyes—the corneas, she assumed.
It was a little morbid to think about. The recipient must have meant he’d undergone a cornea transplant. Did that mean they’d actually taken Derek’s eyes? She shivered at the thought.
Derek had been gone for four months now. In that time, she hadn’t once considered the people—real men, and likely some women as well—who had been recipients of his organs. She’d been too busy grieving his death, and coming to terms with her pregnancy. Just trying to get by.
Now it jolted her to know that somewhere out there someone was probably walking around with Derek’s heart beating in his chest, someone—maybe two someones—had his kidneys and his liver and… Who knew what else they transplanted these days. It was eerie to consider, and yet it made her glad to know that something good had come out of his death.
Somewhere, a man had his sight back, simply because she had signed on the dotted line that night, according to Derek’s wishes.
She folded the letter and slid it back in the envelope. Would she be receiving more notes like this in the days to come? Or would this be the only one? If she had been the one to regain her sight—or her life—because of a stranger’s generosity, would she have
written to say thank you?
It wasn’t an easy question. She’d always found it difficult to know what to say to the bereaved. Always afraid that mentioning the loved one’s name would stir up grief anew. It was a foolish presumption. As if there were any way she could forget about Derek now.
Especially when she had the reminder that was growing more insistent every day. She placed a hand lightly across her belly, something she did almost unconsciously many times a day. This morning, lying in bed, she’d thought she felt the baby move. The baby.
She gripped the envelope tightly. Maybe someday, she would show it to her son or daughter and tell them their Daddy had been a good man.
Unbidden, Rachel Wyck’s face loomed in her mind’s eye. The woman Derek had cheated on her with. She tried to shake the image from her head. Why couldn’t she get over that? Derek had asked her forgiveness. He’d tried to make things right with her and with Rachel. Slowly, their marriage was healing. Had been healing. She corrected the tense.
Was she living in a fantasy world, wishing things had been different than they were? Did it count if your husband asked forgiveness, then died before you had time to rebuild your life together?
She didn’t know. She’d had such hopes for them. Hopes that someday they could put all the ugliness behind them, even laugh at what they’d been through. But now, sometimes she wasn’t even sure she’d forgiven Derek. If she had, why did she still sometimes rehash the terrible arguments they’d had because of his affair?
Dropping her head in her hands, she scrunched fistfuls of hair between her fingers, tugging at the roots. The physical pain almost felt good—dulling the pain in her heart.
She stared at the envelope on the table. It seemed to be silently demanding something of her. Something she wasn’t yet ready to face.
Squeezing back the tears, she pushed her chair away from the table and scooped up the letter. She walked to Derek’s desk and stuffed the envelope beneath a stack of insurance documents.
Chapter 21
The wood floors felt like concrete beneath Reed’s bare feet as he paced back and forth in front of the studio windows, one ear tuned to the doorbell.
He wondered how Olivia would be with him today. Or if she’d even come to work. Even though it had gotten him into trouble in the first place, he’d decided that one last time he was going to speak his mind. That had to be better than leaving things unsaid between them. He thought it would help her to know where he stood, but if he were honest, he was doing it as much for himself as for her.
He turned to stare at the canvas propped on the easel. If the sorry excuse for a painting that sat there now was any indication of how this whole incident was going to affect him, he was in trouble. He’d promised Olivia that she could have a job with him, and he would keep that promise. He would have no trouble keeping her busy. But they had to clear the air first or he wouldn’t have a job to offer her.
He heard the doorbell chime. She’d had her own key to let herself in for several weeks now, but she always gave him a warning ring before coming in. His heartbeat quickened when he heard her shoes on the kitchen tiles. He shot up a prayer. Lord, please give me the right words to smooth things over.
She appeared in the doorway a few second later. “Good morning.” She didn’t meet his eyes.
“Hi, Olivia.”
“You want me to finish those frames?” Her tone was tentative.
“Yes, but…can we talk first?”
She nodded and leaned against the worktable, her arms folded protectively across her midsection.
He went back to the easel and picked up a paintbrush. He was too nervous to use it, but it felt better to have the canvas as a barrier between them. “I just want to apologize again about…about Friday.”
She held up a hand as if to stop him, but he plowed ahead.
“Olivia, I just want you to know that I realize how foolish it was for me to say those things to you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He dipped his head. “Well, yes, I do know.” He looked up with a guilty grin. “But I did not need to say everything I was thinking. I realize that it’s way too soon for you to think about…being with someone else. I respect that and I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
He couldn’t read her face as she waited for him to go on, but he plunged back in. “Things are going really well for me right now and I can use all the help you can give me. If you can give me full-time hours, I’ll have no trouble finding work for you, and as I said, you have a raise coming on this next paycheck.”
