Family in His Heart

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  She couldn’t imagine living in a house on an island, a big house with lovely furniture and at least some luxuries. Housekeeper? Could she handle a job like that. Why not? She’d cleaned many houses—her parents, her own when she’d been married, and then the variety of apartments she’d called home for short periods of time. Housekeeping as a job would hardly pay better than the waitress job. Still, it offered a room. Wondering why she’d let her mind wander to the ridiculous, she stopped herself from second-guessing.

  A long, lonely evening lay ahead of her when she stepped inside the single square bedroom with a small bathroom. One glaring overhead bulb hung from the ceiling and a single lamp sat on the nightstand where she placed her purse and room key. She pulled open the brown-and-green plaid curtains to let in the five o’clock light. Night still came early in the north and she longed for long summer evenings.

  She tossed the potato chips on the dresser along with the box of cereal, then checked her cooler for ice. Low. She’d need to add some cubes from the motel’s stash until she could buy a bag.

  Sinking into the only easy chair, Rona looked around the room with its dark walls, mass-produced paintings and thread-worn towels beside the sink. What would it be like to live in one of those lovely homes on Marquette Island or any island for that matter?

  She twiddled her thumbs, wishing she’d picked up a magazine and the newspaper. She needed to find a place to live. The TV remote lay on the nightstand. She pointed it at the TV. Snowlike fuzz dotted the screen. She pressed another button and a news program brightened the room. The newscasters appeared to have orange-colored skin.

  Forcing herself to watch, she sank back into the chair, but the distorted colors and unfamiliar names and places left her feeling even more alone.

  Why had she come here? She could have lost herself in a big city somewhere else. She’d had reasons to run away. They made sense to her, but making the move had been harder than she realized. At home she had a couple of friends and a father who’d spent most of his lifetime drunk. It hardly seemed worth sticking around the Detroit area and dealing with her brother again for them. Her brother had hurt her—disappointed her—too many times.

  Yet she loved him. They were kin and she knew that should mean something. To him, it meant someone to rip off and manipulate. At least being home meant memories of her mother and the familiar, as bad as it had been sometimes.

  She snapped the off button and picked up the ice bucket. Outside, she located the motel’s ice supply, filled the container and returned to her room.

  What would people who lived on the island be doing? She couldn’t see the water from the highway motel, but she tried to imagine. Nick was probably sitting in front of the TV watching sports or the news while waiting for his wife to prepare dinner. She glanced at her watch. Maybe they’d eaten already. She pictured a cozy nook with a white tablecloth, the family chatting over dinner.

  Maybe Nick wasn’t married. He needed a housekeeper, so possibly he was single, raising a son alone. Did he cook dinner or live on frozen meals as she so often did?

  Enough. She shot from the chair. She’d rather work the night shift at the restaurant than spend the evenings alone. She paced the room, looking outside at the occasional car that shot along the highway. Goaded by her boredom, Rona thought of Shirley Bailey and tried to remember where she lived. She couldn’t just drop by without calling.

  With a purpose in mind, Rona headed to the motel office. The woman she’d seen earlier greeted her as she entered.

  Rona smiled and leaned against the counter. “Do you have a local telephone book I could use?”

  “Certainly.” The woman reached into a niche below the desk and brought up a scrawny book that caused Rona to grin.

  “Thanks,” she said, opening the cover. This time Rona couldn’t control her quiet chuckle. The book covered not only Hessel, but Cedarville, Rockport and other small cities nearby. She located the Hessel section and scanned the B’s. Bailey. Samuel Bailey. Shirley still used her husband’s name in the directory. Rona had tried to forget her husband’s name as soon as she could.

  She dug into her purse for a pen and paper and jotted the number on the back of her grocery receipt. With thanks, she slid the book toward the woman and stepped outside.

  Heading for her car, she pulled the cell phone from her shoulder bag, then leaned against the sedan and pressed in the Bailey phone number.

  Nick stepped onto his dock and moored the boat. He looked up the incline to the house—the lonely house. Though he and Gary seemed like strangers, his son made noise and sometimes had breakfast or dinner with him. He wished he knew how to talk with Gary. They were like two islands connected by a drawbridge that had risen and never came down again.

  He wondered if all parents of teenagers felt like he did. He barely knew Gary’s friends anymore. He didn’t bring them home and avoided talking about them, and the ones he knew from church had faded from Gary’s life. Nick didn’t even know the girl his son had wrapped in his arms at the school.

  Facing that things had to change, Nick drew in a breath and headed inside. The pervading trees blocked the lowering sun except for the living room and the dining room. He snapped on a light to brighten the gloom that surrounded him.

  The kitchen sink still held their cereal bowls from the morning. Nick rinsed them and slipped the bowls into the dishwasher. He drained coffee from the carafe, cleaned the used grounds and made a fresh pot. The silence pressed against his ears except for the soft groan of the water warming in the coffeemaker.

  He sank onto a kitchen chair, his mind drifted to the sunny diner in Hessel and the intriguing woman he’d met. Nick had seen more sparkle in her eyes than he’d seen in years.

  Yet beneath the glint of curiosity and humor, she’d been wary. He sensed it. But why wouldn’t she be? He’d been a stranger who invited her to sit with him and then talked in circles.

  Nick should have asked her if she’d consider a housekeeping job. He called it that, but he needed someone in the house for more than housekeeping. Nick longed for someone to bring life to his home as well as keep the dust bunnies from multiplying and taking over. Most of all he wanted someone to keep an eye on Gary.

  His past housekeeper, Angie, had decided to move to a big city, as she’d called it. He chuckled. If she thought St. Ignace was a big city, wait until she laid her eyes on Bay City or Saginaw.

  Rona, he guessed, had come from the city. Maybe even Detroit. She had that look about her, and he heard concern in her voice about finding work and getting settled in the small town. Hessel’s population was even smaller than Cedarville where Gary’s high school was located.

  The thought reminded him of his difficulties with Gary. Cedarville, that was the problem. He knew people in Hessel, but not as many in Cedarville. He didn’t have as many connections there. Maybe he could get involved in some way. The idea rattled in his head. He had so little time. How could he get involved?

  The scent of coffee aroused his senses. He rose and filled his favorite cup, then ambled into the living room where he could look out at the lake. Shades of gold spread across the water; he watched the changing sky for a moment, then headed for the family room and caved into the recliner. He leaned his head against the cushion and looked through one of the windows beside the fireplace. The flowering trees and the darkening leaves reminded him that summer was almost here.

  He looked away from the pleasant view as his mind headed toward his problems. What could he do to make a difference in his and Gary’s lives? He couldn’t go on like this. He had businesses to run, responsibilities to handle and now a son who appeared to hate him. He closed his eyes, hoping God would send him a message, anything to give him a hint of where he’d gone wrong.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw her picture on the mantle. Jill. Her face laughing into the camera. He’d lived with the other side of Jill as well, the brooding side. Studying the photo he noticed Gary looked like her. He only had Nick’s light brown hair and
maybe a similar smile, the smile he hadn’t seen much lately.

  Nick rose and lifted the framed photograph. Each time he saw it, guilt knifed his heart. He slid it into the small secretary desk drawer. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he’d done. Life had moved on and Jill was in heaven, happier than she could have ever been on earth. He knew that for sure.

  The sun had faded and Nick snapped on the light and ambled to the kitchen. Too weary to make dinner, he tossed lunch meat on two pieces of bread, took a big bite and headed back to the recliner.

  By the time he’d settled back and tilted the chair, the sandwich had vanished. With a final sip of coffee, Nick closed his eyes, mulling over possibilities. He had batted zero finding a housekeeper. He just needed to be direct and see if Rona would be interested. At least he’d have one thing off his mind if she accepted.

  Rona shifted in the comfy chair, feeling good to be here again in the Bailey’s cozy home.

  “For a minute there, I didn’t recognize your name when you called.” The elderly woman grinned. “But then I remembered you were the little blond girl with straight hair and bangs.”