Eyes downcast, she whispered his name. “Reed… I…”
Reed swallowed hard, waiting for her to look at him.
She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Thank you. I…I appreciate it. I think though, before you make too much of an investment in me—in me working here,” she added hastily, “you should know that I’m not sure I’ll stay in the Falls after…after the baby.”
So Alissa was right. “I understand,” he said. “Let’s just take one day at a time, can we?”
She waited wordlessly.
“Right now, I need your help and you need a job. Can we just both be grateful for that?”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she said again.
The knots in his shoulders relaxed for the first time since Friday. Thank you, Lord. He reached out to adjust a clamp the canvas. “Okay then. Let’s get to work.”
Her smile conveyed her own relief.
The queue at the pharmacy was only three people long and Olivia gave a sigh of relief. Small-town life had its perks.
When it was her turn, she handed the prescription slip to the teenage girl behind the counter.
The teen glanced at the slip, then at Olivia. “Congratulations. When are you due?”
“This fall… November,” she stammered, taken aback by the girl’s straightforward question.
“Oh, my sister’s due then, too. November 15. You morning sick, too? My sister’s sicker than a dog.”
Olivia was aware that the ears of every customer in the tiny combination gift shop-pharmacy were tuned in to their conversation. “I’m fine,” Olivia said. “Um…how long do you think it will take to fill this prescription?”
“Oh, it’s just vitamins. Don’t even have to count ’em. I’ll get them.” She disappeared into the maze of shelves behind the counter.
Could teenagers dispense medicine? Olivia smiled an apology at the elderly woman in line behind her.
“A little one on the way, huh?” The woman beamed at her. “That’s exciting. Is this your first?”
She nodded. She should have figured out by now that a smile was an invitation to conversation in this little town.
“My Ernie and me—we raised six children. People don’t cotton to big families these days, but we would’ve had six more if I hadn’t had to have the surgery.” She leaned in with a stage whisper. “Female surgery, you know.”
Olivia squirmed and nodded again. She craned her neck, praying that the girl who was supposed to be filling her prescription would reappear.
“Is your husband excited? I know my Ernie was just beside himself ever’ time I told him I was in a family way.” The woman waited for an answer with a sweet smile on her face.
Olivia grasped for a reply. “My husband…passed away.”
The woman gasped and a frail, blue-veined hand flew to her throat. “Oh, you poor thing! What happened?”
“An accident. He was killed…in an accident.” She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet on the worn carpet in front of the checkout. The woman probably meant well, but Olivia would have been happy for a trapdoor to open in the floor about now.
“Here you go, ma’am.” Ah, the next best thing. The girl handed a red-and-white striped package over the counter. “The pharmacist will be here in just a minute to speak with you and answer any questions.”
“Thank you. That’s okay. How much do I owe you?”
The girl punched in the amount. Olivia paid cash and a sixties-style cash register spit out a receipt.
Fortunately, when she turned to leave, the elderly woman was gossiping with another woman in line. Olivia ducked into the greeting card aisle and made a beeline for the door.
Back home, Tiger was waiting for her in front of the garage. Olivia watched in her rearview mirror as he followed the car inside. The minute she opened her door the cat jumped up on her lap, purring and nudging at Olivia’s chin.
“Stop that, you silly cat.” She giggled as his whiskers tickled her neck. “Let’s go get you something to eat. Is that it? Are you hungry?”
She was tempted to let the cat inside. Like Mr. Burnside had said, Tiger had practically adopted her. But judging by the feline’s slick coat and plump belly, she suspected someone else was feeding him and she didn’t want to kidnap him. Or catnap him, as the case may be. She snickered again at her own silly joke.
She stroked the cat’s soft fur, then scooped him up and took him to the back patio where his dish was. She took her things inside and came back with a scoopful of cat chow. She’d been feeding Tiger table scraps—her leftovers—but after doing a little research at the library one day last week, she discovered human food probably wasn’t good for him, so she’d picked up a bag of cat food at the grocery. It hadn’t been as expensive as she’d expected, but Tiger was going through it at a pretty good clip.
Still, she understood now why studies showed that cat owners managed stress better and had lower blood pressure and all the other benefits she’d seen touted. The little cat had become a real bright spot in her life. She had to admit she would be disappointed if Tiger turned out to belong to someone else. But she couldn’t afford to take him to the vet. Besides, she didn’t even know how long she’d stay in Missouri.
She had a lot of decisions to make in the next few months. She’d settled the decision to have the baby. There had never been any other possibility for her. But although she’d begun to accept that there was a baby growing inside her, she was no closer to making a decision about that child’s future than she had been the day she’d discovered she was pregnant.
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