  Straight hair and bangs. Memories swept over Rona. “That was me.” Her mind flew back to her skinny legs and scrawny body. She’d hated it then, but she looked at her rounder figure now and wished she had a little of that thinness today.

  “You visited a few times with Janie, I remember.”

  A few times. Yes, and the trips had always been such a wonderful reprieve from her difficult childhood. The Bailey house brimmed with sunshine, smiles and a cozy comfort she’d never known at home. Her mother tried, but her father had dashed all attempts to the ground.

  “At least that’s what I recall,” Mrs. Bailey said as if questioning her own recollections.

  Rona swallowed her memories. “You’re right, Mrs. Bailey. I visited numerous times. I haven’t seen Janie in years. I hope she’s well.”

  “She’s fine. Lives in California with her husband and three children. Sweet kids.”

  Husband and three kids. California. “That’s great.” Envy prickled along Rona’s neck, thinking of friends happily married with kids. Kids she’d never have.

  “I’m so glad you called tonight. There’s nothing good on TV on Mondays.”

  Rona held back a laugh. “I’m not sure any night is good, especially trying to watch anything on the motel’s TV.”

  Mrs. Bailey leaned closer. “Where are you staying?”

  “Up the road. Some small cabins.”

  She nodded.

  Rona wondered if she had heard her. “Just up the road,” she said, raising her volume.

  “Those small cabins?”

  “That’s right.” She’d wondered why sometimes the woman had given her a blank look. Now she knew.

  “How long are you visiting?”

  She’d told her earlier. Rona cranked up her volume. “I’m planning to stay for a while. Settle down here, I think.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Really?” She cocked her head as if thinking. “You’ll have to drop by now and again. I don’t have lots of visitors nowadays since Sam’s gone.”

  “I was sorry to hear about his passing.”

  Greeted by another blank stare, Rona repeated herself, this time, louder.

  “Yes, it’s been a little over a year since Sam died.” She looked across the room a moment and Rona followed her gaze but didn’t see anything particular that had drawn her attention. “Hard to believe he’s gone, except it’s lonely.”

  Lonely. Rona knew that word well. “I’m sure it is. I’d be happy to stop by when I can.”

  Mrs. Bailey perked up. “Good. I’ll make cookies.”

  Sadness swept over Rona. She’d felt lonely when her mother died, but she’d built up a wall to protect herself. But recently that protection had failed and the same hollow feeling seemed to overwhelm her again at times.

  “Are you retired?” She leaned back, her mind seeming to drift.

  Don’t I wish. But when the question struck Rona, she closed her jaw and wondered if she looked that old. “I’m too young to retire. I found—”

  The elderly woman’s eyes widened. “What was I thinking?” She shook her head. “I know you’re a young woman. Sometimes my mouth doesn’t check in with my brain.”

  This time Rona laughed out loud. “That’s okay. Mine doesn’t either. I found a job in Hessel this afternoon at the Harbor Inn.” She told the woman what had happened.

  “Doesn’t the Lord provide when we need Him?”

  The Lord? Rona figured it had been her quick decision and downright luck.

  “Do you have friends here?”

  Friends. Rona’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Not really. I met another waitress today named Mandy, but she’s rather young.” Nick’s image sprang to her mind. “And I talked with a man named Nick.”

  “Nick? The only Nick I know around here is Nick Thornton.”

  Rona’s pulse tripped. “You know him?”

  “Everyone knows Nick Thornton. He owns some big businesses around here. Even ran for city council before his wife died. Such a tragedy.”

  Relief washed over her, then backlashed and the sensation rocked her. What did she have to be relieved about?

  “He’s a good Christian man. If you get tired of working at Harbor Inn, you might ask him about a job. I’m sure he knows what’s happening in town.”

  Her mind flew back to the restaurant. She could see Nick’s deep scowl when he said there was work if you knew where to look. They’d become silent while she waited for him to say more, but he hadn’t. “Where should I look?” she’d asked, and his answer had set her back. “At me.”

  At him? Had that been what he meant, only that he knew where there were jobs? She’d hoped he’d been referring to his housekeeper position. She eyed her watch. “I suppose I should get back to the motel before I can’t find my way home in the dark.”

  “Too late.” Mrs. Bailey swung her arm toward the window. “It’s already dark. You’re welcome to spend the night.”

  “Thanks, but I need to get back. Anyway, I’ve been in the dark before.” Rona heard the unintentional irony of her statement.

  She’d been in the dark too long, but not anymore. Never again.

  Chapter Three

  “Gary. You’ll be late for school.”

  Nick listened and heard nothing.

  “Gary!”

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. He didn’t want to play the silent game with his son. That’s what he’d received this past year. He’d tried everything to no avail and his frustration had grown to bitterness.

  “Gary!” His voice boomed up the staircase.

  No sound.

  Gary hadn’t awakened him last night when he arrived home. The recliner had been Nick’s downfall. He’d fallen so sound asleep he hadn’t heard Gary come in. When he woke, he’d checked his watch—midnight—turned off the TV and hurried upstairs to check on Gary.

  When he peeked in his room, it was dark, but he’d seen Gary’s bumpy form and felt relieved. He’d actually gotten home. Still he’d been tempted to wake Gary and find out what time he’d come in, but doing so would have been antagonistic. The situation had taught him a lesson. Nick realized he needed to stay awake if wanted to be a good father—his definition, not Gary’s. To Gary a good father was one who doled out money, said yes to everything and never asked anything of him.

  Nick gave another yell up the staircase, then shook his head, grabbed the banister and took the steps two at a time to the top. He charged down the hallway and blasted his fist against his son’s bedroom door. “Gary!”

  When he heard no sound, his pulse lurched. What was wrong? Tragedy happened in the blink of an eye. He’d experience it with Jill. The memory flooded him. God wouldn’t let something happen to his son. Please, he whispered. He pushed the door open, his pulse throbbing in his temple.

  In the muted light, Nick saw the tangled blankets and same lump. H
is pulse escalated and he felt weak.

  “Gary.” He stepped over shoes and clothing in clumps on the floor and grasped the blanket. He pulled it back. Empty. A pillow and twisted blankets created the form he’d seen. Intentional? He had no idea, but the possibility stabbed him and he prayed the lump had only been caused by Gary’s usual messy treatment of his room.

  Nick’s stomach churned, but as he stepped back, he gathered his wits and strained to listen for the shower. Gary always took a shower in the morning. He darted to the bathroom farther down the hall. The door stood open. Struck by reality, Nick knew Gary hadn’t come home last night.

  He slammed his fist against the bathroom door-jamb. He felt as if he and Gary lived in two different worlds and nothing could unlock the door. At the same time, fear spiked his anger and his pulse kicked in again. A boating accident? Car accident?

  Nick charged to the staircase and at the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and got a grip on himself. Yesterday Gary had mentioned Phil. Nick knew Phil. He even knew the boy’s dad. He released a ragged breath, pulled up his shoulders and headed for the phone.

  After finding the number in the phonebook, he punched it in, then waited as the telephone rang. No answer. His hope faded until he eyed his watch again. Phil’s dad had probably left for work and his wife had perhaps driven the boys to school. When the answering machine clicked on, he started to hang up, then heard a hello.

  “This is Gary Thornton’s father. I—”

  “The boys left for school already, Mr. Thornton.”

  “Then Gary did—” He stopped himself, ashamed to admit he hadn’t known that his son had spent the night. “Thanks. I’ll catch him later.”

  What kind of a father didn’t know where his kid was? He gripped the receiver, wanting to throw it through the wall, then hung it up, knowing he was angry at himself as much as Gary.

  Whose fault was their rotten relationship? Maybe his. He should ask for names and phone numbers of all his son’s friends. He sank onto a kitchen stool and lowered his face in his hands. Lord, give me direction. Help me be the father I should be. I don’t know what to say to Gary or what to do that won’t bring a sneer.